Chapter M: E. W (4)

“Small of person, but well formed. Her dark silken hair braided back over a small, but what phrenologists would call a well-developed head; her forehead full and open, but the hair grew low upon it; the eyebrows perfect in arch and form; the eyes round--soft or flashing as might be--gray, well formed, and beautifully set; the lashes long and black, the under lashes turning down with delicate curve, and forming a soft relief upon the tint of her cheek, which, when she enjoyed good health, was bright and blushing; her complexion was delicately fair; her skin soft and transparent; her nose small (_retroussé_), slightly curved, but capable of scornful expression, which she did not appear to have the power of repressing, even though she gave her thoughts no words, when any despicable action was alluded to.”--About 1835.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR

1775-1864

[Sidenote: Crabb Robinson’s _Diary_.]

“He was a man of florid complexion, with large full eyes, and altogether a _leonine_ man, and with a fierceness of tone well suited to his name; his decisions being confident, and on all subjects, whether of taste or life, unqualified, each standing for itself, not caring whether it was in harmony with what had gone before or would follow from the same oracular lips. But why should I trouble myself to describe him? He is painted by a master hand in Dickens’s novel _Bleak House_, now in course of publication, where he figures as Mr. Boythorn. The combination of superficial ferocity and inherent tenderness, so admirably portrayed in _Bleak House_, still at first strikes every stranger,--for twenty-two years have not materially changed him,--no less than his perfect frankness and reckless indifference to what he says.”--1830.

[Sidenote: S. C. Hall’s _Retrospect of a Long Life_.]

“... He was at that time sixty years of age, although he did not look so old; his form and features were essentially masculine; he was not tall, but stalwart; of a robust constitution, and was proud even to arrogance of his physical and intellectual strength. He was a man to whom passers-by would have looked back and asked, ‘Who is that?’ His forehead was high, but retreated, showing remarkable absence of the organs of benevolence and veneration. It was a large head, fullest at the back, where the animal propensities predominate; it was a powerful, but not a good head, the expression the opposite of genial. In short, physiognomists and phrenologists would have selected it,--each to illustrate his theory.”--1836.

[Sidenote: Harriet Martineau’s _Biographical Sketches_.]

“His tall, broad, muscular, active frame was characteristic, and so was his head, with the strange elevation of the eyebrows which expresses self-will as strongly in some cases as astonishment in others. Those eyebrows, mounting up until they comprehend a good portion of the forehead, have been observed in many more paradoxical persons than one. Then there was the retreating but broad forehead, showing the deficiency of reasoning and speculative power, with the preponderance of imagination and a huge passion for destruction. The massive self-love and self-will carried up his head to something more than a dignified bearing--even to one of arrogance. His vivid and quick eye, and the thoughtful mouth, were fine, and his whole air was that of a man distinguished in his own eyes certainly, but also in those of others. Tradition reports he was handsome in his youth. In age he was more.”

CHARLES LEVER

1806-1872

[Sidenote: Fitz-Patrick’s _Life of Lever_.]

“I found him seated at an open window, a bottle of claret at his right hand, and the proof-sheets of _Lord Kilgobbin_ before him.... At the date of our visit he looked a hale, hearty, laughter-loving man of sixty. There was mirth in his gray eye, joviality in the wink that twittered on his eyelid, saucy humour in his smile, and _bon-mot_, wit, repartee, and rejoinder in every movement of his lips. His hair very thin, but of a silky brown, fell across his forehead, and when it curtained his eyes he would jerk back his head--this, too, at some telling crisis in a narrative, when the particular action was just the exact finish required to make the story perfect. Mr. Lever’s teeth were all his own and very brilliant, and whether from accident or habit, he flashed them on us in conjunction with his wonderful eyes, a battery at once powerful and irresistible.... Mr. Lever made great use of his hands, which were small and white and delicate as those of a woman. He made play with them, threw them up in ecstasy, or wrung them in mournfulness, just as the action of the moment demanded. He did not require eyes or teeth with such a voice and such hands; they could tell and illustrate the workings of his brain. He was somewhat careless in his dress, but clung to the traditional high shirt-collar, merely compromising the unswerving stock of the Brummell period.”

MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS

1775-1818

[Sidenote: _The Southern Literary Messenger_, 1849.]

“In person, Mat Lewis (as his intimate friends at first termed him) was quite ordinary; his stature was rather diminutive; his face was almost an ellipse, looking upon it from the side, and his features though pleasant were not to be regarded as handsome. His forehead, however, was high and his eyes very lustrous.”

[Sidenote: Jeaffreson’s _Novels and Novelists_.]

“Lewis’s personal appearance was not prepossessing. He describes himself as

‘Of passions strong, of hasty nature,
Of graceless form and dwarfish stature.’

He had, moreover, large gray eyes, thick features, and an inexpressive countenance. When he talked he had an insufferable habit of drawing the fore-finger of his right hand across his eyelid, and in conversation he was guilty of the absurd affectation of a drawling tone such as was popular with dandies.”

[Sidenote: _New Monthly Magazine_, 1848.]

“Matthew Gregory Lewis. Of this gentleman I knew but little, not having encountered him half a dozen times after my introduction to him at the house of Nat Middleton, the banker. With a short thick-set figure, unintellectual features, and a disagreeable habit of peering, being very short-sighted, his aspect was by no means prepossessing; but as he had ‘that within which passeth show,’ he recovered the ground lost at starting as rapidly as Wilkes could have done.”

JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART

1794-1854

[Sidenote: _The Times_, 9th Dec. 1854.]

“Endowed with the very highest order of manly beauty, both of features and expression, he retained the brilliancy of youth and a stately strength of person comparatively unimpaired in ripened life; and then, though sorrow and sickness suddenly brought on a premature old age which none could witness unmoved, yet the beauty of the head and of the bearing so far gained in melancholy loftiness of expression what they lost in animation, that the last phase, whether to the eye of painter or of anxious friend, seemed always the finest.”

SIR RICHARD LOVELACE

1618-1658

[Sidenote: Anthony Wood’s _Athenæ Oxonienses._]

“Richard Lovelace ... became a gent-commoner of Glo’cester Hall in the beginning of the year 1634, and in that of his age 16, being then accounted the most amiable and beautiful person that ever eye beheld, a person also of innate modesty, virtue, and courtly deportment, which made him then, but especially after, when he retired to the great city, much admired and adored by the female sex.... Accounted by all those that well knew him, to have been a person well vers’d in the Greek and Latin poets, in music, whether practical or theoretical, instrumental or vocal, and in other things befitting a gentleman. Some of the said persons have also added in my hearing, that his common discourse was not only significant and witty, but incomparably graceful, which drew respect from all men and women.”--1634 and 1658.

[Sidenote: _The Gentleman’s Magazine_, 1884. *]

“The personal attractions of Richard Lovelace have been much extolled by his contemporaries; nor is this matter for wonder. A picture of the poet by an unknown painter, preserved in the old college at Dulwich, to which it was bequeathed by Cartwright the actor, in 1687, represents him as a very handsome man. The face is oval, the hair, worn Cavalier fashion, long, is of a dark brown colour and falls down in abundant masses, while the mustachios are small and thin. The small, well-formed mouth is perhaps a trifle voluptuous, but is nevertheless suggestive of firmness of character. The eyes are large and dark, and the well-arched and delicately pencilled eyebrows are unusually far apart; the general expression of the face is singularly sweet and winning. The hand is small, well formed and aristocratic. Lovelace is attired in armour, with a white collar, and across the breast is thrown a red scarf. The picture is inscribed ‘Col. Lovelace.’”

EDWARD, LORD LYTTON

1803-1873

[Sidenote: S. C. Hall’s _Retrospect of a long Life_.]

“A young man whose features, though of a somewhat effeminate cast, were remarkably handsome. His bearing had that aristocratic something bordering on hauteur, which clung to him during his life. I never saw the famous writer without being reminded of the passage, ‘Stand back; I am holier than thou.’--1826.

“The last time I saw him was in his then residence, No. 12 Grosvenor Square. It was growing towards fifty years since first we had met, and there were more changes in him than those that time usually brings. His once handsome face had assumed the desolation without the dignity of age. His locks, once brown, inclining to auburn, were shaggy and grizzled; his mouth, seldom smiling even in youth, was close shut; his whole aspect had something in it at once painful and unpleasant.”--About 1872.

[Sidenote: _Appleton’s Journal_, 1873.]

“Bulwer is described as having been, at this period of his first brilliant triumph, rather taller than the middle height, with a graceful, slender figure, well-proportioned limbs, and a countenance stamped with distinctly aristocratic features and expression. His dark-brown, curly hair, his large and bright blue eye, his decided, though delicately-formed aquiline nose, his rather full and handsome mouth, his patrician, almost haughty pose and manner, as seen at that time, are dwelt on, with true feminine enthusiasm, by a lady who frequented the circles of which he was regarded as one of the most shining ornaments.”--1828.

[Sidenote: _Appleton’s Journal_, 1873.]

“It was my fortune to see Bulwer in the House of Commons in 1863 and 1865, and in the House of Lords, to which he had recently risen, in 1868. He then had the appearance of being a man of some fifty years, tallish, straight, stiff, and proudly sedate. His long, sombre face was no longer ‘fair,’ but was yellow and wrinkled, while the almost cadaverous aspect of his features added to the really far from proportionate prominence of his long, aquiline nose. He now wore a moustache with his ‘heavy red whiskers,’ which had themselves become a dull brown, plentifully sprinkled with gray; and upon his chin he grew an imperial. His hair was still thick, but no trace of its rich auburn hue of youth remained; it was a heavy gray in colour. Spectacles partially concealed the large but now dulled and glassy blue eyes; and the whole appearance was far from prepossessing. On the former occasion referred to, I heard him address the House in an eloquent and evidently carefully-prepared speech of half an hour. His manner was quiet and subdued, his voice no longer ‘lover-like and sweet,’ but rather harsh and grating, and his declamation humdrum; occasionally a spark of the old animation appeared, when he drew himself up to the full height, and, for the moment seemed a very orator in motion as in speech; but the spark soon vanished, and he was again Pelham grown old, the exhausted and melancholy beau and wit of the past, struggling through an imposed task.... His dress was conspicuously plain, almost stiff and ministerial; though there was something about the attire of the neck which seemed a suspicion of a relic of dandyism.”

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY

1800-1859

[Sidenote: Trevelyan’s _Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay_.]

“Macaulay’s outward man was never better described than in two sentences of Praed’s Introduction to Knight’s _Quarterly Magazine_. ‘There came up a short manly figure, marvellously upright, with a bad neckcloth, and one hand in his waistcoat pocket. Of regular beauty he had little to boast; but in faces where there is an expression of great power, or of great good-humour, or both, you do not regret its absence.’ This picture, in which every touch is correct, tells all that there is to be told. He had a massive head, and features of a powerful and rugged cast, but so constantly lit up by every joyful and ennobling emotion that it mattered little if, when absolutely quiescent, his face was rather homely than handsome. While conversing at table no one thought him otherwise than good-looking; but, when he rose, he was seen to be short and stout in figure. ‘At Holland House, the other day,’ writes his sister Margaret in September 1831, ‘Tom met Lady Lyndhurst for the first time. She said to him: “Mr. Macaulay, you are so different to what I had expected. I thought you were dark and thin, but you are fair, and really, Mr. Macaulay, you are fat!”’ He at all times sat and stood straight, full, and square; and in this respect Woolner, in the fine statue at Cambridge, has missed what was undoubtedly the most marked fact in his personal appearance. He dressed badly, but not cheaply. His clothes, though ill put on, were good, and his wardrobe was always enormously overstocked.”--1822 and 1831.

[Sidenote: Crabb Robinson’s _Diary_.]

“I went to James Stephen, and drove with him to his house at Hendon. A dinner-party. I had a most interesting companion in young Macaulay, one of the most promising of the rising generation I have seen for a long time. He has a good face,--not the delicate features of a man of genius and sensibility, but the strong lines and well-knit limbs of a man sturdy in body and mind. Very eloquent and cheerful. Overflowing with words, and not poor in thought. Liberal in opinion, but no radical. He seems a correct as well as a full man. He showed a minute knowledge of subjects not introduced by himself.”--1826.

[Sidenote: S. C. Hall’s _Retrospect of a long Life_.]

“I never heard Macaulay speak in the House, where, although by no means an orator, he always made a strong impression. He spoke as he wrote,--eloquently in the choicest diction,--smooth, easy, graceful, and ever to the purpose, striving to convince rather than persuade, and grudging no toil of preparation to sustain an argument or enforce a truth. His person was in his favour; in form as in mind he was robust, with a remarkably intelligent expression, aided by deep blue eyes that seemed to sparkle, and a mouth remarkably flexible. His countenance was certainly well calculated to impress on his audience the classical language ever at his command--so faithfully did it mirror the high intelligence of the speaker.... I found him--as the world has found him--a man of rare intelligence, deep research, and untiring energy in pursuit of facts: also a kind, courteous, and unaffected gentleman. His memory is to me one of the pleasantest I can recall.”

WILLIAM MAGINN

1793-1842

[Sidenote: William Maginn’s _Miscellanies_.]

“All were standing, all were listening to some one who sat in the middle of a group. A low-seated man, short in stature, was uttering pleasantries and scattering witticisms about him with the careless glee of his country. His articulation was impeded by a stutter, yet the sentences he stammered forth were brilliant repartees uttered without sharpness, and edged rather with humour than with satire. His countenance was rather agreeable than striking; its expression sweet rather than bright; the gray hair, coming straight over his forehead, gave a singular appearance to a face still bearing the attributes of youth. He was thirty or thereabouts, but his thoughtful brow, his hair, and the paleness of his complexion, gave him many of the attributes of age. His conversation was careless and off-hand, and, but for the impediment of speech, would have had the charm of a rich comedy. His choice of words was such as I have rarely met with in any of my contemporaries.”--1824.

[Sidenote: _Bentley’s Miscellany_, 1842.]

“I dined to-day at the Salopian with Dr. Maginn. He is a most remarkable fellow. His flow of ideas is incredibly quick, and his articulation so rapid, that it is difficult to follow him. He is altogether a person of vast acuteness, celerity of apprehension, and indefatigable activity both of body and mind. His is about my own height; but I could allow him an inch round the chest. His forehead is very finely developed, his organ of language and ideality large, and his reasoning faculties excellent. His hair is quite gray, although he does not look more than forty. I imagined he was much older looking, and that he wore a wig. While conversing his eye is never a moment at rest: in fact his whole body is in motion, and he keeps scrawling grotesque figures upon the paper before him, and rubbing them out again as fast as he draws them. He and Gifford are, as you know, joint editors of the _Standard_.”

[Sidenote: _The Dublin University Magazine_, 1844.]

“Well does the writer of this notice recollect the feelings with which he first wended to the residence of his late friend. He was then but a mere boy, fresh from the university.... He went, and was shown upstairs; the doctor was not at home, but was momentarily expected.... Suddenly, when his heart almost sank within him, a light step was heard ascending the stairs--it could not be a man’s foot--no, it was too delicate for that; it must, certainly, be the nursery-maid. The step was arrested at the door, a brief interval, and Maginn entered. The spell vanished like lightning, and the visitor took heart in a moment. No formal-looking personage, in customary suit of solemn black, stood before him, but a slight, boyish, careless figure, with a blue eye, the mildest ever seen--hair, not exactly white, but of a sunned snow colour--an easy, familiar smile--and a countenance that you would be more inclined to laugh with than feel terror from. He bounded across the room with a most unscholar-like eagerness, and warmly welcomed the visitor, asking him a thousand questions, and putting him at ease with himself in a moment. Then, taking his arm, both sallied forth into the street, where, for a long time, the visitor was in doubt whether it was Maginn to whom he was really talking as familiarly as if he were his brother, or whether the whole was a dream. And such, indeed, was the impression generally made on the minds of all strangers--but, as in the present case, it was dispelled instantly the living original appeared. Then was to be seen the kindness and gentleness of heart which tinged every word and gesture with sweetness; the suavity and mildness, so strongly the reverse of what was to be expected from the most galling satirest of the day; the openness of soul and countenance, that disarmed even the bitterest of his opponents; the utter absence of anything like prejudice and bigotry from him the ablest and most devoted champion of the Church and State. No pedantry in his language, no stateliness of style, no forced metaphors, no inappropriate anecdote, no overweening confidence--all easy, simple, agreeable, and unzoned.”

FRANCIS MAHONY

(FATHER PROUT)

1805-1866

[Sidenote: The works of Father Prout.]

“Stooping his short and spare but thick-set figure as he walked, wearing his ill-brushed hat upon the extreme back of his head, clothed in the slovenliest way in a semi-clerical dress of the shabbiest character, he sauntered by with his right arm habitually clasped behind him in his left hand,--altogether presenting to view so distinctly the appearance of a member of one of the mendicant orders, that upon one occasion, in the Rue de Rivoli, an intimate friend of his found it impossible to resist the impulse of slipping a sou into the open palm of his right hand, with the apologetic remark, ‘You _do_ look so like a beggar.’ Apart, however, from his threadbare garb and shambling gait, there were personal traits of character about him which caught the attention almost at a glance, and piqued the curiosity of even the least observant wayfarer. The ‘roguish Hibernian mouth,’ noted in his regard by Mr. Gruneisen, and the gray piercing eyes, that looked up at you so keenly over his spectacles, won your interest in him even upon a first introduction. From the mocking lips soon afterwards, if you fell into conversation with him, came the ‘loud snappish laugh,’ with which, as Mr. Blanchard Jerrold remarks, the Father so frequently evinced his appreciation of a casual witticism--uproarious fits of merriment signalising at other moments one of his own ironical successes, outbursts of fun followed during his later years by the racking cough with which he was too often then tormented.”

[Sidenote: Blanchard Jerrold’s _Final Reliques of Father Prout_.]

“The Rev. Francis Mahony, or Father Prout, trudging along the Boulevards with his arms clasped behind him, his nose in the air, his hat worn as French caricaturists insist all Englishmen wear hat or cap; his quick, clear, deep-seeking eye wandering sharply to the right or left, and sarcasm--not of the sourest kind--playing like Jack-o’-lantern in the corners of his mouth, Father Prout was as much a character of the French capital as the learned Armenian of the Imperial Library only a few years ago.... It was difficult to meet Father Prout. He was an odd, uncomfortable, uncertain man. His moods changed like April skies. Light little thoughts were busy in his brain, lively and frisking as ‘troutlets in a pool.’ He was impatient of interruption, and shambled forward talking in an undertone to himself, with now and then a bubble or two of laughter, or one short sharp laugh almost like a bark, like that of the marksman when the arrow quivers in the bull’s-eye. He would pass you with a nod that meant ‘Hold off--not to-day!’... He was very impatient if any injudicious friend or passing acquaintance (who took him to be usually as accessible as any _flâneur_ on the macadam), thrust himself forward and would have his hand and agree with him that it was a fine day, but would possibly rain shortly. A sharp answer, and an unceremonious plunge forward without bow or good-day, would put an end to the interruption. Of course the Father was called a bear by shallow-pates who could not see that there was something extra in the little man talking to himself and shuffling, with his hands behind him, through the _fines fleurs_ and _grandes dames_ of the Italian Boulevard.”

[Sidenote: A personal friend.]

“In recalling the Rev. Francis Mahony, I am forcibly reminded of a few lines at the beginning of old Burton’s _Anatomy of Melancholy_: ‘Democritus, as he is described by Hippocrates, and Laërtius, was a little wearish old man, very melancholy by nature, averse from company in his latter dayes, and much given to solitariness, a famous philosopher in his age, ... wholly addicted to his studies at the last, and to a private life; writ many excellent workes.’ Substituting Father Prout’s name for that of Democritus, the words are equally descriptive of the quaint little Irishman. He was a small spare man, with a pale deeply-lined face; badly dressed; with gray unkempt whiskers, and a certain waspish expression on his thin face which was utterly at variance, not only with the good Father’s writings,--which for ‘real larky fun,’ as James Hannay expressed it, are unsurpassed,--but also with the really kind nature of the man. His eyes were by far the best feature of his face. Keen, bright, and piercing, they were eyes that held you. Their glance was very rapid and eager, and instantly prepossessed you in his favour.”

FREDERICK MARRYAT

1792-1848

[Sidenote: F. Marryat’s _Life and Letters of Captain Marryat_.]

“Although not handsome, Captain Marryat’s personal appearance was very prepossessing. In figure he was upright, and broad-shouldered for his height, which measured five feet ten inches. His hands, without being under-sized, were remarkably perfect in form, and modelled by a sculptor at Rome on account of their symmetry. The character of his mind was borne out by his features, the most salient expression of which was the frankness of an open heart. The firm decisive mouth and massive thoughtful forehead were redeemed from heaviness by the humorous light that twinkled in his deep-set gray eyes, which, bright as diamonds, positively flashed out their fun, or their reciprocation of the fun of others. As a young man, dark crisp curls covered his head; but, later in life, when, having exchanged the sword for the pen and the ploughshare, he affected a soberer and more patriarchal style of dress and manner, he wore his gray hair long, and almost down to his shoulders. His eyebrows were not alike, one being higher up and more arched than the other, which peculiarity gave his face a look of inquiry, even in repose. In the upper lip was a deep cleft, and in his chin as deep a dimple--a pitfall for the razor, which, from the ready growth of his dark beard, he was often compelled to use twice a day.”

[Sidenote: _The Cornhill_, 1876.]

“He was not a tall man--five feet ten--but I think intended by nature to be six feet, only having gone to sea when still almost a child, at a time when the between-decks were very low-pitched, he had, he himself declared, had his growth unnaturally stopped. His immensely powerful build and massive chest, which measured considerably over forty inches round, would incline one to this belief. He had never been handsome, as far as features went, but the irregularity of his features might easily be forgotten by those who looked at the intellect shown in his magnificent forehead. His forehead and his hands were his two strong points. The latter were models of symmetry. Indeed, while resident at Rome, at an earlier period of his life, he had been requested by a sculptor to allow his hand to be modelled. At the time I now speak of him he was fifty-two years of age, but looked considerably younger. His face was clean-shaved, and his hair so long that it reached almost to his shoulders, curly in light loose locks like those of a woman. It was slightly gray. He was dressed in anything but evening costume on the present occasion, having on a short velveteen shooting-jacket and coloured trousers. I could not help smiling as I glanced at his dress--recalling to my mind what a dandy he had been as a young man.”--1844.

HARRIET MARTINEAU

1802-1876

[Sidenote: H. Martineau’s _Autobiography_.]

“She was graver and laughed more rarely than any young person I ever knew. Her face was plain, and (you will scarcely believe it) she had _no_ light in the countenance, no expression to redeem the features. The low brow and rather large under lip increased the effect of her natural seriousness of look, and did her much injustice. I used to be asked occasionally, ‘What has offended Harriet that she looks so glum?’--I, who understood her, used to answer, ‘Nothing; she is not offended, it is only her look,’”--1818.

[Sidenote: James Payn’s _Literary Recollections_.]

“In the porch stood Miss Martineau herself. A lady of middle height, ‘inclined’ as the novelists say ‘to _embonpoint_,’ with a smile on her kindly face and her trumpet at her ear. She was at that time, I suppose, about fifty years of age; her brown hair had a little grey in it, and was arranged with peculiar flatness over a low but broad forehead. I don’t think she could ever have been pretty, but her features were not uncomely, and their expression was gentle and motherly.”--1852.

[Sidenote: H. Martineau’s _Autobiography_.]

“... I saw Miss Martineau a few weeks since. She is a large, robust, elderly woman, and plainly dressed; but withal she has so kind, cheerful, and intelligent a face, that she is pleasanter to look at than most beauties. Her hair is of a decided gray, and she does not shrink from calling herself old. She is the most continual talker I ever heard; it is really like the babbling of a brook; and very lively and sensible too; and all the while she talks she moves the bowl of her ear-trumpet from one auditor to another, so that it becomes quite an organ of intelligence and sympathy between her and yourself.... All her talk was about herself and her affairs; but it did not seem like egotism, because it was so cheerful and free from morbidness.”--About 1856.

FREDERICK DENISON MAURICE

1805-1872

[Sidenote: F. Maurice’s _Life of F. D. Maurice_.]

“He was distinctly below the middle height, not above five feet seven inches, but he had a certain dignity of carriage, despite the entire absence of any self-assertion of manner, which in the pulpit, where only his head and shoulders were observable, removed the impression of small stature.... His hair was now of a silvery white, very ample in quantity, fine and soft as silk. The rush of his start for a walk had gone. His movements had, like his life, become quiet and measured. At no time had there been so much beauty about his face and figure. There was now--partly from manner, partly from face, partly from a character that seemed expressed in all,--beauty which seemed to shine round him, and was very commonly observed by those amongst whom he was. It made undergraduates, not specially impressionable, stop and watch him.... Servants and poor people whom he visited often spoke of him as ‘beautiful.’”--1866.

[Sidenote: _The Spectator_, 1872.]

“Yet though Mr. Maurice’s voice seemed to be the essential part of him as a religious teacher, his face, if you ever looked at it, was quite in keeping with his voice. His eye was full of sweetness, but fixed, and, as it were, fascinated on some ideal point. His countenance expressed nervous, high-strung tension, as though all the various play of feelings in ordinary human nature converged, in him, towards a single focus, the declaration of the divine purpose. Yet this tension, this peremptoriness, this convergence of his whole nature on a single point, never gave the effect of a dictatorial air for a moment. There was a quiver in his voice, a tremulousness in the strong deep lines of his face, a tenderness in his eye, which assured you at once that nothing of the hard crystallising character of a dogmatic belief in the Absolute had conquered his heart, and most men recognised this, for the hardest and most business-like voices took a tender and almost caressing tone in addressing him.”

JOHN MILTON

1608-1674

[Sidenote: D’Israeli’s _Curiosities of Literature_.]

“Salmasius sometimes reproaches Milton as being but a puny piece of man, an homunculus, a dwarf deprived of the human figure, a bloodless being composed of nothing but skin and bone, a contemptible pedagogue, fit only to flog his boys; and rising into a poetic frenzy applies to him the words of Virgil: ‘_Monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum._’ Our great poet thought this senseless declamation merited a serious refutation; perhaps he did not wish to appear despicable in the eyes of the ladies; and he would not be silent on the subject, he says, lest any one should consider him as the credulous Spaniards are made to believe by their priests, that a heretic is a kind of rhinoceros or a dog-headed monster. Milton says that he does not think any one ever considered him as unbeautiful; that his size rather approaches mediocrity than the diminutive; that he still felt the same courage and the same strength which he possessed when young, when, with his sword, he felt no difficulty to combat with men more robust than himself; that his face, far from being pale, emaciated, and wrinkled, was sufficiently creditable to him: for though he had passed his fortieth year, he was in all other respects ten years younger. And very pathetically he adds, ‘That even his eyes, blind as they are, are unblemished in their appearance; in this instance alone, and much against my inclination, I am a deceiver!’”

[Sidenote: Aubrey’s _Lives of Eminent Persons_.]

“He was scarce as tall as I am.[5] He had light browne hayre. His complexion exceeding fayre. Ovall face, his eie a darke gray. His widowe has his picture drawne very well and like, when a Cambridge scollar. She has his picture when a Cambridge scollar, which ought to be engraven; for the pictures before his books are not at all like him.... He was a spare man.... Extreme pleasant in his conversation, and at dinner, supper, etc., but satyricall. He pronounced the letter _r_ very hard. He had a delicate tuneable voice, and had good skill. His harmonicall and ingeniose soul did lodge in a beautiful and well-proportioned body:--‘In toto nusquam corpore menda fuit.’--Ovid.”

[Sidenote: Keightley’s _Life of Milton_. *]

“In his person Milton was rather under the middle size, well built and muscular. ‘His deportment,’ says Wood, ‘was affable, and his gait erect and manly, bespeaking courage and undauntedness.’ He was skilled in the use of the small sword, and, though he certainly would not have engaged in a duel, he had strength, skill, and courage to repel the attack of any adversary. His hair, which never fell off, was of a light-brown hue, and he wore it parted on his forehead as it is represented in his portraits. His eyes were gray, and, as the cause of his blindness was internal, they suffered no change of appearance from it. His face was oval, and his complexion was so fine in his youth that at Cambridge he was, as we are told by Aubrey, called the Lady of his College; even in his later days his cheeks retained a ruddy tinge. He had a fine ear for music, and was well skilled in that delightful science; he used to perform on the organ and bass-viol. His voice was sweet and musical, and we may presume that his singing showed both taste and science.”

MARY RUSSELL MITFORD

1786-1855

[Sidenote: S. C. Hall’s _Memories of Great Men_.]

“I certainly was disappointed when a stout little lady, tightened up in a shawl, rolled into the parlour of Newman Street, and Mrs. Holland announced her as Miss Mitford; her short petticoats showing wonderfully stout leather boots, her shawl _bundled_ on, and a little black coal-scuttle bonnet--when bonnets were expanding--added to the effect of her natural shortness and rotundity; but her manner was that of a cordial country gentlewoman; the pressure of her ‘fat’ little hands (for she extended both) was warm; her eyes, both soft and bright, looked kindly and frankly into mine; and her pretty rosy mouth dimpled with smiles that were always sweet and friendly.... She was always pleasant to look at, and had her face not been cast in so broad--so ‘out-spread’--a mould, she would have been handsome; even with that disadvantage, if her figure had been tall enough to carry her head with dignity, she would have been so; but she was most vexatiously ‘dumpy.’ Miss Landon ‘hit off’ her appearance when she whispered, the first time she saw her (and it was at our house), ‘Sancho Panza in petticoats!’ but when Miss Mitford spoke, the awkward effect vanished,--her pleasant voice, her beaming eyes and smiles, made you forget the wide expanse of face; and the roley-poley figure, when seated, did not appear really short.”--1828.

[Sidenote: James Payn’s _Literary Recollections_.]

“I can never forget the little figure rolled up in two chairs in the little Swallowfield room, packed round with books up to the ceiling, on to the floor--the little figure with clothes on of course, but of no recognised or recognisable pattern; and somewhere out of the upper end of the heap, gleaming under a great deep, globular brow, two such eyes as I never, perhaps, saw in any other Englishwoman--though I believe she must have had French blood in her veins, to breed such eyes, and such a tongue, for the beautiful speech which came out of that ugly (it was that) face, and the glitter and depth too of the eyes, like live coals--perfectly honest the while, both lips and eyes--these seemed to me to be attributes of the highest French, or rather Gallic, not of the highest English, woman. In any case, she was a triumph of mind over matter, of spirit over flesh, which gave the lie to all materialism, and puts Professor Bain out of court--at least out of court with those who use fair induction about the men and women whom they meet and know.”--About 1851.

[Sidenote: James Payn’s _Literary Recollections_.]

“I seem to see the dear little old lady now, looking like a venerable fairy, with bright sparkling eyes, a clear, incisive voice, and a laugh that carried you away with it. I never saw a woman with such an enjoyment of--I was about to say a joke, but the word is too coarse for her--of a pleasantry. She was the warmest of friends, and with all her love of fun never alluded to their weaknesses.... I well remember our first interview. I expected to find the authoress of _Our Village_ in a most picturesque residence, overgrown with honeysuckle and roses, and set in an old-fashioned garden. Her little cottage at Swallowfield, near Reading, did not answer this picture at all. It was a cottage, but not a pretty one, placed where three roads met, with only a piece of green before it. But if the dwelling disappointed me, the owner did not. I was ushered upstairs (for at that time, crippled by rheumatism, she was unable to leave her room) into a small apartment, lined with books from floor to ceiling, and fragrant with flowers; its tenant rose from her arm-chair with difficulty, but with a sunny smile and a charming manner bade me welcome. My father had been an old friend of hers, and she spoke of my home and belongings as only a woman can speak of such things. Then we plunged, _in medias res_, into men and books.”--1852.

LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU

1690-1762

[Sidenote: Horace Walpole’s _Letters_.]

“I went last night to visit her. I give you my word of honour, and you who know her will believe me without it, the following is a faithful description: I found her in a little miserable bedchamber of a ready furnished house, with two tallow candles and a bureau covered with pots and pans. On her head, in full of all accounts, she had an old black-laced hood wrapped entirely round so as to conceal all hair, or want of hair; no handkerchief, but instead of it a kind of horseman’s riding-coat, calling itself a _pet-en-l’air_, made of a dark green brocade, with coloured and silver flowers, and lined with furs; bodice laced; a full dimity petticoat, sprigged; velvet muffetees on her arms; gray stockings and slippers. Her face less changed in twenty years than I would have imagined. I told her so, and she was not so tolerable twenty years ago that she should have taken it for flattery, but she did, and literally gave me a box on the ears. She is very lively, all her senses perfect, her language as imperfect as ever, her avarice greater.”

[Sidenote: Horace Walpole’s _Letters_.]

“Did I tell you that Lady Mary Wortley is here? She laughs at my Lady Walpole, scolds my Lady Pomfret, and is laughed at by the whole town. Her dress, her avarice, and her impudence must amaze any one that never heard her name. She wears a foul mob, that does not cover her greasy black locks, that hang loose, never combed or curled; an old mazarine blue wrapper, that gapes open and discovers a canvas petticoat. Her face swelled violently on one side with the remains of a ----, partly covered with a plaister, and partly with white paint, which for cheapness she has bought so coarse that you would not use it to wash a chimney.--In three words I will give you her picture as we drew it in the ‘Sortes Virgilianae’--

‘Insanam vatem aspicies.’

I give you my honour we did not choose it; but Gray, Mr. Coke, Sir Francis Dashwood, and I, and several others, drew it fairly amongst a thousand for different people, most of which did not hit as you may imagine.”--1740.

THOMAS MOORE

1779-1852

[Sidenote: Leigh Hunt’s _Autobiography_.]

“Moore’s forehead was bony and full of character, with ‘bumps’ of wit, large and radiant enough to transport a phrenologist. Sterne had such another. His eyes were as dark and fine as you would wish to see under a set of vine-leaves; his mouth generous and good-humoured, with dimples; and his manner was as bright as his talk, full of the wish to please and be pleased. He sang, and played with great taste on the pianoforte, as might be supposed from his musical compositions. His voice, which was a little hoarse in speaking (at least I used to think so), softened into a breath, like that of a flute, when singing. In speaking he was emphatic in rolling the letter _r_, perhaps out of a despair of being able to get rid of the national peculiarity.”

[Sidenote: S. C. Hall’s _Memories of Great Men_.]

“His eyes sparkle like a champagne bubble; there is a kind of wintry red, of the tinge of an October leaf, that seems enamelled on his cheek; his lips are delicately cut, slight, and changeable as an aspen; the slightly-turned nose confirms the fun of the expression; and altogether it is a face that sparkles, beams, and radiates--

‘The light that surrounds him is all from within.’”

1835.

[Sidenote: S. C. Hall’s _Retrospect of a Long Life_.]

“I recall him at this moment--his small form and intellectual face rich in expression, and that expression the sweetest, the most gentle, and the kindliest. He had still in age the same bright and clear eye, the same gracious smile, the same suave and winning manner I had noticed as the attributes of what might in comparison be styled his youth (I have stated I knew him as long ago as 1821); a forehead not remarkably broad or high, but singularly impressive, firm, and full, with the organs of music and gaiety large, and those of benevolence and veneration greatly preponderating; the nose, as observed in all his portraits, was somewhat upturned. Standing or sitting, his head was invariably upraised, owing, perhaps, mainly to his shortness of stature. He had so much bodily activity as to give him the attribute of restlessness, and no doubt that usual accompaniment of genius was eminently a characteristic of his. His hair was, at the time I speak of, thin and very gray, and he wore his hat with the jaunty air that has been often remarked as a peculiarity of the Irish. In dress, although far from slovenly, he was by no means precise. He had but little voice, yet he sang with a depth of sweetness that charmed all hearers; it was true melody, and told upon the heart as well as the ear. No doubt much of this charm was derived from association, for it was only his own melodies he sang.”--1845.

HANNAH MORE

1745-1833

[Sidenote: _Memoir of Mrs. Hannah More._]

“I was much struck by the air of affectionate kindness with which the old lady welcomed me to Barley Wood--there was something of courtliness about it, at the same time the courtliness of the _vieille cour_, which one reads of, but so seldom sees. Her dress was of light green Venetian silk; a yellow, richly embroidered crape shawl enveloped her shoulders; and a pretty net cap, tied under her chin with white satin riband, completed the costume. Her figure is singularly _petite_; but to have any idea of the expression of her countenance, you must imagine the small withered face of a woman in her seventy-seventh year; and, imagine also (shaded, but not obscured, by long and perfectly white eyelashes) eyes dark, brilliant, flashing, and penetrating, sparkling from object to object, with all the fire and energy of youth, and smiling welcome on all around.”--1820.

[Sidenote: S. C. Hall’s _Memories of Great Men_.]

“Her form was small and slight: her features wrinkled with age; but the burden of eighty years had not impaired her gracious smile, nor lessened the fire of her eyes, the clearest, the brightest, and the most searching I have ever seen--they were singularly dark--positively black they seemed as they looked forth among carefully-trained tresses of her own white hair; and absolutely sparkled while she spoke of those of whom she was the venerated link between the present and the long past. Her manner on entering the room, while conversing, and at our departure, was positively sprightly; she tripped about from console to console, from window to window, to show us some gift that bore a name immortal, some cherished reminder of other days--almost of another world, certainly of another age; for they were memories of those whose deaths were registered before the present century had birth.... She was clad, I well remember, in a dress of rich pea-green silk. It was an odd whim, and contrasted somewhat oddly with her patriarchal age and venerable countenance, yet was in harmony with the youth of her step, and her unceasing vivacity as she laughed and chatted, chatted and laughed, her voice strong and clear as that of a girl, and her animation as full of life and vigour as it might have been in her spring-time.”--1825.

[Sidenote: A. M. Hall’s _Pilgrimages to English Shrines_.]

“Her brow was full and well sustained, rather than what would be called _fine_: from the manner in which her hair was dressed, its formation was distinctly visible; and though her eyes were half-closed, her countenance was more tranquil, more sweet, more holy--for it _had_ a holy expression--than when those deep intense eyes were looking you through and through. Small, and shrunk, and aged as she was, she conveyed to us no idea of feebleness. She looked, even then, a woman whose character, combining sufficient thought and wisdom, as well as dignity and spirit, could analyse and exhibit, in language suited to the intellect of the people of England, the evils and dangers of revolutionary principles. Her voice had a pleasant tone, and her manner was quite devoid of affectation or dictation; she spoke as one expecting a reply, and by no means like an oracle. And those bright immortal eyes of hers--not wearied by looking at the world for more than eighty years, but clear and far-seeing then--laughing, too, when she spoke cheerfully, not as authors are believed to speak--

‘In measured pompous tones,’--

but like a dear matronly dame, who had especial care and tenderness towards young women. It is impossible to remember how it occurred, but in reference to some observation I had made she turned briskly round and exclaimed, ‘Controversy hardens the heart, and sours the temper: never dispute with your husband, young lady; tell him what you think, and leave it to time to fructify.’”

SIR THOMAS MORE

1480-1535

[Sidenote: More’s _Life of Sir Thomas More_.]

“He was of a meane stature, well proportioned, his complexion tending to the phlegmaticke, his colour white and pale, his hayre neither black nor yellow, but betweene both; his eies gray, his countenance amiable and chearefull, his voyce neither bigg nor shrill, but speaking plainely and distinctly; it was not very tunable, though he delighted much in musike, his bodie reasonably healthfull, only that towards his latter ende by using much writing, he complained much of the ache of his breaste. In his youth he drunke much water, wine he only tasted of, when he pledged others; he loved salte meates, especially powdered beefe, milke, cheese, eggs and fruite, and usually he eate of corse browne bread, which it may be he rather used to punish his taste, than from anie love he had thereto. For he was singularly wise to deceave the world with mortifications, only contenting himselfe with the knowledge which God had of his actions: et pater ejus, qui erat in abscondito reddidit ei.”

[Sidenote: Campbell’s _Lives of the Lord Chancellors_. *]

“Holbein’s portrait of More has made his features familiar to all Englishmen. According to his great-grandson, he was of ‘a middle stature, well proportioned, of a pale complexion; his hair of a chestnut colour, his eyes gray, his countenance mild and cheerful; his voice not very musical, but clear and distinct; his constitution, which was good originally, was never impaired by his way of living, otherwise than by too much study. His diet was simple and abstemious, never drinking any wine but when he pledged those who drank to him, and rather mortifying than indulging his appetite in what he ate.’

[Sidenote: _Life of Sir Thomas More._ *]

“He is rather below than above the middle size; his countenance of an agreeable and friendly cheerfulness, with somewhat of an habitual inclination to smile; and appears more adapted to pleasantry than to gravity or dignity, though perfectly remote from vulgarity or silliness.”

CAROLINE NORTON

1808-1877

[Sidenote: Kemble’s _Records of a Girlhood_.]

“When I first knew Caroline Sheridan she had not long been married to the Hon. George Norton. She was splendidly handsome, of an un-English character of beauty, her rather large and heavy head and features recalling the grandest Grecian and Italian models, to the latter of whom her rich colouring and blue-black braids of hair gave her an additional resemblance. Though neither as perfectly lovely as the Duchess of Somerset, nor as perfectly charming as Lady Dufferin, she produced a far more striking impression than either of them, by the combination of the poetical genius with which she alone, of the three, was gifted, with the brilliant power of repartee which they (especially Lady Dufferin) possessed in common with her, united to the exceptional beauty with which they were all three endowed. Mrs. Norton was exceedingly epigrammatic in her talk, and comically dramatic in her manner of relating things.... She was no musician, but had a deep, sweet contralto voice, precisely the same in which she always spoke, and which, combined with her always lowered eyelids (‘downy eyelids’ with sweeping silken fringes), gave such incomparably comic effect to her sharp retorts and ludicrous stories.... I admired her extremely.--1827.

“The next time ... was at an evening party at my sister’s house, where her appearance struck me more than it had ever done. Her dress had something to do with this effect, no doubt. She had a rich gold-coloured silk on, shaded and softened all over with black lace draperies, and her splendid head, neck, and arms, were adorned with magnificently simple Etruscan ornaments, which she had brought from Rome, whence she had just returned, and where the fashion of that famous antique jewellery had lately been revived. She was still ‘une beauté triomphante à faire voir aux ambassadeurs.’”

[Sidenote: A personal friend.]

“The most beautiful of ‘the beautiful Sheridans,’ Caroline Norton will also live in the memory of her friends as one of the most fascinating of women. Her voice was exceedingly sweet and musical, her movements wonderfully graceful, and, with the solitary exception of Theodore Hook, whose rough, coarse wit spared no one, her queenly bearing won her general adulation and deference. Her face was a pure oval, her head was crowned by heavy braids of the darkest hair, while the warmth and light which suffused her expressive countenance gave her a somewhat un-English appearance. Her eyes were dark; black curly lashes swept over the warmly-tinted cheek; the lips were of geranium red; the teeth, dazzlingly white. Altogether she was a vivid piece of colouring, and as she was always very beautifully dressed, it did not require her literary reputation to make her at all times sought after and admired.”

[Sidenote: S. C. Hall’s _Retrospect of a long Life_.]

“It seems but yesterday--it is not so very long ago certainly--that I saw for the last time the Hon. Mrs. Norton. Her radiant beauty was then faded, but her stately form had been little impaired by years, and she had retained much of the grace that made her early womanhood so surpassingly attractive. She combined, in a singular degree, feminine delicacy with masculine vigour; though essentially womanly, she seemed to have the force of character of man. Remarkably handsome she perhaps excited admiration rather than affection. I can easily imagine greater love to be given to a far plainer woman. She had, in more than full measure, the traditional beauty of her family, and no doubt inherited with it some of the waywardness that is associated with the name of Sheridan.”

THOMAS OTWAY

1651-1685

[Sidenote: _Gentleman’s Magazine_, 1745.]

“You’ll be glad to know any trifling circumstance concerning Otway. His person was of the middle size, about five feet seven inches in height, inclinable to fatness. He had a thoughtful speaking eye, and that was all. He gave himself up early to drinking, and, like the unhappy wits of that age, passed his days between rioting and fasting, ranting jollity and abject penitence, carousing one week with Lord Pl----th, and then starving a month in low company at an ale-house on Tower Hill.”

[Sidenote: Sir Walter Scott’s _Memoir of Mrs. Radcliffe_. *]

“Otway, heavy, squalid, unhappy; yet tender countenance, but not so squalid as one we formerly saw; full-speaking, black eyes; it seems as if dissolute habits had overcome all his finer feelings, and left him little of mind, except a sense of sorrow.” _On a picture._

SAMUEL PEPYS

1632-1703