a statuette of the Duke on horseback, the first copy of which, in
bronze, was carefully retouched and polished by the artist. The work is
remarkable for its mingled grace and sprightliness. The Duke, sitting
firmly back in his saddle, is reining in a pawing charger, charmingly
modelled, and a peculiar effect is obtained by the rider dividing the
reins, and stretching that on the left side completely back over the
thigh. The portrait is good, particularly that of the full face, and very
carefully finished, and the costume is a characteristic closely-fitting
military undress, with hanging cavalry sabre. Altogether, indeed, the
statuette forms a most agreeable memorial, not only of the Duke, but, in
some degree, of the gifted artist.”
Henry Vizetelly roundly states that there was no secrecy about the
help rendered to D’Orsay in his equestrian statuettes, etc., by T. H.
Nicholson, a draughtsman of horses, and that the faces of these works of
art were modelled by Behnes. He goes on to say: “The statuette of the
Duke of Wellington on horseback was undoubtedly Nicholson’s, and that
famous bust of the Iron Duke which was to make the fortune of the lucky
manufacturer who reproduced it in porcelain, is said to have been his and
Behnes’ joint work.”
Then follows this amusing story:—
“Sir Henry Cole—Old King Cole of the Brompton toilers,[22] and Felix
Flummery of the art-manufacture craze—used to tell an amusing story of
the high estimate, artistic and pecuniary, which D’Orsay set upon this
production. The Count had written to ask him to call at Gore House, and
on his proceeding there, after handing his card through the wicket, he
was cautiously admitted to the grounds and safely piloted between two
enormous mastiffs to the door of the house. He was then conducted to the
Count, whom he found pacing up and down Lady Blessington’s drawing-room
in a gorgeous dressing-gown.
“D’Orsay, Cole used to say, at once broke out with—‘You are a friend
of Mr Minton’s! I can make his fortune for him!’ Then turning to his
servant, ‘François,’ said he, ‘go to my studio and in the corner you will
find a bust. Cover it over with your handkerchief and bring it carefully
here.’ François soon returned carrying his burthen as tenderly as though
it were a baby, and when he had deposited it on the table, the Count
removed the handkerchief and posing before the bust with looks of rapt
admiration, he promptly asked Cole—
“‘What do you think of that?’
“‘It’s a close likeness,’ Cole cautiously replied.
“‘Likeness! indeed it is a likeness!’ shouted the Count, ‘why, Douro when
he saw it exclaimed: “D’Orsay, you quite appal me with the likeness to my
father!”’
“The Count then confided to Cole that the Duke had given him four
sittings, after refusing, said he, a single sitting to ‘that fellow
Landseer.’
“The Duke it seems came to inspect the bust after it was completed. In
D’Orsay’s biassed eyes he was as great in art as he was in war, and he
always went, the Count maintained, straight up to the finest thing in the
room to look at it. Naturally, therefore, he at once marched up to the
bust, paused, and shouted:—
“’”By God, D’Orsay, you have done what those damned busters never could
do.“’
“The puff preliminary over, the Count next proceeded to business.
“‘The old Duke will not live for ever,’ he sagely remarked; ‘he must die
one of these days. Now, what I want you to do is to advise your friend
Minton to make ten thousand copies of that bust, to pack them up in his
warehouse and on the day of the Duke’s death to flood the country with
them, and heigh presto! his fortune is made.’
“The Count hinted that he expected a trifle of £10,000 for his copyright,
but Cole’s friend, Minton, did not quite see this, and proposed a royalty
upon every copy sold. D’Orsay, who was painfully hard up for ready cash,
indignantly spurned the offer.…”
D’Orsay is most generally known as an artist by reason of his large
portrait of the Duke of Wellington now in the National Portrait Gallery,
upon the completion of which the Duke is said to have shaken hands with
the painter, saying: “At last I have been painted like a gentleman!
I’ll never sit to anyone else.” And he certainly did write to Lady
Blessington:—“You are quite right. Count d’Orsay’s work is of a higher
description of art than is described by the word portrait! But I
described it by that word, because the likeness is so remarkably good,
and so well executed as a painting, and that this is the truest of all
artistic ability, truest of all in this country.” Which last sentence is
rather enigmatical.
Anent the statuette of O’Connell, referred to already, may be quoted a
letter written by D’Orsay on 16th March 1847 to John Forster:—
“Prince Napoleon told me to-night at the French play, that he read in
an evening paper, the _Globe_, I think, an article copied from an Irish
paper, stating that I had made a statuette of O’Connell, and praising it,
etc. I suppose that it is from Osborne Bernal,[23] who is in Ireland.
But I would be glad it were known that I have associated him in the
composition with the Catholic Emancipation, and also that I intend to
make a present of the copyright to Ireland, for the benefit of the
subscription for the poor.”
Of other works from his hand we may name the bust of Emile de Girardin, a
portrait of Sir Robert Peel, and the picture of which some details have
already been given, showing a group in the garden of Gore House.
We have already quoted an account of one visit paid by D’Orsay to Haydon,
here is that of a second, from an entry in the painter’s Diary, dated
31st June 1838:—
“About seven, D’Orsay called, whom I had not seen for long. He was much
improved, and looking the glass of fashion and the mould of form; really
a complete Adonis, not made up at all. He made some capital remarks, all
of which must be attended to. They were sound impressions, and grand.
He bounded into his cab, and drove off like a young Apollo, with a fiery
Pegasus. I looked after him. I like to see such specimens.”
In conclusion on this subject, from the _New Monthly Magazine_ of August
1845, this:—
“Whatever Count d’Orsay undertakes, seems invariably to be well done.
As the arbiter elegantiarum he has reigned supreme in matters of taste
and fashion, confirming the attempts of others by his approbation, or
gratifying them by his example. To dress, or drive, to shine in the gay
world like Count d’Orsay was once the ambition of the youth of England,
who then discovered in this model no higher attributes. But if time, who
‘steals our years away,’ steals also our pleasures, he replaces them with
others, or substitutes a better thing; and thus it has befallen with
Count d’Orsay.
“If the gay equipage, or the well-apparelled man be less frequently seen
than formerly, that which causes more lasting satisfaction, and leaves
an impression of a far more exalted nature, comes day by day into higher
relief, awakening only the regret that it should have been concealed so
long. When we see what Count d’Orsay’s productions are, we are tempted to
ask, with Malvolio’s feigned correspondent, ‘Why were these things hid?’”
All things considered we may write down Count d’Orsay as a quite
first-rate amateur, as skilful in the arts as any dandy has ever been.
What more fitting than that his skill and accomplishment were best shown
in his bust of Lady Blessington?
[Illustration: LADY BLESSINGTON
(_From the Bust by D’Orsay_)
[TO FACE PAGE 234]
XXII
LETTERS
D’Orsay, had he devoted his time and his mind to the matter, could
doubtless have attained high eminence as a painter and sculptor, but he
was wise and refused to be bitten by the temptation; he well knew that
there are many artists, but few dandies. The gifts that other men would
have cultivated exclusively, he used to heighten and perfect his genius
as a master of dandyship. It is perhaps the highest attribute of genius
to be able to recognise genius—in oneself; only mediocre men are modest.
Modesty is a sign of incompetency or stupidity.
Could D’Orsay have achieved greatness as a writer? Byron thought very
highly of the journal which, it will be remembered, D’Orsay wrote during
his first visit to London, but we cannot accept this criticism as final,
for the poet’s literary judgment was often faulty.
He is reputed to have been a contributor to some of the journals of the
day and he was put forward as the “editor” of the translation published
in London in 1847 of a French novel, _Marie, Histoire d’une Jeune Fille_.
But other men have gained fame with as little regular literary baggage as
the Count, literature in the form of familiar letters, written always,
or almost always, without a thought that they would meet the public eye.
Of casual letters we have a fair number of D’Orsay’s, and some of them
make quite pleasant reading. At any rate they are as good as those which
are not written by dandies, which is saying much, for dandies have many
important affairs to fill their time. They are chatty epistles, serve to
shed a light upon their writer’s character; by his letters to his friends
you may know the man.
Here is a note from him to Landor, written in September 1828:—
“I have received, dear Mr Landor, your letter. It has given
us great pleasure. You ought to feel sure that we should
particularly appreciate a letter from you, and it will appear
that our intimacy in Florence counted for nothing with you if
you doubt the pleasure that your news arouses in us. As soon as
I have received the pictures I will carry out your commission
carefully. I do wish you would come to Paris, for we have some
fine things to show you, particularly pictures. Apropos, I am
sending you herewith the portrait of Prince Borghese, which I
hope you will find to be a good likeness.… We talk and think
often of you. It is really strange that you are in the odour of
sanctity in this family, for it seems to me it is not exactly
this sort of reputation you pique yourself on possessing.
“Lady B. and all our ladies send you a thousand good wishes
and I renew the assurance of the sincerity of mine.—Yours very
affectionately,
“D’ORSAY.”
“All our ladies,” included Lady d’Orsay.
Then of a much later date, probably 1842 or 1843:—
“I think that Henry the Eighth was at Richmond-on-the-Hill when
Anne Boleyn was beheaded. They say that he saw the flag which
was erected in London as soon as her head fell. Therefore, as
you make him staying at Epping Forest at that time, and as I
am sure you have some good reasons for it, I will thank you to
give them to me.
“We regretted much not to have seen you at Bath, and I was on
the moment to write to you, like Henry the Fourth did to the
brave Crillon after the battle!
“‘Pends toi, brave Landor, nous avons été à Bath, et tu n’y
étois pas—’
“You will be glad to hear that the second son of my sister
has been received at the Ecole of St Cyr, after a ticklish
examination. Hoping to see you soon, believe me, yours most
affectionately,
“D’ORSAY.”
There is not very much of distinction, perhaps, in these two letters, but
they serve to show the familiar friendship of the two men and also that
the dandy studied his English History, at any rate as far as concerns the
disposal of wives.
With John Forster he kept up a fairly lively correspondence, some of the
letters containing points of interest:—
“GORE HOUSE, _25th October 1844_.
“It is really an age since you’ve been here. It’s a poor joke!
Where _have_ you been?… Macready has sent me a Boston paper, in
which I have read with great interest of his success.… I have
not seen ‘De la Roche’ Maclise. Give him a thousand good wishes.
“Eugene Sue gets better and better; he leads you to his
moral by somewhat perilous roads, but once you get there you
find it pure and beautiful. The fecundity of his imagination
surpasses all previous works; the Jesuits are smashed up, the
convents broken down and the workman raised upon their debris.
Amen.—Yours ever,
“D’ORSAY.”
Was it not to this practical Forster that D’Orsay wrote upon his project
for establishing a means of communication between the guard and the
engine-driver of a train? But the “sacrés directeurs de rail road” would
not adopt his idea because of their own ideas of economy.
“P.M., _4th August 1845_.
“I am determined to follow up the directors until they take up
my scheme, and if you will assist me” (_i.e._ by writing in the
papers), “these continual accidents will establish a ‘raw,’
which we will tickle continually with cayenne pepper, and in
the end they will take real steps to heal the wound. My idea is
this, that they shall have a seat behind the last carriage of
every train, just like the coachman’s of a hansom cab. It would
be in communication with the engine by a long cord passing
along the whole length of the roof of the carriages; on pulling
the cord a hammer would strike a gong by the engine and would
indicate that a halt must be made.…”
There was also to be an arrangement of lamps and a cord—very similar
to that now in use—for the benefit of travellers in trouble. Quite
sufficient in all this to prove that a dandy need not be a fool.
“GORE HOUSE, _25th September 1845_.
“I am sorry to tell you that Lady Blessington a reçu des
nouvelles” (from here the letter is in French); “very alarming
concerning the health of Lady Canterbury. There is no doubt she
is gradually sinking, surrounded by those who choose to blind
themselves to her condition.… It will be best, I think, for you
to tell our dear Dickens why for the moment we must abandon our
plans. I should most willingly have gone with you to Knebworth,
we will arrange to go there together when I can manage a day.…”
Knebworth was Lord Lytton’s country seat.
The letter continues, throwing a light upon the dark side of our
comedy:—
“Think of poor Lady Blessington losing in so short a time her
niece, her little niece, her nephew, her brother-in-law, and
her sister dying.…”
Then again he returns to his railway scheme:—
“I was just going to write to you from the country, where I
have been some time, to tell you that Lady C⸺ and Lady Sophie
de V⸺ went to Derby by rail; they were in the last carriage
of the train. One of the connections is broken, the carriage
is tossed from right to left and left to right so violently,
that the two unhappy people think they are lost, and wave their
handkerchiefs out of the window. They call out; no one sees
them; no one hears them, and happily they reach the station,
not a moment too soon—the carriage could not have held out.
You will see that a guard in such a case would have saved this?
Do you think we had better drop the subject or take it up
again? _Au revoir_, brave Forster.”
* * * * *
“BOURNEMOUTH, HANTS, _9th September 1848_.
“We are in the most charming neighbourhood in the world, a
kind of Wheemby Hill with the sea: it is three hours from
Southampton. Come and see us! You will be delighted, it is
perfection for bathing, and the weather is superb; it is the
climax of summer.…”
Of Mathews’ friendship with D’Orsay in Italy, an account has already been
given; the following letters show that it was continued on paper:—
“_17th November 1831._
“MY DEAR CHARLES … I have lost my poor friend Blessington and
my mother within two months; they died in my arms, and when I
think of them it is always their last moments that come to my
mind. I would it were in other times, but that is difficult.…”
The following from London:—
“_1st September._
“MY DEAR CHARLES … I was the other day at Goodwood.… Since
I learnt that you had taken the Adelphi I agreed with Lord
Worcester that we would do all we could to interest society in
your favour by thinking and talking about it. I understand that
the first idea of Y(ates)[24] is to put you at a disadvantage,
he himself will leave you, in order to make you feel that he
is indispensable; this season is a trial that he gives you,
hoping that in case of a failure you will give everything up
into his hands. No matter what happens you must remedy this.
Reeves, also, goes to America. Mrs Honey is engaged elsewhere;
in short, most of the old names connected with the theatre
are going. I therefore recommend you to make an arrangement
with the proprietor of the Queen’s Theatre, who would join his
company with yours; union gives strength, and thanks to your
talents you will triumph completely over the trap which Y(ates)
has set for you. The Queen’s Theatre has been very successful
this season; to-day they have taken £90; it is wonderful for
the time of year. Chesterfield, Worcester and myself have a
box there and we wish to have one at the Adelphi, and speaking
this evening on the matter to Bond, he told me that he would be
delighted to join his company with yours and then to close the
Queen’s Theatre. Think it over, see if you would not find it to
your advantage, and let me know.—Your sincere friend, etc.
“D’ORSAY.”
The Adelphi was opened by Yates and Mathews on 28th September 1835; the
house was full, but the season was not satisfactory.
The details of acting and stage production were not beneath D’Orsay’s
notice:—
“MY DEAR CHARLES,—I like your new piece very much, and you
acted very well. You must ask the orchestra to accompany you a
little less noisily, for the noise they made made it impossible
to follow a quarter of your Aria. You would do well, also,
in my opinion, to cut out two verses of the Welsh song. Your
Frenchwoman is perfect; it is the best that I have yet seen
presented in an English theatre. Use your influence to make
Oxberry wear a black wig, he will be the image of George
Wombwell,[25] he has the dress and the manner to perfection,
and it will be a hit. Wombwell won’t be annoyed, on the
_contrary_.… _Au revoir_, dear Charles.—Your affectionate,
“D’ORSAY.”
The bright vivacity of the following letter to Dr Quin had best be left
in its native French:—
“_8th Août 1831_,
“SEAMORE PLACE, MAYFAIR.
CHER ET ESTIMATE QUIN,—Régénérateur de l’humanité souffrante!
Nouveau Prophète dont les disciples s’essoufflent à chanter les
louanges, et qui finira par triompher comme la civilisation
régnante; comment se fait il que vous oubliez entièrement
votre disciple Alfred, n’attendez pas en vain l’arrivée d’un
ange du ciel pour m’éclairer mais déroulez vos Papyrus pour y
graver les progrès de la marche gigantesque de cette _methodus
medendi_, qui jointe à votre intelligence vous assure pour
votre vieillesse un outrage de Lauriers dont l’épaisseur
permettroit à peine que vous soyez encore plus eclairé par le
rayon de gloire que le Ciel dirigera sur vous—Maintenant que je
vous ai dit ma façon de penser à votre égard, parlons de moi
dans un style _moins laconique_.
“Depuis mon arrivée dans ce pays il étoit difficile de pouvoir
donner un _Fair Trial_, à la méthode, étant toujours obligé à
diner et boire un verre de vin, avec tous ceux qui ont soif.
Ainsi je l’ai abandonné trop tôt pour me guérir, mais toujours
à temps pour me pénétrer que jusqu’à ce jour le genre de humain
a vegeté au lieu de vivre—Il faut donc que je recommence malgré
que je souffre moins; repénêtrez vous de ma santé, consultez
vos oracles, et voyez à me reprendre en main comme vous l’aviez
fait. Je suivrai ponctuellement vos airs, et vous aurez au
moins la gloire d’avoir guéri une des trompettes de la renommée
de la méthode, et un ami sincère. Détaillez bien la manière de
prendre, les remèdes, et prescrivez non pas en _paraboles_,
mais dans votre style persuasif.… Adieu, brave Quin. Je vous
serre la main non pas de toutes mes forces, mais de tout mon
cœur.—Votre devoué et sincère ami,
“ALFRED D’ORSAY.”
Dr Quin was the first homœopathic practitioner in England, and in his
early days was denounced as a quack. He was endowed with an inexhaustible
fund of good humour, was a wit and a master of repartee. In a postscript
to another letter D’Orsay writes:—
“You have, my friend, an unbearable mania, that of always defending the
absent. Don’t you know that there is a French proverb which says, ‘Les
absens ont toujours tort?’ This fashion never goes out, and, the devil,
you who are the ‘pink of fashion,’ you must be in the mode.”
Jekyll declared to Lady Blessington that he “was asked gravely if quinine
was invented by Doctor Quin!”
Here is a quaint little note to the Doctor:—
“GORE HOUSE, _Saturday_.
“MY DEAR DR QUIN,—M. Pipelet (D’Orsay) requests that you will
send him the letter about Mr ⸺ you promised he should have. I
suppose it is in vain to tell you we are going to the Opera
to-night. Of course you have 999 impatient patients who _must_
see you every five minutes throughout the course of the day
and night, and as many more friends who expect you to dinner.
However, _en passant_, I venture to hint that we go with Mdme.
Calabrella, so if you manage to kill off the maladies, and put
the friends under the table in turn, we shall be delighted to
see you ready and waiting, as Homer says in the fifth book of
the _Iliad_, line forty-nine. Farewell, may you be happy whilst
I—Sobs choke my utterance. Adieu.”
XXIII
EXCHEQUER BONDS
D’Orsay might have been a great artist and a great man of letters; of his
genius as a financier there is no doubt. He solved the question of how to
obtain unlimited credit; he paid such debts as he did cancel with money
which legally was his, but which almost any other man would not have
cared to touch.
Lord Blessington is said, when he persuaded D’Orsay to abandon his career
in the French army, to have undertaken to provide for the Count’s future,
and he fulfilled his promise at the expense of his daughter’s happiness
and of the family estates.
In the return made of “The Annuities, Mortgages, Judgments and other
Debts, Legacies, Sums of Money, and Incumbrances, charged upon or
affecting the Estates of the said Charles John, Earl of Blessington, at
the Time of his Decease,” we find that the mortgages and sums of money
charged on D’Orsay’s account from 1837 to 1845, amounted to the quite
respectable sum of £20,184. In Blessington’s will all his estates in
Dublin, bringing in a rental of £13,322, 18s. 8d. were left to whichever
of his daughters married D’Orsay.
By the marriage settlement £20,000 was to be paid to trustees, the Duc
de Guiche, and Robert Power, within twelve months of the solemnisation,
and a further £20,000 on Blessington’s decease; the money to be invested
in the funds, and the interest thereupon to be paid to D’Orsay during his
life.
As we have seen, the happy couple separated actually in 1831, legally in
1838.
In 1834 an order was made by the Court of Chancery in Ireland, upon which
was thrown the task of clearing up the mess made of his property by
Blessington, granting D’Orsay an income of £500, and to his wife £450.
How great that mess was, for which D’Orsay and his wife were partly to
blame, will be seen from the following facts. The Countess had run up
debts to the tune of £10,000, which sum, however, is scarcely worth
mentioning beside that incurred by her husband. By the deed of separation
between them, D’Orsay relinquished all his claims on the Blessington
estates, in consideration—
i. Of £2467 of annuities granted by him being redeemed, which
cost £23,500.
ii. In consideration of the sum of £55,000 being paid to him,
£13,000 of which was to be raised as soon as possible, and
£42,000 within ten years.
A grand total of money which all went in one way or another to pay off
D’Orsay’s debts.
As to the estate: the trustees were empowered by Act of Parliament to
make sales to the amount of £350,000 to pay off all encumbrances and
claims. Thus ended the glory of the Blessington fortune; thus often has
it been in Ireland.
D’Orsay found fortune and lost it; he could not even retain the wife
with which it was encumbered.
Over £100,000 of debts we know he paid, and still he owed very much. For
at least two years previous to his final departure from England he went
in constant dread of arrest at the instigation of sordid persons, who had
not sufficient understanding of the fact that it was an honour to them
to help in the support of a great man. There are too many petty-minded
people in the world! Just heavens! That a man of D’Orsay’s calibre should
be confined to his house and grounds all the days of the week save
Sunday, excepting that he could creep forth under cover of darkness! That
the Prince of the Dandies should go in danger of the vile clutch of a
sinister myrmidon of the law and of the degradation of a sponging-house.