Chapter VI: Francis Thompson (1)

I have had a pleasant week at Clouds, and am to stay on to the 25th, a house full of children, relations, and friends, busy, too, indexing my “Secret History,” and writing a programme of new Egyptian policy for the “Manchester Guardian.”

“_19th April._—Things are going well in Egypt, Cromer’s breakdown in health has resolved itself according to the ‘Daily Telegraph’ into ‘an attack of indigestion, which has prevented his taking his usual nourishment.’ It has not prevented his attending a public luncheon party, or accepting an engagement to deliver a farewell speech at the Opera House at Cairo. What rot it all is, and now Fox-Bourne (of the Aborigines Protection Society) writes that the Egyptian Committee has decided not to oppose a parliamentary grant to him of money, or honours. I have suggested his being raised to the dignity of Duke of Denshawai.

“Talking about the Anglo-French Entente with Percy Wyndham he tells me that the agreement was signed here at Clouds, in the East Room, the three signatories being Arthur Balfour, Lansdowne, and his son George. This adds to the interest of what George told me about it last year, viz., that it was agreed upon by a very small inner Cabinet of the Cabinet, and that they understood it as a bar to anything in the way of annexation or permanent retention of Egypt as a British possession. It was signed during the Easter recess of 1904, which Arthur always spends at Clouds.

“Percy is much troubled at Asquith’s new Budget, which increases the death duties on fortunes of over £150,000; I don’t think myself it much matters. All it means is that the very great houses will have to reduce their scale of domestic expenditure, and live in a smaller way. He feels himself over-housed at Clouds, and I, too, personally find myself much happier at Newbuildings where I can live in a quite small way, than I was at Crabbet.

“_22nd April._—Pamela Tennant is here with sundry children. Among them is a boy of nine (Bimbo), who has written some good verses. His mother recited some of these to me, especially a Blakian rhyme addressed to her, which I thought excellent. In the afternoon George arrived. I think I have persuaded him that mine is a wiser view of Egyptian things than Cromer’s. We have talked also about Ireland, as to which he talks more and more in a Home Rule sense, not as liking it, but as a necessity. He says it ought to be complete Home Rule on the plan of a self-governing Colony, giving the Irish full command of their finances, their police, and their customs duties, and reserving for England only their army and navy, and their Foreign relations. He would like also to reserve some special privilege as to the enlistment of soldiers. Ireland should take over responsibilities incurred on her behalf by the Imperial Government, especially in regard to land purchase. He scouts all idea of ‘a half-way house,’ which he said would settle nothing. He approves, or half approves, my publishing my Egyptian memoirs, as they attack the Liberal party, not his own. I have written to Madame Adam about its production in French at Paris.

“To-day I read aloud the whole of the Song of Solomon from a MS. copy Miss Offer has made for me. It is the first of all the love poems in the world, and I would sooner have written it than the whole of the rest of literature. How it got into the Canon of Holy Scripture is a puzzle, for it is pure sexual passion without the least trace of religious sentiment, all the more beautiful for that. George showed me some new verses he has written in the manner of Ronsard. Good, if not quite first rate.

“_23rd April._—The ‘Pall Mall’ of last night contains in the largest type an announcement of my play ‘Fand,’ having been performed at the Abbey Theatre at Dublin with great success. I never was more astonished, as when I saw Lady Gregory last she told me it was put off _sine die_, and that she would let me know when it would be given. It is only in Ireland, I suppose, that a play could be performed for the first time and the author know nothing about it.

“_24th April._—Reading poetry all the morning, and in the afternoon to Summerleas, the most beautiful spot imaginable, shut in with thorn trees white with blossom, and May trees coming into leaf, blackbirds singing, and wood pigeons, and yaffles.

“_25th April._—The ‘Manchester Guardian’ has printed my article on a new _régime_ for Egypt, with a leading article recommending it strongly. Things look more favourable for liberty on the Nile than has been the case for twenty years.

“_27th April._—Mustapha Kamel publishes a manifesto in the Paris ‘Figaro’ on the lines of mine in the ‘Manchester Guardian,’ demanding a Parliament and a native administration for Egypt. Among the appointments gazetted in connection with Cromer’s resignation is that of young Errington to be Private Secretary to Hardinge at the Foreign Office. It was part of the bargain proposed to Cromer four years ago if he would resign, that Gorst was to succeed him at Cairo, and act there as warming pan to Errington who was to have the reversion of the Cairo Agency when high enough up in the service. This looks like a step in the intrigue.

“_4th May._—There has been an outburst of agitation at Cairo. The whole Arabic Press refuses to bid Cromer a friendly good-bye. Gorst has arrived in Egypt, but the Nationalists are abstaining from either praise or blame of him till he shows his hand; in this they are wise. There have been riots at Lahore and Rawal Pindi indicating that the Indian question is also coming on.

“_6th May._—Cromer has given proof of his ‘genuine ill health’ by making a great speech in the Opera House at Cairo, a farewell speech of self- glorification. The secret of his policy, he said, had always been to ‘speak the truth.’ Only three Egyptians, however, as far as is reported, were there to support him, among a mass of strangers, Mustapha Fehmy, Riaz, and Saad Zaghloul. He is confident on this showing that the mass of the Egyptians like him, and that if they don’t now they will some day.

“_9th May._—I have been for a week in London. George Wyndham came to dine with me and Mark Napier, and we were very merry. George was in one of his communicative moods, and told us the whole history of how he had financed his Irish Land Bill, and how he had stopped the Somali war, and how it was certain there would be war with Germany, perhaps in five years, perhaps in thirty, and we discussed Egypt and India, and the whole world round, and George Curzon, and a number of other interesting things, past, present, and to come.

“_10th May._—There have been great doings at Lahore, the town invaded by some hundreds of ryots with bludgeons, Englishmen insulted in the streets, and the military called out. Also native agitators have been arrested by _lettres de cachet_, and deported untried by order of the immaculate Morley. Morley is just the weak-kneed administrator to resort to ‘firm measures,’ and we shall see him using all ‘the resources of civilization,’ practiced in Russia. On Monday Cromer is to return home in triumph: I have written to Redmond, calling on him to oppose the vote of thanks the Government is to bring forward, but his answer says neither yes nor no.

“_12th May._—Rivers Wilson, whom I saw to-day, is open-mouthed about Cromer whom he calls an imposter. Cromer is to arrive from Egypt to- morrow and be met by Campbell Bannerman, Grey, and the Prince of Wales, and to be received by the King.

“_13th May._—Questions are to be asked about the arrest of Lajpat Rai in India, I shall be interested to see whether Redmond and the Irish members take part in these. The present is a crisis in the affairs of the Empire and the Irish party will have to take sides, with or against liberty in the East. The evening papers give accounts of Cromer’s arrival at Victoria Station, a great show of official welcome but no street enthusiasm; the earliest arriver at the station, Moberly Bell!

“_14th May._—With Meynell to see the Academy pictures. He is an art critic and also has much to tell about the private life of the painters; Sargent is the especial object of his admiration. The ladies he paints, according to Meynell, generally bore him so that he is obliged to retire every now and then behind a screen and refresh himself by putting his tongue out at them. He has made an exception, however, to this practice in the case of Mrs. Sassoon, of whom there is a really fine portrait by him this year with another almost equally good of a lady in plain white, without jewels, a much prettier woman, but she, too, bored him. He paints nothing but Jews and Jewesses now and says he prefers them, as they have more life and movement than our English women. With the exception of these two portraits I saw little of any great merit in the show, though Meynell tried hard to make me admire some of his favourites. I have an experience now of just fifty years of Royal Academies and find the general level lower than formerly, especially in the matter of colour, but the two Sargents are quite first rate.

“_20th May._—Bill Gordon came to see me—dying, I fear, poor fellow, of consumption and will hardly see the year out. We had a long talk about Egyptian affairs. Among other interesting things he told me the story of his uncle’s first disagreement with Cromer. This was in ’78 or ’79 when the Khedive, Ismaïl, had sent for him to Khartoum to confer with Lesseps about his finances. Gordon and Lesseps both advised suspending a half year’s coupon which would have enabled Ismaïl to tide over his difficulties, but Baring opposed it and being supported by the Bond- holding interest prevailed. Baring was new then in Egypt and affected to ignore Gordon’s experience and they interchanged words in consequence. Cromer was always from this time opposed to Gordon and continued his ill-will to him, Bill, notably on the occasion of his retirement from the Egyptian service. He spoke strongly of the injustice done to Egypt while reconquering the Soudan, through the work of the Egyptian army, and then annexing half the sovereignty of the country to England, while saddling Egypt with the expense. They had even tried when Khartoum was retaken to charge the cost of the English Union Jacks hoisted there on the Egyptian treasury, and he cited several instances of jobbery in the interests of English firms. He is delighted at Cromer’s downfall.

“_21st May._—Called on Mrs. Belloc in their new house at Shipley, of which they have made quite a habitable place. The principal room had been used as a shop, but is now again the parlour, the little orchard and garden are nice, and the windmill is an attraction with its view of the church and village, a most enjoyable little property.

“_22nd May._—The Dublin Convention has voted unanimously against Birrell’s new Irish Councils Bill. I am doubly glad of it, both because I do not believe in any halfway house to Home Rule, and because the rejection will leave Redmond’s hands freer to oppose the Government on Indian and Egyptian affairs.

“_26th May (Sunday)._—The political arrests in India continue. Lajpat Rai has been deported to Burmah, exactly as they deport suspected people to Siberia in Russia. Jemal-ed-Din always used to tell me these arbitrary deportations were an Anglo-Indian practice, but Anglo-Indians denied it. It is grand to see Morley at the work.

“_29th May._—Chapel Street. Lady Gregory came to luncheon, in terrible trouble about her plays. She had gone to Italy to get away from the worry, with Yeats and her son, and had engaged to bring out ‘The Playboy’ with other pieces at Oxford and in London but the Censor interfered and she was telegraphed for to come back. Birrell, however, to whom the case was referred, withdrew the Censor’s opposition. I am of opinion she would do better to withdraw the play, but she has others to consult and Yeats is obstinate.

“_1st June._—Newbuildings. Lady Gregory is in worse trouble than ever. The Editor of the ‘Freeman’ has written threatening her with new displeasure if she persists with ‘The Playboy’ in England, and I fear her theatre will be altogether boycotted. I advise her to submit to Irish opinion, but though she admits that it was a mistake to produce the play, she says it is too late now to withdraw it. The worst of it is that she is already boycotted personally on account of it at Coole, the Local Council forbidding the school-children to go to her house, or even to accept cakes or presents of any kind from her; it is the Sinn Fein that has done it.

“She told me an interesting fact of past history connected with Layard’s life at Constantinople and his secret despatch against the Sultan which Granville published. The Sultan’s mind had been set against Layard’s by someone and, at an audience, though they had been close friends, Abdul Hamid behaved in such a way as to show that he feared Layard would attack him. This was the occasion of the secret despatch being written. It cost Layard the peerage he aspired to, for Lord Salisbury had promised it, but the Queen refused, saying that no ambassador ought to write in such terms of the sovereign to whom he was accredited. Lady Gregory knows this, as Sir William (her husband) was intermediary in the affair of the peerage.

“_4th June._—My ‘Secret History’ is out, I received a first copy this morning. I am sending copies of it to Bannerman, Grey, Churchill, Gorst, Kaiser Wilhelm, and Roosevelt, as also to Eddy Hamilton and Rivers Wilson.

“_10th June._—Called on the Lucases at Thakeham and found Father Tyrrell there, my ex-Jesuit friend, with Miss Petre and Mrs. Urquhart.

“_11th June._—Cockerell, who has been in Paris arranging for a French edition of my ‘Secret History,’ writes an amusing account of a visit he paid Mme. Juliette Adam at her country house, the Abbaye de Gif. He says, _5th June_:

“‘Madame Juliette proposed an encounter yesterday afternoon and Geoffroy kindly agreed to go as my protector. She lives in a lovely valley, an hour by train from Paris. The house also capable of being made very beautiful, but I grieve to say that her taste in pictures and furniture is execrable. However, she received us with great kindness and promised to do all possible to make the French edition known, but she says you must not expect the sale of it to extend beyond a small circle. Mustapha Kamel wrote a book which nobody would read and which has made Perrin (the publisher) a little shy of books on Egypt. When we had discussed the matter for a quarter of an hour with Juliette and her friend and contemporary La Comtesse X, enter _à gauche_ Le Colonel Marchand, his arms full of yellow broom. He is the most stagey Frenchman imaginable, very jerky and jack-in-the-boxey and with a furious military air. He covered me with compliments in a moment, mistaking me for the illustrious author of the “Secret History” and when these had had time to run off me we engaged in an exciting discussion about the politics of the world. Madame Adam and the brave Colonel unite in unbounded admiration and fear of England and English diplomacy. _Le Roi Edward VII_ is the subtlest beast of the field that ever was created. He has outwitted everyone and has _dindonné_ France into an alliance which will probably cost her another war with Germany. Never was England so strong and unassailable as now, etc., etc., etc., hammer and tongs for an hour and a half. I interjected remarks in my execrable demi-French, most of which were understood without a smile. Geoffroy was very silent as he knows even less of politics than I. We left after tea in a rollicking humour.’

“_15th June._—Prince Mohammed Ali, the Khedive’s brother, came down to see the horses, bringing with him Saadullah Pasha Yusri, and Yusuf Bey Sadyk, son of the old Mufettish, whom Ismaïl murdered. I found all of them loud against Cromer, especially in connection with the Denshawai case. The Prince is far more intelligent than at first sight appears, and his political views seem quite sound.

“_16th June._—Called on Mrs. Belloc with whom I had an interesting talk about Father Tyrrell and Catholic reform. Later wrote the heads of a speech for Willy Redmond to make in opposing the Cromer vote, his brother John having suggested it.

“_21st June._—A young Indian, a Hindoo, called. He told me that recent events, and especially Morley’s violent dealings with Lalla Lajpat Rai had sent the moderate reformers into the extremist camp. They had lost all hope now of converting Englishmen of any party to the cause of Indian Home Rule and were preparing for a revolution which alone could free the country from English officialdom. Their plan was to make Government impossible by strikes and boycotts. The example of the Japanese had given them courage and there were great numbers ready to sacrifice even their lives for the freedom of their country.

“_30th June._—My book seems making its way. Willy Redmond has announced that he will oppose the Cromer vote, which is to be for £50,000. He has written to tell me this and I have sent him the draft of a speech for the occasion. He ‘has talked the matter over,’ he says, ‘with our young men here and there will be strong opposition.’

“I hear that my book is beginning to be talked about in London as ‘very mischievous.’ I expect the opposition to the Cromer vote will about finish me in polite society; however, I was prepared for this.

“_13th July._—My play ‘The Bride of the Nile’ has been acted here, at Newbuildings, with great success. Margaret Sackville took the part of Belkis and did it admirably, far better than her part of Fand last year. She had clothed herself in a lovely light garment of white and gold, deepening in the skirts to orange, with strings of beads and long gossamer sleeves. Her recitation of the song, ‘If I forget,’ was perfect, given with the guitar accompaniment of one Allen Booth from London, an excellent little man who had composed it for the occasion. But this was surpassed by her dance, a real Oriental one, quite the most beautiful I ever saw. Dorothy, of course, was Jael, in which part she too was perfect. She looked lovely in a black Egyptian woman’s shirt with a blue veil. The most popular of them all, however, proved to be little Nellie Hozier, who did Hatib, a pretty joyous child of nineteen, who having just been condemned by doctors only two days ago as having in her the germs of consumption was determined to enjoy her time to the uttermost before going to a health establishment (Nordrach) in Germany, the only chance for her of cure. I dressed her in my old travelling Arab dress, all in rags as it was, and arranged the _kifiyeh_ and _aghal_ for her pretty head, and she looked, with a spear in her hand, a splendid Bedouin boy, and spoke her lines with admirable spirit, bringing down the house. The final scene, where Hatib espouses the two ladies, was especially delightful, for she put her arms round both their necks by a spontaneous impulse which we had not designed and which was better than all other possible arrangement. Barix was played by Mark Napier and Alexis by his son Claud, both well, though Mark had to read his part. Claud was costumed in one of George Wyndham’s old undress Guard’s uniforms he had sent us for the occasion. He could not come himself to see the play. Guy Carleton did Boilas. The other actors were Benjamin by Everard Meynell, a wonderful personation of an Oriental, the Makawkas by Lucas, the Patriarch by Daisy Blunt, with Mrs. Lucas and the youngest Meynell girl for Coptic women in attendance on Jael and afterwards as Arabs. Though we had only had three rehearsals the play went off without a hitch.

“_27th July._—Lady Paget was here to-day and talked very pleasantly, telling amongst other things the latest spiritualistic story according to which the late Lord Carlingford has re-entered into communication with the living and is carrying on a correspondence in his own handwriting with one of his friends, principally on Irish politics, of which he has found a new devolutionary solution. He is in daily intercourse with Gladstone and has converted him to the doctrine of protection!

“_28th July._—Horace Rumbold has been staying with me, and his son Horace, now Secretary to the Madrid Embassy, was here for the day yesterday. Horace is seventy-eight and rather feeble, but still a good companion. I had a long talk with him last night about European, Egyptian and Indian politics. He gave me an interesting account of the King’s influence in foreign affairs. His Majesty insists now on making all important diplomatic appointments himself, and busies himself much more than ever the old Queen did in the foreign policy adopted. This works sometimes for good, sometimes for harm. The King and the Emperor William have been for years on the worst of terms, and it is only quite recently that the quarrel between them is being made up. Seckendorff, the confidential adviser of the Empress Frederick, who, people say, married her after the Emperor’s death, had talked to him about it, and had done his best to bring about a better understanding. The Emperor of Austria had greatly desired to attend the late Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, as he had never been in England, and the sole reason why he was not invited was, that he could not be so without inviting also the Emperor William. Wilhelm was a bitter enemy of England, and if he lived would some day make Germany a danger to us. I told him of the old Prussian scheme of uniting with Holland and reviving the claim to the Dutch Colonies. [I had learned this fact in 1866 from Count d’Usedom, the Prussian Minister to Italy, while I was staying with him at the Villa Capponi at Florence. He told me that this was a settled policy of the Berlin Foreign Office.] Rumbold said it was news to him, but he quite believed it, and some day this would come about through a failure of direct heirs to the Dutch throne. He considers England would be easily invaded from the Continent. In nearly all of this we are agreed. I told him the history of the intrigue four years ago against Cromer, and of the arrangement then made that Gorst was to have Cromer’s succession in Egypt. He had not heard of it, but he knew that Cromer was anything but pleased at Gorst’s appointment. He gets his news of the Cairo Agency through his son Horace, who was there till last January, and through Findlay, with whom he is intimate.

“_31st July._—The Cromer debate has come on more successfully than we could have hoped six weeks ago, as 107 voted against the grant of £50,000, a minority of 147. Willy Redmond made the speech I wrote out for him, or one closely like it, and Kettle, who had also written to consult me, spoke strongly, Grayson, the new Socialist member, making a third. Robertson and his friends of the Egyptian Committee held their foolish tongues.

“Speaking of the King the other day, Horace Rumbold told me that Hardinge, of the Foreign Office, is his special man, going everywhere abroad with him, and fulfilling the functions hitherto appertaining to the Secretary of State as Cabinet Minister. All diplomatic appointments are, in fact, made by the King through him. This makes Hardinge’s taking young Errington as his private secretary the more significant.

“_1st Aug._—To London and saw George Wyndham. He tells me the opposition to the Cromer vote was even more of a victory for us than I imagined. Not only did some sixty or seventy Liberals and Labour members vote against the Government, but a hundred Liberals walked out without voting, while the Government was only saved from defeat by the Tory vote. Willy Redmond’s speech was very effective, and he congratulated me on the result, though he himself had of course voted for Cromer.

“_2nd Aug._—Willy Redmond writes: ‘The division was very good on the Cromer grant, and the fact that both front benches could only muster 250 out of 670 members is very striking. I know no better report of _your_ speech than the ‘Freeman’s Journal’ of yesterday. . . . The house was really worked up over Denshawai, and I am sure the prisoners will be released.’

“_5th Aug._—Father Tyrrell came to lunch with me, and I had some interesting talk with him. His position now is a very difficult one to maintain. As an ex-Jesuit he is debarred from receiving ‘faculties’ from any bishop without the Jesuit Provincial’s leave, and they imposed on him a promise to submit all private letters he might write to anyone to Jesuit censorship. This he refused, and so is unable to say Mass, hear confessions, or perform any priestly office. His mental attitude is very nearly, if not quite, one of revolt.

“I asked him if he thought it would be possible to keep the Liberal Catholic party in line with the main body of the old unadvancing Church, and he seemed to think it very doubtful. It was impossible to say whether the new wine could be held in the old bottles. Indeed, his views, judging from his talk with me, seem quite incompatible with any church teaching I have ever heard of. If I understood him rightly even such fundamental doctrines as that of a future life were matters of no certainty, and he spoke as strongly as I could myself have spoken about the absence of any indication of a belief in it in the Old Testament, and the futility of the interpretation by the Fathers of the Church of the Book of Job in a contrary sense. I told him very frankly of my own acceptance of pure materialism, not only as logically certain, but as satisfying to the needs of my soul, though in my younger days it had not been so. He seemed quite willing to agree with the thought that our desire of a future life was like the desire of a child who, if in the middle of his play, is threatened with being put to bed, looks upon it as a terrible punishment, yet comes at the day’s end to be quite ready for his nurse to carry him away to it. The repugnance we feel for annihilation is a physical repugnance connected with our bodily strength, and decaying with its decay. I had not time, however, to go into these things fully with him, but we are to meet again at Storrington.

“Later I learnt more of Tyrrell’s ideas from Meynell, with whom he is intimate. According to Meynell, Tyrrell holds with the consensus of mankind on matters of moral teaching, rather than with any dogmatic infallibility of the Christian Church. He thinks that the religious intelligence of humanity as it advances will agree upon certain articles of supernatural belief, such as the existence of God, the hope of a future life, and some form of rewards and punishments to come. These will be held by all religions, just as the plain rules of moral conduct. But in this view account is not taken of the views held by Buddhism and other non-Christian religions. Tyrrell told me what is doubtless true, that Judaism no less than Christianity is trying hard to find a _via media_ between the ancient and the modern thought, as also is Mohammedanism, but the tendency of all three is, as he readily admitted, towards materialism, and it was no argument that because intellectual men clung closer to-day to religious beliefs than in the days of Voltaire, they were therefore any nearer to a solution favourable to religion. The desire was stronger now because the practical dangers of unbelief were better understood. I feel that I cannot do Tyrrell justice in this recollection of his talk, but the impression it has left on me is clear, that he must end in agnosticism, probably in pure materialism.

“_13th Aug._—Hafiz Awwad, Editor of the ‘Mimbar’ at Cairo, has been here to dine and sleep. He is an extremely able and interesting man, and we have discussed every phase of the Egyptian question. On this he is thoroughly sound, representing Mohammed Abdu’s views more completely than any other I have met. Of the Khedive he gives a hopeful account. ‘The experience of the last year,’ he says, ‘has made His Highness once more serious, and though quite alive to his faults and his hereditary ill tendencies, he thinks he can now be fairly well relied on to work with the National Party. Two years ago the Khedive had despaired of politics, and had given himself up solely to pleasure and money-making, but the events of Akabah and the demonstrations about Denshawai had shown him that he would find support in the country if the hour of resistance to English rule should come. Even if he should fail them, Hafiz is confident the Egyptians could work out their National salvation without him. Talking of Cromer’s resignation, he said, as they all do, that the Sultan’s popularity in Egypt came as a surprise to Cromer, and entirely upset his calculations. Denshawai was an act of anger, alarm, and disappointment, a supreme folly which had ruined his position in Egypt. Cromer had not quite understood how entirely this was the case till his return to Cairo last autumn. Then he had attributed the sudden unanimity of feeling against him to the Khedive’s intrigues, and he had tried to get Abbas deposed. It was the refusal of the English Government to go with him to that extreme extent that had led him to resign. Hafiz does not think the Khedive knew of the resignation before it was announced. His Highness was on the point of making one of his desert journeys from Alexandria when he heard the news, and hastened to Cairo out of politeness, expecting to find Cromer really ill, but when they met it was only to receive a violent scolding on account of an allowance Abbas had made to a certain religious Sheykh, an itinerant preacher whom Cromer accused him of putting forward to foment sedition.

“As to Gorst, Hafiz is very sceptical of his proving any great change for the better. As far as Nationalist hopes are concerned, he might well be in some ways worse. He is anxious I should, if possible, see the Khedive and encourage him to hold fast to his patriotic principles, but Abbas was very weak.

“Of Mustapha Kamel he talked reasonably, said he could be relied on as honest and patriotic, but he was vain and impatient of competition, and jealous of being considered the one National Leader. He had acquired great influence, and his ability was great.

“_15th Aug._—Drove to Storrington to call on Miss Petre and Father Tyrrell. Her ‘Home for the Unhappy’ is a charming old eighteenth-century house in the village street opposite the Black Horse Inn, inside and outside perfect, rooms panelled and white painted, all scrupulously clean, with a semi-conventual primness, but prettier than convents are. The door was opened by a demure maid, very neatly dressed, with downcast eyes. Behind the house is a nice square plat of lawn and garden, with a row of low buildings beyond, all adding to the cloistral look.

“Miss Petre is a young woman of about thirty-five, plain, but with a pleasant, ruddy countenance, and a look of extreme honesty. I had twenty minutes’ talk with her, before Father Tyrrell appeared, on matters connected with the establishment, a serious, good woman, large minded, but without much humour; that was my impression of her.

“_20th Aug._—Clouds. My birthday of sixty-seven was spent here. To-day Sir Reginald and Lady Graham came for the afternoon. He is an old friend of the Wyndhams of fifty years standing. He talked to me of my Aunt Leconfield, who died in 1863, with great admiration, as one always charming and kind, who had had a difficult part to play at Petworth at times. Graham, poor man, had been badly crippled by a fall, and suffers much pain.

“I have been reading a collection of very delightful letters written by old Lady Campbell, Madeline’s mother, to Miss Emily Eden. These show what a wonderfully attractive woman she was, with a vast fund of life, wit, and broad-mindedness, just such another as is Madeline herself. I remember Lady Campbell forty years ago, very like what Madeline now is, with snow-white hair and the same kindly ways. There is a delightful description among the letters of Madeline’s birth in 1835.

“_24th Aug._—Newbuildings. Meynell and his son Everard brought Francis Thompson down by motor to stay a week with Everard at Gosbrook, a cottage close by, belonging to me. The poor poet seemed to be in the last stage of consumption, more like death than anything I have seen since Bill Gordon was here, and he died a fortnight afterwards. He is emaciated beyond credibility, his poor little figure a mere skeleton, under clothes lent him for the occasion by the Meynells. He has the smallest head and face of any grown man I ever saw, colourless, except for his sharp nose, where all light is concentrated, and his bright eyes. It is the face of a Spanish sixteenth-century Saint, almost that of a dying child. When he had rested a bit at Gosbrook, I drove him down to tea at Newbuildings, and he revived there a little and began to talk with Everard and me. I took him a toddle round the garden, but he does not know one flower from another any more than twelve years ago, when he could not distinguish an oak from an elm. The poppy was the only flower he recognized. ‘Ah, that’s a poppy,’ he said, as if greeting a friend. He has not been out of London for a year.

“_26th Aug._—Thompson is distinctly better to-day. I fetched him down from Gosbrook in the phaeton, and had a long talk with him after luncheon. We first got into touch with each other over a common hatred of European civilization and the destruction wrought by it on all that was beautiful in the world, the destruction of happiness, of the happier races by the less happy, and so gradually to the despair of the intellectual part of mankind with what life gave and the craving for a life after death. I gave him something of my view and asked him abruptly what his own view was. He said, ‘Oh, about that I am entirely orthodox; indeed, it is my only consolation.’ This led to a question about his Catholic bringing up, and he told me that he was a Catholic born, both his parents having been, however, converts, neither of them Irish, he was without any Irish blood that he knew of. His mother was from Lancashire, his father, I think he said, originally from Rutland, but settled in Manchester. I asked him whether either parent was alive and he said no, his mother had died before he left home. It was a mistake to suppose that his father had treated him harshly. The fault had been his own and a misunderstanding. He had thought that his father insisted on his studying medicine; this was a mistake, it was his mother (meaning his stepmother) and her friends that desired it. If he had spoken openly to his father telling him how repugnant the details of doctoring were to him he would not have insisted, but as he did not speak, his father did not know and he acquiesced in what was arranged for him. His repugnance was a physical one which he could not overcome. The dissection of dead bodies he had partly got over, but the sight of blood flowing he could never endure. I told him how it was the same with me, and how I still could not look without physical repulsion on a wound. I gathered from what he told me, though he did not say it, that it was his stepmother rather than his father who had been hard to him; however, he blamed no one but himself. ‘As a boy of seventeen,’ he said, ‘I was incredibly vain, it makes me blush now to remember what I thought of myself. Neither my father nor my mother had the least appreciation of literary things or the least suspicion that I had any talent of that kind, but I was devoured with literary ambition, all my medical studies were wasted because I would not work, but ran off from my classes to the libraries to read. If my father had known it he would not have forced me to go on. Then I failed to pass the examinations and I behaved ill in every way and took to drink and the rest. I was in every way an unsatisfactory son.’ I asked him whether he had not seen his father before he died and he said, ‘Oh yes, three months before, at Pantasaph, and he was entirely kind.’

“We talked next about the Franciscans and his stay of two years with them. He was allowed at that time to go in and out among them, but he said all had been changed now and they were kept to their strict rule. Of his two special friends, Cuthbert and Angelo (the same who had come to me for help to go to Rome), Angelo had broken away, not only from the order, but from the church, and was now a clergyman of the Church of England. The other had modified his views of reform and was working among the hop-pickers in Kent. Their idea in going to Rome had been to found a new order. On the whole I find Thompson much saner and more sensible than I expected. Of his poetry he talked reasonably and said that he took a soberer view of his talents now than he had done as a boy. ‘I have written no verse,’ he said, ‘for ten years past, and shall write no more. If I have at all succeeded it is because I have tried to do my best.’

“Talking with him I am more than ever convinced that there is no essential difference between a man of great talent and what is called a man of genius. Thompson, if any living poet can now be said to be so, is a man of genius, yet one sees precisely how his poetry has come about. If he had lived a happy, easy life at home he would probably have done nothing very noteworthy, but the terrible experiences he has gone through have given him that depth of thought and feeling which is the feature of his poetry, distinguishing him from his fellow poets. His ear, of course, is a very fine one, but a vast amount of the beauty of his verse lies in the underlying tragedy, while the wealth of imagery and the elaboration of his diction have been produced by sheer hard work. Above all it is the essential goodness of his character shining through it that attracts. There is so little of material selfishness, so great a sympathy with all forms of suffering, such thankfulness for the small change of beauty in the world, scattered as alms to the poorest. All this is beautiful and of immense value, but I see nothing supernatural in it, nothing above the nature of many other good people who are without his talent of speaking what he feels in rhythmical words.

“_30th Aug._—Neville has been over here, having been summoned by me, and has made an admirable drawing of Thompson, a profile in coloured chalks. It is an absolutely exact presentment of what he is, and will be very valuable as a record in the days to come. He, Thompson, is pleased with it himself. To-day the elder Meynell came down for the day and I had a long talk with him making him give me over again the history of his connection with Thompson. What he told me was this:

“‘It was twenty years ago when I was editing “Merrie England,” that I received a very dirty crumpled envelope containing some MS. verse and an essay. They looked so uninviting that I did not read them but put them away in a pigeon hole and it was not till six months afterwards, that wanting something for the magazine I took them out and read them. The essay was on ——’ (I forget what Meynell told me was the title, but something to do with the claims of body and soul) ‘a commonplace subject of which I expected nothing new. I soon saw, however, that there was nothing commonplace in the essay. It was full of originality and had a wealth of illustration and quotation quite unlike the essays I generally received. Also the verses were so good that I showed them to Alice (his wife) who said that, unless they were, as sometimes happens, accidental successes, I had discovered a new poet. I at once published one of these and the essay. They were signed “Francis Thompson” with the address “Charing Cross P.O.,” but when I addressed him there I found that he no longer called for his letters and so I could not pay him for the MS.

“‘I had, however, published them with his name and I trusted that someone who knew him would call his attention to their having appeared. This is precisely what happened. Some few days later I received a letter from him complaining that I had been wanting in courtesy in not sending him a cheque for the writings published. This time the address was at a house in Drury Lane. As I was now convinced that I had found a true poet, I consequently went at once to the address given and found it to be that of a chemist who told me that the writer did not live there, his only connection with the house being that he occasionally bought drugs there, and was actually owing 4_s._ 6_d._ for laudanum which the chemist invited me, as a supposed relation, to pay. Thus informed I wrote to Thompson and invited him to come and visit me, which he presently did. His appearance then was terrible in its destitution. When he came into the room he half opened the door and then retreated and did so twice before he got courage to come inside. He was in rags, his feet, without stockings, showing through his boots, his coat torn, and no shirt. He seemed in the last stage of physical collapse. I asked him how, being in such a condition, he had been able to consult the books out of which he had gathered the quotations for his essay. He answered, “Books I have none, but Blake and the Bible.” All the quotations had been made from memory. I gave him a cheque for his work and told him to come and see me again, any evening I would see him.

“‘A few days later he came again and I gave him dinner, and he stopped talking with me till about ten, when he became uneasy and said he must be going. I asked him what obliged him and he explained that he was obliged to earn tenpence every day to live. This he did by waiting at the doors of theatres and calling cabs, and by selling matches in the neighbourhood of Charing Cross. Soon after I took him to a doctor who pronounced his case hopeless; it was one of laudanum slow poisoning. He said all that could be done was to help him to die easily. If he left off drugs it would kill him at once. I have always disbelieved, however, in doctors, and I got him into a hospital from which six weeks later he was discharged practically cured. I had already before this given him a bath and a suit of clothes, and I now took him into my house for awhile, and then arranged for him to live in the Premonstratensian monastery at Storrington. It was here that his best work was done. It was a constant series of beautiful poems. He did not beat about for subjects but wrote on the simplest subjects with unfailing wealth of thought and power of language. He had become devoted to my wife, and many of his poems were addressed to her or her children. Both his first volumes date from this time at Storrington, as was his magnificent “Ode to the Sunset” which for some reason was omitted from these and stands in another volume. He owed much in his style to Coventry Patmore. It was through me that they became acquainted. The bond between them was a common adoration for Alice. Thompson went to stay a week with Patmore in the country and they made friends, talking constantly of her, and afterwards corresponded always about her. He took opium again, after he left Storrington, and went back to his life in the London streets, but not again to the slums. He used, before I knew him, to sleep at night under the arches of Covent Garden where every quarter of an hour he was liable to be kicked awake by the police and told to move on. It was in an empty space of ground behind the market where the gardeners throw their rubbish, that, just before, he had resolved on suicide. He then spent all his remaining pence on laudanum, one large dose, and he went there one night to take it. He had swallowed half when he felt an arm laid on his wrist, and looking up he saw Chatterton standing over him and forbidding him to drink the other half. I asked him when he told me of it how he had known that it was Chatterton. He said, “I recognized him from the pictures of him—besides, I knew that it was he before I saw him—and I remembered at once the story of the money which arrived for Chatterton the day after his suicide.” Just the same thing happened to Thompson, for a friend having seen the copy of “Merrie England” told him about it the very next morning with the result I told you of.’

“I asked Meynell whether he thought Thompson had ever seriously to do with women. He said, ‘I hardly think so. The only thing he ever mentioned on such a subject was about the girl I once told you of. It was when I was proposing to take him into my house, and I was surprised, being as he was then destitute, that he should hesitate to accept my offer. He then explained to me that his reason was that a girl, a street walker, he never told me her name, had made a friendship with him out of her charity. She lived in Brompton, but frequented the streets near the Strand, and when she had failed to secure a companion for the night she used to take him home with her and give him a supper and a shelter. She liked his poetry, not any of it then published, and they were friends in this way. He had told her of my offer, and when she heard it she had said at once that he must give up coming to see her, for it would not do for him with his new respectable friends. But he would not give her up, until one day, soon after, he missed her in the Strand, and when he went to her lodging he found that she was gone, leaving no address. It was clear that she had resolved to disappear so as not to injure his better prospects. There was a reminiscence of de Quincy in the unselfish incident.’ Meynell, however, feels sure that there was no sexual love between them—though who can know?

“_6th Sept._—The Radical papers are up in arms at last against Grey, who has just concluded an arrangement with the Russian Government, which seems to amount to a partition of Persia. There is very little doubt that the partition of the whole of Asia is in the programme of our Foreign Office, and would already be a _fait accompli_ but for Kaiser Wilhelm. According to the present treaty, or whatever else it may be called, Persia is to be divided into spheres of interest just as North Africa has been divided. The whole thing is, of course, abominable, but what fools the Radical members are to have put up with Grey these two years since the General Election. Meanwhile the aggression on Morocco is going the usual course of such adventures, with all their scoundrel features of lying provocation and bombardment.

“I had a long talk yesterday with Thompson on these things as to which we are in full accord, also about the misery of the poor under the conditions of Western civilization. Of this last he has had a rude experience. During the first years of his being in London, his father allowed him, he tells me, a few shillings a week, but during the last year, until Meynell discovered him, nothing. This was because he had finally failed to retain any permanent employment. It had convinced his father that he would never come to any good, and he cast him off. I asked him whether he had ever had to labour with his hands. He answered, ‘I was physically unfit.’ I did not like to press him further, but according to Meynell he got his living by fetching cabs, selling matches, and blacking boots (very unsuccessfully). He has been ill, poor fellow, with a bad attack of diarrhœa, so that we have been alarmed about him. I saw him last night at David’s and found him brighter. [N.B. I had taken a room for him at one of my cottages called Rascall’s Corner, Southwater, where he lodged with my old servant David Roberts, who looked well after him, after Everard Meynell had gone back to London.] He is very comfortable there and is glad to stay on.

“_9th Sept._—In America six hundred Hindoos have been set upon by a mob and beaten, an act of race fanaticism. If this had happened to Englishmen in Turkey we should have had the whole British Press breathing fire and fury, now not a paper has an article about it, except a feeble one in the ‘Times.’ Our people are afraid, and though the Hindoos are British subjects, nothing will be done.

“_12th Sept._—An attack has been made on Japanese in Vancouver which will bring matters to a crisis. Our Government is faced at last with a question which will go far to break up the Empire. If it proves anything to Radicals it will prove that their old doctrine is the right one, namely, that the Colonies are no strength to England, but a weakness. George III was logical in his day, when he insisted on governing North America as well as holding it under the Crown. It is quite illogical to hold it and to be powerless to govern, as our Whigs are trying to do. The result will be that we English shall be responsible for all the evil done in the Colonies, and shall become demoralized by consenting to it. We shall have to choose very soon between the Colonial Empire and our Indian Empire. We shall try to keep both, and please God we shall lose both.

“Thompson goes on in a half alive state at David’s, apparently content with his existence purely negative. He takes laudanum, David reports, daily, and sleeps at night with a stertorous sound. At noon every day I send a vehicle for him, and he joins us here at luncheon, very feeble and quite silent, except it be on some very trivial subject. He seems incapable of bringing his mind to bear on any complex thought, and sits through the afternoon with a volume of Dickens’ ‘Martin Chuzzlewit,’ sometimes held upside down in his hand, which he does not read, nodding, and three parts asleep, like a very aged man. He seems happy, however, and I do not disturb him, nor does he ask that anyone should talk to him.”