Chapter XXIII: In the Furrows of Life (3)

The latter months of 1885 found me quietly at home, exceedingly busy over my work on France. As at all other times, except in fine summer weather, I was chiefly alone, save when on Sundays some of my young men friends--“the boys”--were generally at Holmhurst for two nights, being usually those whose whole life is spent in bearing--

“The work-day burden of dull life,
About the footsore flags of a weary world;”[414]

for I have always felt how much, in similar circumstances, I should have cared myself to have a friend and a homelike little refuge to go to. Besides, “although in a very humble and apparently confined sphere of action, who can tell the effect which our influence or that of our conduct may have upon others, and its reaction throughout future ages?”[415]

In latter years I have had better “material” in this respect; but it must be allowed that, except in very rare cases, those I tried to be useful to in former days turned out very ill. Here are just a few instances:--

* * * * *

No. 1 was a gentleman once in a good position, who had fallen into extreme poverty. I gave up being in London, I gave up going abroad, I always went in an omnibus instead of a cab, always travelled second class instead of first, to have £50 a year to give to No. 1. But when I found that my poor gentleman always took a hansom even to cross Eaton Square, I drew in my purse-strings.

No. 2 seemed very different. Rudely nurtured, he minded no difficulties, and was willing to live hardly. He only cared for work, and his work was science. He threw his whole life into it, and seemed on the eve of great discoveries--in fact, he made them. But he had no one to help him to buy the patents that were necessary, and I spent £800 for this, and altogether many thousand pounds in his behalf. He was to have repaid this sum if he became successful in life, but he made a very large fortune, and “forgot to pay it.” Then, having lost his fortune again, his originality and cleverness took another direction: he suddenly turned Buddhist, cared for nothing but the divine essence, and went off to India to join a brotherhood in which, after years of prayer and fasting, he might hope to obtain the distinction of “a little yellow garment.” He wrote then that his religion itself would prevent his ever again forgetting that he owed me four thousand pounds with interest. Yet, after his return, he repudiated his debt altogether, and denied that he had even the slightest obligation to me. All I had spent was thrown away! No. 2 was an utter collapse.

No. 3 wanted to be married. He had led a wild life, and his marriage would “be the saving of him;” with his marriage a new page of his life would be turned over; but to enable the marriage to be, a loan of money was necessary. I sent the money, but the marriage never took place, and the loan was never returned. No. 3 vanished into chaos.

No. 4 was very engaging and I became very fond of him. He was perpetually at my home, where I always treated him as a younger brother, giving him money when I was away for whatever he wanted. When he wished to give a party to his friends in London, the food, the wine, the flowers, came from Holmhurst. He had to work hard in a public office, so every year I gave him money for the change of a Continental tour, and on one occasion, when he had no other companion, I took him myself, and showed him the whole of a foreign country. This went on for nine years. Then a circumstance occurred which made me feel that he, in his turn, might, not even for one day, but for one hour, be useful to me. Under these circumstances I asked a favour of him. “No,” it was refused at once, “it might not be to his advantage: it might even possibly be rather inconvenient.” No. 4 collapsed.

No. 5 was a very young and ingenuous boy. I met him first when he was at Oxford, when his family--country gentlefolk--were trying to compel him to take Orders. He confided to me his misery about it, and his utter unfitness. I backed him up in resisting. From that time I saw a great deal of him. He was very affectionate to me, and I grew very fond of him. His family, irritated at his opposition to taking Orders, refused to go on spending money upon his education. I continued it, or thought I did, by letter, sending him daily questions to answer by post, and receiving _précis_ of History from him and correcting them. He was also very frequently at Holmhurst for a long time together, and had more of a real home there than with his own parents. Once, without my knowledge or that of his family, he went to London, and got into terribly bad companionship and disgracefully bad habits. He was plundered of all he possessed, and had to pawn his watch to get away. To prevent the discovery of this, which would have hopelessly estranged him from his family, I redeemed his valuables for a considerable sum. He then seemed penitent, promised amendment, and took refuge at Holmhurst again. About a year after I found him on the eve of wilfully making an acquaintance which was sure to cause his ruin. I pointed out to him the misery he was bringing upon himself, and he promised to give it up. Then I found that all the while he was promising to do nothing of the kind, he had been constantly writing to the person in question, with whom he had no previous acquaintance, making assignations for meetings, &c. From that time he got into one miserable scrape after another. He sank and sank. Whenever he has made a promise, he has always broken his word; nothing he says can be believed; his every act must be mistrusted.... Now, he has taken Holy Orders! This is the end of No. 5.

No. 6 was very dear to me. I had known him intimately from his earliest childhood. Exceedingly unprepossessing in appearance, he gave the most brilliant promise of a distinguished career. To me he showed the most unbounded affection and confidence, but he never told the truth. This led to a series of miserable deceptions which caused his expulsion from school and brought about his failure everywhere. Dreaded, mistrusted, he became alienated from his family, almost from his fellow-men. No opportunity of extravagant folly occurred but was greedily seized upon, to be followed by fresh falsehood. His whole life has been a sorrow to those who know him, and who think mournfully of its beautiful “might have been.”

I met No. 7 when he was eighteen. Of very lowly origin but gentle instincts, he had been turned adrift at seventeen upon London to earn his own living, and he seemed at first to be earning it bravely and honestly. He was clever and was anxious to improve himself, and he spent all his evenings in reading, and succeeded in teaching himself French. By his own unaided efforts he had really given himself an education. At first I used only to lend him books and do what I could to help his reading. Then I frequently invited him to Holmhurst, and paid for his coming there. He had a bad illness in London, when I went constantly to him in his miserable garret, and supplied all his little comforts. About a year after I first knew him, he yielded to a great temptation in misappropriating a large sum of money belonging to the firm he was serving, and spending it in a very disgraceful manner. It seemed as if he really did this under a diabolic influence, and as if he really believed that he should be able to replace the money before the theft was discovered. But the time drew very near when his accounts would be examined, and there was no chance--there never had been--that they would be found correct. Then the full agony of his position came upon him, and he confessed the whole to me and implored me to save him. The day before the examination of accounts I replaced the stolen money, and the defalcation was never discovered.

From this time he seemed to go on well, and I became much attached to him. Five times a year I paid his expenses to Holmhurst, to give him country air, treating him like my own son when he was with me. Then came a time when, after several years, he fell into feeble health, and had to leave his situation. I was then not perfectly satisfied with the way in which he was going on, and did not think him as frank and candid as he had been, but I took him home with me for a month to recruit. At Holmhurst he had every kindness and indulgence, and was received not only as an equal, but almost as a child of the house. At the end of a month, he told me that he had heard of some very suitable employment in London, and hoped that I would not object to his going to town to see about it. I said, “Certainly not; but what is the employment?” To my surprise, he said that he could not tell me then, but I should know later. I was more surprised because, when he left, he was so unusually affectionate--“I am very glad you are so fond of me, but I cannot imagine why you should show it especially to-day, as you are coming back in a few hours.” He never came back. It was many days before he wrote. Then I had a formal letter saying that, when he went up to London, he had been received into the Church of Rome at Brompton Oratory, and enclosing a list of his possessions left at Holmhurst, and directions for sending them. Since then he has sunk lower and lower. I have often heard of him, and always a worse account. He is utterly lost to me. That is the end of No. 7.

No. 8 was excessively good-looking, had pleasant manners, and was especially winning to ladies. I had known his family long ago, and his home, a very quiet rectory in a desolate fen district. When he was at Oxford, I found him, like No. 5, very unhappy at being expected to take Orders, for which he honestly felt himself unfitted, and I persuaded him to tell his father that it was impossible. Then, as he was penniless and had no prospects, it was necessary that a profession should be found for him, and I obtained a nomination for him for the Foreign Office from Lord Granville. He came to London to work for this, and he worked well. Feeling that it would be most undesirable for him to go on in London, especially to enter the Foreign Office, knowing no one in society, I took him out with me every day to parties, and introduced him everywhere, claiming all kindness for him as my intimate friend. His good looks and pleasing manners made him very welcome. But he fell in love with an Earl’s daughter. Strange to say, his suit was not rejected, though a probation of two years was required, during which he must begin to make an income. With this view, he abandoned all thought of the Foreign Office and took to the Stock Exchange. A week before the end of the two years’ probation, the lady, of her own accord, threw him over, but, as far as love went, her place was soon supplied. By this time, too, the young man had acquired _l’habitude de société_, had begun to despise his humble relations, to cut his old friends, and a shake of the Prince of Wales’s hand finally turned his head. He scarcely speaks to me now when we meet. He openly says that, as he has gained all he can from me, he naturally prefers “those who can be more useful” to him.

No. 9, poor fellow, was long a great anxiety to me. He was of good family. He fell often--fell into the most frightful vice and shame. He repented bitterly, and then fell again worse than before. But in one of his best and truest times of repentance, God saw that he was positively unable to cope with temptation, and he died--died most mercifully, full of faith, hope, and gratitude. This was the end of No. 9. Thinking of him has often brought to my mind Rossetti’s lines--

“Look in my face: my name is Might-have-been,
I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell.”

And yet--

“La bontà infinita ha sì gran braccia,
Che prende ciò che si rivolve a lei.”[416]

As I retrace here, on paper, the story of my failures, a sentence of Balzac comes into my mind: “Il vous arrivera souvent d’être utile aux autres, de leur rendre service, et vous en serez pen récompensé”; mais n’imitez pas ceux qui se plaignent des hommes et se vantent de ne trouver que des ingrats. N’est-ce pas se mettre sur un piédestal? puis n’est-il pas un peu niais d’avouer son peu de connaissance du monde?”[417]

And then Bunyan said in his last sermon (1692):--“Dost thou see a soul that has had the image of God in him? Love him: love him: say, This man must go to heaven some day. Do good to one another, and if any wrong you, pray to God to right you, and love the brotherhood.”

And there is a line of Tasso which comes back to me in all times of disappointment--

“Brama assai--poco spera--nulla chiede.”

END OF VOL. V.

_Printed by_ BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO

_Edinburgh and London_

ERRATUM

_Page 405_, _for_ “Shackborough” _read_ “Shuckborough.”

“Story of my Life.”--End of Vol. V.

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

VOL. VI

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

BY

AUGUSTUS J. C. HARE

AUTHOR OF “MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE,” “THE STORY OF TWO NOBLE LIVES,” ETC. ETC.

VOLUME VI

LONDON

GEORGE ALLEN, 156, CHARING CROSS ROAD

1900

[_All rights reserved_]

Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.

At the Ballantyne Press

CONTENTS

PAGE

BEYOND THE TOP OF THE HILL 1

IN PLEASURE AND PAIN 118

AT HOME AND ABROAD 192

SOCIAL REMINISCENCES 252

A KNOCKING AT THE DOOR 295

WRITING THE GURNEY MEMOIRS 337

IN MANY PLACES 393

FAREWELL 526

INDEX 539

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

VOL. VI

CHARLOTTE LEYCESTER. (_Photogravure_) _Frontispiece_

PAGE

THE DEANERY, BATTLE 5

L’ARICCIA 10

GALLERIA DI SOTTO, ALBANO 11

LAKE OF BOLSENA 12

S. DOMENICO, SIENA 13

MONTE OLIVETO 14

SENS 15

THE PARACLETE 16

THE PORCH, HOLMHURST 27

RIEZ 36

GRIGNAN 37

CLOISTER OF CAVAILLON 38

MONTMAJOUR 40

LES BAUX 41

LES S. MARIES DE LA CAMARGUE 42

LA SALETTE 43

DOMREMY, VILLAGE STREET 45

HOUSE OF JEANNE DARC 46

EMBRUN 47

CHÂTEAU DE VIZILLE 49

QUAYS OF GRENOBLE 51

SCOTNEY CASTLE 55

AT WESTMINSTER 64

THE GARDEN, HOLMHURST 98

THE MANOR WALK, HOLMHURST 110

ROSNY 113

ALNWICK CASTLE 137

HOLMHURST FROM THE SHRUBBERY 140

S. FLOUR, FROM THE SOUTH 147

CHÂTEAU DU ROI, S. EMILION 148

AUGUSTUS J. C. HARE, 1888. (_Photogravure_) _To face_ 150

S. NECTAIRE 151

GATE OF LA GUERANDE 153

PONT S. LOUIS, MENTONE 165

IN S. FRANCESCO NEL DESERTO 169

THE ROCKY VALLEY, HOLMHURST 171

FROM THE WALKS, HOLMHURST 174

ST. MICHAEL’S MOUNT 176

CEMETERY OF PERA, CONSTANTINOPLE 195

THE BATHS, BROUSSA 213

OBER-AMMERGAU 218

TOMB OF LADY WATERFORD, FORD 251

THE OAK WALK, HOLMHURST 254

THE VENETIAN WELL, HOLMHURST 255

BISHOP’S BRIDGE, NORWICH 260

SASSO 265

AT BORDIGHERA 266

AT REBEKAH’S WELL, NEAR S. REMO 267

AT S. REMO 268

GLEN AT S. REMO 269

CLAUDIAN AQUEDUCT 274

REMAINS OF TEMPLE OF JUPITER LATIARIS, MONTE CAVI 281

VENETIAN POZZO 292

BROADHURST 322

GROOMBRIDGE PLACE 323

AUGUSTUS J. C. HARE (_Photogravure_) _To face_ 336

EARLHAM HALL 338

MONT S. MICHEL 344

S. JEAN DU DOIGT 345

AT CARNAC 346

LES ROCHERS 347

QUEEN ANNE AT HOLMHURST 349

BELLA’S LOGHOUSE, ALDERLEY MERE 352

STOKESAY 382

PITCHFORD 383

IN THE WALKS, HOLMHURST 395

THE TERRACE DOOR, HOLMHURST 426

THE NAYLOR LANDING, HOLMHURST 430

THE ARSON STEPS, HOLMHURST 450

IN THE WALPOLE CORRIDOR, HOLMHURST 469

WARBLETON PRIORY, ON APPROACHING 471

WARBLETON PRIORY, SEEN FROM BEHIND 472

PORCH OF HOSPICE, HOLMHURST 477

THE AVE-VALE STEPS, HOLMHURST 481

IN THE CHURCHYARD, HURSTMONCEAUX 489

THE AVE-VALE GATE, HOLMHURST 492

IN THE UPPER CORRIDOR, HOLMHURST 503

THE PORCH, HOLMHURST 511