Miss Eden's Letters

CHAPTER VI

1828-1829

[A few extracts are given here from Miss Eden’s Journal kept in the early part of 1828.]

Stayed at Grosvenor Place on our way home to dinner, and saw Mary [Drummond] with the three children dressed to go to the Duke of Atholl’s for twelfth cake. Came home at 9, I suppose, to settle in town. How I hate it! But then I have had a very excellent absence of six months from it, and enjoyed my Irish tour, and my summer altogether as much as I expected. Found an invitation to Cobham, to Lady Darnley, and invitations to Madame de Lieven’s and Mademoiselle de Palmella’s279 parties to meet Dom Miguel.280 Such a horrid look about these invitations.

Theresa Villiers came here, and Mary at five, and said that Lord Goderich had resigned the day before, and that the King had sent to the Duke of Wellington to desire him to make a new Government.

It was hardly possible to regret the last, it was so weak, and Lord Goderich so inefficient and ridiculous, chiefly owing to Sarah, but the triumph of one’s enemies is always an ugly business.

Lord Lansdowne dined alone with us. I never saw him in such good spirits or more agreeable. So extremely communicative, and so delighted to have done with office. He says the whole thing is an intrigue between Mr. Herries and Sir William Knighton.281 The instances he gave of Sir W. Knighton’s influence over the King are quite wonderful. Lord Lansdowne does not believe, as all the rest of the Whigs do, that Lord Goderich has betrayed them. He says that at present they are all Ministers still, and that the King had signified to them his wishes that they might still continue so – which, as he puts it all into the hand of the Duke of Wellington, means nothing; and that they are to wait till the Duke makes them some proposition they cannot accede to, and then to go out.

He said Lord Goderich was very nervous when he first saw him yesterday. Lord Melville is talked of as Prime Minister.

Mary lent me her carriage. Saw Sarah dressed and walking about her room, not looking particularly ill, quite forgetting her plaintive manner. She told me Mr. Huskisson282 had consented to take office under the Duke, for which she abused him in her old eager manner. Saw Lord Goderich, looking like the poor wretch he is.

Dined at Lady Charlotte Greville’s. Met the F. Levesons, the Duke of Devonshire, Lord Morpeth, Lord Ashley283 and Mr. Talbot. A pleasant dinner. The Duke told me he had been very sorry to resign and he was furious with Lord Goderich, that the King told him that the day Lord Goderich resigned one of the gentlemen of the bedchamber, knowing nothing of what had passed, asked Lord Goderich to give him a lift to town; that the King had the curiosity to ask him on his return what he thought of Lord Goderich, and that the gentleman said he thought him very pleasant: he had joked and laughed till they came to Hounslow, and then fell asleep, and this immediately after having resigned – not only for himself, but for all his colleagues without their consent.

Got two places at the House of Commons, asked Theresa to go with me. Mr. Hobhouse moved a vote of thanks to Sir E. Codrington,284 and made a good speech, Mr. B. a very tiresome one, Sir J. Mackintosh rather a learned one; and Mr. Peel not a bad one, during which we came away, almost starved to death. Dined at 11.

Had a place at the House of Commons again. Borrowed Lady Bath’s carriage and went to see her first. Found Lady Francis Leveson at the House. We were both very anxious for the explanation that was expected from Mr. Huskisson. Mr. Peel285 made a good speech on Finance, and proposed the Finance Committee. Mr. Baring proposed that Mr. Huskisson’s name should be added to it. Mr. Brougham286 said a few words in the same sense; then there came a silence, every one expecting Mr. Huskisson would speak, and that somebody would ask him to explain. But nobody got up, and Mr. Goulburn287 moved an Adjournment which was received with a shout of laughter, and they all rushed out. We were all horribly disappointed, nobody found their carriages ready. Mrs. Horton’s carriage took seven of us, and left me in Grosvenor Place.

Went out with Lady Harriet Baring upon trial to see if I liked her. Do not know now. Bought a bonnet at Madame Carsan’s (not paid for).

Dined at Mrs. A. Baring’s, – what she calls my dinner, one she gives every year to which I am supposed to ask the company. The B. Barings, H. Mildmays, Theresa, H. Villiers, Mr. Labouchere,288 Mr. Luttrell, Mr. A. Greville, Mr. Ponsonby and F. Baring. Went on to Devonshire House, where George and Fanny had dined.

DEAREST THERESA, I have been trying by the help of the newspaper to form the slightest guess of your movements, but I cannot make them out.

Sarah’s reform lasted nearly three days, and she is now herself again, in the most finished perfection. Her hatred to Blackheath and her violent love of Downing Street prove to me that she sees the time is near when they must leave the latter abode, and the only thing makes me doubt that he is going out, is her avowed wish that he should leave office.289 Her indifference about her baby, after all the fuss she made, is so in harmony with the rest of her cross-grained character, that I contemplate it with the fondest admiration.

I know no news to tell you. The laundry here was robbed on Tuesday, which seems to afford the children great amusement. I have experienced the pleasure of a robbed laundry before, and it does not amuse me now – much. I asked Wright if I had lost anything. “Only your best cap, and your two best frills, and your best worked habit-shirt, and your best lace,” – none of them having been better than their fellows till they were stolen. Ever your affectionate

Here I am translated to Armagh. I got through the journey and all the bother wonderfully by Georgina St. Quintin’s290 help. I parted with her in Dublin, where I spent five days, and where I found Lady Glengall, Mr. Villiers, Lord Forbes, Lady Erroll.291 But I was glad to leave Dublin; even in those few days I saw so much tracasserie and fuss about nothing, that I would not live there on any account if I could help it. Emmy, I find that I am totally unfit for what is called the world, or anything like it. I have forgotten its ways and its language, – in short, I have seen too much sorrow to be up to it. I thought Dublin itself beautiful, and Lady Glengall was most good-natured, – crammed me into one of her own Hats and sent me to a ball at the Castle which was beautiful. I dined with all the military people, and came away nothing loth. The tyranny of the Few over the Many does not strike the eye so much here, although I believe this to be the very heart of it – the positive pips of the orange.

I have seen my new General. They say he is very gentlemanlike and good-natured. He seems to me stupid and vulgar, but pray double-lock this, for we cannot afford to quarrel with another General. We are nearly ruined by this last move, that is one of the things that makes me low. I am not at all sure that we shall not be obliged to sell out now, from money difficulties. So much sickness, and a move has thrown us back horribly, so you must bear with me now and then, my own Emmy. When I do not write it is because I am fretted and full of care. I keep up my spirits wonderfully, and am quite well as to health, and Sir Guy, too, fights on manfully. He means to try all he can before he sells, but if he cannot manage, we must sell and say no more about the matter; but only think how much better off we are than others in the world. Write to me, my dear Emmy, for your letters do me good and cheer me. I was quite glad to talk about you to Mr. Villiers.\292 He seemed to think it was extraordinary how much you loved me, and I began to think it oddish myself, for certainly je ne vaux pas grand chose, when I come to consider.

Will you make another attempt to find Abby, he resorts much to that Mulligatawny fount frequented by Turtle, and on the banks of which curry grows spontaneous, – the Oriental Club?

I do not much like this place, but we have many negative blessings – a quiet peaceable General, an Adjutant-General full of abstruse erudition. Talking of this man, by the bye, I want to know whether the Committee of useful knowledge know that there are gangs of half-informed science-mongers, who are going about quoting the information they plunder out of the library, and bringing it out as their own topics, without giving notice of where they have taken them. This said Colonel Moore (nephew to Sir Graham293) is a nefarious pilferer, and tried to cram the information of the Duke’s294 Bill down my throat as his own discovery.

Emily, the day is at hand when we shall sigh for a plain fool and the sight of a natural will be good for sore eyes. We shall, it is hardly doubted, have a row here, for our Orangemen are frantic, and will walk and will play their horrid tunes. We had a man killed in a fray a week ago about a drum.

MY DEAR EMMY, You are right, there is nothing like answering directly, but my dear child, I have nothing to tell you. Here one day certifieth the other, and I see no one, nothing happens – lessons and walks and eating – and now and then a bore drops in by way of a change. And the people speak so as to be tolerably understood, and their rags are sufficient to cover them, and there is not that variety of dislocation among the limbs of the beggars, which now and then accorded us a topic in the south. You might as well expect a letter from a silkworm out of the very heart of its cocoon…

I like my house although it has only its snugness and a cheerful view to recommend it; but the people as yet rather bore me. In short, my dear Emmy, I return to the old song: – I don’t care that– for acquaintances. I had rather have my hedge of life with its gaps and rents, than patch it up with rubbish; and if the goodly cedars are laid low, the place that knew them shall at least remain void, and show that such things were. I really feel this more and more every day. I love my friends better than ever, but making an acquaintance is positively disagreeable. Your letters are such gleams to me. That alliance of Car295 and her pretty little hands with Moloch Mostyn did enchant me.

Do you know, Mrs. Vansittart’s consent ought to be more known. It is the longest step emancipation has made this age.296 You see, Emmy, she was quite right about the girl’s beauty, and you quite wrong.

I wish you could see my shaved head. I look like a Greek pipe-bearer, or Haggai himself, or something very much out of the way. But all my hair was really coming out. They say I shall have a good crop in six months, and be able to turn it up in a year.

We are in doubts still about our finances. I do not well know what is to become of us, but I try not to fret. I wish you would make a friendship with the Downshires, that would conduce to your coming to the North country.

Do you think Lord Auckland is to be moved this way? What people do you see most of? Which of my deputies is filling up my place? Is it your Bath or Maria Copley? What is become of Miss Villiers, and how is poor Lady Grantham?.. How are you yourself? Good-bye, Dearest. Ever your own

I suppose my genius is to be cramped into this single sheet, which is very unpleasant.

I was very glad to get your letter, as well to hear something about you, so as to know where to write.297 It is an excellent plan your writing a few times at different places. Your letter amused me particularly. You have done adventures enough now for some time, and may pursue your way safely without any danger of shocking me with the want of incident.

No, I am not fastidious, because I dislike very few people (those might be called enemies); and I like a great many for their good qualities without liking their society (those are my acquaintances); and then I like a great many more for good qualities, or agreeableness, or their affection for me (those are my friends); and amongst those are a chosen few particularly perfect, combining the three advantages, and those are my intimate friends. And unless I can be with either of the two last classes, I have not a sufficient love of society not to prefer being alone. But I do not at all despise or dislike those I do not wish to be with, – quite the contrary. I respect them to the greatest degree, only I do not care about them, and I cannot praise them as I do the others. Your system of general praise would bring you by degrees to think it equally pleasant to meet Sir Gore Ouseley and Mr. Luttrell, Mr. Lushington298 and Lord Alvanley, and you would like me to say Harriet Baring is as pleasant an incident at a dinner as yourself. No thank you; I prefer my distinctions. The dark shadows of bore bring out the lights of agreeableness, and I like to perceive a difference, even if I do not act upon it. However, do not let us argue by letter; there is no room for it.

My dear, my Irish journey is defunct, dead, deceased, annihilated, and I shall follow its example if things go on so. You may, if your English papers follow you, have seen that a man of the name of Austin299 has defaulted from Greenwich Hospital, after having cheated it to a great amount. It is not worth telling you the story, besides, I have thought of nothing else till I am sick of it; but it has worried and annoyed George, who is Auditor of the Accounts, to a degree that I cannot express. Austin has been taken at Limerick, but that does very little good, and only gives the additional trouble of arranging the manner of prosecuting him, which will be a difficult business, as our laws, according to the accurate observations I have made on them for many years, are calculated chiefly for the protection and encouragement of crime; and besides encouraging husbands to kill their wives, and masters their apprentices, have had an eye to the safety of Austin, and all the thousands of pounds that were found in his trunk cannot be touched. I do not precisely see the justice of his taking our Irish journey, and leaving us to settle his accounts, but I suppose it is all right. The investigation of the whole business has been put into George’s hands, and there is so much that is disagreeable in it, besides confining him to the neighbourhood of Greenwich, that he has been very low, poor fellow! But like a sensible man, he sent for me to keep up his spirits; and we have been here the last three weeks, and shall be here a fortnight longer, and then I fear we shall have to go to London.

Well, I hold it wrong to grumble, but I do not love London at any time, and above all, not in September; and I grudge the loss of his shooting, and I hate to see him so bothered.

I went to town last Tuesday, as I heard of a large covey of friends that might be shot flying, and I saw Maria [Copley] just come from Tunbridge, looking better but not well. Lady Grantham, looking ill, from Tunbridge also; Coppy, freshly imported from Dieppe in great spirits; Lady C. Greville passing on to Dublin; and various other acquaintances.

This is a stupid letter, but if you knew how much I have been worried the last three weeks you would think it bright of me not to be stupid. I will write again soon. Your most affectionate

Mind you sketch all day.

MY DEAREST THERESA, If I had the remotest idea what to say to you I should like writing better, I think; but I never can write to anybody abroad. I can’t fancy them. What are you like? Do I know you? Have I ever seen you? Have we a thought in common? You are skipping about an Alp, and I remain here like a post, and I give you my honour things have entirely done happening.

I told you about our Greenwich troubles. They have not improved, and you will have a high opinion of my fortitude and also of the extremity of bother that has obliged me to mount my mind up to the heights of actual resignation, when I tell you that George and I are going to town the 1st of October to settle, (October being my favourite month of the year, and when I should naturally be disporting myself on the Giant’s Causeway). And yet I am as meek as a mouse, and have not grumbled about it at all, and flatter myself that George finds me as cheery as possible. It will put you in a rage, but who cares when you are 1000 miles off! But besides the motive of not plaguing him, I am kept up by a fond hope, which indeed almost amounts to certainty, that I shall not be in London at all next year, at least not in February. We shall let our house and live in his apartments at Greenwich for some time – within reach if you have anything to say.

I do not often think I do right, but I really have behaved very well the last two months. I am glad they are over, for it has been a worrying time and I hate to see George plagued. We have never stirred from here except for two days to see Robert.

Panshanger300 was full to the brim of vice and agreeableness, foreigners and roués. It sounded awful, and I declined paying a morning visit, which is at the best an awkward business, to twenty people all accustomed to each other’s jokes. But Lady Cowper sent her carriage for me the last day, so that I could not help myself. Most of the party was dispersed, except Lord Melbourne, Sir F. Lamb,301 and Lord Alvanley, who was more amusing than ever. Lady Emily looked very pretty, and Lady Cowper was as usual very agreeable.

F. Robinson’s302 history has come to an end I think. Lady Cowper seemed very cool about him and they have not met since in London. Considering that those brothers and sisters are in all probability as little related to each other as possible, they are the most attached family I ever saw. Ever your most affectionate

MY DEAREST THERESA, I have been rather of the longest about this letter. To be sure you set me a bright example. I thought you must have tumbled off an Alp and hurt yourself, or have been run over by an Avalanche which drove on without stopping to ask. That would have been accidental death, with a Dividend of one shilling on the Avalanche.

I was very glad to get your letter with such a good account of yourself. What a nice summer you will have passed. I rather hope, whether your house is let or not, that you will squeeze out every half-penny and see as much as you can, – which, to be sure, is highly disinterested of me, because the convenience it would be to me to have you at home just now is incalculable. But you are better abroad, and then, if you come home now, there is no saying when you will be allowed to go again. It ought to have been one of the rules of the game that one might be allowed not to begin the expenses of travelling again till the point where they ceased before. I mean, that as you have once paid your way to Florence, you ought to go gratis there next time, and then begin buying your freedom to Rome.