He had to be carried upstairs and laid upon a bed. Happily he recovered without serious injury. There were many exclamations of regret, but the only one I remember was Millais'. All he said was: 'And it is a good picture too.'
Sir Arthur Sullivan was one of our musical favourites. My wife had known him as a chorister boy in the Chapel Royal; and to the end of his days we were on terms of the closest intimacy and friendship. Through him we made the acquaintance of the Scott Russells. Mr. Scott Russell was the builder of the Crystal Palace. He had a delightful residence at Sydenham, the grounds of which adjoined those of the Crystal Palace, and were beautifully laid out by his friend Sir Joseph Paxton. One of the daughters, Miss Rachel Russell, was a pupil of Arthur Sullivan's. She had great musical talent, she was remarkably handsome, exceedingly clever and well-informed, and altogether exceptionally fascinating. Quite apart from Sullivan's genius, he was in every way a charming fellow. The teacher fell in love with the pupil; and, as naturally, his love was returned.
Sullivan was but a youth, a poor and struggling music-master.
And, very naturally again, Mrs. Scott Russell, who could not be expected to know what magic baton the young maestro carried in his knapsack, thought her brilliant daughter might do better. The music lessons were put a stop to, and correspondence between the lovers was prohibited.
Once a week or so, either the young lady or the young gentleman would, quite unexpectedly, pay us a visit about tea or luncheon time. And, by the strangest coincidence, the other would be sure to drop in while the one was there. This went on for a year or two. But destiny forbade the banns.
In spite of the large fortune acquired by Mr. Scott Russell - he was the builder of the 'Great Eastern' as well as the Crystal Palace - ill-advised or unsuccessful ventures robbed him of his well-earned wealth. His beautiful place at Sydenham had to be sold; and the marriage of Miss Rachel with young Arthur Sullivan was abandoned. She ultimately married an Indian official.
Her story may here be told to the end. Some years later she returned to England to bring her two children home for their education, going back to India without them, as Indian mothers have to do. The day before she sailed, she called to take leave of us in London. She was terribly depressed, but fought bravely with her trial. She never broke down, but shunted the subject, talking and laughing with flashes of her old vivacity, about music, books, friends, and 'dear old dirty London,' as she called it. When she left, I opened the street-door for her, and with both her hands in mine, bade her 'Farewell.' Then the tears fell, and her parting words were: 'I am leaving England never to see it again.' She was seized with cholera the night she reached Bombay, and died the following day.
To return to her father, the eminent engineer. He was distinctly a man of genius, and what is called 'a character.'
He was always in the clouds - not in the vapour of his engine-rooms, nor busy inventing machines for extracting sunbeams from cucumbers, but musing on metaphysical problems and abstract speculations about the universe generally. In other respects a perfectly ******-minded man.
It was in his palmy days that he invited me to run down to Sheerness with him, and go over the 'Great Eastern' before she left with the Atlantic cable. This was in 1865. The largest ship in the world, and the first Atlantic cable, were both objects of the greatest interest. The builder did not know the captain - Anderson - nor did the captain know the builder. But clearly, each would be glad to meet the other.
As the leviathan was to leave in a couple of days, everything on board her was in the wildest confusion. Russell could not find anyone who could find the Captain; so he began poking about with me, till we accidentally stumbled on the Commander. He merely said that he was come to take a parting glance at his 'child,' which did not seem of much concern to the over-busy captain. He never mentioned his own name, but introduced me as 'my friend Captain Cole.' Now, in those days, Captain Cole was well known as a distinguished naval officer. To Russell's absent and engineering mind, 'Coke' had suggested 'Cole,' and 'Captain' was inseparable from the latter. It was a name to conjure with. Captain Anderson took off his cap, shook me warmly by the hand, expressed his pleasure at ****** my acquaintance, and hoped I, and my friend Mr. - ahem - would come into his cabin and have luncheon, and then allow him to show me over his ship. Scott Russell was far too deeply absorbed in his surroundings to note any peculiarity in this neglect of himself and marked respect for 'Captain Cole.' We made the round of the decks, then explored the engine room. Here the designer found himself in an earthly paradise. He button-holed the engineer and inquired into every crank, and piston, and valve, and every bolt, as it seemed to me, till the officer in charge unconsciously began to ask opinions instead of offering explanations. By degrees the captain was equally astonished at the visitor's knowledge, and when at last my friend asked what had become of some fixture or other which he missed, Captain Anderson turned to him and exclaimed, 'Why, you seem to know more about the ship than I do.'
'Well, so I ought,' says my friend, never for a moment supposing that Anderson was in ignorance of his identity.
'Indeed! Who then are you, pray?'
'Who? Why, Scott Russell of course, the builder!'
There was a hearty laugh over it all. I managed to spare the captain's feelings by preserving my incognito, and so ended a pleasant day.
