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About The Sunday Oregonian. (Portland, Ore.) 1881-current | View Entire Issue (March 27, 1921)
THE SUNDAY OREGOJIAN, PORTLAND. MARCH 27, 1931 Nk',-"f;. N TAc Souls and Memories of U.-k -TTri l : p ;V Some Lowers 7 Did v W v?V $ i I pr y I k " ' ' lot lViarry ypiy . f ' i'Vt 'I ' .''r! h I- - v i, iLftr Aescrtblnc her marriage to Pre inler Asqufth and thtt tragedies and hap plnes Incident to the birth ot her chil dren. In previous installments, ilra, Asqultb last veek told sometninff about the Souls, that rather Indefinite association of lit erary and political figures which agitated London society is ths middle '80s. and also told about her friendship with Edward VII when he was prince of Wales, a friendship which gossip has It, was broken when Alargot offended his hlg'hness by tapping him in the waistcoat region with a fork during a lunch given by Lord Rtb blesdale. In the present installment she tails more about the Soula BY MARGOT ASQUITH. -NTiLE middle eighties, in England, it ho fashionable, or what was called "smart set" centered round tha prince of Wales, afterwards King Edward VII, and Newmarket was Its headquarters. As far aa I could see there was much more exclusiveness In the racing' world than I had ever ob served among the Souls. The only times I went to Newmarket, the wel come extended to me by tne small, ehrewd and select coterie there made me feel exactly like an alien. The Souls, that much talked of and criticised 'group of my friends, did not play bridge or baccarat; and our rather Intellectual and literary after dinner games were looked upon as pretentious. Arthur Balfour, the most distinguished of the Souls and Idolized by every eet In .society, was the person who drew tha enemy's heaviest fire. (Editor's note: Marpot Tennnnt was once wrongly reported engaged to Arthur Bal four. The next time they met, Balfour openly sought her company and sat through two dances with her In order' to remove any embarrnssment on her part. To a friend who said to him. "I hear you are to marry Margot Tennant," he replied, ."It Is not so. I rather think I shall have a career of my own." The same rumor once arose with Lord Roseberry men tioned as the fiance. He became Indig nant and when asked about It replied sharply, "Do you take me for a fool 7" War got characterizes him as too thin skinned. In some quarters It was whispered that the rumors originated with her, but she her aelt says ths first she heard of the Rose berry story was when a Paris house wrote to ask her to have them make her ahemlaes for the trousseau.) All the young men In my circle were clever and became famous; and the women mostly good to be with and distinguished to look at, al though not more Intelligent, were less worldly than their fashionable con temporaries. What strikes me most on looking back at those 10 years, Is the amazing loyalty, devotion and fidelity which we showed to one another and 'the enormous pleasure which we derived from friendships that could not have survived a week had they been ac companied by gossip, mocking, or any personal pettiness. We had a depth of feeling and moral and religious ambition that I miss in the clever young men and women or today. Our after-dinner games were healthier and more inspiring than theirs. "Breaking the news" for instance, was an entertainment entre autres, that had a certain vogue before the war. It consisted of two people act ing together and conveying to their audience various ways in which they would receive the news of the sud den death of a friend or near re lation, and was considered extraor dinarily funny; but it would never have amused us. The modern habit of pursuing, de tecting and exposing what was ridic ulous in simple people and the un kind and irreverent manner In which slips were made material for epigram was unbearable to me. The school ot thought which the young group called "anti-cant," encouraged hard eaylngs and light doings which would have profoundly shocked the most frivolous of the Souls. Brilliance of this kind may bring people together for amusement, but It will not keep them together for long, and the young pre-war group that I am thinking of waa scattered and short-lived. George Curzon also drew the ene my's fire and was perhaps more di rectly responsible for the name of the Eouls than anyone. He was a con spicuous young fellow of fashion and ability, with a ready pen, a ready tongue, an excellent sense of humor in private life and intrepid social boldness. He had lappearance more than looks, a keen, lively face and a sanguine self-confidence that was al most vulgar. Like every young man of exceptional promise, he was called a prig. The word was eo misapplied In those days that, had I been a clever young man, I should not have felt any self-confidence till I had been . I . ; , ' -' ? iy -:Af:rr ; -;v-. i, . . v ' ' called a prig. He was a remarkably brilliant person in an exceptional generation. He was not so deliber ately coarse in his humor as Harry Cust. their editor of the Pall Mall Ga zette, and not so naturally fine; ha had real ambition and wuat he .claimed for himself "middle-class method. , A Famous Dinner. Some of my friends thought George Wyndham more original just as Cust was a better scholar but I myself always said, and have a record of it in my early diaries that George Cur zon would easily outstrip his rivals. He bad two enormous and incalcu lable advantages over them; he was chronically industrious and self- sufficing. Although he was almost oriental in his ideas of pomp and cer emony, and had a childish lova of grandeur and fine people, and a poor sense of values and proportion, he was never self-indulgent; but took infinite trouble .about everything, leaving nothing to chance. Ha was a first-rate host and boon companion; ha neither ate, drank nor smoked toe much. No one could turn with mora elas ticity from work to play than George Curzon and no one showed ma and mine a more steady and sympathetic affection over a long period of years. Even now, if I died, though, he be longs to the socially conventional and does not mix with people of opposite political parties, he would write my obituary notice. (Bdltor'a note: Lord Curson of Kedles- ton is one of those who Is willing to have bis identification with the Souls forgot ten. He is a present minister ot foreign affairs, was once viceroy of India and leader of ths ultra conservative party in England. He was a member of the war cabinet in the first coaUtlon government with Asqulth.) At the time of which I am telling he was threatened with lung trouble and was ordered abroad by his doc tors. We were very unhappy and as sembled at a farewell banquet to which he entertained us in tha Bach elors' club on July 10, 18S9. . We found a poem welcoming us on our chairs when we sat down to dinner, in which we were all honorably and categorically mentioned. Soma of our critics called us "the Gang" to which allusHon is made but this name de veloped permanently into tha Souls. This famous dinner and poem caused a lot of fun and friction. Jeal ousy, curiosity and endless discussion. It was followed two years later by another dinner given by tha aame host to the same guests and In tha same place on July 9, 1891. I quote some of tha verses without regard to continuity because tbey wera partially responsible tor tha , . ' ", ; '''' . S term Souls and because of the de scription of my sisters and myself. Around him that night Was thers e'er such a sight T Soula sparkled and spirits expanded. For of them critics sang. That, tho' christened tha Gang, By a spiritual link they were banded. Souls and spirits, no doubt. But neither without Fair visible temples to dwell In; Ben your Image divine Must be girt with a shrine. For ths pious to linger a spell in. Hers a trio wo meet Whom 'you never will beat Tho' wide you may wander and far go; From what wonderful art Of that gallant old Bart. Sprang Charty and Lucy and MargotT To Lucy ha gave Tha wiles that enslave. Heart and tongue of an angel to Charty; To Margot the wit And the wielding of It. That make her the joy of tha party. Now this Is ths sum Of all those who had eomo Or ought to have come to that banquit. Then call for ths bowl Flow spirit and soul; Till midnight not one of yon can quit! And blest by the gang Be tho rhymester who sang Their praises in dogg'rel appalling. More now wera a sin No, waiters, begin) Each soul for consomme is calling! (Editor's nets: Charty referred to in the poem was Uargot's sister Charlotte. She was once at a dinner with Lord Leo Roth schild, who as an Infant was so beautiful that It waa popularly said a Messiah had been bom In Mayfalr In later life he, Leo, was anything but fair and beautiful to look upon. Charty, shortly after be ing Introduced to him. . asked him. "Do you still believe the Messiah is coming. Lord Rothschild?" This audacious remark waa repeated all over England and Charty became famoua through it.) Some Wordy Tilts. The repetition of this dinner two years later was more than tha West End of Loudon could stand, and I was the object of much obloquy. I re member dining with Sir Stanley and Lady Clarke to meet King Edward then prince of Wales when my hos tess said to me, in a loud voice across the table: "There were some clever peopla in the world before you were born, Miss Tennant!" ! Feeling rather nettled, I replied: "Please don't pick ma out. Lady Clarke, as if I alone am responsible for tha stupid ones among whom we find ourselves today." I was young and Intolerant and could not understand what all the jabber was about. I had another little conversational scrap which caused some talk. Lady Londonderry, tha mother of the pres ent marquis, was a beautiful woman a little before my day; she was happy and violent, with a firm grip on the obvious. She said to me once with energy: "I am good friend and a good hater; no klss-and-make friends about me. my dear!" She was not so well-endowed intel lectually as her rival and enemy. Lady de Grey, but she had a stronger will and sounder temptations. There was nothing wistful, reflec tive, o.- retiring about Lady London derry; she was kind and vivid, but persistently arrogant, unforgiving and impenitent. I mentioned Lady Londonderry who was not of the Souls because it was with her that I crossed swords. We were accused entre autres of being conceited, and of talking about books which we had not read a habit which I have never had the temerity to acquire. John Addington Sym onds, an intimate friend ot mine, had brought out a book of essays. They were not very good and caused no sensation. One night, after dinner, I was sit ting !n a circle of able men and women none of them particularly in timate with me when Lady London derry opened the talk about books. Hardly knowing her I entered with an innocent zest into the conversa tion. I was taken in by her mention of Symonds "Studies in Italy"; launching out upon style, I said that there was a good deal of rubbish written about it, but it was essential that you should write simply. At this, some ona twitted ma with our pencil-game of Styles and asked me if I thought I should know the author from hearing a casual passage read out loud from ona of his books. I said that som writers would be easy to recognize such as Meredith, Carlyle, De Qunlcey or Browning but that, when It came to others men lika Scott or Froude, for in stance, I should not be so sura of myself. At this there was an outcry, Froude having the finest style in the world, ought surely to be easily recognized by everyone! Lady Londonderry then asked me If I admired Symonds' writing. I told her I did not, although I liked some of his books. She seemed to think this was a piece of swagger on my part, and, after disagreeing with a lofty shake of the' head, she said in a challenging manner: "I should be curious to know what you have read by Symonds!" Feeling that I was being taken on, I replied, rather chillily: "'Oh, the usual sort of thing!" Lady Londonderry visibly irritated and with the confident air of one who has a'little surprise in store for the company, said: "Have you, by any chance, looked at Essays Suggestative and Specula tive, Miss Tennant?" Margot: "Yes, I've read them all." Lady Londonderry: "Really! Do you not approve of them?" Margot: "Approve? I don't know wha you mean." Lady Londonderry: "Do you not think the writing beautiful the style, I mean?" , Margot: "I think they are all very bad, but then I don't admire Symonds' style." Lady Londonderry: "I am afraid you have not read the book." This annoyed me. I saw the. com pany were delighted with their spokeswoman. I thought it unneces sarily rude and more than foolish. I looked at her calmly and said: "I am afraid, Lady Londonderry, you have not read tha preface. The book is dedicated to me: Symonds was a friend of mine; I was staying at Davos at tha time, ha was writing 1 f II I U Bfl I s'jj ci ; m u these essays; he was rash enough to ask me to read one of them in manu script and write whatever I thought upon the margin. This I did; he was rather offended by something I Bbribbled; I was so surprised at his minding that I told him he was never to show me any of his 'work before publication again, at which he for gave me and dedicated the book to me." ' After this, I was not taken on again by fashionable ladles about books. Happy Evenings With Symonds. It was In 1885 a'. Davos when I was nursing my sister Posle Gordon Duff that I first met John Addington Symonds. I climbed up to Am Hof, Symonds house aU Davos, ona afternoon with a letter of introduction, which was taken to the family while I was shown into a wooden room full of books and charming things. As no one came near me, I presumed everyone was out, so I settled down peacefully among the books, prepared to wait. In a little time I heard a shuffle of slip pered feet and some ona pausing at the-open door. "Has she gone?" was the querulous question that came from behind the screen; and In a moment the thin curious face of John Addington Sy monds was peering at me round the corner. ; There was nothing for it but to answer: "No, I am afraid she Is still here!" Being the most courteous of men he smiled and took my hand and we went up to his library together and had a long talk. He smoked a very small cigar, the size of a cigarette, and we discussed his friend Robert Louis Stevenson. Symonds and I became great friends. After putting my sister to bed at 9:30 o'clock I climbed up every night by star-light to Am Hof, where we talked and read out loud till 1 o'clock and often 2 o'clock In the morning. I learnt mora with Symonds in those winter nights at Davos than I had ever learnt in my life. We read Plato's dialogues and the Republic to gether; Swift, Voltaire, Browning, Walt Whitman, Edgar Allan Poe and his own Renaissance; besides many passages from every author and post, which he turned up feverishly to il lustrate what he wanted me to un derstand. I shall always think John Morley the best talker I ever heard, and after him Symonds and Birrell; George Meredith was too much of a prima donna and was very deaf and uninterruptable when I knew him although he was amazingly good. a A propos of Meredith; Alfred Austin being a friend of his and having been made Poet Laureate, I said to the old novelist, feeling more than usually stupid one afternoon: . "Well, Mr. Meredith, I wonder what your friend Alfred Austin thinks f his appointment?" Shaking his beautiful head, he re plied: "It is very hard to say what a ban tam Is thinking of when it is crow ing." Symond's conversation is described In Stevenson's essay on Talks and Talkers, but no one could ever really give the fancy, the pace, tha epigram and earnestness with which he not only expressed himself but engaged you In conversation. This and his personal affection combined to make him an enchanting companion. In Am Hof the Swiss postmen and foresters Joined us at midnight and drank Italian wines out of beautiful fc,Tii8BBff8ai8rf?ttftJiaiiBa8 glass which our host had brought from Venice. These were our only visitors when Mrs. Symonds and the handsome daughters bad gone to bed. We would see our peasants off from the front door and standing side by side in the dark, listened as they cracked their whips and yelled their yodels far down the snow roads into the starry nights.. When I first left him and returned tc England, Mrs. Symonds tod me he sat up all night filling a blank book with hla own poems and translations, which he posted to me in the early morning. We corresponded till he died, and I kept every letter that he ever wrote to me. He was the first person who be sought ma to write. "You have 'orellle Juste," ha would say, "and I value your literary Judg ment." If only he were alive now, I would show him this manuscript; and if one could make anything of it by his counsel, appreciation, sympathy, and encouragement, my autobiography would become famous. My Dearest Friend. To return to the Souls St. John Brodrlck, tha present earl of Midle ton, who married Peggy Rush, has been the most Intimate and far the most faithful of my friends. He was the first acquaintance of any Interest that I ever made. He came over to Glen while he was staying with Lord and Lady Reay, when I was 16. There are only four women whose friendships have remained as loving and true to me as St. John's over such a long period of years Lady Horner, Lady Deslborough, Mrs. Montgomery and Lady. Wemyss, all of whom I knew before they were married. Lord MIdleton has found a better place in hearts of men than in the fame of newspapers. No one was more maligned when he was secretary of stats for war than he was, and no one bore it with mora courage and less bitterness. His first marriage was Into a fam ily who were Incapable of appreciat ing his particular flavor and quality; even his mother-in-law, a beloved friend of mine, never really under stood him a ad was amazed when I told her that, although I was in love with ona of her children, I thought h son. in-law St. John worth all of them put together, because he had more nature, goodness and enterprise. He was the roost courageous man I immi over knew, and was the only parson of either sex that would risk telling me, or anyone he loved, be rn (.nnfidlnar to an Inner circle. faults which both he and I believed might be corrected. From a long ex perience of inner circles, I am con stantly being reminded of the Spanish proverb, "Remember your friend has a friend." I have suffered all my Ufa from telling my friends the truth about themselves. Some people do not tell lies, but they have no truth to n other Le: and the majority are those who have little or no sense of responsibility towards their neighbor; but as long as we are not responsible for nnr actions only to the police, so long must I believe In helping those we love and thus fulfilling the law of Christ. The young man that I hava alluded n nri with whom I was in love asked me to marry him, but I did not m. .i tn marrv anyone and being much fonder of him than he was of me I felt it would ba a bad opening :or my career. He wrote a poem to me which began: , , Margot. To torn tha dark to light, tha gloom to gay. To laugh, to kiss, to cling, then flee away . -One of tha less fashionable souls was my friend Lionel Tennyson. He ... aecnnd son of the poet and was an official in the India office. He had an untidy appearance, a black beard and no manners; he sang Ger man beer songs in a lusty voice and wrote good verses. He sent ' ma many poems, some highly complimentary, but the last was rather, full of reproaches: She drew me from my cozy seat; She drew me to her cruel feet: She whispered: "Call me Sally!". I lived upon her smlla, her sigh; Alas, poor fool, I knew not I .Was only her pls-aller. Tha jade, she knew her business wall; - v. - She made each hour a heaven or hell For she could coax and rally. She was eo loving, frank and kind That no suspicion crossed my mind That I was her pis-aller. My mother said, "I told you so Her conduct was not come 11 faut But strictly come 11 fallalt. She swore that she waa fond snd true; No doubt she was. poor girl, but you Wera only her pis-aller." He once asked me what I would like him to give me for a birthday present and I said: "If you want to give me pleasure, take ma down to your father's coun try house' for a Saturday to Monday." This Lionel arranged; and he and I went down together to Aldworth, Hasleraere. A Visit to Tennyson. While we were talking In tha train a distinguished old lady got in. She wore an ample black satin skirt, small black satin slippers in goloshes, a sable tippet and a large picturesque lace bonnet. She did not appear to be listening to our conversation, be cause she was reading with an air of concentration, but, on looking at her suddenly, I observed her eyes fixed on me. I wore a scarlet cloak trimmed with a cock's feather and a black three-cornered hat. When we arrived at our station the old lady tipped a porter to find out from my luggaga who I was and when she died, several years later, she left me In her will cne of my most beautiful Jewels. Her name was Lady Margaret Beaumont and I made both her acquaintance and friendship before her death. Lady Tennyson was more or less an invalid, so we were receivede by the post on our arrival. Tennyson was a magnificent creature to look at He had everything, height, fig ure, carrrlage, features and ex pression. He greeted me by saying: "Well, are you as clever and as spurty as your sister Laura?" I had never heard the word "spurty" before, nor indeed since; to answer this kind of frontal attack cna has to ba either saucy or servile. I rather think I was neither, but Just stupid. We sat down to tea; he asked me if he would have to dress for dinner. "Your sister said of me that I was untidy, if not dirty." Margot Did you mind this? Tennyson I wondered if it was true. Do you think I'm dirty? Margot Your are very handsome. Tennyson I can see by that re mark that you think I am. , Vey well, then. I will dress for dinner. Have you read Jane Welsh Carlyle's letters? Margot Yes, I have: and I think them excellent. It seems a pity, I added with the commonplace that is apt to overcome ona tn a first con versation with a man of eminence, that they ever married; with any one but each other they might have been perfectly happy. Tennyson I totally dlsagrea with you. By any other arrangement four people would hava been unhappy in stead of two. After this I went up to my room. The hours kept at Aldworth were peculiar. Wa dined early; then the poet went to bed. At 10 o'clock at night he came downstairs, and, If asked, would read his poetry out loud to the company till quite late. I dressed with great care that first n'ght, and, placing myself next to bim when he came down after din ner, I asked him to read aloud to us. Tennyson What do you want me to read? Margot "Maud." Tennyson: "That was the poem that I waa cursed for writing. When' It came out. no word was bad enough for me! I was a blackguard, a ruf fian and an atheist! You will live to have as great a contempt for lit erary critics and the public as I have, my child!" While he was speaking, I found on the floor among piles of books a small copy of "Maud." a shilling vol ume bound in blue paper; I put It into his hands and, pulling the lamp nearer him, ha began to read out loud. There is only one man a poet also who reads as my host did: and that is my beloved friend Professor Gilbert Murray. When I first heard him at Oxford, I closed my eyes and--' felt as if the old post had been with me again. Tennyson's reading had the lilt. (Concluded on Page J.)
