Little Memoirs of the Nineteenth Century Part 15

writes Mrs. Howitt, 'the many kind and sympathetic friends that were given to us, the ease of social existence, the poetry, the cla.s.sic grace, the peculiar and deep pathos diffused around; above all, the stirring and affecting historic memories.... From the period of arrival in Rome, I may truly say that the promise in Scripture, "At evening time there shall be light," was, in our case, fulfilled.'

The simple, homely life of the aged couple continued unbroken amid their new surroundings. William interested himself in the planting of Eucalyptus in the Campagna, as a preventive against malaria, and had seeds of different varieties sent over from Australia, which he presented to the Trappist monks of the Tre Fontani. He helped to establish a society for the prevention of cruelty to animals, and struck up a friendship with the gardeners and custodians of the Pincio, to whom he gave expert advice on the subject of the creatures under their charge. The summer months were always spent in the Tyrol, where the Howitts had permanent quarters in an old mansion near Bruneck, called Mayr-am-Hof. Here William was able to indulge in his favourite occupation of gardening. He dug indefatigably in a field allotment with his English spade, a unique instrument in that land of clumsy husbandry, and was amazed at the growth of the New Zealand spinach, the widespread rhubarb, the exuberant tomatoes, and towering spikes of Indian corn. Thanks to the four great doctors before mentioned, he remained hale and hearty up to December, 1878, in which month he celebrated his eighty-seventh birthday. A few weeks later he was attacked by bronchitis, which, owing to an unsuspected weakness of the heart, he was unable to throw off. He died in his house on the Via Sistina, close to his favourite Pincio, on March 3, 1879.

Mrs. Howitt now finally gave up the idea of returning to end her days in England. Her husband and companion of more than fifty years was buried in the Protestant Cemetery at Home, and when her time came, she desired to be laid by his side. The grant of a small pension added to the comfort of her last years, and was a source of much innocent pride and gratification, for, as she tells her daughter Anna, 'It was so readily given, so kindly, so graciously, for my literary merits, by Lord Beaconsfield, without the solicitation or interference of any friend or well-wisher.' In May, 1880, she writes to a friend from Meran about 'a project, which seems to have grown up in a wonderful way by itself, or as if invisible hands had been arranging it; that we should have a little home of our own _im heiligen Land Tirol_.

This really is a very great mercy, seeing that the Tyrol is so beautiful, the climate so beneficial to health, and the people, taken as a whole, so very honest and devout. Our little nest of love, which we shall call "Marienruhe," will be perched on a hill with beautiful views, surrounded by a small garden.' On September 29, 1881, Mrs.

Howitt and her daughter, Margaret, slept, for the first time, in their romantically-situated new home near Meran.

At Marienruhe, the greater portion of the last seven years of Mary Howitt's life was spent in peace and contentment. Here she amused herself with writing her 'Reminiscences' for _Good Words_, which were afterwards incorporated in her _Autobiography_. Age had no power to blunt her interest in the events of the day, political or literary, and at eighty-seven we find her reading with keen enjoyment Froude's _Oceana_ and Besant's _All Sorts and Conditions of Men_, books that dealt with questions which she and her husband had had at heart for the best part of a lifetime, and for which they had worked with untiring zeal. Of the first she writes to a friend: 'We much approve of his (Froude's) very strong desire that our colonies should, like good, faithful, well-trained children, be staunch in love and service to old Mother England. How deeply we feel on this subject I cannot tell you; and I hope and trust that you join strongly in this truly English sentiment.' Of the second she writes to Mrs. Leigh Smith: 'I am more interested than I can tell you in _All Sorts and Conditions of Men_. It affects me like the perfected fruit of some glorious tree which my dear husband and I had a dim dream of planting more than thirty years ago, and which we did, in our ignorance and incapacity, attempt to plant in soil not properly prepared, and far too early in the season. I cannot tell you how it has recalled the hopes and dreams of a time which, by the overruling Providence of G.o.d, was so disastrous to us. It is a beautiful essay on the dignity of labour.'

The last few years of Mary Howitt's life were saddened by the deaths of her beloved sister, Anna, and her elder daughter, Mrs. Watts, but such blows are softened for aged persons by the consciousness that their own race is nearly run. Mary had, moreover, one great spiritual consolation in her conversion, at the age of eighty-three, to the doctrines of Roman Catholicism In spite of her oft-repeated protestations against the likelihood of her 'going over,' in spite of her declaration, openly expressed as late as 1871, that she firmly believed in the anti-Christianity of the Papacy, and that she and her husband were watching with interest the progress of events which, they trusted, would bring about its downfall, Mrs. Howitt was baptized into the Roman Church in May, 1882. Her new faith was a source of intense happiness to the naturally religious woman, who had found no refuge in any sectarian fold since her renunciation of her childish creed. In 1888, the year of the Papal Jubilee, though her strength was already failing, she was well enough to join the deputation of English pilgrims, who, on January 10, were presented to the Pope by the Duke of Norfolk. In describing the scene, the last public ceremony in which she took part, she writes: 'A serene happiness, almost joy, filled my whole being as I found myself on my knees before the Vicar of Christ.

My wish was to kiss his foot, but it was withdrawn, and his hand given to me. You may think with what fervour I kissed the ring. In the meantime he had been told my age and my late conversion. His hands were laid on my shoulders, and, again and again, his right hand in blessing on my head, whilst he spoke to me of Paradise.'

Having thus achieved her heart's desire, it seemed as if the last tie which bound the aged convert to earth was broken. A few days later she was attacked by bronchitis, and, after a short illness, pa.s.sed away in her sleep on January 30, 1888, having nearly completed her eighty-ninth year. To the last, we are told, Mary Howitt's sympathy was as warm, her intelligence as keen as in the full vigour of life, while her rare physical strength and pliant temper preserved her in unabated enjoyment of existence to the verge of ninety. Although many of her books were out of print at the time of her death, it was said that if every copy had been destroyed, most of her ballads and minor poems could have been collected from the memories of her admirers, who had them--very literally--by heart.

William and Mary Howitt, it may be observed in conclusion, though not leaders, were brave soldiers in the army of workers for humanity, and if now they seem likely to share the common lot of the rank and file--oblivion--it must be remembered that they were among those favoured of the G.o.ds who are crowned with grat.i.tude, love, and admiration by their contemporaries. To them, asleep in their Roman grave, the neglect of posterity brings no more pain than the homage of modern critics brings triumph to the slighted poet who shares their last resting-place.