he struck up a firm friendship; D’Orsay was naturally a fascinating
companion and exemplar for any young man of parts. Enthusiasm glows
in the following description: “Count d’Orsay … I have no hesitation
in asserting was the _beau-idéal_ of manly dignity and grace. He had
not yet assumed the marked peculiarities of dress and deportment which
the sophistications of London life subsequently developed. He was the
model of all that could be conceived of noble demeanour and youthful
candour; handsome beyond all question; accomplished to the last degree;
highly educated, and of great literary acquirements; with a gaiety of
heart and cheerfulness of mind that spread happiness on all around him.
His conversation was brilliant and engaging, as well as clever and
instructive. He was moreover the best fencer, dancer, swimmer, runner,
dresser; the best shot, the best horseman, the best draughtsman of his
age.” There are some touches of exaggeration here, but it is valuable as
the impression made upon a shrewd youth of the world.
He notes, too, that D’Orsay spoke English in the prettiest manner; maybe
with a touch of Marguerite’s brogue.
Mathews has given us a description of the routine of life at the Palazzo
Belvedere:—“In the morning we generally rise from our beds, couches,
floors, or whatever we happen to have been reposing upon the night
before, and those who have morning gowns or slippers put them on as soon
as they are up. We then commence the ceremony of washing, which is longer
or shorter in its duration, according to the taste of the persons who
use it. You will be glad to know that from the moment Lady Blessington
awakes she takes exactly one hour and a half to the time she makes her
appearance, when we usually breakfast; this prescience is remarkably
agreeable, as one can always calculate thus upon the probable time of our
breakfasting; there is sometimes a difference of five or six minutes, but
seldom more. This meal taking place latish in the day, I always have a
premature breakfast in my own room the instant I am up, which prevents
my feeling that hunger so natural to the human frame from fasting. After
our collation, if it be fine we set off to see sights, walks, palaces,
monasteries, views, galleries of pictures, antiquities, _and all that
sort of thing_; if rainy, we set to our drawing, writing, reading,
billiards, fencing, and _everything in the world_.… In the evening each
person arranges himself (and herself) at his table and follows his own
concerns till about ten o’clock, when we sometimes play whist, sometimes
talk, and are always delightful! About half-past eleven we retire with
our flat candlesticks in our hands.… At dinner Lady B. takes the head
of the table, Lord B. on her left, Count d’Orsay on her right, and I at
the bottom. We have generally for the first service a joint and five
_entrées_; for the second, a _rôti_ and five _entrées_, including sweet
things. The name of our present cook is Raffelle, and a very good one
when he likes.”
A heated but brief quarrel between D’Orsay and Mathews gives us a glimpse
of the former’s hot temper. The two had become constant comrades,
fencing, shooting, swimming, riding, drawing together.
Blessington had formed the habit of boring the party by insisting on
their accompanying him on sailing trips aboard the _Bolivar_, his
purchase from Byron, which expeditions had more than once culminated in
their being becalmed for hours and overwhelmed with heat and _ennui_.
One sultry morning when Blessington suggested a sail, they with one
consent began to make excuses, good and bad: the ladies were afraid of
the sun; D’Orsay said a blunt “No,” and Mathews was anxious to complete a
sketch. To which last Lord Blessington remarked—
“As you please. I only hope you will really carry out your intention; for
even your friend Count d’Orsay says that you carry your sketch-book with
you everywhere, but that you never bring back anything in it.”
Possibly there was an element of truth in the criticism; at any rate it
struck home.
It was apparently a somewhat sulky party that went a-driving that
afternoon; two charming women and two ill-humoured young men. Suddenly,
without any further provocation, Mathews burst out—
“I have to thank you, Count d’Orsay, for the high character you have
given me to Lord Blessington, with regard to my diligence.”
“Comment?” responded D’Orsay.
“I should have been more gratified had you mentioned to me, instead of to
his lordship, anything you might have—”
“Vous êtes un mauvais blagueur, par Dieu, la plus grande bête et blagueur
que j’ai jamais rencontré, et la première fois que vous me parlez comme
ça, je vous casserai la tête et je vous jetterai par la fenêtre.”
Indubitably ill-temper, of which we know not the cause, had made the
Count forget his manners; Mathews rightly kept silent, reserving the
continuation of the quarrel for a future and more proper occasion, and
Lady Blessington aided him by the rebuke—
“Count d’Orsay, I beg you to remember I am present, and that such
language is not exactly what I should have expected before me.”
But the fiery Frenchman was not to be suppressed and answered hotly.
In the evening Mathews received a note from D’Orsay, repeating the
offence in almost more offensive terms. Of course, a duel was the order
of the day; Mathews wrote demanding satisfaction or an apology; of which
former he was promptly promised all he might desire to have. Mathews
found his friend Madden willing to act as his second, but Blessington
very naturally, as host of both the parties, refused to act for the
Count. But Madden was a diplomatist, and despatched to D’Orsay what his
principal terms a “very coolly written” letter, which called forth the
following:—
“MON CHER MR MADDEN,—Je suis très loin d’être fâché que Mr
Mathews vous ait choisi pour son témoin, ma seule crainte eut
été qu’il en choisît un autre.
“Je suis aussi très loin d’être offensé d’un de vos avis.
Lorsque j’estime quelqu’un, son opinion est toujours bien reçue.
“L’affaire, comme vous savez, est très simple dans le principe.
On me fit la question si Mathews avait dessiné à Caprée; je
dis que non, mais qu’il emportoit toujours ses crayons et
son album pour ne rien faire—que cela étoit dommage avec ses
grandes dispositions. Lord Blessington n’as pas eu le courage
de lui représenter sans y mêler mon nom, et Mathews a pris
la chose avec moi sur un ton si haut que j’ai été obligé de
la rabaisser, après lui avoir exprimé que ce n’étoit que par
intérêt pour lui que j’avois fait cette représentation. Il à
continué sur le même ton; je lui dis alors que la première fois
qu’il prendroit un ton semblable avec moi je le jetterois hors
de la voiture et lui casserois la tête. J e vous répète mot
pour mot cette altercation. La seule différence que j’ai fait
entre lui et un autre, c’est que je n’ai fait que dire ce que
j’aurois fait certainement vis-à-vis d’un autre qui prendroit
ce ton avec moi. Si j’ai accompagné mon projet d’avenir de mots
offensants et inconvenants, j’en suis aussi fâché pour lui que
pour moi, car c’est me manquer à moi-même que d’user des mots
trop violents.
“Pour votre observation sur la différence des rangs, elle est
inutile, car jamais je n’attache d’importance au rang qui
se trouve souvent compromis par tant de bêtes. Je juge les
personnes pour ce qu’elles sont, sans m’informer qui étoient
leurs ancêtres, et si mon supérieur eut employé la même manière
de me rapprocher qu’a pris Mathews, j’aurois sûrement fait
ce que je n’ai fait que dire à Mathews, que j’aime beaucoup
trop pour le rabaisser à ses propres yeux. Il seroit ridicule
à moi de ne pas avouer que j’ai tort de lui avoir dit des
paroles trop fortes, mais en même temps je ne veux pas nier mes
paroles, c’est-à-dire, mon projet de voiture, etc. Si Mathews
veut satisfaction, je lui donnerai tant qu’il lui plaira, tout
en lui sachant bon gré de vous avoir choisi pour son témoin.
“Cette affaire est aussi désagréable pour vous que pour nous
tous, mais au moins elle n’altérera pas l’amitié de votre tout
dévoué,
“CTE. D’ORSAY.”
Upon receipt of which letter Madden advised Mathews to shake hands,
which on meeting the Count the following morning he proceeded to do, the
overture of peace being cordially received.
“J’espère, mon cher Mathews,” said D’Orsay, “que vous êtes satisfait. Je
suis bien fâché pour ce que je vous ai dit, mais j’étais en colère et—”
To which Mathews, interrupting—
“Mon cher Comte, n’en parlons plus, je vous en prie, je l’ai tout-à-fait
oublié!”
But apparently Lady Blessington had something to say upon the affair,
for later on Mathews found the Count with her, in tears, and a further
apology followed.
Then the storm-clouds cleared away and all again was sunshine.
Madden who played the peacemaker, was Richard Robert of that name, born
in 1798, and at that time studying medicine at Naples. In after years
he was author of _The United Irishmen_, and of that curious book, _The
Literary Life and Correspondence of the Countess of Blessington_. Mathews
writes of him as “the witty, lively Dr Madden, at that time as full of
spirits as of mental acquirements.”
VII
MARRIAGE
Here stands D’Orsay, _jeune premier_, the hero of this comedy _à
trois_, with the limelight full upon him; supported by Marguerite, Lady
Blessington, as leading lady, of whom Landor said to Crabb Robinson:—“She
was to Lord Blessington the most devoted wife he ever knew,” which either
speaks badly for the wives known to Walter Savage or more probably shows
that he was as blind in the matter of the lady’s virtue as he was with
regard to her age, which in 1832 he declared to be about thirty. Probably
in both cases he was judging simply by appearances, which in women are so
apt to deceive men, particularly elderly poets.
For what part shall we consider Lord Blessington as cast? Villain or
fool? We incline to the latter: it takes a fairly astute man to play
the villain with success; moreover, no man smiles and smiles and is a
villain without motive for his villainy—at least not in real life. To
complete our company we have two light comedians, Marianne Power, pretty
and ever ready with a smile, and Mathews, always ready to provide amusing
entertainment. For stage crowd, diplomatists, antiquarians, artists,
noblemen, servants and so forth:—
Sir William Gell, whom we have met, with pleasure; an Hon. R. Grosvenor,
whom Lady Blessington declared “the liveliest Englishman I have ever
seen,” and considered that his gaiety sat very gracefully upon him;
queens of beauty, too, such as the Duchess di Forli, “with hair dark as
the raven’s wing, and lustrous eyes of nearly as deep a hue, and her lips
as crimson as the flower of the pomegranate”; the Princess Centolla, who
“might furnish a faultless model for a Hebe, she is so fair, so youthful,
and so exquisitely beautiful”; an Hanoverian soldier of fortune, who
came down to fight in Sicily and captured the heart and wealth of the
Princess Bultera and her title too; the lively, diminutive, aged Thomas
James Mathias, writer of that pungent satire upon authors, _Pursuits
of Literature_, whose denial of his being the only begetter of it did
not meet with credence. He was a man with peculiarities, one of which
was the frequent use of the exclamation, “God bless my soul!” Another
was his singularly accurate memory for dates connected with the eating
of any special dish. It was fortunate for him that motor-cars were not
of his day, for he was extremely nervous when crossing the street. He
appears also to have been curiously simple. One day while dining in a
café a shower of rain came down heavily, and Sir William Gell remarked to
Mathias that it was raining cats and dogs. On the instant, as luck would
have it, a dog ran in at one door and a cat at the other. “God bless my
soul,” said Mathias, solemnly, “so it does! so it does! Who would have
believed it!”
There was Sir William Drummond, scholar and diplomatist,
minister-plenipotentiary to Naples, whose brilliant conversation was a
mixture of pedantry illuminated by flashes of imagination; the Archbishop
of Tarentum, a typical father of the Roman Church, “his face, peculiarly
handsome, is sicklied o’er with the pale hue of thought; his eyes are
of the darkest brown, but soft, and full of sensibility, like those of
a woman. His hair is white as snow, and contrasts well with the black
silk _calotte_ that crowns the top of his head. His figure is attenuated
and bowed by age, and his limbs are small and delicate…;” the astronomer
Piazzi, discoverer of the planet Ceres; General the Duc di’ Rocco Romano,
“the very personification of a _preux chevalier_; brave in arms, and
gentle and courteous in society”; Lord Dudley, eccentric as is easily
pardoned in a peer with an income of £40,000, with his unfortunate habit
of expressing aloud his opinion, good or bad, of those with whom he
conversed; James Milligan, the antiquary, to whom it was mere waste of
time to submit a forgery as a genuine antique; Casimir de la Vigne, who
recited his unpublished ‘Columbus’ at the _Palazzo_.
Fine company, of which but a few have been named; a liberal education in
themselves to a young man on his way through a world where the proper
study of mankind is man—and woman.
In junketings and journeyings the days sped by very merrily. Blessington
himself was not fond of walking and was an enemy to sight-seeing of all
kinds, so did not often join in the expeditions. Moreover, he was not
an early riser, usually breakfasting in bed, and we cannot imagine that
his company was very greatly missed; four is company, five is a crowd.
The expeditionary party, therefore, consisted of Lady Blessington and
D’Orsay, Marianne Power and Mathews; to which various guests were added
as occasion and convenience dictated.
The romantic beauty of the gardens of the Palazzo appealed to at any rate
some of the members of the household. In the evening they would resort to
the charming Pavilion at the end of the terrace, and there listen to the
playing and singing of the servants, some of whom proved to be delectable
masters of music. There was, too, an open-air theatre in the grounds; the
stage of springy turf, the proscenium formed of trees and shrubs, the
seats of marble, backed by hedges of trimmed box and ilex. This shady
playhouse the company frequented in the heat of the day; fruits and iced
drinks were served. A pleasant earthly paradise, wherein the tempting of
Adam by Eve was highly civilised—in its externals.
There were dinners on board the _Bolivar_, in the cabin wherein, it is
said, Byron wrote much of “Don Juan”; D’Orsay must have felt quite in his
element there.
In March 1825, the _Palazzo Belvedere_ was deserted for the _Villa Gallo_
at Capo di Monte, a less palatial but more comfortable abode, also
possessing grounds of great beauty.
It was not until February 1826 that our party left Naples, where they had
so greatly enjoyed themselves, returning to Rome, where they remained
for a few weeks, going thence in April to Florence and in December being
once again in Genoa. In Florence it may be noted that the Blessingtons
and D’Orsay met Landor, with whom they quickly came to be upon terms of
friendship.
It was while on their first visit to Genoa, three years before this,
that news had reached Blessington of the death at the age of ten of his
son and heir, Lord Mountjoy. Of this unhappy event one of the results
was that Blessington was able to make such disposition of his property
as he considered right and proper, or at any rate to a certain and very
considerable extent. Of this freedom he availed himself in a manner
that proves either a lack of common understanding or actual inhumanity.
Included in the arrangements he made was the marriage to D’Orsay of one
of his daughters, this apparently in fulfilment of his promise to see to
it that D’Orsay’s future was provided for. Not content that the young
Frenchman should be his wife’s lover he decided to make him also his
daughter’s husband. Such a story told as fiction would be incredible.
Three months after his son’s death, Blessington signed a codicil to his
will, which ran thus:—
“Having had the misfortune to lose my beloved son, Luke
Wellington, and having entered into engagements with Alfred,
Comte d’Orsay that an alliance should take place between
him and my daughter, which engagement has been sanctioned
by Albert, Comte d’Orsay, general, etc., in the service of
France. This is to declare and publish my desire to leave to
the said Alfred d’Orsay my estates in the city and county of
Dublin (subject, however, to the annuity of three thousand per
annum, which sum is to include the settlement of one thousand
per annum to my wife, Margaret, Countess of Blesinton (_sic_)
…). I make also the said Alfred d’Orsay sole guardian of my
son Charles John, and my sister, Harriet Gardiner, guardian of
my daughters, until they, the daughters, arrive at the age of
sixteen, at which age I consider they will be marriageable.…
(Signed) BLESINTON.”
In August (1823) this amazing plan was more securely fixed by the
making of a will. By this document D’Orsay was appointed one of three
executors, each of whom received £1000; to Lady Blessington was allotted
£2000 British, per annum, and all her own jewels. Then we must quote in
full:—“I give to my daughter, Harriet Anne Jane Frances, commonly called
Lady Harriet, born at my house in Seymour Place, London, on or about the
3rd day of August 1812, all my estates in the county and city of Dublin,
subject to the following charge. Provided she intermarry with my friend,
and intended son-in-law, Alfred d’Orsay, I bequeath her the sum of ten
thousand pounds only. I give to my daughter, Emily Rosalie Hamilton,
generally called Lady Mary Gardiner, born in Manchester Square, on the
24th of June 1811, whom I now acknowledge and adopt as my daughter, the
sum of twenty thousand pounds.
“In case the said Alfred d’Orsay intermarries with the said Emily,
otherwise Mary Gardiner, I bequeath to her my estates in the county and
city of Dublin.…” It did not matter upon which daughter the gallant and
chivalrous D’Orsay fixed his fancy; in either case he was to be well
rewarded. D’Orsay knew that his future was assured.
In fact, D’Orsay was handsomely dowered! How joyous must have been the
meeting between him and his sister at Pisa in 1826. Lady Blessington has
left a pleasant picture of it in her Journal:—
“PISA.—Arrived here yesterday, and found the Duc and Duchesse
de Guiche (Ida d’Orsay) with their beautiful children,
established in the Casa Chiarabati, on the south side of the
Lung’ Arno. The Duchesse is one of the most striking-looking
women I ever beheld; and though in very delicate health, her
beauty is unimpaired. Tall and slight, her figure is finely
proportioned, and her air remarkably noble and graceful. Her
features are regular, her complexion dazzlingly fair, her
countenance full of intelligence, softened by a feminine
sweetness that gives it a peculiar attraction, and her limbs
are so small and symmetrical, as to furnish an instance of
Byron’s favourite hypothesis, that delicately formed hands
and feet were infallible indications of noble birth. But had
the Duchesse de Guiche no other charm than her hair, that
would constitute an irresistible one. Never did I see such
a profusion, nor of so beautiful a colour and texture. When
to those exterior attractions are added manners graceful
and dignified, conversation witty and full of intelligence,
joined to extreme gentleness, it cannot be wondered at that
the Duchesse de Guiche is considered one of the most lovely
and fascinating women of her day. It is a pleasing picture to
see this fair young creature, for she is still in the bloom
of youth, surrounded by her three beautiful boys, and holding
in her arms a female infant strongly resembling her. One
forgets _la grande dame_ occupying her tabouret at Court, ‘the
observed of all observers,’ in the interest excited by a fond
young mother in the domestic circle, thinking only of the dear
objects around her.”
Who better could appreciate this happy scene than Lady Blessington, with
all her dear objects around her: her sister, her husband, her dear friend?
One more Pisan scene is worth quoting:—
“_March._—Mr Wilkie,[4] our celebrated painter, has come to
spend a few days with us. He enjoys Italy very much, and his
health is, I am happy to say, much improved. He was present,
last evening, at a concert at the Duchesse de Guiche’s, where
a delicate compliment was offered to her, the musicians having
surprised her with an elegantly turned song, addressed to her,
and very well sung; copies of which were presented to each
of the party, printed on paper _couleur de rose_, and richly
embossed. This _galanterie_ originated with half a dozen of the
most distinguished of the Pisans, and the effect was excellent,
owing to the poetic merit of the verses, the good music to
which they were wedded, and the unaffected surprise of the fair
object to whom they were addressed. Mr Wilkie seemed very much
pleased at the scene, and much struck with the courtly style of
beauty of our hostess.”
Summer faded into autumn, but surely not too quickly for the ardent
D’Orsay, who must have longed to take to his arms his schoolgirl bride,
who was coming over from Dublin, where she had spent her childhood in the
care of her aunt.
It was a cruel thing to do, to fling this girl not yet sixteen years of
age into the arms of a man entirely strange to her, who could not even
be likely to learn to love her consumed with passion as he already was
for another. What chance had the child of happiness? As little as had
Marguerite Power when forced to marry Farmer. Did Lady Blessington recall
her first wedding-day as she stood by and watched this sacrifice? She
could not speak; her tongue was tied; what could it be to her if D’Orsay
married? And D’Orsay, what word of exculpation or excuse can be said for
him? Not one. Had he been free from intrigue this marriage would have
been a mere episode—as marriage then was and now so often is—in the life
of a man of the world. The little schoolgirl must marry someone; why
not D’Orsay? D’Orsay must have money, why not obtain it by this simple
means? Even if he had desired to hold back, what excuse could he offer—to
Blessington? There have been few scenes so grimly sardonic, not one more
tragic.
On December 1st 1827, Count Albert d’Orsay, only son of General Count
d’Orsay, was married to Lady Harriet Anne Frances Gardiner at the British
Embassy at Naples. Never can nuptials have been bigger with ill-fortune,
which was the only fruit they bore.
Some few months after the wedding Madden met the bride at Rome, and
writes of her:—
“Lady Harriet was exceedingly girlish-looking, pale and rather
inanimate in expression, silent and reserved; there was no appearance
of familiarity with any one around her; no air or look of womanhood, no
semblance of satisfaction in her new position were to be observed in
her demeanour or deportment. She seldom or ever spoke, she was little
noticed, she was looked on as a mere schoolgirl; I think her feelings
were crushed, repressed, and her emotions driven inwards, by the sense
of slight and indifference, and by the strangeness and coldness of
everything around her; and she became indifferent, and strange and cold,
and apparently devoid of all vivacity and interest in society, or in the
company of any person in it.”
Juliet mated with Lothario. Doubtless the latter was quite contented
with his bargain, as indeed he had good cause to be. He had been paid a
fine price for bending his neck to the yoke matrimonial, as is shown by
the marriage settlements to which act the parties were Lord Blessington,
D’Orsay, Lady Harriet, the Duc de Guiche, Lieutenant-General and Ecuyer
of His Royal Highness the Dauphin, and Robert Power, formerly Captain
of the 2nd Regiment of Foot. The deed is specifically stated as being
designed to make provision for D’Orsay and Lady Harriet, “then an infant
of the age of fifteen years or thereabouts.”
VIII
ROME
Early one night in December 1827, the Blessingtons, the D’Orsays and
Marianne Power arrived in Rome to find that the palace hired for their
accommodation was entirely unsuitable and insufficient. House-hunting
once again was the order of the day, the outcome being the renting of
the two principal floors of the Palazzo Negroni for six months at one
hundred guineas per month. Additional and doubtless unnecessary furniture
was hired at a further cost of twenty guineas. It is quite amusing to
hear of the domesticated Lady Blessington undertaking the transformation
of countless yards of white muslin into window curtains and to see to a
dozen or so of eiderdown pillows being recased so that the hardness of
half-stuffed sofas might be softened. Her account of the advantages of
possessing a _fourgon_ must be given in her own words, which could not be
re-written without diminishing their merit:—