MY stepfather, Mr. Ellice, having been in two Ministries - Lord Grey's in 1830, and Lord Melbourne's in 1834 - had necessarily a large parliamentary acquaintance; and as I could always dine at his house in Arlington Street when I pleased, I had constant opportunities of meeting most of the prominent Whig politicians, and many other eminent men of the day. One of the dinner parties remains fresh in my memory - not because of the distinguished men who happened to be there, but because of the statesman whose name has since become so familiar to the world.
Some important question was before the House in which Mr. Ellice was interested, and upon which he intended to speak.
This made him late for dinner, but he had sent word that his son was to take his place, and the guests were not to wait.
When he came Lord John Russell greeted him with - 'Well, Ellice, who's up?'
'A younger son of Salisbury's,' was the reply; 'Robert Cecil, ****** his maiden speech. If I hadn't been in a hurry I should have stopped to listen to him. Unless I am very much mistaken, he'll make his mark, and we shall hear more of him.'
There were others dining there that night whom it is interesting to recall. The Grotes were there. Mrs. Grote, scarcely less remarkable than her husband; Lord Mahon, another historian (who married a niece of Mr. Ellice's), Lord Brougham, and two curious old men both remarkable, if for nothing else, for their great age. One was George Byng, father of the first Lord Strafford, and 'father' of the House of Commons; the other Sir Robert Adair, who was Ambassador at Constantinople when Byron was there. Old Mr. Byng looked as aged as he was, and reminded one of Mr. Smallweed doubled up in his porter's chair. Quite different was his compeer. We were standing in the recess of the drawing-room window after dinner when Sir Robert said to me:
'Very shaky, isn't he! Ah! he was my fag at Eton, and I've got the best of it still.'
Brougham having been twice in the same Government with Mr. Ellice, and being devoted to young Mrs. Edward Ellice, his charming daughter-in-law, was a constant visitor at 18
Arlington Street. Mrs. Ellice often told me of his peculiarities, which must evidently have been known to others. Walter Bagehot, speaking of him, says:
'Singular stories of eccentricity and excitement, even of something more than either of these, darken these latter years.'
What Mrs. Ellice told me was, that she had to keep a sharp watch on Lord Brougham if he sat near her writing-table while he talked to her; for if there was any pretty little knick-knack within his reach he would, if her head were turned, slip it into his pocket. The truth is perhaps better than the dark hint, for certainly we all laughed at it as nothing but eccentricity.
But the man who interested me most (for though when in the Navy I had heard a hundred legends of his exploits, I had never seen him before) was Lord Dundonald. Mr. Ellice presented me to him, and the old hero asked why I had left the Navy.
'The finest service in the world; and likely, begad, to have something to do before long.'
This was only a year before the Crimean war. With his strong rough features and tousled mane, he looked like a grey lion.
One expected to see him pick his teeth with a pocket boarding-pike.
The thought of the old sailor always brings before me the often mooted question raised by the sentimentalists and humanitarians concerning the horrors of war. Not long after this time, the papers - the sentimentalist papers - were furious with Lord Dundonald for suggesting the adoption by the Navy of a torpedo which he himself, I think, had invented. The bare idea of such wholesale slaughter was revolting to a Christian world. He probably did not see much difference between sinking a ship with a torpedo, and firing a shell into her magazine; and likely enough had as much respect for the opinions of the woman-man as he had for the man-woman.
There is always a large number of people in the world who suffer from emotional sensitiveness and susceptibility to nervous shocks of all kinds. It is curious to observe the different and apparently unallied forms in which these characteristics manifest themselves. With some, they exhibit extreme repugnance to the infliction of physical pain for whatever end; with others there seems to be a morbid dread of violated pudicity. Strangely enough the two phases are frequently associated in the same individual. Both tendencies are eminently feminine; the affinity lies in a hysterical nature. Thus, excessive pietism is a frequent concomitant of excessive sexual passion; this, though notably the case with women, is common enough with men of unduly neurotic temperaments.
Only the other day some letters appeared in the 'Times' about the flogging of boys in the Navy. And, as a sentimental argument against it, we were told by the Humanitarian Leaguers that it is 'obscene.' This is just what might be expected, and bears out the foregoing remarks. But such saintly simplicity reminds us of the kind of squeamishness of which our old acquaintance Mephisto observes:
Man darf das nicht vor keuschen Ohren nennen, Was keusche Herzen nicht entbehren konnen.
(Chaste ears find nothing but the devil in What nicest fancies love to revel in.)
The same astute critic might have added:
And eyes demure that look away when seen, Lose ne'er a chance to peep behind the screen.
