Daughters of Eve.

II.

ELIZABETH BERKELEIGH, MARGRAVINE OF ANSPACH.

I MAY be charged, perhaps, in the selection of my present subject, with departing somewhat from the intentions laid down in commencing this series; namely, of taking for description only women of the simplest and purest type of feminine excellence. The Margravine of Anspach, as some venerable reader of these papers may yet remember, had, both under her later name and as Lady Craven, a celebrity scarcely compatible with the existence of that inner worth of character and delicate appreciation of the true attributes of her sex, which I am seeking models to illustrate. Now, in the first place, let me say that, were I bent on only exhibiting the perfection of that standard of womanhood which is rather to be felt than distinctly set forth in terms, I should never have even commenced to form this gallery of portraits. I should have rejected the task as hopeless. I do not warrant my heroines without blemish; I only warrant them without vice; and the utmost I can say is, that I shall concern myself with their good points chiefly, only noticing their faults as the foils of these, or as affording a lesson how the best may err. In the second place, I firmly believe, and indeed it is patent to any who will compare the facts of this lady's life with the gross and mutually contradictory reports circulated about her for years in the English newspapers, that no woman ever suffered more from slanderous tongues than the Margravine of Anspach. No one is beautiful, witty, and accomplished, and apparently a favourite of fortune, with impunity, even in these days; and when the higher orders were openly far less blameless in their lives than now, the facilities open to envy and malignity in gaining currency for the foulest calumnies directed against the "upper ten" were proportionally greater. Thank heaven, whatever be the political purity of the press in the present day, it does not now lend itself as a tool to private malice and social conspiracies, or open its poisoned mouth to be gagged by a bribe; yet even we may remember the time when the traditions of the old newspaper world were maintained in all their hideousness in a weekly paper, killed many years since by public disgust, and leaving, to the credit of our age be it said, no successor. So long as the passions and depravity of the public created an appetite for slander, there were plenty of caterers for the foul repast, and the victim of the black-mail plunderer or prepaid bravo had no resource but an action for libel, which in such a condition of society would only aggravate the original evil, and give fresh scope for a new outpouring of venom. Not to have braved such an ordeal cannot be taken as betokening a conscience not free from self-reproach. Magnanimity and prudence with respect to others may dictate silent

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endurance; and such a course may be rendered easier by a proud contempt for those who bring, as for those who believe, the unmerited accusations, and an elastic vivacity of mind, which can make the most of the abundant consolation which all who possess real worth find against the calumnies of the world, in the faithful discharge of the duties of life, the exertion of active benevolence, and the enjoyment of troops of friends. Such was the case of the Margravine of Anspach; the main facts of whose life I am about to trace, finding in them, as I conceive, the evidence of an originally highly graced woman's nature, further adorned by much strenuous selfcultivation, that kept clear of any encroachment on the intellectual domain of man, and merely gave a wider scope to that mother-wit which arrives frequently at more true results than the cumbrous ratiocination of the sterner sex. In the memoirs which the Margravine of Anspach wrote of herself, and which were published in 1826, she lays claim to the strictest truthfulness as an essential part of her character, and as being less a virtue in her than a strong natural bent. There is no reason whatever to call in question the accuracy of this view of herself. It has been said, however, that these memoirs are remarkable for what they keep back. It may be so; but the assertion rests mainly on the fact that the calumnies to which she was exposed are not explicitly refuted or explained. It would have been inconsistent with her motives for reserve, when the sting of these calumnies must have been felt and resented with all the sensibility and warmth of youth,-motives which, originating in prudence and discretion, could only have been strengthened by time,-to have in her old age raked up the fancied grounds of the accusations of her enemies, and to have put herself upon trial before the uncertain tribunal of public opinion, when the scent of truth was long cold, and the branding-irons of prejudice were still as ever at red heat. She has given the simple outline of her strange and eventful life with a straightforward adherence to facts, which has never been impugned; and these very facts are in the main incompatible with the great bulk of the scandal uttered against her, while they afford an ample justification of outward acts, which, without explanation, would seem certainly to argue against her sense of propriety and delicacy.

Elizabeth Berkeleigh was the youngest daughter of Augustus, fourth Earl of Berkeleigh, by his countess, Elizabeth, daughter of Henry Drax, of Cherborough, in the county of Dorset, esquire, and was born in December 1750. As a fit prelude to an eccentric life, she came into the world two months ere by the laws of nature she was to be looked for, and this circumstance had nearly led to the abrupt termination of the infant's earthly career, ere its sands of life had run out the boiling of an egg. A certain ceremonial was observed in those days when ladies of a certain rank swelled the rolls of the aristocracy, and the first person who approached the bedside of the noble accouchée was the Countess of Albemarle, her aunt. The infant, which had so unexpectedly claimed its share of the world, had doubly disappointed its mother; first, by being a

girl, when a boy had been predicted with assurance, for Lady Berkeleigh had previously had four girls in succession, three of them, singularly enough, at one birth;-next, the little being, so far from exhibiting any signs of the future beauty, presented the most miserable, half-alive aspect imaginable; and there being nothing ready to receive it, a piece of flannel was huddled round it, and it was left on an arm chair in a sort of despair, and for some minutes altogether unheeded, till the visitor already named was on the point of sitting down in the aforesaid arm-chair, and but for the screams of the attendant would have driven out once and for ever the small instalment of life-breath the forlorn babe had been strenuously endeavouring to suck in. Lady Albemarle thereupon snatched up the child, took it to the light to examine it, and observing that it there managed to open a pair of very bright eyes, pronounced its chances of vitality to be far from desperate. A wet-nurse was therefore immediately procured; and by dint of great care the puny little being was preserved, to become eventually the lovely, accomplished, and vivacious subject of this memoir. Lady Berkeleigh, who is described by the Margravine as having but little maternal affection, treated her youngest daughter with even worse than indifference, and reserved all the indulgence and attention she was disposed to show to her offspring for her elder sister, Lady Georgiana, who was regarded as the beauty. The neglect and severity of the mother stamped a peculiar air of shyness and modesty on Lady Elizabeth; and as her natural character was vivacious, and disposed to gaiety and enjoyment, a contrast was thus created, which, as she herself very unreservedly confesses, greatly contributed to her fascination. So far, out of evil came good; but there can be little doubt that had the Margravine of Anspach experienced more maternal tenderness, some part of her character would have been much improved. When Lord Berkeleigh died, his youngest daughter was only five years old; and from a sense, no doubt, that his daughters would want more solicitous supervision than they were likely to obtain from their mother, their welfare occupied his last thoughts exclusively. He had from the same cause some time previously sent for a Swiss lady, the wife of a German tutor, and placed them in a house at one end of his park at Cranford, where they lived on a small income of their own. Charged by Lord Berkeleigh, in the most solemn manner, to watch over his two daughters, and never to leave them till they were married, this excellent person fulfilled her trust to the letter, and exercised, as the Margravine gratefully acknowledges, the most beneficial influence by her precepts and example on her heart and mind. The actual education of Ladies Georgiana and Elizabeth was intrusted to a governess, the Swiss lady being only concerned with their moral training and manners; for her care of which, it is singular to state, she never received the slightest material recompense.

I do not profess to know the details of a young lady's education in these days, and can only speak of it from the results exhibited in the circle of my female acquaintances. From this I should say that too

much is grasped at, and too little effectually held and retained as regards the mental qualifications; while too little pains seem taken in the formation of character and the acquirement of grace of manner and deportment, so essential to the highest influence of women. There may have been a little too much stiffness and formality in the old-fashioned training of females, but there was also a greater simplicity, less confusion and cramming in the acquirement of knowledge and so-called accomplishments. It is more essential that a lady should be gentle in her manners, graceful in her bearing, discreet, dignified, and delicate in all her relations with the world, and unite these qualities with a thorough comprehension of household duties, than that she should have a shallow smattering of the whole encyclopædia of human knowledge without one definite idea; a pretentious but wholly delusive proficiency in every art, while the plain realities of life, which must some day be painfully grappled with, are overlooked; and the greater part, if not all, the advantages with which nature graces more or less every individual of her sex are allowed to fall into abeyance, and even turn into defects from want of cultivation. Good breeding, not only in its foppish but in its wholesome sense, is an art which, like every art, is only to be acquired by a severe discipline. To women it is an absolute essential, and the devotion of mind given to its acquirement is already a healthy exercise of the faculties, for an immediately practical end. A mind so trained, if there be a disposition for knowledge, literary, scientific, or philosophical, or a taste for art, will acquire any of these "accomplishments" the more readily and effectively, and just so much of them as can be amalgamated without detriment to the chief ends-grace, amiability, helpfulness. How young ladies of rank were educated when George the Third was king, is shown us in the following epitome of a day with her governess, when the future Margravine was thirteen years old: "The governess regulated every thing by the clock; and as soon as the young people were awake, we were accustomed to kneel down, having arisen from the bed, to say a morning prayer. The maid-servant was then introduced, and I was instructed how to make a bed, as the governess paid attention even to the smallest minutiæ. I was then left to myself, to dress in the best manner I could. After the ablutions and the toilette were finished, every thing was explained to me, and advice given as to cleanliness and order. When these duties were gone through, which I did as hastily as I could, I left my apartment, leaving my sister to the admiration of her own person, and to the ideas which the reflection of her looking-glass produced in her youthful mind. In the early part of the morning, I repeated to my governess a translation of some short phrase she had given me the night before, of French into English, and another of English into French. I then partook of a breakfast, which was of milkporridge; and if I was unwell, of water-gruel; never being permitted to take tea, coffee, or butter, as she considered them prejudicial to the health of young persons like myself. After breakfast, I was allowed to take

exercise in the garden, if the weather permitted; and if it rained, I was suffered to sweep the room and arrange the furniture, and then again pursue my studies. A walk before dinner was always allowed; and that dinner consisted only of a pudding, or broth and one kind of meat, dressed in the plainest manner. It was to this diet that I attribute the excellent health I have always enjoyed, having never experienced any disagreeable sensations of the stomach, but merely what might arise from hunger."

At the time this account of the tutorial discipline of her two daughters refers to, the Countess of Berkeleigh was in Paris with them, having obtained leave of absence from the Princess of Wales, to whom she was lady of the bedchamber. Lady Elizabeth had already shot up into a tall, lithe figure, and her countenance developed the budding signs of that lively beauty which afterwards distinguished her. At this time, however, though she observes that many opportunities offered themselves of discovering her own personal charms, she protests herself to have been entirely ignorant of them; the exclusive admiration that was bestowed by her mother on her elder sister leading her to imagine herself rather illfavoured than otherwise. There was no such blindness to the fascinations of her person in after years; and her memoirs teem with amusing evidences of the high sense she entertained of her outward attractions. Among others is a passage in which she criticises the various portraits that have been painted of her; and though Sir Joshua Reynolds-whose portrait of her at Petworth seems charming enough-and Romney and Madame Lebrun exerted in turns and more than once their skill to transfer her graces to canvas, she declares they none of them have done justice either to her face or figure. The same candour in exposing her thorough self-appreciation as regards her mental and moral excellencies, is observable throughout the entertaining sketch of her career, and gives at first the impression that one is listening to the weakest and vainest woman that ever breathed. A little further acquaintance, however, removes this notion almost altogether. When a woman has been sought and openly admired all her life for her beauty, grace, sense, wit, and good nature, by the highest and most distinguished personages of her age, it would seem more shocking than the grossest display of vanity, to affect a mincing reserve and humility in speaking of her own merits. At Paris, Lady Elizabeth and her sister first became initiated into general society, at the weekly receptions of Lady Berkeleigh; and their perfect knowledge of French, and thorough ease and self-possession amidst the flattery and homage with which they were surrounded, both from their own countrymen and the more demonstrative gallantry of their French guests, created some astonishment among the latter. This quality, so estimable in young ladies, and which may be compared to steadiness under fire in a soldier, the Margravine confesses to owe to early training. "Instead of skipping with a rope," she writes, "I am taught to pay and receive visits with children, and to suppose myself a lady who receives company;