Part 5 (1/2)

The appreciation of her French friends was always very dear to Mrs.

Ward, and amongst them too the book was eagerly read by a small circle, though, as Scherer warned her, the subject could never become a popular one in France. But both he and M. Taine were greatly excited by it, while M. Andre Michel of the Louvre, to whom she had entrusted the copy which she desired to present to M. Taine, wrote her a delightful account of his emba.s.sy:

PARIS.

_ce 31 janvier, 1889._

CHERE MADAME,--

Votre lettre m'a ete une bien agreable surprise et une bien interessante lecture. Je l'ai immediatement communiquee a M.

Taine, en lui remettant l'exemplaire que vous lui destiniez de _Robert Elsmere_ et je vous avoue qu'en me rendant chez lui a cet effet, je me _rengorgeais_ un peu, tres-fier de servir d'intermediaire entre l'auteur de _Robert Elsmere_ et celui de la _Litterature Anglaise_. L'ane portant des reliques chez son eveque ne marchait pas plus solennellement!

M. Taine a ete tres-touche de cet hommage venant de vous, et je pense qu'il vous en a deja remercie lui-meme. J'aurais voulu que vous eussiez pu entendre--incognito--avec quelle vivacite de sympathie et d'admiration il parlait de votre livre. Pendant plusieurs jours, il n'a pas ete question d'autre chose chez lui.

The c.u.mulative effect of all these letters, both approving and disapproving; of the preachings on Robert's opinions that began with Mr.

Haweis in May, and continued at intervals throughout the summer; of the general atmosphere of celebrity that began to surround her, was extremely upsetting to so sensitive a nature as Mrs. Ward's, and much of it was and remained distasteful to her. But fame had its lighter sides.

There were the inevitable sonnets, beginning

”I thank you, Lady, for your book so pure,”

or

”Hail to thee, gentle leader, puissant knight!”--

there were inquiries as to the address of the ”New Brotherhood of Christ,” ”so that next time we are in London we may attend some of its meetings,” and there was a gentleman who demanded to know ”the opus no.

of the Andante and Scherzo of Beethoven mentioned on p. 239, and of Hans Sachs's Immortal Song quoted on p. 177. I am in want of a little fresh music for one of my daughters and shall esteem your kind reply.” And finally there was the following letter, which must be transcribed in full:

DEAR MADAM,--

Trusting to your Clemency, in seeking your advice, knowing my sphere in life, to be so far below your's. My Mother, who is a Cook-Housekeeper, but very fond of Literature, Poetry (”unfortunately”), in her younger days brought out a small volume, upon her own account, a copy of which Her Majesty graciously accepted. Tennyson considered it most ”meritorious,” Caryle most ”creditable.” But what I am asking your advice upon is her ”Autography,” her Cook's Career, which has been a checquered one.

She feels quite sure, that if it were brought out by an abler hand, it would be widely sought and read, at least by two cla.s.ses ”my Ladies” and Cooks. The matter would be truth, names and places strictously ficticious. With much admiration and respect,

I am, Madam, Yours Obediently, A. A.

History does not record what reply Mrs. Ward made to this interesting proposal, but no doubt she took it all as part of the great and amusing game that Fate was playing with her. As to that game--”I have still constant letters and reviews,” she wrote to her father on July 17, ”and have been more lionized this last month than ever.--But a little lionizing goes a long way! One's sense of humour protests, not to speak of anything more serious, and I shall be _very_ glad to get to Borough next week. As to my work, it is all in uncertainty. For the present Miss Sellers is coming to me in the country, and I shall work hard at Latin and Greek, especially the Greek of the New Testament.”

And to her old friend, Mrs. Johnson, she wrote: ”Being lionized, dear Bertha, is the foolishest business on earth; I have just had five weeks of it, and if I don't use it up in a novel some day it's a pity. The book has been strangely, wonderfully successful and has made me many new friends. But I love my old ones so much best!” This latter sentiment is expressed again in a letter to Mr. Ward: ”Strange how tenacious are one's first friends.h.i.+ps! No other friends can ever be to me quite like Charlotte or Louise or Bertha or Clara.[13] They know all there is to know, bad and good--and with them one is always at ease.”

That autumn they went off on a round of visits, staying first at Merevale with Mrs. Dugdale, whose husband had been killed three years before in his own mine near by--a story of simple heroism which moved Mrs. Ward profoundly, so that years afterwards she used it in her own tale of _George Tressady_. Then to Sir Robert and Lady Cunliffe, with whom they went over to see the ”old wizard” of Hawarden, and spent a wonderful hour in his company.

To her old friend, J. R. Thursfield (a staunch Home Ruler), she wrote the following account of it:

_September 14, 1888._

”Where do you think we spent the afternoon of the day before yesterday? You would have been _so_ much worthier of it than we!

The Cunliffes took us over to tea at Hawarden and the G.O.M. was delightful. First of all he showed us the old Norman keep, skipping up the steps in a way to make a Tory positively ill to see, talking of every subject under the sun--Sir Edward Watkin and their new line of railway, border castles, executions in the sixteenth century, Villari's _Savonarola_, Damiens and his tortures--'all for sticking half-an-inch of penknife into that beast Louis XV!'--modern poetry, Tupper, Lewis Morris, Lord Houghton and Heaven knows what besides, and all with a charm, a courtesy, an _elan_, an eagle glance of eye that sent regretful s.h.i.+vers down one's Unionist backbone. He showed us all his library--his literary table, and his political table, and his new toy, the strong fire-proof room he has just built to hold his 60,000 letters, the papers which will some day be handed over to his biographer. His vigour both of mind and body was astonis.h.i.+ng--he may well talk, as he did, of 'the foolish dogmatism which refuses to believe in centenarians.'”

a propos of this last remark, Mrs. Ward filled in the tale on her return by telling us how he turned upon her with flas.h.i.+ng eye and demanded: ”Did it ever occur to you, Mrs. Ward, that Lord Palmerston was Prime Minister at 81?” He himself was to surpa.s.s that record by returning to power at 82.

From the Cunliffes' they also made an expedition to the Peak country, which Mrs. Ward wished to explore for purposes of her next book (_David Grieve_), now already taking shape in her mind--and then travelled up to Scotland to stay at a great house to whose mistress, Lady Wemyss, she was devoted. From one who was afterwards to be known as the portrayer of English country-house life the following impressions may be of interest: