SOCIETY 1846-50 PON my father's death UPO my brother and his wife were reluctant to leave their apartment on the ground floor in Bruton Street, to which they had become attached. They consequently let the first floor to Mr. Charles Greville, a relation and intimate friend. Mr. Greville was the son of Lady Charlotte Greville, a daughter of the third Duke of Portland, who had married the sister of the fifth Duke of Devonshire. She was therefore my mother's first cousin. In society Mr. Greville was inclined to be silent, and never spoke unless he had something to say-to my mind a merit. But when the topic discussed interested him he became very animated. It, of course, perfectly suited Mr. Greville to live in a charming and spacious apartment in the centre of the most social part of the town, and where he had on most evenings only to go downstairs to find himself in the midst of the pleasantest company possible. My brother and Lady Granville had on their side the advantage of living in close proximity to so agreeable a person, with whom they were always on the best of terms. Mr. Greville was a 1846-50] CHARLES GREVILLE 91 remarkable man. He was intimate with the principal politicians. He had a literary turn of mind. He was a frequent contributor to the Times and a friend of its distinguished editor, Mr. Delane. He published some clever books and pamphlets; but what has chiefly contributed to his fame are his admirable journals, which he left to Mr. Henry Reeve1 to edit after his death. They have become classical, and I know of no book of my time which has been as much referred to by those who have dealt with the history of the period. He was broad-minded, but not always quite accurate or consistent in his views. I should say that it was on this account that in spite of his ability he never had any political influence. His complaint of my brother was that, although they lived in the same house, he would never divulge to him what took place in the Cabinet, and was less communicative than some of his colleagues. The truth was, my brother did not entirely rely on his discretion. He was a great reader on every subject, and even liked to dabble in theology. He was as well up in the Bible as he was in the Racing Calendar. I cannot say that he was a happy man, for he had no strong family affections, and was, as can be seen from his journal, much dissatisfied with himself. His best point was his readiness, when any occasion arose for it, to spare no effort to serve a friend. But honesty obliges me to add that he dearly loved to have a finger in every pie, which 1 For many years editor of The Edinburgh Review. may have been an inducement to him to occupy himself about his friends' affairs. When Miss Raikes published her father's amusing diary he helped her with her publishers, but made them some concessions of which she disapproved. The next time he called, to show her displeasure she seized his hat, ran upstairs, and locked it up in her bedroom; and then came down and told him he might go home bare-headed, which he was forced to do. I do not know whether he ever forgave her. He likewise assisted my sister, Lady Georgiana Fullerton, with her novel Ellen Middleton. It was her first literary attempt, and it was a great advantage to get the advice of so excellent a writer with regard to style. He took the greatest possible interest in the book and spared no pains about it. The novel had great success, not only in England but throughout the Continent, and was translated into every European language. Lord Brougham also volunteered to help her, and his advice proved very useful. In return he asked her to do him the favour of reading a tale which he said was written by a young friend of his, who wished to publish it but had some doubt whether it was worth it. He said he relied on her giving him an honest opinion, by which he would be guided in his advice to the young man. She, not suspecting the truth, told him, after reading it, that she thought it a poor performance, and that it would be a mistake to publish it. It turned out that he himself was the author, and, undeterred 1846-50] LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON 93 by her verdict, he sanctioned its publication. No sooner did it make its appearance than it was so generally condemned that he at once stopped its circulation, and bought up all the copies he could lay his hands on. I do not know whether any copy now exists. There is probably one in the British Museum. But the amusing part of the story is that he at once cut my sister dead, and they only renewed acquaintance just before his death. This is an instance of how very little a great man may be. The following is a letter I received from my friend, Mr. John George Phillimore, respecting my sister's novel. It is very appreciative, but at the same time discriminating, and contains some interesting remarks. "I send back Ellen Middleton. Its perusal has added to the many pleasant hours I already owe to your acquaintance. In return a most inadequate return it is I give you my opinion as to the merits of the work. That I read it as I should have read the work of a person indifferent to me or to my friends I do not assert, but I am quite sure that it is not the effect of partiality on my part when I say that the work is one of very unusual merit. It abounds in passages of real eloquence, of touching pathos, of vivid and powerful description. The writer has, it is obvious, taken a far wider view of manners and society than is common among those who attempt their delineation. She has a very quick perception of character, and a keen sense of its vanities. Her conversations are lively and natural, and succeed where lady writers generally fail altogether-I mean in giving an idea of dialogues among men, whether in ordinary life or when excited by passion; indeed the men are excellent. The clergyman is perfect. Lovell is most happily described in his two characters. I have known his type. The Middletons are admirable portraits, though I think flattering ones, of the firm, well-educated, right-thinking, high-minded, but cold and borné and undemonstrative English gentleman of the patrician class. I am in love with Mrs. Middleton; Alice is a model of saintly virtue; Rose Moore is charming and draws the line which is so apt to be overstepped and which Walter Scott never clearly saw, between naïveté and vulgarity. The description of Miss Varley is very good and so is that of Mrs. Hatton, who sees everything couleur de rose, and thinks it very lucky we have any weather at all, doing from mere benevolence of nature what others would do from an unworthy motive. The author's skill in rescuing her from the character of a sycophant is remarkable. To this knowledge of men and manners the author adds the love of nature, that unfailing source of happiness, and it imparts to her pages the buoyant and exhilarating tone of elastic pleasure which makes one long as Milton says 'to go out and see Nature's riches, and partake of her rejoicings with heaven and earth.' The contrast between these passages and those of a darker hue reminded me of a favourite passage in Macbeth, where the interval between the meditated crime and its perpetration is relieved by the remarks on the pure air and pleasant site of the castle which was to be its scene. How the lines on the 'templehaunting martlet' and its habits enhance the effect of those fearful workings of fierce passion and troubled conscience, which precede and follow it. I cannot help thinking that in writing some of the passages to which I allude this wonderful proof of Shakespeare's genius must have been present |