Both Byron and Lady Caroline had violent tempers, and were always quarrelling. This led to the final rupture, when, according to my informant, the poet's conduct was outrageous. He sent her some insulting lines, which Lady Morgan quoted. The only one I remember is:

Thou false to him, thou fiend to me!

Among other amusing anecdotes she told was one of Disraeli. She had met him (I forget where), soon after his first success as the youthful author of 'Vivian Grey.' He was naturally made much of, but rather in the Bohemian world than by such queens of society as Lady Holland or Lady Jersey. 'And faith!' she added, with the piquante accent which excitement evoked, 'he took the full shine out of his janius. And how do ye think he was dressed? In a black velvet jacket and suit to match, with a red sash round his waist, in which was stuck a dagger with a richly jew'lled sheath and handle.'

The only a.n.a.logous instance of self-confidence that I can call to mind was Garibaldi's costume at a huge reception at Stafford House. The _elite_ of society was there, in diamonds, ribbons, and stars, to meet him. Garibaldi's uppermost and outermost garment was a red flannel shirt, nothing more nor less.

The crowd jostled and swayed around him. To get out of the way of it, I retreated to the deserted picture gallery. The only person there was one who interested me more than the scarlet patriot, Bulwer-Lytton the First.

He was sauntering to and fro with his hands behind his back, looking dingy in his black satin scarf, and dejected. Was he envying the Italian hero the obsequious reverence paid to his miner's shirt? (Nine tenths of the men, and still more of the women there, knew nothing of the wearer, or his cause, beyond that.) Was he thinking of similar honours which had been lavished upon himself when _his_ star was in the zenith? Was he muttering to himself the usual consolation of the 'have-beens'-_vanitas vanitatum_? Or what new fiction, what old love, was flitting through that versatile and fantastic brain? Poor Bulwer! He had written the best novel, the best play, and had made the most eloquent parliamentary oration of any man of his day. But, like another celebrated statesman who has lately pa.s.sed away, he strutted his hour and will soon be forgotten-'Quand on broute sa gloire en herbe de son vivant, on ne la recolte pas en epis apres sa mort.' The 'Ma.s.ses,' so courted by the one, however blatant, are not the arbiters of immortal fame.

To go back a few years before I met Lady Morgan: when my mother was living at 18 Arlington Street, Sydney Smith used to be a constant visitor there. One day he called just as we were going to lunch. He had been very ill, and would not eat anything. My mother suggested the wing of a chicken.

'My dear lady,' said he, 'it was only yesterday that my doctor positively refused my request for the wing of a b.u.t.terfly.'

Another time when he was making a call I came to the door before it was opened. When the footman answered the bell, 'Is Lady Leicester at home?'

he asked.

'No, sir,' was the answer.

'That's a good job,' he exclaimed, but with a heartiness that fairly took Jeames' breath away.

As Sydney's face was perfectly impa.s.sive, I never felt quite sure whether this was for the benefit of myself or of the astounded footman; or whether it was the genuine expression of an absent mind. He was a great friend of my mother's, and of Mr. Ellice's, but his fits of abstraction were notorious.

He himself records the fact. 'I knocked at a door in London, asked, "Is Mrs. B- at home?" "Yes, sir; pray what name shall I say?" I looked at the man's face astonished. What name? what name? aye, that is the question. What is my name? I had no more idea who I was than if I had never existed. I did not know whether I was a dissenter or a layman. I felt as dull as Sternhold and Hopkins. At last, to my great relief, it flashed across me that I was Sydney Smith.'

In the summer of the year 1848 Napier and I stayed a couple of nights with Captain Marryat at Langham, near Blakeney. He used constantly to come over to Holkham to watch our cricket matches. His house was a glorified cottage, very comfortable and prettily decorated. The dining and sitting-rooms were hung with the original water-colour drawings-mostly by Stanfield, I think-which ill.u.s.trated his minor works.

Trophies from all parts of the world garnished the walls. The only inmates beside us two were his son, a strange, but clever young man with considerable artistic abilities, and his talented daughter, Miss Florence, since so well known to novel readers.

Often as I had spoken to Marryat, I never could quite make him out. Now that I was his guest his habitual reserve disappeared, and despite his failing health he was geniality itself. Even this I did not fully understand at first. At the dinner-table his amus.e.m.e.nt seemed, I won't say to make a 'b.u.t.t' of me-his banter was too good-natured for that-but he treated me as Dr. Primrose treated his son after the bushel-of-green-spectacles bargain. He invented the most wonderful stories, and told them with imperturbable sedateness. Finding a credulous listener in me, he drew all the more freely upon his invention.

When, however, he gravely a.s.serted that Jonas was not the only man who had spent three days and three nights in a whale's belly, but that he himself had caught a whale with a man inside it who had lived there for more than a year on blubber, which, he declared, was better than turtle soup, it was impossible to resist the fooling, and not forget that one was the Moses of the extravaganza.

In the evening he proposed that his son and daughter and I should act a charade. Napier was the audience, and Marryat himself the orchestra-that is, he played on his fiddle such tunes as a ship's fiddler or piper plays to the heaving of the anchor, or for hoisting in cargo. Everyone was in romping spirits, and notwithstanding the cheery Captain's signs of fatigue and worn looks, which he evidently strove to conceal, the evening had all the freshness and spirit of an impromptu pleasure.

When I left, Marryat gave me his violin, with some sad words about his not being likely to play upon it more. Perhaps he knew better than we how prophetically he was speaking. Barely three weeks afterwards I learnt that the humorous creator of 'Midshipman Easy' would never make us laugh again.

In 1846 Lord John Russell succeeded Sir Robert Peel as premier. At the General Election, a brother of mine was the Liberal candidate for the seat in East Norfolk. He was returned; but was threatened with defeat through an occurrence in which I was innocently involved.

The largest landowner in this division of the county, next to my brother Leicester, was Lord Hastings-great-grandfather of the present lord. On the occasion I am referring to, he was a guest at Holkham, where a large party was then a.s.sembled. Leicester was particularly anxious to be civil to his powerful neighbour; and desired the members of his family to show him every attention. The little lord was an exceedingly punctilious man: as scrupulously dapper in manner as he was in dress. Nothing could be more courteous, more smiling, than his habitual demeanour; but his bite was worse than his bark, and n.o.body knew which candidate his agents had instructions to support in the coming contest. It was quite on the cards that the secret order would turn the scales.

One evening after dinner, when the ladies had left us, the men were drawn together and settled down to their wine. It was before the days of cigarettes, and claret was plentifully imbibed. I happened to be seated next to Lord Hastings on his left; on the other side of him was Spencer Lyttelton, uncle of our Colonial Secretary. Spencer Lyttelton was a notable character. He had much of the talents and amiability of his distinguished family; but he was eccentric, exceedingly comic, and dangerously addicted to practical jokes. One of these he now played upon the spruce and vigilant little potentate whom it was our special aim to win.

As the decanters circulated from right to left, Spencer filled himself a b.u.mper, and pa.s.sed the bottles on. Lord Hastings followed suit. I, unfortunately, was speaking to Lyttelton behind Lord Hastings's back, and as he turned and pushed the wine to me, the incorrigible joker, catching sight of the handkerchief sticking out of my lord's coat-tail, quick as thought drew it open and emptied his full gla.s.s into the gaping pocket.

A few minutes later Lord Hastings, who took snuff, discovered what had happened. He held the dripping cloth up for inspection, and with perfect urbanity deposited it on his dessert plate.

Leicester looked furious, but said nothing till we joined the ladies. He first spoke to Hastings, and then to me. What pa.s.sed between the two I do not know. To me, he said: 'Hastings tells me it was you who poured the claret into his pocket. This will lose the election. After to-morrow, I shall want your room.' Of course, the culprit confessed; and my brother got the support we hoped for. Thus it was that the political interests of several thousands of electors depended on a gla.s.s of wine.

CHAPTER XII

I HAD completed my second year at the University, when, in October 1848, just as I was about to return to Cambridge after the long vacation, an old friend-William Grey, the youngest of the ex-Prime-Minister's sons-called on me at my London lodgings. He was attached to the Vienna Emba.s.sy, where his uncle, Lord Ponsonby, was then amba.s.sador. Shortly before this there had been serious insurrections both in Paris, Vienna, and Berlin.

Many may still be living who remember how Louis Philippe fled to England; how the infection spread over this country; how 25,000 Chartists met on Kennington Common; how the upper and middle cla.s.ses of London were enrolled as special constables, with the future Emperor of the French amongst them; how the prompt.i.tude of the Iron Duke saved London, at least, from the fate of the French and Austrian capitals.

This, however, was not till the following spring. Up to October, no overt defiance of the Austrian Government had yet a.s.serted itself; but the imminence of an outbreak was the anxious thought of the hour. The hot heads of Germany, France, and England were more than meditating-they were threatening, and preparing for, a European revolution. b.l.o.o.d.y battles were to be fought; kings and emperors were to be dethroned and decapitated; mobs were to take the place of parliaments; the leaders of the 'people'-_i.e._ the stump orators-were to rule the world; property was to be divided and subdivided down to the shirt on a man's-a rich man's-back; and every 'po'r' man was to have his own, and-somebody else's. This was the divine law of Nature, according to the gospels of Saint Jean Jacques and Mr. Feargus O'Connor. We were all naked under our clothes, which clearly proved our equality. This was the simple, the beautiful programme; once carried out, peace, fraternal and eternal peace, would reign-till it ended, and the earthly Paradise would be an accomplished fact.

I was an ultra-Radical-a younger-son Radical-in those days. I was quite ready to share with my elder brother; I had no prejudice in favour of my superiors; I had often dreamed of becoming a leader of the 'people'-a stump orator, _i.e._-with the handsome emoluments of ministerial office.

William Grey came to say good-bye. He was suddenly recalled in consequence of the insurrection. 'It is a most critical state of affairs,' he said. 'A revolution may break out all over the Continent at any moment. There's no saying where it may end. We are on the eve of a new epoch in the history of Europe. I wouldn't miss it on any account.'

'Most interesting! most interesting!' I exclaimed. 'How I wish I were going with you!'

'Come,' said he, with engaging brevity.

'How can I? I'm just going back to Cambridge.'

'You are of age, aren't you?'

I nodded.

'And your own master? Come; you'll never have such a chance again.'

'When do you start?'

'To-morrow morning early.'

'But it is too late to get a pa.s.sport.'

'Not a bit of it. I have to go to the Foreign Office for my despatches.

Dine with me to-night at my mother's-n.o.body else-and I'll bring your pa.s.sport in my pocket.'

'So be it, then. Billy Whistle [the irreverend nickname we undergraduates gave the Master of Trinity] will rusticate me to a certainty. It can't be helped. The cause is sacred. I'll meet you at Lady Grey's to-night.'

We reached our destination at daylight on October 9. We had already heard, while changing carriages at Breslau station, that the revolution had broken out at Vienna, that the rails were torn up, the Bahn-hof burnt, the military defeated and driven from the town. William Grey's official papers, aided by his fluent German, enabled us to pa.s.s the barriers, and find our way into the city. He went straight to the Emba.s.sy, and sent me on to the 'Erzherzog Carl' in the Karnthner Thor Stra.s.se, at that time the best hotel in Vienna. It being still nearly dark, candles were burning in every window by order of the insurgents.

The preceding day had been an eventful one. The proletariats, headed by the students, had sacked the a.r.s.enal, the troops having made but slight resistance. They then marched to the War Office and demanded the person of the War Minister, Count Latour, who was most unpopular on account of his known appeal to Jellachich, the Ban of Croatia, to a.s.sist, if required, in putting down the disturbances. Some sharp fighting here took place. The rioters defeated the small body of soldiers on the spot, captured two guns, and took possession of the building. The unfortunate minister was found in one of the upper garrets of the palace. The ruffians dragged him from his place of concealment, and barbarously murdered him. They then flung his body from the window, and in a few minutes it was hanging from a lamp-post above the heads of the infuriated and yelling mob.

In 1848 the inner city of Vienna was enclosed within a broad and lofty bastion, fosse, and glacis. These were levelled in 1857. As soon as the troops were expelled, cannon were placed on the Bastei so as to command the approaches from without. The tunnelled gateways were built up, and barricades erected across every princ.i.p.al thoroughfare. Immediately after these events Ferdinand I. abdicated in favour of the present Emperor Francis Joseph, who retired with the Court to Schobrunn.

Foreigners at once took flight, and the hotels were emptied. The only person left in the 'Archduke Charles' beside myself was Mr. Bowen, afterwards Sir George, Governor of New Zealand, with whom I was glad to fraternise.

These humble pages do not aspire to the dignity of History; but a few words as to what took place are needful for the writer's purposes. The garrison in Vienna had been comparatively small; and as the National Guard had joined the students and proletariats, it was deemed advisable by the Government to await the arrival of reinforcements under Prince Windischgratz, who, together with a strong body of Servians and Croats under Jellachich, might overawe the insurgents; or, if not, recapture the city without unnecessary bloodshed. The rebels were buoyed up by hopes of support from the Hungarians under Kossuth. But in this they were disappointed. In less than three weeks from the day of the outbreak the city was beleaguered. Fighting began outside the town on the 24th. On the 25th the soldiers occupied the Wieden and Nussdorf suburbs. Next day the Gemeinderath (Munic.i.p.al Council) sent a _Parlementar_ to treat with Windischgratz. The terms were rejected, and the city was taken by storm on October 30.

A few days before the bombardment, the Austrian commander gave the usual notice to the Amba.s.sadors to quit the town. This they accordingly did.

Before leaving, Lord Ponsonby kindly sent his private secretary, Mr.

George Samuel, to warn me and invite me to join him at Schonbrunn. I politely elected to stay and take my chance. After the attack on the suburbs began I had reason to regret the decision. The hotels were entered by patrols, and all efficient waiters _kommandiere'd_ to work at the barricades, or carry arms. On the fourth day I settled to change sides. The constant banging of big guns, and rattle of musketry, with the impossibility of getting either air or exercise without the risk of being indefinitely deprived of both, was becoming less amusing than I had counted on. I was already provided with a _Pa.s.sierschein_, which franked me inside the town, and up to the insurgents' outposts. The difficulty was how to cross the neutral ground and the two opposing lines. Broad daylight was the safest time for the purpose; the officious sentry is not then so apt to shoot his friend. With much stalking and dodging I made a bolt; and, notwithstanding violent gesticulations and threats, got myself safely seized and hurried before the nearest commanding officer.