i m CANNOT LEAVE THE LIBRARY.** cha„.1£E£4s* if Shelf. LVj^O/ O ^ 1 c^^r^ i COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. ( W: %m LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, c< <§>!*%<; 9—165 !%!<£> UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME. RECENT MUSIC AND MUSICIANS: As described in the Diaries and Correspondence of Ignaz Moscheles. Selected by his wife, and adapted from the original German by A. D. Coleridge. 121110, cloth, $2.00. "Not only musical enthusiasts, but everyone who has the faintest glimmer of a love for music and art, will welcome with delight this volume. It is a personal history of music for sixty years of this century — full of the names of artists and composers, each of them a centre of pleasurable emotions." — Lon- don Examiner. " Full of pleasant gossip. The diary and letters between them contain notices and criticisms on almost every musical celebrity of the last half cen- tury."— Pall Mall Gazette. "A valuable book of reference for the musical historian." — London Athe- nceum. " The lovers of musical gossip will find a rich treat in the allusions to the celebrated performers of the present century, and in the critical remarks on the productions which have held the highest place in the music of the period." — JV. Y. Tribune. "The most captivating book ever published, for people interested in music and musical people." — Phila. Evening Bulletin. " A book of remarkable attractions for all professional musicians and all who are interested in music, in its history, its great composers, singers, and performers/' — Boston Transcript. " We have examined this most interesting and valuable work, and consider it a very important addition to the limited number of books of special interest to the musical student," — Musical Gazette. HENRY HOLT &> CO., 25 Bond Street, New York. Recent Art and Society As Described in the Autobiography and Memoirs OF HENRY FOTHERGILL CHORLEY COMPILED FROM THE EDITION OF HENRY G. HEWLETT C. H. JONES NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 1874 ^Ck tevjv '£. 0. ^ 7E^* 3 . Csi' ?1* c \\ /* Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by HENRY HOLT in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. INTRODUCTION r I ^HE materials of which this volume is composed -*- were drawn from a recently published English work, entitled, " Autobiography, Memoir, and Letters of Henry Fothergill Chorley," compiled by Henry G. Hewlett. That work extends through two thick and goodly-sized volumes ; and a large amount of space is assigned to purely personal details and experiences which could hardly prove interesting to American readers, many of whom probably have scarcely even heard Chorley\s name. The chief difference between the present work, and Mr. Hewlett's is, that these details have been for the most part omitted, while the whole of the Autobiography, nearly all the Letters, and the greater portion of the extracts from Chorley s Journals have been retained. The material thus chosen has also been rearranged in such a way as to group together those portions between which there seemed to be a natural connection in point of time or subject ; and to render the whole more effective. 1 v IN TR OD UCTION. Enough of the Memoir has been retained, however, to link the rest together, and to give a fair impression of Chorley's life and character. For Henry F. Chorley was a man who deserved to be remembered for his own sake; as one who without any advantages of fortune and in spite of many drawbacks, created and maintained for himself an honorable position of inde- pendence, and even of authority — who, notwithstand- ing certain infirmities of disposition, exhibited from the outset and retained to the close of his career, a sincer- ity of conviction, a rectitude of conduct, and a tender- ness of heart, that ennobled his calling in the estimation of the world, and endeared his character to those who enjoyed his private friendship. He paid the penalty common to most men, however able, who choose the career of a journalist, of remaining comparatively " to fortune and to fame unknown ; " but his life on its • social side was singularly successful and happy. The circle of his intimates included some of the most distin- guished of contemporary men and women in England and on the Continent, and one or two of our American notabilities as well; he was a constant habitue of the brilliant society which gathered around Lady Blessington, Lady Morgan, and other leaders of the ( London social world; and his Journals record reminiscences of nearly every musical, literary, or social celebrity of his time who was known in, or who visited England, together with many who did not. INTRODUCTION. v These reminiscences — of which the greater part of the present volume consists — were not intended for publi- cation, and consequently they have that peculiar charm and piquancy pertaining to impressions and experiences put on record at the moment when they were freshest and most vivid. In the narrative portion of the volume I have not thought it necessary to distinguish my own share from that of Mr. Hewlett, whose language has been retained whenever possible, and who is sole authority for the facts. C. H. J. CONTENTS, CHAPTER I. PAGE Autobiography — Chorley Family — Early life and training in Lan- cashire, .......... I CHAPTER II. Autobiography — {Continued), ........ 20 CHAPTER III. Enters a merchant's office in Liverpool — Distasteful employment — Literary and artistic tastes — Intimacy with Mr. Rathbone, and its influence on his life — Early efforts in Literature — Society in Liverpool — Mrs. Hemans — American merchant- captains and their wives — Cultivation of Music and critical taste — Introduction to " Athenaeum " — Opening of Liverpool and Manchester Railway — Letter to Mr. Dilke — Contribu- tions to " Athenaeum " — Admitted to staff of that journal — Arrival in London — Literary criticism — Letter to a friend in Liverpool — Letter from Mr. Dilke, 35 CHAPTER IV. Literary life in London from 1834 to 1 841— Connection with the " Athenaeum " — Antagonism of " Literary Gazette " — Jerdan arid Miss Landon — Staff of the " Athenaeum " — George Dar- ley and Talfourd's " Ion " — Attacks upon Chorley as a Critic — Letters of G. P. R. James and Thackeray — Publication of " Sketches of a Seaport Town " and " Conti " — Entrusted with preparation of " Memorials of Mrs. Hemans " — Letter viii CONTENTS. PAGE to a friend in Liverpool upon the subject — Publication and reception of the work — Writes a Drama — Contributions to Boudoir Literature — Songs — Self-culture in Literature and Art — Criticisms on Forest in " Lear," and the " La Valliere " of Lord Lytton — " Lady of Lyons " attributed to him — Pub- lishes " The Authors of England " — Anonymous publication of the " Lion " — Its reception, 49 CHAPTER V. Personal and social life in London from 1834 to 1841 — Shock occasioned by the death of Mr. Benson Rathbone — Effects of loneliness and ill-health — Counter-influences of personal friendship and love of society — Mr. and Mrs. Procter — Mr. and Mrs. Basil Montagu — Henry Roscoe, Herr Moscheles, Chevalier Neukomm, and N. P. Willis — Lady Blessington and Count D'Orsay — Society at Gore House — Bon mots — La Guiccioli — Interviews with Landor, Isaac Disraeli, and M. Rio — Lord Lytton — Sydney Smith — Miss Mitford and John Kenyon — George Darley — Justice Talfourd — Mr. Browning — George Grote — Mr. and Mrs. Howitt — Family relations — Deaths of Dr. Rutter and Mrs. Rathbone, .... 74 CHAPTER VI. Personal and social life in London from 1834 to 1841 — Rogers, the Poet-Banker — Lady Morgan — Miss Landon — Mrs. Somer- ville — Visits to Paris — Parisian celebrities — The Duchess d'Abrantes — Paul de Kock — Alfred de Vigny — Rachel — Mile. Mars — Prince Louis Napoleon — The Misses Berry — Southey — Miss Sedgwick, no CHAPTER VII. 1 rofessional experiences as a musical critic between 1834 and 1841 — Original gifcs and acquirements — Persistence of princi- ple — Development of taste — Illustrative, extracts from jour- nals — Visits to France in 1836, 1837, and 1839 — Interview with Chopin — Acquaintance with systems of Wilhem and Mainzer — National Singing-schools in England — Tours in CONTENTS. PAGE Germany, 1839, 1840, 1841 — Intimacy with, and letters from, Mendelssohn — Journey in company with him and Moscheles — Stay at Leipsic — Anecdotes of Mendelssohn — Schuman — Sonnet to Mendelssohn's son — Subsequent letters — Publica- tion of " Music and Manners," etc., ..... 145 CHAPTER VIII. Literary life from 1841 to 1851 — Connection with " Athenaeum" — Contributions to other serials — Letter from Douglas Jerrold — Edits "Ladies' Companion" — Minor Poems — Drama of " Old Love and New Fortune " — Miss Mitford's opinion of it, 178 CHAPTER IX. Private and social life from 1841 to 1851 — Residence in Victoria Square — An affaire du cceur — Artistic friendships — Mrs. Browning — Sir William Molesworth — George B. Maule — Travels — Extracts from journals — Notes on pictures — Profes- sor Bendemann — Kaulbach — Letters and sonnets from "Athenaeum" — Last letter from Mendelssohn — Visit to In- terlachen — List of acquaintances — Langtree — Thomas Camp- bell — Rejection of offer of marriage — Pressure of calamities — Illness of his sister — Death of Mrs. Chorley, . . . 185 CHAPTER X. Musical criticism between 1 841 and 185 1 — Recognition of his in- fluence — Mercenaiy propositions — Letter from Meyerbeer — Employment as a librettist — Disappointments and vexations — Intimacies with M. Liszt and Madame Viardot — Chopin — Sonnet on his death — Berlioz — Relations between artists and critics — A protege, 214 CHAPTER XI. Literary life from 1852 to 1872 — Critical labors in " Athenaeum" — Changes observable in tone — Severity to works of friends — Discernment — Letter from Mr. Procter — Letters from Nathan- iel and Mrs. Hawthorne — Versatility — Examples — Reviews of Mr. Wilkie Collins, and Mr. Coventry Patmore — Dramatic CONTENTS. authorship — "The Love-lock" — " Duchess Eleanour " — Pub- lishes " Roccabella " — Analysis and extracts — Lettei-s from Dickens and Hawthorne — Dedication to Mrs. Browning — Letters from Mr. Browning — Translation of " Fairy Gold " — Biographical sketch of Mendelssohn — Publishes " The Pro- digy " — Edits Miss Mitford's Letters — Engaged on autobio- graphy until his death, , 224 CHAPTER XII. Career as a musical critic from 1852 to 1868 — Recognition of his influence — Estimates by Sir Michael Costa and Mr. Henry Leslie — Practical testimony — Employment as a writer for music — Effects of his criticism — " Modern German Music" — Extracts — " Thirty Years' Musical Recollections" — Extracts — Lectures — Interest in musical enterprise — Birmingham Festivals — Crystal Palace Concerts and Handel Festivals — Retirement from " Athenaeum," 249 CHAPTER XIII. Private and social life from 1852 to 1872 — Residence in Eaton Place — Description of the house — Parties — Extracts from letter to Liverpool — Opposition to "Spiritualistic" mania — Friendship with Charles Dickens — Letters from him — Visits to Gad's Hill — Miss Dickens' reminiscences — Mr. Procter — Hawthorne — Other associates — Deaths of Miss Mitford and Sir Wm. Molesworth — Letter to Liverpool — Illness and death of his sister — Memorial sketch of his brother John's career — Letter from Mr. Carlyle — Professor Ticknor — Accession of fortune — Mental depression, loneliness, and failing health — A fatal expedient — Travels — Letter from Spain — Scarbo- rough — Wakehurst Place — Memory of early friendship — Let- ters — Affectionate relations with Mr. Benson Rathbone — Reminiscences — Death of Dickens — Acceleration of organic disease — Letters to Liverpool — His death, and funeral, . . 265 REMINISCENCES OF HENRY FOTHERGILL CHORLEY. CHAPTER I. Autobiography. — Chorley Family. — Early Life and Training in Lan- cashire. WITH respect to the family history and the early life and training of Henry Fothergill Chorley, the " Autobiography " which he was preparing for pub- lication at the time of his death, and which that event found in an unfinished state, is sufficiently full and com- plete. The following extracts from it are interesting not only for their personal sketches and incidents, but as a rather stirring picture of one aspect of rural life in England during the early years of the century. " I am the third son and fourth child of John and Jane Chorley, and was born on the 15th of December, 1808, at Blackley Hurst, a house belonging to the Catholic family of the Gerards, near Billinge in Lancashire. My father and mother were nominally members of the Society of Friends, though neither the one nor the other ever wore the dress of that religious body, nor conformed to its ascetic discipline and testimonies. They were, both of them, superior and 2 REMINISCENCES OE CHORLEY. singular persons ; and, though differing widely in disposition and temperament, maintained an unusual amount of affec- tion for each other during their married life, terminated, after sixteen years, by the sudden death of my father, on the 15 th of April, 1 8 16. " The Chorleys are an old family belonging to the gentry of Lancashire, in old times one of credit and substance. Two of its members,- however, were beheaded at Preston, in Lancashire, in chastisement for their having gone out with the Stuarts in 17 15, and their landed property was then con- fiscated. Since that time, the principal branch of the family, to which I belong, and of which I am the last but one, and youngest male survivor, has been gradually decaying. My forefathers — at least my grandfather, Alexander Chorley, who was an ironmaster at Stanley-Bank, near Ashton-in- Mackerfield, in Lancashire — had not the gift of keeping or of making money. They were people of great mother-wit, racy humor, and generous dispositions, but sanguine and self-willed. My grandmother Chorley was a Fothergill, belonging to another north-country family of some mark, which yielded a popular physician to London and a redoubtable preacher to the Society of Friends. She was a woman of strong, severe sense. She brought her husband four sons, of whom my father was the eldest, and nine daughters. The sons ail perished in the very prime of life. My father dropped down dead in his counting-house. My uncle Henry was drowned when on a voyage down the Rio del Plata, having fallen overboard when he was asleep. My uncle, James Fother- gill, died young, of a wasted constitution ; my uncle Charles, of yellow fever, in New Orleans. The daughters were longer lived. All are now gone. " There w r as something in the training of these children Sufficiently out of the .common routine to be worth dwelling on. Born, all of them, as I have said, in membership of the CHORLE Y FA MIL Y. 3 Society of Friends, and their mother a rigid woman, they were still educated — or rather educated themselves — with no severity, with no outward conformity to the dress and statutes of that strange body of religionists. My grandfather would not, my grandmother could not, control them ; for a more original, self-willed family, I believe, was never born on the earth, nor one more genially endowed with those tastes and fancies which abide no restraint nor abnegation of indulgence. What is called " the artist temperament " belonged to many of them. They wrote verses far above the average of amateur verse ; they read something of French and Italian. Two or three of them had aptitude for draw- ing ; and almost all of them a love for out-of-the-way reading, and a raciness of evmcasion and repartee to which I have since met notb'n^ similar. " My annt xs^ebecca, the eldest but one, had more power to entertain others by her quaint sayings and her thoroughly peculiar fancies than most women I have known. She retained it through changes, losses, and deaths, and, till the last, kept the same brightness of spirit and warmth of heart which made her so fascinating as a girl, in spite of a sus- picious and hot temper. When scarcely fifteen, chancing to stumble on a matrimonial advertisement in a newspaper, she answered it, so skilfully assuming the character of an older woman ready to treat, that a reply came directly. Her anonymous correspondent seemed to be in earnest, and a gentleman, and wrote with such interest that she wrote again, still keeping up the masquerade. The correspondence went ©n, the gentleman waxing warmer and warmer, till he pressed his incognita for her name and address, declaring that he would come from the furthest corner of England, merely to make the acquaintance of the woman who could write with such spirit and sweetness, without binding her in any way. Then the girl became terrified, and wrote no more. It was 4 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. a whimsical trait in her character, that for years and years, long after she was a woman grown, my aunt, whose hand- writing was peculiar, would never sign her name at a water- ing-place or in any public book lest she should be identified. " She was staying, as a girl, many years ago, in a country- house far removed from towns and markets, when one day the family was startled by the announced visit of a very large party from a distance, who counted on finding a dinner. The larder of the house, though a hospitable one, happened by unlucky chance, to be that day well nigh as bare as thai of Wolfs Crag on the day of Sir William Ashtorfs visit, so well provided for by Caleb Balderstone. The hostess went hither and thither in despair. Somehow or other the material of the entertainment was got together, or represented, one thing only wanting — the dessert. Nothing was to be found save a basket of hard, green pears, set aside for bak- ing. For better for worse, however, by the whimsical girl's counsel, they were presented. When she saw them coming, she cleared her throat, and in an audible voice said to her hostess, at the head of the table, ' Are not those the famous Cleopatra pears ? ' She used dryly to add, in later years, when, mocking at herself, she told this anecdote, * My dears, after that no one thought of refusing them. The dish was cleared.' " ' Cleopatra pears ' became a by-word in our family. They are not a bad symbol of much that can be made to pass muster — nay, and become popular. " This family of my grandfather's, too, were remarkable for a love of the marvellous ; — strange among persons generally more vigorous than tender in their composition ; — strange, at least in their day, when nervous excitement had not taken the lamentable form of superstition which we have lately lived to see it assume. They noted omens ; they dreamt dreams ; they saw ghosts. They had their own CHORLE Y FA MIL Y. 5 stories, and warnings, and instances, and those who doubted and cross-questioned found it better not to do so a second time, since the Chorleys were not a patient or humble-minded folk, troubled with self-mistrust. In their day, people with narrow means (and my grandfather was a poor and embar- rassed man) stayed much at home ; and the amount of liberal culture which these girls, under Quaker rules, and under the more iron grasp of narrow fortunes, contrived to get for themselves, in a remote village, was something remarkable. There can hardly be such households again, now that intercourse is so easy, now that books are so cheap. " My mother's maiden name was Jane Wilkinson. She was the child of a second marriage, born after the death of her father. On her mother's side, she belonged to an old Cumberland family of the name of Brownsword. These Brownswords, again, were not common-place people, though as far asunder from my father's family as north is from south. My mother's mother was a woman of high spirits and indomitable courage — a strange mixture of thrift and gener- osity, of cheerful self-sacrifice and overweening tyranny. She had been called on when a mere girl to decide and to endure ; since, at the age of eighteen, she was sent by her parents on horseback, behind an old servant, to arrange and superintend the funeral of a brother who had died at a dis- tance from home. She was a devoted sick nurse, and suc- cessively watched the deathbeds of her parents, who departed at a patriarchal age, of her first husband, Thomas Rutter, a merchant of Liverpool, by whom she. had a son, and of a favorite sister ; and in this capacity, was gentle, untiring, and intrepid ; but in smooth water, she was too active, too desirous of domineering, too resolute to economise where no economy was necessary, too full of strong will, as well as of strong wit, to be judicious as a mother or indulgent as the head of a family. ' Give not the staff out of thy hand /' was 6 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. a phrase often in her mouth, after her faculties had failed her. Obeyed she would be, and was ; for in the world to which she belonged, the love of child to parent was expected to come as a matter of certainty and of duty. " My mother, at least, was an affectionate and a dutiful, if not an obedient, daughter. She had the timid, tremulous organization said to belong to an old man's child ; and being full of tastes and capacities for enjoyment, with which her more robust parent had no sympathy, and more alive to the pain of rebuke than any one I have known, managed to creep betwixt the meshes of the net of household discipline, to peep at what stood with her for the world, and to indulge her fancies for poetry, romance, and art (as art was under- stood in those primitive, narrow days). Had she fallen into a more genial soil, she might have won distinction as an authoress ; since, when a mere child, living in a quiet market- town in Cumberland, she showed not so much the desire to scribble as the power to imitate, which precedes, in ninety- nine cases out of a hundred, the power to create. I have before me the manuscript of a novel, the formal childish writing beautiful, the age of its writer considered, and perfect as to spelling, by which it is evident that the small person had got hold of 'Evelina' — had caught the tone of the characters and the time of the dialogue. To the very last years of her life she could amuse herself and relieve her mind by writing verses ; and in the rhymes of the old woman, as well as. of the girl, there is a vein of true poetry, of real fancy, and of real feeling. She was very lovely on a small scale, with shy eyes, a fresh complexion, and a perfectly- formed mouth, and hair of that sunny color which woman- hood ripens into auburn. While she was a girl, her widowed mother, who had been for some time resident at her native place, Wigton in Cumberland, brought her to live in Liver- pool ; being induced to change her residence by the settle- EARLY LIFE AND TRAINING. y ment there of my mother's half-brother, John Rutter, who, for nearly half a century, honorably practised physic in that place. " Of him, too, I must, I must say a word, at the risk of being over elaborate in matters of pedigree and family-picture, because he, too, was a character, in some respects, rare at any time, but singularly rare, considering the circumstances and opportunities of his position. God never created a more noble-hearted, generous man than he was ; few men have ever been more zealous in their calling, less pedantic in the task of perpetual self education and qualification. A dread of the shame of debt, an excellent liberality in the exercise of his profession, the curious mixture of personal modesty and sagacious decision in his medical practice, possibly, too, his handsome person, established him in his birth-place, after years of probation, as first physician ; but his ways were as little like the world's ordinary ways as those of the rest of the persons among whom we four Chorley children were brought up. He had remarkable stores of knowledge, which to the last he increased, yet he could not endure intellectual society, the collision and discussion of opinions. Born and remaining till his decease a member of the Society of Friends, he had nothing in common with their habits or requirements, read what he pleased, dressed as he pleased, for relaxation became a keen whist player (which suited his taciturn habits). A good deal courted, I have reason to think, by women when he was young, no man was less throughout his life a courtier of women — perhaps, because being honorable beyond his kind he never felt justified in thinking of marriage till he had reached the age at which romance (on either side) ceases, and convenience begins. At that point, family affection brought a charge upon him (it would be ungrateful to say, cast a burden into his lap), which he accepted wholly, nobly, devotedly ; and 8 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. the acceptance of which so occupied him as to leave him with small time or fancy for more selfish interests. At my father's death he came forward to stand betwixt his half- sister, with her four children, and penury • and thencefor- ward his life seemed to find its duties and, in some degree, I am glad to think, its rewards also, in the family whom he had adopted. " Over all these original, imperfectly-educated persons, the ordinances and the usages of the Society of Friends hung like, a pall of conformity, heavy enough to inspire them with certain characteristics, but so oppressive as to make escape and insincerity inevitable. It would be difficult to conceive a worse education for mind and heart. On the one side, a narrow, ascetic, mystical sectarianism, including the minute formalities of discipline, but not including the rallying-points of an established creed ; on the other, worldly pursuits and pleasures, partaken of by snatches, without those safeguards which good breeding and good manners substitute for higher moral principle and precept among people of the world. I have always rated those from whom I have sprung on both sides, in no respect more highly than in this, that people of their quick spirits and vigorous intellect were so little affected by such training. " Then, with persons of lively humor, the forms of worship in use among the Society of Friends, the curious manifesta- tions of scruple among the narrow, and the adroit relaxations of discipline among the more genial, were not calculated to engender that spirit of reverence without which there is no religious training for the young. There was a feature in the preaching among the Society of Friends especially calculated to annoy persons of quick temperament and rebellious understandings, namely, the personality which at times could be thrown into it. Not only in the domestic visits, which the accepted ministers of the society are in the habit EARL Y LIFE AND TRAINING. g of paying to all families in membership, but on such painful occasions as funerals (which are attended by female as well as male relatives of the deceased) have I heard those known to be liberal or suspected of disaffection marked out for reproof and counsel, with a directness of application which admitted of no mistake on the part of any hearer. The last time that I ever entered a Friends' meeting-house was to attend the funeral of my good and honored uncle, which was largely attended by many of his townsfolk, who loved his memory. I was one of a group of survivors thus lectured by a loud, harsh, ignorant man, who on account of our having quitted the Society, would not lose so timely a chance of admin- istering a severe and warning castigation. It was impossible to feel either resentment or shame. The insults of fanatical self-importance have no power over those against whom they are launched, except they fall on persons of bad conscience or credulous habits of mind ; but there is many a one and many another whom such training on the one hand, and such arrogance on the other, have driven loose from all their early moorings, and have flung into that shifting sea of contempt for all religious profession and disbelief in all creeds which it is most perilous for the young to traverse. " This was not the case, happily, with either my father or my mother; yet they did not pass through such a discipline of education, which is no education, without bad results to themselves and to their children. We saw from infancy the statutes of the Society to which we nominally belonged evaded ; for my mother painted flowers and practised music. We conceived an intense and weary distaste for the manner of worship, in which the general alternatives were tiresome silence or the maunderings of some uncouth and illiterate person ; and yet we heard the world and the world's usages criticised as sharply as if they were not in an awkward way approached and imitated by our parents. i* 10 REMINISCENCES 0E CIIORLEY. " It was yet another disadvantage, in one respect, that we were born and brought up in the country without compan- ionship with other children. On my father's marriage with my mother, they set up house in a small cottage not far from Warrington, which had been originally, I suspect, a barn, subsequently divided into closets rather than rooms, to serve as shooting-box for its owner, or pleasure-house for some one among his sultanas. This owner, Colonel , belonging to a family who had considerable landed property in Lanca- shire and Cheshire, was one of those wild provincial imita- tions of the town Mohocks — the Camelfords and Delavals — the race of which is, I hope, extinct, though they have left behind them traces and traditions, of which persons brought up in towns have little idea. From among such people and such traditions did the Brontl 1 sisters gather the materials for their novels — books which will have a value for the future historian of English society, if even they cease to be read for the rude power and romance put forth in them. Colonel was a brutal, licentious man, full of life and spirits for every quality of mischief, who made the corner of Lanca- shire in which he lived ring with tales of his debauchery and of his practical jokes. He it was who invited a starved com- pany of mountebanks to dine with the clergyman at Newton- in-the-Willows on Sunday, and stationed himself in the post- office opposite, to see the discomfiture of the poor creatures as they came out, when the hoax should be discovered. But the heartless jester sat there in vain. The clergyman was a kind man, and on comparing notes with player-king, player- queen, pantaloon, clown, and the rest, as they gradually assembled, discovered how all had been tricked. 'Well,' said he, ' ladies and gentlemen, I must not lose the pleasure of your company, though I had not the pleasure of, inviting you;' and he detained them to dinner and (the story goes on to say) fed them well, leaving to their tormentor the EARL Y LIFE AND TRAINING. IT pleasure of sitting and waiting. But it was not every one who had courage or power, like this cordial parson, thus to thwart the will and pleasure of Colonel , so that his name became a terror in the district. His death, caused by apoplexy — mistaken for a drunken fit by his pot-companion? — was sudden and awful ; and after his death were circulated the usual stories ; such as, that he really was not dead, but had allowed a figure to be buried, by way of escape from his creditors ; that ' he walked,' and the like. It is certain that the guests of my father and mother who visited them at Deane Cottage believed themselves to have been disturbed there by some unaccountable noises, others by apparitions; and the bad reputation which Colonel ■ left behind him in some sort communicated itself to every residence belong- ing to him. Golborne Park was also reputed to be the scene of supernatural visitations ; and in that house too, the members of my father's family conceived themselves to have witnessed unearthly appearances. But those who are apt to note ghostly wonders, will find them everywhere; and as expe- rience has made me familiar with the active imaginations of the race to which I belong, I cannot believe that any of the tales which I heard from an early age, told and re-told with a minuteness of circumstance, which increased in precision and polish as time went on, are more to be relied on than the majority of their fascinating family. I recur to them, not as incidents which I can warrant as having happened, but merely because their influence gave a breath and a tincture to the atmosphere in which we were born and brought up. I cannot recollect that we ever experienced any practical or active suffering from the fear of ghosts, as children ; but I, for one, certainly believed in their existence as a child, in imitation of, and reliance on, the elder people who were above and about me. " My mother was married the day when she came of age 12 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. — more unformed in character, I imagine, than most girls who have reached the age of twenty-one and entered mar- ried life. With her, this want of form merely implied want of courage, not want of affection, not want of gifts, many and various, not want of desire to do what was right. Courage my father was not able to give her. Perhaps they did not live long enough together for him to perceive its absence ; perhaps the gentleness may have been a charac- teristic which would have endeared her to him had he thought upon it. But, indeed, so far as I can learn or recol- lect, he had been as little trained as she was ; and both he and she were subject to such influences of a sectarian posi- tion as would defy or neutralize any training whatsoever, supposing the children subjected to them were by nature endowed with genius. I suspect that they loved each other dearly, and thought little of the future — nothing that the four children whom they brought into the world were to come after them, and however like them, must be ' other, though the same.' And they married, as I have said, to live in a retired part of Lancashire, and early to make acquaintance with difficulties of fortune. My mother inherited some money from her north-country ancestors, but willingly and trustingly (without compulsion or question) allowed a portion of this to be absorbed in my father's busi- ness, which was that of an iron-worker, at Ashton-in-Mack- erfield, and which, from the time of his marriage, became less and less profitable. Her married life was a happy one, but it was largely so because she never inquired nor looked forward. She had her materials for enjoyment within her- self and in the love of those close to her. She inherited frorn the North her simple tastes and economical habits, and probably had less of show, and luxury, and enjoyment out of the money which came to her by inheritance, and CHILDISH RE CQLLE C TIONS. \ 3 lived to see it do less good, than most women, young, beau- tiful, and gifted, who have ever inherited money. " My sister was born at Deane Cottage ; my eldest brother at Penswick House — a house of little more preten- sion, which stood by the side of a by-road, and belonged to a family of Catholics. My brother John and, lastly, myself were born at Blackley Hurst. This was a dilapidated country-seat, near Billinge, in Lancashire, one of those which belonged to the Catholic family of the Gerards, and which was let to my father at a reduced rent. The country thereabouts, in those days thinly sprinkled with inhabitants, is open and varied, affording some wide prospects, and diversified by a range of hills, some of which are crowned with beacons so marked in form as to make on a child's mind that impression at once real, but visionary, which never afterwards fades out of it. It is upwards of half a century since I have set eyes on any corner of that district^ which I left when little more than an infant. Yet it has grown into my heart, and rises before me as I write, as a pleasant, breezy landscape or landscapes. " If my own recollections go back to a very early date in life, it is probably because my powers of observation were prematurely sharpened by being either left to myself or living with grown people. As boys from childhood, my two brothers ' cronied ' together, leaving the youngest, weakest, and ugliest as the odd one ; and my sister early became my mother's companion. I have thus, from infancy, been alone as regards family confidence or comradeship ; and the sub- sequent periods of life at which this condition of solitude has been partly counteracted have been few and far between. My father was fond of me, however, as of a sort of Benjami?i, since he used to take me on his knee while he quoted that line from Chaucer : ' And spare my Gamelyn, because he's young.' 14 REMINISCENCES OF CIIORLEY. I think, too, he must have discerned something of the adven- turer in my composition ; for I recollect his saying, when I was a small child, that ' if I were turned loose in the streets of London, he should have no fear of my losing my way.' " We were all quaint children : I suppose, from our cir- cumstances of fortune and position. We invented names, and plays, and novels (my sister was a famous inventor, and much in request), and made a children's life in that old house, with its neglected shrubberies, far different from the lives of children who go to school or have playfellows, or belong to people who are rich and who are not original. "We had names and nomenclatures of our own; the filaments that straggled from the twigs of an old honey- suckle, that, with aid of a tall white rose-tree, clambered half-way up a larch at the spot where a path down to the garden turned off from the grass-plot in front of the house, were 'Hercules' back,' and so on. I cannot recollect either learning to read or to write ; but a letter exists written by me before I was three years and a half old ; and before that time, I had heard and caught up verses, since I distinctly recollect weeping at an elegy called ' The Nun' (by whom I do not remember), which began : ' With each perfection dawning in her mind, All Beauty's treasure opening on her cheek/ and at a verse in ' Jemmy Dawson : ' ' O then, her mourning-coach was called, The sledge moved slowly on before ; Though borne in a triumphal car, She had not loved her favorite more ! ' " I have since never endured the sorrow of parting and bereavement (and few of my age have endured that sorrow much oftener) without this stanza rising up to my mind CHILDISH RE COLLE C TTOXS. 15 unbidden. Such infant impressions, made on fancy and feeling are indelible. I have no remembrance of reading any child's book till at a much later period, nor of having been set to read at any task. Some teaching there was, but it could not have been heavy or steadily enforced ; but dreams, and notions, and humors had already grown into my mind untaught, never to be dislodged thence. " When I was somewhere about four years old, my father removed from Blackley Hurst to Smithy Brook, a square, ugly, new house- by the side of the road betwixt Warrington and Wigan, near the latter town, with a square, ugly new gar- den. Matters were going ill with the lock-making business; and the forlorn country-seat where I was born was tumbling down with damp and dry-rot ; but for us children the change was a change for the worse. The high road was mean and beaten — in no respect rural. We had squalid cottages close to us ; and from a more remote cluster of these, called Goose Green, came that child's first sorrow which is called a schoolmaster; by whom our reading, writing, and ciphering were to be perfected. He was an inefficient, civil old crea- ture — who spoke broad Lancashire, at which we mocked — ■ in no respect qualified to inspire any one with a love for learning, or a fear of himself. I think he must have taught me the rudiments of arithmetic, since I distinctly recollect the loathing I conceived of slate and pencil, and sitting over my sum with a mind wandering heaven knows where — beyond the reach or range, at all events, of any work which was to be done. But delights were to be got out of the slate ; it was an amusement to try to draw on it; and my early draw- ings took no more picturesque forms than recurring borders and arabesques, which were dignified by the name of 'belt- ages,' and in which the fancy for decoration (if I may not call it a love of art) manifested itself distinctly. " Among the other childish recollections of that time, were 1 6 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. preparations to be made against a gang of housebreakers, headed by a notorious man of the name of George Lyon, and the experiences of death in the decease of a neighbor's son by scarlet fever, and of an aged woman, Mrs. Bradshaw, who had lived on the opposite side of the lane to our house, and who had been good-natured to us when children. The last is printed into my mind, by recollecting how my mother was called in to mediate among the survivors, who were at dag- gers drawn, which should inherit * the silk gown,' the most precious among the effects of the deceased, who was, yet, no pauper. Then there were such graver events (little graver however, to a child) as the escape from Elba of Bonaparte — and, in those days, nine out of ten Dissenting men and women were Bonapartists — and the excitement produced in harassed war-worn England by the intelligence. It is a mistake to fancy that children take no part in such things, or that they do so as merely apeing the serious business of their elders. Country children, at least, are, or were, stirred by public events without fully understanding their entire import and bearing ; and I do not remember the day of my life at which I did not earnestly believe that I was a Liberal, and feel that indignation against 'the powers that be' which time has made less violent. " It was while we were living at Smithy Brook, that I rec- ollect first hearing music, and hearing it with that passion which, if it had been understood and provided for, might possibly have conducted me to some eminence in the art. My mother, as I have said, who possessed a good deal of the artist temperament, had struggled to learn to play on the pianoforte after she was a married woman, of course with small success ; for her fingers were stiff, and her lessons had been few, and her master, a country organist, was a bad one. Her only care, moreover, was to pick out Scotch, or Irish, or Welsh melodies, or the few songs which she had heard as CHILDISH RE CO LIE C TIONS. 17 fashionable during her honeymoon visit to London in 1800. So far as I can recollect, her three music-books contained two single morsels by composers of credit, Haydn's ' Mer- maid's Song,' and an arrangement of Handel's 'Water Music' The first she used to sing somehow with a sweet but undeveloped voice ; the latter was beyond her reach. And I hardly know why I should have delighted to open the book at that page if it had not been that the name 'Water Music ' may have suggested something rich and pompous. I cannot explain when or where I began to associate the printed symbols with the possible sounds of music. But long ere I could put my hand on a pianoforte, I could read the notes somehow, and somehow represent to myself that which they signified. " We removed, early in the year 18 16, from Smithy Brook to Green End, about three miles from St. Helens, in Lanca- shire. This had been a small, old-fashioned house to which a new portion, or wing, had been added, the whole making a pleasant, irregular residence. The garden was full of cherry- trees, and one had been trained over the window of the nursery or school- room. The sweep before the house was very rich in flowering shrubs of the commoner kinds — double- blossomed cherries, lilacs, locust-trees, laburnums, guelder- roses, syringas ; and the gate which looked towards Billinge Hill, and from which the house where I was born was distinctly visible, was overshadowed by a fine lime-tree, which, in summer, was full of fragrance, and, as Coleridge says, " musical with bees." The enjoyment of that peaceful view, and of those country things was felt at the time, and lives in my mind freshly now ; and the sight of one of the well-known shrubs in St. James's Park, or, even more, the scent, has again and again taken me off to those old days like a spell, when I have been bustling towards Temple Bar, with my head full of pain, my heart of care, and my pocket of 1 8 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. proofs. Even now, while I but write about the place, I am stopped, by a sort of sadness, to ask if such sadness be real, or merely that sentimentality which certain persons never outgrow. The picture, however, is clear, and abounding in shade and blossom at all events. And Green End seems to me now the happiest place of residence I ever inhabited. From it we removed to Liverpool in the year 1819-20. I have never seen it since, nor since then sojourned in the country, save as a rare visitor. But I often think that it is town-birds who best relish and appreciate country sights, sounds, and things ; and know that with myself, at least — though I should not be believed on oath by any friend or acquaintance I have — it is a love ' that fadeth not away.' The great and intimate pleasure which landscape painting has always given me, the satisfaction I find in the wonderful new photographs of bare trees which I have lived to see brought to such perfection, date back, I believe, to those three years betwixt the seventh and tenth of my life. "We had hardly been settled in this pleasant place many weeks before the 15th of April, 18 16, arrived. On that day my father, who was used to ride away to his lock-making business, took leave of my mother as usual, and came home no more, since he fell dead from the seat before his counting- house desk. Times had been growing worse with him for some years, and this it may have been which had caused the haggard look and the loss of bulk, remarked after his death ; or they may have been sign's of the organic heart-disease which took him from us. The dismay, terror, and confusion of those clays is like a thing of last week; and every minute detail comes back to me as. I begin to think over the painful scene. ' My mother was like some timid creature broken to pieces by the shock of an earthquake, unable to do much more than weep, and submit, and endure. On hearing the news of her husband's sudden illness (for thus was the CHILDISH RECOLLECTIONS. l 9 catastrophe broken to her), she had set off from Green End, on foot, to get to him ; but she was met in the road, at the distance of a mile or two from the house, by kind friends who were hastening to her. Then it was necessary to bring relatives together, and my mother's and my father's had not much cordiality one for the other ; and then there was the day of the funeral, and the dinner after the funeral. We were within the pale of old country and Dissenting customs. It was necessary that a dinner should be given after the funeral, though it was agreed on both sides of the house that ruin was in it. And, by the usages of the sect to which my parents nominally belonged, females as well as males attended the dead to their last home. My father's is in the graveyard of a small meeting-house belonging to the Society of Friends at Penketh, not far from Warrington, at the edge of a patch of common-land ; a small, still resting-place, in which the separate tenements were distinguished only by turfed mounds. Time has softened the usages of the Society of Friends in this respect. They have now tombstones in their graveyards, simply inscribed with name, age, and date of decease." CHAPTER II. Autobiography — Continued. g\N my father's death, my mother's half-brother, John V^/ Rutter, of Liverpool, stood betwixt herself and want. There was no money on the other side of the house which could have availed for our assistance. There was no male relative to interpose ; and I think there was not any extreme tenderness for our young and timid mother, than whom I have known no being less qualified to cope with the practical difficulties of life. We remained at Green End betwixt three and four years, which seem to me now double that length of time ; perhaps because they were years of waken- ing — years, too, of some suffering ; and then, for the first time, I began to feel the yearnings for companionship which beset one of an affectionate nature, a fanciful imagination, and a social humor, placed by circumstances in a solitary position. On her widowhood, my mother possessed herself of my sister as her chosen companion, and my two elder brothers, as I have said, ' cronied' together. I was the smallest, the worst-looking, the most nervous ; not a coward, though reported such, because of great physical excitability ; totally inexpert with my hands and at all the manly games in which boys delight ; therefore mocked at, and left alone, without any excessive persecution, but without any influence to encourage, assist, or befriend me. " During a part of our stay at Green End, we had private tutors, such as they were. One, a man of humble origin, CHILDISH RE CO LIE C TIONS. 2 1 who had aspired to ordination in the Church, and filled up the interval till he could be appointed to a Yorkshire curacy by teaching us some Latin. Another, a curiosity in the shape of a crack-brained Irish Methodist, who used to teach us or not, as pleased him ; to fly into rages, and to start away into eccentric readings of books totally beyond our years and capacity : a being, in short, as utterly unfit to restrain four singular and solitary children as any creature that could have been fished up from the depths of Ireland or the bottoms of Methodism. The teaching came to nought ; the connection could not last ; and after a vain trial or two more to procure for us something more orderly and customary in the way of private education, we three boys were put to a not bad day-school at St. Helens, where we were 'brought on,' as the school-phrase is, in the classi- cal languages, and in writing and arithmetic, and, I think, were well considered by the masters. " But from first to last, to me all schooling was intoler- able. I was hopelessly idle — perhaps because, in some things, I was precociously quick, having been started in the world with a memory of no common compass and strength, and with that sort of divi?ii?tg nature which is one of the elements of the artist temperament. Had this been under- stood, and had this been worked towards in forming charac- ter and in developing such talents as God gave me, my life might have yielded special results, in place of the universal indications which are all it ever will yield. But this was not seen, not apprehended, perhaps could not be ; and I had then, as now, a physically feeble temperament, in which irritability and languor were oddly mixed up. This may have saved me from desperate outbreaks to get at a life I liked, which I might else have ventured. Such resisting power as I had was merely sufficient to prevent my learning anything that I did not covet to learn, completely or 22 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. correctly. Had I been apprenticed to a musician, or to a draftsman, or to an architect, I fancy I might have become distinguished. As it was, Latin and Greek did me small good j and as I had little company to my liking (though, let me again remember, little unkindness), the one weakest gift which belonged to the others — a certain fantasy and taste for numbers — must needs push itself forward, since no stronger member of its family had room or play ; and I began, almost as soon as I could begin to write, to divert myself, and to excite attention among injudicious folk, by scribbling. " Probably no English children of the next generation will ever be made to understand how intense is the value, and how lasting the impression, of the things that speak to the mind of a child in my plight, as pleasures and revela- tions. A character in those days, whom I regarded with extreme curiosity and interest, was an 6#-Catholic priest. He had left the Jesuits' College at Douai, had embraced Protestantism, had made his escape from France during the troubles of the first Revolution, and was accustomed to re- count the breathless perils of his escape, in a sort of a set narration, which he was asked to deliver at the little tea- drinkings and gatherings round about. Of this described adventure, which he told in a longer or a shorter version, I could now — forty years later — repeat portions, so vividly is it painted on my recollection. " Our neighbors at Green End, though kindly, were common place enough : a group of families, with habits, ways, and pleasures such as those which Mrs. Gaskell has described in her inimitable " Cranford." There was -the great house, accessible from ours by a shady little lane, banked with wood-sorrel, up which I think I see my mother walking dressed for dinner, bare-headed, under a parasol, on a hot summer afternoon. There was the parsonage with GREEN END. 23 its clergyman, a good,, warm-hearted, unselfish creature, as kind to us as if we had not been Dissenters (to him) of a most unintelligible pattern. There was a family of sisters, who had among them some beauty, a little music, universal skill in needlework, and one who had once been to London. And there was a touchy lady, looked down upon because her origin was supposed not to have been sufficiently choice. It seems to me, on looking back, as if all these people were reasonably happy, in spite of their little humors and ambi- tions. Vicissitudes, however, broke out among them, even before we quitted that corner of Lancashire • and though Green End was a pleasant home, it was no resting-place for a widow with three odd boys to educate and start in life. " Our removal from Green End was decided by the violent illness of my Liverpool uncle, who well-nigh died of a typhus fever. That illness decided the current of my life, though little could any one guess it at the time. A relation or family connection of his, Mrs. Rathbone, of Green Bank, daughter of Richard Reynolds, of Bristol, the munificent Quaker philanthropist, insisted, according to her wont, on his being nursed there during his convalescence ; insisted on my mother (who had been summoned from us to be his head-nurse) accompanying him ; and, with delicate and con- siderate kindness, would have us children all four join her there at her country-house, within four miles of Liverpool. To myself, that visit was the spark which falls on tinder. You may put it out, but not till it has burnt a hole. " Hannah Mary Rathbone was a noble and fascinating woman ; the most faithful of wives, the most devoted of mothers, the most beneficent of friends. In 1819, when I stayed at Green Bank, she was in the last ripeness of her maturity, looking older than her years, but as beautiful as any picture which can be offered by freshest youth. Though she was nominally a member of the Society of Friends, she 24 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLE Y. never conformed to its uniform. Her profuse white hair, which had been white from an early age, was cut straight like a man's, to lie simply on her forehead. Above this was her spotless cap of white net, rescued from meagreness by a quilled border and a sort of scarf of the same material round it — a head-dress as picturesque, without being queer, as if its wearer had studied for years how to arrange it. Her gown was always a dark silk, with a quantity of delicate muslin to swathe the throat, and a shawl, which covered the stoop of her short figure — the shawl never gay, though mostly rich. But the face was simply one of the most beautiful faces (without regularity) that I have ever seen ; beautiful in spite of its being slightly underhung ; the eyes were so deep, brilliant, and tender • the tint was so fresh, the expression was so noble and so affectionate ; and the voice matched the face — so low it was, so kind, so cordial, and (to come back to my point) as I fancied, so irresistibly intimate, which means appreciating. The welcome of that elderly woman to the awkward, scared, nervous child who entered her house, is to me one of the recollections which mark a life, as having decided its aims, by encouraging its sympa- thies. " She had been throughout her life the admired friend and counsellor of many distinguished men, all belonging to the liberal school of ideas and philosophies, which were wakened, especially in the world of Dissenters, by the first French Revolution. One of so fearless a brain, and so ten- derly religious a heart, and so pure a moral sense as she I have never known. Her moral courage was indomitable; her manners shy, gentle, and caressing. ' " Since that time, I have been in many luxurious houses; but anything like the delicious and elegant comfort of Green Bank during her reign I have never known — plenty without coarseness ; exquisiteness without that super-delicacy which VISIT A T GREEN BANK. 25 oppresses by its extravagance. It was a house to which the sick went to be nursed, and the benevolent to have their plans carried out. It was anything but a hide-bound or Puritanical house ; for the library was copious, and novels and poems were read aloud in the parlors, and such men as William Roscoe, Robert Owen, Sylvester of Derby, Combe of Edinburgh, came and went. There was a capital garden; there was a double verandah — and if I live to see all the glories of sun, moon, and seven stars, I shall never see that verandah equalled ; and there was a pianoforte — not like my mother's pianoforte at Green End (which Dickens must have known, else he could never have described Miss Tox's instrument, with the wreath of sweet peas round its maker's name, in " Dombey ") — kept under lock and key. There were water and a boat ; — but more, there was a touch of the true fire from Heaven in the owner of all these delights which spoke to me in a way hardly to be described, never to be forgotten. In the case of some people, even from child- hood upwards, one judges ; with others, one hopes ; with others, one believes ; with others, one learns ; with a few, one knows ; and those few, as I have said, decide one's life. " How that great, and good, and gentle woman ruled her family — having been left a widow at middle age — how toned them to a standard such as few even try to reach, many, very many, living know as well as I. Few have influenced so many by their affections, by their reason, by their under- standing, so honorably as that retiring, delicate woman; and it is a pleasure (not without tears in it) to me to think that when we are all no more, some one, untouched by family partiality or tradition, shall say this much by way of laying a leaf on a modest, but a very holy, grave. " The manner in which I played and picked out tunes on that small square pianoforte at Green Bank, and began to read music long ere I could name a note, connecting the 26 REMINISCENCES OF CUORLE Y. ideas of sound and symbol, strikes me now — who have since seen much of the beginnings of musicians — as arguing pro- pensity for the art above the average. On the other side of the lane, close to Green Bank, was another house, inhabited by a lady with five daughters. One of these was a pianist ; and she had Handel's Overtures bound in a book — pianoforte arrangements, I think, by Mazzinghi — and my quick precocity as to music excited her interest. She was then a full-grown young lady, while I was only little more than a child, but was good-natured enough to send for me and to play these to me. Overtures to * Acis,' ' Alcina,' * Atalanta' — above all, the royal ' Occasional Overture' (and royal it is, with its prelude, and its fanfares, and its march). Her playing was not good, and the greatness of Handel was in no wise represented by the arrangement ; and yet some- how, even from those attempts at transcripts I derived a pleasure, an impression of power, and a feeling as if something magnificent and true had been shown me — the same impression which a child, however incapable of reasoning, may derive from Milton's noble versifica- tion, or from Shakespeare's divine insights into nature — something ignorant, incomplete— irresistible. By such curious, broken steps, I have often thought many of the English destined really to cultivate art or letters must walk upwards. Do academies suit our rude, independent natures, our incomplete sympathies — at least in Art ? But the kindness of this lady did not fall on altogether ungrate- ful soil. It could not make a musician of me, for ' the stars' were too inexorably opposed to it ; but it helped to awaken in me a desire, which has never wholly died out, in my turn to show kindness to those having tastes and ten- dencies without means of indulging them. " It was at Green Bank, too, that I saw authors and poets for the first time. Roscoe had long been the attached REMOVAL TO LIVERPOOL. 2/ and intimate friend of Mrs. Rathbone ; more so than ever, as far as her constant good offices could prove it, after the failure of the Liverpool Bank, in which he had become interested. It was the period when Elizabeth Fry's notable efforts to amend prison discipline were exciting men's attention. He was about some work on the subject, and used perpet- ually to come and go, with plans and papers, and letters and reports, for comparison and consultation. It was wonderful to observe the eagerness with which those two enthusiastic people went heart, soul, temper, and passion into the matter, under the certainty of large and generous results. " Campbell, too, was down at Liverpool that winter, giving his lectures on poetry at the Royal Institution. I heard much of him, and I could then have repeated by heart the best part of ' O'Connor's Child ; ' but I never then saw him. I heard, too, of other Scottish celebrities — a good deal of the Dugald Stewarts, with whom Mrs. Rathbone had intercourse. It was another air I was breathing to any that I had ever breathed before. After having breathed it, I was never again the same creature that I had been. To those who enjoy the advantages now so largely multiplied and so widely diffused, the remembrance of ' these inklings of education' may seem puerile, perhaps caricatured ; but as I belong to the class of those for whom intercourse and occu- pation have always done more than lonely study, in whom production has quickened thought, rather than thought sug- gested production — at once desultory and determined, indolent and feverishly active — it may be still curious to some of like temperament, under better dispensations, to be told how were certain veins opened and certain pursuits set a-going. " We removed to Liverpool in the year 1819, and we three boys were placed at the school of the Royal Institu- tion, then headed by the Rev. John Monk, an urbane, 28 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. good-natured man, and a fair scholar ; but where little, virtually, was taught save Latin and Greek — an odd training for boys among whom ninety out of the hundred were to make their way in commercial life ; but such was the fashion of the time. By some favor, I was admitted a year or so ere I ought to have been. No favor did it prove to me, so far as happiness was concerned ; for, being the smallest, most nervous creature in the place, inexpert at every game, and shabbily dressed, being also credited with some quick- ness, I was a good deal plagued and rudely treated by the elder boys, not so much disliked as cruelly teazed, and in great difficulties as to the finding a playmate or a comrade. To this day of writing, I wake up from a sort of nightmare dream that I am going to school, and have not my exercise ready. There was a second master there, a Rev. Mr. Heathcote, who, I think, liked me. I know I liked to learn from him, because he once set me on a stool in the middle of the school, to read aloud a theme which had pleased him — the only time such a distinction was paid a scholar in his room during my stay there. This was a hard business to get through, and made me no more popular, of course, than I had been among my schoolfellows. I learned Greek with greater relish than Latin. The grandeur of the older lan- guage and of its poetry excited me, as compared with the smoother beauty of the tongue in which Cicero and Virgil wrote. To this day, too, I recollect the pleasure I found (when I was not idle) in Herodotus and in Euripides, whose ' Hecuba' I translated from beginning to end, for my own pleasure. At the school of the Royal Institution, when I first went there, corporeal punishment was forbidden. Tasks to be got by heart were a light punishment to me, whose memory was then singularly alert and retentive. And, in truth, I was learning things not fit for me, nor I for them ; and feeling, even then (for so I had been told) that the end EARLY MUSICAL PROF ENSITIES. 2 g of what I was learning was to be a desk in an American merchant's counting-house, I was, in every sense of the word — to myself, to my masters, to my school-fellows, and at home — a failure: as such, too much taken to task, not enough coerced, and groping all the while towards a world in which there were neither Greek plays nor Latin orators, still less counting-house desks and ledgers. It was a time of weariness, and vain longing, and disapprobation, for which no one concerned was wholly to blame. With the habits, the traditions, and the views of ail around me, there was no possibility of my having had the education for the art I have always loved the best. In those days, and in that place, a musician was hardly a man. " But propensity, like murder, 'will out,' let the barriers be ever so intricate or unfriendly. There was a small music- shop on our way to school ; there was an organ- building factory on another way back from it. By this time I had been allowed a certain access to the pianoforte at home, pertina- city having prevailed ; and the readiness with which I picked out and picked up tunes was produced to such visitors as were not too severely bound to Quakerism to reject music. My uncle, too, had taken at one time an active part in the administration of the Blind Asylum, the musical pupils of which sang twice in the week — always sacred music— accom- panied by an organ. The selection of this was not bad, since fragments of Haydn, Mozart, Handel, and Pergolesi were included in it, as well as anthems by our later cathedral writers ; and countless hymns. But that Blind School was my place of delight, and many and many a time have I lagged and loitered on my way to my school, to creep in there and hear something — certain, that whatever my excuse, I should be punished for my truancy. " How I got into the music-shop I have not the most remote idea ; but it belonged to good-natured people ; and 30 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLE V. the daughter of the house had been trained as a mistress of the pianoforte, and allowed me to hear her play sometimes — the first professionally-trained playing I had heard. In those days, ' Der Freischiitz' was new, and Kalkbrenner in the ascendant as a composer ; and his variations on the ' Hunting Chorus ' (where are they now ?) were the things which Miss Walker had to get up, in order to teach her pupils. Long, too, ere I could have played them, I put together and wrote down a set of quadrille-tunes, which I had absolutely the assurance to present to these patient folk, with the hope of getting published. Their patience seems to me wonderful now. " But I had more help in another quarter, strange to say, for which I was indebted to my uncle the physician, who despised music as a profession to such a point that I verily think he would rather have seen me a shop-boy than a second Mozart ! He was much beloved and trusted by his patients; and no wonder, for he was as unselfish as he was sedulous. I could recall a hundred stories of his delicacy and disinter- estedness : of his returning money when he considered him- self over-feed ; of his refusing it from patients in narrow circumstances. Hence, the invalids who were in his hands for any length of time grew, most of them, to be his attached and grateful personal friends ; and some showed their attachment and gratitude in paying attention to his younger widowed sister and her four queer children. " Among these was a woman of some wealth, who had married an Irish officier (of the old Bath or fortune-hunting species) some years younger than herself. They had four children, three of whom became insane, and died early ; and in the education of their daughter, they had called in a governess from London. She was Italian, or rather Nizzard, by birth, belonging to Mentone in Sardinia ; and her father, she used to say, had been secretary to M. de Calonne, the EARLY ADMIRATION FOR THE ORGAN. 31 well-known French minister. How this man, during the emigration consequent on the Terror in Paris, could have obliged Georgiana, the brilliant Whig Duchess of Devonshire, it would be hard to tell. I have surmised (but it is mere surmise) that he might have been somehow convenient to her in the gambling transactions by which, it has been said, she suffered so much ; but certain it is, the political beauty paid her debts to the man by giving his daughter a first-class education, so as to fit her for earning her livelihood as a governess ; and she was thereby installed in a Liverpool household. A woman with blue eyes, very black hair, the whitest skin I ever saw, and rather deaf; with a suspicious, self-defensive temper, but many real affections and sterling qualities, and more accomplishments, of a certain sort, than I had till then fallen in with. She was a true and solid piano- forte player, and (again good-natured) was willing to play for me sonatas by Dussek and Clementi, an arrangement of Che- rubini's Overture to 'Lodoiska,' and Beethoven's Andante in F. for the pianoforte : so many introductions into Faery land. " In those days, I would have run miles through the rain to look at the outside of an organ. While we were living at St. Helens, I had been taken to church once 6r twice, and had heard what manner of rich and pompous sounds those noble instruments can give forth. Even such comfort and decoration as the church at St. Helens showed — seen by way of a change and a rarity — had early impressed me. To this day I never see an organ-front without that sort of expectation with which one gets near a mountain-top from which the view is known to be wide, or opens a green -house door to get a feast of color and odor. " It seems curious, that many persons should have agreed to mistake the love of color for a frivolous passion for finery, and not have recognised that the eye has its satisfactions as complete as those that the ear derives from music or from 32 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. sweet verse. All my earlier life I sat under the reproach of personal coxcombry and vanity, because I was born with a love of gay and harmonious tints, and of rich textures, and because i have loved to wear them, for their sakes — not for mine. I cannot recollect the period or the place at which I ever for one instant troubled my mind with the ridiculous notion of fascinating others by my fine clothes, or of passing off plain and irregular features by showy dressing. It has been my fortune, in common with other persons whose occu- pation makes them obnoxious, to receive much anonymous abuse, and to receive many of those singular counsels which careless people, not thinking themselves ill-natured, have as singular a pleasure in repeating, to see how the listener 1 takes them.' I can truly say, that I never, from my boy- hood upwards, felt in the slightest degree ruffled or discon- certed by what seems to vex other less sensitive people than myself. Yet the ruling passion for blue, and rose-color, and yellow, worn about me and upon me, broke out from the hour when I had a sixpence to call my own ; and I still laugh, as I laughed then, at the ridicule showered upon me by my mates in Cropper, Benson and Co.'s office, when a half-starved tailor, whom I had commissioned to scour Liver- pool for me in search of a cherry-colored silk waistcoat, presented himself at the cash-keeper's counter of that busy establishment with a pattern for Mr. Chorley, which he hoped ' would do, at last.' " So, too, in my fancies for drawing, — and I had till 1 was a grown man some fancy but no learning ; — it was the arabesque — the rich and decorative composition — in which I delighted ; the high finish of miniature-painting, the most crimson sunsets of landscape. There may have been some- thing of very low artistic feeling, or instinct, or sensuality in all this — a something linked with tastes and tendencies for another art which were of higher quality. I do not believe EARL Y PASSION FOR COLOR. 03 i-n a gift for poetry without some developed or undeveloped capacity for painting, music, or vice versa. A musician I should have been ; and since the technical training and the opportunities of self-culture were denied me by circumstance, secondary talents grouped around the central one, which were more easily indulged and developed, broke out as it were, to satisfy a want which must find some relief. Thus I drew (I ought to say, colored) patiently for hours upon hours ; and the slowest, most elaborate, most tedious works. I — who was the idlest of boys at my books, the most restless of crea- tures, living or dead, in what is thought improving company — have got up in the middle of the night, to see whether I had spoiled the yesterday's work. I rose habitually for some years (always a reluctant riser) with daylight, that I might pursue my favorite occupation for some hours before I betook myself to the abominable school or the detestable counting-house ; and there were long extant, acres, I may say, of ill-devised, ill-considered essays at color, in fruit, flower, landscape pieces, and sometimes heads in miniature, which might have told those in care of me that I had industry and labor to bestow, and earnest diligence under command and control, in the objects and pursuits which really interested me. But who thinks of these things with regard to children except those who themselves have some sympathy with the artist-temperament ? My mother possessed it, but did not know it. There were glimpses of it, too, in my father's family. But those were days when, in the provinces of Eng- land, to get recognition or respect for tastes or fancies of the kind I speak of, required more than ordinary courage and foresight on the part of parents and guardians. Mine, though gifted, were timid, narrowed in fortunes, and full of the Non- conformist horror of Art, as a calling, which existed so strangely among those who were quick enough to relish art as an amusement. 34 REMINISCENCES OF CHORIEY. "It seems to me now, in putting together all these reve- lations, that had my elders understood the signs before them, and apprenticed me to a musical career, I might have done England an artist's service. But I hardly know the middle- class family in the provinces forty years ago (save, perhaps, one so much before its age, as that of the Taylors of Nor- wich), where such a disposition of a boy's life would not then have been considered as a degradation. How the good people of those days resigned themselves to going to theatres and music-meetings, I have never been able to understand, even on the most comprehensive theory of inconsistency. I know that my wings were perpetually breaking against the cage, and that unable to get out, as I wished, I had to make other outlets for humor, or taste, or talent which would ?iot conform to the life chalked out for me. I wanted pleasure, sympathy, scope for the fancy ; and I loved and looked up to people, in proportion as they could minister these to me. No creature in prison was ever more resolute than I was to get out. But long and weary was the time ere extrication came ; and when it did come, it was only, as it were, along a by-road." CHAPTER III. Enters a Merchant's Office in Liverpool. — Distasteful Employment. — 'Literary and Artistic Tastes. — Intimacy with Mr. Rathbone, and its influence on his life. — Early efforts in Literature. — Society in Liverpool. — Mrs. Hemans. — American merchant-captains and their wives. — Cultivation of Music and critical taste. — Introduction to " Athenaeum." — Opening of Liverpool and Manchester Railway. — Letter to Mr. Dilke. — Contributions to " Athenaeum." — Admitted to Staff of that Journal. — Arrival in London. — Literary Criticism. — Letter to a Friend in Liverpool. — Letter from Mr. Dilke. THE unmistakeable indications in young Chorley's temperament and habits of an artistic bias which should have determined his career, were — perhaps inevitably — wholly disregarded by his family ; and at an early age, he was taken from school, and assigned to a clerkship in the office of Messrs. Cropper, Benson and Co., a prosperous firm of American merchants in Liverpool. How long he remained there does not appear ; but, the occupation not being to his liking, he was transferred to a seat in the office of Messrs. Woodhouse, Sicilian wine-growers. The result was the same. An employment more thoroughly distasteful to him than the checking of invoices and casting up of ledgers could scarcely have been chosen ; and he appears to have performed his duties quite perfunct- orily, without any interest but the hope of escape into a more congenial atmosphere. To shorten the hours of official drudgery as much as possible, and secure 36 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. every available opportunity of indulging his love of Art, especially music, of literature, and society, was his constant and increasingly eager aim. In the cul- ture and gratification of these tastes he was warmly encouraged by the sympathy and assisted by the liberality of Mr. Benson Rathbone, the son of the lady whose early kindness he has affectionately re- corded. The companionship of a man so much older than himself, of maturer mind and ampler means, was invaluable to Chorley at this crisis of his life. His visits to Swansea and Geldeston — where Mr. Rath- bone successively resided, and gave his young friend opportunities of hearing and practising music — were seasons of rare enchantment to him. It is probable, too, that his introduction to the Italian Opera in Lon- don was made under the same auspices. The cost of a journey thither from Liverpool was far too great for him to have undertaken it unassisted ; and it seems likely that the visits which he speaks of having paid there before 1834, were in Mr. Rathbone's company. A grateful remembrance of this gentleman's timely sympathy remained with Chorley to the close of his life; and the shadow cast over his brightening pros- pects by his friend's premature death, a few years later, was not lightly lifted. The period of their friendship, between 1827 and 1834, was that of Chor- ley's first literary efforts. Sketches of character and manners drawn from his observation of Liverpool life; tales, lyrics and hymns; a dramatic poem, of which Stradella was the hero ; and sundry criticisms on music — of which more will presently be said — were the fruit of such moments as could be snatched SOCIETY IN LIVERPOOL. 37 from the desk. A few of these productions appeared in the " Winter's Wreath," the ''Sacred Offering," and other of the annual collections of verse and prose then popular (to which his mother and sister, and both his brothers, were also contributors) ; and a larger number in the minor serials; seme of his songs, also, being set to music. Apart from its association with his detested drudg- ery, a great seaport like Liverpool — teeming with various and everchanging forms of activity, the residence of merchant princes, and the temporary abode of strangers attracted thither by diverse motives from all parts of the globe — was not an ungenial soil for the development of such tastes and ambitions as his. The circle of society in which he mixed was more than ordinarily cultivated, and frequently received additions which gave it fresh color and interest. One of these was Mrs. Hemans, who resided in the neighborhood of Liverpool for some years, and whose poetic prestige and personal influence inspired Chorley with a rever- ence of which the traces are apparent, not only in the imitative manner of his early verses, but in a pervad- ing want of manliness in the fibre of his thought, which the stern training of his after-experience was needful to supply. Another and very different addition to his social circle, but scarcely less welcome from the stimulus it afforded to his love of character, was the succession of American merchant-captains who were frequent guests at the tables to which he was invited. Of this type of visitors he has left the following pleasant reminiscences : — 38 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. " I think of them as a fine, hearty, wholesome race of seafaring men ; in general breeding and intelligence superior to anything analogous of home-growth which Liverpool could have produced. They brought an air, sometimes a gale, of freshness into a society which, in those days, was restricted, and, therefore, given up to struggles and demarcations of petty class insolence, happily now over for ever. They had strange sea-stories to tell — sometimes with a rich allowance of braggadocio — sometimes, in the abundance of that restless- ness which is so marking a feature in the national character. They brought over their wives to have a good time of it, by way of a frolic ; and as a class, jolly, hearty, and original these wives were — fond of display — fond of indulgence — strange in their speech ; but in no case that I can recollect unwomanly, or breaking those innate laws of good breeding which do not depend on orthodox speech or minute subservience to any code of ceremonies. " One of these cheery beings especially lives in my recol- lection, who was deservedly made much of in Liverpool, and who passed many an evening by our fireside, which her presence brightened. She dressed richly. I see as clearly as if nearly half a century had not passed, a certain orange robe of Canton crape, and the gold chain across her fore- head, ornamented in the centre, as was the fashion then, by a feronniere. Those who have seen the sadly speaking portrait of Malibran will know what I mean. That was a mere jewel-drop, worn, as I have seen an orange-flower bud in Spain, so as just to hang beneath the parting of the hair. But, whereas other ladies indulged in blossoms or pendants, dear Mrs. had bethought herself of a small French watch, the hands of which went round, and which ticked in an excruciating manner." Most attractive to him of all the advantages of HIS FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF PASTA. 39 Liverpool life were the means which it afforded for the gratification of his thirst for music. The " first public music of any kind " which he heard was, as he notes in his journal, at the Liverpool Festival of 1827. This introduced him to Mozart's " Jupiter Symphony," from which, although " at that time far from being able to receive anything more than a vague impression of delight," he derived such an impression as " amounted to ecstasy." Here, too, he heard Pasta, of whom his critical estimate, as the earliest of a life- long series, may be worth quoting. " The first tones of her voice quite shocked me ; there was a coarse huskiness about them which made wild work with my preconceived ideas of nightingale sweetness and the other fantasies of an uneducated brain about singers ; but the song was ' Ombra Adorata,' * and though I have heard many good and inspired things since, her reading of that melody stands out distinct from any- thing I have ever heard ; the perfection of passion controlled by dignity, of high resolve sustained by higher hope. It has left an impression of majesty and first-rate talent which I cannot fancy any new pleasure will efface." The same journal recounts his first atten- dance at a stage representation, and hearing of Italian opera — the piece being Rossini's " II Turco in Italia," which was given by a company that visited Liverpool for a short season, with " Spagnoletti for leader ; Fan- ny Ay ton, prima donna ; Curioni, tenor ; Giubilei and De Begnis, serio and buffo basses ; '' A visit which was paid to Liverpool, in 1832, by Donizelli, then among the first of Italian tenors, further enlarged Chorley's * From the " Romeo " of Zingarelli. 40 REMINISCENCES OF CHORIE Y. experience both of operatic and sacred music ; and he dilates in his journal, with boyish enthusiasm, on the rapture with which he had listened. " I would go a mile to hear Donizelli sing his scales. It is the only voice I ever heard wherein extreme power existed without a shadow of strain or shout ; . . . and there is appertaining to and beyond these mere animal gifts, a soul, a nice delicacy of taste, a quiet sobriety in the choice of ornament, a regulated passion (how far stronger than the false frenzy of many artists ! ) which heightens the impression his voice produces to the extremest point of pleasure." During 1832 and 1833, a succession of musical and dramatic treats — hearings of Beethoven's " Fidelio," Rossini's "Otello," Mozart's " Nozze," Handel's "Is- rael " and " Messiah," Haydn's " Creation " and " 2nd Mass," Mozart's "Requiem" and " 12th Credo," and Spohr's " Last Judgment," — of Schroeder-Devrient, and Malibran — gave a fresh stimulus to Chorley's growing faculty of discernment. The accounts in his journal of each representation that he attended became less rhapsodical and more discriminative. He was evidently feeling his way to a definite vocation. The suggestion which led to his obtaining such an opportunity as he desired, Chorley owed to the elder Miss Jewsbury (afterwards Mrs, Fletcher), in her time a popular authoress, with whom he had become acquainted in Liverpool. She was an early contributor to the " Athenaeum," then rising in public estimation under the vigorous management of Charles Wentworth Dilke, as a formidable rival to the " Literary Gazette," which, under the sway of Jerdan, had long wielded LETTER TO MR. DILKE. 41 a stern despotism over current literature and art. At her instance it would seem that, in 'September 1830, Mr. Dilke applied to Chorley, as a young Liverpool penman, for an account of the ceremony that was to inaugurate the new railway between that town and Manchester. The accident which caused the death of the eminent statesman, Huskisson, imparted a tragic interest to an event which would otherwise have been solely memorable in the unemotional annals of Science, and Chorley felt that no worthy narrative of the occasion could omit to call attention to its two- fold significance. But he found himself unable to do justice to the subject in its scientific aspect, and was candid enough to say so. Under date of September 22nd, 1830, he thus wrote to Mr. Dilke: — "Dear Sir:— " I received your very obliging letter of the 18th and the * Athenseum ' for Sunday last upon Monday morning. I have delayed answering it till to-day, because I was anxious, if possible, to prove to you that I meant what I said when I offered you my services, and to have sent you such an article as you wished. But after one or two ineffectual efforts I be- came convinced anew, of what past experience might have taught me, that I am incapable of writing anything scientific, and that I could do little but extract from Encyclopaedias, etc. In fact, the trifle you receive with this (of which I beg your acceptance, though it is rather like giving a stone for a fish), may show you that I have lived more among the romance than the reality of literature. What I purposed to have sent you would have been a light sketch of the pro- ceedings of the day, with perhaps a grain of information among a mass of nonsense — ' a halfpenny worth of bread to 42 REMINISCENCES OF CHORIE Y. an intolerable quantity of sack.' It may seem ridiculous, and I fear disobliging, to have troubled you, and after all to be of no use ; but I have seen and laughed at so much grave folly perpetrated by those who have been unwise enough to forsake their own peculiar line, that I have made a kind of resolution never to put on the lion's skin, for fear lest my asses' ears should be too long to be hidden. If I can at any time serve you with lighter contributions of prose or verse, I shall be most happy ; or if you should at any time like to have any musical papers, I think I could under- take to promise you my best efforts, as I love the art dearly, and have spent much time in its cultivation. I ought to apologise for having intruded upon your time so long, but I was anxious that you should understand me thoroughly, in case you should be disposed to avail yourself of my services on any future occasion. In the meantime, I remain, " Your obedient servant, " Henry F. Chorley." " 14, St. Anne Street." Mr. Dilke appears to have appreciated this candor, and sent a favorable answer; whereupon Chorley for- warded several lyrics, and one or two musical criti- cisms, which were duly inserted. His earliest critical effort, according to his recollection, " was an account of the quaint Musical Festival in Dublin, when Paganini was compelled to mount on the case of the grand pianoforte, and exhibit his gaunt face and spec- tral proportions while he played." The acceptance of these contributions decided Chorley's career. Towards the close of 1833, by the intervention of a Quaker acquaintance, Mr. Pringle, the African traveller, he applied to Mr. Dilke for ad LETTER FROM MR. DILKE. 43 mission on the staff of the journal, expressing himself willing to accept a salary commencing at 80/. a year. The conditions of assent prescribed in Mr. Dilke's straightforward answer were severe enough to have daunted an ordinary aspirant. " I would consent to take my chance," he wrote, " of your being more or less useful to me, and would give you 50/. for six months' services. This would enable you to take up a position here, and at least to maintain you, according to your own estimate, while you waited on fortune, and further and better employment. In return, I should require you to live in my immediate neighborhood ; and to give me your assistance in any and every way I might suggest. It may, indeed, be presumed that I mean to shift from my shoulders to yours as much of the drudgery as possible, being heartily weary of it. I cannot say how much of your time I should require, because that would depend on your facility and despatch. I am, however, of opinion that at least one whole day a week would be at your disposal, and perhaps some hours of one or two other days. Nor would your occu- pation be always disagreeable ; but as much of it would be to rewrite papers — a wearisome business, as I know — I think it better to declare at once that it will be generally drudgery. n Chorley responded to this offer by accepting it "with pleasure and without hesitation." " I was resolved," he says in a fragment of autobio- graphy, " to be delivered from Liverpool, where no occupa- tion presented itself, save such as I detested, and the duties of which I fulfilled as imperfectly as possible. The remu- neration offered to a person so untried was naturally very 44 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. small. The idea, I suspect, was to entrust me with nothing of consequence or involving responsibility ; but I would have taken service on any terms to escape from the intolerable drudgery of a merchant's office. I concealed the conditions of my engagement from my family, aware that they had no con- fidence in my stability of purpose. It was believed by them that I should return home, after a time of failure, in debt. The parting, when it came, was less bitter to my kith and kin than to myself, because of this apprehension on their part. " I left Liverpool on the last day of the year 1833, going via Manchester, and thence outside a coach, which, it seems now inconceivable, was six-and-twenty hours on the road. The weather was of the very worst winter kind ; the horses could hardly make head against a storm of wind, which, as we passed through Derbyshire, blew over a worse-appointed stage-coach before us. It snowed heavily, and my hat was blown off. The bitter cold at dawn of that New Year's day is a thing never to be forgotten ; and when I arrived at my destination (Mr. Dilke having kindly invited me to his house till I could establish myself), I was numb, stupid, hardly able to speak, to think, or to move. I have been told, that early in the evening I was found fast asleep, having fallen out of the fire-side chair, where the most warm-hearted of hostesses had kindly placed me, with my head in the coal- scuttle. I feel — even at this distance of time — my state of intense and shabby misery, of ache, and pain, and exhaus- tion, when I woke. But it was something to begin a man's life in London, and during the early months of my probation (some of which were anything but light ones, involving the most; rigorous economy) I never, for an instant, repented the step I had taken, which even the most indulgent of my friends — to whose kindness and trust in me I was largely indebted — felt and feared was rash, one not improbably involving ruin for life. LETTER TO MRS. RATHBONE. 45 " Matters were not mended by my intense and awkward shyness. It was well that my employers, and a correspon- dent or two, had received a not unfavorable idea of. me from the few slight contributions to annuals and magazines which I had published. By those among whom I was thrown by chance — a coterie, not devoid of coterie self-conceit, and sharply intolerant — I was viewed with little favor ; and when it appeared that I was about to stand my ground, I was not kindly treated as an interloper." A letter which he wrote, three months after his arrival in London, to Mrs. Richard Rathbone, one of his oldest friends in Liverpool, sums up the general result of his experience thus far. " 5, Stafford Row, Pimlico, " April 15, 1834. " My dear Friend : — " I was much obliged by your kind note, which reached me on Monday along with the week's parcel. I should, indeed, have written long ago, but you judge only rightly in concluding my engagements many ; and were I not per- force thrown off my work by a man who is tuning my piano, I should not have had time to have answered yours before Saturday, that being my holiday, which, however, I have been too busy to claim for many a week. I am rather indis- posed to desk-work, as you may suppose ; and I thought you would hear of me by Mrs. R., to whom I write as my first friend in the family, save your mother, to whom only I do not write because she must have letters enough to read without mine. " It is a strange, confused, bustling life I am living, and were I much in society, I think I should go crazy ; but I do not go out much beyond j And what woman, in speaking of past error, is unable to represent herself as more sinned against than sinning ? I have heard, on the other had, some who professed an inti- mate knowledge of her private concerns and past adventures (which profession is often more common than correct), attack her with a bitterness which left her no excuse, no virtue, no single redeeming quality — representing her as a cold-blooded and unscrupulous adventuress, only fit to figure in some novel by a Defoe, which women are not to read. That this cannot have been true, every friend of hers will bear me out in asserting — and she kept her friends. The courage with which she clung to her attachments long after they brought her only shame and sorrow, spoke for the affectionate heart, which no luxury could spoil and no vicis- situde sour." " The wit of Count d'Orsay was more quaint than any- thing I have heard from Frenchmen (there are touches of like quality in Rabelais) — more airy than the brightest London wit of my time, those of Sydney Smith and Mr. Fonblanque not excepted. It was an artist's wit, capable of touching off a character by one trait told in a few odd words. The best examples of such esprit when written down, look pale and mechanical : something of the aroma dies on the lips of the speaker; but an anecdote or two may be tried, bringing up as they do the magnificent presence, and joyous, prosperous voice and charming temper of him to whom they belong. "When Sir Henry BJwer was sent on a diplomatic mis- sion to Constantinople, ' (Quelle betise, was the Count's ex- clamation, 'to send him there among those Turks, with their beards and their shawls — those big, handsome fellows — a little gray man like that ! They might as well have sent one whitebait down the Dardanelles to give the Turks an idea of English fish.' 88 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. " I have heard the Count tell, how, when he was in England for the first time (very young, very handsome, and not abashed), he was placed at some dinner-party next the late Lady Holland. That singular woman, who adroitly succeeded in ruling and retaining a distinguished circle, longer than either fascination or tyranny might singly have accomplished, chanced that day to be in one of her imperi- ous humors. She dropped her napkin ; the Count picked it up gallantly ; then her fan, then her fork, then her spoon, then her glass ; and as often her neighbor stooped and restored the lost article. At last, however, the patience of the youth gave way, and on her dropping her napkin again, he turned and called one of the footmen behind him. ' Put my convert on the floor,' said he. ' I will finish my dinner there ; it will be so much more convenient to my Lady Holland.' " There was every conceivable and inconceivable story current in London of the extravagance of the ' King of the French ' (as the Count d'Orsay was called among the sport- ing folk in the Vale of Aylesbury); but it was never told that he had been cradled, as it were, in an ignorance of the value of money, such as those will not believe possible who have been less indulged and less spoiled and who have been less pleasant to indulge and to spoil than he was. But extravagance is like collection as a passion. Once let it be owned to exist, and there will be found people to forgive it, and to feed it, and to find it with new objects. When an American gentleman, the gifted Mr. Charles Sumner, was in England, his popularity in society became, justly, so great and so general, that his friends began to devise what circle there was to show him which he had not yet seen, what great house that he had not yet visited. And so it was with Count d'Orsay. His grandmother, Madame Crawford, de- lighted in his beauty, and his sauciness, and his magnificent tastes. When he joined his regiment, she fitted him out DOWNFALL OF COUNT D'ORSA Y. 89 with a service of plate, which made the boy the laughing- stock of his comrades. Whether it was broken up into bits, or played at lansquenet, or sunk in a marsh, I cannot recol- lect ; but one or other catastrophe happened, I do know. He was spoiled during most of his life by every one whom he came near ; and to one like myself, endowed with many luxurious tastes, but whom the discipline of poverty had compelled prematurely to weigh and to count, it was a curi- ous sight to see, as I often did in the early days of our ac- quaintance, how he seemed to take it for granted that every- body had any conceivable quantity of five-pound notes. To this fancy the Lichfield, Beaufort, Chesterfield, Massey Stan- ley set, among whom he was conversant, ministered largely. He spent their money for them royally, and made them fancy they were inventing all manner of sumptuous and original ways of spending it. When the crash and the downfall came, and the Count owned himself beaten, ruined, ' done for at last ' (as the familiar phrase runs), he said, ' Well, at least, if I have nothing else, I will have the best umbrella that ever was." The wish was granted by a lady, who brought the immured man of pleasure in difficulties an um- brella from Paris, with a handle set in jewels. That was a type of Count d'Orsay's ideas of poverty and bad weather and retrenchment ! " But never was Sybarite so little selfish as he. He loved extravagance — waste, even. He would give half a sovereign to a box-keeper at a theatre, as a matter of course, and not ostentation ; but he could also bestow time, pains, money, and recollection, with a munificence and a delicacy such as showed what a real princely stuff there was in the nature of the man whom Fortune had so cruelly spoiled. He had ' the memory of the heart in perfection.' The thoughtful kindness shown by Lady Blessing- gO REMINISCENCES OF CHCRLEY. ton, as the presiding genius in an extensive sphere of literary and social notabilities, to a young and untried man of letters such as Chorley, at the outset of his career, was of the utmost value to him, and merited the grateful acknowledgment it received. She seems to have conceived a genuine regard for him, and taken an active interest in his concerns ; inviting him habit- ually to her dinners and soirees, enlisting him as a con- tributor to the Annuals of which she was editress, and giving the weight of her personal recommendation to the publishers with whom he wished to negotiate. The homage which was all that he had to offer in return, was loyally rendered, as many a generous review and flattering verse may attest. The good understand- ing between them was uninterrupted. Of the gloom by which her closing days were clouded he was no unmoved spectator; and her death, in 1850, is chron- icled in his journal as the rupture of one his cherished ties. In such of her letters as he has preserved there are no marked traces of the writer's individuality ; but one may be inserted as somewhat less colorless than the rest, an evidence of the kindly relations subsisting between the correspondents : — w Gore House, May 20th, 1844. " My dear Mr. Chorley : — " Will you have the kindness to forward the accompanying note to your brother ? I am greatly pleased with the sonnets. What a charming and graceful manner of commemorating his tour ! The volume is really too good not to be published, for it would do the author credit.* A thousand thanks for * A series of poems, by the late John Rutter Chorley, is apparently the subject of this reference. SO CIE TY AT LADY BLE SSING TON' S. 9 1 all your kind offers for my Annuals. What will you say when I tell you that I have not yet seen a single plate or drawing for the ' Keepsake ? ' You will be glad to hear that the Cte. Auguste de Gramont is to be married to Mademoi- selle de Segur on the 5th of June. The lady is beautiful enough to justify a mariage d? amour ^ which this one is, and rich enough to satisfy a mariage de raison. A great family, and, in short, in every point an admirable alliance. I read with great delight, on Saturday, the admirable letter on Lord Byron's poetry, and honor the writer, whoever he may be. I regret the engagements which prevent our seeing you as often as we could wish ; but we are not summer friends, so that I hope, when winter comes, we shall enjoy more of your society. Say all that is most kind for me to your sister, and believe me always, " Your sincere friend, " M. Blessington." At Lady Blessington's residence in Seamore Place, and subsequently at Gore House, hewas, as has been said before, a frequent and welcome guest. Of the constantly changing and distinguished circle which the charm of her grace and wit attracted around her, he appears to have been an unobtrusive, but a shrewdly observant member. Many a bon-mot and characteristic anecdote, which first obtained currency in these salons, some of which have passed from the world's memory, and may be worth recalling, are registered in his jour- nal. Here, for example, are two stories of Theodore Hook, which to many will be as good as new : — " Aug. i$th, 1835. — Last night, Westmacott told a Hookism at Lady Blessington's worthy of being kept. He was at some large party or other where the lady of the house was more than usually coarsely anxious to get him to make sport for her 9 2 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. guests. A ring formed round him of people only wanting a word's encouragement to burst out into a violent laugh. ' Do, Mr. Hook ; do favor us ! ' said the lady for the hundredth time. ' Indeed, madam, I can't ; I can't, indeed. I am like that little bird, the canary ; can't lay my eggs when any one is looking at me.' " " Aug. iSth, 1838. — I must post one anecdote of Theodore Hook. . . . He was dining at Powell's the other day, to meet Lord Canterbury, and the talk fell upon feu Jack Reeve. . . . ' Yes,' said Theodore, when they were speaking of his funeral, ' I was out that day : / met him in his private box, going to the pit!' " " Here again is a specimen of Fonblanque's biting humor. When Dickens mentioned his intention of visiting America, — 'Why,' was the retort, 'arn't there disagreeable people enough to describe in Blackburn or Leeds ? ' " The following is of anonymous authorship. When one Mr. Sparks was appointed to a bishopric, a rival candidate consoled himself with the reflection — ' Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward ! ' " The following anecdote of Byron, told on the authority of his travelling companion, Mr. Trelawney, a frequent visitor at Gore House, is eminently characteristic. When Byron, Shelley, and Trelawney were in Italy together, ' some small secret (perhaps a bit of London scandal) had come over in an English letter, of which Shelley and Trelawney were the sole possessors. He (Byron) was most eager to discover this, and, when riding out with the latter, went to the childish length of jumping off his horse, declaring that he would kneel down in the middle of the road and never rise — that he would lie down and rot — and let his companion ride over him, etc., etc., if he was not satisfied. On which Trelawney LA GUICCIOLI. 93 improvised some historiette or other, so that Lord Byron got up again contented. A few minutes afterwards, La Guic- cioli's carriage appeared in sight. Lord Byron rode up to it, brimful of his secret, which he presently discharged upon his donna. When he rejoined his companion, Trelaw.ney upbraided him with treachery. ' Damn it ! what's a secret good for else ? Do you think I would have done as I did if I had not meant to tell it ? ' His chagrin and humiliation may be imagined on being made acquainted with the real state of the case." La Guiccioli, to whom reference is made in the last anecdote, was also a visitor at Gore House. Chorley met her there more than once, and afterwards renewed the acquaintance in Paris. He describes her, after their first meeting, in September, 1835, as "precisely what I had expected to find her. Sweet, artless, earn- est, untidy, very guiltless of mind, with a pearly white complexion, a huge foot, and profuse hair — the color of a pale ripe nut— with all the gesticulation and aban- don of an Italian woman, and something high-bred in spite of all." Landor, Isaac Disraeli, Fonblanque, and Lord Lytton (then Mr. Bulwer) were among the most re- markable persons whom he was in the habit of meet- ing in this circle. Of Landor he saw a good deal, and records in his journal several noteworthy traits. The first impression produced by him was that of " a posi- tive, demonstrative man, full of prejudice, with a head reminding me of Hogarth's, with his dog at his side." Two or three sketches of him in society, as contrasted with opposing temperaments, bring out forcibly the leading lines of his character : — 94 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLE Y. "May 2>tk, 1838. — Yesterday evening, I had a very rare treat — a dinner at Kensington ttte-d-tete with Lady Blessing- ton and Mr. Landor • she talking her best, brilliant and kindly, and without that touch of self-consciousness which she sometimes displays when worked up to it by flatterers. and gay companions. Landor, as usual, the very finest man's head I have ever seen, and with all his Johnsonian disposition to tyrannize and lay down the law in his talk, re- strained and refined by an old world courtesy and deference towards his bright hostess, for which chivalry is the only right word. There was never any one less of ' a pretty man; ' but his tale of having gone from Bristol to Bath, to find a moss-rose for a girl who had desired one (I suppose for some ball), was all natural and graceful, and charming enough. . . . Well, this, with a thousand other delightful things which there is no remembering, went by, when Mr. Disraeli the elder was announced. I had never seen him before ■ and, as of course they talked and I heard, I had the luxury of undisturbed leisure wherein to use eyes and ears. An old gentleman, strictly, in his appearance ; a countenance which at first glance (owing, perhaps, to the mouth, which hangs) I fancied slightly chargeable with stolidity of expres- sion, but which developed strong sense as it talked ; a rather soigne style of dress for so old a man, and a manner good- humored, complimentary (to Gebir), discursive and prosy, bespeaking that engrossment and interest in his own pur- suits which might be expected to be found in a person so patient in research and collection. But there is a tone of the philosophe (or I fancied it), which I did not quite like; and that tone (addressing the instinct rather than the judg- ment) which is felt or imagined to bespeak (how shall it be ?) absence of high principle. No one can be more hardy in his negation than Mr. Fonblanque ; in no one a sneer be more triumphantly incarnate— and it is sometimes very with- LANDOR AND M. RIO. 95 ering and painful ; but he gives you the impression of con- sidering destruction and denial to be his mission • whereas there is an easy optimism and expediency associated with my idea of Mr. Disraeli, which, while it makes his opinions less salient, increases their offence. This is very hardy in the way of generalization ! I did not like the manner, above all things, in which he talked about the Slave Trade and Wilberforce's life — how the latter was set down as a mere canter. (Curious to hear this by his own fireside !) Then he advanced a theory about Shakespeare's having been long in exciting the notice he deserved, as compared with Ben Jonson and other dramatists, which was either imcomplete- ly stated, or based on shallow premises — most probably the former. It gave occasion to a very fine thing by Landor : * Yes, Mr. Disraeli, the oak and the ebony take a long time to grow up and make wood, but they last for ever ! ' " As a final sketch, may be quoted a scene at which Landor was contrasted with M. Rio. This gentleman, the author of "Art Chretien," Chorley describes as " one of the most picturesque-looking men" he had seen, and the first he had encountered " of the honest and picturesque romanticists of the Middle Ages. An enthusiast, but without that distressing measure of enthusiasm behind which I at least linger, and in pro- portion to the heat of which my mind, whether out of conceit or want of sincerity I know not, grows cold." On the occasion referred to, Landor was " more petulant and paradoxical than I ever heard him, saying violent and odd rather than the clever and poetical things he is used to say ; of all things in the world, choosing to attack the Psalms. M. Rio, who is an Ultramontane Catholic, winced under this, as any Q 6 reminiscences of chorle y. man of good taste must have done. Lady Blessington put a stop, however, to this very displeasing talk by saying, in her arch, inimitable way, ' Do write some- thing better, Mr. Landor ! ' " With Lord Lytton, Chorley was frequently brought into contact, and had better opportunities of judging his character than mere drawing-room intercourse can afford. The impression produced was not very favor- able. In an entry of Oct. 3 1 st, 1 836, Chorley writes :— "We walked home together (from Lady Blessington's), and in his cloak and in the dusk he unfolded more of him- self to me than I had yet seen ; though I may say that I had guessed pretty much of what I did see — an egotism — a van- ity — all thrown up to the surface. Yes, he is a thoroughly satin character ; but then it is the richest satin. Whether it will wear as well as other less glossy materials remains to be seen. There was something inconceivably strange to me in his dwelling, with a sort of hankering, upon the Count d'Orsay's physical advantages ; something beneath the dig- nity of an author, my fastidiousness fancied, in the manner in which he spoke of his own works, saying that the new ones only interested him as far as they were experiments. It is a fine, energetic, inquisitive, romantic mind, if I mistake not, that has been blighted and opened too soon. There wants the repose, ' the peace that passeth all understanding,' which I must believe (and if it be a delusion, I hope I shall never cease to believe) is the accompaniment of the highest mind." A little later, after a tete-a-tete dinner with Bulwer at the Reform Club, Chorley writes : — " I found all my judgments confirmed by further experi- LORD L YTTON. 97 ence, both as to cleverness and self-conceit. I am not quite sure about the heart, or its opposite ; but it is infinitely amusing to discover what there is no escaping from, that he makes personal appearance his idol, and values Voltaire as much on being a tall man as on his satires or essays, etc. It is unlucky to make so many valets de chambre of all one's acquaintances, when a little reserve and calmness of mind might make a tolerable hero of a man.'* The differing estimates which he entertained of Lord Lytton's powers as a novelist, and as a dramatist, have been adverted to elsewhere. At one of these expressions of critical independence the author seems to have taken umbrage, and a stop was thus put to an acquaintance which did not promise to be prosperous. In later life, however, the breach appears to have been healed, as may be inferred from two or three friendly notes, including an invitation to Knebworth, addressed to him by Lord Lytton, which Chorley has preserved among his correspondence. The familiarity which he attained with the habits of the social circle of which Lady Blessington was the leader, brought about, in a way that was creditable to both parties concerned, his acquaintance with one who was among the chief ornaments of the rival circle pre- sided over by Lady Holland ; perhaps the greatest wit of modem times — Sydney Smith. Of this acquaintance Chorley has left a brief reminiscence : — " Sydney Smith was the only wit, perhaps, on record, whom brilliant social success had done nothing to spoil or harden ; a man who heartened himself up to enjoy, and to make others enjoy, by the sound of his own genial laugh ; 5 9 8 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLE Y. whose tongue was as keen as a Damascus blade when he had to deal with bigotry, or falsehood, or affectation ; but whose forbearance and gentleness to those, however obscure, whom he deemed honest, were as healing as his sarcasm could be vitriolic. Of all that passed under Lady Blessington's roof, the wildest stories were current in the outer world, among women of genius especially, who hated with a quintessence of feminine bitterness, a woman able to turn to account, so brilliantly as Lady Blessington did, the difficulties of her position, inevitable because referable to the events of her early life. Lady Holland — who ruled her subjects with a rod of iron, and who, supported by her lord's urbanity, his literary distinction and political influence, ventured on an amount of capricious insolence to the obscure, such as counterbalanced the recorded deeds of munificence by which her name was known abroad and at home — had not a more distinguished court of men around her than Lady Blessington assembled. It was a duel betwixt gall at Kensington and wormwood at Gore House. Sydney Smith was one of Lady Holland's ' court-cards,' and was, naturally enough, prepared to receive her tales of what passed in the smaller but livelier Kensington household. On one occasion, at the house of a third person, I heard him, primed with her slander, speak of the high gambling by which Lady Blessington, at the instance of d'Orsay, lured foolish youths of cash and of quality to Gore House. The fact was, there never was such a thing there as play, or the shadow of play — not even a rubber of whist. I stayed in the house — I was there habitually and perpetually during many years, early and late, and as habit- ually and perpetually was driven to my own lodging, at mid- night, by Count d'Orsay, who had a schoolboy's delight in breaking the regulations of St. James's Park, which then ex- cluded every one save royal personages from passing after midnight. After this, he would go to Crockford's, and play ; SYDNEY SMITH. 99 but with these matters Lady Blessington had nothing to do, beyond the original mistake of harboring so exhausting an inmate as he was. This is a digression necessary to that which is to lollow. When I heard the scandal retailed as above by Sydney Smith — told as a fact by such a just and good man, and yet with a condiment of such mirth as makes scandal sweeter — I felt that I must speak out. It was cruelly hard to do so, but I did get out the real version of the story. ' Thank you,' said the old wit to the obscure penny-a- liner ; ' thank you for setting me right.' And from that time till the day of his death his kindness to me was unbroken. " Before his death he called in his letters, with a view to their destruction ; averse to the misuse which could be made, according to the flagrant fashion of our time, of every scrap of written paper, by the literary ghouls who fatten their purses in the guise of biographers. Before one series of such intimate and lively communications was delivered up to him, an intimate and a prized friend, to whom they were ad- dressed, asked him whether he had any objection to my reading them. 'No,' was the answer; 'he is a gentleman.' The sanction gives a relish beyond all price to my recollec- tion of the exquisite whimsies, the keen appreciation of char- acter, and the justice in judgment which these letters contained." * * In a letter of March, 1845, to his friend in Liverpool, Chorley thus refers to the death of Sydney Smith : — " I have been deeply concerned by the loss of my kind and indulgent friend, Mr. Sydney Smith. To us it makes a void no time will fill up. If not the last, he was the best of the wits ; and to myself his kindness and condescension were always extraordinary. I used to wonder at his not only sparing, but even some- times being willing to seek me ; and it is a sort of fond pleasure, that among the last books he read (forgive the vanity !) were my poor Musical Journals (" Music and Manners"), saying that he should like to know something about the matter. L.ofC. j 00 REMINISCENCES OF CHORIEY. Another early-formed and long-enduring intimacy of Chorley's was made with Miss Mitford. " It is long," he writes, in his journal of May, 1836, soon after their first acquaintance, " since I have been so pleased with any one, whether for sweetness of voice, kindness and cheerfulness of countenance (with one look which reminds me of a look I shall meet no more), or high- bred plainness of manner. I was fascinated." Their friendship was cemented by two or three visits which he paid to her cottage at Three Mile Cross, and by frequent correspondence. Miss Mitford on her side, was not less interested in Chorley, as is shown by her frequent admiring and affectionate references to him in the first series of her published letters. This series was the subject of an article from his pen in the " Quarterly Review," (Jan. 1870) ; and one of his last literary labors was to edit a second series, with a brief memoir prefixed, which attests his feeling for the writer. Two or three personal touches therein are evi- dently drawn from reminiscences of his visits to Three Mile Cross : as, for example, the references made to her residence as an " insufficient and meanly-furnished laborer's cottage," the poverty of which was forced upon her by her father's extravagance, and only relieved by her "one luxury — the tiny flower-garden," with its geraniums and " the great bay-tree, beneath which so many distinguished persons have congregated, to talk of matters far above and beyond the petty gossip of a country neighborhood, or the private trials and sacrifices of their quiet hostess." Such letters from her as he has retained — some of which might be worth adding to complete the collec- LETTER FROM MISS MITFORD. * I0 I tion of her published correspondence — evince alike her high appreciation of Chorley's literary ability, and the reliance she placed upon his judgment in matters of every-day concern. Here is one which she wrote to him on the subject of a contemplated change of resi- dence. It has no date, but must belong to the year 1842, when his hymn on the Prince of Wales' birth was written : — "My dear Friend : — " I thank you most earnestly for your great kindness. Be quite sure that I will do nothing unadvisedly. We shall meet, I trust, and then we will talk the matter over ; at all events, nothing is decided ; and until Mid-summer, I shall not make up my mind any way. There is before a commit- tee of the House of Commons a proposition for a railway from Reading to Basingstoke. Whatever line is taken, whether just in front of my cottage or close behind the gar- den, you know enough of the locale to conceive the destruc- tion of all prettiness, for the embankment would be higher than this house. Then we should lose the coaches and post- carts, which, now that I have parted with my pony-chaise, are so necessary ; and even if the railway were not to take place, the house and garden are too expensive. Under these considerations, what is there wonderful in my being tempted by a place so cheap and so very beautiful — where there is an excellent town, admirable libraries, French and English, and fair society ; weather neither hot nor cold ; dry winter walks (the dirt here has been frightful !) and a climate not more moist than that of the West of England ? Very many of my friends have been there, and all speak of Jersey (for, on account of the excellence of the town, we should prefer that island to Guernsey) — all speak of Jersey as a very delightful residence, and, in point of vegetation, 102 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. something unapproachable in this part of the world. Only think of an avenue of blue hydrangeas ten or twelve feet high, and large in proportion ! I don't care so much for them ; but think, where they so flourish, what may be expect- ed from the fuchsias, myrtles, camellias, and geraniums ? Ah ! you must come and see me there. I shall live a mile or two from St. Heliers, and you may be as retired there as in any part of Germany. You know that there is always a better chance of seeing you out of England than in. I have had for the last six weeks an abominable attack of rheumatism in the face, which will prevent my hearing Mr. Hullah's lec- ture to-morrow night at Reading — Mr. Risfield having had the goodness to offer me tickets. I regret this more as I should have liked to hear your beautiful hymn for the Prince of Wales. How very beautiful those verses are ! What do you think of Mr. Home's book — eh ? How I do want a chat with you ! When is the opera to come out ? I see no newspapers, so know nothing on the subject. " Heaven bless you, my dear friend, " Ever faithfully yours, "M. Mitford." To Miss Mitford's introduction he was indebted for some of the most valued of his literary acquaint- ances and personal friendships — notably those which he formed with John Kenyon, William Harness, the family of Charles Kemble, George Darley, Mr. Justice Talfourd, Mr. Browning, and, at a somewhat later period, with the illustrious poetess who became Mr. Browning's wife. The names of George Darley, and Mr. Justice Talfourd have already been coupled together by Chorley in a passage of his autobiography as connected with an untoward incident early in his literary career. Had he continued the narrative, he LETTER FROM GEORGE BARLEY. io ^ would, doubtless, have referred to the friendly relations that subsequently existed between himself and both. From Darley — to whose remarkable attainments in the contrasted spheres of poetry, criticism, and math- ematics the world has yet, perhaps, hardly done jus- tice — he has preserved two letters, both characteristic of the writer, and testifying to his appreciation of a kindred spirit in his correspondent. They are undated, but belong to the period between 1836 and 1 " 27, Upper Eaton Street, " 16th August. " My dear Sir : — " Forgive me when I confess that, most ignorantly and unjustly thinking you altogether devoted to the popular liter- ature of the day, and that little sympathy could, therefore, exist between us, I have let pass opportunities for cultivating your acquaintance. Miss Mitford, by her letter, has shown me how far I was mistaken. My error will be excused, I have no doubt, as freely as it is acknowledged. Yours can be no common mind, to be in such amity with hers. I regret my inability to give you any better proof of my conversion than the accompanying little pamphlet of a poem,* printed for friends ; but the same encouraging spirit tells me it will not be unacceptable. Some friends have complained, nat- urally enough, that an incomplete poem is rather unintelligi- ble. I have, therefore, written explanatory headings ; and may here add what is the general object or mythos of the poem : viz., to show the folly of discontent with the natural tone of human life. Canto I. attempts to paint the ill-effects of over-joy ; Canto II., those of excessive melancholy. Part of the latter object remains to be worked out in Canto III., which would likewise show — if I could ever find confidence, * Entitled " Nepenthe." 104 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. and health, and leisure to finish it — that contentment with the mingled cup of humanity is the true ' Nepenthe.' I would call, or ask you to call, but that conversation with me is a painful effort, and to others painful and profitless. I am an involuntary misanthrope, by reason of an impediment which renders society and me burthensome to each other. My works, whatever be their merit, are the better part of me — the only one I can at all commend to your notice. I alone have to regret my state of interdiction. " Yours, my dear Sir, " With respect and the best impressions towards you, " George Darley." "Thursday. " My dear Chorley :— "All my best thanks for your kind and careful remarks, which shall have my deepest consideration. They are the only ones I have ever yet obtained which enable me to turn my mind upon itself. Would they had come before I was dead in hope, energy and ambition ! If the ' Lammergeyer ' now ten years old, be ever published, it will owe to you much of any success it may obtain, though I have not the slightest belief it will ever take even a 'very low place among our select romantic poems.' You are perfectly right about ' Alboin.' The simple truth is, it was written as a mock- heroic tragedy, called ' The Revisal,' by an imaginary mad dramatist, with a running prose critique by a manager, in which all your opinions of it were given. I, however, thought this plan foolish, and put one act into its present form, merely as an experiment, because it seemed to contain some few good lines. Whenever you please to put me in the chair, I promise to be as sincere as you, though not so judicious. Being such near neighbors, I think we should try the extent LETTER FROM SERGEANT TALFOURD. 105 of each other's hospitality. Mine goes as far as a break- fast of tea and coffee, two eggs (or an equivalent broil), and buttered rolls ad libitum. Will you come Saturday, and at what hour? Or shall I put your 'barbarian virtue' to the test, as you are upon the first floor ? " Ever yours obliged, " George Darley." " Had you rather have an evening rout ?" Of the author of "Ion " Chorley seems to have known less than of the critic, for whose severity on it he was so unreasonably held responsible. The mis- understanding, however, between himself and Talfourd on that score was soon rectified ; and to prevent any recurrence of it, on the next occasion that a volume by so sensitive an author received unfavorable review from the " Athenaeum," Chorley, as may be inferred from the following letter, took the pains to send him a previous disavowal. The absence of a date renders it impossible to identify the volume referred to. " Court of C. P. " Saturday evening. " My dear Sir : — " I read your note last night with great regret ; not for the anticipated article in the ' Athenseum,' but for the pain you have suffered entirely without other cause than your own sensibility and kindness. I assure you that I should have perfectly understood the true state of the case in refer- ence to yourself, on a glance at the review ; for it has hap- pened to me, when writing dramatic criticisms for the 'New Monthly,' not merely to see my friends attacked by the edi- tor, but to have my own article of eulogy altered into cen- sure. I have just skimmed over the article this morning, 5* I0 6 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. and while I am ready to admit a great deal of it to be very- just, I am surprised at a tone of personality, which I am afraid must have been excited by some offence I have unconsciously given to the writer. I have, however, so great an excess of praise to be grateful for in other quarters, that I should be inexcusable if I murmured at a censure which I may feel in some respects unjust. If disengaged, will you look in upon us on Sunday (to-morrow) evening, in Russell Square ? You will find Miss Mitford and Mr. Ken- yon, and one or two others, who, like myself, only wish to know you better. " Ever faithfully yours, " T. N. Talfourd." Another illustrious friendship which Chorley form- ed during these years was with the late George Grote. How they first became acquainted does not appear, but his name occurs in Chorley's journal as early as 1839, an d the terms upon which they stood with each other a year or two later were evidently very intimate. Of this eminent man he has left the following notice, which worthily attests the value which he set upon their intercourse : — * " The Historian of Greece, one of the few serious Eng- lish men of letters who has made his mark all the world over, within the past half century, was for many years indulgently kind to me. A more noble-hearted and accomplished gen- tleman than he who has departed full of years, and rich in honors, I have never seen. When the word ' gentleman ' is used, it is with express reference to that courtesy and con- sideration of manner, which appears to me dying out of the world. Four men that I have known, the late Due de Gra- GEORGE GROTE. IO/ mont, the Duke of Ossuna, the late Duke of Beaufort, and Mr. Grote, in their high breeding and deference to women, in their instinctive avoidance of any topic or expres- sion which could possibly give pain, recur to me as unparagoned. But the three men first named had little beyond their manner by way of charming or influencing society.* Mr. Grote, as a man holding those most advanced ideas which were- at war with every aristocratic tradition and institution, a man with vigorous purposes, and ample and various stores of thought, might well have been allowed to dispense with form, and smoothness, and ceremony. But he showed how these could be combined with the most utter sincerity. If, at times, he was elaborate in conversation, with little humor of expression, though not without a sense of it in others, he was never overweening. He stands in a place of his own, among all the superior men to whom I have ever looked up. " He was a skeptic, as regards matters of religious faith, to the very core. But he was keenly alive to the truth, that to force extreme opinions, not called for, on those having other convictions, is an abuse of freedom of thought and of speech which no large-minded man will permit himself. There was neither craft nor cowardice in this reticence. Had fortune, or worldly position, or life, depended on his falsifying his opinions, he is the last man I have ever known who would have done so. His uncompromising constancy * " Yet the Spanish grandee could at once evade and rebuke a piece of noble English impertinence. Rumor had exaggerated the extent of the Duke's fortune and possessions ; but they were notoriously very large — for Spain. 1 heard an Earl, whose name should have been a warrant for good taste and good breeding, ask him point-blank, ' What was the amount of his income ? ' — there being, if I remember rightly, a wager at Crockford's to be settled by the answer. ' My lord,' said the Duke, with the most imperturbable politeness, ' I do not know your English money.' " 108 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLE Y. to his peculiar opinions cost him all influence and support in Parliament, and was the cause of his early retirement from political life and action. "With all his vast stores of knowledge, and his habits of universal reading, were combined a taste for Art, and a certain amount of practical accomplishment not common among scholars so profound and so ripe. He was a lover rather than a judge of pictures ; he was an intelligent opera- goer, and had made some proficiency in learning to play on the violincello. But in everything he undertook, whether it was of grave importance or of slighter pastime, his modesty was as remarkable as his earnestness and his courtesy. The completeness of the scholar and the gentleman strikes me more forcibly on retrospect than it did at the time when I was frequently in his society. It is fit that he should lie among the high-minded and lettered men who have made England great among the nations. But even were there no stone in the Abbey to hand his merits down for scholars and politicians to come to imitate, I am satisfied that his reputa- tion will only brighten and deepen as years pass on, and new men take up the studies in which his honorable life was spent ; and the result of which has already a wide and lasting place in the world of letters." The only other names (besides Browning's, of whom more in future chapters) that can be added to the list of Chorley's literary intimacies of this period, are those of William and Mary Howitt. They were friends of his family, and his acquaintance with them, which had preceded his arrival in London, always partook rather of a domestic than of a personal character. The friendships comprised in this aurea catena were for the most part formed and maintained concurrently. DEA TH OF FRIENDS. IO9 They, doubtless, varied considerably in degree, but none of them equalled in intensity the bond which had united him to Mr. Benson Rathbone, nor weakened the force of the domestic associations with which that early friendship was incorporated. Although necessarily de- barred from much intercourse with his family at Liver- pool, Chorley's affection for them was undiminished. They habitually corresponded, and such intervals of lei- sure as he could afford were spent in their circle. Now and then he seems to have complained of the imperfect sympathy with his interests which was displayed by some of its members, principally his brother John, who after- wards came to know him better; but with one of them at least, his sister, he was in uninterrupted accord, and there is often a vein of chivalric tenderness in the phrases he employs in connection with her name. Two deaths that occurred in these years left a void in his own home, and that of another family only less dear to him. In October, 1838, he was summoned to the death-bed of his uncle, Dr. Rutter, whom he revered as a second father; and Mrs. Rathbone, who occupied an almost maternal place in his affection, died in the following May. By the death of the former his mother was left in affluent circumstances, and he became entitled to a legacy of 1400/. — an addition to his slender means as timely as it was grateful. CHAPTER VI. Personal and Social Life in London from 1834 to 1841. — Rogers, the Poet-Banker. — Lady Morgan. — Miss Landon. — Mrs. Somerville. — Visits to Paris. — Parisian Celebrities. — The Duchess d' Abrantes. — Paul de Kock. — Alfred de Vigny. — Rachel. — Mdlle Mars. — Prince Louis Napoleon. — The Misses Berry. — Southey.— Miss Sedgwick. AMONG the remarkable persons moving in Lon- don society at the time when Chorley entered it ; and whom he met and observed frequently, without even knowing intimately, was the poet and banker, Rogers. Of him Chorley has left a sketch, which though necessarily slight contains some highly charac- teristic traits : — " I used to meet Rogers frequently at the Grotes', at the Kembles', at the Procters' ; and at the first house, in very small parties where I had an opportunity of hearing and see- ing him closely. Few old men have ever shown a more mor- tifying behavior to a young one than Mr. Rogers, from first to last, displayed towards me. There was no doubting the dislike which he had conceived for me, and which he took every possible pains to make me feel. I do not recollect ever to have intruded myself on his notice, ever to have inter- rupted him in narration (an offence he could not endure). In the society where I met him I never talked, for it was a delight to listen to Sydney Smith, and to Charles Austin, and to Mr. and Mrs. Grote. Perhaps Rogers thought my ROGERS, THE POET-BANKER. m dress coxcombical, or my mariners affected, (an accusation under which I have lain all my life). Perhaps he did not forgive me for living as house-mate with a person for whom he professed an open antipathy. " Whatever the cause might be, he did his best to make me feel small and uncomfortable; and it was often done by repeating the same discouragement. The scene would be a dinner of eight; at which he would say, loud enough to be heard, 'Who is that young man with red hair?' (meaning me.) The answer would be, ' Mr. Chorley,' et cetera, et cetera. ' Never heard of him before,' was the rejoinder: after which Rogers would turn to his dinner, like one who, having dis- posed of a nuisance, might unfold his napkin, and eat his soup in peace. " It has been fortunate for me all my life that unprovoked rudeness of this sort has never had any power over me, has never added to a physical nervousness, of itself sufficiently disqualifying, nor to a shyness, which I don't think has in- cluded moral cowardice. Those to whom I have attached myself, and those in whom I have believed, have been able to give me any amount of pain. I have been hag-ridden all my life by an over-sensitiveness with respect to friends, and have suffered from my own jealous and exacting nature, from too much yearning for entire confidence and complete regard. But slights from acquaintances I have never heeded, more than I should heed a random call at my heels in the street. And thus the deliberate and avowed antipathy of Mr. Rogers (never provoked by want of respect on my part) served only to amuse me, as a trait of character, and did not pre- vent my profiting, as well as I could, by all that was more genial in his nature and manners. It still seems to me a doubtful matter which of the two attributes was reality, which affectation ; the elegance and sympathy and delicacy he could throw into his intercourse with those whom he pro- H2 REMINISCENCES OF CHORIEY. tected, or the acerbity, often displayed and directed without any conceivable reason, with which he pursued unaffected persons, or denounced everything in literature and art which did not suit him. His admiration, in some points showing a marvellous foresight, in others, hung so curiously far behind his time, as to puzzle all those who are apt to dream that liberality should exclude prejudice. As a young man collect- ing pictures, he showed an excellent courage in leaving all the beaten tracks of connoisseurship, to select, and enjoy, and recognize that which he felt to be good. He was one of the first in England who recognized ancient Italian paint- ing, as having a beauty and an expression totally distinct from archaeological value ; not repelled by technical mistakes or audacities, provided the work was sincere. But as an old poet, who was ever so inhuman and perverse in sitting in judgment on the works of young poets as Rogers ? I have heard him absolutely venomous and violent (as much as so low-voiced a man could be) in dissection, or in wholesale abuse, of the verses of Tennyson, Browning, Milnes; and end his task of ' perverse industry,' (as Moore has some- where happily designated such exhibitions) with such a sigh of satisfaction as might befit one to whom the extermination of vermin is not a profession, but a pleasure. " In music, too, he was no less exclusive, no less vicious in reproof, but far more ignorant. How one, who had been hearing music for so many years, and who would never keep away from any place where it was going on, could have made so little progress in taste and knowledge as Rogers, used to excite my wonderment. Scott, it is said, used to profess that he was totally devoid of musical sense, save such as enabled him to bear the burden to Mrs. Lockhart's ballads, or to sing after supper (as Moore has told) over the quaigh of whiskey. But I cannot but imagine that Rogers, with all his profession, was as meagrely gifted by nature as Scott had been, and that ROGERS' S BON-MO TS. 1 1 3 his culture had merely been applied to the fostering of those old associative prejudices which, however precious as pleas- ures of memory, have nothing to do with the good or ill of music. The name of Beethoven used to make him singularly active and acrid in epithet : instrumental music, of any kind, was ' those fiddlers ; ' though he would lavish gracious com- pliments on a Kemble, an Arkwright, or a Grisi, or any woman who sung, no matter what, small matter how, she sung. It was on the debateable land of music that I used to meet Mr. Rogers the most frequently, since he came to many houses which I frequented, ostensibly to hear and to enjoy music ; and, sometimes, for the sake of getting a name or a fact, would even lay by his antipathy and ignorance of me, and ask, ' What 7vas going on V or ' whereabouts we were ? ' I remember one night in particular, his religiously sitting through a fine performance of Beethoven's Mass in C, and pertinaciously appealing to me, from movement to move- ment, ' Now, is that good? — because I don't know f ' Now do you really understand that ? ' " The temptation to retort was strong : e What need to sit?' — till one recollected the different world into which he had been born, the different atmosphere as regards Art, which he had breathed ; and admitted that the good of his willingness to listen, ought to outweigh the bad of his arro- gance, in knocking down all that he could not understand. " And very great and very bitter was that arrogance. One night Mrs. Sartoris had been singing a canzonet by Signor , who had accompanied her. When it was done, Rogers made the labor of crossing the room and going up to the pianoforte ; 'What was that you have been singing?' said he, in his low, clear voice. ' A song of Signor ,' was the answer ; ' give me leave to introduce him to you.' I I thought it was that man's ! ' was the gracious reply • ' there' 's no tune in it.' H4 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. "I have always considered myself the person to whom Rogers made his most gratuitously ill-natured speech, as under. It was at the Atitient Concerts, on a night when the room was crowded, owing to a royal visit, and when every seat was occupied. Mine was at the end of a bench, by the side of the Dowager Lady Essex (Miss Stephens that had been). She was one of Rogers's prime favorites; even though she is in private as in public one of those gracious and gentle women against whom no exception can be taken. He loved to sit next her, and pay her those elegant and courteous compliments, the art of paying which is lost. When I saw the old gentleman creeping down the side avenue betwixt the benches, at a loss for a seat, I said, ''Now I shall give up my place to Air. Rogers ; good-night!' While I was stooping for my hat, ' Come,' said she, in her cordial way, ' come, Mr. Rogers, here is a seat for you by me.' ' Thank you,' said the civil old gentleman, fixing his dead eyes on me, as I was doing my best to get out of the way ; ' thank you ; but I don't like your company? " I may tell a companion-story which I heard from the younger Westmacott the sculptor, who was rather a favorite with Rogers than otherwise. Westmacott had finished a bust, I believe, of Lord John Russell, and, being anxious that Lord John's friends should pronounce on the likeness, invited Mr. Rogers to his studio with that express view. The poet, I suppose, came on a bad day, for round and round the room he walked, and through and through the labyrinth of marbles, slowly andponderingly, passing the bust in a marked manner. At last he paused, paused before one of those hunches of marble which have only begun to assume human semblance, by the drill holes and compass marks with which the sculptor's men prepare the block for the sculptor's own chisel. Here he stopped and pointed with his finger. ' / think] said he, ' thats the best likeness here? LADY MORGAN. "5 " Though I have done my best to produce a true picture of the humors of the Rogers I saw and met often, let me no less earnestly state my belief that the crookedness and the incivility of these had nothing to do with his heart and his hand, when the one told the other to give. Rogers's hospi- tality to poets might be pleasant to himself, and no less so his handsome reception of every handsome woman, but for the poor, struggling, suffering man of genius, and to the gar- ret with its dirt and cold, without any charm, or warmth, or Southern picturesque, he was, I believe, a delicate almoner, a liberal distributor, and a frequent visitor. Bilious, vicious, cruel as he was with his tongue, Rogers was, I know, a kindly and indefatigable friend to many humble men, and to a few less humble ones ; and at no period of his life, when his antipathy to me was the most rancorously expressed, should I have feared presenting to him the case of poor painter, poor poet, poor musician, or poor governess. Though I never did apply to Rogers for aid to others, I am personally cognizant of too many acts of munificence quietly done by him, and of which no trumpeting was or is possible, not to dwell on the good as warmly as I talk about the mischief unreservedly." Of another celebrity of the same period, the late Lady Morgan, Chorley knew somewhat more than of Rogers. They used occasionally to correspond, and one of her letters to him is subjoined to the follow- ing estimate which he has left of her character. " One of the most peculiar and original literary charac- ters whom I have ever known, was Sydney Lady Morgan, a composition of natural genius, acquired accomplishments, audacity that flew at the highest game, shrewd thought, and research at once intelligent and superficial ; personal coquet- 1 1 6 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. ries and affectations, balanced by sincere and strenuous fam- ily affections ; extreme liberality of opinions, religious and political ; extremely narrow literary sympathies, united with a delight in all the most tinsel pleasures and indulgences of the most inane aristocratic society ; a genial love for Art, limited by the most inconceivable prejudices of ignorance ; in brief, a compound of the most startling contradictions, impossible to be overlooked or forgotten, though possible to be described in two ways — both true, yet the one diametri- cally opposite to the other. Those whom she exasperated by her skepticism and her fearlessness of speech and action, could only dwell upon her frivolity and vanity, which were patent enough ; those whose tempers were not heated by rivalry or antagonism could discern beneath all these fop- peries a solidity of conviction, a sincerity of purpose and a constancy of regard which could not fail to win appreciation of, though they could not always insure respect for their owner. Her life, were it thoroughly and truly told, would be one of the most singular contributions to the history of gifted woman that the world has ever seen. She tried to tell it herself, in a fragmentary fashion, from time to time ; but the chapters of a strange story, however amusing, were like their writer, so made up and rouged for effect as not to have taken a permanent place in the library of Female Biographies. It may be doubted whether such a woman will be ever seen again, since many of her peculiarities were clearly ascribable to circumstances of birth and education, which, in our days of rapid intercourse and diffused instruction, can hardly be reproduced. The efforts of the young to acquire distinction must henceforth take other milder forms than they formerly wore, must be more speculative, less practical: on the other hand, perhaps, the distinction when gained will never be so original and direct in its manifestation, nor so racy in its expression, in any generation to come. LADY MORGAN'S EARLY LIFE. 117 " Lady Morgan, when touched too closely on the subject of her birth, was used to say, that she was born on the sea, betwixt Ireland and England. I have heard her declare in one breath that she had created the national Irish novel, while in another, with sublime inconsistency, she would assert that Miss Edgeworth was a grown woman when she was yet a child. Her father, Mr. Macowen (the name for gentility's sake legitimately transformed into Owenson) was a comic actor of some repute in Ireland, some eighty or a hundred years ago. I have always believed that Sydney, his daughter, was destined for public exhibition, as she was taught to sing, to dance, to recite, and to play on the harp. But in none of these accomplishments was she sufficiently tutored to make limited natural gifts and personal attrac- tions presentable to that hard taskmaster, the Public, with any chance of great favor. And the girl early discovered that she had within herself better chances of asserting her individuality ; a shrewd observation of character, a keen wit, a fearless tongue, a resolute desire and curiosity for instruc- tion in the ways of the world. Anything but regularly pretty, she must at one time have been odd and piquant looking ; in this more attractive than many a dull compound of lilies and roses. " The resolution to get on rarely fails to be its own ful- filment. From the moment when she was received into the Marquis of Abercorn's family, partly as a governess, partly as a household musician, her success in the life she coveted and was fittest for, became only a matter of time. She danced, she played on the harp ; by her mother-wit she amused the inane persons of quality whom, in latter years, she delighted so mercilessly to satirise in her novels. But all this time she was reading eagerly in a desultory fash- ion ; getting some superficial knowledge of French and Italian ; if without any very steady purpose, with that instinct 1 1 8 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLE Y. of future success which contains the fulfilment of its own prophecy. " There is no need to dwell on Lady Morgan's first attempts at fiction; 'Ida of ' Athens,' ' The Novice of St. Dominick,' ' The Wild Irish Girl,' the last probably the least imitative, the one which gave to its writer her own pet name of Glorvina, after its heroine. All are as much for- gotten as the tale ' St. Irvyne,' by which Shelley began his literary career. A collection of Irish Melodies, long pre- ceding those of Bunting and Moore, was of better promise. One of these, ' Kate Kearney,' still lives in cheap editions of popular songs. " It is as little my business to offer any judgment here on Lady Morgan's National Tales ; neither on her travels in France and Italy, her ' Life of Salvator Rosa,' and the most serious and best of her works, ' Woman and her Master.' Whatever be their real merit, it is past doubt that they established for her a brilliant reputation in France and Italy, and this expressed in forms which were not calculated to give ballast to one of the most feather-brained, restless creatures who ever glittered in the world of female author- ship. After her first book on ' France' was published she became the rage in Paris ; and I have been told, on good authority, that on one occasion, at some grand reception, she had a raised seat on the dais, only a little lower than that provided for the Duchesse de Berri. It is true that she had at her side a staid, shrewd, cynical, skeptical companion in Sir Charles Morgan, who was weary of bearing a part in perpetual glitter, his mind being bent on graver pursuits and speculations than hers. A strangely assorted pair they seemed to be, on a first glance ; but the one suited the other admirably. He did something towards reducing the exuber- ances of her vanity, and directing her attention to courses of research. That he helped to write her books, as has been MORE OF LAD Y MORGAN. i j g asserted, I do not believe. Her fame, for it amounted to fame, gave him access to circles of society which possibly he might never otherwise have entered. Both agreed in the expression of the most fearless skepticism (sometimes most painfully and needlessly expressed) ; both, like all the skeptics I have ever approached, were absurdly prejudiced and proof against new impressions. Neither of them, though both were literary and musical, could endure German litera- ture or music, had got beyond the stale sarcasms of the ' Anti-Jacobin,' or could admit that there is a glory for such men as Weber, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, as well as for Cimarosa, Paiesiello, and Rossini. Prejudice such as theirs, professing liberalism, is a ' sure card' to play. Party ani- mosity is far more amusing than justice, the latter being apt to bear the bad name of phlegmatic indifference. He, how- ever, anti-pathetic his views might be to many persons, was, I have no doubt, thoroughly sincere in them ; she was as much so as a spoilt woman of genius, who delighted in being thought a woman of fashion, could be. " Her familiar conversation was a series of brilliant, egotistic, shrewd, genial sallies. She could be caressing or impudent, as suited the moment, the purpose in hand, or the person she was addressing. At times the generous, hearty nature of the Irish-woman broke out, strangely alternating with her love of show and finery, and the bitter cynicism she showered on all practices and opinions which rebuked her own. I recollect her telling how, when she had been de- tained at some road-side country inn by an illness of her husband's, she sat on the bench beside the door, and treated a party of weary country laborers, who were there resting, to bread, cheese, and beer, having obviously taken a rich and real enjoyment in their homely talk. And the next moment she would fly off to some nonsense about dukes and duch- esses, royal celebrities, at home and abroad, who had compli- 120 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. merited her books, her conversation, or her toilette ; for of her toilette, which was largely, during her life, made by her own hands, she was comically vain without concealment. I remember to have heard her describe a party at a Mrs. Leo Hunter's, (who received all manner of celebrities at what she called ' her morning soirees] without the slightest power of appreciating anything but the celebrity) — ' There,' said she, ' was Miss Jane Porter, looking like a shabby canoness; there was Mrs. Somerville, in an astronomical cap. /dashed in, in my blue satin and point-lace, and showed them how an authoress should dress." " I remember her, at another of those wondrous gather- ings, where the crowd was great, and the drawing-room was crammed, breaking through a company of men, who had perched on an upper staircase, sitting down, and crying out aloud, ' Here I am in the midst of my seraglio !' In free- dom of speech she proved herself the countrywoman of those renowned wits, Lady Norbury and Lady Aldborough; but, however free, she never shocked decorum, as they rather rejoiced in doing, to have their tales of double entendre carted over the town by diners out, who found the second-hand indecency answer, as creating ' a sensation.' " What a blessing is self-approbation ! In Lady Mor- gan's case I am satisfied it was sincere. She had no Statute of Limitations, and absolutely professed to have taught Taglioni to dance an Irish jig ! How far Taglioni profited by the lesson is a secret. " Sometimes ' her spirit and vivacity' (as the inimitable Lady Strange expressed it) carried Lady Morgan into strange lengths of freedom. I once met her in a literary menagerie, where, among other guests, figured a large lady, but a small authoress, Mrs. Cornwell Baron Wilson. She displayed rather protuberantly, below the waist of her black dress, a tawdry medal, half the size of a saucer, which had PECULIARITIES OF LAD Y MORGAN. I2 J been awarded her for some prize poems by some provincial Delia Cruscan literary society, probably as tawdry and of as little worth as the rhymes it was given to reward. ' My ! ' said Lady Morgan, using an exclamation more irreverent than the reverse, ' only look at Grace Darling ! ' (the heroic daughter of the Northern Lighthouse-keeper.) ' Hush ! hush ! ' said some one or other, ' It is Mrs. Corn- well Baron Wilson.' ' Who ? Oh, Mrs. Barry Cornwall.' I do not believe that she ever took the trouble to set her knowledge right regarding a lady living and moving in her own literary world. Yet who could be so sarcastic as her- self on the mistakes of others ? "I heard her ask, in all sincerity and simplicity, at a literary party, ' Who was Jeremy Taylor ? ' on the occasion of some reference to that distinguished divine. She may have, and I think had, some notion of the Taylors of Qngar ! But more absurd still was her introduction to the stately, grave, and accomplished Mrs. Sarah Austin, on which occa- sion she complimented her sister authoress on having written 1 Pride and Prejudice.' " Her resolution to assemble lions of all sorts and sexes was nothing short of dauntless. If a nobody happened to get into her circle, she made no scruple to pass him or her off as ' the Cleopatra pears' were passed off by my relative. I think, could it have helped one of her parties, she would have fitted up a ' Grace Darling.' I know of one quiet and unobtrusive woman whom she had invited, and subsequently thought it necessary to ticket, who overheard how she was pointed out by the hostess i as a woman of extraordinary genius, who had written — ' Well, the rest did not come easily, and so Lady Morgan fluttered off elsewhere, having mysteriously accounted for the presence of an anonymous guest. " Among the guests whom she received in her latter 6 122 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. years, when the death of Sir Charles Morgan left her at liberty to consult her humors without restraint, was the last person whom one could have expected to meet within pre- cincts such as hers — Cardinal Wiseman. Not long before had she written her pamphlets on St. Peter's chair at Rome, aimed at the immaculate immutability of Papal succession ; papers controversial, as strong, and caustic, and conclusive, as possibly were ever written by a woman, in which she took great delight, (for her avowed pleasure in her own works was wonderful). I believe his eminence and her eminence met on grounds of the most cordial good fellowship. Such an encounter tells well for the honest sense and real feeling of the conflicting parties. Such encounters, I have often had reason to think, are nowhere so frequent as in England. " She could be recklessly bitter in regard to other, especially other Irish, literary women. Her hatred to Lady Blessington had no bounds. In point and quality of author- ship no sane person could for an instant think of comparing the two ; and the writer of ' Florence Macarthy,' and the 'Life of Salvator Rosa,' might well have afforded to pass by the more colorless works of the lady of Gore House. But there Gore House was ; and, in spite of the more austere and literary and political attractions of Holland House be- yond it, Lady Blessington, by her grace, her sweetness, her admirable tact as the leader of society, and her no less admirable constancy, contrived, in spite of the most tre- mendous social disadvantages, to draw around her such a circle of men there, as I fancy will hardly be seen again. Lady Holland hated her badly, but, I think, let her -alone ; Lady Morgan could not let her alone. I have never heard venom', irony, and the implacable and caricatured statement of past mistakes heaped Pelion-wise on Ossa, even by woman on woman, so mercilessly, as by Lady Morgan in regard to Lady Blessington. And the former had the bad taste to LADY MORGAN, LA TER IN LIFE. j 2 ^ assail the known friends of the latter with perpetual gibings and assaults. I have never been able (as other literary men can do) to partake of such miserable stories as these with- out a feeling of shame and discomfort ; as unable as, I hope, unwilling, to spoil society by wrangling, which must merge in honest animosity should unprovoked scandals be circu- lated. " As life passed on, these follies in some measure fell away from, or were tempered, in Lady Morgan. She ac- cepted what was becoming to advanced years with a grace almost amounting to dignity, hardly to have been expected from one who had so long defied time, and who found her- self almost alone in the world. She became quieter, more considerate, very attentive to younger people, and to rising talent. She had been spoiled by having had to work her way under difficult circumstances into a position which she improved into a success. She had been flattered, and was more accessible to flattery than ninety-nine out a hundred women are. She had the consciousness of having conquered a place for herself and her family, which was bright, and, to some degree, solid, in the best society of England and the Continent. Last and best of all, she had never to be appealed or apologized for, as a forlorn woman of genius under difficulties. The pension which was granted to her in her latter days, and justly, as one who had done her best to see after the redress of Irish abuses, had not, I have reason to believe, been solicited." The following letter was evidently written in reply to one wherein Chorley had asked for materials to enable him to draw up the biographical sketch of Lady Morgan, which was to be included in his "Authors of England," referred to in a previous chapter. 1 24 REMINISCENCES OF CHORIE Y. " Kildare Street, March 21, 1837. " Dear Mr. Chorley : — " I seize on a transient gleam of eye-shine to write you a few lines on a subject which Sir Charles (in his desire to keep all literary purposes and pursuits out of my way), has only lately revealed to me, viz., that my l life' is going to be written for the edification of the public ! Now, except by divine inspiration, no one could write my life but myself ! and I have now neither light nor ambition to do so. I have an enormous mass of journals and correspondences by me, of twenty-five years (from which, by-the-bye, I extracted the ' Book of the Boudoir'); the journals full of European events and anec- dotes, and many of the letters to and from most of the European notabilities of the age, and in three languages ; but these all lie hermetically sealed in a great coffer for the present: (what would dear- little Colburn give to peep in?) They will contain my life and times — should they ever be arranged, without adding a line. Prince Puckler Muskau came into my boudoir one clay when I was looking over my journals, and asked me the title of my MSS. I said, ' Ces sont des memoir - es par moi-meme,/wr moi-meme,' and so he has announced them in his book of errors ! Now, my dear Mr. Chorley, you are an honest as well as a clever man ; I take it, therefore, for granted you will see fair play, and keep clear of the thousand and one liars or lies which party spirit, literary envy, and Prince Calumny have published of me. I have some incidents and anecdotes in foreign and other journals which I will bring you, and that may be of use to you in your biographical sketch, and they are true and amus- ing, and I will answer any questions you put to me honestly ; but I trust you will not publish anything till our arrival in London, which will be about the first week in, or perhaps, at furthest, the second, in April. On this subject I beg you will write to me immediately. I suppose you have heard that LETITIA E. LANDON. 125 Mr. H. L. Bulwer has jilted us in the affair of the house. There never was such a disappointment, or such an ubusiness- like transaction. Do you know I think you might render us a great service by looking about in your own pretty neighbor- hood for apartments for us, until we could look about us for ourselves. I should have no objection to old Bowden's Bird- Cage for a time. I must release you from deciphering this scrawl, which I am writing by guess, and so good day. " Sydney Morgan." " We are still very uneasy about dear Mr. Dilke : pray let us know your own private opinion. Pray write as soon as possible. I am not allowed to read or write a line ; this horror is perpetrated by stealth. The moment I use my eyes the pain and weakness return. Colburn is impatient for my work ('Woman and her Master'), but alas ! " Will you have the kindness to send the note to Mr. Dilke, and to put Mrs. Webster's in the petite poste ? " The service requested of him was duly rendered by Chorley, and for awhile he and the Morgans were next- door neighbors in Stafford Row. Their intercourse cooled in later years, as his sketch intimates, but with- out involving any actual estrangement ; and with one of Lady Morgan's neices — Mrs. Inwood Jones — he remained to the last on the most cordial terms. Another celebrity of this period with whom Chor- ley came in contact, was the ill-starred Miss Landon (L. E. L.). Of her original hostility to him, as a writer in the journal most successful as a rival to that of which she was the chief ornament, mention has already been made. A record which he has left of his subsequent relations with her, will attest the generos- 126 REMINISCENCES OF CIIORIEY. ity of his disposition, and furnish an example, only too rare, of the " amenities" of literary intercourse : — "In spite of the miserably low standard of her literary morality, Miss Landon (for awhile put forward as Mrs. Hemans's rival) was meant for better things. She was in- complete, but she was worthy of being completed ; she was ignorant, but she was quick, and capable of receiving culture, had she been allowed a chance. If she was unrefined, it was because she had fallen into the hands of a coarse set of men — the Tories of a provincial capital — such as then made a noise and a flare in the ' Noctes Ambrosianae ' of ' Blackwood's Magazine,' second-hand followers of Lockhart and Professor Wilson, and Theodore Hook ; the most noisy and most reprehensible of whom — and yet one of the clever- est — was Dr. Maginn. Not merely did they, at a very early period of the girlV career, succeed in bringing her name into a coarse repute, from which it never wholly ex- tricated itself, but, by the ridiculous exaggeration of such natural gifts as she possessed, (no doubt accompanied by immediate gain), flattered her into the idea that small further cultivation was required by one who could rank with a Baillie, a Tighe, a Hemans — if not their superior, at least their equal. Further, she was not fortunate in her home position, called on to labor incessantly for the support of those around her. All this resulted in what may be called a bravado in her intercourse with the public, which excited immense distaste among those who were not of the coterie to which she belonged. " As years went on, tke ephemeral success of Miss Lan- don's verses subsided : and, indeed, she had rendered her- self next to incapable of anything like a sustained effort, though some of her smaller lyrics were more earnest and more real in their sentiment and sweetness than her earlier EST IMA TE OF Z. E. L. AS AN AUTHOR. 127 love-tales and ditties had been. There was amendment, too, in her versification. She attempted drama, in the tragedy, I think, of f Castruccio Castrucani,' but without the smallest success. She wrote a volume of sacred verse, which was sentimental rather than serious. She took Annuals in hand, but the result was the same, and it must have been felt so by herself. At last she began to write imaginative prose ; and the coterie who supported her blew the trumpet before her first novel, ' Romance and Reality,' as no one would do now-a-days were a new Dickens, or a new Bulwer, on the threshold. But she held out bravely ; wearing out life, and health, and hope, as all who work on ground which is not solid must do ; bravely holding up those who looked to her for position and subsistence in life, and keeping up before such of the friends she retained, and such of the society as she mixed in sparingly, those hectic, hysterical high-spirits, which are even more depressing to meet than'any melancholy. There was a certain audacious brightness in her talk; but it was only false glitter, not real brilliancy • it was smart, not sound. " The truth of Miss Landon's story and her situation had for some time oozed out ; it was felt that her literary reputa- tion had been exaggerated ; that her social position was, so to say, not the pleasantest in the world. Those who had, in some measure, compromised her, were in no case to assist her ; those who had stood aside, had become aware of the deep and real struggle and sorrow which had darkened her whole life, from its youth upwards, and the many, many pleas for forbearance implied in such knowledge. * " There came a time for the recognition of these. A relative of hers was proposed to fill an office, in the giving away of which literary men had some words to say. And he was unimpeachably eligible. He had, rested on her sup- port. It was right that her devotion to her own family I2 8 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. should not be allowed to drag her down ; that her literary industry should be recognized — especially now, when it was failing of its reward. It was felt among some of us, that, in this matter, there was a claim to be upheld. I had to see her on the subject. It was, for both of us, an awkward visit. She received me with an air of astonishment and bravado, talking with a rapid and unrefined frivolity, the tone and taste of which were most distasteful, and the flow difficult to interrupt. When, at last, I was allowed to explain my errand, the change was instant and painful. She burst into a flood of hysterical tears. ' Oh ! ' she cried, 'you don't know the ill-natured things I have written about you ! ' From that time I saw her occasionally, and am satis- fied of the sincerity of her feelings. Then, I came to per- ceive how much of what was good and real in her nature had been strangled and poisoned by the self-interested thoughtlessness of those who should have shielded her. Some growing conviction of this it was, I have always thought, which drove her into a desire for escape, and this into her marriage. It seemed next to impossible that the husband she chose could have anything in common with her. Her melancholy death (curiously foreshadowed in her ' Ethel Churchill '), painfully sudden as it was, may have delivered her from heart-ache and weariness to come. But her ill-fortune pursued her after the catastrophe at Cape Coast Castle, caused by her mistake of one medicine for another. It would be worse than fruitless to rake up the scandals to which this gave rise, and which had their usual complement of malicious listeners. ' Very sorrrowful,' says the author, 'is the life of a woman ;' but of all the lives of literary women which I have studied that of L. E. L. seems to me the most sorrowful." * * A kindly notice of Mrs. Maclean — written on the announcement of her death, in the " Athenaeum" of Jan. 5, 1839, was by Chorley's hand. MRS. SOMERVILLE. I29 With another woman of letters, less popular in her own generation than any of the above-named, but whose intellectual rank was as much higher as her fame is certain to be more enduring — the late Mrs. Somerville — Chorley was on friendly terms during the period of her residence in England. Writing of the family, in January, 1836, to his correspondent in Liver- pool, he says : " The Somervilles I like very much. She is quite the pattern of what a literary woman should be, with a cheerful and conversable simplicity of manner that would be rather remarkable in any common person — how much more in so distinguished a star-gazer ! " Their vocations in life were too widely asunder to bring them much into correspondence ; and, with the exception of an occasional note, he has preserved no memorial of her that can be added to this reference. During the autumns of 1836, 1837, an< ^ 1839, ne enlarged his acquaintance with contemporary notabili- ties, both literary and social, by two visits, partly pro- fessional and partly recreative, which he paid to Paris. Such additions as he thereby made to his fund of musical treasures and critical experience, may be reserved for notice in a subsequent chapter. The raptures of surprise and enjoyment which a first visit to the metropolis of pleasure invariably excites in the young, are too familiar to bear repetition ; * and the * Chorley's enthusiasm, warm as it was, did not check the critical tendency which was habitual to him. There is a cynical fancy in this observation upon the position of the cemetery at Pere-la-Chaise. " The view thence over Paris is superb. Was the site of this cemetery chosen with the same view that made the Indian be buried on the summit of a high hill that overlooked his favorite hunting-ground?" 6* 130 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLE Y. extracts from his minutely detailed journals will be confined to such particulars as offer features of novel, or rather historical, interest. Among the pleasantest acquaintance whom he made on his first, and improved on his second, visit, were the family of the late Due de Gramont, whose Duchess was the sister of his friend Count d'Orsay. They were then living in comparative seclusion at Versailles ; their strong Legitimist sympathies forbid- ding them to appear at the court of the parvenu mon- arch (as they called him) who then filled the throne of France. The chivalrous courtesy and high-breeding of the whole family greatly impressed Chorley ; and he dilates with the enthusiasm of an artist on the gratification he had received from a visit to the Cha- teau of Versailles, in company with the Duke and Duchess, whose traditional tastes and memories were so closely intertwined with its history and relics. One little outburst of characteristic spleen to which the Duchess gave vent at the spectacle of the new regime that had displaced the old, is worth chronicling. The Gallery of Louis Quatorze — among the most splendid apartments of the Chateau — had been recently restored by Louis Philippe, who had added some can- delabra to the furniture. " Voila," said my charming conductress, in a low voice full of woman's feeling ; 11 c est tout papier-mac lie. Aujourd' hid nous avons un roi de papier- mac lie ! " A strong contrast to this home of Legitimist no- blesse ^2.^ that of the widow of one of Napoleon's Mar- shals, Madame la Duchesse d'Abrantes, to whom he was introduced by his old acquaintance, La Guiccioli. PARISIAN CEIEBRITIES. 131 " I cannot describe," he says, " how I was repelled by this woman. Ugly, stout, coarse, mannish, with a hoarse voice and loud grimacing laugh La Guiccioli told me that she takes inconceivable quantities of lauda- num — and she carries it in her face. Madame Ancelot was there, the authoress of ' Marie,' a Count de la Bayere, and many other people. The ladies in a demi-toilette, which it would take some time to familiarize to my English eye ; the men, ill-looking, ill-dressed, and, it seemed to me, impolite as well as vociferous. What I heard of the talk was not worth hearing ; in short, to retain my respect for the society of the Empire, I must hope and believe that I stumbled upon an unusually unhappy specimen of the doings in the Chaussee d'Antin." Passing over with a mere allusion his meetings with persons of less note, such as Madame la Baronne Cuvier, Lord and Lady Canterbury — with whom he dined, and met Lord Lyndhurst — the Prince de Mos- kowa (Ney), and the Prince Belgiojoso (remarkable for his musical gifts), Chorley's account of his making acquaintance with two of the leading French littera- teurs of the period, Paul de Kock and Alfred de Vigny is highly interesting. In the . course of his sec- ond visit to Paris, having left a note of introduction at de Kock's house, in the Boulevard St. Martin, the call was shortly afterwards returned : — " I opened the door, and there stood a short, middle- aged man, with a very prepossessing countenance, but intel- ligent and melancholy rather than gay, very thin and longish black hair (he is, indeed, all but bald) — a fine forehead, and mild, but observant eyes. He was dressed in a black pelisse, 132 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. faced and cuffed with plush. 'Je suis Paul de Kock.' I was thoroughly glad to see him, and welcomed him my best in my bad French ; told him of the pleasure I had received from his writings, and we had some pleasant talk. His character seems to me true to the feeling, and simplicity, and shrewdness of his novels. I have yet to find whether it be true to those looser parts which (pity on them !) make so beautiful a series a sealed book to English readers in gen- eral. But, as he spoke with affection of a son ten years old (who plays the piano very well), I will believe him to be a good father at all events. He referred modestly to his books, disclaimed the praise usually given to him as a writer merely humorous, and seemed pleased and touched by my assuring him (which I could honestly do) that I found some- thing in them far beyond the emptiness of mirth, and instanced the " Frere Jacques," and the last scenes of " Le Bon Enfant." He asked me whether I had read them in translation. I said, No : that I thought his humor untrans- lateable ; and he seemed also much pleased. We spoke of Victor Hugo, whom we agreed in placing at the head of his school ; of George Sand, whom we equally agreed in regard- ing as a hermaphrodite — a ' genie 7nalade > . . . He spoke of Count d'Orsay, till tears came into his eyes, and asked me whether he was [still] a Frenchman! He spoke of his own manner of life pleasantly and well. He has a little cabin or cottage in the country, and there he goes pour se distraire ; is his own mason, his own joiner; and, truly enough, said that a literary man has, beyond all his fellows, need of pur- suits and occupations in which the mind can pleasantly unbend itself, and wander away from its fevers or its researches. He spoke strongly, but not with bitterness, of his critics. 'They disliked him,' he said, ' because he belonged to no coterie, and would not do service for service.' How I admired this ! And he said that they called him the MADAME DE KOCK. '33 author of cooks, porters, and scullions. ' Well,' he said, ' I console myself, and could silence them if I liked, by say- ing that I am content, so long as these people don't begin to admire the monsters and prodigies of human nature.' But he seemed to feel to the full the comfort of knowing that no enemies or evil speakers can hinder that which is written to the heart of a people finding its answer there. He also spoke of the care and attention which his theatrical engage- ments required, as a reason for his not leaving Paris often, or to any great distance ; and we parted, I full of the most agreeable impressions. I have never seen a literary man, whom I should better wish to have written works I am fond of studying as models than M. Paul de Kock." Some days afterwards Chorley called upon his new acquaintance. " I found him from home ; but Madame de Kock, from an inner room, invited me to go in, and I am not sorry to have accepted the invitation, though, I hope, from something better than curiosity to see a literary man's menage in Paris. First, the room was small and low, an entresol, I think, with a parquet, and no carpet ; a tea-table set out in the midst ; a cottage-piano in one corner, and beside it a chair full of music ; on the wall, opposite the fire-place, a portrait of M. de Kock's brother, whom Madame de Kock, if I remember right, spoke of as being connected with the Dutch Govern- ment ; and an inner cabinet, shelved with books, where, I suppose, he sits to write. Madame de Kock was busy doing lace-work ; a very little woman, itn peu deshabill'ee peut ttre ; and though with, perhaps, not much of the grand lady in her abord, full of true and honest pride in her husband, speaking of his simple tastes with great pleasure ; how fond he is of children, how much he hates money transactions 134 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. with his publishers ; that she is always obliged to be the man of business ; and how thoroughly he is fond of the quiet habits which have retained him a tenant of his modest menage (against her will) for nineteen years. She spoke of his unwillingness to quit Paris, even for a visit to his brother, whose portrait I saw ; and we were getting on very pleasantly, when he entered. The more I see, the better I like him. He talked very interestingly of Paris, of the life of the peo- ple on the Boulevards and beyond the barriers, which he recommended me to see, and of the pleasantness of his sit- uation of residence. I said, Yes, but that I was sure I never could work if I had a house on the Boulevards. ' Well,' said he, 'I find physiognomies and figures, above all, costumes and groups in the streets, which are to me invaluable. 5 He then charged me with a book for M. le Comte d'Orsay, and on my begging permission to read it on the way, said he would give me one for myself. It is ' Gustave ; ' but why I note this is, as a trait, that the book bears as a title-page an illustration, which I shall tear out ere I bind this ; and I am sure that neither he nor she (whether from greater honesty of mind — whether from the lower tone of national taste, as regards the gross and the sufferable) found anything strange, or wrong, or objectionable. In England no author would have printed a book with such a picture — not even Byron. .... And yet, if I have any skill, this French novelist is twice the worth of Byron as a husband, a father, and a friend. It is odd to make these distinctions." It was in his third visit to Paris (paid in 1839) tnat Chorley made the acquaintance of Alfred de Vigny, whom, he found " exceedingly pleasant, conversable, tender, and friendly — perhaps in too pale a tone for a man. But what right have I" (he adds in a parenthe- sis), "who have all my life been laughed at for like RACHEL. 135 paleness, to object to this?" Their conversation chiefly turned upon French drama ; one of de Vigny's remarks on which, Chorley notes as chiming in with his own preconceptions, viz., " that the Oromanes and Coriolanus of Corneille and Voltaire were zvords not characters, as distinguished from the beings of Shakespeare." On another occasion they talked of Moliere whom de Vigny defended " against the charge of want of enthusiasm and passion sometimes brought against him ; averring that the passion of ' Le Misanthrope' was none the less passion for its being hooped, petticoated, and wigged." In de Vigny's company Chorley went, for the first time, to see Rachel's performance in Voltaire's " Tancrede." Though very much struck with the remarkable force and emphasis of her declamation, and the propriety of her by-play, he thought her deficient in action, and her attitudes too constantly in ordonnance, as though the pose, having been once found effective, was repeated whenever invention fell short. Her acting on a subse- quent occasion as Camille, in Corneille's " Horace," materially altered his estimate of her. " It is a great triumph, and I am converted to her. . . . In that wonderful scene with the soldier she was sublime : the quivering play of her hands, every fibre listening and yielding and struggling with despair, as one'who would deal with it herself, and let it have its way with others ; the sink- ing form, the horror-stricken countenance, were all in the best style of art ; to me finer and more affecting than her tremendous taunts to her brother, every word of which was a heart-string broken, and a drop of heart's blood shed against him, to pile on his head the mountain of her curse." 136 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. On another occasion he was present at a perform- ance by the great actress Mars, then in the golden sunset of her powers and fame. " The piece was ' Marie.' To be sure, in the epoch of girlhood her physical powers would not second her concep- tion ; but as the young wife of the financier, all dressed out in diamonds and flowers, and trying to smother an old pas- sion under the semblance of gaiety and worldliness, she was admirable. One speech, the great speech wherein, on her old lover reproaching her with coldness, she turns and tells him of the agonies she has endured, the death that is in her heart, was more the language of anguish than anything I ever heard. Then what could exceed her acting in the last act, when, having thought all her trials were on the point of being rewarded, and looking forward to the future with a calm happiness, not so wholly meditative, as to show that all capacity for enjoyment is dead within her, she finds that her lover has transferred his affections — to her daughter ! That charming, exquisite, girlish little Anais in the part of the daughter ! with a beauty, a freshness, and a bird-like gaiety ! No : we have nothing like it in England ! " On returning from Paris, after his second visit, in the winter of 1837, Chorley courteously undertook the escort of a lady known to him as the mother of an old acquaintance, Mr. Henry Reeve, distinguished in official life as registrar of the Privy Council, and in literature as editor of the " Edinburgh Review," and the translator of " De Tocqueville." Early in the following year, his acquaintance with Mr. Reeve having ripened into friendship, they entered into an arrange- ment to keep house together. They took some LO UIS NAPOLEON BONAPAR TE. i^y " luxuriously comfortable lodgings," as Chorley de- scribes them, in Chapel Street, Grosvenor Place, where their bachelor-partnership continued until Mr. Reeve's marriage in December, i84:i. During these years Chorley mixed a good deal in London society, and, in company with his " house-mate," entertained freely. The reunions which they gathered, thanks to Mr. Reeve's extensive acquaintance, were more than ordi- narily brilliant ; and the musical part of the entertain- ment was always of the highest excellence, owing to Chorley's intimacy with the musical world. Mendels- sohn, Moscheles, Liszt, Ernst, David, Batta, and almost all the great instrumentalists of the day performed there at various times. Among the guests whose names Chorley has recorded were Mr. Carlyle, Mr. and Mrs. Procter, Mr. Kenyon, Mr. and Mrs. Somerville, Mr. and Mrs. Basil Montagu, Harness, Poley the German Orientalist, Count Montalembert, M. Rio, Westmacott, Doyle (H. B.), Mr. Milnes (Lord Hough- ton), Mr. and Mrs. Austin, Mrs. Jameson, Miss Mar- tineau, and Miss Sedgwick, the American authoress. A visit of some duration was paid to them by M.Leon Faucher, the eminent Parisian journalist, and his wife, at the time of Her Majesty's coronation. Of a curious incident that occurred during the period of his housekeeping with Mr. Reeve, in con- nection with an episode in a chequered career which has but lately closed, Chorley has left a brief reminis- cence. The late Emperor of the French, then Prince Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, was at that time residing in England, after the failure of his expedition to Strasburg. I38 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLE Y. " He was content," as Chorley says of him, " to figure as a lion in the circles of the Mrs. Leon Hunters of his time, who cared not what manner of curiosities they drew to- gether, patriots, poets, military men, barristers, acquitted criminals, most of all, political refugees, or, as a friend of mine once humorously described them, * Charity Poles.' " In these circles, and as a frequent guest at Gore House, Chorley had made his acquaintance, and enter- tained a different opinion of his abilities from that formed by many other more superficial observers, who regarded his taciturnity as an evidence of stupidity. " He used to drive me frequently from Kensington to Hyde Park Corner, when we left Gore House, and would make shrewd remarks, and ask searching questions about subjects concerning which he desired to have information. . . . Mr. Reeve — whose keen interest and close parti- cipation in matters concerning foreign politics is no secret — was then in constant relation with M. Guizot, the French ambassador in London. ... It was on the Saturday before the Prince's attempt was made at Boulogne, that my house-mate, before going out for the day, left with me a note to be taken by our joint servant to the French embassy in Manchester Square. The servant aforesaid, Jonathan . . . . was a rough talkative man, not a little vain .... of the notoriety of some among our habitual guests. While 1 was dressing for dinner, he began to tell me that, during his evening rounds, he had seen in the Mall in St. James's Park two carriages duly appointed, and to them came alone Vrom 'Carlton Gardens, where Prince Louis was then resid- ing, himself, his faithful friend, Count Persigny, and one or two other gentlemen. Jonathan had stayed to gossip with some of the servants, to whom he was well known, and A STORY WITH A MORAL. 139 brought, on their authority, the news that Prince Louis ' was going to France to kick up a row.' Treating the matter (who would not have done so ?) as a piece of pure fiction, and averse to anything like scandal proceeding from our house, especially in the case of one so delicately circum- stanced as Prince Louis, I spoke angrily to the man, and charged him on no account to repeat the absurd tale, least of all at the French embassy, to which he was going that same evening with a note from Reeve. This he promised to do, and kept his promise. My dinner that day was at Gore House, tete-d-tete with Lady Blessington. When we were alone at dessert, our talk ran on English servants, and the liberties too frequently taken by them with the names of their masters and their masters' riends. I mentioned what had passed at home, as an instance. She treated the tale as I had done. ' Why,' she said, ' J drove down to Carlton Gardens only yesterday to leave a parcel there, which Prince Louis had undertaken to send for me to Paris by Prince Baiocchi ; he came out and spoke to me.' We passed on to something else. When I went home, I told the thing to Reeve, as a good story. After I had left Gore House, Lady Blessington told the same to Count d'Orsay, who got home late, also as an absurdity. Reeve went, according to his note, to breakfast with M. Guizot on the Sunday morning, and, of course, did not trouble the grave man in office with such a piece of nonsense. Monday passed, and Tuesday ; on Wednesday afternoon late, some one rode up to the carriage of Lady Blessington, who was driving in the park, open-mouthed with the news of the attempt at Boulogne, and the arrest of the pretender to the French throne. ' Good God ! to be sure,' she cried, in her eager way, ' I know all about it ; Chorley told me on Saturday ! ' " I have often speculated on the ' ifs' and ' ands' which might have happened, had we all four not disregarded the I 4 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. affair as a preposterous tale, and had M. Guizot been apprised on the Sunday morning. There have been days in which we might have been all accused, and with a fair show of circumstantial evidence, of complicity in the treason. u During the time when Prince Louis was imprisoned in Ham, by the failure of his attempt, covered with ridicule, I was in occasional communication with him, with the view of beguiling his hours of captivity, and heard of him constantly — from him, more than once. When his ' Idees Napoleon- iennes,' written in his dungeon, were to be published by Col- burn, I was invited, with his concurrence, to translate the book into English ; and a set of proofs, corrected by him- self, was sent me. I did not accept the task, mainly because I have never put my hand to a task of the kind, without some special knowledge of that which I professed to handle. For the same reason, whatever have been my prejudices or pre- dilections, on yet stronger grounds, I would never take ser- vice as a political journalist; such subjects are too grave ones to be undertaken merely as the means of gaining a livelihood. Whether right or wrong, I kept the proofs of the book by me for a long time, and was very near being brought into trouble by them, as under. " I was going into France, before the Prince escaped from Ham, and while making the hasty provisions for my journey, totally overlooked the fact that my writing-book contained some of the sheets of this perilous production, annotated by the writer. Fortunately, the douanier at Calais knew my face, and did not open my bundle of travelling wares. I destroyed the proofs, not conceiving that one day they might become a literary curiosity, no matter what was the intrinsic poorness of the work. " When Prince Louis made his escape from Ham, I was one of the first persons whom he called on ; and it seems as if it were but yesterday that he told me, from one of my THE MISS BERR VS. HI easy-chairs, the particulars of the manner of his deliverance, too well-known to the world for the tale to be told again here. To the last days of his residence in England, he con- tinued to show a recollection of the very trifling services I could render him, such as has not been the rule with others on an equality with myself, to whom chance has enabled me to give important assistance at critical junctures of their lives." This chapter must conclude with a few brief notices of other lions of London society whom Chor- ley was so fortunate as to meet during these years. Under date of 15th March, 1838, he chronicles his meeting, at a soiree given by Miss Martineau, with the two Misses Berry : — "Horace Walpole's Miss Berrys. What luck to have met with them ! They are more like one's notion of ancient Frenchwomen than anything I have ever seen ; rouged, with the remains of some beauty, managing large fans like the Flirtillas, etc., etc. of Ranelagh, and besetting Macready .... about the womanly proprieties of the character of Pauline in the 'Lady of Lyons,' till one thought of the Critique de VEcole des Femtnes. It is not often that I have heard anything so brilliant and amusing." Of these ladies, " women of the world, women of refinement, women of literary dilettantism," as they were, " one of whom made a good appearance in au- thorship by her ' Comparative View of English and French Society during the Revolution' — who kept open house in London, frequented by the choicest literary people, during some thirty years," — he re- counts a singular instance of literary ignorance : 142 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. "When that most charming of modern antique books, Landor's ' Pericles and Aspasia,' appeared, subsequently to his 'Gebir,' his 'Imaginary Conversations,' and even (I think) his ' Examination of Shakespeare,' on his name being passed round in their circle by some enterprising guest, Miss Berry said—' Mr. Landor ? What has he written ? ' " A few days after this meeting, he was asked to break- fast at Mr. Kenyon's, to meet Dr. Southey, and Mr. Tick- nor, of Boston, who seemed a gentleman and a man of letters at once. I never met any literary man who so thoroughly answered my expectations as Southey. His face is at once shrewd, thoughtful, and quick, if not irritable, in its expression ; a singular deficiency of space in its lower portion, but no deficiency of feature or expression; his manner cold, but still ; in conversation, bland and gentle, and not nearly so dogmatic as his writings would lead one to imagine. Talking, and talking well, a good deal about America. . . . He was speaking of Miss Martineau patiently, but without respect, describing her as ' talking more glibly than any woman he had ever seen, and with such a notion of her own infallibility.' I was more agree- ably impressed by Southey than I have, for a long time, been by any stranger." On another occasion he dined at the Dilkes' to meet Hood — "as quaint, as lazy, as deaf as ever; but always one of the most original people in his drolleries I ever met. There is a certain indescribable oddity that amuses me more than I can well express. Gen- erally, funny people are detestable." Among the lions of this calibre, whom he seems to have specially disliked, was the late James Smith, one of the authors of the " Rejected Addresses ;" chiefly, perhaps, on account of "his Garrick Club talk," and the trick of MISS CATHARINE SEDGWICK. 1 43 " whistling the airs of his odious comic songs" during a theatrical performance. He was not more favorably impressed by Haynes Bayly, whom, with his wife, he met at a fancy ball, in the summer of 1838. There is a ludicrous vraisemblance about his sketch of their appearance : " Till I saw them, I never understood the full force of the reproach of Bath fashion ; tawdry, airy, sentimental, vulgar ; he with a pen-and-red-ink complexion, and a hyacinthine Romeo wig, dancing, and behaving prettily to all the little girls in the room ; she in an old French dress, rouged, fade, hag- gard : what a pair of shabby old butterflies ! " Miss Sedgwick, the American authoress, who visited England in 1839, met with a more flattering portrait from his pen : — " She is decidedly the pleasantest American woman I have ever seen, with more of a turn for humor, and less American sectarianism. The twang, to be sure, there is in plenty ; and the toilette is the dowdiness (not the finery) of the backwoods ; but then she is lively, kind, heart-warm ; and I feel, somehow or other, almost on friendly terms with her, though I never spoke more than twenty consecutive words to her." These candid, and often caustic, sketches of char- acter and manners, it must be remembered, are extracts from a journal of which the publication was never contemplated ; nor should this now be given to them, if any to whom they might occasion pain were presumed to be living. Chorley himself was far too kindly and sensitive to have perpetrated what he was the first to reprobate in others, the impertinence and 144 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. cruelty of literary vivisection. In a letter to his Liverpool correspondent, dated August 1st, 1841, he thus notices a recent breach of this canon of good taste, by the lady who had produced so agreeable an impression upon him when they met a year or two before : — " Miss Sedgwick* has been returning the compliment of all English journalists, by putting us all round on paper, to a degree which is too bad. She asked, it seems, poor dear Miss Mitford's servants what wages they received, and the like ; and, I hear, has written that which is likely most sadly to compromise some of the Italian refugees in America, who were negotiating with the Austrian Government for a restora- tion to their families. I liked her so well in private, as an honest-minded, simple-mannered, cultivated woman, that I am really more vexed than there is any occasion for. I fear the next cage of Transatlantic birds will not run much chance of being very liberally dinnered and soireed here ; only everything passes off like a nine-days' wonder ! " * In a volume of " Letters." CHAPTER VII. Professional experiences as a Musical Critic between 1834 and 1841. — Original gifts and acquirements. — Persistence of principle. — Devel- opment of taste. — Illustrative Extracts from journals. — Visits to France in 1836, 1837, and 1839 — Interview with Chopin. — Acquaint- ance with systems of Wilhem and Mainzer. — National singing- schools in England. — Tours in Gei-many, 1839, 1840, 1841. — Intimacy with, and letters from, Mendelsshon. — Journey in company with him and Moscheles. — Stay at Leipsic. — Anecdotes of Mendelsshon. — Schumann. — Sonnet to Mendelssohn's son. — Subsequent letters. — Publication of " Music and Manners," etc. TO eulogize an art-journalist of our own day for conspicuous integrity in the exercise of his calling, might seem to " damn him with faint praise," or cast an undeserved slur upon the general body of the pro- fession. But it would be an affectation to assume that thirty or forty years ago the critical press, of either England or the Continent, occupied the same honora- ble position in public estimation that it occupies now, or to ignore the discredit of venality and sycophancy which then attached to organs of wide circulation and influence. More than one scene in which Chorley was an actor furnishes proof that, on the score of uprightness and clean-handedness, his professional career was suf- ficiently exceptional to justify special comment. No stress can be laid upon ordinary instances of solicita- tion. Every journalist, whose verdict is worth a bribe, 7 I46 REMINISCENCES OF C HOE LEY. has doubtless been insulted by attempts, more or less transparent, to influence his judgment in a given direction. In the majority of cases, such attempts are made by ignorant and ill-bred persons on behalf of themselves or their friends ; and nothing more can fairly be inferred than the folly or baseness of the individuals concerned. Chorley has noted two or three such instances in his experience, which are hardly worthy of insertion here, because, however curious in themselves, they are insufficient to warrant a general inference. But the following illustration has a far wider bearing. The individual concerned was a for- eign composer of eminent genius and reputation, to w r hose works Chorley had long rendered his tribute of admiration, as spontaneous as it was well-merited, but whom he had never met. On the first occasion of the maestro s coming to England, writes Chorley, in his narrative of the incident : — " I paid him a visit, anxious to offer him such attention as lay in my power, by way of testifying my gratitude in private, as I had again and again done in print, for the rare pleasure he had afforded me. In a few days my visit was returned with every sign of courtesy. But when my caller rose to take his leave, I perceived a certain unmistakeable thing — a rouleau — drawn from his pocket, and within an inch of my table. There was nothing to do but to close his hand over it, with a gesture towards the place from which it had been extracted. I see, while I write, his look of un- feigned astonishment as I said (to avoid misunderstanding), ' It is not our English habit.' What makes the matter more curious still, is that some years later I heard the story [of my refusing this offer] told in Paris in a company of artists CHORLEY'S Hl.GH-MINDEDNESS. 147 as something peculiar — no person being aware that one of the two parties concerned was present." It is inconceivable that a man of such intellectual rank and good breeding, as the composer in question, would have ventured to compromise his reputation in the way described, unless his experience of artistic journalism had convinced him that " every man had his price." The surprise which the discovery of his mistake occasioned, not only to himself but to the circle of confreres to whom he must have communi- cated it, puts the exceptional nature of the occurrence beyond the reach of doubt. This, as will be hereafter seen, was by no means an isolated experience in Chorley's professional life ; but it is not upon the strength of such instances — for which he would have been ashamed to take or receive credit — that his claim to be considered sans penr ct sans reproclie is to be rested. The whole tenor of his critical career, seems to have been pervaded and con- secrated by a single aim. That Art should be true to herself, her purpose high, her practice stainless, was a creed which he never wearied of preaching. Against any tradition of the past, or innovation of the present, that savored of falsehood or trick ; against all pre- tenders, who concealed their nakedness by meretricious display or arrogant self-assertion, he ceaselessly pro- tested and inveighed. Alike to the bribery of mana- gers, the venality of journalists and claqueurs, the extmvagant assumption of composers, and the insolent vanity of singers and instrumentalists, he showed him- self a bitter, almost a remorseless, enemy. His per- 148 REMINISCENCES OF CHORIEY sistence brought him many enemies in return, but they never made him swerve or keep silence. When looking back, through a vista of thirty years, upon his professional life, and comparing his matured impressions (drawn from recollection alone) of the artistes he had heard, with the critical estimates he had pronounced upon them at the time, Chorley could say that he " had found no discrepancy betwixt- past and present judgments worth adverting to." (Intro- duction to " Thirty Years' Musical Recollections," p. xi.) Although this statement must not be taken an pied de la lettre, it no doubt expresses with sufficient accuracy the gross result of the comparison in ques- tion, and may be applied even more widely to charac- terize the rapidity and accuracy with which he arrived at his conclusions, and the conservative tone of his criticism generally. He doubtless owed the first of these characteristics, in great measure, to an excep- tional development of natural faculty, to which experi- ence gave increased strength and fineness. His extreme sensibility of ear* enabled him to seize at a single hearing, and his singularly retentive memory to produce for subsequent reflection, the salient features of a musical composition, which an ordinarily gifted " It was naturally acute rather than accurate, as he testified in his Lectures on National Music (1862). " I have met no one with quicker and more exact and retentive power than myself; and it has been in incessant exercise during thirty years ; but not a few of these had elapsed before I discovered that I habitually heard every musical sound half a note too sharp, and this without respect to the pitch to which the instrument or the voice was tuned. It took me no small time or pains to verify this fact Now everything I hear passes through the process of translation." PERSISTENCE OF PRINCIPLE, 149 hearer would only succeed in grasping after repeated attendances and hours of quiet study. His journals attest that this promptness of apprehension, in a rudimentary state, was possessed by him almost from the first. Their records of musical experiences, which date from 1832, are repeatedly interspersed with motivi, scored from memory, but quoted with as much facility as if they had been verses from a favorite poet. Some of these passages were, no doubt, familiar to him, but others were avowedly transcribed after hearing them for the first time. Several such instan- ces could be cited from the journals of his visits to France and Germany in 1839 an d 1840; and the evidence of his faculty was remarkable enough to excite the surprise even of Mendelssohn. This advan- tage of acquiring rapidly and retaining surely the material upon which his judgment was to be exercised, would of itself account for the decisive tone of his enunciations; but there can be no doubt that it received substantial weight and justification from the careful thought which he had originally given to the theory and practice of music. There is reason, more- over, to believe that the artistic canons to which his mind had subscribed when it first devoted itself to their definition were those which the judgment of his maturer years deliberately confirmed. As an illustra- tion of his persistent adherence to a theory which he had once adopted as true, it is worthy of notice that in a lecture which he delivered at the Royal Institu- tion in 1 861, upon the relations of poetry and music, he elaborated the same principles already adverted to as laid down by him in a critique of Moore's " Irish 150 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. Melodies" in the "Athenaeum" of 1834. In later life this natural bias of his mind to conservatism dis- played itself still more prominently, and exposed him, with some show of reason, to the imputation of dog- matism and finality, but it never rendered him insensible to the impression of new ideas. His apprehension was never more happily manifested than in the promptness with which he discerned the signs that herald the sudden advent of genius, nor his per- sistence more worthily employed than in the unwearied pertinacity with which he urged upon public attention the claims of any whose recognition was too long delayed. An illustration of the one, in connection with the name of Mr. Arthur Sullivan ; of the other, in connection with that of M. Gounod, will not fail to occur to all readers of the " Athenaeum." Chorley's own statement above quoted as to the absence of discrepancy between his earlier and later judgments, must not, however, be taken quite literally, or without due limitation. It should rather be inter- preted in the general sense already explained, and practically restricted to cases where the evidence was sufficiently complete to enable him to arrive at a decision at once. It would cause an entirely erroneous impression, if taken to mean that his mind was never in suspense, nor subject to those tentative fluctuations of opinion which every mind must undergo that has not been prematurely stunted, or warped by prejudice, His early estimate of singers like Grisi and Pasta assuredly differed from his later judgments, in so far as tfhe glowing rapture of a young enthusiast differs from the discriminating enjoyment of a middle-aged habitue : GIULIA GUI SI. 151 the fascination to which he yielded when the vigor and richness of such music as Meyerbeer's impressed him for the first time, was moderated by the subse- quent discovery of deficiencies which impaired their value. With respect to Grisi, for example — whose glorious endowments as an actress and singer were, in the opinion of some of her admirers, too imperfectly recognized and grudgingly praised by him in his later criticisms — a gradual subsidence of .enthusiasm and modification of judgment are clearly apparent. The outburst of rapture with which he chronicles, in April 1834, his first impressions of her performance in " La Gazza Ladra," would satisfy the demands of her most exigeant worshipper. " I can neither be cool nor critical over this dear creature. Her voice is deliciously pure and young, and she sings as if she loved her art, and has its resources at her feet ; still I don't think that she has by any means reached the zenith of her powers. Her execution is brilliant and fearless — sometimes a little too florid — her arms like sculpture, but used in a thousand ways which would make any sculptor's fortune ; her hair magnificent, her action easy, passionate, and never extravagant ; some of the bursts of feeling, the 1 Ben chh to sola ' in * La Gazza,' and in her trial scene, and in the coda of the funeral march, were positively electrifying, and made tears come in harder eyes than mine. . . . She must play Desdemona — she is the woman of women for the part ! In ' Anna Bolena ' I felt where Pasta's low-veiled tones were wanting, and the piece is so dreary that she pro- duced less effect than in 'La Gazza.' . . . Still, her playing 152 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. in the last scene was splendid, and recalled to one Miss Mitford's most expressive personation of ' Bright chattering Madness and sedate Despair.' I have dared to say that I prefer her to Malibran, and wait her Donna Anna with some anxiety, to see whether I shall be allowed by my conscience to let such a record stand." Later in the same year he pronounces her " per- fect " in " Donna Anna ;" her "first scene could not be surpassed " — her singing in " Semiramide " as " all brightness and power ; " her voice throwing out its " glorious altissimo notes in positive floods of brilliancy and power;" her acting in " Otello " as " magnifi- cent," and in " Anna Bolena " as " sublime." In May, 1837, n ^ s verdict is that she is "more superb than ever," but the warmth of these epithets soon suffers a gradual diminuendo. In his journal of August, 1839, there occurs such an entry as this : " Grisi (in ' Nor- ma ' ) singing false, and certainly falling off;" and in the "Athenaeum" of May, 1840, she is described as " still something too abrupt and emphatic for our " Desdemona. " Further modifications are apparent in later notices, and the resulting average of these alternations of praise and censure is embodied in his deliberate estimate of her in the " Musical Recollec- tions," vol. i. pp. 108-117. Other instances to the same effect could be readily adduced. How just in the main were his contemporary ver- dicts, how accurate his forecasts have proved to be, has been repeatedly observed since his death. That his judgment was occasionally at fault is undeniable, SIX MICHAEL COSTA. 153 and, with a candor too rare among critics, he was the first to call attention to the failure. An instance in point may be cited from the musical annals of 1844-6. On the appointment of Signor (now Sir Michael) Costa, in the former year, as conductor of the Phil- harmonic Society's Concerts, Chorley denounced it as strange and unsuitable, prophesying that " the only result of such proceeding inevitably would be out- rageously unpopular." (Athenaeum, 1844, p. 105 1.) He was made sensible of his error after hearing the first concert under the new regime, and hastened to retract. " Without unnecessary words of exaggeration, it may be stated as past question that the first Philharmonic Concert established Signor Costa in the foremost rank of conductors of classical music, and justified the directors in their choice. As we somewhat mistrusted the discretion of his appointment, it behoves us emphatically to say that we have heard no Philhar- monic performance to compare with Monday's (March 1 6th). The orchestra is entirely under the control of SignorCosta's ' baton,' " etc. ("Athenaeum," i846,p. 298.) Chorley's own volume of recollections already cited furnishes a resume of his experiences and opin- ions in musical matters, so much more completely and accurately than they could otherwise be supplied, that it is needless to attempt to supplement it. It may enhance the value of this volume, however, in the eyes of those who have read it without knowing anything of the writer, if we point out the means by which he obtained his experience and informed his judgment. All lovers of music and frequenters of its public 7* 154 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. performance in London during the last forty years, whether of opera, oratorio, or concert, will probably be familiar with his figure ; but only his intimates will be likely to know how ubiquitous he really was, and what toil and cost he was ready to expend in the dis- charge of his duty. Year after year, from 1836 to 1868, and often more than once a year, he was in the habit of making expeditions to the Continent, for the purpose of hearing music that could not be heard, or seeing artistes who would not perform in England. In spite of his weak physique he w r ould undertake these expeditions at any season, and sometimes at a moment's warning. Long night-journeys in the most pitiless of weather and unaccommodating of conveyances, interruptions of pre-arranged plans of travel and needful seasons of repose, were cheerfully submitted to if Music were the siren that summoned him. His Continental journals abound with evidences of' a va- grancy that any one unacquainted with his motive would naturally ascribe to the restlessness of disease. Having settled down, to all appearance, for a week at Leipsic, he suddenly emerges at Berlin, lured by the report of a performance of Gluck. From Dresden he hurries off to Paris on a similar errand ; or when bound for the South, diverges from his route for miles to be present at a concert which Liszt has announced at Mayence. Whenever he was able so to time his annual holiday as to attend these performances in the course of it, his professional and personal expenditure was always duly adjusted. The visits which he paid to France in 1836, 1837, and 1839, an d to Germany in 1839, 1840, and 1841, CHOPIN. 55 were more memorable to him, perhaps, than any other, both as enlarging the sphere of his experience and reputation, and giving rise to the formation of one of his most cherished friendships. In Paris he became familiar with music of Meyerbeer, Auber, Halevy, and Chopin, then and for some time afterwards little known or regarded in London, and added the two last com- posers to the number of his acquaintance. At his interview with Chopin, whom he describes " as pale, thin, and profoundly melancholy " in appearance, he was gratified by hearing the composer perform a suc- cession of characteristic morceanx on the piano. " His touch," writes Chorley, " has all the delicacy of a woman's but is not so fine. Voila a very impalpable dis- tinction ! but a distinction for all that. I mean to say that I don't think any female finger of so small a timbre would have produced a tone in its weight so significant without the slightest impression of pressure. The long extensions with which his music abounds, again, are managed by throwing the whole hand forwards in a manner which I can hardly fancy a woman doing without making a jerk. In the first example I was struck by the delicacy, almost ad libitum, of the fiorimenti he introduced — all the harmonies are helped and massed together by the aid of the pedal No want of fire and passion, no want of neatness, if you regard the whole thing as veiled music, and such it is." Nourrit, Dup.ez and Mario, Persiani, Pauline Gar- cia, Dorus-Gras, Cinti-Damoreau, Nau, and Anna Thillon, were among the eminent singers whom Chor- ley heard for the first time in Paris. Here, too, he familiarised himself with the methods of instruction 1^6 REMINISCENCES OF CIIORIEY. in part-singing then recently introduced by Mainzer and Wilhem. Of the latter he entertained a high opinion, and on his return home lent all his influence in support of Mr. Hullah's efforts to establish a similar system in England. The chief feature of his earliest visit to Germany in 1839 was the introduction to Mendelssohn, which laid the foundation of their friendship. No contem- porary composer occupied a higher place in his esti- mation ; and his praise, both in public and private, had not been stinted. After hearing the performance of " St. Paul," at Exeter Hall, in September, 1837, he writes in his journal : — 11 As music this ranks high — next to Handel's — so much simpler and less cloyingly enriched than Spohr's. . . . Deliciously cantabile for the voices — in places very grand — in places fanciful without eccentricity; and always beauti- fully expressive. Medelssohn is certainly the Oratorio- writer." The detailed notice in the " Athenseum," of which this is the rough draft, and other expressions of his critical admiration had probably been brought to the composer's notice by their common friend Moscheles. Chorley's visit to the Brunswick Festival, in 1839, was > at all events, expected by Mendelssohn, and they met as old acquaintance. The circumstances of their meeting, among other memorabilia of his musical expe- rience on the Continent during this and the two fol- lowing years, Chorley has sufficiently described in his " Music and Manners in France and Germany." That volume is mainly compiled from the elaborate journals MENDELSSOHN ASA PIANIST. 157 which he kept on the occasion ; but a few notes which, for obvious reasons, he omitted to transcribe from them may now wichout impropriety be added to sup- plement it. The first impression made upon him by Mendelssohn's appearance is thus described : — - " I had already made myself aware that he was not in the least like any portrait I have seen, and that he is a cap- ital conductor, though in quite a different genre from Mos- cheles — as different as their two musics. . . . He is very handsome, with a particularly sweet laugh, and a slight cloud (not to call it thickness) upon his utterance, which seemed like the voice of some friend. . . . Nothing could be kinder than he was." A few days later there is an entry in the journal which describes Mendelssohn's power as a pianist : " He played his own Concerto (in D) on a peculiarly ungrateful Vienna pianoforte ; but no matter. It is thoroughly artistic playing ; a certain organ-fullness, but not organ-heaviness, in his touch ; a capital management of time — so free, and still so not too free; a complete freedom from all possible mannerism ; a fullness of expression with- out the least constraint ; a complete absence of all petitesse ; and a degree of animating spirit communicating itself to his orchestra, the mixture of which seems to make him as essen- tial to his own music as is Thalberg." * Their converse was thoroughly cordial during this visit, and they frankly interchanged ideas and dis- cussed joint projects, which are referred to in the sub- * For a more elaborate description of Mendelssohn as a pianist compare Chorley's " Modern German Music/' vol. i. pp. 50, 51. 158 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. joined letters "- of Mendelssohn, written after Chorley's return to England. " Leipzig, 28th Feb., 1S40. " My dear Friend : — " Your letter gave me a very great pleasure. I wish your occupations might allow you to write me sometimes, and not too seldom ; I shall always answer punctually, and it would be a very great treat to me to continue, as it were, a conversation which we were compelled to break off too soon. There is none of my friends in England whose letters give me so quite the feeling of presence as yours do, and as you say you must use a dictionary to read a German letter, I will much rather use it in writing an English one, and put you to the inconvenience of deciphering my imagi- nary language, which I intend for yours. And now I will not say more on the subject, but let us often hear from each other. Thanks for your ideas on the plan of Dives and Lazarus — be sure that I am fully aware of your kindness in thus discussing the matter with me, instead of leaving it off at once, as I unfortunately experienced it so often ; and I thank you more for it than I can well express. After what you say, I see that I have not been able to form an exact idea of what you intend the whole to be ; the fact is, that I did not quite understand what part both figures should act in hell or in heaven, because I do not quite understand the part they act on earth — and indeed the true sense of the story itself, as I find it in the Evangile — or is there another source, which you took your notions from ? I asked some of my theological friends here, but they knew none. — I only find Dives very rich and Lazarus very poor, and as it cannot be only for his riches that one is burning in hell, while the other must have greater claims to be carried to Abraham's * All these letters are transcribed literatim. LETTER FR OM ME A r DEL SSO HN. !59 bosom than his poverty alone, it seemed to me as if some very important part of the story was left in blank. Or should Lazarus be taken as an example of a virtuous poor man ; the other of the contrary ? But then we ought to know or to learn (by the poem) what he does or has done to deserve the greatest of all rewards ; the mere reason (as given in St. Luke) that he suffered want, and that the other has had his share of happiness on earth already, does not seem sufficient to me to give interest to the principal figure of such a poem as that which you intend. Perhaps you have another view of the whole ; pray let me know it, and tell me what part you would give to both of them in earth, hell, and heaven. If once delivered of this scruple, I should quite agree w T ith your opinion, and the great beauties you point out I should certainly feel and admire with all my heart. Do not lose patience with me ; I am of a rather slow under- standing, and can never move forwards until I have quite understood a thing. The best is, that in all such discus- sions one always draws nearer, not only to the subject, but also to each other. But what is this return of your illness, and the continual complaint of which you write me ? You seemed so well and so high in your spirits when we met here. Are you not too busy, and take too little rest ? Half an hour's rest or walk may benefit so much if taken in right time ; but I am afraid London is the worst place for think- ing of such things, which, however, take always revenge if neglected. And yet it must be possible there also. Am I not talking like an old ' Philister ? ' I am in earnest, however. Pray give me better news in your next letter • tell me that you are quite recovered, and that you will take care of yourself. " Of the Moscheles and Klingeman you do not speak. Do you know whether the first have received my letter two or three months ago, and the other * letters lately, and * Original torn. i6o REMINISCENCES OF CIIORLEY. how are they ? What you say of Miss- -is, I am sorry to say, quite my opinion \ and the impression her continental tour has produced upon her seems to me very far from favor- able. I always thought every sensible person should only improve by kindness shown to her, and be driven to greater exertions by the expectations and the praises of friends ; and I was more sorry than I can express to see in this instance quite the contrary. This and a few other similar experiences I believe to be the causes why I cannot think of my return- ing to England with so unmixed a pleasure as I should have done otherwise ; indeed, I find it difficult to make up my mind, whether I should like to go or not, while I would not have hesitated a moment in former years. I had some letters about Musical Festivals at Birmingham and Edinburgh, which made me think over these matters very often last week j and yet I was not able to overcome all my objections, and much as I wish to see again your country and all my excel- lent friends there, I fear that I shall rather decline than accept those kind and honoring offers. Does not Moscheles go to the Continent next summer ? and when and to which place? If he went to Hamburgh, perhaps I could manage to pay him a visit. What you write of the Conservatoire of Paris has surprised me, and I could scarcely believe it, if I had not found the same fault in their execution of Mozart's and Haydn's, which you blame in Beethoven's, works ; their extreme vivacity had carried them to overload the two former masters' compositions, and to hunt for effects and admira- tion where a conscientious fidelity was required, and nothing more. This was not the case with Beethoven's symphonies, which they really performed without frivolity and exaggera- tion ; but eight years have elapsed since, and as they most probably wanted to add some new and better effects every year, it must be now the same case as with their predeces- sors, and then I am afraid they will get tired of them as soon LETTER FROM MENDELSSOHN. 161 as of the others. But now good-bye. David sends a thou- sand wishes, and will write in German one of these days. Schleinitz sends his regards, and talks often of the 'English- man,' meaning you par excellence. Once more adieu. " Always very truly yours, " F. Mendelssohn By." "Leipzig, 21st July, 1840. " My dear Sir : — "I was not able to write to you until I had made up my mind as to my intended journey to England. My health was not in a very good state these last two months ; the physician wanted to send me to some 'Brunnen' instead of a Musical Festival. I felt weary and uncomfortable, and there were many days when I had quite given up the idea of visiting England this year, and yet I deferred writing a decisive let- ter from one day to the other. Now, since I have come back from the Festival at Schwerin (where I got your very kind letter by Mr. Werner, whom I saw every day and liked very much), I am so much improved, and my spirits are so high again, that the medicus withdrew his opposition, and accordingly I wrote to-day to Birmingham and accepted pos- itively j and now my first question is, how is it with your plans ? with your beautiful idea of visiting Milan or Vienna, and crossing over with me and staying some time with us ? Do you know that such a prospect would make my whole journey to England look bright and gay ? What a pleasant journey we would have together ! What a delightful chat from Belgium to Saxony ! Pray let me soon hear that you still have the same intentions and adhere to this plan, which would give me such pleasure — and write me that you are not angry for my long silence, which, is, indeed, the more inex- cusable as your last letters are so friendly, so very welcome, and as I always wanted to thank you for them with all my 1 62 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. heart. But this uncertainty would not allow me to write a single letter to England ; and now that it is at an end, I have nothing to do but to excuse my former sins. I have also written to Klingemann this morning with the same object in view, and shall do so to the Moscheles. I hope to find them all in England, and well, and the same kind friends as before. I have thought very often of our Oratorio plan ; and although I could not reconcile myself to the idea of introducing Dives and Lazarus, your sketches have given me another idea for the introduction of my favorite plan, which I think is the right one, and which I long to communicate to you, and to hear your opinion of it. But I must do it in per- son, not in writing, and we must talk it over, not only corres- pond about it ; and, therefore, pray keep much leisure time open for me and for my plans. Perhaps I shall annoy you very much with them, but then you must only accuse your own kindness, which induces me to think you more of an old friend than a new one. As for your opening of the second part, with the verses 31, etc., from Matthew, chap, xxv., it is a glorious idea, and that of course must remain, but * miind- lich, mund-Iich.' " I was glad to hear that you like Liszt so much ; he is such an extraordinary artist. He wrote me that he would prob- ably assist at the Festival at Birmingham ; but I hear he has given a concert at Mayence one of these days. Is he to come back to England ? and is Molique better, who was so very ill, as I understood ? David sends his best regards and wishes : he is in better humour for playing and composing than ever, and his new concerto at the Schwerin Festival was capital. I am now finishing the concerto for him, of which you recollected the last movement so perfectly. By-the-bye, what an extraordinary memory you must have, to write three subjects of a piece, which you only heard once, without mis- sing a note ! But I have not altered anything at the end of LETTER FROM MENDELSSOHN. ^3 the first movement of my Trio, and cannot make out what might have been the cause of your thinking so. Did they play it fast enough ? I hope you will like my new ' Lobge- sang,' or ' Song of Praise,' which we performed here at the Festival, and which they will give at Birmingham on the sec- ond morning. It is a kind of universal thanksgiving on the words of the last psalm, ' Let all that hath breath praise God.' The instruments begin it with a symphony of three move- ments, but then it will not do ; and the voices take it up and continue it with different feelings and words, solos and choruses, till they all unite again in the same words. It is rather long, but I think and hope you will like some parts of it better than my other things. I will also bring some other new compositions ; and this leads me to a question which I also put to Klingemann, and to which I should like to know your answer and very sincere opinion, as I shall be guided by it. It is now so long since I have not been heard in public in London, that I should like to arrange a concert for some charitable institution during my stay in September next, it might either be in a church, and there I could only play the organ, or (which I would prefer) in a room, where I could perform my new pianoforte music, a new overture, etc. But the question is, first, whether such a thing is possible in the month of September, when everybody is out of town ? then, if such concerts to benevolent purposes are known and liked in your country, and, in short, whether you advise the thing to be done or not ? If the two first points are not an objec- tion, I should like the idea ; but, as I said, let me be guided by your view of the case. The period of my arrival is not yet quite fixed. If my wife can accompany me on the jour- ney, I intend to be in London soon after the middle of next month ; if not, I will only leave Leipzig in the beginning of September, as I know, by experience, how fidgetty I feel with- out her, even among my best and kindest friends. On our 164 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. journey home from the ' Norddeutsche Musikfest,' at Schwerin, we passed through Berlin, and spent three very pleasant [days] there. I found my family in excellent health and spirits ; and they return your kind remembrance and wishes with all their heart. And now enough of my bad style and broken English ; let me soon hear from you, my dear friend, and believe me always yours " Very truly, " Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy." The projected visit to England, which forms the chief subject of reference in the last letter, was duly made in September, 1840; and Mendelssohn conducted the performance of his " Lobgesang " at the Birming- ham Festival. On his return to Leipsic in October, he was accompanied by Moscheles and Chorley. The latter's journal of the tour affords a pleasant portraiture of both his travelling companions — " Moscheles of a humor quaint and curious, and more genial than I had at all expected from one habitually so calm and reserved ; Mendelssohn warm and petulant about small troubles and hindrances, but good-natured to an excess, and spirituel and cheerful passing common cheerful- ness." They travelled by way of Ostend and Cologne, up the Rhine, through Frankfort and Weimar. The Rhine voyage was especially interesting to Chorley, as Mendelssohn knew " all the points of the river like a lover, and showed them to me with the eagerness of one who has sympathy in his heart." On the road to Weimar, Medelssohn recalled an amusing episode of his visit there many years before, as Goethe's guest. A NE CD TE GF MENDEL SSOHN. T 6 e The Grand Duchess having expressed a wish to hear him play, an intimation was made to him that he had better call upon the Hof-Marschall ; but standing on his dignity, and probably knowing something of that func- tionary's mode of treating musicians, he declined to do this, expressing at the same time his readiness to accept a formal invitation to the court. Such an invi- tation was at last sent to him, and he accompanied Madame von Goethe one Sunday evening to the Belvidere. On arriving, he was asked his name by the official in waiting, and on giving it, was separated from his companion, and led " through a labyrinth of by-passages to a small waiting-room, where cloaks and such ignoble wrappings are deposited," being directed to wait there until the Hof-Marschall came. After waiting alone for half an hour, the youth began to chafe. " At last, provoked and indignant, he takes his crush-hat, and rushes out. The servants try to hinder him — he must not go ; he will be called upon presently ; every one will be very much displeased, and so forth ; to which no answer, save that go he will, and go he does, across the fields, in full evening dress, straight to Goethe's house, leaving the formal court to stare and wonder for their pianoforte player ; a circle having been convoked expressly to meet him." Men- dlessohn went on to say that this protest had the desired effect, and that the court officials were hence- forth instructed to treat Hummel, who had been accustomed to similar indignities, with becoming respect. The week which Chorley spent at Leipsic was one of ceaseless musical entertainment ; Mendelssohn and 1 66 REMINISCENCES OF C II OR LEY. Herr David, first-violinist of the Gezvandhaus Con- certs, vieing with each other in deference and hospi- tality to their English visitor. One delicate act of attention rendered by Mendelssohn on this occasion is worth special mention. A painful attack of lame- ness that had confined Chorley to his hotel, had pre- vented him from enjoying several of the musical treats which he had anticipated. " I was lying down," he writes, " in all the fullness of wretch- edness .... when a little bustle at the door announced the arrival of a concert-flugel from Breitkopf and Hartel. I shall always think of this with emotion. Mendelssohn had sent it, and he and JMoscheles were coming to make their evening's music by the side of my sofa ! One hardly knows how to take these things without seeming extravagant ; and I could not help running over, in thought, years of struggle and obscurity, and longing, when such a visitation would have seemed to me a positive faery-dream. . . . Then one's mind so strongly and sadly associates with its thoughts at such times all who are gone ; and I could not but remem- ber what a sympathy poor Benson would have had in seeing my tastes thus ministered to, and without, I hope, any obtru- siveness or flattery on my part." Another entry chronicles an illustration of the composer's gaiete de cceur — trifling enough in itself, but yet characteristic of the man. While spending an evening at his house, a note with a ticket enclosed was put into Chorley's hand. The note ran thus : — " ' The Directors of the Leipzig Concerts beg leave to present to Mr. Shurely a ticket to the Concert of to-mor- row.' Whereupon Mendelssohn ran to the pianoforte, and SCHUMANN. l6? began to play the subject from the chorus of the ' Messiah,' ' Surely he hath borne, etc' " Among other acquaintances which Chorley made on this visit were the composer Schumann, and the accomplished pianiste his wife. Her command of the instrument struck Chorley as "masterly," although " perhaps a little wanting in grace and delicacy ;" but he was less favorably impressed with her husband's music. The pieces selected were his " Kreisleriana," — fantasy-pieces with that affected and Hoffmanish title, and written studies, neither songs without words, nor notturni, nor recitatives in rhythm, but partaking of all these natures; exceedingly wild, exceedingly clever, with some passages of very sweet melody, and some middle work of very fine construction ; but, after all, clouded, and dreamy, and heavy : a sort of answer to the spirit of Berlioz talking on the pianoforte. Surely music is neither to end nor to stay here, else will it become a house for no sane man to dwell in ! Chorley 's estimate of Schumann's music was never materially modified, though he lived to witness the success which, after the composer's early death, attended the efforts of Madame Schumann to obtain his semi-apotheosis. At Mendelssohn's house in Leipsic, Chorley was treated with a familiar kindness that won his heart. He was especially charmed with the infantine grace of his host's little boy (now Dr. Karl Mendelssohn), and on the journey home addressed a sonnet to him, which, as well for its own sake as for the gratification which it afforded to the composer, may be appropri- 1 68 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. ately inserted here. It was sent to him, as may be inferred, between the dates of the two succeeding letters. "TO C. MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY. " Now, while the Night with sad embrace hath kissed The earth to silence, save for winds that grieve, My heart is counting o'er the things I leave With tender watchfulness that none be missed : And 'mid the ties which Life will scarce untwist, O blooming, bright-haired Boy ! thou, too, did'st weave A tiny thread — with looks that all believe, And gladsome voice. Oh , may it aye resist, Merry as now, the harsher tones of Time ! Thou wilt forget me ere again we meet ; And I am townward bound — to play the mime 'Mid worldly men — perchance myself to cheat: Fit is it then that one atoning rhyme So fair a gift of Heaven should simply greet." The following was received in answer to the first letter written by Chorley after his return : " Leipzig, 24th Jan, 1841. "My dear Chorley :— " Here comes your knife and speaks : ' How long is it that you left me on F. M. B."s table ? And why did he not send me sooner to my lord and master, and why did he not write sooner, and why is he so idle ?' But then the knife is too sharp, for I was not idle, and I wanted often to write and say a great deal to you ■ and very odd it was when I knew you on your way to France, and found the knife with your name reposing so quietly on my writing table. And you receive another debt of mine with it, the ' Evangelium Nico- demi.' It was long before I could find out a copy for you, and very brilliant it is not, and looks more like a school LETTER FROM MENDELSSOHN. 169 grammar than like a poetical enthusiastic Evangile, which, however, you will find it is, when you have leisure to look it over. I hope that may soon be the case ; and you may then think of our conversation in Belgium on the railroad, and in different other places, and think of the great work to which you so kindly and friendly promised your assistance. But even if you find at present no leisure to read it, the look of it will, I hope, recall your friends in Lurgenstein's garden to your mind, and will make you think, if not of my work and music, at least of me and my wife and children. " I have now three, and a very pretty, healthy, good-look- ing fellow the youngest is. My wife has not yet left her room, but is, thank God, so well, and in so excellent spirits that I really have passed one of the happiest weeks since the birth of the little boy. The time before such an event is always so serious, and then I had such a quantity of busi- ness, musical and other, in my head, that I cannot express how relieved I feel since all is so happily over. " My wife joins in best wishes and compliments to you, and hopes to see you soon on so good terms with the young- est as you are with the two other children. Have my best thanks for your very kind and welcome letter, with the news of your stay in Paris, and of all our mutual London friends. They are almost as bad correspondents as I am ; at least, when I take the start I beat them, as I have now completely done since our arrival here. I hope from one day to another to hear from Moscheles and Klingemann, for there were many things in their last accounts which interested me very much, and of which I long to hear more particulars \ as, for instance, the Singing Academy which they were to open, and from which I think much good might be anticipated under the auspices of two such artists. The only drawback seems to me the difficulty for English ladies of moving alone (without servants, gentlemen, and other accompaniments 8 170 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. obligato), which, however, is almost indispensable for such an undertaking; and (unless it is to be confined only to the inferior classes) I do not know how this obstacle in England, as well as in France, may be overcomed. And then the second, that men of business should consider music, and the participating of it, as something not below their dignity, and that they should have indeed their heads free enough to count the pauses and the sharps and flats. With us, who shut up from twelve to two, as you know, and who have done in shops and counting-houses at seven, the thing is quite differ- ent ; and then all our girls run about the streets by them- selves the whole day long ; and then at night, if there are three or four of them, and an old spinster in the rear, they will roam and fear nothing; or the singing gentlemen will take them home, at which idea every Frenchman's morals would go into violent fits. I am therefore very anxious to know how Moscheles and Benedict will have organised this new undertaking, for all those French essays made by Mr. Mainzer and the others are nothing like our societies. Did you hear something of those while at Paris ? and what is your opinion of them ? And now I recollect that I am still more in your debt than I thought when I began the letter ; that I have not even thanked you yet, in the name of my wife, for that charming little poem which Moscheles sent me the other day, composed partly by him and partly by myself [yourself ], for the kind, hearty feeling which it expresses, and the delightful words in which it expresses them. Have my best and sincerest thanks for it, my dear Chorley, and be sure that we appreciate your friendship to us, as well as we participate of and join in it. You write me that you began a letter to me in the Rue de la Paix,* and made a poem to my boy ; although I fear I must give up the former, I wish * Chorley was in the habit of staying at the Hotel Canterbury in that street, LETTER FROM MENDELSSOHN. 171 you would not force me to do so with the latter, and would send it to me ; for if I did not, the boy really would deserve it at your hands ; he speaks every day of the 'Englander,' of 'Onkel Chorley ' and ' Onkel Mdscheles,' and of 'How do you do.' Pray let me have it ; it would give me such a pleasure, and my wife, who has begun English lessons with great zeal, would also perhaps be able to understand and enjoy it. And now excuse the prattling letter, and let me soon hear from you, your life, your pursuits, and everything in which you take interest. Our musical news will have been communicated to you by Klingemann to whom I gave accounts of the concerts, of the battle of Cannae, in which Mile. Schloss was Hannibal and Mile. List Rome, and of everything in the way of art gossip. But of England I am without musical as well as personal news, and should like to get soon plenty of both. Once more farewell, and think sometimes of yours sincerely, " Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy." " Leipzig, 15th March, [1S41]. " My Dear Chorley : — " Thank you most heartily for your two amiable letters, which gave me a great treat ; and thank you once more for the pretty lines on my little boy, which I' read with some- thing like emotion, thinking of the little fellow's unconscious- ness, and that he was already the object of my and my friend's best thoughts and wishes. I like the sonnet in itself very much. I do not know how it comes that it has the touch of an impromptu, without any of its imperfections, and that it conveys to me the feelings of a traveller musing over poetry or music, and with his thoughts flowing quietly along while the carriage does the same. Have also my thanks for your description of my overture to the ' Midsum- mer Night's Dream ' being adapted to the play at Covent 172 REMEXISCEiYCES OF CHORLE Y. Garden. I had not heard one word of it, and it interested me very much. If you could give me some more details as to the manner in which all the fairy scenes are given, and what and where they have done with their ' machineries,' etc., and which melodies they have taken from my overture to serve as melodramatic or other music, you would greatly oblige and amuse me. Pray tell me something more of it when your leisure allows you to do so. Our season is now drawing to its close; but the second part of it, from January, was more troublesome and vexatious than ever I found it. Fancy that I have had nineteen concerts since that time, and seven more to come in the next three weeks, not to speak of rehearsals of which we always had at least three in a week. Bach's ' Passione,' with our whole strength, amateurs and musi- cians, in the Thomas-Church, will make the conclusion. But of all this, David, the bearer of this letter, will give you more and better details. I have had so much to conduct and to perform, that Lhave neither read nor written in the course of this music-mad winter. Accordingly I have not even read ' Antony and Cleopatra ' through, but was interrupted in the middle of the second act, and will now wait till spring brings better and more quiet times and spirits. Did you give a look to that odd Evangile, and think of the Belgian railways plan ? I wish you could give me some of your opinions about the undertaking, for I shall certainly carry it into execution if I live, and hope to begin — the sooner the better. Those news of the Philharmonic which you give me, and which Moscheles' last letters confirm but too much, are really very sad; and I cannot help being sorry for the sinking of a society, which once has done so much good to music and musicians. But if it is true that they give my < Lobgesang' without waiting for the four new pieces which I made to it, and which I announced months ago to Novello, if they do it in the old version, and without once C II OR LEY REVISITS PARIS. i/3 asking my consent, then shall I certainly withdraw all my good wishes for them, and cry ' Anathema ! ' or make an Allocution to my Orchestra, which the Pope has just done about the Spanish affair, and which will be, no doubt, of the same effect on the Philharmonic Directors as on Espartero. I must conclude this hasty and very bad letter. Excuse a giddy man. My wife and children are perfectly well and happy, thank God ; and the first desires her best compli- ments to you. ' " Believe me always yours very truly, " Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy. ''* Between the dates of the foregoing letter and the next which he received from Mendelssohn, Chorley had written and published his impressions of " Music and Manners in France and North Germany: a Series of Travelling Sketches of Art and Society. "* In 1839, after attending the Brunswick Festival, as above men- tioned, and making a tour among the Hartz Moun- tains, he had spent some time in Berlin, Leipsic and Dresden ; in the first making the acquaintance of Spontini, in the second, of Herr David, in the third, of Herr Schneider, and under their auspices hearing as much music and as many singers as the resources of the three cities afforded. He revisited Paris in the early part of 1840, and spent a month in diligent attendance at the Academie, Conservatoire, and Opera Comique; and in the autumn of the same year, after leaving Mendelssohn at Leipsic, he again visited Ber- lin, Dresden, and Paris, in order to complete and revise his impressions. Had he expended half as much care in the arrangement as in the collection of * Longman and Co., 1841, 3 vols. 174 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLE Y. his materials, this work might at once have taken rank among the standard literature of the subject which it illustrates ; but it was compiled, as his journal admits, with a haste of which the tokens are only too evident in its pages. Passages of solid and trenchant, sometimes 'brilliant criticism, tedious historical disser- tations, lively sketches of scenery and manners, and repetitions of frivolous and ephemeral gossip are so confusedly mingled in these volumes, that the reader may be forgiven if he fails to discover the real thread of connection which is indicated in their title. Such a thread, nevertheless, is really discoverable; and, how- ever unhappily amalgamated, these impressions of a shrewd and competent observer on the national char- acteristics of the two leading continental races, as illustrated in the relations of their " art and society," their " music and manners," thirty years ago, may still be read with interest. The analysis of Meyer- beer's " Robert le Diable" in chapter iii. of vol. i., and that of George Sand's literary stand-point, in chapter ii. of vol. iii., which are coupled as correlative instances of the " unnatural and ill-proportioned union of things religious with things sensual" then prevalent in France, afford favorable specimens of Chorley's method. The chapters devoted to the deep-seated insincerity and levity which corrupted the professions of literature and art in that country, are striking and suggestive. The same spirit pervades his censure of the miserable cabals by which the musical world of Germany was torn asunder, for want of that feeling of nationality which its political divisions then rendered impossible. Read by the light of recent events, these observations MUSIC AND MANNERS." m possess an historical significance which did not attach to them at the time they were penned ; and in this respect the book may still hold its place among the class of memoir es pour serv.ir. Of the lighter parts of th'e book the liveliest is the rhymed letter to a friend (Lady Blessington), giving the following description of Berlin : — " A wide white city stretched along the brink Of the thick Spree — no river, but a sink. . . . Houses in ranks and squadrons, each arrayed In one same uniform of dull parade ; As if old Fritz (whose shade, methinks, looks down, A pig-tailed cherub in a false bay-crown, Simpering to ape the sneer of keen Voltaire, The while he hovers heavily in air,) Had bidden the conscript walls to muster come By proclamation made at beat of drum." In a pecuniary point of view " Music and Man- ners " was very far from being a success ; but it was " more kindly received, upon the whole," than its author expected, and attracted a fair share of atten- tion, especially on the Continent, where it probably initiated the reputation which he eventually obtained as the English authority, par excellence, on the subject of music. The following letter from Mendelssohn, written after reading the extracts given by the German reviews of the book, may appropriately conclude the account of it : — " Berlin, 7th Sept. 1841. " My Dear Chorley : — " Here is at last a letter (a thanking one) of mine : I ought to have written it long ago. You gave me so much Ij6 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. pleasure by your last, occasioned, as you say, by some Frahliugslied of mine. But by which ? I composed such a heap of them, and every winter the evil will be increased instead of cured. So which do you mean ? The one I sent to Klingemann in G, or that in B flat ? And what an enor- mously beautiful phrase you have been writing about your book ! I cannot answer to that until I have read the corpus, not delicti, but beneficii, I dare say. Strange enough it is that I have not yet been able to get it, and do not know anything beyond what I saw in almost all the German papers, which I found this spring at a Leipsig coffee-house. There they had translated your fine fluent English in their own hackneyed style, one this bit, and one the other; and they all like and praised it very much, and gave outlines, as they called it, of the whole ; but of course that conveyed only a very limited and weak idea of your work to me, and I long the more to read it by myself in the shape it was meant and written. There is a man here who promised to get it and let me have it, but till now he has not kept his promise, and I must not wait with my letter any more for him, else your indignation at my correspondentship will rise to such a pitch. Of a surety, I will think of some Shakesperian songs ; but never did it before, and such things must have time with me. Is, then, Adelaide Kemble still in England-? My mother told me the other day she was expected, or had appeared at some concert (I can believe Liszt's) at Frank- furt. What is this ? Has she left England again for a long time ? I hope not. Liszt is anxiously waited for by the Berlin Musical world, but if he should again disappoint them, and leave Berlin at his left hand's side (as we call it in German) I for one could not blame him ; for indeed one of the extracts of your book, which I read, and which was a quotation from Burney about Berlin, is up to the present day so dreadfully true, that I almost wish you had not quo- LETTER FROM MENDELSSOHN. 177 ted him or I had not read it. I do not recollect the words, but it was something to the purpose that the people here made up for their defects in practising the arts, by their acute- ness and correctness in critical observations : so they did at Burney's time, which is some years ago, so they do to-day, and I am sure will do after the same period again. It is in the air, in the sand, in the want of historical bottom which their whole life has, in the want of flowing water, of God knows what, but it is. A shame that I should say so, whom they really receive at present with such a kindness, as to make me think the whole town and the people were fine, even if they were twice as ugly ; but I cannot help it, and, with all my gratitude, truth will out in almost every conversation I have, and in every letter I write. Yet do not tell anybody of it ; I still think I may be mistaken. All my family is well, and unites in many compliments and wishes to you. I wrote a long account of my occupations, and of the prospects of my Berlin career to Klingemann, and will not repeat it accord- ingly; but I will repeat that you have given me a true pleas- ure by your kind letter, that you always do so whenever you write to me, and that I wish and beg you to be a generous correspondent to yours, " Very truly, " Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy." 8* CHAPTER VIII. Literary Life from 1841 to 1851 — Connection with "Athenaeum" — Contributions toother serials — -Letter from Douglas Jerrold — Edits Ladies, Companion — Minor Poems — Drama of " Old Love and New Fortune"— Miss Mitford's Opinion of it. CHORLEY'S connection with the " Athenaeum" — during these years remained pretty much in the same footing as before. Many works of the highest rank published at that time passed under his criticism ; among them the poems of Tennyson, and of Mr. and Mrs. Browning, Hawthorne's " Mosses from an Old Manse," and " Scarlet Letter," Dickens' " Martin Chuz- zlewit," " David Copperfield" and " Christmas Carols," Macaulay's " Lays," Thackeray's minor sketches, and several works of Lord Lytton, Miss Bronte, and Disraeli. Besides his regular weekly work for the " Athenaeum," he contributed several articles to the " British and Foreign" and " New Quarterly" Reviews " Bentley's Miscellany," the " People's Journal," and " Jerrold's Magazine." He appears to have been upon the regular staff of the last-named journal; and the letters which he received from Jerrold — no mean judge of literary ability — attest the high value which was set upon his services. The transmission of proofs and cheques from an editor to a contributor is too rarely accompanied b)isuch expressions of approval as LETTER FROM DOUGLASS JERROLD. iyg some of these letters contain — " your touching and beautiful verse ; " " papers each of which ought to be a bank-note" — phrases which from such plain-speak- ing lips as Jerrold's can scarcely have been meaning- less. Most of these letters relate too much to details of business to be generally interesting, but one is suf- ficiently characteristic of the writer to deserve inser- tion. " [Undated, but between 1845 and 1848.] " My Dear Chorley : — " I have given directions that your proof be immediately sent. Will you forward the October to Tomlins ? "I am off on Saturday. Shall you be near the Museum Club any time from six to nine on Thursday ? I shall be there. I send you cheque, with best wishes for all comfort in your approaching holiday. I go to solitude in Sark, ' far amid the melancholy main.' Such a place for a man to lie upon his back, and hear ' the waves moan for sleep that never comes.' "Yours ever, "D.J." On the retirement of Mrs. Loudon from the editor- ship of the " Lady's Companion," the proprietor offered the post to Chorley, at a remuneration which, as he wrote to his friend in Liverpool, " for the first time in my life, put me entirely at ease in my circumstances." He conducted this serial from Midsummer, 1850, to Midsummer, 185 1, and wrote much for it, both in prose and verse. One of Chorley's uncompleted designs towards the close of his life, was to collect for publication the best l8o REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. of the poems which he had contributed to the serial literature of the past thirty years; and he has left in manuscript a considerable portion of such a volume, ,vhich was to be " gratefully and affectionately" in- scribed to " Barry Cornwall, as the first poet who hon- ored " him " with a word of kindness." The most ambitious poetical effort of these years was the construction of a five-act play, after the pat- tern of the post-Elizabethan domestic drama, which, in the hands of Sheridan Knowles, had proved so suc- cessful upon the modern stage. Its title of " Old Love and New Fortune" was appropriately expressive of the moral agencies set in motion — the immemorial antag- onism of affection and pride. The plot is, unfortu nately, too elaborate to admit of compression into the shape of an argument which would be readily intelli- gible. If not framed with much regard to probabilities, it is undeniably skilful, and abounds in effective situa- tions. The two principal personages — La Roque, a wild, generous gallant, and Sybil Harcourt, the wilful beauty whom he loves — are creations of real flesh and blood, spiritedly and consistently conceived. Admi- rable as a contrast to Sybil is the other heroine, Eve, a gentle earnest girl, whose unacknowledged love for Sir Archibald, her guardian and Sybil's father, is por- trayed with singular delicacy and tenderness. A scene wherein the two girls are brought into collision is one of, the most dramatic situations in the piece. La Roque, with the hope of winning back his truant mis- tress, who, still loving him, has cast him off for a wealthy suitor, takes Eve into confidence, and induces her to let him make feigned love to her. Sybil, who "OLD LOVE AND NE W FOR TUNE." \ g i has guessed Eve's secret, surmises that her sufferance of La Roque's addresses is intended at once as a tri- umph over herself and a lure to Sir Archibald. Irri- tated to madness by the assumed provocation, she reproaches Eve with her treacherous and unmaidenly arts : — " The blush, the panting bosom and the tear .... A trick of trade ! To pique your gray protector's jealousy ; When I see Your gradual heavenly smile, and hear your voice Drawl out its smooth and hypocritic psalm, 'Tis more than generous nature can endure." Eve, at first barely comprehending their drift, answers these taunts meekly; but when they culmi- nate in an insinuation of her willingness to accept a baser place than that of wife, the slander, which amounts to a sentence of exile, rouses her to indignant recrimination : — " You stir not hence — and, if need be, not wed — Till this be cleared between us. Stand in- the light ! Repeat your taunt, and look me in the face . . . . . . You dare not, Sybil ! There is still a touch Of woman in your nature ! Sybil. Woman, stung By most intolerable wrong. Eve. And whose The wrong, and whose the sting ? Your own proud heart I Is it not enough Yourself have cast to the winds the richest store Which ever Heaven on thankless mortal showered? — .With your own frantic hands have riven the ties Of household blessing, and of virgin love ? 1 82 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. And is the dark and dismal wreck too small, Or lacks there wider ruin to content The insatiate fury gnawing at your heart? And you with cold and wicked words Would tarnish my good name, and drive me forth To the one refuge open, whatsoe'er The sorrow and the storm. Content you, Sybil ! Content your pride. The arrow hath struck home. When maiden turns on maiden, then the world Is so disjoint, 'twere best at once to pass To the unslandering silence of the shroud. Go, and be decked ! Go ! barter for base things Your stainless beauty ! I can weep for you. My grave is better than your bridal bed !" This extract is perhaps an unusually favorable specimen of Chorley's dramatic vein in the play, but fairly represents its style, which, if unequal in power, is uniformly clear, and occasionally rises into dignity. As a reading play, it may be open to the objection made to it by the author's friend, Mr. Harness (after a warm eulogy of its " delightful style and moral sense ") of having " too much story ; " but this does not seem to have been felt in representation. Other friends, to whom it was shown in MS., were more enthusiastic in their praise; among them Miss Mit- ford, whose own dramatic success entitled her to fore- cast with some confidence the chances of a fellow- playwright. The letters from which the following extracts are made are undated, according to the writer's wont, but must be anterior to 1846. The day after, first hearing it read, she wrote as follows : — " My very dear Friend : — " Between crying and excitement, I never closed my eyes all night, and can hardly see out of them to-day : (Jane LET TER FR OM MISS MI TFORD. \ g 3 declared that the next time I went to Mr. Chorlev's she would provide two pocket-handkerchiefs) ; and, as I would fain share all such troubled joys with one who dearly loves them, Miss Barrett, I have to entreat that you will let her see l Sir Archibald.' She is most desirous of the favor, and will esteem it as it deserves. You could hardly have a reader of more true sensibility to beauty, or more thoroughly willing to admire all that is sweet, and true, and tender, in you especially, of whom she has heard so much. ... I can think of nothing but that play. I am as sure of a high success as I should have been with ' Virginius,' or ' Wil- liam Tell,' or ' The Honeymoon ' — the three greatest plays of this century ; yours is better than either. Be sure to tell me what Macready says." Sometime later she wrote again : — " The recollection of that play is as vivid as if I had read it only yesterday, and so it will continue. Certain things burn themselves in upon the memory and the heart, and there they are for life. I am sure of the success of that lovely play whenever you find a stage to produce it — not caring very much about the actors. It will take care of itself." The writer's shrewd perception was not at fault. The piece was accepted for the Surrey Theatre, Mr. Creswick playing the principal part, and the perform- ance (Feb. 1850) was a thorough success: " carefully listened to, well applauded, and myself called for at the end," as Chorley's journal commemorates. The press was fairly appreciative. Congratulatory letters poured in from all his friends, Mr. Browning writing from Florence to express the warm gratification of 1 84 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. Mrs. .browning and himself, and rally him upon having been prematurely despondent about his " old luck," of which the spell was surely now broken. By an oversight on the part of the manager, the necessary licence of the Lord Chamberlain had not been obtained ; and when the play was withdrawn from the bills on the day after his triumph, Chorley's half- serious, half-jesting belief that he was doomed to failure seemed really justified. But the difficulty was soon got over, and the piece enjoyed an honorable tenure of popular favor. CHAPTER IX. Private and Social Life from 1841 to 1851. — Residence in Victoria Square. — An affaire du ctzur — Artistic friendships. — Mrs. Browning. ■ — Sir William Molesworth. — George B. Maule. — Travels. — Extracts from Journals. — Notes on pictures. — Professor Bendemann. — Kaulbach. — Letters and Sonnets in " Athenaeum." — Last letter from Mendelssohn. — Visit to Interlachen. — List of acquaintances. — Langtree. — Thomas Campbell. — Rejection of offer of marriage. — Pressure of calamities. — Illness of his sister. — Death of Mrs. Chorley. THE bachelor-partnership which Chorley had en- joyed with Mr. Reeve for nearly four years was determined by the latter's marriage in the winter of 1841 ; and, in default of finding another companion- ship so agreeable under the same roof, Chorley gave up the lodgings, and took a house of his own, No. 15, Victoria Square, where he resided for the next ten years. This relapse into solitariness told unfavorably on his spirits, and before he had time to become reconciled to the change, they experienced a fresh access of depression, consequent on the unexpected marriage of a distinguished artiste of his acquaintance, whose fascinations had tempted him to indulge in dreams which that event dispelled. The announce- ment gave occasion to this outburst of reflection on the peril of forming artistic intimacies : — " One gives out so much more sympathy to them than to those of any other class ; one gets back so much less. 1 86 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. They are not things for long leases ! ... If one could, how much the best would it be to live totally alone ! I think I have had to uncoil my tendrils so often, that I shall come to this before very long— to the smooth face which tells noth- ing, and the smooth heart which feels little ! " The mood in which this was written was very short- lived, and however prudent the reflection may have been, it had no practical effect whatever on the writer's future conduct. Among his closest intimacies through life were those which he formed with men and women more or less eminent in some one of'the various call- ings consecrated to Art ; and this period was as rich in such intimacies as any. His friends of former years, Mr. Procter, Mr. Browning, Mendelssohn, Ken- yon, Miss Mitford, and Lady Blessington, were re- tained, and names not less illustrious in literature than Mrs. Browning, in music and the drama than M. Liszt and Madame Viardot Garcia, were added to the num- ber. To the record of his friendship with the first- named only of these can publication justifiably be given, and this is, unfortunately, more than usually incomplete. No sketch, however, can fail to interest which, like the following, contributes a particle to our knowledge of so remarkable a woman : — ■ " Mrs. Browning and her writings claim affectionate commemoration on the part of those who knew her person- ally, and consider the high place she must ever hold among the recognized poetesses of this country. In the first class only five can be named — -Joanna Baillie and Miss Mitford, in right of their tragedies (the former, too, one of Great Britain's most exquisite lyrists) ; Mrs. Hemans, the musical, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 1 8 7 high-hearted, and impassioned ; and herself — less complete in execution, it may be, than the three women of genius already named, but bolder in imagination and deeper in learning, with a wider (and wilder) flow of inspiration than any of those with whom she is here classed. She has a place of her own — rare, noble, daring, and pure beyond re- proach — in the Golden Book of gifted women. There has been only one since, Adelaide Anne Proctor, less ambitious, perhaps, than her predecessors, but, as a lyrist, more com- plete, more delicate, not less original therefore, than any among them, whose verses have a beauty and a finish that owe nothing to any model. " It must be at least thirty years ago that I was startled by a new pleasure — a published ballad, signed, I think, with only initials — in ' The New Monthly Magazine ' — ' The Romaunt of Margret.' I got it by heart: if I copied it once, I copied it ten times, and must have made myself a nuisance, as immature enthusiasts are apt to do, by talking of it, in season and out of season as .an appearance of a strange, seizing, original genius. I was doubted and put aside accordingly, in obedience to English law and usage, which (as it were) make us set our teeth and lean our backs against the door whenever the same is to be opened to a real novelty. The chance, however, that. brought me to the knowledge of that munificent man and indulgent friend, John Kenyon, Miss Barrett's relative, brought me also the privilege of writing to one whom I so sincerely admired, and of being on the list of those to whom she was willing to write. " In fhose days no other intercourse was possible ; for she was an invalid — thought to be a hopeless one — as such, not to be intruded on, (were the candidates as persevering, gifted, and charming as the. American ' interviewers ') save by a very few old friends. 1 88 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. " Her letters ought to be published. In power, versa- tility, liveliness, and Jinesse ; in perfect originality of glance, and vigor of grasp at every topic of the hour; in their enthusiastic preferences, prejudices, and inconsistencies, I have never met with any, written by men or by women, more brilliant, spontaneous, and characteristic. This was her form of conversation. 1 have never done a duty more against the grain than in restoring those addressed to me to their rightful possessor — the true poet whom she married, after an intimacy suspected by none save a very few, under circumstances of no ordinary romance, and in marrying whom she secured for the residue of her life an emancipation from prison and an amount of happiness delightful to think of, as falling to the lot of one who, from a darkened chamber, had still exercised such a power of delighting others. It was more like a faery tale than anything in real life I have ever known, to read, one morning, in the papers, of her marriage with the author of ' Paracelsus,' and to learn, in the course of the day, that not only was she married, but that she was absolutely on her way to Italy. The energy and resolution implied were amazing on the part of one who had long, as her own poems tell us, resigned herself to lie down and die. I cannot recollect when I have been more moved and excited by any surprise, beyond the circle of my imme- diate hopes and fears. " Every letter of hers from Florence told me of one pros- pect after another brightening, of one hope after another fulfilled — told with a piquant originality and prejudice not to be over-stated or under-praised. " I never met Mrs. Browning face to face till after her re- turn to England. The time is too recent for me to tell how we met — as correspondents who had become friends. And her indulgent friendship never failed me to the last, in spite of serious differences of opinion concerning a matter which sh6' "AURORA LEIGH." 1 89 took terribly to heart — the strange weird question of mes- merism, including clairvoyance. To the marvels of these two phenomena (admitting both as incomplete discoveries) she lent an ear as credulous as her trust was sincere and her heart high-minded. But with women far more experienced in falsity than one so noble and one who had been so seclu- ded from the world as herself, after they have once crossed the threshold, there is seldom chance of after-retreat. Only they become bewildered by their tenacious notions of loyalty. It is over these very best and most generous of their sex that impostors have the most power. They are no matches, as men are, for those miserable creatures who creep about with insinuating manners, and would pass off legerdemain, the tricks of cup-and-ball, for real, portentous discoveries. " I have never seen one more nobly simple, more entirely guiltless of the feminine propensity of talking for effect, more earnest in assertion, more gentle yet pertinacious in difference, than she was. Like all whose early nurture has chiefly been from books, she had a child's curiosity regarding the life beyond her books, co-existing with opin- ions accepted as certainties concerning things of which (even with the intuition of genius) she could knew little. She was at once forbearing and dogmatic, willing to accept differences, resolute to admit no argument; without any more practical knowledge of social life than a nun might have, when, after long years, she emerged from her cloister and her shroud. How she used her experiences as a great poetess, is to be felt and is evidenced -in her ' Aurora Leigh,' after every allowance has been made for an extreme fear- lessness in certain passages of the story and forms of expression, and that want of finish in execution with which almost all her efforts are chargeable. " The success of ' Aurora Leigh ' (with all its drawbacks) was immediate, wide, and, I conceive, is one likely to last. 190 REMINISCENCES OF CHORIEY. The noble and impassioned passages which printed them- selves on memory as I hurried through the tale, carried along by its deep interest, the brilliancy of allusion, the felicity of description, separate it from any effort of the kind which I could name. Those who care for comparison may come to something like a right appreciation of this poem, on com- paring it with efforts in the same form by M. de Lamartine, or an English novel in verse which followed it, by the accom- plished but imitative author of ' Lucille.' In Mrs. Brown- ing's ballad poems, the same pre-eminence in fantasy maybe ascribed to her. I refer to the ' Rhyme of the Duchess May,' 'The Brown Rosarie,' * The Romaunt of the Page,' 'Lady Geraldine's Courtship,' and ' Bertha in the Lane.' It is idle to talk of halting tones and occasional platitudes, (what fertile writer has been exempt from them ?) when so much vigor or variety are to be counted on the other side of the question. Some of Mrs. Browning's minor lyrics can hardly be exceeded in beauty and tenderness. The verse from one entitled ' Sleeping and Watching,' which begins, ' And God knows, who sees us twain/ has a pathos which will speak to every one who has had experience in the darkened chambers of life." The only other memorial of one of Chorley's inti- mates at this period, which admits of present publica- tion, is of a man widely different in intellectual type and vocation from those among whom his intimates were usually selected — the late Sir William Moles- worth. How they became acquainted does not appear ; but there were moral qualities in each that proved mutually attractive, and united with sufficient affinity in their tastes to cement a friendship of which SIR Willi A M MOLE S IVOR TH. I 9 I Chorley was justly proud, and which he has thus worthily commemorated : — "Among my betters, with whom it has been always my desire and my good fortune to live, I have known no man, as regards heart, head and capacity, superior to Sir William Molesworth. Our acquaintance was strangely made ; but it ripened into what I have a right to call a friendship, which lasted to the end of his life. That he trusted me I have good reason to know ; and howsoever wide apart our pur- suits were (one alone excepted — love of flowers and trees), 'I was never by him made to feel the inferiority of my flimsy knowledge to his massive command of the greatest subjects which can engage a serious man's attention. I was, from first to last, at ease when I was with him, and have not to remember a single depreciating word or doubtful look on his part. " Sir William Molesworth was in no respect brilliant, but earnest ; perfect in mastery over every subject he took in hand, open to any testimony which interfered with his own views ; a man of a high and truthful nature, under the cover of whose deeds and strong opinions, call them prejudices, the least gifted of those whom he met and habored must have felt safe. He was just rather than, habitually gener- ous ; but when he chose to be generous, he was munificent, and without regard to his good deeds being blazoned. He was well aware of his own value, as every sincere man must be who has any value at all ; but in private life, never was any great man less self-asserting. He seemed to love to rest in it by way of enjoyment, not to shew shows or to make speeches, on the strength of his position as a man of letters or a statesman. "It is curious to recall how, as a young leader in the Radical party, wealthy to boot, and with an honorable family I 9 2 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. name and estate, Sir William Molesworth was pursuecf by squadrons of strong-minded women, or terrible mothers, ' shallow-hearted ' (as Tennyson sings), having daughters to whom the name, and the fame, and the position of his wife would have been a promotion little short of heavenly advance- ment on earth. It is excellent to recollect how quietly he put aside everything like control, or intrigue, or suggestion ; and, by choosing for himself, secured as complete a happi- ness for two married people as the world has ever seen. This could not have been more emphatically attested than by his testamentary dispositions. " A deliberation and persistence, not to say heaviness of nature, were among his remarkable characteristics, and had no small share in his success. Whatever he attempted to do he did thoroughly ; let the thing be ever so great or ever so small, the shaping of a course of political service, the gath- ering together testimony as regarded Colonial affairs, in which field of action he has never been replaced, the fulfil- ment of a task no less dry than the editing of the philosoph- ical works of Hobbes of Malmesbury, which called down on him that rancorous abuse of his opinions, then too fiercely used against all those suspected of Liberal heresies by the high Tory party — all that he did was thoroughly done. This peculiar characteristic was carried out to the most trifling occupation. I have seen him for a couple of hours absorbed in the solving of a chess problem ; or in disentangling a skein of silk, while his mind was steadily pursuing some train of thought and speculation. But he never used his accuracy as an engine of oppression, as meaner men are too apt to do. When, at last, his worth and his weight could be no longer overlooked, and he entered the Ministry as responsible for the 'Woods and Forests,' the question of a new National Gallery was on the carpet. He was resolute not to move in it till he was in possession of the fullest information as to the SIR Willi AM MOLESWORTH. 193 merits and demerits of foreign picture-galleries. How care- fully he received, and how patiently he sifted this, I am in case to record. He gathered specifications, working plans and estimates of what had been the cost, of what was the nature, of what the success, of the great European establish- ments of the kind, and was preparing to present the result of his comparisons to the nation in a tangible form, when changes occurred in our administration, and he was promoted to the Secretaryship of the Colonies. According to certain established principles of English policy and private judg- ment, which imply English destructive waste at the expense of public money, his successor, as small as he was a great man, swept away all the fruits of his care and provision into some unseen official closet, where, probably, they may be moul- dering at this day, and began anew a series of inquiries and perquisitions, just as if the subject was still a virgin subject. Corollary. — We have no National Gallery, save a building originally penurious and inefficiently patched up, even to this present day. " From all abominable waste like this, the experience and counsel of such men as Sir William Molesworth— were there many such — might have protected this country. But the name of such is not legion. When he came to be promoted, as was inevitable, to his legitimate sphere of action, as Colonial Secretary, the frame, by nature not a healthy one, was worn out. He had a very few days of consciousness of reward, due to a power and probity as priceless as they are uncommon, and died peacefully, with perfect conscious- ness that he was dying. " His sense of humour was not keen, but no man delighted in such quaint stories and conundrums as he seized and relished more thoroughly than himself. As has been often the case, he took a positive pleasure in hearing the same tale or jest told over and over again, let him know 9 1 94 REMINISCENCES GF C1IDRLEY. it ever so well by heart. He would begin it wrong, as chil- dren do, with the intention of hearing it corrected. He rarely produced or paraded the results of his grave thought and deep reading ; but when he did speak, he was apt to close the question in debate. " It was curious to observe how one so mathematical, and so sparingly endowed with the poetic faculty of appre- ciation, had so strong a tendency to occupy himself with those recondite and mysterious subjects regarding which no clear conclusion can be arrived at. He had a theory of dreams of his own, which, I think, he put forward in the * Westminister Review' during his brief proprietorship of that periodical. He was patient and clear in investigating the pretensions of mesmerism, separating the phenomena of cataleptic sleep from those of pretended clairvoyance, with that resolution to sift evidence, and to discriminate betwixt truth and falsity, which the more mercurial and imaginative seldom retain. He was a willing and diligent reader of foreign novels. Without an atom of taste for music, or care about the drama above the melodrama, he endured both, in indulgence to other persons, but not very willingly. It is comical to recall how, after the first performance of ' Le Prophete,' he never again entered his own opera box ; driven thence, he said, (and, I suspect, not averse to the excuse,) by the psalmody of the Three Anabaptists ! " But his real enjoyments, as apart from the pleasureable cares of ambition, were at home in Cornwall, in the place which he had decorated and beautified with the hand of a master.* The lovely Italian garden before his house, the plantations so choicely adjusted, the long descending ave- nue/flanked by a collection of rare firs and evergreens only equalled by those of the Pinetum at Dropmore : the hot- houses, with their strange, weird-looking orchidaceous * Pencarrow. GEORGE B. MAULE. jg$ plants, were a perpetual source of pleasure to him — the pleasure belonging to rich and accurate knowledge. He knew every tree he had set ; the quickness of its growth and its chances of health or disease were duly noted by him in his garden diary; and his deliberate afternoon walks through his beautiful grounds were among his pleasantest solitary hours of the day — a wholesome relief from the coil and cumber of state measures and treaties, the verbiage of blue- books to be fathomed, and the strong excitements of politi- cal ambition. I have often and again thus walked with him, and heard him talk — a pleasure and a privilege not to be forgotten. His indulgence and regard for me are among the most precious of my recollections. I must change more than I hope I ever shall before I cease to be aware of their distinction and their value." Another and a very close friend of Chorley during these years was the late George B. Maule, a man who has left no mark by which the world will remem- ber him, but who must have possessed mental and moral gifts of no ordinary attractiveness to have inspired such regret as was occasioned by his sudden death in the autumn of 1850. The. qualities which endeared him to his associates are well summed up in the following entry in Chorley's journal, written after receiving the announcement : — "Saturday, Sept. z%th, 1850. — A truly heavy day! Knocked up by Kenyon, the strangeness of whose appear- ance at my bedside did not strike me, till, on my greeting him jocularly, * I must check your cheerfulness,' said he, and, opening a letter from the consul at Barcelona, communica- ted to me the news of poor Maule and Nicholson being ig6 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. drowned in a diligence betwixt Barcelona and Valencia. The road is along a rock- ledge above the sea, crossed, it seems by torrents, one of which must have been swollen by the heavy rain, and the wind carried over the vehicle. All perished ! It is a loss not to be repaired. I have never known a completer man than Maule ; never had to mourn a life of greater value, around which more love, respect, and confidence had gathered. He had the sweetest temper with- out insipidity ; the evenest spirits without becoming weari- some. He was considerately kind without protestation ; wondrously and accurately versatile in his knowledge, with- out a grain of conceit or pedantry. He was strong, punc- tual, cheerful, humorous. One reposed in his regard, one trusted in his judgment, one would have relied upon his testimony had it even been at variance with one's own senses. " We travelled three times together, and his face in my house often supplied the face of one of my own family. He was always ready to help, to oblige, to enjoy with one ; and his loving sympathy was to me particularly agreeable, from its being so undemonstrative. Travelling will never be to me the same thing again ; for to him I largely owe .my little experience on the subject." Travel seems to have been a passion with Maule, some of whose letters, addressed to his friend from various parts of Europe, are scarcely less detailed than the elaborate diaries which Chorley himself was in the habit of keeping of his Continental tours. These holi- day journeys — three of which were undertaken in com- pany with Maule, others with his brother John, Kenyon, or Mr. Reeve, and some alone : — were annual occur- rences at this period of his life, and form one of its CRITICISM ON A PICTURE. I 9 7 brightest chapters. Apart from their additions to his fund of musical experience, they contributed largely to his general culture. From the observations gathered in the course of them were derived some of the most striking passages in his best works, and the prevailing fidelity of his descriptions of national character and local scenery. Though he never exceeded a term of two months, and was often obliged to travel over famil- iar ground, he contrived to make himself pretty inti- mately acquainted with all that is most beautiful and memorable in Europe, whether of Nature or Art — Swiss mountains, German rivers, and Italian fakes ; the architecture, painting, and sculpture of the principal cities from Paris to Palermo. Many travellers may have seen more, but few can have ever worked harder than Chorley on these journeys. Thanks to his early self-culture, he was a facile draughtsman, and his diaries are interspersed with slight, but often effective, sketches of landscape, novelties of architectural design, droll faces and costumes, etc., intended to serve as aids to a memory already exceptionally retentive. Of scenes and pictures which fascinated him, the de- scriptions in these volumes are not unfrequently graphic, as, for example, the following of Lucas Cranach's " Bath of Youth," in the Berlin Gallery, afterwards inserted with more elaboration in " Music and Man- ners: " " On the one side are wagons full of, and pillions laden with, old women in every stage of age, ugliness, and decrepi- tude, pressing forward with a thirst wonderfully expressed towards the magical fountain, gaping with appetite to find ig8 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. their beauty and enchantments renewed. In the midst is the tank itself, half-filled with withered, naked spectres, half with "' Young budding virgins, fair and fresh and SM'eet.' On the one side, all the ravenous impatience for the transfor- mation ; on the other, the languid basking of young beauty, conscious, pleased, and indolent ; and behind, a banquet, where the fair are pledged by the brave, and boschetti, for the telling of love-tales and what-not. I have rarely seen a more curious or a deeper picture. There is a grim Gothic truth in it not easy to put down in words. It is a piece of life seen through a devil's distorting-glass." These critical notes on pictures are often marked by the same fineness of discrimination that is to be found in his best estimates of literature and music. An example may be selected from the journal of his visit to Rome in 185 1, where, referring to Michael Angelo's "Last Judgment," he remarks on the grandeur of " those celestially mighty clarion-bearers, who perform their function of admission or exclusion without ruth or exultation. I think it was Gaudenzio Ferrari who made the Angels of Doom look sorrowful. This is making them into so many Christs, with complete knowledge and perfect sympathies, and thus leaves nothing for the Highest. I like the ministry better, which is unconscious and unparticipating." That Chorley never lost an opportunity of extend- ing his acquaintance among artists and men of letters has already been seen. His Continental diaries of these years are not less interesting than those of earlier date in their accounts of his interviews with distin- PROFESSOR BENDEMANN. I 99 guished members of both callings to whom he obtained introductions. A visit to Professor Bendemann, at Dresden, is thus described: — " Bendemann is reputed to be the first of German mod- ern artists. He has a thin face, of a sweet and melancholy expression, large, intense, thoughtful eyes, of a painters keenness and poetry — a countenance not wholly unlike Weber's in its pattern, with mild, gentlemanly manners. . . . I found him in his atelier at the great hall of the palace, which he has been employed to decorate with frescoes. He was at work on a very high scaffolding, without a cravat, in a blue blouse, and with a long pipe. ... I had an ex- ceedingly pleasant half-hour of conversation with him, though I could not, I fear, come far enough upon his own ground to be acceptable to him ; and I will never talk more than I understand. There is a sort of frieze in compart- ments running round the room, which he is filling with a series of paintings imaging the progress of human life, be- ginning with the Paradise of Nature, when there was no death, and ending with the Paradise of Redemption, when life eternal shall be restored, and between the two, embrac- ing the ages of man from the cradle to the grave. Some of these were not complete, but those which were, were very beautiful — a dance of children, for instance, and a group representing a wedding, all youth and joy, and motion and hope. . . . Besides this, he showed me two very noble cartoons of single figures of sages, lawgivers, etc., with which he is going to surround the hall. Zoroaster and Solomon were the subjects. The one, with the Magian cen- ser in his hand, was very grand, and Chaldaic, and impos- ing, and, if forcibly wrought out, will make the breath stop of those who look at it. But dare I say that it is this very want of forcible working-out which makes the long step 200 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. between the modern Germans and the great ancients whom they so nobly aspire to approach ? They make ' shadows of beauty, shadows of power : ' the others called up real kings and apostles, and the real Divinity, who needs but touch the hills to make them smoke ! I know next to noth- ing of the works of modern German painters ; but the few I have seen appear to me, with all their beauty of drawing and sentiment, to want body. I like Bendemann very much. He was very patient with my platitudes ; and I liked him, who bears the reputation of being among the first painters, telling me that Kaulbach, of Munich, was their first man, and speaking of his works with such enthusiasm." When at Munich on another occasion (in 1841) Chorley obtained an introduction to Kaulbach, whom he found at his studio in a country-house in the environs. " He is a very thin man, with a little long, glossy, black hair smoothed over his forehead . . . with deep, ten- der, shining, humorous eyes. ... In his manner a mixture of simplicity, friendliness, fun, and enthusiasm. . . . He was painting a man handsomer than himself, but not so much of a genius. . . . Several magnificent full-length portraits were about ; one of a falconer. The one on which he was occupied was the chief of a company of Lanz-knechts. Their originals were young artists who, with their wives, had, last winter, appeared to the number of two hundred in a pageant at the theatre, on the return of Prince Max ; and the king had commanded three of their portraits for Schleissheim. ' After all,' said Kaulbach, ' it was an honor to paint such fine fellows.' One that was finished struck me more than any modern portrait I have ever seen : the full-length of a knight, with sanguine com- KA ULBA CII. 201 plexion and red hair ; a metal bonnet on the head, a cuirass, a scarlet dress slashed with white, and a gorgeous furred mantle. When Kaulbach drew up the blind, and let in the light upon it, it seemed to float out of the canvas with its force and brilliancy. . . . We saw some illustrations to ' Faust,' which I did not like. They were clever, but grim and ungraceful compared with those by Retszch — and yet the one has no honor here ! We saw, too, three admirable designs for a new edition of ' Reinecke der Fuchs.' . . . But the most remarkable picture of all was an enormous cartoon of the Destruction of Jerusalem. Above are the three prophets watching the angels, who are sounding the trumpets and pouring out the vials of wrath at their feet — noble winged figures of a superb Apocalyptic sublimity. In the centre, to the left, the Jews, in all the agonies of terror, distress, famine, dissension, murder, and blasphemy ; the degrees being indicated by a mother entreated of her chil- dren, the high-priest about to slay himself, and the Wandering Jew spurred on his way by fiends above his head — the last free Israelite who will issue from that scene. To the ex- treme left, Titus riding calmly into the city with an air of solemn astonishment at the frenzy around him, and the por- tents which attend his conquest. The most magnificent subject of all time, done (may we not say it?) full justice to. All the effete and pedantic efforts which good King Louis has called forth are assuredly well bestowed, if they have formed and fostered a school of Art of which such a noble work was the sole result." The foregoing are among the most noteworthy extracts from Chorley's journals ; but it would be impossible without considerable expenditure of space to give an adequate notion of their diversified con- tents, which range from aesthetic criticism to table- 9* 202 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLE Y. d'hote gossip, and from reflections on national traits to minutiae of personal experience. More amusing, if not more worthy of preservation, are the letters in verse addressed from abroad to two or three of his intimate friends. An extract from one of the best of these (inserted entire in " Music and Manners ") has already been given. Another, of which Lady Bles- sington was the subject as well as the recipient, con- tains a few good verses. It accompanied a pipe-bowl, painted with her portrait, which he had happened to meet with in Switzerland : — 'Tis charming, wheresoe'er I go — ■ Whether my track through fickle France is, Or 'neath the Splugen's crags and snow, By Como's lake I learn to know The land of lemons and romances — " To meet your face, to hear your name ; Nay — where the North lone wastes discloses, And daylight's but a blubber-flame, Dull Esquimaux repeat the same In intervals of rubbing noses. " Grim boors delight your face to see, By Don and Dnieper, Drave and Dwina ; And long-eyed Yang or prim Pee-Lee, Simpering above their yellow tea, Praise your smooth picture on their china. 1 Westward, enchanting stone and stock, You hold all Congress fast in fetters ; And Jonathan, in citron frock, Carves ' Blessington ' on every rock, And for a county sells her letters. HO LI DA V TOUR IN ITALY. 203 ** 'Tis well, 'tis fifc this should be so, For is't not, sure, a sacred duty, That heart like yours o'er Earth should go On angel mission, to and fro, Thus symbolled by its outward beauty ? " Then take, nor scorn this humble clay, In vulgar guise a truth expressing, That even in our ungrateful day, Mankind, for all the cynics say, Still know the value of a blessing." Twixt Zurich and Brugg, Oct. 5, 1841. In the letters addressed to his friends in Liver- pool, the sense of delight and profit which Chorley derived from these holiday tours is expressed in homelier prose. Here is an extract from one that de- scribes his first impressions of Italy, which he entered by the plains of Lombardy :— " The mulberry-trees, festooned by vines — so many Dryad's hands all round in a choral dance — are like things on an old frieze. Then there is the maize ; and there are the dour, enormous, white bullocks, plunging and plodding on their way, with a disproportionately small load behind them ; and again and again, face after face and form after form to be encountered among the roadside peasantry that help (without affectation) to make one positively drunk with beauty. I knew Italy well before I saw it ; but it has a foison of everything rich and goodly which no preconception can give. I do not know what is henceforth to become of my hunger and thirst for color ; but this I do know that no life is complete without the eye having once had its feast here." 204 REMINISCENCES OF CIIORLEY. Writing to another friend after his Italian tour of 1845, h e sa y s : — " " I am almost afraid to boast of health and strength, but never had so much cause as at the present moment. What I did in Italy seems almost fabulous on looking back to it, but for the two thick journals which assure me that ' in the body or out of the body,' as the Swedenborgians say, I did walk over the Stelvio, and (even a harder exercise) that I did stand some ten hours a day on my feet in the Florence churches and galleries. These are, perhaps, the only pleas- ures (besides the remembered intercourse o£ friends) of which nothing save the loss of faculties can deprive one, since they bring no after regrets as to the expenditure of time, money, or the like ; and, for one leading a life like mine, they are very precious as stores of material, illustra- tion, etc., etc. It was rather tantalizing to be so near Rome, but, D. V., one will take other journeys. How often I thought of you among the pictures I won't pretend to tell you. I was very favorably circumstanced for enjoying them in some respects ; a sort of committee of English artists having gone to Florence to study the varieties of the old fresco painters, with whom I went about a good deal, taking care, moreover, to get some solitary observation ; since, after a while of such companionship, one is dangerously apt to find one's self leavened with prejudices and distinctions more technical than poetical ; and, however needful training be, there is such a thing as private judgment — the throwing one's self loose of which, ends in the cant^ not the sincerity, of admiration. And nowadays especially, the immoderate fashion for the very earliest schools of art seems to me very apt to mislead and narrow one. It is not very easy work to keep one's ears very wide open to all enthusiasts, and after- wards to see with one's very ow7i eyes." LAST LETTER FROM MENDELSSOHN. 205 One of his journeys, the most enjoyed at the time, was the most mournful in retrospect — that of 1847, when he spent a few days at Interlachen, where Men- delssohn had gone to recover from the severe shock occasioned by the death of his sister, Madame Hensel. The composer's last letter to Chorley is thence dated, and though its strict connection is with the musical topics adverted to in another chapter, may be more fitly inserted here : — N " Hotel en Interlachen * " 19th July, 1847. " My Dear Chorley : — " I write these lines to thank you for the letter I found here, and to beg you will not grow tired with being bored with my projects. The thing came thus : while I passed through Zurich, Mr. Hermann had a conversation with me, told me that they wanted something of my music for the opening of their new room, and added that he was sure you would feel interested in the matter, and as to the poetry, would either write it or, at least, give your advice, etc., etc. Of course nothing could be more agreeable to me than this intelligence ; but pray believe me, that I would not have made him write to you without his having begun to talk of it, and this just for the same reasons with which you begin your letter to me. Well, then, be that as it may, have many thanks for your letter, and for the advice it contains. I shall read Wordsworth's poem as soon as I can get it, and perhaps, I shall hear of other ideas from you. For the present moment, I am not yet able to think seriously of new projects and of new music. The very sad time I have just passed is still so much connected with all my ideas, that I can only begin by degrees to go on with my life and music * Inscribed by Chorley : " The last letter I had from him." 206 REMINISCENCES OF CIIORLEY. as I was accustomed to do. This is also the reason that I did not yet write to you and thank you for the opera-sketch, which I read and re-read several times, and liked it very much, and am almost sure that something must be made of it ; but in happier days, if God is willing ! Excuse these nichts-sagende lines, but I wanted not to leave your letter or your kindness without an answer and without my thanks. Always yours very truly, " Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy." Chorley's visit occurred about a month after the receipt of this letter. In his " Modern German Music " (Vol. ii., pp. 383-400) he has chronicled these "last days of Mendelssohn " with genuine pathos. The composer's worn and aged aspect, the forebodings of death which were haunting his mind, the fitful bursts of hope and energy which alternated with these moods of depression, as he discussed the various pro- jects referred to in the foregoing letter,* combined with the brightness and beauty of the season and the scene, to leave an impression on Chorley's mind too vivid " for a topic, or a trait, or a characteristic ex- pression to be forgotten." The last day which they spent together at Ringgenberg, a hamlet by the lake of Brienz, in the little church of which Mendelssohn played the organ to him for nearly an hour, was thenceforth a sacred memory. Mendelssohn's death occurred within a month or two after Chorley's return to England. He records the blow (Nov. 19th, 1847) as having — * Wordsworth's " Ode on the Power of Sound," which Chorley had suggested as suitable for a cantata, is the poem alluded to. MENDELSSOHN'S DEATH. 207 " almost shaken me loose of all interest to come in music. I think, take him for all in all, he was the most perfect artist- musician whom the world has seen. . . . He had everything — fame, fortune, freshness of spirit — was as good as he was great." Writing to Liverpool at the close of the year, he says :— " This has been a very hard autumn. I suffered much indeed from the loss of my dear friend Mendelssohn, to whom I was personally much attached, and with whom I had spent two of his last well days in Switzerland in Sep- tember. We were to have gone to Liverpool together next autumn, for the opening of the new Philharmonic Concert- room." This loss was the heaviest that had befallen him since the death of Mr. Benson Rathbone, and was the more keenly felt that Mendelssohn was within a few months of his own age, and that both had looked for- ward with mutual sympathy to the prospect of linking their names in connection with the art which was the common object of their love. The future was dark with other clouds, but the present was brightened by pleasures of no mean order. The list of distinguished persons, English and foreign, with whom during these years Chorley was on terms of good-fellowship, as yet falling short of friendship, but extending in a greater or less degree to the inter- change of intellectual sympathy, embraced some of the best known among men and women of letters : — Mr. Carlyle, Charles Dickens, Mr. Milnes (Lord Houghton), 208 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLE Y. Douglas Jerrold, M. Tourgueneff, Herr Freiligrath, Miss Martineau, and Mrs. Jameson. With the four last named in this list Chorley was in the habit of corre- sponding, and was appealed to more than once for kind offices, which brought the writers and himself into closer accord. No one was readier to lend such friendly- aid as he was able, whenever it was needed. Literary services were those most commonly asked of and ren- dered by him. Occasionally he was called upon to undertake the responsibility of becoming chaperon to a promising aspirant in literature or art. The tragic story of one such tyro who was intrusted to his care is narrated in the following passage of reminiscence. The circumstances occurred in 1845. " One of my most pathetic recollections has to do with the life and death of a young man who came up to London to busy himself in literature as I had done, fuller of dreams, however, than of powers for their fulfilment. He was com- mitted to me by Miss Martineau, with whom I was then an habitual correspondent, and who must be always commem- orated with esteem and regard, howsoever capricious . her prejudices have proved, as one eager to promote what seemed right to herself and what was helpful to others. The list of those whom she befriended substantially, without any vanity concerned in it, would be a long one. Among others was poor Mr. Langtree. I may name him because I have reason to believe that he had not a relative or kinsman whom he could claim in any part of the world. A brother, his only one, had set out to Australia, there to make his fortune. The ship was never heard of more. " It possessed this youth, as it has done others before him, to come up to London and maintain himself by his pen. LANGTREE. 209 There were indications in his writing that, with time and patience to abide the struggle, he might have done so, how- ever slenderly, and the more, because he was patient, modest, industrious, and not vexed by the terrible demon of self-as- sertion, which has wrought such fearful havoc in the lives and fortunes of self- accepted men of genius. He was mak- ing his way quietly, and doing the best he could to cultivate himself and enrich his stores of thought and knowledge, when his health suddenly and ominously failed him. He was sitting with me in the twilight one summer evening, when he was suddenly stricken down by a warning beyond mistake, the symptoms of consumption in its worst form. I did what I could for the moment, but it was clearly a bad case — frightful and costly illness of a man without friends and without resource. " In tho^e days there was an establishment in the New Road (now closed) — * The Sanatorium,' originally organized by Dr. Southwood Smith, where, for a moderate payment, invalids, averse to the publicity of hospitals, could receive care and medical treatment. Poor Langtree was placed there; and I cannot now (the story is one of so many years ago) recollect without emotion how he was sustained there during many weary months of decay. But among others of the few who were as ready as they were abundant to help him was my dear, genial friend, John Kenyon. I may name him, for he is now no more. And 1 must not forget how my own servant, a Bavarian, who went to and fro of his own unsolicited accord, established near the sick youth's bedside one of his own treasures — a wooden clock from the Black Forest, to tell the poor fading man the hours as they went on. The heart grows full and the eyes dim as one recalls these things. The generosity of every one, great or small, about this poor, dying, almost nameless man, is a thing never to be forgotten. 210 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. " The end came after a long time of weariness and pros- tration. The poor fellow died, and was laid in the Maryle- bone burial-ground, not in a pauper grave, but with a stone over his remains, to tell any one who might haply come to enquire for him where was his place of rest. I walked behind the body to the grave on a bright sunny morning, the only mourner. Anything more strange and more sad I cannot recall." Among the literary acquaintances made at this period, whose characters Chorley had opportunities of studying without feeling any inducement to convert them into friends, was the poet Campbell. They had first met in 1837, when Chorley describes him as — " A little man, with a shrewd eye, and a sort of pedago- guish, parboiled voice ; plenty to say for himself, especially about other people, and not restrained from saying whatever seemed good to him by any caution ; speaking with a violent antipathy of Theodore Hook (by the way, the new editor of the 'New Monthly Magazine '), and yet not more violently than the latter deserves ; dressing up his good stories, and looking about him while he did them, with the unmistakeable air of a diner-out, which is so amusing — more amusing, by the way, than agreeable. To myself he was very complais- ant." What else Chorley knew and thought of Campbell is told in the following sketch :— " It would be hard to name an English poet of greater refinement and sweetness, alternating with outbreaks of the most manly vigor and high heroic spirit, than Thomas Camp- bell. It would be equally hard to name an author of any country whose personality was more entirely at variance CAMPBELL. 2 1 1 with his poetry than his — at least, during the second half of his life. A man, be his habits what they may, does not deteriorate uniformly and steadily from every promise and sign of grace which he may have shown in earlier years, without showing, from time to time, some flashes of the olden brightness, let them be ever so few and far between. What I saw and knew of Campbell, at least, made it very hard to credit the possibility of there having been days much better essentially. If such had been the case, his latter state was not one so much of enfeeblement as of metamorphosis — of what was pure having become gross — of what was intellec- tual and appreciative losing itself in a prosy and common- place stupidity. " I first heard of him when he was delivering his lectures on Poetry at Liverpool, more than forty years ago. The extent to which these were overrated, in consequence of the beauty, power, and finish of the poet's poetry, only revealed itself when the poet's prose came to be published. They are as completely forgotten to-day as if they had never been — the fate, perhaps, of all lecturers ; but Campbell was pro- digiously lionised in circles which, I have always felt, were too prone to lionise. How all ease, grace, and nature of intercourse are destroyed by the extravagance of social idol- atry ; how talk for effect must be the consequence of ' Wonder with a foolish face of praise/ have been truths as clear as day to me, ever since I was in a case to observe and compare. Then I could but stare, as a very young boy, and remark how the best, and most refined, and most beautiful of men and women laid themselves at the lecturer's feet. Of himself, at that time, I recollect nothing; but he must have had something, in show, at least, better to offer in return than the gifts and graces displayed by him later in London — the paltry conversation, when it 212 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. was not coarsened by convivial excesses to a point which would not to-day be endured, were the poet thrice as god-like as he was. In fact, as years went on, Campbell slipped out of society as steadily as though he had been a false prophet, and not the author of ' The Pleasures of Hope,' ' Hohenlinden,' 'The Battle of the Baltic,' 'Ye Mariners of England,' ' The Exile of Erin,' ' O'Connor's Child,' and ' The Last Man ' — poems which will endure so long as a single lover of imperishable thought, feeling and fancy, enshrined in most musical verse, shall be left in Eng- land. Their spell is strong now, even in this age of jargon, this time when ' whitings' eyes ' by so many are permitted to pass as 'pearls.' " He was my neighbor in Victoria Square, Pimlico, during the last years passed by him in England, and was willing to bestow much of his leisure on a poetaster so much younger a man as I was. I can hardly describe how painful it was to be sought by one whose notice should have been such an honor, but whom it was hardly possible for youthful fastid- iousness and want of charity to endure as a companion. It was woeful, weary work, unredeemed, so far as I recollect, by one passing flash of the spirit which had shone with such brilliancy and beauty in the verse ; and great was the relief when be withdrew from London ; — to die, in all but utter neglect, at Boulogne. "One friend, however, Campbell retained, who believed in and ministered to him till the end came — the friend, as I have grateful reason to commemorate, of many more obscure literary men — Dr. Beattie, himself an author of modest pre- tensions, and who, in the fulness of sincere admiration, wrote the only English biography of the poet which has appeared. It must not be forgotten, when writing about Campbell, that the poet of ' The Pleasures of Hope,' like the poet of ' The Pleasures of Memory,' was from first to A SUCCESSION OF SORRO WS. 2 1 3 last fond of children. So it should be with those alike who look forward or look back." The concluding years of this section of Chorley's life registered a succession of sorrows, by which retro- spect and prospect alike were darkened. In 1844 occurred a second misadventure in love, more serious than the first — the rejection of the only offer of mar- riage he ever made. The literary failures and musical perplexities elsewhere adverted to were not calculated to remove his depression ; though, com- pared with the troubles which followed, they were but passing clouds. In 1847, occurred the death of Men- delssohn ; that of Maule in 1850. The next blow fell amidst his own family, with whom he had of late been in constant intercourse ; his mother and sister having removed from Liverpool in 1845, an d at this time residing with his brother John, in Chester Square. The sister, to whom he was tenderly attached, was here stricken with disease, an affection of the spine, which for the rest of her life — more than twelve years — rendered her a hopeless cripple. His mother was spared the pain of witnessing the protraction of this suffering, as her death occurred in the autumn of 185 1, during Chorley's absence from England. An increase in his income, which resulted from his mother's death, brought some alleviation in " the sense of easier fortunes." This was followed by a change of residence, which operated as a healthy distraction from the past, and inaugurated a brighter future. The events of the twenty years which he spent in Eaton Place West must be narrated in another chapter. CHAPTER X. Musical criticism between 1841 and 1851 — Recognition of his influence — Mercenary propositions — Letter from Meyerbeer — Employment as a librettist — Disappointments and vexations — Intimacies with M. Liszt and Madame Viardot — Chopin — Sonnet on his death — Berlioz — Relations between artists and critics — A protege. THE chapter devoted to the consideration of Chor- ley's earlier career as a musical critic has neces- sarily anticipated much that strictly belongs to the history of his later life. To the observations there made upon the general characteristics of his profes- sional workmanship, nothing material need here be added. Whatever increase of acumen may be dis- cernible in the average tone of his judgments in the " Athenaeum " at this period is not of a nature to commend itself to the apprehension of untrained eyes, and I shall not risk the failure of attempting to indicate it. That he had by this time become a "power" in the musical world is sufficiently evident. The position of antagonism which he felt bound to occupy in reference to the system of operatic " puffery," and other devices of musical mismanagement, for awhile brought him nothing but obloquy ; but he was not long in discovering how his assaults had told. That the enemy's confession of defeat took a merce- nary form is not surprising. One entry in his journal INDEPENDENCE. 215 chronicles the receipt of an offer from the manager of the opera-house whose system he had most per- sistently denounced, that he should undertake to translate the libretti. The tenor of his answer may be surmised from the contemptuous comment which fol- lows : — " As clumsy a device to stop a mouth as has often been attempted." Another entry recounts a visit from a musician of some celebrity, known to him as interested in a con- cert scheme set up in opposition to one which the " Athenaeum " had recently condemned. " After a profusion of compliments, this person had the insolence to ask me," says Chorley, " to write a letter to the editor of the ' Athenaeum,' thanking him in the name of the profession, for the spirited, etc., etc. — to myself in short ! And on my shrinking back, really hardly knowing whether I should show disgust or diversion, added — 'You know it would be in confidence t " " What has been elsewhere said respecting the statics of artistic journalism when Chorley entered its ranks, receives unsavory confirmation from the foregoing illustrations. The tone of scornful independence that he main- tained on such occasions as these was not calculated to make him popular in the lower circles of the pro- fession with which he was brought in contact; nor was the attitude he assumed towards the outer world a whit more conciliatory. During the " Lind fever " of 1847 2l6 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. especially, his candor in raising a single voice of pro- test against the " chorus of idolatry," which ignored the existence of any defects in the public favorite, and forbade the discussion of any other claims than hers, brought upon him, to adopt his own words, " such ignominy as belongs to the idiotic slanderer. Old and seemingly solid friendships were broken forever in that year." * The courage with which he " defied the opprobrium his honest dealings raised "f has at last obtained recognition ; but there can be no doubt that for some years his neutrality — between unscrupulous- ness on the one hand and partisanship on the other — was a position of extreme discomfort. Occasionally, however, he received proof of the most unexceptionable kind, that the discrimination with which he meted out praise and censure gave them real value in the estimation of competent judges. The following letter from Meyerbeer scarcely requires any antecedent explanation. The opera referred to is " Le Prophete," of which, on its production at the Grand Opera in Paris, Chorley had written an elabo- rate review (" Athenaeum," April 21st, 1849). On hear- ing from his brother-critic, Mr. Grtineisen, that Meyer- beer was under the impression it had been unfavorable, Chorley wrote to undeceive him, and received this in reply :— " Monsieur, 1 " J'ai lu la lettre que vous m'avez fait l'honneur de m'adresser avec un double plaisir : d'abord parcequ'elle * " Thirty Years' Musical Recollections," vol. i. p. 304. \ " Musical Recollections of the last Half Century " (1872), vol. ii. p. 201. LETTER FROM MEYERBEER. 217 exprime des sentiments si bienveillants et si aimables pour ma personne et mon dernier ouvrage a 1'opira ; et puis parcequ"elle m'apprend que j'etais dans Terreur en croyant le contraire. Je comprends malh-eureusement trop peu l'anglais po^rleiire seul. J'avais done prie une personne de ma connaissance de me donner un apergu de votre article dans ' 1' Athenaeum,' djsireux que j'etais de connaitre le juge- ment d'un critique aussi eclaire et aussi eminent que vous, monsieur. C'est d'apres l'apercu qui m'en a ete donne que j'ai da croire que Particle etait tres-defavorable, et que j'ai emis cette opinion envers Monsieur Griineisen : j'ai done ete bien heureux d'apprendre par votre lettre que mon traducteur n'a pas bien saisi le veritable sens de votre article, jcar ustement parceque j'ai la plus haute estime de vos ecrits et de votre jugement musical, monsieur, j'aurais ete d'autant plus peine de ne pas avoir su gagner votre appro- bation. " Permettez-moi de profiter de cette occasion pour vous faire mes excuses de ne pas vous avoir rendu la visite que vous avez bien voulu me faire a Paris. Mais j'etais alors si occupy par les repetitions et les travaux qui s'y rattachaient que je n'avais pas un moment de libre. Mais voyageurs comme nous le sommes tous les deux, j'ai l'espoir que nous [nous] rencontrerons bientjt de nouveaux quelque part, pour pouvoir avoir le plaisir de vous exprimer de vive voix les sentiments affectueux et de haute estime avec lesquels j'ai l'honneur d'etre, " Monsieur, " Votre tres-devoue " Meyerbeer. " Paris, le 8 mai, 1841." The animosities above referred to seem to have been confined to the lower ranks of the profession. 10 2l8 REMINSICENCES OF CHORLEY. Among its leading members his acquaintance was very large at this time, his relations with most of them being amicable, and in two or three cases cordially intimate. Next to Mendelssohn, among his male friends, was M. Liszt, whom he had known since the latter's visit to England in 1840 ; much correspondence and repeated meetings on the Continent in succeed- ing years having ripened their mutual regard. Foremost among Chorley's Parisian friends was Madame Viardot, for whom his personal esteem was equal to his admi- ration of her genius. Among the acquaintance introduced to him by Madame Viardot was M. Gounod, of whom, in 1850 and subsequent years, he saw and heard much, and of whose future renown he entertained from the first a profound conviction. The substance of many per- sistently repeated predictions upon this point is con- densed into an entry in his journal of March, 1850: " It was a great pleasure to me in Paris to add to my list of sensations Gounod, of whom the world will one day hear as the composer, or else H. F. C. is much mistaken." In Paris, too, between 1847 anc ^ ^49, Chorley cul- tivated his acquaintance with Chopin, of whom, how- ever, he has left no record, beyond merely general expressions of gratification at their intimacy, and the following sonnet, written soon after the composer's death, after a protracted illness, in October, 1849. ^ commemorates, with much grace and pathos, the writer's admiration for the artist and regret for the man. BERLIOZ. 219 CHOriN. Like to the murmur of a weary stream, Like to the dance of yellow leaves that fall Fantastically slow, — like to the call Of spirit to far spirit in a dream, Thy music — save by times, when joyous theme Of clarion-note blown from a castle wall, Or pageant dance for Southern carnival — Bade through the shadow pomp and pleasure beam. Years wore, and years — and paler burned the light, And lower, softer breathed the dying song ; Thus fain teth day, gray willow-banks among, So gently that we know not when 'tis night. O, who dare mourn the loss of our delight, Pain was so earnest and Decay so long ! Of another French musician of genius, the late Hector Berlioz, Chorley saw a good deal at this period, but without feeling much sympathy either with him- self or his works. Of the former we have a glimpse in the following journal-entry of November, 1847 : — " Berlioz dined here on Wednesday, before going to the ' Elijah.' What a different nature (from Mendelssohn's), and how strong the bitter drop in him ! I have seen few who tell a sarcastic anecdote with greater gusto ! He enjoyed the tale of , the journalist, being thrashed in the Palais- Royal by some infuriate person outraged by his blame or praise, as heartily as poor M. used to enjoy some merry joke for its own intrinsic whimsicality." Of his music Chorley writes: — " I have been looking over the scores of some of this music by Berlioz, in which, as in the case of his ' Episode d'une Vie d' Artiste,' his design to me seems clear enough, 220 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. but the dressing-up of it affectedly complicated. The figure is complete, but commonplace ; its clothing is queer — cuffs up at the elbow, ruffles round the waist, a buckle where buckle never was before, and feathers on the shoes ! In short, an elaborate use of topsy-turvy principles, which I must hear proved to be good ere I can accept them as such." A few years later, when they met in Weimar, where Berlioz had come to attend the performance of his " Benvenuto Cellini," a similar impression was pro- duced on Chorley's mind : — " Betwixt bitter criticism," he writes, " unwholesome pri- vate relations, and arrogant disregard of musical study in his early years, this poor Berlioz has got himself into a thoroughly painful and exceptional attitude, musical and moral. I felt the tale of his wrangles with the Grand Opera, detailed with such extreme gusto, emphasis and vitriolic spirit, at supper (after the rehearsal of the ' Benvenuto '), to be something too miserable for a grown man to descant on. There is a falseness and impurity, a conscious insufficiency in his proceedings, which stand between him and distinction in his art. ... I like the * Benvenuto ' much better than I had conceived possible. Brightness of orchestration I had expected, but not so much beauty of idea, or tangible symmetry of form. It is terribly overwrought, but richer in fancy than I thought it would be ; some of the instrumenta- tion is. delicious. But alas ! one hears the arrogant, resist- ingman, that I have described, in every note of it." The two great instrumentalists of this period, Thal- berg and Ernst, were also among Chorley's associates, and the latter in frequent correspondence with them ; JENNY LIND. 221 but there is not enough of individuality in his reminis- cences of them to justify their insertion here. Among the leading singers of the time, his list of acquaint- ances included Mdlle. Jenny Lind (Madame Gold- schmidt). The following note from Mendelssohn was probably the medium of introduction : — " My dear Chorley : — " When I got to Frankfort I felt so homesick (is that a word ?) that I could not wait, and hurried back to Leipsic, and here I am, and found all well, and very happy and thankful I am ! This is a letter to Jenny Lind, which I beg you will give her if she comes to Frankfort, and if she should not come, pray send it, poste restante, to Munich for her. I ask her to sing something to you at her piano, where I like her still better than on the stage and in the concert-room, and I hope you will like her as well as I do, and that is a great deal. And now — auf Wiedersehen ! auf Wiedersehen! and have a happy journey, and a happy Riickkehr, and re- member me, your old Hamlet and friend, " Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy. u Leipsic, 23 Sept., 1846." These intimacies with the leading members of the profession of which he was an habitual censor, were enjoyed for their own sake, and without inducing him to concede an iota of his critical independence. It was only with those who were content to accept his 222 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. friendship unreservedly that he cared to mix. The canons by which, in his opinion, the relations between artist and critic should be regulated are thus summed up in a passage of his " Modern German Music ; '' and his .practice seems to have been uniformly in accordance with his theory : — . . " A desire to merit honest and well-reasoned praise does not mean that melancholy ante-chamber work of pros- tration and propitiation to the coarse and the venal, which some had hoped died with the death of the old-world aristocratic patronage. It should be recollected that those whom artists really trust and esteem do not require such humbling civilities ; that the critic moves the most freely, lives the most happily, and performs his task the most up- rightly, when the privacy of his reserve is respected, and when no man approaches him to insinuate into his mouth his own hopes and fears, his own words and thoughts, con- cerning himself and his works. Beyond this, by the slight- est interference, do artists trammel and vitiate that private discussion and interchange of opinion which might, on both sides, be so valuable and interesting." — (Vol. ii. p. 70.) But while he had nothing to concede or to demand for himself in his musical friendships, he was not less willing than able to turn them to account for the bene- fit of others. An instance in point belongs to the narrative of these years. A Sicilian gentleman, of considerable natural gift as a singer, whom complicity in the revolutions of 1848-9 had deprived of fortune and driven into exile, was recommended to his kind offices. Writing to his friend at Liverpool on the subject, Chorley says : — a prot£g£. 223 "I have had the wondrous good fortune of being able to put him (Signor M ) in the way of the very highest and most costly professional training gratuitously. You cannot have an idea how munificent the best artists are. And so, to make him fit to profit to ihe utmost by such a rare advan- tage, I am 'guider,' as they say in the colleges, and we go on for about an hour a day reading music at sight." The successful debut of his protege was the gratify- ing result of such substantial kindness. CHAPTER XI. Literary life from 1852 to 1872 — Critical labors in " Athenaeum " — Changes observable in tone — Severity to works of friends — Discern- ment — Letter from Mr. Procter— Letters from Nathaniel and Mrs. Hawthorne — Versatility — Examples — Reviews of Mr. Wilkie Col- lins, and Mr. Coventry Patmore — Dramatic authorship — " The Love-lock" — " Duchess Eleanour " — Publishes " Roccabella " — Analysis and extracts — Letters from Dickens and Hawthorne — Ded- ication to Mrs. Browning — Letter from Mr. Browning — Translation of " Fairy Gold " — Biographical sketch of Mendelssohn — Publishes " The Prodigy " — Edits Miss Mitford's Letters — Engaged on auto- biography until his death. NO material change occurred in Chorley's literary connection with the " Athenaeum " down to the year 1866, when he ceased to contribute upon other than musical subjects. A fair proportion of the best works in belles-lettres issued during these years seems to have been assigned to him for review. Hawthorne's " Blithedale Romance " and " Transformation ; " Dick- ens' " Bleak House " and " Our Mutual Friend ; " Mrs. Browning's " Aurora Leigh," " Poems Before Con- gress," and " Last Poems ; " Mr. Browning's " Men and Women ; " Mr. Ruskin's " Stones of Venice " and ' Modern Painters " (vols. iii. and iv.) ; Thackeray's "English Humorists" and "Philip;" Mrs. Gaskell's " Cranford " and " Wives and Daughters ; " Miss Proc- ter's " Legends and Lyrics ; " Beranger's " Last BE VERITY TO FRIENDS. 22$ Songs ; " Mr. Morris' " Defence of Guenevere ; " Dr. Holmes' " Professor at the Breakfast-table ; " Victor Hugo's " Les Miserables ;" and the tales of MM. Erck- mann-Chatrian, may be named — without attempt at assortment — as among the most memorable. It is noteworthy, as evidence of Chorley's honesty of pur- pose, that some of his harshest criticisms are of books written by his personal friends. The children of a conscientious schoolmaster are apt to find that, in his desire to avoid any imputation of favoritism, he treats them with far greater rigor than their school-fellows. The analogy is one likely to have suggested itself to some of Chorley's intimates, when they met with ill- fare at his hands, but they did not always give him credit for the motive that actuated it. Miss Mitford's soreness at his unfavorable critique of her " Atherton " provoked her into what he has mildly characterized as a " spurt of temper," but which better deserves to be called an outburst of spite.* In her case, however, literary resentment was not carried so far as to sunder the ties of personal friendship ; an extreme which had been reached in his experience, as I have heard him deplore. Such demonstrations doubtless bore testi- mony to the power he was able to wield, but he was glad to be occasionally assured of this in a less violent fashion. Those who care to turn to the " Athenaeum" of the 5th of June, 1858, will find in his review of Ade- laide Procter's first volume of poems, " Legends and Lyrics," an excellent illustration of his accuracy in dis- * See Miss Mitford's " Letters " (2d series), edited by Chorley, vol. iii. p. 214. 10* 226 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. cernment and felicity in selection. It brought a note of grateful acknowledgment from Mr. Procter, which, like all his writings, has a touch of character. " 32 Weymouth Street. " 9th June, 1858. " My dear Chorley : — " Your letter followed me into the country, and found me in Northumberland. I did not answer it, for it did not seem to demand any particular answer; but, on reaching London, I read a very kind and graceful notice of Adelaide's book in the ' Athenaeum,' and I refer it to the friendly hand of H. F. C. We are all very much pleased with it. Indeed, several persons have spoken of it as an amiable and graceful notice, bringing out some of the best things that the volume contains with the critic's taste and sagacity. Some of these days you will turn back to your little notice (I mean some fifty years hence) and say, I hope, with that pleasant smile that will become your middle age so well, ' Well, I was right, after all, in giving that child her first lift over the stepping-stones of the world.' Meminissejuvabit! " Yours ever, " B. W. Procter." Another of Chorley's reviews deserves to be remem- bered, less on its own account than for the spirited reply which it elicited. For the creative genius of Hawthorne he had always entertained the highest admiration, and was proud, as has already been noted, of having been the first English critic who drew atten- tion to its manifestation in the " Twice-Told Tales." The novelist's subsequent works had received his lav- ish praise, both in public and private ; especially the " Scarlet Letter," which he commended to a friend at HA WTHORNE. 227 Liverpool as " the most powerful and most painful story of modern times — the only tale in its argument in which the purity overtops the passion. ... It has struck me prodigiously ; and I think will end in tak- ing a very remarkable place among stories of its qual- ity." This impression of Hawthorne's power was con- firmed by the personal intercourse with him elsewhere referred to, the terms of which were extremely cordial. Chorley was therefore disappointed, when a new work by Hawthorne was published soon after their acquaint- ance had been established, to find himself unable to render it as high a tribute as he had rendered to its predecessors. The shortcomings of " Transformation " were accordingly criticised in the " Athenaeum " of March 3d, i860, with some keenness; ample praise being accorded to its subtlety and beauty, but a marked stress laid upon what he considered the pov- erty of invention which the author had shown in repeating the types of his former fictions : Hilda, for example, being "own cousin" to Phoebe in the " House of the Seven Gables." Other faults, too, were found, whether justly or unjustly matters little, since it was well worth being mistaken to be set right so charm- ingly. It will be understood that the following letters were written on the same sheet; Mrs. Hawthorne occupying all but the last leaf, which was reserved for her husband. " My dear Chorley : — " Why do you run with your fine lance directly into the face of Hilda ? You were so fierce and wrathful at being shut out from the mysteries (for which we are all disappointed), 228 REMINISCENCES OF C II OR LEY. that you struck in your spurs and plunged with your visor down. For indeed and in truth Hilda is not Phcebe, no more than a wild rose is a calla lily. They are alike only in purity and innocence ; and I am sure you will see this whenever you read the romance a second time. I am very much grieved that Mr. Chorley should seem not to be nicely discriminating; for what are we to do in that case? The artistic, pensive, reserved, contemplative, delicately appre- ciative Hilda can in no wise be related to the enchanting little housewife, whose energy, radiance, and eglantine sweet- ness fill her daily homely duties with joy, animation, and fra- grance. Tell me, then, is it not so ? I utterly protest against being supposed partial because I am Mrs. Haw- thorne. But it is so very naughty of you to demolish this new growth in such a hurry, that I cannot help a disclaimer ; and I am so sure of your friendliness and largeness, that I am not in the least afraid. You took all the fright out of me by that exquisite, gem-like, aesthetic dinner and tea which you gave us at the fairest of houses last summer. It was a prettier and more mignonne thing than I thought could hap- pen in London ; so safe, and so quiet, and so very satisfac- tory, with the light of thought playing all about. I have a good deal of fight left in me still about Kenyon, and the 'of-course' union of Kenyon and Hilda; but I will not say more, except that Mr. Hawthorne had no idea that they were destined for each other. Mr. Hawthorne is driven by his Muse, but does not drive her; and I have known him to be in inextricable doubt in the midst of a book or sketch as to its probable issue, waiting upon the Muse for the rounding in of the sphere which every work of true art is. I am surprised to find that Mr. Hawthorne was so "absorbed in Italy that he had no idea that the story, as such, was in- teresting ! and, therefore, is somewhat absolved from having ruthlessly ' excited our interest to voracity.' VERSATILITY 229 " We are much troubled that you have been suffering this winter. We also have had a great deal of illness, and I am only just lifting up my head, after seven weeks of seri- ous struggle with acute bronchitis. I dare say you are laughing (gently) at my explosion of small muskets. But I feel more comfortable now I have discharged a little of my opposition. " With sincere regard, I am, dear Mr. Chorley, yours, " Sophia Hawthorne. " Leamington, March 5th, i860. " 21 Bath Street." " Dear Mr. Chorley : — - " You see how fortunate I am in having a critic close at hand, whose favorable verdict consoles me for any lack of appreciation in other quarters. Really, I think you were wrong in assaulting the individuality of my poor Hilda. If her portrait bears any resemblance to that of Phcebe, it must be the fault of my mannerism as a painter. But I thank you for the kind spirit of your notice ; and if you had found ten times as much fault, you are amply entitled to do so, by the quantity of generous praise heretofore bestowed. " Sincerely yours, " Nath. Hawthorne. " 21 Bath Street, Leamington." Before parting from the subject of Chorley's char- acteristics as a literary critic, an illustration or two must be given of what has not yet been noticed — his versatility. The province of belles-lettres is one of the least limited in literature ; poetry, novels, essays, and sketches falling within its strictest definition. Accord- ing to his interpretation of it, biographies, records of travel, and treatises upon Art were also included. 230 REMINISCENCES OF CIIORIEY. The limit was put here, it being his wont, as has been seen, to decline the discussion of any subject of which he had not a competent knowledge ; but the field, even then, was a larger one than most men of letters in our generation would feel honestly qualified to ex- plore. With much mannerism of style he united consid- erable variety of method, and could be not less earnest in reproof of a grave offender on a point of art or ethics, than willing desipere in loco when it was only the sentimentality of a " minor minstrel " which de- served a little gentle ridicule. Extracts from two criticisms in the " Athenaeum," one of Mr. Wilkie Collins' "Armadale," the other of Mr. Coventry Pat- more's " Angel in the House," may exemplify his modes of dealing with such contrasted subjects : — " ARMADALE," BY WILKIE COLLINS. " It is not pleasant to speak as we must speak of this powerful story, but in the interests of everything that is to be cherished in life, in poetry, in Art, it is impossible to be over-explicit in the expression of judgment. Mr. W. Col- lins stands in a position too distinguished among novelists not to be amenable to the plainest censure when he commits himself to a false course of literary creation. " Armadale " is a sensation novel with a vengeance ; one, however, which could hardly fail to follow " No Name." Those who make plot their first consideration and humanity the second — those, again, who represent the decencies of life as too often so many hypocrisies, have placed themselves in a groove which goes, and must go, in a downward direction, whether as regards fiction or morals. . . . We are in a period RE VIE W OF " A RMA DALE." 2 3 T of diseased invention, and the coming phase of it may be palsy. Mr. Collins belongs to the class of professing satir- ists who are eager to lay bare the ' blotches and blains ' which fester beneath the skin and taint the blood of human- ity. He is ready with, those hackneyed and specious pro- tests against the cant of conventionalism. These may amount to a cant more unwholesome than that against which it is aimed. This time the interest of his tale centres upon one of the most hardened female villains whose devices and desires have ever blackened fiction — a iorger, a convicted adultress, murderess, and thief — a woman who deliberately, by the aid of a couple of wretches whose practices belong to the police-cells, but not to pages over which honest people should employ and enjoy their leisure, sits down to make her way to fortune and apparent respectability by imposture, deliberate murder, and lastly, by cold-blooded unfaithfulness to the man who had really loved her and rescued her from her bad life, and for whom she is said to have entertained her solitary feeling of real attachment. . . . Doubtless such writhen creatures may live and breathe in the ' sinks and sewers ' of society, engendered by the secret vices and infirmities of those who were answerable for their existence, and who encourage their misdoings, but when we see them displayed in fiction with all the loving care of a consummate artist (and without any such genuine motive as had formerly Hogarth, and latterly Mr. Dickens, not to show a horror without a suggestion towards its cure), we are oddly re- minded of a line in Granger's West Indian poem, ' The Sugar Cane ' : — Now, Muse, let's sing of rats ! ' What artist would choose vermin as his subjects ? " — Athe- naeum, June 2d, 1866. 232 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. " THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE THE BETROTHAL. " The gentle reader we apprise, That this new Angel in the House Contains a tale not very wise, About a person and a spouse. The author, gentle as a lamb, Has managed his rhymes to fit, And haply fancies he has writ Another ' In Memoriam.' How his intended gathered flowers, And took her tea and after sung, Is told in style somewhat like ours, For delectation of the young. But, reader, lest you say we quiz The poet's record of his she, Some little pictures you shall see, Not in our language, but in his. " ' While thus I grieved and kissed her glove, My man brought in her note to say- Papa had bid her send his love, And hoped I'd dine with them next day ; They had learned and practised Purcell's glee, To sing it by to-morrow night : The postscript was — her sisters and she Enclosed some violets blue and white. ^ yfr sjs >fC yfc ^c " ' Restless and sick of long exile, From those sweet friends, I rode to see The church repairs, and after awhile Waylaying the Dean, was asked to tea. They introduced the Cousin Fred I'd heard of, Honor's favorite ; grave, Dark, handsome, bluff, but gently bred, And with an air of the salt wave.' " Fear not this saline Cousin Fred ; He gives no tragic mischief birth ; There are no tears for you to shed, Unless they may be tears of mirth. From ball to bed, from field to farm, The tale flows nicely purling on ; With much con- ceit there is no harm, In the love-legend here begun. The rest will come another day, If public sympathy allows ; And this is all we have to say About the 'Angel in the House.' " — Athenaeum, Jan. 20th, 1855. DRAMATIC VENTURES. 233 Among his published works of these years two by which he justly set considerable store, and one of which may possibly yet be destined to attain the suc- cess denied to it in his lifetime deserve special men- tion. This was the second of two dramatic ventures of which the year 1854 registered the failure. In a detached fragment of material for his Auto- biography he thus refers to the irresistible impulse by which he felt attracted to what Dickens has some- where described as the " loadstone rock " of liter- ature : " I had, and always shall have, a strong desire to write for the stage, because there one is brought face to face with those who accept or those who refuse the offering. Of course the pitfalls in that world are by the thousand. Jeal- ousy and intrigue must be faced and disconcerted, and this without recourse to jealousy or intrigue on the part of the defendant. There must be, especially as our stage now stands, the author's perpetual, gnawing anxiety, caused by the wonderful inefficiency — nay, even want of intelligence — ■ of two-thirds of his interpreters. How vast and wide and blank this is, can hardly be credited by ninety-nine out of the hundred persons who witness a representation and judge the work by the manner in which it is set forth. Yet these disheartening truths, as old as the drama — let them have been ever so well got by heart beforehand — will not discour- age any one in whom instincts for the stage are born. I never presumed to conceive that I should fare better than my better predecessors ; but, had the difficulties been multi- plied tenfold, I must still have tried my fortune ; and I can sincerely say that my preliminary knowledge was of use, as sparing me from the blank misery which attends disappointed 254 EEMIX7SCEXCES OF CHORLE Y. expectation. It is an experience of life and emotion, and knowledge of a strange world, peopled by strange figures, which I would undergo again had I to begin my career over again. There is no reasoning on these things — no taking or giving counsel. Every heart knoweth its own bitterness, but also its devices and desires, and its powers of endurance. Unless a man can (so to say) survey or measure himself, it is perilous work for him to put to sea in the wildest of weather and on the roughest of waters. The sea tempts sailors. But the sensations of him who, whether wrecked or saved, is cast on shore are as strong as they are serious. They mark an advance in life, a deepening of every emotion. I repeat (and without grimace), I would not be without such experience, even had I been saved from the suffering which, for the moment, can be sharp enough, as I can testify." The above confession bears on its face the evidence of its sincerity ; but it is curious, to say the least, that the knowledge he had acquired of the perils of dra- matic enterprise should not have dissuaded him from encountering them in a vessel that he suspected to be unseaworthy. Yet the first of the two ventures referred to was risked with a serious expectation that it would fail ; and in deference only to the contrary opinion of a higher authority. " The Love-lock," according to Chorley's account of it, was originally intended as " a fantastic sort of ' morality ' in dialogued verse with lyrics interspersed ; " the idea being sug- gested by Tieck's tale of " The Runenburg " (in Mr. Carlyle's translation), and the motive being to denounce the Australian gold-fever which had set in with so much virulence during 1852. The conversion of this lyrical structure into a dramatic shape was undertaken « THE LOVE-LOCKr 235 at the instance of Mr. Alfred Wigan, whose " rapid progress and popularity as an actor" Chorley had " followed with more than ordinary interest." The drama was shown to Mr. Wigan " in every stage of its progress, accepted by him when incomplete," and its completion urged,. " in order that, when forming his company for the Olympic Theatre, he might pro- vide for its representation ; he at one time expressing his intention of opening his management with it. Against this" — continues Chorley—" I protested from the first moment, being satisfied that the experiment of playing • The Love-lock ' was one in which the chances were even betwixt a fair success and a thor- ough failure, and not choosing by any essay of mine to expose a new enterprise to a risk so severe. For once, foresight proved a piece of real good fortune to its owner. The failure of ' The Love-lock ' when it was played on the 13th of February, 1854, was dismal enough (if I wished it) to establish my sagacity as a calculator of alternatives, and, if any evil-wishers of myself or the theatre were there, to give them the liveliest satisfaction. I have witnessed more than one scene of the kind, but I think I never saw disapproba- tion more violent. . . . After all, the damage done was fatal to no one concerned in the affair. The theatre suffered less by the disappointment than it must have done had the ' morality ' been presented at a more critical period. The luckless author was in reality, and not in seeming, prepared for the possibility of such an issue." * * Accordingly he bore the disappointment, even at the time, very philosophically, writing to the editor of the " Athenaeum " next morning 236 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. His second venture was of a higher order, a five- act tragedy. Though not completed for performance until 1854, it had been planned and in great part exe- cuted in 1846. The American actress Miss Cushman, who was then fulfilling an engagement in England, had greatly impressed him with her power of poetic apprehension ; and the part of his heroine was designed with express accommodation to her role. Some negotiations for its representation appear to have been made in this year, as may be inferred from a note addressed to him by Mr. Browning, which contains a few golden words of appreciation, not to be omitted by any biographer to whom Chorley's memory is dear. " Tell me of your success in your own negotiations, which I confidently expect, and beforehand rejoice in. . . . I do feel that you are safe in the hands of those truthful-looking Cushmans ; and being very glad you have got tke?n, shall be yet gladder when the world gets you, and helps to realize the good wishes of such as myself, with only wishes at their disposal, for a most conscientious artist, honest critic, and loyal friend." The project, however, was abandoned until 1854, when Miss Cushman was again in England, and " Duchess Eleanour " was prepared for the stage. At the instance of Miss Cushman the tragedy was accepted for the Haymarket Theatre. The first per- formance took place on March 13th, 1854, and was moderately successful, but the next night reversed its fate. In a letter of the 16th, Mr. Buckstone announced to promise a review on which he was working— " in proof that though damned I am not dead / " DUCHESS ELEANOUR. 237 to Chorley with " the deepest regret," that in conse- quence of the disapprobation manifested at the fall of the curtain and the scanty receipts at the box- office, the play must be withdrawn. The reasons which, in the opinion of this experienced manager, sufficiently accounted for the failure, left his conviction still unshaken in Chorley's ability as a dramatist. " The objections," he writes, " to the play consist, not only in its gloomy character, but in its story, which borders on the repulsive. These features in dramatic composition may belong to and be tolerated in the old dramatists, but new plays, to be successful in the present day, require to be more genial in their nature. Still, you have shown so much dra- matic power in your dialogue, that, with a more natural and a better subject, I would not hesitate to produce another play written by you." It was some consolation that " Duchess Eleanour " met with more appreciation without the theatre than within. The review of it in the " Athenaeum, "-a jour- nal, where, as has been seen, a member of its staff could by no means rely upon obtaining a favorable verdict, seizes with much skill on the features of origin- ality and power by which the figure of the Duchess defines itself in the reader's memory.* The only other work to which reference in detail need be made here is a work entitled " Roccabella," * Miss Cushman herself thought highly of the part, thanking the author earnestly in one of her letters for the opportunity " afforded me of giving birth to another child of my intellect, which I love as much as though warm flesh and blood. 038 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. which he completed and published in 1859 under the pseudonym of Paul Bell. He had commenced it some years before, under the strong impression pro- duced on his mind by the revolutionary aspect of Europe, as already noted, but had laid it aside until recalled to the subject by the political events of that year. This book appears to be as much superior to the rest of Chorley's prose as " Duchess Eleanour " to the rest of his poetic fictions, and to afford similar evidence of his dramatic power. That it made a strong impression upon the minds of those whose opinion was of real value is indicated by the following letters from Dickens and Browning. The acquaintance between Chorley and Dickens had now grown into a friendship, the terms of which were mutually under- stood to tolerate a frank criticism of one by the other — as the letters will show. "Tavistock House, "Tavistock Square, London, W. C. " Friday night, Feb. 3, i860. " My dear Chorley : — " I can most honestly assure you that I think ' Rocca- bella ' a very remarkable book indeed. Apart — quite apart — from my interest in you, I am certain that if I had taken it up under any ordinarily favorable circumstances as a book of which I knew nothing whatever, I should not — could not — have relinquished it until I had read it through. I had turned but a few pages, and come to the shadow on the bright sofa at the foot of the bed, when I knew myself to be in the hands of an artist. That rare and delightful recogni- tion I never lost for a moment until I closed the second vol- ume at the end. Iam'a good audience ' when I have rea- son to be, and my girls would testify to you, if there were LETTER FROM DICKENS. 239 need, that I cried over it heartily. Your story seems to me remarkably ingenious. I had not the least idea of the purport of the sealed paper until you chose to enlighten me ; and then I felt it to be quite natural, quite easy, thoroughly in keeping with the character and presentation of the Liver- pool man. The position of the Bell family, in the story, has a special air of nature and truth j is quite new to me, and is so dexterously and delicately done, that I find the deaf daughter no less real and distinct than the clergyman's wife. The turn of the story round that damnable Princess I pur- sued with a pleasure with which I could pursue nothing but a true interest ; and I declare to you that if I were put upon finding anything better than the scene of Roccabella's death, I should stare round my book-shelves very much at a loss for a long time. Similarly, your characters have really sur- prised me. From the lawyer to the Princess, I swear to them as true ; and in your fathoming of Rosamond alto- gether, there is a profound wise knowledge that I admire and respect with a heartiness not easily overstated in words. " I am not quite with you as to the Italians. Your knowledge of the Italian character seems to me surprisingly- subtle and penetrating ; but I think we owe it to those most unhappy men and their political wretchedness, to ask our- selves mercifully whether their faults are not essentially the faults of a people long oppressed and priest-ridden ? — whether their tendency to slink and conspire is not a tendency that spies in every dress, from the triple crown to a lousy head, have engendered in their ancestors through generations ? Again, like you, I shudder at the distresses that come of these unavailing risings ; my blood runs hotter, as yours does, at the thought of the leaders safe and the instruments perishing by hundreds ; yet what is to be done ? Their wrongs are so great that they will rise from time to time, 240 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. somehow. It would be to doubt the eternal Providence of God to doubt that they will rise successfully at last. Una- vailing struggles against a dominant tyranny precede all suc- cessful turning against it. And is it not a little hard in us Englishmen, whose forefathers have risen so often and striven against so much, to look on, in our own security, through microscopes, and detect the motes in the brains of men driven mad? Think, if you and I were Italians, and had grown from boyhood to our present time, menaced in every day through all these years by that infernal confessional, dungeons, and soldiers, could we be better than these men? Should we be so good ? /should not, I am afraid, if I know myself; such things would make of me a moody, blood- thirsty, implacable man, who would do anything for revenge ; and if I compromised the truth — put it at the worst — habit- ually, where should I ever have had it before me ? In the old Jesuits' college at Genoa, on the Chiaja at Naples, in the churches of Rome, at the University of Padua, on the Piazzo San Marco at Venice ? — where ? And the Govern- ment is in all these places and in all Italian places. I have seen something of these men. I have known Mazzini and Gallenga ; Manin was tutor to my daughters in Paris ; I have had long talks about scores of them with poor Ary Scheffer, who was their best friend ; I have gone back to Italy after ten years, and found the best men I had known there exiled or in jail. I believe they have the faults you ascribe to them (nationally, not individually) ; but I could not find it in my heart, remembering their miseries, to exhibit those faults without referring them back to their causes. You will forgive my writing this, because I write it exactly as I write my cordial little tribute to the high merits of your book. If it were not a living reality to me, I should care nothing about this point of disagreement ; but you are far too earnest a man, and far too able a man, to be left un- LETTER FROM HAWTHORNE. 241 remonstrated with by an admiring reader. You cannot write so well without influencing many people. If you could tell me that your book had but twenty readers, I would reply, that so good a book will influence more people's opinions through those twenty than a worthless book would through twenty thousand ; and I express this with the perfect confi- dence of one in whose mind the book has taken, for good and all, a separate and distinct place. Accept my thanks for the pleasure you have given me. The poor acknowl- edgment of testifying to that pleasure wherever I go will be my pleasure in return. And so, my dear Chorley, good-night, and God bless you. " Ever faithfully yours, " Charles Dickens." A joint letter from Nathaniel and Mrs. Hawthorne contained another gratifying tribute of appreciation. The former wrote — " Dear Mr. Chorley : — " I became greatly interested in Roccabella ; but I have not any art of putting my impressions about books into words, and my wife has done it better than I could.* For my part, however, I think Roccabella is a true Italian, and on the whole, I consent to his death, although it shocked me a little at the time. I especially admire the close of the book — your lofty integrity, for example, in not trying to patch up a happiness for Rosamond and Shepherd out of the frag- ments of life that remain. But, as I said before, I cannot * Mrs. Hawthorne's letter is only preserved in a fragment, which testifies to her admiration of the " truth, and sincerity, and earnestness" of the book. 1 1 242 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. give my reasons for like or dislike. I have a deep impres- sion of the power of the book, and can say no more. " Sincerely yours, "Nath. Hawthorne." In dedicating " Roccabella " to Mrs. Browning, however, Chorley cannot be acquitted of a grave error in judgment. The dedication, indeed, contains no allusion whatever to the political bearing of the novel, and simply offers it as a truthful " story of a woman's heart," in homage to the most distinguished of Eng- lish poetesses. And, by thus throwing its leading purpose into the background, he probably hoped to avoid any suspicion of a design to offend one whom he desired to honor. But to ignore what is palpable, only singles it out for remark ; and, in this instance, it could no more be doubted that Mrs. Browning would regard the book as a conservative protest against the cause to which her heart and soul were devoted, and a satire upon the party of which she was the repre- sentative and spokeswoman, than that strangers would be divided in opinion as to whether the dedication was meant for a rebuke, or recognized a change that had taken place in her sympathies. If he justly felt himself safe from misconstruction on the part of his friend, he could not rely upon the world's being equally generous to her ; and I can only explain his defective sympathy as an illustration of the extent to which intense conviction can deaden an acute sensi- bility. That his indiscretion was condoned by Mrs. Browning has been already seen. Some idea of the admirable temper with which she accepted the honor, LETTER FROM MR. BROWNING. 243 and disregarded the inconsideration, may be gathered from the reference made to her reply in the letter of Mr. Browning that accompanied it. This letter I am glad to be permitted to print. " Roccabella " was not written in vain when it evoked so convincing a demon- stration of the justice of the cause it had disparaged. "You will have read my wife's letter, dear Chorley. I know she feels gratified and honored, as she tries to say — and you must understand that I take that feeling of hers, and add others of my own to it — ' thank you most truly.' I agree, too, in the main, with her estimate of the book, though I should be inclined to dwell more on the artistic merits (great they are) of the characters, and agree to take more for granted in the pre-supposing a sufficient cause for action of some sort, of which you, in the present case, only choose to consider the irregular and blamable examples. Still, I wish you had given satisfaction on this point to every- body by a paragraph, no longer, of necessity, than a preg- nant one I admired in ' Pomfret,' which disposed of the previous question of the right or wrong doctrine, and then explained that the story would only deal with conscientious- ness and its results, upon any conviction whatever, so long as it was honest. After that admission in this case of the existence of a great cause requiring great sacrifices, I should go on to enjoy the portraiture of the false, cowardly, or fool- ish instruments, self-elected or ill-selected, just as one enjoys the castigation of Sir Samuel Luke, 'that Mameluke,' and does not cry out against the outrage to Milton or Vane. I don't think it would be hard to prove this, by accepting, for a moment, all your characters as samples of the whole body of professing patriotism ; abolishing them accordingly with hearty good will, and then * beginning over again,' by drop- ping you into the middle of an Italian province, suffering, as 244 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLE Y. you would see ; and bidding you, supposed an Italian born, set about remedying what you saw, as your conscience should instigate, and with the best means your intelligence could suggest. Here is on the table, for instance, an extract from the documents now publishing at Bologna in exemplification of the Pope's rule in Romagna ; the first three letters, declaring the simple state of things, written by those who, having caused it, are not interested in under- stating it, say — that of Cardinal Massimo, the legate of Ravenna, that ' tolti i vecchi, le donne, e i fanciulli, il resto della popolazione dai 18 anni in sopra, mmo pochissirni spauriti legittimisti, h tutto per massima ostile al Governo ; ' for which state of things he simply recommends ' polizia vigile, gius- tizia esecutiva rapida, armata, sicura? The letter of the Governor of Rome, Marini (now Cardinal), replies to this that ' il quadro nero di quella provincia & pur troppo naturale, per le precedenti cospiranti notizie e per la perspicaccia del descrittore ; * and the last letter is from Antonelli himself, complaining bitterly that, after a month's quiet occupation of Bologna by the Austrians, only one citizen had as yet i fatto atto di ossequio a Sua Santita ' by a letter to the Pope at Portici. Here you have the universal grievance : pro- test against it in any degree, take the poorest means to make your protest effective, and help the whole population to a voice, if not a blow, and you begin Roccabellaism; better than he, because you are better in head and heart; but when he, or the like of him, begins to imitate you badly, and the rest to simulate you both for worse purposes, all I ask is, don't let yourself be blamed; don't condemn all heroes because they breed faquins ! Even these last do call atten- tion to the corrupt carcass, though they feed on the same ; and because of all the last ten years' Roccabellaism, comes this day of the Congress's judgment, at worst, or a continu- ance and extension of the present state of things, which LETTER FROM MR. BROWNING. 245 would be best of all. Archbishop Cullen gets up and declares that the Pope's subjects love him of all loves, and that nobody but Sir Eardley Wilinot says otherwise ; and what would disprove this had the Roccabellas been silent some ten years? Even loud talking pulls down a snow- mountain on people's heads, in default of more active measures ; and, somehow or other, it does seem rolling down at last. God speed it ! " I hope you will write another novel, and manage it more dexterously than the booksellers seem to have done in this case. I never see you advertised, nor, consequently (I suppose), noticed ; and your book just wants that only to succeed. What a notice was that in the ' Athenaeum ' ! Your self-abnegation is wrong in the very interests of the journal ; for if a writer, doing deliberately his best, deserves such a comment and no more, what would his weekly thoughts and fancies deserve in the way of paragraph-room ? I expect you will analyse a brace of novels at adequate length, for many a week to come, before you stop the way with somebody else's .' Roccabella.' These are poorer con- siderations to you, however, than to your friends. And we two here, are, as of old, your fast friends, dear Chorley. I have got stiff at a distance with daily nothings to do and chronicle (in head at least), and my words do not fly out as promptly as I could wish, and as once may have been the case ; but I know what I know, and remember all your kindness to us both. You are often in our mouths, gener- ally in our thoughts, always in our hearts. God bless you ! " Yours affectionately ever, "' R. Browning." The conditions of its publication, as Mr. Browning hints, were not favorable to the success of " Rocca- bella ; " and Chorley's resolution to try if his " luck" 246 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. would be equally adverse, whether he announced or withheld his name, imposed an additional restraint upon its circulation. By his express desire, no allusion to his authorship was made in the " Athenaeum," where it received a very inadequate notice ; and be- yond the confines of his own set, it seems to have attracted no attention. A page or two are all that need be given to his minor productions. In 1857 ne published, under the title of " Fairy Gold for Young and Old," * a para- phrased translation of a series of fairy-tales by M. Savinien Lapointe, which had obtained the hearty approbation of Beranger. The poet's characteristic letter is inserted in the preface, which also contains an interesting notice of the author, a Parisian artisan. In 1864, Chorley prefixed to the second edition of Lady Wallace's translation of " Mendelssohn's Let- ters from Italy and Switzerland," a brief biographical sketch of the composer. It deals with the man rather than his works, and sums up the fascinating features of his mental and moral personality in language that, warm as it is, does not savor of the exaggeration which the writer admits the chief difficulty of his task lay in avoiding. It bears, nevertheless, the im- press of his earnest affection for his subject, and is, probably on this account, in point of style among the purest and succinctest pieces of English that he ever wrote. A three-volume novel, entitled " The Prodigy : a Tale of Music," f published in 1866, was Chorley's latest effort in fiction. Its subject is nearly identical * Routledge and Co. f Chapman and Hall. 3 vols. AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 247 with that of two earlier works, " Conti " and " The Lion," — the career of a genius — but the treatment is essentially distinct. In point of skill the first admits of no comparison with it ; and the second, in respect of variety of illustration and force of delineation, falls far below it ; but as a realization of the writer's inten- tion to preach an artistic homily to the gifted, it can scarcely be considered more successful than either. Several literary projects were conceived during the last years of his life, two of which, a biography of Rossini, and a version of Woltmann's " Life of Hol- bein," made some approach towards execution, but, from one cause or another, all were finally abandoned. The latest work that he lived to complete, published after his death, was an edition of a second series of Miss Mitford's Letters,* to which he prefixed a bio- graphical sketch of the writer. The cordial apprecia- tion of her literary merits, the vigorous and healthy condemnation of the idolatry to which her life was sacrificed, and the good-humored tolerance of her occasional sallies of temper in reference to himself, give this brief memoir a worthy place among his minor productions. An incidental allusion at the close of the second volume (pp. 196, 197) to his hope that he may " one day tell the details " of an episode in the career of his brother, John Rutter Chorley (with whom one of Miss Mitford's correspondents had been connected in earlier life), points to the preparation of the Autobiography, in which an account of that career was intended to form a special chapter. Upon this Autobiography Chorley was engaged more or less * Messrs. Bentley and Son. 1872. 2 vols. 248 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLE Y. during the last ten years of his life. The materials were largely collected, and the work had so far taken shape that the contract for its speedy publication had been signed, when a sudden summons brought his earthly labors to an end. CHAPTER XII. Career as a musical critic from 1852 to 1868 — Recognition of his influ- ence — Estimates by Sir Michael Costa and Mr. Henry Leslie — Practical testimony — Employment as a writer for music — Effects of his criticism — "Modern German Music" — Extracts — "Thirty Years' Musical Recollections" — Extracts — Lectures — Interest in musical enterprise — Birmingham Festivals — Crystal Palace Con- certs and Handel Festivals — Retirement from " Athenaeum." DURING the last twenty years of Chorley's life his influence as a musical critic steadily widened. The strength and pertinacity of his convictions, and the learning and skill which he brought to sustain them, gave a marked individuality to his critical tone, which could not be ignored even by those who liked it the least. His judgment seems by this time to have been accepted by the first musicians of England and the Continent as that of a thoroughly competent authority, and listened to by amateurs, except in a limited circle, with more deference than that of any other contemporary critic. In many houses, it has been said, the " Athenaeum " was habitually read solely for the sake of its musical column. He had by no means outlived obloquy, — receiving, indeed, so late as in 1862, the distinction of a metrical lampoon of sev- eral pages, expressly devoted to him, — but he had over-lived any enmity likely to be prejudicial to his influence, and established on a sure basis the friend- 11* 250 REMINISCENCES OF CIIORLEY. ships he cared to retain. To the weight of that influ- ence, the assured reputation in England of more than one composer and vocalist still bears witness. To the esteem in which his opinion and countenance were held, the wide intercourse and frequent correspon- dence upon themes of common interest which he maintained with the leading members of the musical world, would supply ample testimony, were it practica- ble to adduce it. But one or two posthumous tributes to his memory may be cited in preference to words addressed to the living. No musician's verdict will be more readily accepted as authoritative than that of Sir Michael Costa. His intimate acquaintance with Chorley dates from 1845, an d the ample opportunities it afforded him of putting critical qualifications to the test give special value to the result of his observation. A crucial test was furnished on the occasion of a visit paid to him in the Isle of Wight during 1854, when he was composing his oratorio of " Eli." The score was examined by Chorley in manuscript ; and " I found," says the composer, " that he knew its orchestral effects as well as I did myself." Of the manly independence, excellent judgment, and large knowledge displayed in the musical criticism of the "Athenaeum," Sir Michael speaks in terms of the highest praise. Another unimpeachable authority, Mr. Henry Les- lie, speaking from a familiar intercourse of " nearly thirty years," gives the following estimate of Chorley's critical career : — " Gifted with a highly sensitive temperament, he had a natural and intuitive perception of the good and great in Art. MR. HENR Y LE SUE. 2 5 1 His acquaintance with musical works was very extensive, for he deemed no trouble too great in order to add to his experience, frequently travelling considerable distances to hear the performance of works which had no chance of being produced in England. Thus he became known to all the leading Continental artistes, by whom he was held in great repute. " Enthusiastic in expressing his admiration of whatever approached the high standard by which he judged, he was especially severe in censuring all that he deemed false. He was fearless in stating his own opinions of the merits of per- formances and of compositions ; but those who reached his inner nature valued the man too much to be offended with that which they well knew was the honestly expressed opin- ion of the critic. " This determined assertion of his own individual ideas, coupled with his knowledge and experience, caused him to exercise no ordinary influence in musical circles. Full of strong prejudices, yet with the highest sense of honor, those he most esteemed frequently fared worse than those whom he personally disliked, so earnest was his desire to allow no private feelings to interfere with his public duties. " Jt would have been well had he not written in conjunc- tion with others. Musicians not unnaturally expect that in the composition of musical works their ideas should be deemed worthy of consideration ; but Mr. Chorley was of a contrary opinion, and it was with the utmost difficulty — indeed, on many occasions it was an absolute impossibility — for them to obtain from him the slightest concession. " For very many years nearly all that was distinguished in Art, Science, and Literature, was constantly to be met at his house. " His kindness, encouragement, and helpfulness to young aspirants were unlimited, and there was not one of the many 252 REMINISCENCES OE CHORLEY. cases of distress brought to his notice that did not benefit from his means, though his name but seldom appeared as a donor." Some more practical recognitions of the position he had attained were afforded in his lifetime. Among these were the invitations he received from such cor- porations as the Society of Arts and the Royal Insti- tution, to deliver courses of lectures, and from musical societies, both native and foreign, to attend their festivals ; the reliance placed upon his judgment in 1862, when he was requested to select the composers and the themes appropriate to the musical inaugura- tion of« the International Exhibition, and the value attached to his evidence before the Commission of 1865, appointed to inquire into the organization of the Academy of Music. His employment, moreover, as a librettist and adapter of words for the voice, during these years, was almost continuous. Among the best known of his productions were translations of Gluck's " Armide," " Alceste," " Orfeo," and " Iphigenie en Aulide ; " Meyerbeer's " L'Etoile du Nord " and " Dinorah ; " Auber's " Domino Noir ; " M. Gounod's " Faust ; " Berlioz's " Faust " and trilogy of " La Sainte Famille ; " the books of Mr. Leslie's oratorio of " Judith " and cantata of " Holyrood ; " Sir J. Bene- dict's cantata of " St. Cecilia ; " Mr. Sullivan's opera of " The Sapphire Necklace," and cantata of " Kenil- worth;" and Mr. John Thomas' cantata of "The Bride of Neath Valley ; " the songs for forty melodies by Meyerbeer, and twelve by M. Goldschmidt, besides a considerable number by M. Gounod, Mr. Sullivan, and other composers. GERMAN MODERN MUSIC. 253 " As a writer of words for music/' to quote from an obituary notice of him by a well-known pianist, " he was, of all Englishmen of his time, the most sought after. His name is coupled with that of nearly every eminent composer in this country." The suc- cess which attended his share in such work was some- times great, notably in the case of the cantata of " St. Cecilia," and would of itself have warranted the decided tone he adopted in reference to the form of his compositions, even had his theoretic views upon questions of Art been less pronounced than they notoriously were. A more deliberate utterance of his opinions and sympathies in connection with music than he was able to put forth as a journalist, will be found in two pub- lished works of this period, of which some account must be given. The first of these, which appeared in 1854 under the title of " Modern German Music," * was, in fact, a republication of the chapters of his former work " Music and Manners," which had embraced that branch of the subject, but supplemented with large additions, the fruit of later study. Though not entirely freed from the blemishes which disfigured it in its original shape, the book bears every mark' of being carefully revised, and entitled to the honorable reputation which it enjoys as a work of authority. A few only of the most important additions can here be noticed. The chapters on Gluck, Spohr, and Cheru- bini appear to. be the most thoughtfully studied ; those on Mozart and Beethoven the most unconven- * Smith, Elder & Co. 2 vols. 254 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLE Y. tional in criticism ; that on Herr Wagner the most trenchant in censure. The following extracts are selected as illustrations of the writer's method. Their intrinsic value as expressions of opinion on the respec- tive merits of the two composers named, will be vari- ously estimated : "The operas of Gluck can only be studied as they deserve by being heard and seen ; and, moreover, under conditions of careful and magnificent presentation. The most experienced and imaginative of readers will derive from the closest perusal of the scores of Gluck's operas feeble and distant impressions of their power and beauty. He wrote for the stage ; and when he has been judged in the closet, he has been either half judged, or else curiously misunderstood The world requires beauty and variety of tone, as well as power of lungs — some elasticity in the voice, as well as some precision in deliver- ing the words — a company, in short, of great dramatic vocalists of genius — to draw from the music of Gluck its whole meaning But leaving such Utopian visions of what a represented opera by Gluck should be, there is enough in his music, when reverently sung and played by the inferior singers and coarse operatic actors of modern Germany, to surprise by its beauty, as well as to arrest by its power. What a voluptuous lusciousness of melody floats and dies through the fairy scenes of ' Armide ' ! There is no instance of fascination in music more exquisite than the great tenor song of Rinaldo, 'Plus j 'observe;' no melody more alluring in its mellow monotony than Lucinda's solo in the same opera, ' Jamais dans ces beaux lieux.' In ' Alceste,' the beauty is more irresistible than the intense magic tenderness of the music. I have never been more moved by delicious sensations and deep emotions conjointly, GLUCK. ' 255 so strongly as by a very moderate performance of this opera at Berlin In none of the cited instances is there the slightest attempt — born of weakness, and bred by con- ceit — to force art beyond its own special bounds. None of these specimens is antipathetic to the voice or repulsive to the singer, or conciliatory of those strange souls who hold that sincerity and brutality, might and ugliness, are one. Yet those who would praise, and who endeavor while praising also to prove, the beauty of Gluck, are as yet without a public. In like manner, I have never heard one of Gluck's operas without being surprised by a merit in them for which the annalists (before the time of M. Berlioz, at least) have never given him credit — namely, orchestral variety, interest, and invention Certain it is that his fancies, as fancies, come out into brighter relief than any- thing in Mozart's operas — Taminos' flute, Papagenos" bells, and the tromboni that speak together with 11 Commendatore perhaps excepted. Let me cite, as a few among many instances, the dialogue betwixt the two wind instruments to the words 'J'entends retentir,' etc., in 'Iphigenie en Aulide ; ' the ferocious life given to the chorus of Scythians in ' Iphigenie en Tauride,' by the use of the cymbal ; the lute-like pizzicatto of the violins in the chorus with ballet in the second act of ' Alceste,' and then the entire change of instruments on the amoroso in G minor which serves as trio (so to say) to this composition His recitative stands alone ; approached by Mozart only, in some few pas- sages, such, for instance, as Donna Anna's burst in ' Don Juan,' when she recognizes her father's murderer; emulated by Rossini in his third act of ' Otello ; ' but by himself always maintained at the highest point of interest, without ever becoming overwrought or oppressive. By this very characteristic, those who have searched the depths of musical invention would have been led to admit the claims 256 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. of Gluck as a melodist ; seeing that no good recitative will be ever written by those who are ignorant of the balance of cadence — of the sweetness or sadness of certain intervals — of contrast betwixt phrase and phrase — of measured time, least licentious when freest — of all, in short, that goes to make one of the tunes in which the world is to delight." — Vol. i. pp. 262-279. " There is probably no musician, living or dead, by whom the same general completeness of beauty has been exhibited as by the composer of ' Don Juan,' and perhaps no more exact parallel can be made than the one which designates him the Raphael of his art. And thus the intense satisfac- tion that Mozart has ministered to every intelligence — lofty, mediocre, lowly — may by many be thought placed above examination and question ; and thus examiners and inquir- ers may, by the very fact of their inquiry, be unfairly placed side by side with the group of strong and gnarled and gifted and perverse men whose /r^-Raphaelism in painting has become a byword, and given a name to a school. Never- theless, though perfect harmony and beauty command the largest congregation, and subdue the large proportion of the mixed intelligence and affectionate faith of the world (this without cant or hypocrisy on the part of true believers) ; though further, without an overruling feeling for beauty, the imaginative arts can have small existence as arts — harmony is still not the only essential quality— beauty is still not the highest merit — because it may exist without the existence of commanding power, of brilliant genius, of fresh inven- tion. And seeing that Mozart has enchanted rather than excited the world — seeing that he has provided for the average sensations and sympathies of mankind, rather than enlarged the number of these, or exalted their quality, it appears to me impossible entirely to subscribe to his suprem- acy as affording that Alpha and Omega of musical excel- MOZART. 257 lence, which the fond millions of his worshippers have de- lighted to ascribe to it. To state the argument in another form, let .me submit that in art, in literature — in all that concerns appeal to the sympathies by imagination — there are few confusions more frequently made than that of senti- ment for feeling. We lean to the former because it soothes us, afflicts us with a pleasing pain, strews flowers above all corpses, presents the right emotion at the right moment, calling on us neither to scale terrible heights nor to fathom perilous depths, while it in no respect shrinks from the ex- tremes of ecstasy and despair. It is not merely the light of heart, the frivolous of character, the feeble in thought, whom sentiment satisfies, persuades, and fascinates. There are many of a graver, deeper nature, more cruelly afflicted in their own experiences, who object that Art should, in any form, mirror the secrets of their hearts ; considering it in some sort as a holiday-land, a place of healing repose, and of easy (not vacant) enjoyment — not as an arena in which the battle of life and suffering may be fought over again, merely by phantom combatants. The perfection, then, of sentimental expression — more generally popular because less disturbing than the deepest feeling or the most poignant dramatic power — is the quality which has universally charmed the world in the music of Mozart, expressed as it is by him in a style where freedom and serenity, Italian sweetness of vocal melody and German variety of instrumental science are combined as they have never been before or since his time. That he could rise above this. level is as true as that for the most part he did not rise above it. The opening scene of ' Don Juan,' the recitative ' Don Ottavio son morto,' the stretto to the finale in the first act, and the cemetery duett in that opera — the ' Confutatis ' in the ' Requiem ' — the piano-forte fantasia in C minor, and the overture to the ' Zauberflote,' among his instrumental writings — all instances 258 REMINISCENCES OF CHORIEY. of what I consider higher in tone than mere sentiment — will perhaps suffice to illustrate my distinction. In the generality of Mozart's works, however, there is an evenness of beauty, an absence of excitement — dare I say an inattention to char- acterisation in drama ? — which leave something of vigor and variety to be desired. Within the circle of his oratorios and cantatas (their respective musical epochs compared), Han- del is more various than the composer of ' Figaro ' in his 'Jupiter Symphony,' his quartettes, his masses, and his piano-forte works. Haydn, in his instrumental works, has fresher inspirations — never any so voluptuous — many more frivolous (for Mozart was never frivolous, even when writing a waltz or a quodlibei) — but some more picturesque in their originality. Gluck is grander and more impassioned in opera. Beethoven, of course, flies many an arrow-flight beyond him in symphony, sofiata, quartette, and concerto. While no one who has done so much has done so generally well, there is no single work by Mozart, in any style, than which some other single work, having greater interest, by some other composer, could not be cited. We can go backward from Mozart to Bach and Handel. We can go forward from him to Beethoven. We can condescend (if it please the purists so to state the case) from ' Don Juan ' and ' Figaro ' to ' Guillaume Tell ' and ' II Barbiere ; ' but some of us cannot return from any of these masters to Mozart without feeling as if some of the brightness, so long thought incomparable, had passed away from our divinity ; that while, as a mingler of many powers, he has no peer — if regarded either as a subduer, as an awakener, or as a charmer by mirth — there are separate stars of the first mag- nitude larger than his star." — Vol. ii. pp. 159-171. As an illustration of Chorley's catholicity of taste, the following extract from his chapters on the Waltz "MUSICAL RECOLLECTIONS." 259 Music of Vienna may be worth quoting. Referring to a ball at the Sperl, at which Strauss was the con- ductor, he says : " There was in the music that strange mixture of pen- siveness and inebriating spirit but faintly represented in the ballrooms of London and Paris, even by the same Strauss when directing the same orchestra, and playing the same tunes, which makes me. also remember the evening. The exquisite modulation of the triple tempo which no French orchestra can render — full to the utmost fulness, yet not heavy — round and equal, yet still with a si i^at propelling accent — the precision and the pleasure among the players, and the unstudied quiet animation of the waltz-master himself, made up an irresistible charm — a case of that fascination by per- fect concord, without any apparent mechanical weariness, which long practice only can give — a delicious example of some of the most luscious tones that happy orchestral com- bination can produce, called out in expression and enhance- ment of some of the most beautiful music of modern Europe." — Vol. ii. p. 147. Passing over with an allusion an arrangement of verses to " English tunes," which he published in 1857, we must briefly notice the two volumes of " Rec- ollections/' * which embodied the results of his thirty years' experience. The formal method in which he has arranged his subject, and the "unusual slovenliness of his style in this book, have probably deterred many readers from doing it justice. It will be found, by those who have courage to overcome the first instinct * " Thirty Years' Musical Recollections." Hurst & Blackett. 1862 2 vols. 260 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. of repulsion thus occasioned, not only a pithy sum- mary of operatic history during the period it embraces, but abounding in suggestive dicta and graphic descrip- tions. The careful estimates of individual composers and singers which it contains give it special interest and value, if some needful allowance be made for the critic's temptation to be a " laudator temporis acti" when writing of recent celebrities and the tastes " of the hour." That no opportunity is lost of proclaim- ing his favorite theories and denouncing his peculiar aversions in Art will be taken for granted, without illustrations ; but one or two extracts may be made to exemplify the variety with which he has contrived to treat a theme in itself sufficiently limited. Here, for instance, is a noteworthy observation upon national characteristics : " He (Donizetti) is remarkable as an instance of fresh- ness of fancy brought on by incessant manufacture. Such a change is almost exclusively confined to Italian genius in its workings. It learns and grows, while creating. If it be moved by no deep purpose, it avails itself of self-correction ; it strengthens its force on unconscious experience. Whereas German after German has gone deeper and deeper into fog- land, when aspiring to produce what music cannot give, Ital- ian after Italian has not merely perfected his own peculiar style, but has enlarged his science, and arrived at novelty, at a period of his career when it might have been fancied that nothing but truism remained to be given out." — Vol. i. p. i54- This last extract is given as an example of Chor- ley's skill in description : u musical recollections:* 261 " There remains a strange scene to be spoken of — the last appearance of this magnificent musical artist (Pasta), when she allowed herself, many years later, to be seduced into giving one performance at Her Majesty's Theatre, and to sing in a concert for the Italian cause at the Royal Ital- ian Opera. Nothing more ill-advised could have been dreamed of. Madame Pasta had long ago thrown oft the stage and all its belongings Her voice, which, at its best, had required ceaseless watching and practice, had been long ago given up by her. Its state of utter ruin on the night in question passes description. She had been neglected by those who, at least, should have presented her person to the best advantage admitted by time. Her queenly robes (she was to sing some scenes from " Anna Bolena ") in nowise suited or disguised her figure. Her hairdresser had done some tremendous thing or other with her head — or rather had left everything undone. A more painful and dis- astrous spectacle could hardly be looked on. There were artists present, who had then, for the first time, to derive some impression of a renowned artist — perhaps with the natural feeling that her reputation had been exaggerated. Among these was Rachel — whose bitter ridicule of the entire sad show made itself heard throughout the whole theatre, and drew attention to the place where she sat — one might even say, sarcastically enjoying the scene. Among the audience, however, was another gifted woman, who might far more legitimately have been shocked at the utter wreck of every musical means of expression in the singer ; who might have been more naturally forgiven, if some humor of self-glorification had made her severely just — not worse— to an old prima donna ; I mean Madame Viardot Then, and not till then, she was hearing Madame Pasta. But truth will always answer to the appeal of truth. Dismal as was the spectacle — broken, hoarse, and destroyed as was the 262 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. voice — the great style of the singer spoke to the great singer. The first scene was Anne Boleyrts duet with Jane Seymour. The old spirit was heard and seen in Madame Pasta's ' Sorgi,' and the gesture with which she signed to her penitent rival to rise. Later, she attempted the final mad scene of the opera — that most complicated and brilliant among the mad scenes on the modern musical stage — with its two cantabile movements, its snatches of recitative, and its bravura of despair, which may be appealed to as an example of vocal display, till then unparagoned, when turned to the account of frenzy, not frivolity — perhaps, as such, commis- sioned by the superb creative artist. By that time, tired, unprepared, in ruin as she was, she had rallied a little. When — on Anne Bo/eyn's hearing the coronation music for her rival, the heroine searches for her own crown on her brow — Madame Pasta wildly turned in the direction of the festive sounds, the old irresistible charm broke out ; nay, even in the final song, with its roulades and its scales of shakes, ascending by a semi-tone, the consummate vocalist and tragedian, able to combine form with meaning — the moment of the situation, with such personal and musical display as forms an integral part of operatic art — was indi- cated, at least to the apprehension of a younger artist. ' You are right ! ' was Madame Viardot's quick and heart- felt response (her eyes full of tears) to a friend beside her. * You are right ! ' it is like the ' Cenacolo ' of Da Vinci at Milan — a wreck of a picture, but the picture is the greatest picture in the world ! " — Vol. i. pp. 136-139. Of the capacity which he felt conscious of possess- ing, and, under more favorable circumstances, might have developed as a composer, Chorley has left some trace in his ballads, the " elegance" of which has been commended by so competent a judge as Mr. Leslie. INTEREST IN ART. 263 Less skilled ears cannot fail to be charmed by the graceful simplicity of the melody in " When I was young" and "The Enchanted River," the admirable fitness of the setting to the chivalrous sentiment and antique expression of " Bid me not the Lady praise." Both the air and words in each of these examples are his own ; and the conjunction may be taken as his best attempt to realize the views he held as to the relation between poetry and music. This relation was the subject of a lecture which he delivered before the Royal Institution, February, 1861. Another lecture given at the Musical Institute was devoted to Moore, the English poet who, in his opinion, had brought the union of verse and song to the highest perfection. Throughout his life, and with unabated force to the last, Chorley showed the warmest interest in all public or private enterprises by which Music was to be served or honored. The Birmingham Festivals were the special subject of his approbation ; and he was " never tired," says a friend who was in constant correspondence with him, " of praising, not only the performances, which he considered the most perfect in the world, but also the general management (under the care of Mr. Peyton), the courteous reception of strangers, and the universal holiday feeling and hospi- tality manifested on these occasions by the inhabit- ants." The same friend speaks of the keen enjoy- ment which Chorley took " in the musical perform- ances at the Crystal Palace ; his appreciation of the readiness shown on the part of the managers to pro- duce new works, and to give young musicians an opportunity of appearing before the public. Of the 264 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLE V. Handel Festivals he always wrote in the highest terms of admiration, attending them regularly with a party, and laughingly calling his four seats at the Palace ■ Chorley Row.' The friends who were fortunate enough to accompany him in his drives to Sydenham, on those days, will recollect how much pleasure he and they derived from excursions which, from break- fast to dinner, he knew so well how to arrange, never forgetting those small details of comfort and luxury which add much to the amusement of a day passed amid delights of the highest intellectual order. One day Madame Viardot would be the life and soul of his party ; on another, Sir John Coleridge's quiet humor and genial spirits compelled every one else to enjoy it." Other illustrations might be added to show that Chorley's long term of service to Art in the capacity of a critic, had not chilled his ardor. That term nominally ended at Midsummer, 1868, when he retired from the musical department of the " Athenaeum," after thirty-five years' connection with it.* He continued, however, to communicate occasional articles on musical topics, signed with his name or initials, until the close of 187 1. A technical organ (" The Orchestra") received contributions from him within two months of his death. * He celebrated the occasion by giving a farewell dinner at Wemb- ley Hill, to the employes of the publishing office. His health did not allow of his being present, but through his friend, Mr. Francis, the publisher, he addressed a few kindly words of parting to his " fellow- workers," whom he reminded that during all the years of his service, " not a single angry word or doubtful transaction had passed on either side, and thanked with all his heart for their prompt and courteous punctuality, which had made not the easiest of tasks a comparatively light one." CHAPTER XIII. Private and social life from 1852 to 1872 — Residence in Eaton Place — Description of the house — Parties — Extracts from letter to Liver- pool — Opposition to " Spiritualistic " mania — Friendship with Charles Dickens — Letters from him — Visits to Gad's Hill — Miss Dickens' reminiscences — Mr. Procter — Hawthorne — Other asso- ciates — Deaths of Miss Mitford and Sir Wm. Molesworth — Letter to Liverpool — Illness and death of his sister — Memorial sketch of his brother John's career — Letter from Mr. Carlyle — Professor Ticknor — Accession of fortune — Mental depression, loneliness, and failing health — A fatal expedient — Travels — Letter from Spain — Scarborough — Wakehurst Place — Memory of early friendship — Letters — Affectionate relations with Mr. Benson Rathbone — Re- miniscences — Death of Dickens — Acceleration of organic disease — Letters to Liverpool — His death, and funeral. THE twenty years of Chorley's residence in Eaton Place West are those by which he is most likely to be remembered in London society. In some re- spects they were the happiest, in others, the saddest of his life. On the bright side may be set the advan- tages of a recognized literary and social position, the enjoyment of one close and of many cordial intimacies, and the satisfaction of being able to repay a long-cher- ished debt of gratitude to his oldest friend, by the formation of a new bond of attachment. On the dark side, must be reckoned the increasing burdens of lone- liness and ill-health, the loss, in quick succession, of beloved associates by death, and the loss of others by 12 266 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. estrangement, the pain of which was aggravated by the sense that it was to some extent attributable to his own conduct. His new house (No. 13) claims a paragraph or two to itself. However unpretending externally, its inte- rior was almost dainty enough to deserve the praise bestowed upon it by Mrs. Hawthorne {ante). He used to speak of it as the last house in Belgravia proper, i. e., on the Belgrave estate, and extol it as characterized by all the excellencies of Cubitt's building, notwith- standing its small scale. Apropos of its size, he used to relate his interview with the estate agent, who showed him over it on the completion of his purchase, and made some apology for the narrowness of the staircase. " Never mind," replied Chorley ; " I shall require a very narrow coffin."- — " I have sold a great many leases of similar houses, sir, but I never heard a gentleman make such an observation before ! " was the astonished man's rejoinder. Chorley's conviction, expressed after this grimly-humorous fashion, that he should spend his last years in the house, was justified by the event, but the staircase was witness to many a pleasant scene before rendering him its final service. Always " given to hospitality," he had now the means which were want- ing in former years to fulfil his desires, and the house lent itself very graciously to that end. Of the princi- pal guests whom he used to assemble during the last ten years of his life, something will be said presently. His parties, during the earlier time of his residence there, were larger than he latterly attempted, and occasionally in excess of the accommodation. An absurd scene at one such party may be still remem- PARTIES. 267 bered by some who were present. The account he gave of it in a letter to Liverpool is worth extracting, if only to relieve a record which has been, and must be to the close, shadowed with much sadness. The frequently morbid tone of his temperament was con- sistent with a hearty enjoyment of life in other moods ; and no better illustration could be given than the fol- lowing, of his ability to extract fun out of its most trifling incidents. "Thank you, dear B., for the box of bouquets, which arrived duly, and made me wish anew I had you instead. The week is over now. Peyton, who is a very companion- able inmate, is gone. I had the Leslies with me, and the Santleys one day — the Lehmanns, too. Emily will tell you of my huge party on Thursday, but she could not tell you of one of the most whimsical things I ever saw ; no, I did not see it. But crinoline had so choked my drawing-room (you could not see a nail of carpet) that when Lady M came — you have seen that she is not small — in all her bravery from another party, there was no getting into the room. So she stood in the little landing with about ten men — you know how little the landing is. Well, fancy a procession of this kind arriving from below — first, a jug of hot water, second, a flat candle, lighted, third, H , very fat, very hot, very tired — too much all three to endure a crowd in a little room, and who thought he could creep up to bed ! I found the landing party in fits of entertainment at his face when he turned the corner of the stairs ! " On Friday we were but four men in the drive to Syden- ham (with the Sims Reeves and Miss Cushman to dinner). I took down E , a new acquisition — one, though not up to Maule (who ever will be ?), who is more in that style — 268 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. solid, superior, gentle, and gentlemanly — than any one I have lately met — a man of deep learning in Oriental matters^ who has taken, too, to me I won't tell you how far this performance* surpassed that of '57 — 27,000 people at the ' Israel ; ' but I missed Leighton, and I missed you." .... At the houses of his friends, Chorley's presence was often noteworthy on account of the pronounced tone of his opinions on certain subjects. It will not be forgotten by those among his acquaintance who have subscribed to the tenets of spiritualism, how rigidly, both by word and deed, he was wont to protest against their theory and practice. A reference has already been made to his conflict of opinion on this head with Mrs. Browning. In connection with the resistance that he offered to the wider spread of the contagion by which her lucid mind was affected, he has left a chapter of reminiscence, from which an extract must be given, in deference to the earnestness of his feeling. "I have always, on principle, resisted swelling the crowd of those, professedly anxious to wait on experiments, in reality hungerers and thirsters after 'sensation;' the more since, when the imagination is once engaged, those as ner- vous as myself may well mistrust that which by way of term is so largely abused — 'the evidence of the senses.' What do our keenest powers of observation avail, when they are brought to bear on the legerdemain of a Robert Houdin, a JBosco (that distasteful, fat old Italian, who executed his wonders by the aid of hands ending arms naked to the * The Handel Festival of 1859. SPIRITUALISM. 269 shoulder) ? What, still more, when they attempt to unravel the sorceries of such a conjuror as the Chevalier de Caston — the man who could name the cards which distant persons had silently taken from an unbroken pack, with his back turned and blindfolded, and at the distance of a drawing- room and a half? This, further, I saw him do. There were three of us sitting on an ottoman in the front room, he, as I have said, with his back to us, and thoroughly blind- folded. Two opaque porcelain slates, to all appearance entirely new, were brought. On one of these, each of the three wrote, in pencil, a question, without uttering a word. The slates were laid face to face, and bound together with a broad ribbon, thus totally clear of transparency. My ques- tion was, in French, ' What was the color of Cleopatra's hair ? ' I forget the other two. The Chevalier put his hands behind his chair. I placed the slates so bound in the two hands. He retained them a moment, without stirring or turning, and, to my amazement, said, ' Cleopatra dyed her hair, so wore all colors." The other two questions, which I have forgotten, were no less pertinently and explicitly answered. Now, even on the theory of complicity, it would be by no means easy to explain this feat. I can only say that I am satisfied I have recounted it accurately.* " When one Alexis was here, who was guaranteed to read everything, no matter how far off, however hermetically sealed up,t a friend of mine called on his way to a seance — no willing co-juggler with Alexis, I am persuaded, but leaning towards his marvels. He was anxious that I should bear * " The Chevalier de Caston, by the way, was the only professor of his art who succeeded in puzzling Charles Dickens, himself a consum- mate and experienced conjuror. f " Yet the reading of the number of the historical bank-note of ^"iooo payable to him who would pronounce it, has never, I believe, been accomplished." 2 ;o REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. him company. I declined, on the argument I have staled. ' Well,' said he, 'what would satisfy you?' Said I, 'Sup- posing I were to write an odd word — such a one as "orches- tra " — and seal it, and satisfy myself that no one could read it without breaking the seal, and be equally satisfied that, no one would mention it who was honestly disposed ' — ' Well V ' Well, then, if it was read, I should say the guess was a good one — nothing more.' ' Let us try.' I went into an adjoining room for writing materials, and thought, as an odd word, of ' Pondicherry.' I wrote down this ; I satisfied my eyes that no one could read it unless it was tampered with. It was signed, sealed, and delivered. I am, at this day of writing, as satisfied of my friend's honor as I am of my own. He was to come back to dine with me and to report what had happened. He did come back, scared considerably, but in no respect disabused. ' Well,' said I, ' did he read my note?' ' Oh, yes, immediately ; but he read it wrong. He read orchestra.'' That my friend may have whispered ' Chorley's test-word ' into some ear can hardly be doubted by those who are, as Hood says, ' with small belief encum- bered ; ' but, of his honest self, he took the performance as a brilliant illustration of thought-reading. "Almost enough of these pitiful matters. One more experience, however, is not unworthy of being told, as show- ing how the agitation was kept up, and, when denounced, how those denouncing it were treated. I was in the house of an old friend given to divers amusements and sensations, who, one evening, having a society rather credulous, mes- meric, and supernaturally disposed around her, bethought herself, by way of the evening's amusement, l to turn tables ; ' if wrappings came, so much the better. I was about to leave, in the fullness, or emptiness (which ?), of my unbelief, when I w T as especially asked to remain and be convinced. I felt that inquiry was impossible, and I said SPIRITUALISM. 271 so ; but in answer I was asked, ' What form of inquiry would satisfy me ? If I would stay, I might inquire to the utmost.' The answer was, a row of candles on the floor and my seat underneath the table. All this was cordially, kindly granted to the unbeliever, who had been persuaded to stay. Down sat the believers ; almost on the floor sat the unbeliever. The above made a chain of hands ; the low man watched their feet. The table, which I am assured bore a fair repu- tation among wooden oracles, was steadfast not to stir. I sat, and they sat, and we sat. for nearly a good half hour. (Happily, the abominable pretext at a prayer had been omitted.) At length, the eight believers became tired ; and the most enthusiastic among them broke up in the seance in ' a temper.' ' There can be no experiments,' said he, ' where an infidel spirit prevails.' And so I went forth, branded as a ' spoil-sport ; ' and, as such, in a certain world, have never recovered the place before that time allowed me. "Long live legerdemain as a useless combination of ingenuity, memory, and mechanical appliances — owned as such ! But when, after seeing its perfect marvels, exhibited by way of dramatic show and paid for by money, one is invited and expected to believe in revelations which have never told one secret — in oracles from the dead, the best of which amount to the sweet spring saying, ' Grass is green ' — it is not wholly unnatural that with some, be they ever so prosaic, be they ever so imaginative, the gorge will rise, and the dogmatism (it may be) become stronger, if only because it is the inevitable descendant of the supersti- tion. To play with the deepest and most sacred mysteries of heart and brain, of love beyond the grave, of that yearn- ing affection which takes a thousand shapes when distance and suspense divide it from its object, is a fearful, an unholy work. If this dreary chapter, which expresses almost the sincerest of convictions that can influence a man 27: REMINISCENCES OF CHORIE Y. towards the decline of his life, can make any one disposed to tamper with 'wandering thoughts and vain imaginations ' consider, without cant or pedantry, the argument endea- vored to be illustrated, it will not have been written in vain." The brightest part of these years was that which was illumined by his friendship with Charles Dickens. Their acquaintance has been referred to as dating from an earlier period ; but they did not become intimate until 1854, when an office of charity, in which both were interested, brought them into frequent communi- cation. During the last few years of Dickens's life they were in constant correspondence; and there was probably no other man of letters, with the exception of Mr. Forster, to whom his confidence was so entirely given. Amid many differences of mental and moral constitution, there was one salient feature in common. In Dickens this quality of punctuality, as Chorley used to describe it, was manifest in the minutest particulars. He himself was less scrupulously methodical ; but in all essential points his thorough trustworthiness was equally prominent. Both, too, as has been said, rec- ognized in one another the presence of a generous candor that admitted of no bar to the mutual inter- change of criticism. Chorley's review of " Bleak House," in the "Athenaeum" of 1853, mingled praise and blame with even more discrimination than Dick- ens employed in his before-cited estimate of " Rocca- bella." How highly his friend's favorable verdict was valued by the great novelist may be judged from the following note, addressed to Chorley after the appear- ance of his review of " Our Mutual Friend : " CHARLES DICKENS. 2/3 " Office of ' All the Year Round,' " No. 20, Wellington Street, Strand, W. C. " Saturday, 28th of October, 1865. " My dear Chorley : — " I find your letter here only to-day. I shall be delighted to dine with you on Tuesday, the 7th, but I cannot answer for Mary, as she is staying with the Lehmanns. To the best of my belief, she is coming to Gad's this evening to dine with a neighbor. In that case, she will immediately answer for herself. I have seen the ' Athenaeum,' and most heartily and earnestly thank you. Trust me, there is nothing I could have wished away, and all that I read there affects and delights me. I feel so generous an appreciation and sympa- thy so very strongly, that if I were to try to write more, I should blur the words by seeing them dimly. " Ever affectionately yours, " C. D." Such other relics of Dickens's large correspondence with him as Chorley has preserved (the bulk of it hav- ing been deliberately destroyed), attest the thorough sympathy that subsisted between the two. On no occasion of his life, when he needed help, great or small, whether consolation under affliction, counsel in the settlement of a dispute, or as to the adaptation of his voice to a lecture-room, did Dickens fail to render it. More than once during these years, when bowed down by the weight of loneliness, ill-health, and sor- row, he was absorbed in moods of utter depression, or driven to adopt the most fatal of expedients for remov- ing it, the clear healthy sense of Dickens was felt by him as a tower of strength ; and it was doubtless a remembrance of the influence extended at such times 274 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. that dictated the language of a grateful bequest to his friend, as to one by whom he had been " greatly helped." Two or three miscellaneous notes which he received from Dickens are subjoined, to illustrate the terms on which they stood. " 16 Hyde Park Gate, " South Kensington Gore W. " Saturday, 1st March, 1862. " My dear Chorley : — " I was at your lecture * this afternoon, and I hope I may venture to tell you that I was extremely pleased and inter- ested. Both the matter of the materials and the manner of their arrangement were quite admirable, and a modesty and complete absence of any kind of affectation pervaded the whole discourse, which was quite an example to the many whom it concerns. If you could be a very little louder, and would never let a sentence go for the thousandth part of an instant, until the last word is out, you would find the audi- ence more responsive. A spoken sentence will never run alone in all its life, and is never to be trusted to itself in its most insignificant member. See it well out — with the voice — and the part of the audience is made surprisingly easier. In that excellent description of the Spanish mendicant and his guitar, as well as in the very happy touches about the dance and the castanets, the people were really desirous to express very hearty appreciation ; but by giving them rather too much to do in watching and listening for latter words, you stopped them. I take the liberty of making the remark, as one who has fought with beasts (oratorically) in divers arenas. For the rest, nothing could be better. Knowledge, * The first of the series on " National Music." NOTES FROM DICKENS. 2/5 ingenuity, neatness, condensation, good sense, and good taste in delightful combination. " Affectionately always, " C. D." " Gad's Hill Tlace, " Higham by Rochester, Kent. " Friday, December 18th, 1863. u My dear Chorley : — " This is a ' Social Science ' note touching prospective engagements. " If you are obliged, as you were last year, to go away between Christmas Day and New Year's Day, then we rely upon your coming back to see the old year out. Furthermore, I rely upon you for this : Lady Molesworth says she will come down for a day or two, and I have told her that I shall ask you to be her escort, and to arrange a time. Will you take counsel with her, and arrange accordingly ? After our family visitors are gone, Mary is going a-hunting in Hamp- shire ; but if you and Lady Molesworth could make out from Saturday, the 9th of January, as your day of coming together, or for any day between that and Saturday, the 16th, it would be beforehand with her going, and would suit me excellently. There is a new officer at the dockyard, vice Mrs. (now an admiral), and I will take that opportunity of paying him and his wife the attention of asking them to dine in these gor- geous halls. For all of which reasons, if the Social Science Congress of two could meet and arrive at a conclusion, the conclusion would be thankfully booked by the illustrious writer of these lines. " On Christmas Eve, there is a train from your own Vic- toria Station at 4.35 p.m., which will bring you to Strood (Rochester Bridge Station) in an hour, and there a majestic form will be descried in a basket. "Yours affectionately, "C. D." 2 ;6 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. " Gad's Hill Place, " Higham by Rochester, Kent " Sunday, June 2d, 1867. " My dear Chorley : — " Thank God I have come triumphantly through the heavy work of the fifty-one readings, and am wonderfully fresh. I grieve to hear of your sad occupation.* You know where to find rest, and quiet, and sympathy, when you can change the dreary scene. I saw poor dear Stanfield (on a hint from his eldest son) in a day's interval between two expeditions. It was clear that the shadow of the end had fallen on him. It happened well that I had seen, on a wild day at Tynemouth, a remarkable sea-effect, of which I wrote a description to him, and he had kept it under his pillow. This place is looking very pretty. The freshness and repose of it, after all those thousands of gas-lighted faces, sink into the soul." [The remainder has been cut off for the signature.] " Gad's Hill Place, " Higham by Rochester, Kent. " Wednesday, 3d July, 1867. " My dear Chorley : — " I am truly sorry to receive your letter (it reaches me to-day), and yet cannot but feel relieved that your main anxiety and distress are terminated. At this time, as at all others, believe me that you have no truer friend or one more interested in all that interests you than I am. " Affectionately yours ever, " Charles Dickens.' * The allusion, in this and the following letter, is to Chorley's at- tendance at his brother's death-bed. CHORLE Y AT GAD'S HILL. 277 At Gad's Hill, Chorley was always a welcome guest, and his days of retreat and refreshment there were among the happiest he ever spent. A fresh and pleasant picture of them is afforded in the subjoined reply which Miss Dickens made to Mr. Hewlett's inquiries respecting his relations with her father. " 81, Gloucester Terrace, " Aug. 20, 1872. " My dear Mr. Hewlett : — "I can't exactly tell you when my father first knew Mr. Chorley, but a great many years before he became intimate with him. About the year 1854, my father was much interested about getting a pension for two literary persons, friends both of his and of Mr. Chorley. He then wrote to Mr. Chorley on the subject, and he — always ready to do anything good and kind — exerted himself a great deal in the matter. This business brought them a good deal together, and from that time till my dear father's death, they" were fast friends. Mr. Chorley used to come con- stantly to Gad's Hill, used often to invite himself, and was always most welcome. People who were in the habit of seeing him only in London would hardly have known him at Gad's Hill, I think. He was a brighter and younger being altogether there. He would be clown punctually to breakfast by nine o'clock, very often earlier; would occupy himself writing, or reading, etc., all the morning, and, after luncheon, set off for a long walk with my father. I remem- ber one day our going for a picnic a long way off; some of our party driving, some walking. When we started to return, we all took it for granted that Mr. Chorley would drive. But my father walking, he walked too. It was a hot summer's day, and they did eighteen miles, — walking, as my father always did, at a good pace ; and Mr. Chorley came 278 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. down to dinner as bright and as fresh as possible. This sort of thing for most men is, of course, no matter for sur- prise ; but to those who knew Mr. Chorley, and his apparent- ly weak J>/iysigue, it was quite wonderful to see how much he could do. He was always ready for any game, charade, or impromptu amusement of any sort, and was capable at it. One Christmas my father proposed, quite suddenly, that we should have some charades. They were to be a dumb pan- tomime, and Mr. Chorley was to play the piano. He imme- diately began to practise music suitable for the different scenes. And when the evening arrived, he came down dressed up in the queerest way, and sat down to the piano, in a meek and unobtrusive manner, being a poor old musi- cian, and very shy, and very shabby, and very hungry, and wretched-looking altogether. He played this part admirably the whole evening, and his get up was excellent. A great many of the audience didn't know him at first. He had made a secret about this dressing-up, and had done it all by himself; and I met him on the stairs and didn't know him ! He was most innocently proud of the success of his self- invented part. " I think he was a truly kind and charitable man, doing all sorts of good and generous deeds in a quiet, unostenta- tious way. I do not suppose anybody really in need ever ap- plied to him in vain. And I know he has given a helping hand to several young musicians, who, without the aid of this kind hand, could not have risen to be what they now are. He was very grateful for any love and attention shown to him, and never forgot a kindness done to him. I believe he loved my father better than any man in the world ; was grateful to him for his friendship, and truly proud of possess- ing it, which he certainly did to a very large amount. My father was very fond of him, and had the greatest respect for his honest, straightforward, upright, and generous character. MR. PROCTER. 2/9 I think, and am very glad to think, that the happiest days of Mr. Chorley's life — his later life, that is to say — were passed at Gad's Hill. " After my father's death, and before we left the dear old home, Mr. Chorley wrote and asked me if I would send him a branch off each of our large cedar-trees, as a remembrance of the place. My friend, and his dear friend, Mrs. Lehmann, saw him lying calm and peaceful in his coffin, with a large green branch on each side of him. She did not understand what this meant, but I did, and was much touched, as, of course, he had given orders that these branches should be laid with him in his coffin. So a piece of the place he loved so much, for its dear master's sake, went down to the grave with him. For myself, I have lost as kind, as generous, and as true a friend as it is possible to have had. " I remain, dear Mr. Hewlett, " Yours sincerely, " Mamie Dickens. " I find, on consulting with my aunt, that I have made a mistake about the pension. It was Mr. Chorley who wrote first to my father about it." Of Chorley's older friends a few still remained to him. Among the most valued was Mr. Procter, hap- pily still surviving, the last of the old " poets." A little note received from him in 1866 has in it so much of the poet's delicate grace, that we add it to those which already enrich these volumes : — " Essington's Hotel, Malvern Wells, " 7th August, 1866. " Many thanks, my dear Chorley (and they are many), for your kind letter. It has gratified me very much. I am 280 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. so much out of the world now — so far in that dark desert which goes by the name of old age — that a little kindness seems to bring me face to face again with the laughing, mov- ing world. I come out of the wood, and shake hands with pleasant people that I used to know, once more. I think myself young again (i. e. about sixty or seventy) when, in infirmity of speech and motion, I am almost a century. My soldiers, however, are not ioo men, but ioo years, which I tread upon and try to forget. We are here gathering quiet and health (and, it seems, a few compliments) on the side of the Malvern Hills. Edith, I rejoice to say, is much better. Our principal acquaintances are the wonderful strong- winged swallows, which shoot through the air like thought — ■ who never rest, but go gliding through life without noise, and eventually (about Michaelmas) go upwards to near the moon, and are lost. I never was so thoroughly possessed by the power, and swiftness, and beauty of this dream in feathers before. If I were young again, I would risk some verses upon it. What a fine movement in music it might inspire ! My writing (the mechanical part of it) is done with so much difficulty, that I refrain from saying more than that I am at all times " Your very sincere "B. W. Procter." Among new and distinguished acquaintance made by Chorley in these years was Nathaniel Hawthorne. An imperfect sketch of the manner in which they met, of the impression left by the man, and the mingled admiration and regret inspired by the author, was in- tended to form part of a chapter of autobiography de- voted to the subject of American characteristics, not otherwise of sufficient importance to deserve insertion : HAWTHORNE. 2 Sl "March, 1870. — At the instant of closing this chapter of recollections I read of the death of the widow of the greatest and choicest author of fiction whom America has till now produced, Nathaniel Hawthorne. This sets me free to write concerning that singular original man what I know and have seen of him in England. ' : From the first appearance, in an American magazine, of those delicious and individual stories, subsequently col- lected and given forth as 'Twice Told Tales,' it was evident that something as exquisite as it was finished was added to the world's stores of fiction. I am bold to say that there could not be two opinions among open-minded persons, be the English ever so 'slow to move ' (as the author of ' De Vere' has it). They were quicker, however, in Hawthorne's case than they were in America. But it is one of my greatest pleasures, as a journalist, to recollect that I was the first who had the honor of calling attention to these tales when they appeared in the form of periodical articles. What Haw- thorne's reputation has since grown into — a universal fame — I need not recount. From the first, I followed its growth at a distance, step by step, with the pleasure which one has of seeing dawn brightening into day, and day ripening into noon, without the slighest idea that I should ever see or ever be known to him. That I wished to form some idea of the man, as distinct from the author, is no less true. The sole idea I could ' realise ' (as the Americans say) was one of his invincible shyness. No one had seen him, or met him, or known him ; so ran the legend. It was a clear case of mys- tery, in its way, I have since come to think, as fondly pro- moted and cherished by the romancer as that of the ' Great Unknown.' " There is small need to recall how, subsequently, appeared a second miscellany, ' Mosses from an Old Manse ' (among other legends, containing that ghastliest of stories, ' Rapac- 282 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. cini's Daughter'), then 'The Scarlet Letter,' and the yet more original 'House of Seven Gables,' 'The Blithedale Romance,' and, lastly, 'Transformation.' Such works of art as these, like all real creations, must make their way. It was then with no common interest I heard that his own country, by way of paying due honor to Hawthorne, was doing its utmost for him by appointing him to the consulate at Liver- pool. At the same time it was told me that, on accepting the appointment, he inquired whether the American consul would, ex officio, be obliged to talk much, and on being told not, in reply, laconically said, ' Thank God ! ' " " When I heard that Hawthorne was to live at Liverpool as American consul, it seemed clear that, with some knowl- edge of the best, most liberal, and most delicately-minded of those who then, as now, dispensed public hospitality and private kindliness in the town, I might justifiably write to him, and refer him to them, in case he should stand in need of society and private sympathy, totally apart from anything like the tinselled folly of liojtism. I did so, and received no answer to my letter. Hawthorne established himself, as his Memoirs have told us, at Rock Ferry, in Cheshire, enjoyed as much as he cared to enjoy, and afterwards retired into that sulky, suspicious mood (of a consul taking pay ?) which befits a misunderstood hero. To myself, and those to whom I sent him, he responded by neither ' look, word, nor sign.' ' " After some natural disappointment, I naturally came to forget the man, and to think only of his admirable books. It was, then, with surprise that, some years later, I received a note from a boarding-house in Golden Square, in which Haw- thorne announced his arrival in London, and his great desire to see me before he returned home (' as one,' etc., etc., etcet- era). I answered this in person, and found, what I might have been sure of, a most genial and original man, full of life, full of humor, in no respect shy. He agreed at once to pass INTIMATES. 283 a day with me. I gave him the option of a party or no party. He chose the latter alternative. A pleasanter day than the one in question is not in my ' Golden Book.' I think I have never heard any one, save my honored friend Carlyle, laugh so heartily as did Hawthorne. It is generally a nervous business to receive those to whom one has long looked up ; but it was not the least so in his case. The impression I received was one of a man genial, and not over sensitive, even when we could make merry on the subject of national differences and susceptibilities. " This experience, it may well be believed, has made me read with an amazement almost approaching distress the book Hawthorne published on his return home, and, later, the selections from his manuscript journals, put forward by his widow. It is hard to conceive the existence of so much pettiness in a man so great and real ; of such a resolution to brood over fancied slights and strange formalities, yet, withal, to generalise so widely on such narrow premises ; of such vulgarity in one who had written for the public so exquis- itely. It is difficult to accept such a writer's criticisms on ' the steaks and sirloins ' of English ladies. I still remem- ber Hester Prynne and Pearl, in the 'Scarlet Letter,' and Phcebe and Hepzibah, in the ' House of the Seven Gables,' and ask myself how far the case in point proves the adage that there is nothing so essentially nasty as refinement. The tone of these English journals is as small and peevish as if their writer had been thwarted and overlooked, instead of waited on by hearty offers of service, which in most cases were declined almost as persistently as if they had been so many affronts. A more puzzling case of inconsistency and duality has never come before me." Nearly all the leading - names connected with art and literature in England, besides a considerable num- 284 REMINISCENCES OF CHORIE Y. ber of those prominent in society, were now on the list of Chorley's acquaintance ; but the few only with whom he was most intimate need here be enumerated : Mr. Frederick Leighton,* Sir Arthur Helps, Mr. (now Lord) Lytton, Lord Chief Justice Cockburn, Sir John Coleridge, Mr. Eastwick, Dr. Seemann, Lady Down- shire, Mrs. Milner Gibson, Mr. and Mrs. Von Glehn, and Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Lehmann. His associates in the musical world have already, been named : in theatrical circles, the late Charles Kean,f Madame * Mr. Leighton's future was foreseen by Chorley from the first. Writing of him to a friend in January, 1856, he speaks of him as "the most promising and accomplished young man of genius whom I have seen for very many years." f A letter from Charles Kean, acknowledging a tribute of Chorley's critical approval, evinces so high an appreciation of his judgment that it must not be omitted : — " My dear Sir : — " Among the many letters of congratulation I have received on Louis- XI., none has afforded me such unmingled pleasure as yours, and the more so, that it was quite unexpected, and has taken me by surprise. I had fancied (erroneously or not) that a certain prejudice against me had laid hold of your mind, resulting more from the opinions of others than your own unbiassed judgment. " I have suffered much during my professional career from more than one hostile clique, whose pertinacious efforts have won converts to their views, who were of themselves disposed to be friendly ; and I know how readily, and, perhaps, insensibly, impressions are taken up under the influence of a prevailing atmosphere. The tone of your letter assures me of your perfect sincerity, and gives a double value to your encomiums. I rejoice that I have gained the good opinion of a sound critic, and, be assured, I fully appreciate the warmth and manly straightforwardness with which you have communicated it to me. The manner is, if possible, even more satisfactory than the matter. " I remain, my dear sir, " Yours very truly and obliged, " Charles Kean. "24th Jan., 1855." LOSS OF OLD FR LENDS. 285 Ristori, Mr. A. Wigan, Mr. Fechter, Mr. Sothern, and Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft, may be particularly men- tioned. It was fortunate that his capacity of making new friends remained unexhausted, for the number of his old associates was fast waning. Two died a few months after each other in 1855: Miss Mitford and Sir Wil- liam Molesworth. The void made by the latter loss was the widest ; his eminent character inspiring an admiration which made his regard as honorable as it was delightful, and opportunities of companionship with him having of late years increased in frequency. Chorley's new house was close to that of Sir William, in Eaton Place, and Pencarrow was always open to him when the season was over. A heavier if a less acute trial than bereavement was prolonged for eleven years, in witnessing the suffer- ings of his sister, referred to in a previous chapter. This, while it was a constant source of anxiety to him, developed one of his worthiest traits. So long as her condition permitted her to drive in the open air, he made it part of his daily duty, however much occupied, to accompany her on these occasions, relieving the guard of his brother John, at other times her devoted sick-nurse. No memorial of Miss Chorley that would be generally interesting can here be added, beyond the impression which she has left of indomitable for- titude. An old friend, who has been present during the paroxysms of her cruel malady, remembers how stoically she would decline the smallest proffer of ser- vice. Even the handkerchief that bathed her stream- 236 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. ing brow she insisted on lifting with her own trem- bling fingers.* She was released by death in 1863. Of his brother John, the last near relative for whom he retained affection, Chorley has left a detailed reminiscence. It was his cherished hope, that by means of the following sketch, which was intended to form a prominent chapter of his own memoirs, a tardy tribute of justice might be rendered to the yet unre- cognised merits of a remarkable man. " And here I must turn for a while from the tale of my own small troubles and smaller successes, to fulfil what is with me imperative as a duty. " To attempt some memorial of a deceased relative is, under the best of circumstances, a labor of melancholy love. The sadness of the task, however, is deepened when the youngest — almost the last of his name — has to speak of the shadowed life of a noble-hearted and highly-gifted brother, who passed away known to only a very few, and appreciated according to his deserts by still fewer persons ; neverthe- less, one of the men of mark of his time. This duty I have to perform in regard to John Rutter Chorley. It is one of no common difficulty. If anything is to be put on record concerning the dead, it should be the whole truth, without exaggerated praise or plea of mitigation. There is no sin- gle survivor who can protest against such a course in the present case ; but the very solitariness of position on the * The late Mrs. Gaskell was much attached to her, and would often cheer her sick-bed by a letter. Replying, in 1854, to a grateful acknowledgment by Chorley of this kindness, Mrs. Gaskeli wrote : " Don't speak of gratitude. I love Miss Chorley, and am only too glad to do anything that may give her a moment's pleasure, only I am afraid my letters must be dull." y. R.CHORLEY. 287 part of the memorialist which this implies adds largely to his responsibilities. I have not written what will follow this, without questioning myself most strictly. " It is hardly possible for two children of the same pa- rents, who lived to the verge of manhood together, and had been interested from childhood upwards in all that belongs to the world of imagination, to differ more widely in dispo- sition, in many matters of opinion, practice, and the ordering of life, than did my brother and myself. But though there was little companionship between us, there was entire and unbroken confidence till the last. I felt that in any juncture of perplexity, or where essential and accurate service was required, I had a wall of strength to shelter under and to lean against, which nothing could shake ; so deep were its foundations, so sound was its structure. I hope that few will be called on to experience the desolation of spirit which came over me as I stood by the side of his grave, and knew that this was taken away from me for ever. " I may say, in a word, that he was more gifted than ge- nial — gifted in right of a probity, which no provocation could undermine and no temptation shake; in right of a versatility, combined with accuracy of knowledge, which I have never known surpassed in any human being ; a versatility which embraced every manly exercise of body, as well as every mental accomplishment and acquirement ; but he was en- dowed with that almost morbid quickness of insight into character and motives, accompanied by a strangely intense physical sensitiveness, which is too apt to engender severity and impatience of judgment. It might have been thought by some who came to know him in the maturity of his life, that 1 e had been coerced and warped by those influences which bear so fatally on those who are set forth as prodigies ; but such was not the case. What he was, my brother made him- self, with a direct purpose and a clear view of his own, in 288 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. spite of great and grave disadvantages. And when I think of all that he achieved and wrought out, with a finish and a self-consistency rare in these days of show and surface, I am justified in saying that, under happier circumstances, he might have been one of the leading men of his time, in what- ever world of action, intellectual and administrative, he had entered. " His imagination was as quick and versatile as his power to retain accurate knowledge was great. I have told how, in our childish days, spent in great seclusion, we were neces- sarily thrown on our own resources for variety and entertain- ment. He had the precocious fancy of a born poet. As has been the case with other gifted children, he could amuse himself by inventing creatures as little mortal as the Glums and the Gowries, finding them with adventures that went on from month to month, fitting them up with vocabularies of their own, writing their history in neatly-kept books, and gracing the same with pictures. He had the painter's hand and the painter's capacity, and drew with force and exactness, with more sense of form than of color. As years went on, this accomplishment was turned to a peculiar ac- count — that of calligraphy. He was born, too, with strong musical tastes, and would not rest till he had gained some proficiency on one or two instruments, with the solitary prac- tice of one of which — the violoncello — he soothed his har- assed nerves and wearied spirits in the latter part of his life. Boyhood was scarcely over when he began to write serious and sentimental verses, with a finish and an absence of imi- tation rare even among those who have lived to win repute as great and original poets. The larger portion of these (many of which merited a better fate) were disdained and ruthlessly destroyed by him a few years before his death. I had some share in rescuing a few, which are laid away in y. R. CHORLEY. 289 print, among forgotten books, possibly not always to be for- gotten ; and when I see what verse can be accepted, and make a diseased reputation for its authors, in these our days, I turn to a tiny volume,* passed over on its appearance, save by a very few readers, and am assured to myself, that I am doing neither dead nor living poets wrong, by asserting that there is within it an amount of fantasy in form, of truth to scenery, and of finish in execution which are not common at the time lately past or present. " On going over the heaps of my brother's papers, arranged and laid away with a scrupulous exactitude and neatness, I came on a singular confession, one of those which mark a character in a manner not to be misunderstood — a series of reverie-poems, written by himself on his birthdays as they came round. The healthiness of such a course of perpetual retrospect and introspection may well be doubted. If the poetry of intimate affection, even should it take such a vividly passionate form as Mrs. Browning's ' Sonnets from the Portuguese,' is to be mistrusted, the resolute soliloquies of a mind preying on itself, and turning from the outer world of sunshine, and motion, and change, to the solitary cloister, paved with the graves of hopes unfulfilled and of joys disap- pointed, are yet more painful and bootless. I will not dese- crate these verses (though some of them are of extreme beauty) by publishing them ; but the fact of their produc- tion and the spirit they breathe are not to be overlooked in completion of the portrait of a man little understood, because thoroughly original, and, with little exception, self- consistent. "My brother was singularly handsome, with such a sweet, refined, expressive countenance and a perfect figure as * " The Wife's Litany," and other poems. Chapman & Hall. 1865 13 290 REMINISCENCES OF CHORIE are rarely met with in combination. I have said that he was adroit at every manly exercise. When he was barely eleven years old, I remember his doing a day's mowing of twelve hours by the side of grown laborers. He used to evade pur- suit or summons of justice by climbing trees to a dangerous height, and making his own conditions before he consented to descend. On our removal to a seaport town, he became a skilled waterman, and took that intimate delight in ships and shipping which never failed him to the last. He could ride and dance w r ell, and was capable of enduring great fatigue without apparent effort. "When my mother removed to Liverpool, in the year 181 9, he was placed at the school of the Royal Institution, which had been only recently opened. The classical educa- tion there, under the head-mastership of the Rev. John Boughey Monk, was excellent. In those days, the teaching of modern languages (which might have been thought indis- pensable in a town where the scholars were principally the sons of merchants, destined for commerce,) was strangely neglected. Mr. Monk, a ripe scholar and an amiable man, as every one of his pupils has cause gratefully to remember, was soon attracted by the singular facility with which my brother acquired and retained knowledge, but almost as much perplexed by its excess. Of course, there was no teaching him alone, and though he was one of the youngest boys in the school, he rose at once to the head of the first class, making light of every task and lesson, and mastering the Greek and Latin classics with a rapidity and fluency which distanced his schoolmates. The abundance of spare time was spent in every sort of mischief, to the delight and temptation of his class-fellows. They had, however, gener- ally one advantage over him, which they were not slow to make him feel. Most of them were the sons of rich parents, well dressed and liberally provided with pocket-money. He J. R. CHORLE Y. 29 1 was as bare in both respects as was ever poor scholar ; and (a further disadvantage in a town where ' Church and State ' was so long the reigning motto) was known to belong to a family whose peculiar form of dissent laid them open to the sharpest ridicule and contempt. With all these things against him, his extreme energy of nature and the conscious- ness of possessing no ordinary powers bore him up, not un- happily, through those trying school-days. I recollect, on one occasion, that in punishment of some freak of more flagrant insubordination than usual, he was enjoined to get by heart as much of the '^Eneid ' as he could, to repeat next morning before the business of the day commenced. He was called up duly, and without stop or faltering, went through the entire first book, to the great inconvenience, astonishment, and pride of his preceptor. He was beginning the second, with equal certainty and coolness, when he was bidden to cease. The master gave in. There was no bringing such a mercurial being to his senses by an ' impo- sition.' Corporal punishment was not then allowed in the school of the Royal Institution. It was, probably, a relief when he left it, qualified, though so young, as far as the dead languages were concerned, for either University. " In what manner he gathered his knowledge of French, German, Spanish, and Italian I cannot form an idea. With the exception of a few lessons in the first language from a poor nonenity of a native, fit only for the very moderate requirements of ladies' provincial boarding-schools, I believe he had no instruction whatsoever. -But he grasped every opportunity of self improvement with the eagerness which marked his character. He picked up German rapidly and with facility from the young men of his own age who were sent to merchants' houses in Liverpool, and, for awhile, addicted himself with passionate admiration to the great authors of the country — passionate, because it implied a cer- 292 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. tain comparative disparagement of all French literature. Yet he was one of the first and best translators of Beranger's lyrics. I think, too, that, as many holding like preferences have also done, he exaggerated certain points of national character somewhat unfairly. Those who are themselves the most sincere are sometimes, in cases elect, the least alive to insincerity and profession in others. In brief, as I had occasion to remark when we travelled in Germany together, he accepted and made allowances for peculiarities which would naturally have been repulsive to him. As life went on, he became even more strongly interested in Span- ish literature, possibly because it has been less hackneyed of these later times. In particular, the rich and varied dra- ma of the country engaged him, as the library of the British Museum testifies, in a rather remarkable fashion. I believe that the collection of plays by Lope de Vega, bequeathed by him, with his other Spanish books, to that great estab- lishment, is almost, if not altogether, the most copious and accurate one in being. It is a monument of his ingenuity and industry in more ways than one. Complete copies of many of the plays are very scarce ; but he laid hands on incomplete ones wherever they could be found ; and there are cases where four or five half-destroyed books were laid under contribution, and so artfully connected as to supply the desideratum. What was more, when a title-page was wanting, his exquisite power and patience as a calligrapher enabled him to supply one, such as might deceive any save the cleverest of experts. He had paper bought up and manufactured for this express purpose. When I came to look into his library before its dispersion, I found pamphlet- cases full of stray leaves carefully husbanded, and leaf after leaf traced, with as much minute care as if his life had had no other object or purpose, and preserved as stores of refer- ence. That his very remarkable attainments in respect to J. R. CHORLEY. 293 these subjects gradually became known, was attested by the fact, that the Academy of Letters at Madrid requested per- mission to print, at its own expense, his catalogue of the plays of Lope de Vega, written (with codices) in Spanish, as the most complete one extant. This was done. The original beautiful manuscript is to be found in the Library of the British Museum. To make the feat more noticeable, it should be added, "that the writer during his life passed only three months in Spain, being summoned there by busi- ness far more prosaic than the haunting of libraries or the rummaging of old bookshops. " To those who only knew the outer man in his maturity, the above description may seem over-colored. But such was my brother as a boy, as a young man, and a man of letters. I have not overstated one single gift or grace. Others, more important to the well-being of a man, to him- self and all around him, have to be added. " His life was complete in another respect : from its earliest to its last hours, he was one of the most just, high- hearted, and generous of human beings. Meanness or false- hood were impossible to him, though he was tried under circumstances sufficient to have warped any one less hon- orable by justice and principle. He was, perhaps, too indignant and severe on those who fell short of his own high standard. He could sacrifice himself, but found it hard to forgive others less equal to sacrifice. His exquisitely fasti- dious taste and keen insight into character made him, in general intercourse, especially of later years, too uncom- promising and unwilling to concede in small things. But that the truth of heart was there, none of those to whom he professed affection, and to whom he devoted himself as few have done, could doubt. " Such being the boy, with his aspirations and his pre- cocious attainments, he was nevertheless thrust into a Liver- 2 9 4 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. pool merchant's office, with a view to livelihood and advance- ment in fortune. His guardian was a timid man (save in his own profession as a physician), and had no time to con- sider the dispositions and propensities of those thrust by ill- fortune on his generous and unselfish care. How my brother mastered all the drudgery of office- work, and found time for mischief to boot, is not to be forgotten. When anything had to be done to the moment, he was called out and pre- ferred to elder man of routine. His keen and upright intel- ligence could not (as was seen in the sequel of his life) be misunderstood by even the exacting men of business whose servant he was. " And the exactions of those Liverpool mercantile times, before telegraphs were, or the immediate reproduction of a written letter was possible, were terrible — a slavery ill-com- pensated for by any indulgence or hope of advancement. The writing of * circulars,' otherwise, the recopying of letters addressed at the last moment to the American cotton-ports, by the going packet, was not a light task. I have known it last as long as till two o'clock in the morning. The men who ordained such servitude for their gain's sake were the very same men who had protested against and broken down American slavery! A clerk in a Liverpool merchant's office, when we were young, was expected to be a mere machine — neither a gentleman by birth nor a man of educa- tions, still a man of individual propensities. It was a terrible subjection ; though, as I can now see, looking back to the whole story and its system, one taken for granted by all concerned in the matter, and for which the authorities were only to blame, in right of their self- approval. " Into such a life as this we were tumbled. When my turn came, I was incurably unpunctual, lazy, and inexact ; loathing my life with a disgust and bitterness not to be expressed or concealed. When I have a bad dream, now J. R. CHORLE V. 295 that I am old, the night-mare, as often as not, takes some form referable to an abhorred servitude. I see ledgers which will not be balanced, figures wrongly set down, and wake in the midst of such shame and self-disrespect as made up my normal state in those days. Had I not got up on summer mornings to draw, or rather paint, a little, ere the clock struck the abominable hour, I should not have been living to tell the tale of my failures in Cropper, Benson & Co.'s office, in Paradise Street, Liverpool. But with my brother it was different. He was no more fitted for taking down the particulars of ships' cargoes, or transcribing the details of the day's cotton -market ten times over than I was ; but he could not bear to do anything short of his best. In those days, he was neat, shrewd, and ready beyond many a man twice or thrice as old as himself; and as such, in spite of conceits and faults of manner, and tastes which set him apart from his associates (a strange set of worthy beings), made himself respected, as one whose work was of first-rate quality. " He wanted one thing — that determination to break away from an uncongenial life which every man, aware of certain tastes and aspirations, and willing to take on himself the consequence of his non-conformity, will do well to act on and abide by. So he wrought out his term of servitude, to enter, at its close, on another more characteristic of the high respect his sterling qualities had inspired, of responsibilities enormous for so young a man, under which the joy of his early manhood was utterly crushed out, which prematurely aged him, which, in some sort, separated him from those with whom he was entitled to consort, till it was too late for a reserved and fastidious man to change his habits, and which, I have no doubt, in no small degree tended to wear him to his grave. "Those were the early days of English railroads. At the time of which I speak, one only, to be traversed by steam, 2g6 REMINISCENCES OF CHORIE Y. had been made — the short line between Liverpool and Man- chester, so disastrously inaugurated by Huskisson's death. The second to be was that from Liverpool to Birmingham — a scheme pronounced to be a dream by glib critics of the time, such as Dr. Lardner, who declared an Atlantic steamer to be a castle of the air, on the sea. The north country men held a stronger faith in the new discovery; and it was to be tried on a more extended scale than betwixt Liverpool and Manchester. The money was forthcoming ; the company was formed ; and when the working features, so to say, of the scheme were got together, they amounted to the promise of Stephenson's collaboration and a writing apparatus in a secre- tary's office. That secretary was my brother, still a very young and untried man ; but the solicitor to the concern was a man of rare refinement and observation. Chance had thrown our family under his notice, and he had the wise cour- age to pick out my brother as the most competent man he could propose, to adventure on duties and functions one half of which, at the time referred to, had to be created. " The ill-will and opposition which this appointment caused are no more to be forgotten than things of yesterday. My brother had to enter on his duties without sympathy from any man concerned, save the one who had the power to insure his nomination. He had to fight them through in the face of covert and confessed antipathy, and with means and ma- terials the insufficiency of which will be hardly credited now, though it is a matter of history. The whole staff of under- lings — guards, porters, ticket officers — had to be created for such service. There were difficulties and hindrances in the completion of the road such as had not occurred to many persons. As an instance, I may mention the fall of a tunnel at Preston Brook, more than twenty miles from Liverpool, which intercepted the communication betwixt Liverpool and Birmingham, making it necessary for the passengers to dis- y. R. CHORLE Y. 297 mount, and pass on foot from the one to the other po'nt at which the railway again became feasible. I forget how enor- mous was the squadron of umbrellas provided to make the evil as small as possible in wet weather ; but I remember that my brother, harassed and hampered as he was in his office, went down to the scene of disaster, on a special engine, twice out and home every day, so that when the trains passed (there were then only two) some one should be at hand to answer inquiries and to overlook the exceptional service. " If he did not spare himself, he did not spare others. Feeling his own responsibility, he was rightly alive to that of the subordinate persons who had to work out the undertaking. He would take no excuse for any man's absence from duty. I believe that of the staff whom he had to organize and to control about a quarter was left at the end of the first three months. This may sound harsh, but it was right ; and that it won the esteem (I will say more, the affection) of those with whom, and above whom, he worked, there can be no doubt. The testimonies of appreciation and esteem, when he laid by his railway life, from all classes of persons with whom he had to do, were many, real, some of them affecting in their simplicity. I have been more than once claimed, very recently, in out of-the-way places, by total strangers, who had learned my name, and heard, perhaps, a family voice, and have offered to show me kindness and attention in mem- ory of him whose high honor and scrupulous sense of right and wrong had laid the key-stones of their fortunes. " In one respect I hold him to have been admirable as the servant of a company of capitalists. He would not use his knowledge and prescience to advance his own fortunes. I have heard him again and again say that his business was to keep his mind clear and ready for the duties of the hour, as undertaken by him. lie had besides the high feeling of a thorough gentleman, which prohibited his profiting by private 298 REMINISCENCES OF CHOREE Y. intelligence. This may have been, and was, overstrained in point of scruple ; but when the detestable and demoralizing alternative comes to be considered which has made such wild work in England, surely the young man who stood on the threshold of temptation, with every means to avail himself of its fruits, and who still refrained from so doing, was one of no common quality, conscience, or force in standing to his convictions. But it was so with him from first to last. " He was not met by liberal treatment on the part of those to whom he devoted himself. He was respected and trusted ; but he was not popular, partly from a certain reserve and haughtiness of manner, in which a consciousness of his su- periority to those who surrounded him expressed itself. It was too evident that he was doing faithful and indefatigable service against the grain. When, after some years, the ex- tent of his duties became too great for one person to manage, and he asked for assistance, no officer second in command was appointed, but a colleague totally inexperienced in every detail connected with the concern, and who was, from the first, as largely salaried as himself. In place, however, of showing any irritation at what amounted to an injustice, he applied himself zealously to give every possible weight and consequence to the gentleman placed beside him. The two became real friends. " At last, after years of strain and stress, which bore cruelly on the strength of one so sensitive — of hard, respon- sible work, only alternated with diligent, eager study — family circumstances underwent some change ; and, with those who were left to him, he removed to London. I had high hopes that the society which was open to him, with its intercourse and its influences, would melt and thaw that which had been made unyielding and ungenial in his manners, not his nature. But the change came too late. He was averse to society, save on the very peculiar and exclusive terms which suited J. R. CHORLE V. 299 him. Though he could discourse on most topics, with a pre- cision of knowledge and, generally, a justice of view rarely surpassed or equalled — though he had a keen sense of wit and humor, and a rich store of anecdote and allusion to fall back on — his conversation wanted flow and lightness, and in truth was apt to be oppressive. I could name those now living, of great genius and learning, who have been as largely as he was little, conversant with intellectual society, in whom the same involution and ponderosity might be remarked. Their deep thoughts rise too rapidly, and jostle one another too closely, to allow their full weight and worth to be felt. Save when he was alone among his books, with one of the very few friends he made, he harangued rather than con- versed. "The pleasure he had in books and in the intimate knowledge of books, brought one reward — his power, sec- onded by his will, to sympathize with and assist the men of letters whom he respected. To such earnest men of letters as Professor Ticknor, of Boston, Don Pascual de Gayangos, of Spain, our great historian of the French Revolution and of the Life of Cromwell, his time, his heart, his labor were always open and to be disposed of at their service. So should it be and have been. " But well-a-day for the smaller fry of literature, unless, perchance, they belonged to Spain or to Germany ! Till within a very few years of his death, I was somewhat mis- judged by him, as one who had chosen my life for purposes of mere amusement. That my life- had been turned aside from its natural current — that whereas he should have been a great and ruling power in the world of letters, I might have become a fair musical composer (my ideas, for better for worse, having always first occurred to me in that form,) never, during a long portion of our two lives, seemed to occur to him. I never had word or sign from him to testify 300 REMINISCENCES OF CHORIEY. that anything I have published gave him pleasure. As time drew on, I think he came to see in my life that which is independent of accurate scholarship, or bright literary suc- cess, that to which every man who respects (as Milton says) ' the best and honorablest things ' may aspire. We met rarely, but we met — under every conceivable disparity of culture and of social habits — with mutual respect. His was nobly shown to me • mine is humbly returned to him, by telling the whole truth, over the grave of a man hardly tried, misunderstood, and undervalued in his lifetime. " The peculiarities of his disposition might have been smoothed under a happier dispensation of circumstances. But his life was laid out to be a series of sacrifices, met by him with a sense of duty which was too severe, too unselfish. A more complete case of self-effacement has rarely come to my knowledge. He was compelled, by circumstances need- less to recount, by his own accuracy and justice as a man of business, to undertake the administration of family affairs, some of which were of no common perplexity. He watched over the declining health of my mother till the last ; and hardly had she departed, when it became evident that another charge of the kind, far more serious, was thrown on him — the ministry to a hopeless invalid, suffering and decay- ing more and more during many years ; one endowed with every gracious gift and capacity for enjoyment, who was doomed in the prime of life to expect and to endure the slow extinction of every hope that cheers, of every talent that alleviates acute and wearing bodily pain. The patience with which this grievous trial was braved is not to be exag- gerated ; but the inevitable result was to increase my bro- ther's seclusion among his own pursuits, and his disinclina- tion to .the freshening influences of outer life, which, be they ever so sparingly attainable, are not to be despised. Save MR. CARLYLE. 301 in long and solitary walks, early in the morning, for many years he rarely crossed the threshold ; haunted by an almost morbid fear of mischance which might happen in his absence. He bore up nobly till the long dreary story closed; but the spring of life was worn out, and nothing remained to him but the company of his books, in the silence of a solitary house, entered with so much hope and prospect of years of rest and enjoyment. " I cannot go further. What I have tried to do has been to trace a character, not to narrate a series of trials in detail. The end, when it came, was peaceful; full of faith, hope and humility. By the few who really knew my brother, he will not be forgotten ; but his is not a figure to be left out of a story which I am attempting to tell faithfully." The memorials that can be added to this nar- rative are few, but one of them is of no common interest. Mr. John Chorley was honored, during many years of his life, with the intimate friendship of Mr. Carlyle. No higher testimony to the intellec- tual and moral attractions of the deceased, by which that intimacy was cemented, can be given than in the words of the survivor. " I often urged him to write a book on Spanish litera- ture — some good book, worthy of himself and of his wide and exact knowledge, but he would never consent to try. He could have written like few men. on many subjects, but he had proudly pitched his ideal very high. I know no man in these flimsy days, nor shall ever again know one, so well read, so widely and accurately informed, and so com- pletely at home, not only in all fields of worthy literature and scholarship, but in matters practical, technical, naval, mechanical, etc., etc., as well." 302 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLE Y. This estimate of the scholar is extracted from a letter addressed to Henry Chorley after his brother's death. How deep an affection Mr. Carlyle entertained for the man may be learned from another letter written in reply to one that announced his dangerous illness. " Chelsea, 19th June, 1867. " My dear Sir : — " Your note of yesterday is a most welcome favor to me ; a very great and almost sacred bit of charity and solace done me in the dark and sad element where you yourself are now living and waiting ! The last time I saw your dear brother — alas, 1 little thought it was the last I — I noticed no fatal symptom in him ; nothing but very great misery and disquiet, which I lightly supposed the summer weather, and a shift to the shore of the sea, which was always such a favorite with him, would clear away ; and I am never since free from an occasional doubt that I may have really pained him and done myself injustice by my light and hopeful way of treating all his misgivings and bad prognostics, which have proved so dismally true — alas, alas ! "From your brother William's letters to my brother John at Dumfries, I am kept in knowledge of the progress of things from day to day towards their inevitable goal ; and I thank Heaven along with you, that pain and irrita- tion are quite gone, and that sleep and quiet are now the attendants of that ardent soul to its final rest. Final and perfect, where all the weary do at length rest ! " If in any fit moment you could whisper to him, that I, who owe him so much, did always honor and esteem him as few others ; am touched to the heart with what is going on, know well what loss I am sustaining, and shall piously regret him all my remaining days, the fact will abundantly support PROFESSOR TICKNOR. 303 you ; and should the opportunity offer (not otherwise, I beg), it will be a drop of consolation to me. " May God be with him ! may God be with us all ! " Yours, with deep sympathy, " T. Carlyle." To the praise which Chorley has bestowed on his brother's poetry, and the reference made to his inter- course with an eminent American scholar, the late Professor Ticknor, the latter's own testimony may be added. The following letter from him acknowledged the receipt of John Chorley's book: — " Boston, United States, " 3d March, 1866. " Dear Chorley : — " Your kind letter came a month ago ; your little volume came last week. I was thankful for both, and especially thankful to hear from you and to have proof of your continued remembrance. The poems arrived just before a late dinner, but before I went to bed I had finished them, so attrac- tive were they. I like the drama and the madrigal best, though, very probably, better judges will decide otherwise in England. There, however, you have settled it long ago. But about one point there can be no doubt anywhere. The finish of the work and its pure true English are charming. By an accident, I read the poetry before I read the preface, and, in consequence of this, two things struck me, which otherwise would not have done so in the way they did. The first was, that the drama had a weird air about it, which was not explained, until I found that its earliest origin, and therefore its ground-colors, so to speak, were to be sought in a wild vivid dream. The other was a certain indistinct 304 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. resemblance of your versification in the drama to the Span- ish, which I naturally attributed altogether to your loving familiarity with that delightful mass of popular and poeti- cal extravagances in the ' Comedias Famosas,' but which it seems had so little of such origin, that I must attribute it to your instincts rather than to the studies which have done so much for your later life. But, however this may be, the drama itself is most agreeable, refreshing, and original. Since I wrote the last sentence, I have read nearly the whole of it over again. The effect is still the same. I do not well see how you have brought it all to pass. " I am much troubled to hear that you have been unwell, and that, although the sciatica has given way, you are still not as fresh and strong as I would have you. My own record is not better, with a good many more years than yours on it, and all their infirmities. 1 was ill all through December with troubles in the liver, and though I am well enough now for a man between seventy-four and seventy-five, I have been obliged to let my correspondence languish a good deal for two or three years back. Except for this, you would -certainly have heard from me. I have long had your name at the head of a list that I have kept, like my sins, constantly before me, for my warning and rebuke, that so many of my friends have claims upon me which I have not acknowledged. In this I know that I have neglected my own interests. For a year, I have wanted to ask you two questions, and if I ask them now, I feel that I must rely on your good nature for answers. I will, however, venture : ist. Can you send me a copy, to be made at my expense, from the preface to Lope's ' Arcadia,' which is the thirteenth of your ' Comedias,' Barcelona, 1620, or that in the British Museum, same year, Madrid ? If you will take the trouble to turn to Casiano Pellicer, ' Origen y Progresos de la Comedia,' 1804, tomo i. p. 171, you will see PROFESSOR TICKNOR. 305 in part why I want it.* The play itself I do not need. 2d. Can you tell me, in general terms, how much Cancer, in his 'Mejor Representante ' (' Comedias Escogidas,' tomo xxix. 1668), is indebted to Lope's ' Fingido Verdadero ' ('Come- dias,' tomo xvi. 162 1 and 1622) ? I do not care for details, and not even an answer to the question whether Cancer took much or little, if it is likely to give you trouble. Thank you for your congratulations on the end of our civil war, which, God be praised ! is over. I never doubted that we should prevail. I did what I could to secure our success ; but I always felt that great troubles would follow the most assured victories. Since the days of the Moors and Christians, there have been no such hatreds as now prevail between the North- ern and Southern States of this Union. How they are to be appeased I do not know, and certainly shall not live to see ; but that there will be no more fighting in my time, I trust and believe. The South is thoroughly beaten, and slavery is really abolished. Whether the blacks will perish from among us, as the aborigines have (by our fault in a great measure), remains in the uncertain future ; but I think they can never again become bondsmen. " Yours faithfully, "Geo. Ticknor." Professor Ticknor's preface to his " History of Span- ish Literature " acknowledges his indebtedness to the extensive library collected by John Chorley, and now deposited in the British Museum. We have only to add, that between 1846 and 1854, John Chorley was the principal reviewer of German, Italian, and Spanish publications for the "Athenaeum." He died June 29th, 1867, of atrophy. * [Note by John Chorley.] " Gran memoria." 306 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. Under his brother's will Chorley received an access of fortune* which left him for the remainder of life in comparative affluence ; but the loss he had sustained was not thus to be compensated. To the shock of this event, culminating a series of bereavements, and succeeding a long term of failing health, must be attrib- uted the lapse into the fatal habit to which allusion has already been made. The 'depressing effect of habitual solitude upon his spirits has been repeatedly noticed. Affectionate as his friendships were, they could not atone to him for the loss of wife and child. No one who has not read his journals can estimate how per- sistently this was felt. Such an entry as the following is but one of a score of similar purport : — "La Cava, Wednesday, Oct. 6th, 1858. — Here again I was glad to get alone, moved to tears, and full of those hope- less yearnings for rest, for affection, for something to lean on, on earth, which I am now sure is not my appointment. As God wills ! " Even more pathetic, however, than any complaint is the evidence of his constant effort to escape from this sense of isolation by adding to the toils of an already laborious life. A letter to Sir Wentworth Dilke, in 1859, illustrates this in a striking manner: — " 13, Eaton Place West, " Wednesday, Feb. 2, 1859. " Dear Wentworth, " I called on you the other day to trouble you about a * The bulk of John Chorley's property was inherited, directly or indirectly, from his uncle, Dr. Rutter. LETTER TO SIR W. DILA'E. 307 very dull subject, ray own affairs. A few words on paper will perhaps best explain my meaning. I have been feeling, for the last few years, that things are not quite as they should be with me. I do not mean as to worldly circumstances, since, so long as I can work as now, I can live quite as well as a man need do in my situation ; and though I have had a rather unusual share of ill-luck, I have no pinch for the present, no fear for the future. But I am living too much alone. Such family intercourse as I have is entirely confined to my poor sister, and that is neither supporting nor cheer- ing ; and I find my life beginning to weigh so heavily on my nerves and spirits, that I cannot go much further without some attempt to right myself. What I should like would be to find some little occupation which brought me more into contact with companionable and intelligent people. My intercourse with the musicians does not fill this want, since in that I give much, and receive only in return as much as suffices for the necessities of my position before the public. Thus it has occurred to me to ask you whether, in some of all these ramifying art-designs, schools, museums, etc., etc., I could not be made of use ; since I do not think that my knowledge (especially on all lower matters connected with decoration, etc., etc.,) or my experiences of what exists here and. abroad, are less than those of many who appear to suc- ceed and to give satisfaction ; and I fancy that I might be able to turn them to account, without losing my hold on my own peculiar public, which I think I may say, without vanity, is now very strong, though neither gainful nor refreshing. I think I need not say to you that I would undertake nothing that I could not accomplish ; still less, that I am not afraid of work ; but I feel the necessity of a relief from a state of things brought about by a singular number of deaths, changes, want of ability on my own part to push myself forward, and my painfully solitary position as the last of a family, with no 308 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. living younger relative to look to, and no creature within reach to whom I can speak of what passes in my mind. You will see that this letter is one requiring no answer (I feel secure of your good-will) ; but if occasion should serve, do not forget its contents. Let me again repeat that it is no money-pressure that makes me trouble you. When I cease to be a journalist I can make up ^"400 a year, on which I can dream out my old days abroad ; and should I survive others of my family, that income must be increased. Thus I cannot, I trust, be misunderstood, while I must also beg you to excuse my prosiness, in explanation of a tale and a situation other than cheerful, or perhaps much longer tenable by "Yours ever faithfully, " Henry F. Chorley." Long after his need to work for livelihood had ceased, as this letter testifies, he continued to work for self-forgetfulness, his regular avocation as a critic not being surrendered until his sixtieth year, and his mind occupying itself with new literary schemes to the last. The stress of this incessant exertion aggra- vated the chronic disease under which he suffered, and entailed a fresh access of depression. To enable him to exact a full quantum of work out of his exhausted frame, he had resort to the strongest tonics. Writing to Liverpool before his sister's death in 1863, he says : ' " My poor invalid suffers much, and I myself have come to the point of almost living without sleep and living upon quinine, with many weeks to get through before I can right myself." TRA VEL. 309 It was when the effect of this medicine had failed, and under the weight of an affliction which tempora- rily incapacitated him from his wonted distraction in work, that he adopted the disastrous measure of recruiting his strength by stimulants. The advice of friends and his own conviction of the mistake he was making, happily prevailed to bring this habit under control, though it was never entirely shaken off. It had no power over him when on a visit to friends, or when seeking recreation in travel ; a consideration that emphasises the distinction to be drawn between such a habit acquired in despair of other remedial aids, and one engendered by luxurious self-indulgence. That the consequences were not less calamitous must be frankly and sorrowfully admitted. Shattered health and weakened memory, a temper made more irritable and self-assertion more prominent, and, as the natural result of such infirmities, an amount of dissension and estrangement that embittered his declining years ; these were of themselves a sufficient punishment. But as compared with other manifesta- tions of its kind, his error was assuredly venial, and entitled him to the forbearance of his fellows. The holiday tours so often mentioned as seasons of restoration offer a more cheerful subject. Until the last year or two of his life these were spent on the Continent. The diaries kept of them, which extend up to 1 86 1, are for the most part brief, and contain few passages that admit of extract ; but they show no abatement of his interest in mental culture or the pro- gress of contemporary art. Their notes of picturesque 3io REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. scenery, and sketches of architectural novelties attest, as of yore, his close and loving observation. One diary chronicles his extreme delight at meeting in Leipsic with an American gentleman, Mr. Perkins, ' young, handsome, and rich, who has come out from home resolutely to work out a career in art, with the hope of doing good to his country by its agency when he goes back.' With this gentleman, who devoted himself to the study of music, ' with very many requisites for the task,' Chorley subsequently became intimate, and, I believe, supplied the words for a can- tata composed by him. The most interesting of these later tours was made in. Spain during the autumn of 1861, in company with Mr.Frederick Lehmann. Some extracts from a letter thence, addressed to Mrs. R. Rathbone, give an outline of the principal impressions it produced : " Granada, Sept. 18th, 1861. " My dear Friend : — " I have thought of you often since I have written to you. I don't think there was a day when you were abroad that I did not pass some part of it with you. Now you have some leisure ; are settled (I take it) in your new house ; and the one number of the ' Times ' I have seen since I was out told me of Emily's marriage : so I have said to myself, 'I will write.' You know what I would say, and must feel, about any event that takes place which ever so remotely touches you, since time and trial have done any- thing rather than cast me loose of old gratitudes and affec- tions. Credit me, pray then, for having said it on this occa- sion, and for having felt it. It was rather a desperate expe- dient in me to come to Spain, so shattered was I by ten LETTER FROM SPAIN. 311 months of incessant work in London. Without some com- plete change, I could not have held out much longer, and this (by a mere chance thought of F. Lehmann's) seemed to offer itself. So far as restoring nervous and physical power, it has answered completely. I have rarely felt bet- ter ; but the fatigue has been tremendous in places. We are here a month too soon ; in a year of drought — a new experience to me, and which can only be shown to its full character on a southern landscape, and that as bare a one as the staple landscapes of Spain. The heat and parch give it a kind of savagery which is characteristic ; but the dust — which electroplates vine, and fig, and aloe, and seems to creep into one's very thoughts, too ! Strange to say, heat and dust have braced me ■ but my brains have gone to sleep. I feel the utmost difficulty in writing up my journal, and in talking more than about four hours in the four-and- twenty. I hope, however, to retain my impressions of this very peculiar country, which has many rich things sown far apart. " We had a glorious week among the pictures in the Madrid gallery, which I suppose is now the finest collection in Europe. I studied the Spaniards very hard, because here they are at home, and had extraordinary enjoyment in Velasquez, who was in some sort a revelation to me. The Raphaels hardly seemed to me up to their reputation (but if I dared say so, I should say that was no new experience) ; the Titians, Tintorettos, and specimens by Paul Veronese admirable. Eight long visits were too few. I would endure the fag over again of the journey from London for a second trial. Toledo pleased us mightily — my first real acquaintance with Moorish architecture and decoration. The town is a very quaint one, and stands nobly. T think the Escurial has been over-praised, though the mausoleum of the kings of Spain is truly a pompous sleeping-place for the common clay of 312 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. which even Spanish kings are made. Then, in their way, the Cathedral of Cordova (whilom a mosque — a labyrinth of pillars and interlaced arches) and that of Seville, too, could be hardly exceeded. In a building like the latter — so gorgeous, so august — open all day, and where every hour brings out a new light, or shuts up some known object in a strange mystery of form — I can quite understand how those whose spirits and purposes are ruled by impression, must be Roman Catholics — why there is small chance of that great wicked delusion ever wearing out of the world. We liked the curiosities of Seville much • but the people seemed too languid and borne down by the heat to rally to such alacrity as makes a strange place welcome. Cadiz gave us sea-breezes, so did Malaga (and big muscatel grapes, the only ripe fruit I have seen in Spain), and now we are here for a week. I shall begin on the Alhambra to- morrow ; to-night (after a sixteen-hours' rough journey) I have given up to aimless roaming, by such a moonlight ! It is a thing to remember. Howl wish I could cut you out my window, and the view it commands, and the light, and send them home ! There is no exaggerating this side of southern beauty, and Granada lends itself to it very lovingly. It is odd how bodily exhaustion seems utterly to vanish and retire when the spell is so strong. " Sept. igt/i. — I feel powerless to describe the Alhambra ; all that can be told is told by views and photographs, and one knew every bit by heart ere one saw it ; and yet how much more is there to see! — and this totally apart from historic associations. When I have been once or twice, I shall be able, perhaps, to record for myself some of the memorable points which no photograph can give. These remains, like the old Roman and the Gothic antiquities (and, of course, the Egyptian ruins), strike one with a sense of childishness? when one is tempted to connect modern times with anything SCARBOROUGH. 313 like artistic achievement. When the Alhambra was in its glory, there must have been acres of the finest lace-hangings in plaster (much of it open-work) hung on the walls. As for its towers and ramparts, they were beyond number. I am no wailer after the old times, but to see such proof of their pride and glory (in our world, wherein many interests are embarked still in cockleshell boats, by comparison,) is very subduing. When one thinks of ^"10,000 paid for a vulgar English picture now-a-days, and sees these wondrous relics of a people — now under the world's feet — the comparison be- comes very painful because very humiliating, but very instruc- tive " Very affectionately and gratefully yours, " Henry F. Chorley." Of later years, his favorite place of sojourn in Eng- land was Scarborough, where the humors of its mixed society were a source of unfailing enjoyment to him. At the Grand Hotel his was a familiar figure, and with the facility which he always retained of making pleas- ant acquaintance, he seldom passed a season there without enlarging the number. Next to Gad's Hill, among his friends' houses, Lady Downshires', Wake- hurst Place, was the one at which he felt most thor- oughly at home. At both, to judge from his letters, he underwent a genuine renewal of youth, and the mental and bodily infirmities which beset him in Lon- don seemed for a time forgotten. " Towards the close of Chorley's life," says Mr. Hewlett, his biographer, " we were in frequent converse, both personally and by letter. Few men were more companionable when tete d tete, his fertile fancy, reten- tive memory, and large experience supplying ample T4 314 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLEY. illustrations of any theme that arose for discussion. At the parties which he was in the habit of assembling of his principal friends, it was always a treat to be present. The guests were often curiously assorted — zgrande dame sitting beside a popular comedian, or a grave student by a brilliant artiste ; but, as the event usually proved, not inharmoniously blended. One was tolerably sure to meet some person of distinction ; and in such com- pany as that of Dickens, Sir Arthur Helps, Sir John Coleridge, Madame Viardot, Sir Michael Costa, Mr. Sullivan, Mr. Reeve, Mr. Eastwick, or Mrs. Procter, a visitor must have been hard to please who did not find his evening agreeable. The dinners, of their kind, were unique, at once informal and recherches, with certain dishes seldom to be with elsewhere, to one or other of which the carte generally called attention in a naive marginal note, such as ' Try this ; H. F. C — all, how- ever elaborate, being made at home, and mythically ascribed to receipts from a wonderful cookery-book, of which the world was one day promised a glimpse. If there was music afterwards, it was always of the best, whether the performers were professional or ama- teur. The presence of the host, with his genial, old- fashioned courtesy, quaint manner, and humorous per- siflage, lent a peculiar flavor of character to the whole entertainment. Altogether, these gatherings belonged to a type not easily to be matched in the circles of London society." The sudden death of Dickens was felt by no one, out of his own family, as a more painful shock than by Chorley. The friends had been in correspondence during the previous week ; the last note or two from OBITUAR Y OF DICKENS. 315 Dickens having reference to an old picture of Rane- lagh Gardens, which Chorley had just purchased after some preliminary negotiation, and was about to for- ward to Gad's Hill as a present. These notes, of which the following is a sample, assuredly told of nothing so little as decay in the health or spirits of the writer. " Gad's Hill Place, " Higham by Rochester, Kent. " Sunday, 5th June, 1870. " My dear Chorley : — " Believe me, I shall be charmed to have the picture, if you succeed in your negotiation for it. Apart from its own interest (and you know beforehand how the subject attracts me), it will be priceless to me as a token of your regard. I will find a place for it somehow and somewhere, and am already pervading the house with a two-foot rule, measur- ing in all directions. The improvements solicit inspection. Among them a toy-stable, which has the air of being made for horses on wheels, with fur manes and tails. Bring a rock- ing-horse with you, and it shall have the best stall of state. " Ever faithfully and affectionately, "C. D." The last note, making arrangements for the dis- patch of the picture, was dated Tuesday, 7th June. On the Thursday, one from Miss Dickens announced her father's seizure on the previous day, and the next brought news of his death. Chorley's mental prostra- tion, when I called upon him shortly afterwards, was painful to witness, affording as it did a measure of the extent to which his friendship had supported him. At the suggestion of Sir C. W. Dilke, he wrote the obi- tuary notice of Dickens in the " Athenaeum " of the 3 1 6 REMINISCENCES OF CHORLE Y. following week, unwilling that it should be entrusted to any less reverent hand. The performance redoubled his distress, and bore evidence of the effort it had cost, without satisfying his intention of doing justice to the subject. How bitterly the loss was felt all his letters told. Acknowledging a message from Mr. Benson Rathbone just afterwards, he wrote : — " God bless you for your kindness. For the hour I am best alone. ... I have a letter from poor Mary. If uni- versal sympathy of the warmest kind in every form could soften the agony of such a trial, they will have it in over- flowing measure ; but it will not give back one of the noblest and most gifted men I have ever known, whose regard for me was one of those honors which make amends for much failure and disappointment. I cannot express to any human being the void this will make for me to my dying day." Though he did not survive his friend long enough to lose the sense of bereavement, and the painful accel- eration of organic disease, from which he thenceforth suffered, may have been consequent upon the shock, he rallied from it sooner than might have been expected. In physical weakness, he was, no doubt, during the last two or three years of his life, a prema- turely old man ; but the signs of mental decay, which some of his acquaintance observed in him, were illusory. No such traces, at all events, are to be found in his last literary product, the biographical sketch of Miss Mit- ford, which he wrote at this time. During the winter of 1871, Chorley's health became DEATH. 2,17 decidedly worse, and compelled him to abandon a visit which he had planned to Liverpool. A partial recovery of strength ensued, but the occupation of his mind with the thought that it would prove transient showed itself in his frequent references to a future life when conversing with his confidential servant. The expecta- tion of sudden death, however, had become so habit- ual to him, that he practically disregarded it. He had planned a dinner-party for Friday, the 16th Feb- ruary (1872), the day on which he died, when Sir Michael Costa, Lady Downshire, and other friends were to have been among the guests. On the Wednesday preceding, he was present at a theatrical ball given by Mrs. Bancroft, and on the Thursday, when Mr. Francis, the publisher of the " Athenaeum," called upon him, he spoke with cheerfulness of his future plans. Early on the following morning he was seized with sudden syncope, and, after lying a few hours unconscious, expired without apparent suffering. He was buried, by his own desire, beside his bro- ther John, in Brompton Cemetery, a large number of his associates, including many representatives of letters and art, following his remains to the grave. THE END. INDEX OE NAMES MENTIONED THROUGHOUT THE WORK. A LEXIS, 269. -"- Ancelot, Madame, 131. Atherstone, 46. Austin, Mr. and Mrs., 137. Ayton, Fanny, 39. T> ANCROFT, Mr. and Mrs., 2? •*-* Bayly, Haynes, 143. Beattie, Dr., 212. Belgiojoso, Prince, 131. Bendemann, Professor, 199. Berlioz, Hector, 219, 220. Berry, Misses, 141. Blessington, Lady, 85. Bonaparte, Louis Napoleon, 13S Bosco, 268. Bradshaw, Mrs., 16. Browning, Robert, 183, 243. Browning, Mrs., 186. Bulwer, Edward Lytton, 96. Bulwer, Sir Henry, 87. Byron, Lord, 92. / \ \ MPBELL, Thomas, 27, 210. ^ Carlyle, Thomas, 301, 302. Caston, Chevalier de, 269. Cathcart, 54. Chopin, 155, 218. Chorley, Jane, 1, 6, 11. Chorley, John, 1. Chorley, John Rutter, 2S6. Chorley, Rebecca, 3. Coleridge, Sir John Duke, 264. Collins, Wilkie, 230. Combe, Dr. Andrew, 25. Cornwall, Barry, 77, 226, 275. Costa, Sir Michael, 153. Cranach, Lucas, 197. Cushman, Charlotte, 236. Cuvier, Madame, 131. IVABRANTES, Duchess, 131. Darley, George, 53, 103. David, 166. Dickens, Charles, 238, 272, 315. Dickens, Miss, 277. Dilke, Charles Wentworth, 40, 50. Dilke, Sir Wentworth, 306. Disraeli, Isaac, 94. Donizetti, 40, 260. D'Orsay, Count, 87, 98. Dorus-Gras, 155. Downshire, Lady, 284. Duprez, 155. J7ASTWICK, 284. Ernst, 220. PECHTER, Charles, 285. L Fonblanque, Albany, 92, 94. Forrest, Edwin, 68. Francis, John, 317. 320 INDEX OF NAMES. n ARCIA, Madame,- 155. ^ " George Sand," 132. Gibson, Milner, 284. Glehn, Mrs. Von, 284. Gluck, 254. Goethe, 164. Gounod, 139. Gramont, Due de, 130. Grisi, Madame, 151. Grote, George, 106. Guiccioli, Countess, 93. Guizot, i3q TTARNESS, William, 102. -*--*- Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 226, 241 Hawthorne, Mrs., 227, 241. Heathcote, Rev. Mr., 28. Helps, Sir Arthur, 284. Hemans, Mrs., 37, 62. Holland, Lady, 88, 98. Hood, Thomas, 46, 52, 142. Hook, Theodore, 91. Houdin, Robert, 268. Houghton, Lord, 137. Howitt, William and Mary, 10S. TAMES, G. P. R., 58. ^ Jameson, Mrs., 137. Jerdan, William, 41. Jerrold, Douglas, 179. Jewsbury, Miss, 40. TTAtTLBACH, 200. -*-*- Kean, Charles, 2S4. Kemble, Charles, 102. FCenyon, George, 189. Kock, Paul de, 131. T ANDON, Miss, 51, 126. ■^ Landor, Walter Savage, 93, 95. Langtree, 308. Lawrence, Sir Thomas, 68. Lehmann, Frederick, 310. Leightbn, Frederick, 284. Leslie, Henry, 350. Lind, Jenny, 215, 221. Liszt, 1S6. Loudon, Mrs., 179. Lyndhurst, Lord, 131. Lytton, Lord, 96. MACREADY, 68, 96. -L'-*- Mario, 155. Mars, Mile., 136. Martineau, Miss, 208. Maule, George 13., 195. Mendelssohn, Felix, 156, 164, 169, 175, 205, 206. Meyerbeer, 216. Mitford, Mary Russell, 100, 184. Molesworth, Sir William, 191. Montagu, Mr. and Mrs. Basil, 77. Montalembert, Count, 137. Morgan, Lady, 115. Morgan, Sir Charles, 118. Moscheles, Ignatz, 78, 79, 164. Moskowa, Prince de, 131. IV 1 " AU, i SS . 11 Neukomm, Chevalier, 80. Nourrit, 155. WEN, Robert, 25. Ossuna, Duke of, 107. DAGANINI, 42. - 1 - Pasta, Madame, 39, 261. Patmore, Coventry, 230. Paton, Miss, 53. Persiani, 155. Persigny, Count, 138. Porter, Jane, 120. Procter, B. W. (" Barry Cornwall "), 77, 226, 279. DACHEL, 135, 261. -" Rathbone, Benson, 36, 74. Rathbone, Hannah Mary, 23. Reeve, Henry, 136. Reeves, Sims, 267. Reynolds, John Hamilton, 53. Rio, 95. Ristori, Madame, 285. Rogers, Samuel, no. Roscoe, Henry, 78. Roscoe, William, 25. INDEX OF NAMES. 321 Rothwell, 85. Rutter, John, 7, 30. OARTORIS, Mrs., 113. ^ Schumann, 167. Sedgwick, Miss, 143, 144. Seeman, 284. Smith, Sydney, 97. Smith, James, 142. Somerville, Mrs., 129. Sotheru, 285. Southey, Robert, 142. Stephens, Miss, 53. Strauss, Johann, 239. 14* Sullivan. Arthur, 314. Sumner, Charles, SS. 'PAGLIONI, 120. -*■ Talfourd, Justice, 55, 105. Thackeray, W. M., 59. Thai berg, 220. Ticknor, George, 303. T7TARDOT, Madame, 21S, 261. ' Vigny, Alfred de, 134. WESTMACOTT, 114. Vviiiis, Nathaniel P., 83. Wilson, Mrs. Cornwell Baron, 120. Wiseman, Cardinal, 122.