Buch lesen: «Personal Sketches of His Own Times, Vol. 2 (of 3)», Seite 5

On his marriage he had given the commission in the army which he then held to Mr. Otway, his brother-in-law (I believe, now, General Otway); on his separation, however, he determined to resume the profession, and accordingly purchased a commission in a regiment of the line then raising by his uncle the late Lord Aldborough; and he had been gazetted previously to his departure.

After he had been a short time at Lisbon, some mischievous person, for some mischievous object, informed his uncle that he had been dead a fortnight! and, without further inquiry, that nobleman resold George’s commission, and an announcement appeared in the newspapers, that Hartpole had fallen a victim at Lisbon, to consumption, the rapid progress of which had rendered his case hopeless even before he quitted Ireland, – adding the name of the party who had succeeded him in his regiment.

Now the fact was, that the climate of Lisbon had been of great service to his health; and he was quickly recovering strength and spirits when, taking up, one day, an English paper, he read the above-mentioned paragraph.

His valet described to me coarsely the instantaneous effect of this circumstance on his master’s mind. It seemed to proclaim his fate by anticipation: – his commission was disposed of, under the idea that he was actually dead; every melancholy reflection crowded upon him; he totally relapsed; and I firmly believe that paragraph was his death-blow. After lingering several months longer, he returned to England, and I received a letter requesting me to meet him without delay at Bristol, and stating that he had made his will. I immediately undertook the journey, and took him over a horse which I conceived adapted to him at that time. His sister (the present Mrs. Bowen, of Rutland-square) was with him. His figure was emaciated to the last degree, and he was sinking rapidly into the grave. He was attended by a very clever young physician of that place, a Doctor Barrow, and I soon perceived that the doctor had fallen a victim to the charms of Miss Hartpole.

The patient had, however, declined but little in appetite, when the disorder fixed itself in his throat, and he ceased to have the power of eating: he now entirely gave himself up as a person who must die of hunger. This melancholy scene almost distracted me. The doctor gave us little consolation; and Hartpole himself, though reduced to such a state, was really the most cheerful of the party, evincing a degree of resignation at once heroic and touching. His will had been prepared by Mr. Lemans of Bristol, (to me a perfect stranger,) and executed whilst I was in Ireland: he informed us all that I was joint executor with two of his uncles.

On the morning of Hartpole’s death he sent for me to rise and come to him. I found him in an agony of hunger– perspiration in large drops rolling down his face. He said neither food nor liquid could descend into his stomach; that his ribs had contracted inward, as if convulsively drawn together; and that he was in great pain. I cannot describe my emotion! He walked about his room and spoke to me earnestly on many subjects, on some of which I have been, and ever shall be, totally silent. At length he called me to the window: – “Barrington,” said he, “you see at a distance a very green field?” “Yes,” I replied. “Well,” continued George, “it is my dying request that I may be buried there to-morrow evening.”

He spoke so calmly and strongly, that I felt much surprised. He observed this, and said, “It is true: I am in the agonies of death.” I now called in the doctor and Hartpole’s servant: the invalid sat down upon the bed; and when he took me by the hand, I shuddered, for it was burning hot, whilst every nerve and sinew seemed to be in spasmodic action, then iced and clammy. I never had been in collision with a dying person before: he pressed my hand with great fervour, and murmured, “My friend!” – these were the last words I heard him utter. I looked in his face: his eyes were glazed – his lips quivered – he laid his head on the pillow, and expired.

This awful scene, to me so perfectly new, overpowered me, and for a few minutes I was myself totally insensible.

I disobeyed Hartpole’s injunctions respecting his funeral; for I had his body enclosed in a leaden coffin and sent to be interred at Shrewl Castle, in the cemetery of his ancestors, wherein his remains were not admitted without much reluctance by his ungrateful sister and her husband, who resided there in his absence.

On the reading of the will, his first bequest appeared to be to “his friend Barrington, six thousand pounds,” together with the reversion of his landed estates and collieries, by moieties, on the death of each of his sisters without children: one had been some years married and had none; the other was unmarried, but soon after made a match with a respectable gentleman of very considerable property, but whom I should think few young ladies of fortune would have fancied.

The uncles would not act as executors; considered me as an interloper; and commenced a suit to annul the will, as prepared under undue influence. Fortunately for my reputation, I had never known or even seen the persons who prepared it. I was in another kingdom at the time, and had not seen Hartpole for many months before its execution: his sister was with him; not I. – I was utterly unacquainted with his will or its contents.

I got a decree without delay. The family of Stratford, who preferred law to all other species of pastime, appealed. My decree was confirmed, and they were burdened with the whole costs; and in effect paid me six thousand pounds, on an amicable arrangement. My reversion yielded me nothing; for I fancy the sisters have since had nearly twenty children between them to inherit it.

Thus ended Hartpole’s life, and thus did a family become extinct, of the most respectable description. I neither looked to nor expected any legacy from my friend, beyond a mourning-ring. He left numerous other bequests, including a considerable one to Mary Sleven, whose fate I never heard.

The sequel of Maria Otway’s history was not much less melancholy than that of her unhappy partner, as she died prematurely, by the most affecting of all deaths, some time after – childbirth. I saw her after the separation, but never after George’s decease. As I predicted, her style of beauty was not calculated to wear well; and even before she was out of her teens, Maria Otway had been much handsomer. Her manner became more studied – of course, less graceful: and that naïveté, which had rendered her so engaging to my friend, was somewhat superseded by the affectation of fashionable manners.

Maria, I think, never had been attached to Hartpole; and within two years after his decease, she made another and a most unexceptionable match – namely, with Mr. Prittie, the present member for Tipperary: but Providence seemed to pursue fatally even the relict of my friend; and, at the age of twenty-three, death cut off the survivor of that union which an unconcerned spectator would have deemed so auspicious. It was said and believed, (but I do not wish to be understood as vouching the report,) that after Mrs. Prittie’s death a prediction of that event was found written by herself six months before it occurred, designating the precise time of her departure.

I have been diffuse on the memoirs of Hartpole, because I felt myself interested in almost every material event of his career. To overlook our friendship, indeed, and his liberality, would have been ungrateful, in any memoir of myself.¹⁷

Before I quit these “records,” and the associations which they excite, I am tempted once more to revert to the peculiarities of the Stratford family, which indeed present an ample field for anecdote. More curious or dissimilar characters never, surely, bore the same name.

Earl Robert, one of those who declared war against me on Hartpole’s death, was surnamed “The Peer of a Hundred Wills;” and it is matter of fact, that, upon a trial at law in County Wicklow, since his Lordship’s death, fifty-one different wills were produced, together with a great number of affidavits, &c., also signed by the Earl. Several of these documents are of the most singular description, highly illustrative of the Earl’s character, and I should think among the most extraordinary papers existing.

It was a general rule with this peer to make a will or codicil in favour of any person with whom he was desirous of carrying a point, – taking especial care that the party should be made acquainted with his proceeding: no sooner, however, was his end accomplished, and other game started, than a fresh instrument annulled all the provisions of the preceding one! Thus, if desirous of obtaining a lady’s regards, he made a will in her favour, and let her find it by accident. He at length got 50,000l. with a grand-daughter of the Duke of Chandos, and brought her over to Belan.

In the cause before mentioned I was specially retained by the late Earl John, to argue that his brother was mad, and Mr. Plunkett was retained specially as my opponent, to argue that he was sane. In support of our positions it was that the fifty wills were produced; and I hesitate not to say, that either of them, had it emanated from any other individual than his Lordship, would have been deemed conclusive of insanity. But the jury had known the party whose vagaries they were summoned to decide upon; and therefore found, as usual, in favour of his Lordship’s last will. I subsequently asked one of those gentlemen the grounds of their verdict; and his answer was – “We all knew well that the testator was more * * * * * than fool: did you ever hear of any body taking him in?” – and, the truth is, the jury were right; for I never met with a man who had more worldly tact than Robert, Earl of Aldborough, and, owing to my close connexion with his nephew, Hartpole, I had abundant opportunities of judging, as well as by his extraordinary correspondence and transactions with myself.

The present Countess Dowager of Aldborough was in the habit of uttering jeux d’esprit with more spirit and grace than any woman in the world: she often cut deeply; but so keen and polished was the edge of her wit, that the patient was never mangled; or if he was, nobody consoled him in his tortures.

The cause of her naming the Honourable and Reverend Paul Stratford, her brother-in-law, “Holy Paul,” was droll enough. Mount Neil, a remarkably fine old country-house, furnished in the ancient style, was that ecclesiastic’s family mansion, wherein he resided many years, but of which it was thought he at last grew tired. One stormy night, this house (some time after it had been insured to a large amount) most perversely and miraculously took fire: (the common people still say, and verily believe, it was of its own accord:) no water was to be had; of course the flames raged ad libitum: the tenants bustled, jostled, and tumbled over each other, in a general uproar and zeal to save his Reverence’s “great house:” his Reverence alone, meek and resigned, beheld the voracious element devour his hereditary property – piously and audibly attributing the evil solely to the just will of Providence as a punishment for his having vexed his mother some years before, when she was troubled with a dropsy. Under this impression, the Honourable and Reverend Paul adopted the only rational and pious means of extinguishing the conflagration: he fell on his bare knees in front of the blazing pile, and, with clasped and uplifted hands, and in the tone of a saint during his martyrdom, besought the Lord to show him mercy, and extinguish a flame which was setting all human aid at defiance! The people around, however, did not place equal reliance on the interposition of Providence, – which, as a country fellow very judiciously observed, “might be employed somewhere else at the time, and unable to look to his Reverence’s consarns:” so they continued, while practicable, to bring out the furniture piecemeal, and range it on the grass-plat. Paul no sooner perceived the result of their exertions than, still on his knees, he cried out – “Stop! stop! throw all my valuable goods and chattels back into the flames! never fly, my friends, in the face of Heaven! When the Almighty resolved to burn my house, he most certainly intended to burn the furniture. I feel resigned. The Lord’s will be done! Throw it all back again!”

The tenants reluctantly obeyed his orders; but, unfortunately for “Holy Paul,” the Insurance Company, when applied to for payment of his losses, differed altogether from his Reverence as to the agency of Providence, and absolutely refused to pay any part of the damage incurred. Paul declared it would be a crime in him to insist by a law-suit upon payment; and that he’d rather lose all his insurance than bring any act of Providence into the Court of Exchequer, which never was renowned for any great skill in ecclesiastical polity. In tithe cases, they showed no sort of partiality to the clergy; and never would pay the least attention in any instance to assertions from the board of first-fruits without putting the clergy to the trouble of producing their witnesses.

The Honourable and Rev. Paul, however, got into disrepute by this occurrence, and his nephew declined being married by him. In fact, the fault of Holy Paul was, love of money: he had very good property, but was totally averse to paying away any thing. He was put into prison by his niece’s husband, where he long remained rather than render an account; and when at length he settled the whole demand, refused to pay a few pounds fees, and continued voluntarily in confinement until his death. Notwithstanding, greatly to his credit, he bestowed large sums in charity.

HAMILTON ROWAN AND THE BAR

Sketch of the character of Mr. Hamilton Rowan – His Quixotic spirit of philanthropy – Case of Mary Neil taken up by Mr. Rowan – Dinner-club among the briefless barristers of Dublin – Apparition of Mr. Hamilton Rowan and his dog – More frightened than hurt – An unanswerable query – Mr. Rowan’s subsequent adventures – The Rev. Mr. Jackson – He is brought up to receive sentence for high-treason, and expires in Court.

There were few persons whose history was connected with that of Ireland during my time, who excited my interest in a greater degree than Mr. Hamilton Rowan. Points of this gentleman’s character have been unfavourably represented by persons who knew little or nothing of his life, and that too, long after he had ceased to be a politician. I may claim perfect disinterestedness when I state that I never had the least social intercourse with Mr. Rowan, whose line of politics was decidedly opposed to my own.

Archibald Hamilton Rowan (I believe he still lives) is a gentleman of most respectable family and of ample fortune: considered merely as a private character, I fancy there are few who will not give him full credit for every quality which does honour to his station in society. As a philanthropist, he certainly carried his ideas even beyond reason, and to a degree of excess which I really think laid in his mind the foundation of all his enthusiastic proceedings, both in common life and in politics.

The first interview I had with this gentleman did not occupy more than a few minutes; but it was of a most impressive nature, and though now nearly forty years back, appears as fresh to my eye as if it took place yesterday: in truth, I believe it must be equally present to every individual of the company who survives, and is not too old to remember any thing.

There is generally in every metropolis some temporary incident which serves as a common subject of conversation; something which nominally excites interest, but which in fact nobody cares a sous about, though for the day it sells all the newspapers, and gives employment to every tongue, till some new occurrence happens to work up curiosity and change the topic.

In 1788, a very young girl, of the name of Mary Neil, had been ill-treated by a person unknown, aided by a woman. The late Lord Carhampton was reported to be the transgressor, but without any proof whatsoever of his Lordship’s culpability. The humour of Hamilton Rowan, which had a sort of Quixotic tendency to resist all oppression and to redress every species of wrong, led him to take up the cause of Mary Neil with a zeal and enthusiastic perseverance which nobody but the knight of La Mancha could have exceeded. Day and night the ill-treatment of this girl was the subject of his thoughts, his actions, his dreams: he even went about preaching a kind of crusade in her favour, and succeeded in gaining a great many partisans among the citizens; and, in short, he eventually obtained a legal conviction of the woman as accessory to a crime, the perpetrator whereof remained undiscovered, and she accordingly received, and most justly, sentence of death. Still Mary Neil was not bettered by this conviction: she was utterly unprovided for, had suffered much, and was quite wretched. Yet there were not wanting persons who doubted her truth, decried her former character, and represented her story as that of an impostor: this, though not credited, not only hurt the feelings and philanthropy, but the pride of Hamilton Rowan; and he vowed personal vengeance against all her calumniators, high and low.

At this time about twenty young barristers, including myself, had formed a dinner-club in Dublin: we had taken large apartments for the purpose; and, as we were not yet troubled with too much business, were in the habit of faring luxuriously every day, and taking a bottle of the best claret which could be obtained.¹⁸

There never existed a more cheerful, witty, nor half so cheap a dinner-club. One day, whilst dining with our usual hilarity, the servant informed us that a gentleman below stairs desired to be admitted for a moment. We considered it to be some brother-barrister who requested permission to join our party, and desired him to be shown up. What was our surprise, however, on perceiving the figure that presented itself! – a man, who might have served as a model for a Hercules, his gigantic limbs conveying the idea of almost supernatural strength: his shoulders, arms, and broad chest, were the very emblems of muscular energy; and his flat, rough countenance, overshadowed by enormous dark eyebrows, and deeply furrowed by strong lines of vigour and fortitude, completed one of the finest, yet most formidable figures I had ever beheld. He was very well dressed: close by his side stalked in a baggy Newfoundland dog of corresponding magnitude, with hair a foot long, and who, if he should be voraciously inclined, seemed well able to devour a barrister or two without overcharging his stomach: – as he entered, indeed, he alternately looked at us and then up at his master, as if only awaiting the orders of the latter to commence the “onslaught.” His master held in his hand a large, yellow, knotted club, slung by a leathern thong round his great wrist: he had also a long small-sword by his side, adorned by a purple ribbon.

This apparition walked deliberately up to the table; and having made his obeisance with seeming courtesy, a short pause ensued, during which he looked round on all the company with an aspect, if not stern, yet ill-calculated to set our minds at ease either as to his or his dog’s ulterior intentions.

“Gentlemen!” at length he said, in a tone and with an air at once so mild and courteous, nay, so polished, as fairly to give the lie, as it were, to his gigantic and threatening figure: “Gentlemen! I have heard with very great regret that some members of this club have been so indiscreet as to calumniate the character of Mary Neil, which, from the part I have taken, I feel identified with my own: if any gentleman present hath done so, I doubt not he will now have the candour and courage to avow it. —Who avows it?” The dog looked up at him again: he returned the glance; but contented himself, for the present, with patting the animal’s head, and was silent: so were we. He repeated, “Who avows it?”

The extreme surprise indeed with which our party was seized, bordering almost on consternation, rendered all consultation as to a reply out of the question; and never did I see the old axiom, that “what is every body’s business is nobody’s business,” more thoroughly exemplified. A few of the company whispered each his neighbour, and I perceived one or two steal a fruit-knife under the table-cloth, in case of extremities; but no one made any reply. We were eighteen in number; and as neither would or could answer for the others, it would require eighteen replies to satisfy the giant’s single query; and I fancy some of us could not have replied to his satisfaction, and stuck to the truth into the bargain.

He repeated his demand (elevating his tone each time) thrice: “Does any gentleman avow it?” A faint buzz now circulated round the room, but there was no answer whatsoever. Communication was cut off, and there was a dead silence: at length our visitor said, with a loud voice, that he must suppose, if any gentleman had made observations or assertions against Mary Neil’s character, he would have had the courage and spirit to avow it: “therefore,” continued he, “I shall take it for granted that my information was erroneous; and, in that point of view, I regret having alarmed your society.” And, without another word, he bowed three times very low, and retired backward toward the door, (his dog also backing out with equal politeness,) where, with a parting salute doubly ceremonious, Mr. Rowan ended this extraordinary interview. On the first of his departing bows, by a simultaneous impulse, we all rose and returned his compliments, almost touching the table with our noses, but still in profound silence; which bowing on both sides was repeated, as I have said, till he was fairly out of the room. Three or four of the company then ran hastily to the window to be sure that he and the dog were clear off into the street; and no sooner had this satisfactory dénouement been ascertained, than a general roar of laughter ensued, and we talked it over in a hundred different ways: the whole of our arguments, however, turned upon the question “which had behaved the politest upon the occasion?” but not one word was uttered as to which had behaved the stoutest.

This spirit of false chivalry, which took such entire possession of Hamilton Rowan’s understanding, was soon diverted into the channels of political theory; and from the discussion of general politics, he advanced blindly, but I really believe with the best intentions, to the contemplation of sedition. His career in this respect was short: – he was tried and convicted of circulating a factious paper, and sentenced to a heavy fine and a long imprisonment, during which, political charges of a much more serious nature were arrayed against him. He fortunately escaped from prison to the house of Mr. Evans, of Portranne, near Dublin, and got off in a fishing-boat to France, where, after numerous dangers, he at length arrived safely. – Mr. Rowan subsequently resided some years in America, in which country he had leisure for reflection, and saw plainly the folly and mischief of his former conduct. The government found that his contrition was sincere: he eventually received his Majesty’s free pardon; and I have since seen him and his family at the Castle drawing-rooms in dresses singularly splendid, where they were well received by the Viceroy and by many of the nobility and gentry: and people should consider that his Majesty’s free pardon for political offences is always meant to wipe away every injurious feeling from his subjects’ recollection: – where the error was unaccompanied by any moral crime, it left no stigma whatever on private character.

The mention of Mr. Rowan reminds me of an anecdote of a singular nature, extremely affecting, and which at the time was the subject of much conversation: and as a connexion was alleged to exist between him and the unfortunate gentleman to whom it relates, (which connexion had nearly proved fatal to Mr. Rowan,) I consider this not an inappropriate place to allude to the circumstance.

Mr. Jackson, an English clergyman, who had come over to assist in organising a revolution in Ireland, had been arrested in that country, tried, and found guilty of high treason in corresponding with the enemy in France. I was in court when Mr. Jackson was brought up to receive sentence of death; and I believe whoever was present must recollect it as one of the most touching and uncommon scenes which appeared during that eventful period.

He was conducted into the usual place where prisoners stand to receive sentence. He was obviously much affected as he entered; his limbs seemed to totter, and large drops of perspiration rolled down his face. He was supposed to fear death, and to be in great terror. The judge began the usual admonition before he pronounced sentence: the prisoner seemed to regard it but little, appearing abstracted by internal agony. This was still attributed to apprehension: he covered his face, and seemed sinking: the judge paused – the crowd evinced surprise – and the sheriff, on examination, declared the prisoner was too ill to hear his sentence. Meanwhile, the wretched culprit continued to droop: and at length, his limbs giving way, he fell! A visitation so unexampled created a great sensation in the court: a physician was immediately summoned, but too late; Jackson had eluded his sentence, and was no more.

It was discovered that, previous to his coming into Court, he had taken a large quantity of arsenic and aqua-fortis mixed in tea. No judgment of course was pronounced against him. He had a splendid funeral: and, to the astonishment of Dublin, it was thoughtlessly attended by some members of parliament and barristers!

It is a singular but a true observation, that I was always on friendly, nay intimate, terms with many leading persons of the two most hostile and intolerant political bodies that could possibly exist together in one country; and in the midst of the most tumultuous and bloody scenes, I did not find that I had an enemy. It is nearly unaccountable, that my attachment to the government, and my activity in support of it, yet placed me in no danger from its inveterate enemies: – and in several instances I was sought as mediator between the rebels and Lord Kilwarden (then attorney-general).¹⁹ Now he is no more, it is but justice to say, that of all the law officers and official servants of the Crown I ever had communication with, the most kind-hearted, clement, and honourable, was he whose manners and whose name conveyed a different impression. I know that he had been solicited to take some harsh measures as to the barristers who attended Jackson’s funeral; and though he might have been colourably justified in doing so, he said “that both the honour of his profession and the feelings of his own mind prevented him from giving publicity to, or stamping as a crime, what he was sure in its nature could only be inadvertency.”