The close of the book is grim and tragic in the main, the stir of gallant fights exchanged for the dreary course of siege, intrenchment, mine and countermine. We have the awful winter on the heights, the November hurricane, the foiled bombardments, the cruel blunder of the Karabelnaya assault, the bitter natural discontent at home, the weak subservience of our government to misdirected clamour, the touching help-fraught advent of the Lady Nurses: then, just as better prospects dawn, the Chief's collapse and death. From the morrow of Inkerman to the end, through no fault of his, the historian's chariot wheels drag. More and more one sees how from the nature of the task, except for the flush of contemporary interest then, except by military students now, it is not a work to be popularly read; the exhausted interest of its subject swamps the genius of its narrator. Scattered through its more serious matter are gems with the old "Eothen" sparkle, of periphrasis, aphorism, felicitous phrase and pregnant epithet. Such is the fine analogy between the worship of holy shrines and the lover's homage to the spot which his mistress's feet have trod; such France's tolerance of the Elysee brethren compared to the Arab laying his verminous burnous upon an ant-hill; the apt quotation from the Psalms to illustrate the on-coming of the Guards; the demeanour of horses in action; the course of a flying cannon-ball; the two ponderous troopers at the Horse Guards; Tom Tower and his Croats landing stores for our soldiers from the "Erminia." Or again, we have the light clear touches of a single line; "the decisiveness and consistency of despotism"—"the fractional and volatile interests in trading adventure which go by the name of Shares"—"the unlabelled, undocketed state of mind which shall enable a man to encounter the Unknown"—"the qualifying words which correct the imprudences and derange the grammatical structure of a Queen's Speech": but these are islets in the sea of narrative, not, as in "Eothen," woof-threads which cross the warp.

To compare an idyll with an epic, it may be said, is like comparing a cameo with a Grecian temple: be it so; but the temple falls in ruins, the cameo is preserved in cabinets; and it is possible that a century hence the Crimean history will be forgotten, while "Eothen" is read and enjoyed. The best judges at the time pronounced that as a lasting monument of literary force the work was over refined: "Kinglake," said Sir George Cornewall Lewis, "tries to write better than he can write"; quoting, perhaps unconsciously, the epigram of a French art critic a hundred years before— Il cherche toujours a faire mieux qu'il ne fait. {22} He lavished on it far more pains than on "Eothen": the proof sheets were a black sea of erasures, intercalations, blots; the original chaotic manuscript pages had to be disentangled by a calligraphic Taunton bookseller before they could be sent to press. This fastidiousness in part gained its purpose; won temporary success; gave to his style the glitter, rapidity, point, effectiveness, of a pungent editorial; went home, stormed, convinced, vindicated, damaged, triumphed: but it missed by excessive polish the reposeful, unlaboured, classic grace essential to the highest art. Over-scrupulous manipulation of words is liable to the "defect of its qualities"; as with unskilful goldsmiths of whom old Latin writers tell us, the file goes too deep, trimming away more of the first fine minting than we can afford to lose. Ruskin has explained to us how the decadence of Gothic architecture commenced through care bestowed on window tracery for itself instead of as an avenue or vehicle for the admission of light. Read "words" for tracery, "thought" for light, and we see how inspiration avenges itself so soon as diction is made paramount; artifice, which demands and misses watchful self-concealment, passes into mannerism; we have lost the incalculable charm of spontaneity. Comparison of "Eothen" with the "Crimea" will I think exemplify this truth. The first, to use Matthew Arnold's imagery, is Attic, the last has declined to the Corinthian; it remains a great, an amazingly great production; great in its pictorial force, its omnipresent survey, verbal eloquence, firm grasp, marshalled delineation of multitudinous and entangled matter; but it is not unique amongst martial records as "Eothen" is unique amongst books of travel: it is through "Eothen" that its author has soared into a classic, and bids fair to hold his place. And, apart from the merit of style, great campaigns lose interest in a third, if not in a second generation; their historical consequence effaced through lapse of years; their policy seen to have been nugatory or mischievous; their chronicles, swallowed greedily at the birth like Saturn's progeny, returning to vex their parent; relegated finally to an honourable exile in the library upper shelves, where they hold a place eyed curiously, not invaded:

"devoured As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done. . . . To have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail, In monumental mockery."



CHAPTER V—MADAME NOVIKOFF



The Cabinet Edition of "The Invasion of the Crimea" appeared in 1877, shortly after the Servian struggle for independence, which aroused in England universal interest and sympathy. Kinglake had heard from the lips of a valued lady friend the tragic death-tale of her brother Nicholas Kireeff, who fell fighting as a volunteer on the side of the gallant Servian against the Turk: and, much moved by the recital, offered to honour the memory of the dead hero in the Preface to his forthcoming edition. He kept his word; made sympathetic reference to M. Kireeff in the opening of his Preface; but passed in pursuance of his original design to a hostile impeachment of Russia, its people, its church, its ruler. This was an error of judgment and of feeling; and the lady, reading the manuscript, indignantly desired him to burn the whole rather than commit the outrage of associating her brother's name with an attack on causes and personages dear to him as to herself. Kinglake listened in silence, then tendered to her a crayon rouge, begging her to efface all that pained her. She did so; and, diminished by three-fourths of its matter, the Preface appears in Vol. I. of the Cabinet Edition. The erasure was no slight sacrifice to an author of Kinglake's literary sensitiveness, mutilating as it did the integrity of a carefully schemed composition, and leaving visible the scar. He sets forth the strongly sentimental and romantic side of Russian temperament. Love of the Holy Shrines begat the war of 1853, racial ardour the war of 1876. The first was directed by a single will, the second by national enthusiasm; yet the mind of Nicholas was no less tossed by a breathless strife of opposing desires and moods than was Russia at large by the struggle between Panslavism and statesmanship. Kinglake paints vividly the imposing figure of the young Kireeff, his stature, beauty, bravery, the white robe he wore incarnadined by death-wounds, his body captured by the hateful foes. He goes on to tell how myth rose like an exhalation round his memory: how legends of "a giant piling up hecatombs by a mighty slaughter" reverberated through mansion and cottage, town and village, cathedral and church; until thousands of volunteers rushed to arms that they might go where young Kireeff had gone. Alexander's hand was forced, and the war began, which but for England's intervention would have cleared Europe of the Turk. We have the text, but not the sermon; the Preface ends abruptly with an almost clumsy peroration.

The lady who inspired both the eulogy and the curtailment was Madame Novikoff, more widely known perhaps as O. K., with whom Kinglake maintained during the last twenty years of life an intimate and mutual friendship. Madame Olga Novikoff, nee Kireeff, is a Russian lady of aristocratic rank both by parentage and marriage. In a lengthened sojourn at Vienna with her brother-in- law, the Russian ambassador, she learned the current business of diplomacy. An eager religious propagandist, she formed alliance with the "Old Catholics" on the Continent, and with many among the High Church English clergy; becoming, together with her brother Alexander, a member of the Reunion Nationale, a society for the union of Christendom. Her interest in education has led her to devote extensive help to school and church building and endowment on her son's estate. God-daughter to the Czar Nicholas, she is a devoted Imperialist, nor less in sympathy, as were all her family, with Russian patriotism: after the death of her brother in Servia on July 6/18, 1876, she became a still more ardent Slavophile. The three articles of her creed are, she says, those of her country, Orthodoxy, Autocracy, Nationalism. Her political aspirations have been guided, and guided right, by her tact and goodness of heart. Her life's aim has been to bring about a cordial understanding between England and her native land; there is little doubt that her influence with leading Liberal politicians, and her vigorous allocutions in the Press, had much to do with the enthusiasm manifested by England for the liberation of the Danubian States. Readers of the Princess Lieven's letters to Earl Grey will recall the part played by that able ambassadress in keeping this country neutral through the crisis of 1828-9; to her Madame Novikoff has been likened, and probably with truth, by the Turkish Press both English and Continental. She was accused in 1876 of playing on the religious side of Mr. Gladstone's character to secure his interest in the Danubians as members of the Greek Church, while with unecclesiastical people she was said to be equally skilful on the political side, converting at the same time Anglophobe Russia by her letters in the "Moscow Gazette." Mr. Gladstone's leanings to Montenegro were attributed angrily in the English "Standard" to Madame Novikoff: "A serious statesman should know better than to catch contagion from the petulant enthusiasm of a Russian Apostle." The contagion was in any case caught, and to some purpose; letter after letter had been sent by the lady to the great statesman, then in temporary retirement, without reply, until the last of these, "a bitter cry of a sister for a sacrificed brother," brought a feeling answer from Mrs. Gladstone, saying that her husband was deeply moved by the appeal, and was writing on the subject. In a few days appeared his famous pamphlet, "Bulgarian Horrors and the Question of the East."

Carlyle advised that Madame Novikoff's scattered papers should be worked into a volume; they appeared under the title "Is Russia Wrong?" with a preface by Froude, the moderate and ultra-prudent tone of which infuriated Hayward and Kinglake, as not being sufficiently appreciative. Hayward declared some woman had biassed him; Kinglake was of opinion that by studying the etat of Queen Elizabeth Froude had "gone and turned himself into an old maid."

Froude's Preface to her next work, "Russia and England, a Protest and an Appeal," by O. K., 1880, was worded in a very different tone and satisfied all her friends. The book was also reviewed with highest praise by Gladstone in "The Nineteenth Century." Learning that an assault upon it was contemplated in "The Quarterly," Kinglake offered to supply the editor, Dr. Smith, with materials which might be so used as to neutralize a PERSONAL attack upon O. K. Smith entreated him to compose the whole article himself. "I could promise you," he writes, "that the authorship should be kept a profound secret;" but this Kinglake seems to have thought undesirable. The article appeared in April, 1880, under the title of "The Slavonic Menace to Europe." It opens with a panegyric on the authoress: "She has mastered our language with conspicuous success; she expostulates as easily as she reproaches, and she exhibits as much facility in barbing shafts of satire as in framing specious excuses for daring acts of diplomacy." It insists on the high esteem felt for her by both the Russian and Austrian governments, telling with much humour an anecdote of Count Beust, the Prime Minister of Austria during her residence in Vienna. The Count, after meeting her at a dinner party at the Turkish Embassy, composed a set of verses in her honour, and gave them to her, but she forgot to mention them to her brother-in-law. The Prime Minister, encountering the latter, asked his opinion of the verses; and the ambassador was greatly amazed at knowing nothing of the matter. {23} From amenities towards the authoress, the article passes abruptly to hostile criticism of the book; declares it to be proscribed in Russia as mischievous, and to have precipitated a general war by keeping up English interest in Servian rebellion. It sneers in doubtful taste at the lady's learning:

"sit non doctissima conjux, Sit nox cum somno, sit sine lite dies;"

denounces the Slavs as incapable of being welded into a nation, urging that their independence must destroy Austria-Hungary, a consummation desired by Madame Novikoff, with her feline contempt for "poor dear Austria," but which all must unite to prevent if they would avert a European war.

How could one clear harp, men asked themselves as they read, have produced so diverse tones? The riddle is solved when we learn that the first part only was from Kinglake's pen: having vindicated his friend's ability and good faith, her right to speak and to be heard attentively, he left the survey of her views, with which he probably disagreed, to the originally assigned reviewer. The article, Madame Novikoff tells us in the "Nouvelle Revue," was received avec une stupefaction unanime. It formed the general talk for many days, was attributed to Lord Salisbury, was supposed to have been inspired by Prince Gortschakoff. The name standing against it in Messrs. Murray's books, as they kindly inform me, is that of a writer still alive, and better known now than then, but they never heard that Kinglake had a hand in it; the editor would seem to have kept his secret even from the publishers. Kinglake sent the article in proof to the lady; hoped that the facts he had imparted and the interpolations he had inserted would please her; he could have made the attack on Russia more pointed had he written it; she would think the leniency shows a fault on the right side; he did not know the writer of this latter part. He begged her to acquaint her friends in Moscow what an important and majestic organ is "The Quarterly," how weighty therefore its laudation of herself. She recalls his bringing her soon afterwards an article on her, written, he said, in an adoring tone by Laveleye in the "Revue des Deux Mondes," and directing her to a paper in "Fraser," by Miss Pauline Irby, a passionate lover of the "Slav ragamuffins," and a worshipper of Madame Novikoff. He quotes with delight Chenery's approbation of her "Life of Skobeleff"; he spoke of you "with a gleam of kindliness in his eyes which really and truly I had never observed before." "The Times" quotes her as the "eloquent authoress of 'Russia and England'"; "fancy that from your enemy! you are getting even 'The Times' into your net." A later article on O. K. contains some praise, but more abuse. Hayward is angry with it; Kinglake thinks it more friendly than could have been expected "to YOU, a friend of ME, their old open enemy: the sugar- plums were meant for you, the sprinklings of soot for me."

Besides "Russia and England" Madame Novikoff is the author of "Friends or Foes?—is Russia wrong?" and of a "Life of Skobeleff," the hero of Plevna and of Geok Tepe. From her natural endowments and her long familiarity with Courts, she has acquired a capacity for combining, controlling, entertaining social "circles" which recalls les salons d'autrefois, the drawing-rooms of an Ancelot, a Le Brun, a Recamier. Residing in several European capitals, she surrounds herself in each with persons intellectually eminent; in England, where she has long spent her winters, Gladstone, Carlyle and Froude, Charles Villiers, Bernal Osborne, Sir Robert Morier, Lord Houghton, and many more of the same high type, formed her court and owned her influence.

Kinglake first met her at Lady Holland's in 1870, and mutual liking ripened rapidly into close friendship. During her residences in England few days passed in which he did not present himself at her drawing-room in Claridge's Hotel: when absent in Russia or on the Continent, she received from him weekly letters, though he used to complain that writing to a lady through the poste restante was like trying to kiss a nun through a double grating. These letters, all faithfully preserved, I have been privileged to see; they remind me, in their mixture of personal with narrative charm, of Swift's "Letters to Stella"; except that Swift's are often coarse and sometimes prurient, while Kinglake's chivalrous admiration for his friend, though veiled occasionally by graceful banter, is always respectful and refined. They even imitate occasionally the "little language" of the great satirist; if Swift was Presto, Kinglake is "Poor dear me"; if Stella was M. D., Madame Novikoff is "My dear Miss." This last endearment was due to an incident at a London dinner table. A story told by Hayward, seasoned as usual with gros sel, amused the more sophisticated English ladies present, but covered her with blushes. Kinglake perceived it, and said to her afterwards, "I thought you were a hardened married woman; I am glad that you are not; I shall henceforth call you MISS." Sometimes he rushes into verse. In answer to some pretended rebuff received from her at Ryde he writes

"There was a young lady of Ryde, so awfully puffed up by pride, She felt grander by far than the Son of the Czar, And when he said, 'Dear, come and walk on the pier, Oh please come and walk by my side;' The answer he got, was 'Much better not,' from that awful young lady of Ryde."

Oftenest, the letters are serious in their admiring compliments; they speak of her superb organization of health and life and strength and joyousness, the delightful sunshine of her presence, her decision and strength of will, her great qualities and great opportunities: "away from you the world seems a blank." He is glad that his Great Eltchi has been made known to her; the old statesman will be impressed, he feels sure, by her "intense life, graciousness and grace, intellect carefully masked, musical faculty in talk, with that heavenly power of coming to an end." He sends playfully affectionate messages from other members of the Gerontaion, as he calls it, the group of aged admirers who formed her inner court; echoing their laments over the universality of her patronage. "Hayward can pardon your having an ambassador or two at your FEET, but to find the way to your HEART obstructed by a crowd of astronomers, Russ-expansionists, metaphysicians, theologians, translators, historians, poets;—this is more than he can endure. The crowd reduces him, as Ampere said to Mme. Recamier, to the qualified blessing of being only chez vous, from the delight of being avec vous. He hails and notifies additions to the list of her admirers; quotes enthusiastic praise of her from Stansfeld and Charles Villiers, warm appreciation from Morier, Sir Robert Peel, Violet Fane. He rallies her on her victims, jests at Froude's lover-like galanterie—"Poor St. Anthony! how he hovered round the flame";—at the devotion of that gay Lothario, Tyndall, whose approaching marriage will, he thinks, clip his wings for flirtation. "It seems that at the Royal Institution, or whatever the place is called, young women look up to the Lecturers as priests of Science, and go to them after the lecture in what churchmen would call the vestry, and express charming little doubts about electricity, and pretty gentle disquietudes about the solar system: and then the Professors have to give explanations;—and then, somehow, at the end of a few weeks, they find they have provided themselves with chaperons for life." So he pursues the list of devotees; her son will tell her that Caesar summarized his conquests in this country by saying Veni, Vidi, Vici; but to her it is given to say, Veni, Videbar, Vici.

On two subjects, theology and politics, Madame Novikoff was, as we have seen, passionately in earnest. Himself at once an amateur casuist and a consistent Nothingarian, whose dictum was that "Important if true" should be written over the doors of churches, he followed her religious arguments much as Lord Steyne listened to the contests between Father Mole and the Reverend Mr. Trail. He expresses his surprise in all seriousness that the Pharisees, a thoughtful and cultured set of men, who alone among the Jews believed in a future state, should have been the very men to whom our Saviour was habitually antagonistic. He refers more lightly and frequently to "those charming talks of ours about our Churches"; he thinks they both know how to effleurer the surface of theology without getting drowned in it. Of existing Churches he preferred the English, as "the most harmless going"; disliked the Latin Church, especially when intriguing in the East, as persecuting and as schismatic, and therefore as no Church at all. Roman Catholics, he said, have a special horror of being called "schismatic," and that is, of course, a good reason for so calling them. He would not permit the use of the word "orthodox," because, like a parson in the pulpit, it is always begging the question. He refused historical reverence to the Athanasian Creed, and was delighted when Stanley's review in "The Times" of Mr. Ffoulkes' learned book showed it to have been written by order of Charles the Great in 800 A.D. as what Thorold Rogers used to call "an election squib." In the "Filioque" controversy, once dear to Liddon and to Gladstone, now, I suppose, obsolete for the English mind, but which relates to the chief dividing tenet of East from West, he showed an interest humorous rather than reverent; took pains to acquaint himself with the views held on it by Dollinger and the old Catholics; noted with amusement the perplexity of London ladies as to the meaning of the word when quoted in the much-read "Quarterly" article, declaring their belief to be that it was a clergyman's baby born out of wedlock.

Madame Novikoff's political influence, which he recognized to the full, he treated in the same mocking spirit. She is at Berlin, received by Bismarck; he hopes that though the great man may not eradicate her Slavophile heresies, he may manifest the weakness of embroiling nations on mere ethnological grounds. "Are even nearer relationships so delightful? would you walk across the street for a third or fourth cousin? then why for a millionth cousin?" Madame Novikoff kindly sends to me an "Imaginary Conversation" between herself and Gortschakoff, constructed by Kinglake during her stay in St. Petersburg in 1879.

"G. Well—you really have done good service to your country and your Czar by dividing and confusing these absurd English, and getting us out of the scrape we were in in that—Balkan Peninsula.

"Miss O. Well, certainly I did my best; but I fear I have ruined the political reputation of my English partizans, for in order to make them 'beloved of the Slave,' I of course had to make them, poor souls! go against their own country; and their country, stupid as it is, has now I fear found them out.

"G. Tant pis pour eux! Entre nous, if I had been Gladstone, I should have preferred the love of my own country to the love of these—Slaves of yours. But, tell me, how did you get hold of Gladstone?

"Miss O. Rien de plus simple! Four or five years ago I asked what was his weak point, and was told that he had two, 'Effervescence,' and 'Theology.' With that knowledge I found it all child's play to manage him. I just sent him to Munich, and there boiled him up in a weak decoction of 'Filioque,' then kept him ready for use, and impatiently awaited the moment when our plans for getting up the 'Bulgarian atrocities' should be mature. I say 'impatiently,' for, Heavens, how slow you all were! at least so it strikes a woman. The arrangement of the 'atrocities' was begun by our people in 1871, and yet till 1876, though I had Gladstone ready in 1875, nothing really was done! I assure you, Prince, it is a trying thing to a woman to be kept waiting for promised atrocities such an unconscionable time.

"G. That brother-in-law of yours was partly the cause of our slowness. He was always wanting to have the orders for fire and blood in neat formal despatches, signed by me, and copied by clerks. However, I hope you are satisfied now, with the butcheries and the flames, and the—?

"Miss O. Pour le moment!"

She is absent during the sudden dissolution of Parliament in 1874. "London woke yesterday morning and found that your friend Gladstone had made a coup-d'etat. He has dissolved Parliament at a moment when no human being expected it, and my impression is that he has made a good hit, and that the renovated Parliament will give him a great majority." The impression was wildly wrong; and he found a cause for the Conservative majority in Gladstone's tame foreign policy, and especially in the pusillanimity his government showed when insulted by Gortschakoff. He always does justice to her influence with Gladstone; his great majority at the polls in 1880 is HER victory and HER triumph; but his Turkophobia is no less her creation: "England is stricken with incapacity because you have stirred up the seething caldron that boils under Gladstone's skull, putting in diabolical charms and poisons of theology to overturn the structure of English polity:" she will be able, he thinks, to tell her government that Gladstone is doing his best to break up the British Empire.

He quotes with approbation the newspaper comparison of her to the Princess Lieven. She disparages the famous ambassadress; he sets her right. Let her read the "Correspondence," by his friend Mr. Guy Le Strange, and she will see how large a part the Princess played in keeping England quiet during the war of 1828-29. She did not convert her austere admirer, Lord Grey, to approval of the Russian designs, nor overcome the uneasiness with which the Duke of Wellington regarded her intrigues; but the Foreign Minister, Lord Aberdeen, was apparently a fool in her hands; and, whoever had the merit, the neutrality of England continued. That was, he repeats more than once, a most critical time for Russia; it was an object almost of life and death to the Czar to keep England dawdling in a state of actual though not avowed neutrality. It is, he argued, a matter of fact, that precisely this result was attained, and "I shall be slow to believe that Madame de Lieven did not deserve a great share of the glory (as you would think it) of making England act weakly under such circumstances; more especially since we know that the Duke did not like the great lady, and may be supposed to have distinctly traced his painful embarrassment to her power." So the letters go, interspersed with news, with criticisms of notable persons, with comments enlightening or cynical on passing political events: with personal matters only now and then; as when he notes the loss of his two sisters; dwells with unwonted feeling on the death of his eldest nephew by consumption; condoles with her on her husband's illness; gives council, wise or playful, as to the education of her son. "I am glad to hear that he is good at Greek, Latin, and Mathematics, for that shows his cleverness; glad also to hear that he is occasionally naughty, for that shows his force. I advise you to claim and exercise as much control as possible, because I am certain that a woman—especially so gifted a one as you—knows more, or rather feels more, about the right way of bringing up a boy than any mere man."

Unbrokenly the correspondence continues: the intimacy added charm, interest, fragrance to his life, brought out in him all that was genial, playful, humorous. He fights the admonitions of coming weakness; goes to Sidmouth with a sore throat, but takes his papers and his books. It is, he says, a deserted little sea-coast place. "Mrs. Grundy has a small house there, but she does not know me by sight. If Madame Novikoff were to come, the astonished little town, dazzled first by her, would find itself invaded by theologians, bishops, ambassadors of deceased emperors, and an ex- Prime-Minister." But as time goes on he speaks more often of his suffering throat; of gout, increasing deafness, only half a voice: his last letter is written in July, 1890, to condole with his friend upon her husband's death. In October his nurse takes the pen; Madame Novikoff comes back hurriedly from Scotland to find him in his last illness. "It is very nice," he told his nurse, "to see dear Madame Novikoff again, but I am going down hill fast, and cannot hope to be well enough to see much of her." This is in November, 1890; on New Year's Eve came the inexorable, "Terminator of delights and Separator of friends."



CHAPTER VI—LATER DAYS, AND DEATH



For twenty years Kinglake lived in Hyde Park Place, in bright cheerful rooms looking in one direction across the Park, but on another side into a churchyard. The churchyard, Lady Gregory tells us, gave him pause on first seeing the rooms. "I should not like to live here, I should be afraid of ghosts." "Oh no, sir, there is always a policeman round the corner." {24} "Pleaceman X." has not, perhaps, before been revered as the Shade-compelling son of Maia:

"Tu pias laetis animas reponis Sedibus, virgaque levem coerces Aurea turbam."

Here he worked through the morning; the afternoon took him to the "Travellers," where his friends, Sir Henry Bunbury and Mr. Chenery, usually expected him; then at eight o'clock, if not, as Shylock says, bid forth, he went to dine at the Athenaeum. His dinner seat was in the left-hand corner of the coffee-room, where, in the thirties, Theodore Hook had been wont to sit, gathering near him so many listeners to his talk, that at Hook's death in 1841 the receipts for the club dinners fell off to a large amount. Here, in the "Corner," as they called it, round Kinglake would be Hayward, Drummond Wolff, Massey, Oliphant, Edward Twisleton, Strzelecki, Storks, Venables, Wyke, Bunbury, Gregory, American Ticknor, and a few more; Sir W. Stirling Maxwell, when in Scotland, sending hampers of pheasants to the company. "Hurried to the Athenaeum for dinner," says Ticknor in 1857, "and there found Kinglake and Sir Henry Rawlinson, to whom were soon added Hayward and Stirling. We pushed our tables together and had a jolly dinner. . . . To the Athenaeum; and having dined pleasantly with Merivale, Kinglake, and Stirling, I hurried off to the House." In later years, when his voice grew low and his hearing difficult, he preferred that the diners should resolve themselves into little groups, assigning to himself a tete-a-tete, with whom at his ease he could unfold himself.

No man ever fought more gallantly the encroachments of old age—on sut etre jeune jusque dans ses vieux jours. At seventy-four years old, staying with a friend at Brighton, he insisted on riding over to Rottingdean, where Sir Frederick Pollock was staying. "I mastered," he said, in answer to remonstrances, "I mastered the peculiarities of the Brighton screw before you were born, and have never forgotten them." Vaulting into his saddle he rode off, returning with a schoolboy's delight at the brisk trot he had found practicable when once clear of the King's Road. Long after his hearing had failed, his sight become grievously weakened, and his limbs not always trustworthy, he would never allow a cab to be summoned for him after dinner, always walking to his lodgings. But he had to give up by and by his daily canter in Rotten Row, and more reluctantly still his continental travel. Foreign railways were closed to him by the Salle d'Attente; he could not stand incarceration in the waiting-rooms.

The last time he crossed the Channel was at the close of the Franco-Prussian war, on a visit to his old friend M. Thiers, then President. It was a dinner to deputies of the Extreme Left, and Kinglake was the only Englishman; "so," he said, "among the servants there was a sort of reasoning process as to my identity, ending in the conclusion, 'il doit etre Sir Dilke.'" Soon the inference was treated as a fact; and in due sequence came newspaper paragraphs declaring that the British Ambassador had gravely remonstrated with the President for inviting Sir Charles Dilke to his table. Then followed articles defending the course taken by the President, and so for some time the ball was kept up. The remonstrance of the Ambassador was a myth, Lord Lyons was a friend of Sir Charles; but the latter was suspect at the time both in England and France; in England for his speeches and motion on the Civil List; in France, because, with Frederic Harrison, he had helped to get some of the French Communists away from France; and the French Government was watching him with spies. In Sir Charles's motion Kinglake took much interest, refusing to join in the cry against it as disloyal. Sir Charles, he said, spoke no word against the Queen; and only brought the matter before the House because challenged to repeat in Parliament the statements he had made in the country. As a matter of policy he thought it mistaken: "Move in such a matter openly, and party discipline compels your defeat; bring pressure to bear on a Cabinet, some of its members are on your side, and you may gain your point." Sir Charles's speech was calmly argumentative, and to many minds convincing; it provoked a passionate reply from Gladstone; and when Mr. Auberon Herbert following declared himself a Republican, a tumult arose such as in those pre-Milesian days had rarely been witnessed in the House. But the wisdom of Kinglake's counsel is sustained by the fact that many years afterwards, as a result of more private discussion, Mr. Gladstone pronounced his conversion to the two bases of the motion, publicity, and the giving of the State allowance to the head of the family rather than, person by person, to the children and grandchildren of the Sovereign. Action pointing in this direction was taken in 1889 and 1901 on the advice of Tory ministers.

Amongst Frenchmen of the highest class, intellectually and socially, he had many valued friends, keeping his name on the "Cosmopolitan" long after he had ceased to visit it, since "one never knows when the distinguished foreigner may come upon one, and of such the Cosmo is the London Paradise." But he used to say that in the other world a good Frenchman becomes an Englishman, a bad Englishman becomes a Frenchman. He saw in the typical Gaul a compound of the tiger and the monkey; noted their want of individuality, their tendency to go in flocks, their susceptibility to panic and to ferocity, to the terror that makes a man kill people, and "the terror that makes him lie down and beg." We remember, too, his dissection of St. Arnaud, as before all things a type of his nation; "he impersonated with singular exactness the idea which our forefathers had in their minds when they spoke of what they called 'a Frenchman;' for although (by cowing the rich and by filling the poor with envy), the great French Revolution had thrown a lasting gloom on the national character, it left this one man untouched. He was bold, gay, reckless, vain; but beneath the mere glitter of the surface there was a great capacity for administrative business, and a more than common willingness to take away human life."

"I relish," Kinglake said in 1871, "the spectacle of Bismarck teaching the A B C of Liberal politics to the hapless French. His last mot, they tell me, is this. Speaking of the extent to which the French Emperor had destroyed his own reputation and put an end to the worship of the old Napoleon, he said: 'He has killed himself and buried his uncle.'" Again, in 1874, noting the contre coup upon France resulting from the Bismarck and Arnim despatches, he said: "What puzzles the poor dear French is to see that truth and intrepid frankness consist with sound policy and consummate wisdom. How funny it would be, if the French some day, as a novelty, or what they would call a caprice, were to try the effect of truth; "though not naturally honest," as Autolycus says, "were to become so by chance."

He thought M. Gallifet dans sa logique in liking the Germans and hating Bismarck; for the Germans, in having their own way, would break up into as many fragments as the best Frenchman could desire, and Bismarck is the real suppressor of France. Throughout the Franco-Prussian war he sided strongly with the Prussians, refusing to dine in houses where the prevailing sympathy with France would make him unwelcome as its declared opponent; but he felt "as a nightmare" the attack on prostrate Paris, "as a blow" the capitulation of Metz; denouncing Gambetta and his colleagues as meeting their disasters only with slanderous shrieks, "possessed by the spirit of that awful Popish woman." Bismarck as a statesman he consistently admired, and deplored his dismissal. I see, he said, all the peril implied by Bismarck's exit, and the advent of his ambitious young Emperor. It is a transition from the known to the unknown, from wisdom, perhaps, to folly.

His Crimean volumes continued to appear; in 1875, 1880, finally in 1887; while the Cabinet Edition was published in 1887-8. This last contained three new Prefaces; in Vol. I. as we have seen, the memorial of Nicholas Kireeff; in Vol. II. the latter half of the original Preface to Vol. I., cancelled thence at Madame Novikoff's request, though now carefully modified so as to avoid anything which might irritate Russia at a moment when troubles seemed to be clearing away. In his Preface to Vol. VII. he had three objects, to set right the position of Sir E. Hamley, who had been neglected in the despatches; to demolish his friend Lord Bury, who had "questioned my omniscience" in the "Edinburgh Review"; and to exonerate England at large from absurd self-congratulations about the "little Egypt affair," the blame of such exaggeration resting with those whom he called State Showmen.

Silent to acquaintances about the progress of his work, he was communicative to his few intimates, though never reading aloud extracts or allowing them to be seen. In 1872 he would speak pathetically of his "Crimean muddle," perplexed, as he well might be, by the intricacies of Inkerman. Asked if he will not introduce a Te Deum on the fall of Louis Napoleon, he answered that to write without the stimulus of combat would be a task beyond his energy; "when I took the trouble to compose that fourteenth chapter, the wretched Emperor and his gang were at the height of their power in Europe and the world; but now!" He was insatiate as to fresh facts: utilized his acquaintance with Todleben, whom he had first met on his visit to England in 1864; sought out Prince Ourusoff at a later time, and inserted particulars gleaned from him in Vol. IX., Chapter V.

In 1875 he told Madame Novikoff that his task was done so far as Inkerman was concerned, and was proud to think that he had rescued from oblivion the heroism of the Russian troops in what he calls the "Third Period" of the great fight, ignored as it was by all Russian historians of the war. He made fruitless inquiries after a paper said to have been left behind him by Skobeleff, explaining that "India is a cherry to be eaten by Russia, but in two bites"; it was contrary to the general's recorded utterances and probably apocryphal. Russophobe as regarded Turkey, he sneered at England's sentimental support of nationalities as "Platonic": a capital epithet he called it, and envied the Frenchman who applied it to us, declaring that it had turned all the women against us. He was moved by receiving Korniloff's portrait with a kind message from the dead hero's family, seeing in the features a confirmation of the ideal which he had formed in his own mind and had tried to convey to others. Readers of his book will recall the fine tribute to Korniloff's powers, and the description of his death, in Chapters VI. and XIII. of Vol. IV. (Cabinet Edition).

Many of his comments on current events are preserved in the notes or in the memories of his friends. Sometimes these were characteristically cynical. He ridiculed the newspaper parade of national sympathy with the Prince of Wales's illness: "We are represented as all members of the royal family, and all in family hysterics." Dizzy's orientalization of Queen Victoria into an Empress angered him, as it angered many more. The last Empress Regnant, he said, was Catherine II. and it seems to be thought that by advising the Queen to take that great monarch's title, we shall exercise a wholesome influence on the morals of our women. He would quote Byron's

"Russia's mighty Empress Behaved no better than a common sempstress;"

"there was an old-fashioned sacredness, which, however foolish intrinsically, was still useful, in our title of 'The Queen'; nor do we see the policy of adding a Supreme de Volaille to the bread and wine of our Sacrament."

He chuckled over the indignation of the haute volee, when on the visit to England of President Grant's daughter in 1872, Americans in London sent out cards of invitation headed "To meet Miss Grant," as at a profane imitation of a practice hitherto confined to royalties; laughing not at the legitimate American mimicry of European consequence, but at the silly formalists in Society who fumed over the imagined presumption. Consulted by an invalid as to the charm of Ostend for a seaside residence, he limited it to persons of gregarious habits; "the people are all driven down to the beach like a flock of sheep in the morning, and in the evening they are all driven back to their folds." He reported a feeble drama written by his ancient idol, Lord Stratford de Redcliffe; "it is a painful thing to see a man of his quality and of his age unduly detained in the world; when the Emperor Nicholas died, the Eltchi lost his raison d'etre." He disparaged the wild fit of morality undergone by the "Pall Mall Gazette" during the scandalous "Maiden Tribute" revelation, pronouncing its protegees to be "clever little devils." He was greatly startled by Gortschakoff's famous circular, annulling the Black Sea clause in the Treaty of Paris, and much relieved by Bismarck's dexterous interposition, which saved the susceptibility of Europe, and especially of England, by yielding as a favour to the demand of Russia what no one was in a position to refuse; but he maintained, and Lord Stratford agreed with him, that Gortschakoff's precipitate act was governed by circumstances never revealed to mankind. He learned, too, that it caused the Chancellor to be deconsidere in high Russian circles; he was called "un Narcisse qui se mire dans son encrier." Kinglake used to say that in conceding the right of the Sultan to exclude any war-flag from the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles, Russia was treating Turkey as a bag-fox, to be gently hunted occasionally, but not mangled or killed; and he felt keenly the ridicule resting on the allies, who were compelled to surrender the neutralization purchased at the cost of so much blood and treasure. He watched with much amusement the restoration of Turkish self-confidence. "Turkey believes that he is no longer a sick man, and is turning all his doctors out of the house, to the immense astonishment of the English doctor, so conscious of his own rectitude that he cannot understand being sent off with the quacks. You know in our beautiful Liturgy we have a prayer for the Turks; it looks as if our supplications had become successful." His interest in Turkey never flagged. "I am in a great fright," he said in 1877, "about my dear Turks, because Russia gives virtual command of the army before Plevna to Todleben, a really great homme de guerre."

Russophobia was at that time so strong in London that Madame Novikoff hesitated to visit England, and he himself feared that she might find it uncomfortable. Her alarm, however, was ridiculed by Hayward, "most faithful of the Russianisers, ready to do battle for Russia at any moment, declaring her to be quite virtuous, with no fault but that of being incomprise." But he groaned over the humiliation of England under Russia's bold stroke, noting frequently a decay of English character which he ascribed to chronic causes. The Englishman taken separately, he said, seems much the same as he used to be; but there is a softening of the aggregate brain which affects Englishmen when acting together. He hailed the great Liberal victory of 1880, and watched with interest, as one behind the scenes, the negotiations which led to Lord Hartington's withdrawal and Mr. Gladstone's resumption of power; for in these his friend Hayward was an active go-between, removing by his tact and frankness "hitches" which might otherwise have been disastrous. He thought W. E. Forster's attack on Mr. Gladstone's Irish policy in 1882 ill-managed for his own position, his famous speech not sufficiently "clenching." Had he separated from his chief on broader grounds, refusing complicity with a Minister who consented to parley with the imprisoned Irishmen, he would, Kinglake thought, have occupied a highly commanding position. At present his difference from his colleagues was one only of degree.

He was once beguiled, amongst friends very intimate, into telling a dream. He dreamed that he was attending an anatomical lecture— which, as a fact, he had never done—and that his own body, from which he found himself entirely separated, was the dissected subject on which the lecturer discoursed. The body lay on a table beside the lecturer, but he himself, his entity, was at the other end of the room, on the furthest or highest of a set of benches raised one above the other as at a theatre. He imagined himself in a vague way to be disagreeing with the lecturer; but the strongest impression on his mind was annoyance at being so badly placed, so far from the professor and from his own body that he could not see or hear without an effort. The dream, he pointed out, showed this curious fact, that without any conscious design or effort of the will a man may conceive himself to be in perfect possession of his identity, whilst separated from his own body by a distance of several feet. "The highest concept," said Jowett, "which man forms of himself is as detached from the body." ("Life," ii. 241.) The lecture-room which he imagined was one of the lower school-rooms at Eton, with which he had been familiar in early days.

After Hayward's death in 1884, his own habits began to change. He still dined at the Athenaeum "corner," but increasing deafness began to make society irksome, and, his solitary meal ended, he spent his evenings reading in the Library. By-and-by that too became impossible. His voice grew weak, throat and tongue were threatened with disease. In 1888 he went to Brighton with a nurse, returned to rooms on Richmond Hill, then to Bayswater Terrace. An operation was performed and he seemed to recover, but relapsed. Old friends tended him: Madame Novikoff, Mr. Froude and Mr. Lecky, Madame de Quaire and Mrs. Brookfield, Lord Mexborough his ancient fellow-traveller, Mrs. Craven, Sir William and Lady Gregory, with a few more, cheered him by their visits so long as he was able to bear them; and his brother and sister, Dr. and Mrs. Hamilton Kinglake, were with him at the end. Patient to the last, kind and gentle to all about him, he passed away quietly on New Year's Day, 1891:

"being merry-hearted, Shook hands with flesh and blood, and so departed."

His remains were cremated at Woking, after a special service at Christchurch, Lancaster Gate, attended by Dr. and Mrs. Kinglake with their son Captain Kinglake, the Duke of Bedford, Mr. and Mrs. Lecky, Mrs. W. H. Brookfield and her son Charles.

No good portrait of him has been published. That prefixed to Blackwood's "Eothen" of 1896 was furnished by Dr. Kinglake, who, however, looked upon it as unsatisfactory. The "Not an M.P." of "Vanity Fair," 1872, is a grotesque caricature. The photograph here reproduced (p. 128), by far the best likeness extant, he gave to Madame Novikoff in 1870, receiving hers in return, but pronouncing the transaction "an exchange between the personified months of May and November." The face gives expression to the shy aloofness which, amongst strangers, was characteristic of him through life. He had even a horror of hearing his name pealed out by servants, and came early to parties that the proclamation might be achieved before as few auditors as possible. Visiting the newly married husband of his friend Adelaide Kemble, and being the first guest to arrive, he encountered in Mr. Sartoris a host as contentedly undemonstrative as himself. Bows passed, a seat by the fire was indicated, he sat down, and the pair contemplated one another for ten minutes in absolute silence, till the lady of the house came in, like the prince in "The Sleeping Beauty," though not by the same process, to break the charm. He gave up calling at a house where he was warmly appreciated, because father, mother, daughter, bombarded him with questions. "I never came away without feeling sure that I had in some way perjured myself."

On his shyness waited swiftly ensuing boredom; if his neighbour at table were garrulous or banale, his face at once betrayed conversational prostration; a lady who often watched him used to say that his pulse ought to be felt after the first course; and that if it showed languor he should be moved to the side of some other partner. "He had great charm," writes to me another old friend, "in a quiet winning way, but was 'dark' with rough and noisy people." So it came to pass that his manner was threefold; icy and repellent with those who set his nerves on edge; good- humoured, receptive, intermittently responsive in general and congenial company; while, at ease with friends trusted and beloved, the lines of the face became gracious, indulgent, affectionate, the sourire des yeux often inexpressibly winning and tender. "Kinglake," says Eliot Warburton in his unpublished diary, "talked to us to-day about his travels; pessimistic and cynical to the rest of the world, he is always gentle and kind to us." To this dear friend he was ever faithful, wearing to the day of his death an octagonal gold ring engraved "Eliot. Jan: 1852." He would never play the raconteur in general company, for he had a great horror of repeating himself, and, latterly, of being looked upon as a bore by younger men; but he loved to pour out reminiscences of the past to an audience of one or two at most: "Let an old man gather his recollections and glance at them under the right angle, and his life is full of pantomime transformation scenes." The chief characteristic of his wit was its unexpectedness; sometimes acrid, sometimes humorous, his sayings came forth, like Topham Beauclerk's in Dr. Johnson's day, like Talleyrand's in our own, poignant without effort. His calm, gentle voice, contrasted with his startling caustic utterance, reminded people of Prosper Merimee: terse epigram, felicitous apropos, whimsical presentment of the topic under discussion, emitted in a low tone, and without the slightest change of muscle:

"All the charm of all the Muses Often flowering in a lonely word." {25}

Questions he would suavely and often wittily parry or repel: to an unhistorical lady asking if he remembered Madame Du Barry, he said, "my memory is very imperfect as to the particulars of my life during the reign of Lous XV. and the Regency; but I know a lady who has a teapot which belonged, she says, to Madame Du Barry." Madame Novikoff, however, records his discomfiture at the query of a certain Lady E-, who, when all London was ringing with his first Crimean volumes, asked him if he were not an admirer of Louis Napoleon. "Le pauvre Kinglake, decontenance, repondit tout bas intimide comme un enfant qu'on met dates le coin: Oui—non—pas precisement."

He had no knowledge of or liking for music. Present once by some mischance at a matinee musicale, he was asked by the hostess what kind of music he preferred. His preference, he owned, was for the drum. One thinks of the "Bourgeois Gentilhomme," "la trompette marine est un instrument qui me plait, el qui est harmonieux"; we are reminded, too, of Dean Stanley, who, absolutely tone-deaf, and hurrying away whenever music was performed, once from an adjoining room in his father's house heard Jenny Lind sing "I know that my Redeemer liveth." He went to her shyly, and told her that she had given him an idea of what people mean by music. Once before, he said in all seriousness, the same feeling had come over him, when before the palace at Vienna he had heard a tattoo rendered by four hundred drummers.

Kinglake used to regret the disuse of duelling, as having impaired the higher tone of good breeding current in his younger days, and even blamed the Duke of Wellington for proscribing it in the army. He had himself on one occasion sent a cartel, and stood waiting for his adversary, like Sir Richard Strachan at Walcheren, eight days on the French coast; but the adversary never came. Hayward once referred to him, as a counsellor, and if necessary a second, a quarrel with Lord R-. Lord R-'s friend called on him, a Norfolk squire, "broad-faced and breathing port wine," after the fashion of uncle Phillips in "Pride and Prejudice," who began in a boisterous voice, "I am one of those, Mr. Kinglake, who believe R- to be a gentleman." In his iciest tones and stoniest manner Kinglake answered: "That, Sir, I am quite willing to assume." The effect, he used to say, as he told and acted the scene, was magical; "I had frozen him sober, and we settled everything without a fight." Of all his friends Hayward was probably the closest; an association of discrepancies in character, manner, temperament, not complementary, but opposed and hostile; irreconcilable, one would say, but for the knowledge that in love and friendship paradox reigns supreme. Hayward was arrogant, overbearing, loud, insistent, full of strange oaths and often unpardonably coarse; "our dominant friend," Kinglake called him; "odious" is the epithet I have heard commonly bestowed upon him by less affectionate acquaintances. Kinglake was reserved, shy, reticent, with the high breeding, grand manner, quiet urbanity, grata protervitas, of a waning epoch; restraint, concentration, tact of omission, dictating alike his silence and his speech; his well-weighed words "crystallizing into epigrams as they touched the air." {26} When Hayward's last illness came upon him in 1884, Kinglake nursed him tenderly; spending the morning in his friend's lodgings at 8, St. James's Street, the house which Byron occupied in his early London days; and bringing on the latest bulletin to the club. The patient rambled towards the end; "we ought to be getting ready to catch the train that we may go to my sister's at Lyme." Kinglake quieted his sick friend by an assurance that the servants, whom he would not wish to hurry, were packing. "On no account hurry the servants, but still let us be off." The last thought which he articulated while dying was, "I don't exactly know what it is, but I feel it is something grand." "Hayward is dead," Kinglake wrote to a common friend; "the devotion shown to him by all sorts and conditions of men, and, what is better, of women, was unbounded. Gladstone found time to be with him, and to engage him in a conversation of singular interest, of which he has made a memorandum."

Another of Kinglake's life-long familiars was Charles Skirrow, Taxing Master in Chancery, with his accomplished wife, from whose memorable fish dinners at Greenwich he was seldom absent, adapting himself no less readily to their theatrical friends—the Bancrofts, Burnand, Toole, Irving—than to the literary set with which he was more habitually at home. He was religiously loyal to his friends, speaking of them with generous admiration, eagerly defending them when attacked. He lauded Butler Johnstone as the most gifted of the young men in the House of Commons; would not allow Bernal Osborne to be called untrue; "he offends people if you like, but he is never false or hollow." A clever sobriquet fathered on him, burlesquing the monosyllabic names of a well-known diarist and official, he repelled indignantly. "He is my friend, and had I been guilty of the jeu, I should have broken two of my commandments; that which forbids my joking at a friend's expense, and that which forbids my fashioning a play upon words." He entreated Madame Novikoff to visit and cheer Charles Lever, dying at Trieste; deeply lamented Sir H. Bulwer's death: "I used to think his a beautiful intellect, and he was wonderfully simpatico to me." But he was shy of condoling with bereaved mourners, believing words used on such occasions to be utterly untrue. He loved to include husband and wife in the same meed of admiration, as in the case of Dean Stanley and Lady Augusta, or of Sir Robert and Lady Emily Peel. Peel, he said, has the RADIANT quality not easy to describe; Lady Emily is always beauteous, bright, attractive. Lord Stanhope he praised as a historian, paying him the equivocal compliment that his books were much better than his conversation. So, too, he qualified his admiration of Lady Ashburton, dwelling on her beauty, silver voice, ready enthusiasm apt to disperse itself by flying at too many objects.

He was wont to speak admiringly of Lord Acton, relating how, a Roman Catholic, yet respecting enlightenment and devoted to books, he once set up and edited a "Quarterly Review," with a notion of reconciling the Light and the Dark as well as he could; but the "Prince of Darkness, the Pope," interposed, and ordered him to stop the "Review." He was compelled to obey; not, he told people, on any religious ground, but because relations and others would have made his life a bore to him if he had been contumacious against the Holy Father.

Kinglake was strongly attracted by W. E. Forster, a "rough diamond," spoken of at one time as a possible Prime Minister. Beginning life, he said, as a Quaker, with narrow opinions, his vigour of character and brain-power shook them off. Powerful, robust, and perfectly honest, yet his honesty inflicted on him a doubleness of view which caused him to be described as engaging his two hands in two different pursuits. His estimate of Sir R. Morier would have gladdened Jowett's heart; he loved him as a private friend; eulogized his public qualities; rejoiced over his appointment as Ambassador at St. Petersburg, seeing in him a diplomatist with not only a keen intellect and large views, but vibrating with the warmth, animation, friendliness, that are charmingly un-diplomatic. Of Carlyle, his life-long, though not always congenial intimate, he used to speak as having great graphic power, but being essentially a humourist; a man who, with those he could trust, never pretended to be in earnest, but used to roar with glorious laughter over the fun of his own jeremiads; "so far from being a prophet he is a bad Scotch joker, and knows himself to be a wind-bag." He blamed Froude's revelations of Carlyle in "The Reminiscences," as injurious and offensive. Froude himself he often likened to Carlyle; the thoughts of both, he said, ran in the same direction, but of the two, Froude was by far the more intellectual man.

Staunch friend to the few, polite, though never effusive, to the many, he also nourished strong antipathies. The appearance in Madame Novikoff's rooms of a certain Scotch bishop invariably drove him out of them, "Peter Paul, Bishop of Claridge's," he called him. To Von Beust (the Austrian Chancellor), who spoke English in a rapid half-intelligible falsetto, he gave the name of Mirliton (penny trumpet). His allusions to Mirliton and to the Bishop frequently mystified Madame Novikoff's guests. For he loved to talk in cypher. Canon Warburton, kindly searching on my behalf his brother Eliot's journals, tells me that he and Kinglake, meeting almost daily, lived in a cryptic world of jokes, confidences, colloquialisms, inexplicable to all but their two selves.

He cordially disliked "The Times" newspaper, alleging instances of the unfairness with which its columns had been used to spite and injure persons who had offended it, chuckling over Hayward's compact anathema,—"'The Times,' which as usual of late supplied its lack of argument and proof by assumption, misrepresentation, and personality." He thought that its attacks upon himself had helped his popularity. "One of the main causes," he said in 1875, "of the interest which people here were good enough to take in my book was the fight between 'The Times' and me. In 1863 it raged, in 1867 it was renewed with great violence, and now I suppose the flame kindles once more, though probably with diminished strength. In 1863 the storm of opinion generally waxed fierce against me, but now, as I hear, 'The Times' is alone, journals of all politics being loud in my praise. But I never look at any comment on my volumes till long afterwards, and I never in my life wrote to a newspaper." Once, when Chenery, the editor, came to join the table at the Athenaeum where he and Mr. Cartwright were dining, Kinglake rose, and removed to another part of the room. "The Times" had inserted a statement that Madame Novikoff was ordered to leave England, and he thus publicly resented it. "So unlike me," he said, relating the story, "but somehow a savagery as of youth came over me in my ancient days; it was like being twenty years old again." It came out, however, that "our indiscreet friend Froude" had written something which justified the paragraph, and Kinglake sent his amende to Chenery, with whom ordinarily he was on most friendly terms.

He disliked Irishmen "in the lump," saying that human nature is the same everywhere except in Ireland. Parnell he personally admired, though hating Home Rule; and stigmatized as gross hypocrisy the desertion of him by Liberals after the divorce trial. He was wont to speak irreverently of Lord Beaconsfield, whom he had known well at Lady Blessington's in early days. He would have found himself in accord with Huxley, who used to thank God, his friend Mr. Fiske tells us, that he had never bowed the knee either to Louis Napoleon or Benjamin Disraeli. He poured scorn on the Treaty of Berlin. Russia, he said, defeating the Turks in war, has defeated Beaconsfield in diplomacy. If Englishmen understood such things they would see that the Congress was a comedy; anyone who will satisfy himself as to what Russia was really anxious to obtain, and then look at the Salisbury-Schouvaloff treaty, will see that, thanks to Beaconsfield's imbecility, Schouvaloff obtained one of the most signal diplomatic triumphs that was ever won. {27} A sound entente between Russia and England he thought both possible and desirable; but conceived it to be rendered difficult by the want of steadiness and capacity which, for international purposes, were the real faults of Lord Beaconsfield and Lord Salisbury. He repeated with much amusement the current anecdote of Lord Beaconsfield's conquest of Mrs. Gladstone. Meeting her in society, he was said to have inquired with tenderness after Mr. Gladstone's health, and then after receiving the loving wife's report of her William, to have rejoined in his most dulcet tones, "Ah! take care of him, for he is very VERY precious." He always attributed Dizzy's popularity to the feeling of Englishmen that he had "shown them sport," an instinct, he thought, supreme in all departments of the English mind.

Towards his old schoolfellow Gladstone he never felt quite cordially, believing, rightly or wrongly, that the great statesman nourished enmity towards himself. He called him, as has been said, "a good man in the worst sense of the term, conscientious with a diseased conscience." He watched with much amusement, as illustrating the moral twist in Gladstone's temperament, the "Colliery explosion," as it was called, when Sir R. Collier, the Attorney-General, was appointed to a Puisne Judgeship, which he held only for a day or two, in order to qualify him for a seat on a new Court of Appeal; together with a very similar trick, by which Ewelme Rectory, tenable only by an Oxonian, was given to a Cambridge man. The responsibility was divided between Gladstone and Lord Hatherley the Chancellor, with the mutual idea apparently that each of the two became thereby individually innocent. But Sir F. Pollock, in his amusing "Reminiscences," recalls the amicable halving of a wicked word between the Abbess of Andouillet and the Novice Margarita in "Tristram Shandy." It answered in neither case. "'They do not understand us,' cried Margarita. 'BUT THE DEVIL DOES,' said the Abbess of Andouillet." "The Collier scandal narrowly escaped by two votes in the Lords, twenty-seven in the Commons, a Parliamentary vote of censure, and gave unquestionably a downward push to the Gladstone Administration. Mr. Gladstone, on the other hand, cordially admired Kinglake's speeches, saying that few of those he had heard in Parliament could bear so well as his the test of publication.

To the great Prime Minister's absolute fearlessness he did full justice, as one of the finest features in his character; and loved to quote an epigram by Lord Houghton, to whom Gladstone had complained in a moment of weariness that he led the life of a dog. "Yes," said Houghton, "but of a St. Bernard dog, ever busied in saving life." He loved to contrast the twofold biographical paradox in the careers of the two famous rivals, Gladstone and Disraeli; the dreaming Tory mystic, incarnation of Oxford exclusiveness and Puseyite reserve, passing into the Radical iconoclast; the Jew clerk in a city lawyer's office, "bad specimen of an inferior dandy," coming to rule the proudest aristocracy and lead the most fastidious assembly in the world.

He was not above broad farce when the fancy seized him. At the time when a certain kind of nonsense verse was popular, he, with Sir Noel Paton and others, added not a few facetious sonnets to Edward Lear's book, which lay on Madame Novikoff's table. His authorship is betrayed by the introduction of familiar Somersetshire names, Taunton, Wellington, Curry Rivel, Creech, Trull, Wilton:

"There was a young lady of Wilton, Who read all the poems of Milton: And, when she had done, She said, 'What bad fun!' This prosaic young lady of Wilton."

There were many more, but this will perhaps suffice; ex ungue leonem. They were addressed to the "Fair Lady of Claridge's," Madame Novikoff's hotel when in London, and were signed "Peter Paul, Bishop of Claridge's."

"There is a fair lady at Claridge's, Whose smile is more charming to me, Than the rapture of ninety-nine marriages Could possibly, possibly, be;—"

is the final dedicatory stanza. It is the gracious fooling of a philosopher who understood his company. "There are folks," says Mr. Counsellor Pleydell, "before whom a man should take care how he plays the fool, because they have either too much malice or too little wit." Kinglake knew his associates, and was not ashamed desipere in loco, to frolic in their presence.

One point there was on which he never touched himself or suffered others to interrogate him, his conception of and attitude towards the Unseen. He wore his religion as Sir William Gull wore the fur of his coat, INSIDE. Outwardly he died as he had lived, a Stoic; that on the most personal and sacred of all topics he should consult the Silences was in keeping with his idiosyncrasy. Another famous man, questioned as to his religious creed, made answer that he believed what all wise men believe. And what do all wise men believe? "That all wise men keep to themselves?"



Footnotes:

{1} When "Heartsease" first appeared, Percy Fotheringham was believed to be a portrait; but the accomplished authoress in a letter written not long before her death told me that the character was wholly imaginary.

{2} Pedigrees are perplexing unless tabulated; so here is Kinglake's genealogical tree.

KINGLAKES OF SALTMOOR. WOODFORDES OF CASTLE CARY. - WILLIAM=MARY WOODFORDE. ROBERT SERJEANT REV. W.C. A.W. KING- DR. HAMILTON JOHN KING- KINGLAKE LAKE KINGLAKE. LAKE. ("Eothen.")

{3} "Eothen," p. 33. Reading "Timbuctoo" to-day one is amazed it should have gained the prize. Two short passages adumbrate the coming Tennyson, the rest is mystic nonsense. "What do you think of Tennyson's prize poem?" writes Charles Wordsworth to his brother Christopher. "Had it been sent up at Oxford, the author would have had a better chance of spending a few months at a lunatic asylum than of obtaining the Prize." A current Cambridge story at the time explained the selection. There were three examiners, the Vice-Chancellor, a man of arbitrary temper, with whom his juniors hesitated to disagree; a classical professor unversed in English Literature; a mathematical professor indifferent to all literature. The letter g was to signify approval, the letter b to brand it with rejection. Tennyson's manuscript came from the Vice-Chancellor scored all over with g's. The classical professor failed to see its merit, but bowed to the Vice-Chancellor, and added his g. The mathematical professor could not admire, but since both his colleagues ordained it, good it must be, and his g made the award unanimous. The three met soon after, and the Vice-Chancellor, in his blatant way, attacked the other two for admiring a trashy poem. "Why," they remonstrated, "you covered it with g's yourself." "G's," said he, "they were q's for queries; I could not understand a line of it."

{4} "Enoch Arden," p. 34.

{5} "Eothen," p. 169. Reprint by Bell and Sons, 1898.

{6} "Eothen," p. 17.

{7} His deferential regard for army rank was like that of Johnson for bishops. Great was his indignation when the "grotesque Salvation Army," as he called it, adopted military nomenclature. "I would let those ragamuffins call themselves saints, angels, prophets, cherubim, Olympian gods and goddesses if they like; but their pretension in taking the rank of officers in the army is to me beyond measure repulsive."

{8} "Eothen," p. 190 in first edition. It was struck out in the fourth edition.

{9} "Eothen," p. 18. Reprint by Bell and Sons, 1898.

{10} He is very fond of this word; it occurs eleven times.

{11} "Quarterly Review," December, 1844.

{12} "Eothen," p. 46.

{13} Poitier's "Vaudeville."

{14} One characteristic anecdote he omits. Two French officers were attached to our headquarters; and the staff were partly embarrassed and partly amused by Lord Raglan's inveterate habit, due to old Peninsular associations, of calling the enemy "the French" in the presence of our foreign guests.

{15} Some of us can recall the lines in which Sir G. Trevelyan commemorated "The Owl's" nocturnal flights:

"When at sunset, chill and dark, Sunset thins the swarming park, Bearing home his social gleaning - Jests and riddles fraught with meaning, Scandals, anecdotes, reports, - Seeks The Owl a maze of courts Which, with aspect towards the west, Fringe the street of Sainted James, Where a warm, secluded nest As his sole domain he claims; From his wing a feather draws, Shapes for use a dainty nib, Pens his parody or squib; Combs his down and trims his claws, And repairs where windows bright Flood the sleepless Square with light."

{16} Greville, vii. 223, quotes from a letter written after Inkerman to the Prince Consort by Colonel Steele, saying "that he had no idea how great a mind Raglan really had, but that he now saw it, for in the midst of distresses and difficulties of every kind in which the army was involved, he was perfectly serene and undisturbed."

{17} "Go quietly" might have been his motto: even on horseback he seemed never to be in a hurry. Airey used to come in from their rides round the outposts shuddering with cold, and complaining that the Chief would never move his horse out of a walk. "I daresay," said Carlyle, "Lord Raglan will rise quite quietly at the last trump, and remain entirely composed during the whole day, and show the most perfect civility to both parties."

{18} The first death! out of how many he nowhere reckons: he shrinks from estimates of carnage, and we thank him for it. But an accomplished naturalist tells me that the vulture, a bird unknown in the Crimea before hostilities began, swarmed there after the Alma fight, and remained till the war was over, disappearing meanwhile from the whole North African littoral.

{19} "D-n your eyes!" he said once, in a moment of irritation, to his attache, Mr. Hay. "D-n your Excellency's eyes!" was the answer, delivered with deep respect but with sufficient emphasis. Dismissed on the spot, the candid attache went in great anger to pack up, but was followed after a time by Lady Canning, habitual peacemaker in the household, who besought him if not to apologize at least to bid his Chief good-bye. After much persuasion he consented. "Hardly had he entered the room when Sir Stratford had him by the hand. 'My dear Hay, this will never do; what a devil of a temper you have!' The two were firmer friends than ever after this" (LANE POOLE'S Life of Lord Stratford, chapter xiii.).

{20} The story of an old quarrel between Sir Stratford Canning and the then Grand Duke Nicholas at St. Petersburg in 1825 is disproved by Canning's own statement. The two met once only in their lives, at a purely formal reception at Paris in 1814.

{21} La Femme was a "Miss" or "Mrs." Howard. She followed Louis Napoleon to France in 1848, and lived openly with him as his mistress. In the once famous "Letters of an Englishman" we are told how shortly after the December massacre the elite of English visitors in Paris were not ashamed to dine at her house in the President's company: and in 1860, Mrs. Simpson, in France with her father, Nassau Senior, found her, decorated with the title of Madame de Beauregard, inhabiting La Celle, near Versailles, once the abode of Madame de Pompadour, "with the national flag flying over it, to the great scandal of the neighbourhood."

{22} Bachaumont's criticism of Latour. Lady Dilke's "French Painters," p. 165.

{23} Here is one of the stanzas:

"L'Autriche—dit-on—et la Russie Se brouillent pour la Turquie. Des aujourd'hui il n'en est plus question. En invitant une femme charmante, Le Turc—et je l'en complimente - Est devenu pour nous un trait d'union."

{24} "Blackwood's Magazine," December, 1895, p. 802.

{25} I inserted this quotation before reading the "Etchingham Letters." Sir Richard would wish me to erase it as hackneyed; but it applies to Kinglake's talk as accurately as to Virgil's writing, and I refuse to be defrauded of it.

{26} This delightful phrase is Lady Gregory's. One would wish, like Lord Houghton, though suppressing his presumptuous rider, to have been its author.

{27} Of course Kinglake was not alone in this opinion. It was voiced in a delightful jeu d'esprit, now forgotten, which it is worth while to reproduce:

"THE BERLIN CONGRESS.

"The following Latin poem, from the pen of the well-known German poet, Gustave Schwetschke, was distributed by Prince Bismarck's special request amongst the Plenipotentiaries immediately after the last sitting on Saturday:

"'GAUDEAMUS CONGRESSIBILE. "'Gaudeamus igitur Socii congressus, Post dolores bellicosos, Post labores gloriosos, Nobis fit decessus.

"'Ubi sunt, qui ante nos Quondam consedere, Viennenses, Parisienses Tot per annos, tot per menses? Frustra decidere.

"'Mundus heu! vult decipi, Sed non decipiatur, Non plus ultra inter gentes Litigantes et frementes Manus conferatur.

'Vivat Pax! et comitent Dii nunc congressum, Ceu Deus ex machina Ipsa venit Cypria Roborans successum.

"'Pereat discordia! Vincat semper litem Proxenetae probitas, {27a} Fides, spes, et charitas, Gaudeamus item!

"G. S."

"THE OTHER VERSION. (From the "Pall Mall Gazette.")

"A correspondent informs us that the version given in 'The Standard' of yesterday of the congratulatory ode ('Gaudeamus igitur,' etc.) addressed to the Congress by 'the well-known German poet Gustave Schwetschke,' and 'distributed by Prince Bismarck's request among the Plenipotentiaries,' is incorrect. The true version, we are assured, is as follows:

"'Rideamus igitur, Socii Congressus; Post dolores bellicosos, Post labores bumptiosos, Fit mirandus messus.

"Ubi sunt qui apud nos Causas litigare, Moldo-Wallachae frementes, Graeculi esurientes? Heu! absquatulare.

"'Ubi sunt provinciae Quas est laus pacasse? Totae, totae, sunt partitae: Has tulerunt Muscovitae, Illas Count Andrassy.

"'Et quid est quod Angliae Dedit hic Congressus? Jus pro aliis pugnandi, Mortuum vivificandi - Splendidi successus!

"'Vult Joannes decipi Et bamboosulatur. Io Beacche! Quae majestas! Ostreae reportans testas Domum gloriatur!'"

"This version, which from internal evidence will be seen to be the true one, may be roughly Englished thus:

"Let us have our hearty laugh, Greatest of Congresses! After days and weeks pugnacious, After labours ostentatious, See how big the mess is!

"'Where are those who at our bar Their demands have stated: Robbed Roumanians rampaging, Greeklings with earth-hunger raging? Where? Absquatulated!

"'Where the lands we've pacified, With their rebel masses? All are gone; yes, all up-gobbled: These the Muscovite has nobbled, Those are Count Andrassy's.

"'And what does England carry off To add to her possessions? The right to wage another's strife, The right to raise the dead to life - Glorious concessions!

"'Well, let John Bull bamboozled be If he's so fond of sells! Io Beacche! Hark the cheering! See him home in triumph bearing BOTH {27b} the oyster shells!'"

{27a} "Der ehrlich Miikler."

{27b} Peace and Honour.

THE END