The Letter-Bag of Lady Elizabeth Spencer-Stanhope Part 10

GROSVENOR SQUARE, _May 8th., 1810._

I can tell you what Lord C.'s funeral is to be. It is to take place on Friday at St Paul's. Mr C. and one of his sisters are in town. He is anxious that it should be proper & your father has been his adviser, but he was determined that it should be as private as possible, as Lord Collingwood's wish on that subject was strongly expressed in his Will.

The Body is now at Greenwich where the Hea.r.s.e & ten mourning Coaches will go. The company are to a.s.semble at a room on the other side of Blackfriars Bridge, where betwixt 20 & 30 are to get into the mourning coaches, & their own are to follow, but no others. The company are, as far as I can recollect, besides the ten relations & connections, the first Lords of the Admiralty who have been in power since he had the Command--Gray, Mulgrave, T. Grenville; Ld St Vincent declined on account of health; the Chancellor & Sir Walter Scott; Admirals Ld Radstock & Harvey, Capt Waldegrave, Purvis, Irvyn Brown, Haywood-- perhaps others; Doctors Gray & Fullerton, Sir M. Ridley & Mr Reay.

Government mean to vote him a national monument to be placed near Lord Nelson & the Body will be placed as near his as it can be. You will be glad to hear that there is a picture painted about a year & a half ago which Waldegrave will get for Mr C. I therefore hope there will be a print of him. His loss will be felt every day more & more. They say he saved to the country more than any Admiral did before, in repairs of the fleet; and to that country his life has been sacrificed.

A reference to Lord Collingwood written by the recipient of this letter, John Stanhope, although it presents no new reflection upon his career, is not without a peculiar interest in that it was a contemporary comment and one of unstudied pathos.

Lord Collingwood, [he wrote in 1810] has sacrificed his life to his country and to the full as much as has done his friend and commander Lord Nelson. But Nelson's death was glorious; he fell in the hour of victory amidst a nation's tears. Poor Collingwood resigned his life to his country, because she required his services; he yielded himself as a victim to a painful disease, solely occasioned by his incessant and anxious attention to his duties, when he knew from his physician that his existence might be spared if he were allowed to return to the quiet of domestic life. Must not his mind have sometimes recurred to his home; to his two daughters, now grown to the age of womanhood, but whom he remembered only as little children; so long had he been estranged from his country! Must he not have felt how delightfully he could spend his old age in the society of his family, at his own house at Chirton, the ancient possession of his ancestors, which had been left to him by my uncle, and in the enjoyment of a large fortune, which he had gained during his professional career! What a contrast did the reverse of the picture show! A lingering disease, a certain death. He repeatedly represented the state of his health to the Admiralty, but in vain; his country demanded his services; he gave her his life; and without even the consolation of thinking that the sacrifice he was making would be appreciated. "If Lord Mulgrave knew me," said he in one of his letters to my father, "he would know that I did not complain without sufficient cause."

It was thus that Collingwood came home--that the long exile ended and the tired frame attained to rest. On May 11th, he was laid by the side of Nelson in St Paul's, and the comrades of Trafalgar were re-united in a last repose. The ceremony on this occasion exhibited none of the pomp and circ.u.mstance which attended the obsequies of the hero of Trafalgar. In harmony with the wishes and the character of the dead man, so simple was it that the papers emphasise in surprise that "not even the choir service is to be sung on the occasion." And this, possibly, const.i.tutes the sole particular in which England endeavoured to fulfil any desire of the man who had laid down his life in her service. His earnest request that the peerage which had been bestowed upon him might descend to his daughter, his pathetic representation that but for the unremitting nature of that service he would presumably have had a son to succeed him, were callously ignored. There were obvious reasons why Nelson's dying bequest to the nation of the woman he had loved remained unregarded, there was none that that of Collingwood should not have been granted and his barren honours thus made sweet to him. But his generation mourned him with idle tears, and succeeding generations have, possibly, done him scanty justice. Yet one, a master-mind in English Literature, has raised an eternal testimony to his worth--"Another true knight errant of those days," proclaims Thackeray, "was Cuthbert Collingwood, and I think, since Heaven made gentlemen, there is no record of a better one than that. Of brighter deeds, I grant you, we may read performed by others; but where of a n.o.bler, kinder, more beautiful life of duty, of a gentler, truer heart?

Beyond dazzle of success and blaze of genius, I fancy s.h.i.+ning a hundred and a hundred times higher the sublime purity of Collingwood's gentle glory. His heroism stirs British hearts when we recall it. His love and goodness and piety make one thrill with happy emotion.... There are no words to tell what the heart feels in reading the simple phrases of such a hero. Here is victory and courage, but love sublimer and superior."

Nevertheless there is, in truth, little which appeals to the imagination of posterity in the story of that drab martyrdom. Moreover Collingwood is judged, not individually but by comparison. For ever he is obscured by the more dazzling vision of Nelson. It weighs little in his favour that, devoid of the vanity and the weakness which made of the latter a lesser man even though a greater genius, Collingwood, throughout his life, exhibited a n.o.bility of soul which was never marred by one self-seeking thought, one mean word, one base action. That very fact militates against him. Collingwood had no dramatic instinct, and in the great issues of life he never played to the gallery; he has not even attached to his memory, as has Nelson, the glamour of a baffling and arresting intrigue. And there remains eternally to his disfavour that he did not die at the psychological moment. Whether he was, as some recent researches might lead us to believe, a greater strategist than Nelson, as he was undoubtedly a man of stronger principles and more disinterested motives, of wider education and of profounder political insight, it is not our province here to inquire. On his column in Trafalgar Square, to all time, Nelson stands aloft surveying the generations who do him homage; far away, on the sh.o.r.es of Tynemouth, a solitary figure of Collingwood, not erected till 1845, gazes out across the ocean of his exile. It is as though the loneliness which tortured that great soul in life haunts him beyond the grave, as the adulation which was balm to Nelson's soul remains his portion to all eternity. There might even be imagined an unconscious irony in the last reference to Collingwood which occurs in the Stanhope correspondence, wherein Mrs Stanhope, after the first horror which the news of her kinsman's death had evoked, sums up thus the immediate effect of that event upon her family life:--

_May 10th._

London is very gay now.... To give you some idea how we go on, I will mention some of our engagements. To-night Opera; tomorrow, concerts at Mrs Boehms and Lady Castlereagh's; Thursday, Dow. Lady Glyn, Lady de Crespygny musick, and Lady Westmorland's; Sat.u.r.day, Opera; 23rd., 24th and 26th b.a.l.l.s. On Friday, of course, there are cards, but I shall not go out on account of its being the funeral of our justly-lamented friend.

CHAPTER III

1806-1807

ON DITS FROM YORKs.h.i.+RE, LONDON AND RAMSGATE

Three years before his death, in the midst of the stress and labour which was undermining his bodily strength, Collingwood had written with regard to this same wearing anxiety--"My astonishment is to find that in England this does not seem to enter into the minds of the people, or at least not to interrupt their gaieties. England on the verge of ruin requires the care of all; but when that _all_ is divided and contending for power, then it is that the foundation shakes."

To the lonely Admiral tossing on the ocean of his exile, absorbed in that mighty problem of England's defence, the att.i.tude of his countrymen at home--their callousness and absorption in trivialities--had seemed well- nigh incredible. But propinquity affects proportion, and as a small object close at hand looms larger to the eye than a vast object upon a distant horizon, so the anomaly continued to be witnessed in England which has often formed part of the history of nations. Possibly one of the strangest phases of the French Revolution was that in which--while heads fell daily and the land ran blood--the round of theatres continued without interruption and the existence of a certain section of the public remained undisturbed. Thus it is not surprising to find, after the storm of feeling which was roused by the Battle of Trafalgar, how quickly personal interests superseded national, and the social life of the country reverted placidly to its normal groove.

True that Nelson's great victory, even while it had dealt a final and shattering blow to Napoleon's maritime power, had not been fraught with the vast consequences which in the moment of exultation it was fondly believed had been achieved. Bonaparte's supremacy in Europe remained unshaken, and his victory of Austerlitz, following hard upon Trafalgar, minimised the latter, while it crushed with despair the dying heart of Pitt. As we have seen, that year dawned darkly which was to witness the death of two of England's foremost statesmen, the great Tory in January, the great Whig in September; but while, big with import, history traced the tale of such giant upheavals in the national life, in strange contrast comes the quiet ripple of contemporary gossip.

"The Prince," wrote Mrs Stanhope from Yorks.h.i.+re in the middle of September, "returns to attend Fox's funeral & then has said he will immediately come back to make his promised visits to Wentworth, Raby and Castle Howard." On the 20th of September Marianne wrote to her brother an account of H.R.H. attending Doncaster Races.

Doncaster Races were not near so splendid as they were expected to have been, few south country people, none of distinction.

The Prince of Wales looked wretchedly; he is thought to be in a bad state of health and was to be cupped last Monday. He arrived at Doncaster about _two_ in the morning, and the yeomanry commanded by Mr Wortley met by order to escort him into the town at _nine the next morning_, so that was _manque_. The ball was very ill-managed, the Prince arrived at the rooms before they were lighted, neither of the stewards there to receive him--quite scandalous, I think.

_The Same._ _Nov. 16th._

The Royal visitors at Wentworth were magnificently received. Lord Milton [1] exerts himself much in politicks, his only _forte_ perhaps, however, that is better than if it were his only _foible_. Lady Milton charms everybody, I have never met with one exception.

The Prince, of course you know, inspected the Cavalry at Doncaster and complimented them much. They were out five days on permanent duty, on one of which Mr Foljambe gave the whole regiment a dinner in the Mansion House, a whole pipe of wine was consumed.

Lord Morpeth, [2] I am rejoiced to hear got his election. Mr Howard, his brother, is a very gentlemanlike, very handsome young man, worthy of his sister Lady Cawdor. [3] Would you believe it he has never been at Stackpole.

We were much disappointed on Friday by the non-arrival of Mr Wilberforce, [4] as I had promised myself much pleasure, even from so short a visit from such an excellent man. I have been reading some of his _Views of Christianity_, and tho' I believe it is in some parts rather methodistical, I think it quite an angelic book. If he talks as he writes he must be charming.

CANNON HALL _November 28th, 1806._

A most dreadful and fatal accident happened on Tuesday at Woolley [5]

about seven in the Evening. Mrs Fawkes, [6] Mother to Mrs Wentworth, went to an unfinished window, fell out & was killed on the spot. She fell eleven yards perpendicular height.

Mr Wentworth, and his brother Mr Armytage, were here. Mrs Wentworth was not well, & had not accompanied them, therefore she was at home at the Moment, & poor Mrs Farrer, sister to Mrs Fawkes was actually in the room. They immediately sent for Mr Wentworth, & you may imagine the distress in which he left us. Poor Mrs Wentworth had only just recovered from the shock of her Governess dying after an illness of a few days.

To turn to a more cheerful subject--as the occupations of this house interest you, I must describe the present drawing-room trio. Hour eight; tea ordered; at the top of the table, in a great chair, Anne, reading the Roman history. At the bottom, Marianne with two folios, making extracts from Palladio on Architecture. My occupation speaks for itself. I greatly doubt whether a busier scene could be found at Oxford at the same hour.

Miss Baker [7] mentions that Yarborough has been ill at Cambridge & wishes to know whether it arises from their intense studying that the young men at the Universities are so frequently indisposed.

_Mrs Stanhope to John Spencer-Stanhope._ GROVE, _January 26th, 1807._

We are now returning to town, your father arrived there last Thursday.

The waggon with our goods was overturned twice in going from Cannon Hall to Wakefield....

This day se'nnight we left home, & called at Woolley, but Mrs Wentworth was not well enough to see us. Thence we waded through the worst possible road to Hensworth where we found Sir Francis (Wood) with the gout and Lady Wood like a Ghoul....

More bad roads to Fryston where we found, including ourselves, a party of seventeen, three less than was expected, among others Lord and Lady Galway [8] and two Miss Moncktons.

The noise, riot and confusion of the house I shall not attempt to describe.

On the following day they drove from Fryston to a ball in the neighbourhood, of which Mrs Stanhope relates:--

We arrived about nine. The ball-room was beautiful. It was hung with white Calico, with a wreath of evergreens round the top of the room and festoons from it of the same all round; the only fault was _the pure white of the Calico made all the ladies look dirty_. There were 160 or 170 people, many I did not know, many Men, but where the majority came from I cannot pretend to say; Darlingtons, Ramsdens, Cookes, Taylors, etc, and our large party the chief from the neighbourhood.

The dances were too long and too crowded, which made it not pleasant for the dancers, but it was a fine ball, upon the whole, but much inferior in every respect to Kippax.

Your sisters danced a good deal, and both of them with a Bond Street lounger whose name was Carey. I believed he was rouged. He desired his hostess to introduce him to a partner, stipulating--"_But let her be charming!_" and as she had promised Anne, _she_ had the good fortune, and I suppose he found her what he wished, for he afterwards honoured Marianne, and they were both vastly amused at his conceit and folly.

Michael Angelo [9] was _superb_. Since the honour the Prince did him, he has been obliged to part with many of his servants as they would no longer work.

We arrived at Fryston from the Ball at 1/2 past six, the rest of the party at 1/2 past seven, when they breakfasted before they went to bed.

The next day was breakfast all the morning long, & very jolly they were. Miles is as eccentric as ever. So odd a man I never saw.