Public mis-statements respecting that lady—The author’s long
acquaintance with her—_Début_ of Mrs. Jordan, at the Dublin Theatre,
as Miss Francis—Her incipient talents at that period—Favourite
actresses then in possession of the stage—Theatrical jealousy—Mrs.
Daly (formerly Miss Barsanti)—Curious inversion of characters in the
opera of “The Governess,” resorted to by the manager to _raise the
wind_—Lieut. Doyne proposes for Miss Francis—His suit rejected from
prudential considerations—Miss Francis departs for England—Mr.
Owenson, Lady Morgan’s father—Comparison between that performer and
Mr. John (commonly called _Irish_) Johnstone—Introduction of the
author to his Royal Highness the Duke of Clarence—Reflections on the
scurrilous personalities of the English press—Mrs. Jordan in the
green-room, and on the stage—Her remarks on the theatrical art, and on
her own style of acting—Her last visit to Dublin, and curious
circumstances connected therewith—Mr. Dwyer the actor and Mr. Serjeant
Gold—Mrs. Jordan in private society—Extracts from her letters—Her
retirement from Bushy and subsequent embarkation for France.
The foregoing short and superficial sketches of the Dublin stage in my
juvenile days bring me to a subject more recent and much more
interesting to my feelings. I touch it nevertheless with pain, and must
ever deeply regret the untimely catastrophe of a lady who was at once
the highest surviving prop of her profession and a genuine sample of
intrinsic excellence: had her fate descended, whilst filling her proper
station, and in her own country; or had not the circumstances which
attended some parts of that lady’s career been entirely mistaken;—had
not the cause of her miseries been grossly misrepresented, and the story
of her desertion and embarrassed state at the time of her dissolution
altogether false;—I probably should never have done more (under the
impression of its being intrusive, perhaps indelicate) than mention her
professional excellences.
But so much of that lady, and so much relating to her death, has been
recently mis-stated in the public prints, (not for the purpose of doing
her justice, but of doing another injustice,) that I feel myself
warranted in sketching some traits and incidents of Mrs. Jordan’s
character and life—which I know to be true, and a proportion whereof I
was personally acquainted with.—Some degree of mystery has doubtless
rested, and will probably continue to rest, on the cause which led that
lady to repair to a foreign country, where she perished; all I shall
say, however, on that score is, that this cause has been known to a very
limited number of individuals, and never had, in any shape or degree,
bearing or connexion with her former situation. The reports current on
this head I know to be utterly unfounded, and many of them I believe to
be altogether malicious.
I am not Mrs. Jordan’s biographer; my observations only apply to
abstract portions of her conduct and abstract periods of her life. I had
the gratification of knowing, for some time intimately, that amiable
woman and justly celebrated performer. Her public talents are recorded;
her private merits are known comparatively to few. I enjoyed a portion
of her confidence on some very particular subjects, and had full
opportunity of appreciating her character.
It was not by a mere cursory acquaintance Mrs. Jordan could be
known:—confidence alone could develope her qualities, and I believe few
of them escaped my observation. I have seen her in the busy bustling
exercise of her profession:—I have seen her in the tranquil lap of ease,
of luxury, and of magnificence;—in a theatre, surrounded by a crowd of
adulating dramatists—and when surrounded by a numerous, interesting, and
beloved offspring. I have seen her happy:—I have seen her _miserable_:
and I could not help participating in all her feelings.
At the point of time when I first _saw_ Mrs. Jordan, she could not be
much more I think than sixteen or seventeen years of age; and had made
her _début_ as Miss Francis, at the Dublin Theatre. It is worthy of
observation, that her early appearances in Dublin were not in any of
those characters (save one) wherein she afterward so eminently excelled;
though such as, being more girlish, were better suited to her spirits
and age. I was at that time, of course, somewhat less competent than now
to form a judgment; yet could not _then_ but observe, that in these
parts she was _perfect_ even on her first appearance: she had no art to
study;—Nature was her sole instructress. Youthful, joyous, animated, and
droll, her laugh arose from her heart, her tear started ingenuously from
her feeling. Her countenance was all expression, without being all
beauty:—her form, then light and elastic—her flexible limbs—the juvenile
graces of her every movement impressed themselves, as I perceived,
deeply upon those who attended even her earliest performances.
Her expressive features and eloquent action at all periods harmonised
blandly with each other—not by skill, but by intellectual _sympathy_:
when her figure was adapted to the part she assumed, she had only to
speak the words of an author to become the very person he delineated.
Her voice was clear and distinct, modulating itself with natural and
winning ease; and when exerted in song, its gentle flute-like melody
formed the most captivating contrast to the convulsed and thundering
_bravura_. She was throughout the untutored child of Nature: she sang
without effort, and generally without the accompaniment of instruments;
and whoever heard her _Dead of the Night_, and her _Sweet Bird_, either
in public or private, if they had any soul, must have surrendered at
discretion.
In playful genteel comic characters, such as _Belinda_, &c., she was
excellent: but in the _formal, dignified, high-bred_ parts of comedy,
her superiority was not so decided:—her line, indeed, was distinctly
marked out; within its extent she stood altogether unrivalled—nay,
unapproached.
At the commencement of Mrs. Jordan’s theatrical career she had
difficulties to encounter which nothing but superiority of talent could
so suddenly have surmounted. Both of the Dublin theatres were filled
with performers of high popular reputation, and thus every important
part in her line of acting was ably preoccupied. The talent of the
female performers, matured by experience and disciplined by practice,
must yet have yielded to the fascinating powers of her natural genius,
had it been suffered fairly to expand. But the jealousy which never
fails to pervade all professions was powerfully excited to restrain the
development of her mimic powers; and it was reserved for English
audiences to give full play and credit to that extraordinary comic
genius, which soon raised her to the highest pitch, at once of popular
and critical estimation.
Mrs. Daly (formerly Miss Barsanti) and Mrs. Leyster were foremost among
the successful occupants of those buoyant characters to which Miss
Francis was peculiarly adapted:—others had long filled the remaining
parts to which she aspired, and thus scarcely one was left open to
engage her talents.
Mr. Daly, about this time, resorted to a singular species of theatrical
entertainment, by the novelty whereof he proposed to rival his
competitors of Smock-Alley; namely, that of _reversing characters_, the
men performing the female, and the females the male parts in comedy and
opera. The opera of “The Governess” was played in this way for several
nights, the part of _Lopez_ by Miss Francis. In this singular and
unimportant character the versatility of her talent rendered the piece
attractive, and the season concluded with a strong anticipation of her
future celebrity.
The company then proceeded to perform in the provinces, and at Waterford
occurred the first grave incident in the life of Mrs. Jordan. Lieutenant
Charles Doyne, of the third regiment of heavy horse (Green’s), was then
quartered in that city; and, struck with the _naïveté_ and almost
irresistible attractions of the young performer, his heart yielded, and
he became seriously and honourably attached to her. Lieutenant Doyne was
not handsome, rather the reverse, but he was a gentleman and a worthy
man. He had been my friend and companion some years at the university; I
therefore knew him intimately, and he entrusted me with his passion.
(Miss Francis’s mother was then alive, and sedulously attended her.)
Wild and thoughtless myself, I told him, if he could win the young lady,
to marry her; adding, that no doubt Fortune _must_ smile, whether she
chose or not, on so disinterested a union; he being no beauty himself,
and having no chance of getting a moneyed wife by his attractions, as
young ladies seldom fall in love with the unsophisticated goodness of a
lover: an ordinary picture without either frame or gilding is seldom
seen in a fashionable drawing-room.
Her mother, however, was of a different opinion; and as she had no
fortune but her talent, the exercise of which was to be relinquished
with the name of Francis, it became matter of serious consideration
whence they were to draw their support—with the probability too of a
family! Here was a real enigma. His commission was altogether
inadequate, and his private fortune small.—This, in short, was
insurmountable. Mrs. Francis, also anticipating the future celebrity of
her child, and unwilling to extinguish in obscurity all chance of fame
and fortune by means of the profession she had adopted, worked upon her
daughter to decline the proposal. The treaty accordingly ended, and
Lieut. Doyne appeared to me for a time almost inconsolable. Miss Francis
I did not see afterward; she accompanied her mother, soon after, to
England, and soon commenced her ascent toward the pinnacle of fame.
Lieut. Doyne lately died collector of the Queen’s County. His esteem for
Mrs. Jordan was never obliterated.
Mr. Owenson, the father of Lady Morgan, was at that time highly
celebrated in the line of Irish characters, and never did an actor exist
so perfectly calculated, in my opinion, to personify that singular class
of people. Considerably above six feet in height;—remarkably handsome
and brave-looking,—vigorous and well-shaped,—he was not vulgar enough to
disgust, nor was he genteel enough to be _out of character_: never did I
see any actor so entirely identify himself with the peculiarities of
those Irish parts he assumed. In the higher class of Irish characters
(old officers, &c.) he looked well, but did not exhibit sufficient
formal dignity; and in the _lowest_, his humour was scarcely quaint and
original enough; but in what might be termed the “_middle class of
Paddies_,” no man ever combined the look and the manner with such
felicity as Owenson. Scientific singing was not an Irish quality; and he
sang well enough.—I have heard Mr. Jack Johnstone warble so sweetly and
so very skilfully, and act some parts so very like a man of education,
that I almost forgot the nation he was mimicking: that was not the case
with Owenson; he acted as if he had not received too much schooling, and
sang like a man whom nobody had instructed. He was, like most of his
profession, careless of his concerns, and grew old without growing rich.
His last friend was old Fontaine, a very celebrated French
dancing-master, many years domiciliated and highly esteemed in Dublin.
He aided Owenson and his family whilst he had means to do so, and they
both died nearly at the same time—instances of talent and improvidence.
This digression I have ventured on, because in the first place it
harmonises with the theatrical nature of my subject, and may be
interesting—because it relates to the father of an eminent and amiable
woman; and most particularly, because I was informed that Mr. Owenson
took a warm interest in the welfare of Miss Francis, and was the
principal adviser of her mother in rejecting Mr. Doyne’s addresses.
After a lapse of many years I chanced to acquire the honour of a
favourable introduction to His Royal Highness the Duke of C——, who
became the efficient friend of me and of my family—not with that high
and frigid mien which so often renders ungracious even the favours of
upstart authorities in the British government, but with the
condescending frankness and sincerity of a royal prince. He received at
an early age, and educated, my only son with his own, and sent him, as
lieutenant of the fifth dragoon guards, to make his campaigns in the
Peninsula. This introduction to His Royal Highness gave me unerring
opportunities of knowing, appreciating, and valuing, Mrs. Jordan. In her
there was no guile; her heart was conspicuous in every word—her feelings
in every action; and never did I find, in any character, a more complete
concentration of every quality that should distinguish a mother, a
friend, and a gentlewoman.
The outlines of Mrs. Jordan’s public life during her connexion of
twenty-three years with a royal personage are too well known to require
recital here. But with respect to her memoirs after that period, so much
falsehood and exaggeration have gone abroad—so many circumstances have
been distorted, and so many _invented_—some of the latter possessing
sufficient plausibility to deceive even the most wary—that, if not a
duty, it appears at least not wrong to aid in the refutation of
malicious calumnies.
I have ever felt a great abhorrence of the system of defamation on
hearsay. Public men, _as such_, may properly be commented on. It is the
birthright of the British people to speak fairly their sentiments of
those who rule them; but libel on private reputation is a disgusting
excrescence upon the body of political freedom, and has latterly grown
to an extent so dangerous to individuals, to families, and to society in
general, and so disgraceful to the press at large, that it may hereafter
afford plausible pretences for curtailing the liberty of that organ—the
pure and legal exercise of which is the proudest and surest guardian of
British freedom. The present lax, unrestrained, and vicious exuberance
of the periodical press, stamps the United Kingdom as the very focus of
libel and defamation in all their ramifications. No reputation—no
rank—no character, public or private, neither the living nor the
dead,—can escape from its licentiousness. One comfort may be drawn from
the reflection—that it can proceed no further; its next movement must be
a retrograde one, and I trust the legislature will not permit this
retrogression to be long deferred.
That spirit of licentiousness I have been endeavouring to stigmatise was
never more clearly instanced than by the indefatigable and reiterated
attempts (for several years persevered in) to disparage a royal
personage, whose domestic habits, and whose wise and commendable
abstinence from political party and conflicting factions, should have
exempted him from the pen and from the tongue of misrepresentation, and
rendered sacred a character which only requires development to stand as
high in the estimation of every man who regards the general happiness
and power of the empire, as that of any other member of the same
illustrious house. On this point I speak not lightly: that which I state
is neither the effusion of gratitude nor the meanness of adulation: the
royal personage I allude to would not commend me for the one, and would
despise me for the other.
I cannot conclude this digression without reprobating in no measured
terms that most dangerous of all calumnious tendencies which endeavours
systematically to drag down the highest ranks to the level of the
lowest, and by labouring to excite a democratic contempt of royal
personages, attempts gradually to sap the very foundation of
constitutional allegiance: such, however, has been a practice of the
day, exercised with all the rancour, but without any portion of the
ability, of Junius.[33]
-----
Footnote 33:
I rather think that a very good man, and one of the first advocates of
Ireland, carried this observation of mine and its bearings rather
beyond the point I here intended, in his speech (as _reported_) in the
Court of Chancery, on the arrival of the present chancellor. The reply
of Sir Anthony Hart appeared to me to be the wisest, the most
dignified, effective, and honest, that could possibly be pronounced by
a lord chancellor so circumstanced, and coming after his noble
predecessor.
-----
It is deeply to be lamented that this system has been exemplified by
some individuals whose literary celebrity might have well afforded them
the means of creditable subsistence, without endeavouring to force into
circulation works of mercenary penmanship containing wanton slander of
the very highest personage in the United Empire. I specify no name: I
designate no facts;—if they exist not, it is unimportant; if they are
notorious, the application will not be difficult. It is true that a
libeller cannot fully atone—yet he may repent; and even that
mortification would be a better penance to any calumniator of
distinguished talent than to run the risk of being swamped between the
Scylla and Charybdis of untruth and disaffection.
But to return to the accomplished subject of my sketch:—I have seen her,
as she called it, _on a cruise_, that is, at a provincial theatre
(Liverpool); having gone over once from Dublin for that purpose: she was
not then in high spirits: indeed her tone, in this respect, was not
uniform; in the mornings she usually seemed depressed; at noon she went
to rehearsal—came home fatigued, dined at three, and then reclined in
her chamber till it was time to dress for the performance. She generally
went to the theatre low-spirited.
I once accompanied Mrs. Jordan to the green-room at Liverpool: Mrs.
Alsop, and her old maid, assiduously attended her. She went thither
languid and apparently reluctant; but in a quarter of an hour her very
nature seemed to undergo a metamorphosis: the sudden change of her
manner appeared to me, in fact, nearly miraculous; she walked spiritedly
across the stage two or three times, as if to measure its extent; and
the moment her foot touched the scenic boards her spirit seemed to be
regenerated; she cheered up, hummed an air, stepped light and quick, and
every symptom of depression vanished! The comic eye and cordial laugh
returned to their mistress, and announced that she felt herself moving
in her darling element. Her attachment to the practice of her
profession, in fact, exceeded any thing I could conceive.
Mrs. Jordan delighted in talking over past events. She had strong
impressions of every thing; and I could perceive was sometimes
influenced rather by her feelings than her judgment.
“How happens it, Mrs. Jordan,” said I to her, when last in Dublin, “that
you still exceed all your profession even in characters not so adapted
to you now as when I first saw you? How do you contrive to be so
buoyant—nay, so childish, on the stage, while you lose half your
spirits, and degenerate into gravity, the moment you are off it?”
“Habit!” replied Mrs. Jordan, “old habit! had I formerly studied my
positions, weighed my words, and measured my sentences, I should have
been artificial, and they might have hissed me: so, when I had got the
words well by heart, I told Nature I was then at _her_ service to do
whatever she thought proper with my feet, legs, hands, arms, and
features: to her I left the whole matter: I became, in fact, merely _her
puppet_, and never interfered further _myself_ in the business. I heard
the audience laugh at me, and I laughed at myself: they laughed again,
so did I: and they gave me credit for matters I knew very little about,
and for which Dame Nature, not I, should have received their
approbation.
“The best rule for a performer,” said Mrs. Jordan, “is to forget, if
possible, that any audience is listening. We perform best of all in our
closets, and next best to crowded houses. How singular the contrast! but
I scarcely ever saw a good performer who was always _eyeing_ the
_audience_. If,” continued she, “half the gesticulation, half the wit,
drollery, and anecdote which I heard among you all at Curran’s Priory,
at Grattan’s cottage, and at your house, had been displayed before an
audience, _without your knowing that any body was listening to you_, the
performance would have been cheered as one of the finest pieces of comic
acting possible, though, in fact, your only _plot_ was endeavouring to
get tipsy as agreeably as possible!”
This last visit of Mrs. Jordan to the Irish capital took place in the
year 1809, and afforded me a full opportunity of eliciting the traits of
her nature and disposition. She was greeted in that metropolis with all
the acclamations that her reputation and talent so fully merited: she
was well received among the best society in Dublin, whose anxiety was
excited beyond measure to converse with her in private. Here, however,
she disappointed all; for there was about her no _display_; and the
animated, lively, brilliant mimic, on the boards, was in the saloon
retiring, quiet, nay, almost reserved. Mrs. Jordan seldom spoke much in
company, particularly in very large assemblies: but then she spoke well:
she made no exertion to appear distinguished, and became more so by the
absence of effort. The performer was wholly merged in the gentlewoman;
and thus, although on her entrance this celebrated person failed to
_impress_ the company, she _never_ failed to retire in possession of
their respect.
On that tour she said she was very ill-treated by the managers. The
understanding was, she told me, that she was to receive half the
profits: yet, although the houses were invariably crowded, the receipts
were inadequate to her expectations. Many of the performers who had been
appointed to act with her were below mediocrity. One was
forgetful—another drunk. I confess I never myself saw such a crew. All
this rendered Mrs. Jordan miserable, and she sought relief in the
exercise of her benevolent feelings. Among other objects of her bounty
was an old actor called Barrett, who had played on the night of her
_début_, and was then in most indigent circumstances. Him she made
comfortable, and gave efficient assistance to several others whom she
had known in former years.
The managers (I know not why) acted toward her not with so much respect
as _every body_, except themselves, had shown that most amiable woman.
She had found it absolutely necessary to refuse performing with one or
two vulgar fellows belonging to the set whom they had selected to
_sustain_ her; and she quitted the country at length, having formed a
fixed determination never to repeat any engagement with the same
persons.
She had scarcely arrived in England when some of the parties, including
a Mr. Dwyer, a player, quarrelled; and actions for defamation were
brought forward among them. A writer of the name of Corri also published
periodical libels, in one of which he paid Mrs. Jordan the compliment of
associating her with the Duchess of Gordon. I and my family had likewise
the honour of partaking in the abuse of that libel, and I prosecuted the
printer. On the trial of the cause, one of the counsel, Mr. Thomas (now
Serjeant) Gold, thought proper (as reported in the newspapers) to
indulge himself in language and statements respecting Mrs. Jordan
neither becoming nor true. In cross-examining me as a witness, on the
prosecution of the printer, he _essayed_ a line of interrogation highly
improper as to that lady; but he took care not to go too far with me
when I was _present_: a monosyllable or two I found quite sufficient to
check the exuberance of “my learned friend;” and on this occasion he was
not backward in taking a hint. The libeller was found guilty, and justly
sentenced to a protracted imprisonment.
I never knew Mrs. Jordan feel so much as at the speech of Mr. Gold on
that occasion: as it appeared in _several newspapers_, it was too bad
even for a vulgar declaimer; and when Mrs. Jordan’s situation, her
family, and her merits were considered, it was inexcusable. I do not
state this feeling of Mrs. Jordan solely from my own impression: I
received from her a letter indicative of the anguish which that speech
had excited within her; and I should do injustice to her memory if (as
she enjoined me to do) I did not publish in her justification an extract
of that letter.
“Bushy House, Wednesday.
“My dear Sir,
“Not having the least suspicion of the business in
Dublin, it shocked and grieved me very much; not only on my own
account, but I regret that I should have been the involuntary
cause of any thing painful to you, or to your amiable family.
But of Mr. Jones I can think any thing: and I beg you will do me
the justice to believe that my feelings are not selfish. Why
indeed should _I_ expect to escape their infamous calumnies?
Truth, however, will force its way.* * * * * I wanted nothing
from Mr. C * * *’s generosity, but I had a claim on his
justice:—* * * * *
“During the two representations of ‘The Inconstant’ I
represented to him the state Mr. Dwyer was in, and implored him,
out of respect to the audience, if not in pity to my terrors, to
change the play. As to the libel on Mr. Dwyer, charged to me by
Mr. Gold, I never directly or indirectly, by words or by
writing, demeaned myself by interfering in the most remote
degree with so wretched a concern. I knew no editor—I read no
newspapers while in Dublin. The charge is false and _libellous_
on _me_, published, I presume, through Mr. Gold’s assistance.
Under that view of the case, he will feel himself rather
unpleasantly circumstanced should I call upon him either to
_prove_ or _disavow_ his assertions. To be introduced any way
into such a business shocks and grieves me: he might have
pleaded for his companions without calumniating me: but, for the
present, I shall drop an irksome subject, which has already
given me more than ordinary uneasiness. * * * * * *
“Yours, &c.
“DORA JORDAN.”[34]
* * * * *
I have seen this accomplished woman in the midst of one of the finest
families in England, surrounded by splendour, beloved, respected, and
treated with all the deference paid to a member of high life. I could
perceive, indeed, no offset to her comforts and gratification. She was,
in my hearing, frequently solicited to retire from her profession: she
was _urged_ to forego all further emoluments from its pursuit; and this
single fact gives the contradiction direct to reports which I should
feel it improper even to allude to further. Her constant reply was, that
she would retire _when Mrs. Siddons did_; but that her losses by the
fire at Covent Garden, together with other incidental outgoings, had
been so extensive, as to induce her continuance of the profession to
replace her finances. Her promise to retire with Mrs. Siddons, however,
she did not act up to, but continued to gratify the public, with
enormous profit to herself, down to the very last year she remained in
England. It is matter of fact, too, (though perhaps here out of place,)
that, so far from a desertion of this lady, as falsely reported, to the
last hour of her life the solicitude of her royal friend was, I believe,
undiminished; and though separated, for causes in no way discreditable
to either, he never lost sight of her interest or her comforts. It was
not the nature of His Royal Highness:—he was incapable of _unkindness
toward Mrs. Jordan_: those reports had, indeed, no foundation, save in
the vicious representation of hungry or avaricious editors, or in the
scurrility of those hackneyed and indiscriminate enemies of rank and
reputation, whose aspersions are equally a disgrace and an injury to the
country wherein they are tolerated.
-----
Footnote 34:
The speeches of counsel on that trial being published in the
newspapers, she requested my advice as to bringing an action for
defamation against some of the parties. My reply to her was the same
that had been pleasantly and adroitly given to myself by Sir John
Doyle.
“If you wrestle with a chimney-sweeper,” said Sir John, “it is true
you may _throw_ your antagonist; but you will be sure to dirty your
own coat by the encounter.” Never was there a better aphorism. Mrs.
Jordan adopted it; and most properly satisfied herself with despising,
instead of punishing, all her calumniators.
-----
To contribute toward the prevention of all further doubt as to Mrs.
Jordan’s unmixed happiness at the period of her residence at Bushy, as
well as to exhibit the benevolence of her heart and the warmth of her
attachments, I will introduce at this point extracts from some other
letters addressed to myself:—
“Bushy.
“My dear Sir,
“I cannot resist the pleasure of informing you that your
dear boy has not only passed, but passed with great credit, at
the Military College:—it gives us all the highest satisfaction.
My two beloved boys are now at home:—they have both gone to
South-Hill to see your Edward. We shall have a full and merry
house at Christmas; ’tis what the dear duke delights in:—a
happier set, when altogether, I believe never yet existed. The
ill-natured parts of the world never can enjoy the tranquil
pleasures of domestic happiness.
* * * * *
“I have made two most lucrative trips since I saw you. Adkinson
came to see me at Liverpool—quite as poetical as ever, and the
best-natured _poet_ I believe in the world.
“Yours, ever truly,
“DORA JORDAN.”
“Bushy.
“My dear Sir,
“I returned here on the 7th inst. after a very
fatiguing, though very prosperous _cruise_ of five weeks, and
found all as well as I could wish. Your Edward left us this
morning for Marlow: I found him improved in every thing. I never
saw the duke enjoy any thing more than the poultry you sent
us:[35] they were delicious: he desires me to offer his best
regards to yourself and your ladies. Lucy is gone on a visit to
Lady De Roos.
“Yours, most truly,
“DORA JORDAN.”
“Bushy.
“My dear Sir,
“I have returned here:—but, alas! the happiness I had
promised to myself has met a cruel check at finding the good
duke very unwell. You can scarcely conceive my misery at the
cause of such a disappointment: but there is every appearance of
a favourable result not being very distant: ’tis his old
periodical attack, but not near so severe as I have seen it. I
shall not write to you as I intended till I can announce His
Royal Highness’s recovery. I shall have neither head nor nerves
to write, or even to think, till I am able to contribute to your
pleasure, by announcing my own happiness and his recovery.
“* * * * &c.
“DORA JORDAN.
“Sir J. Barrington,
“Merrion-square, Dublin.”
-----
Footnote 35:
There were a species of chickens then to be had in Dublin such
as I never saw in any other country;—as white as snow, very
small, fat, and trussed up as round as little balls: the eye
and the palate were equally gratified by them. The _crammed_
fowls of Dublin were then also unrivalled. I believe they are
now _equalled_ in London, and vastly _exceeded_ by the
_capons_ of Paris, which are quite delicious:—lamb at Paris,
too, is finer than any where else.
-----
“Bushy.
“We have just returned from Maidenhead; and I postponed writing
to you till I could give you an account of Edward, who, with
Colonel Butler, dined with us there:—he looks wonderfully well,
and the uniform becomes him extremely. On the ladies leaving the
room, Colonel Butler gave the duke a very favourable account of
him; and I trust it will give you and Lady Barrington the more
satisfaction, when I assure you that it is by no means a partial
account.
“I am sure you will be pleased to hear that your young friend
Lucy is about to be married, much to my satisfaction, to Colonel
Hawker, of the 14th dragoons: he is a most excellent man, and
has a very good private property: she will make the best of
wives; a better girl never yet lived: it makes me quite happy,
and I intend to give her the value of 10,000_l._
“* * * * &c.
“DORA JORDAN.”
The days of Mrs. Jordan continued to pass on, alternately in the
exercise of a lucrative profession and the domestic enjoyment of an
adoring family, when circumstances (which, because _mysterious_ to the
public, are construed necessarily to imply culpability somewhere or
other) occasioned a separation:—certainly an event most unexpected by
those who had previously known the happy state of her connexion. I was
at first ignorant of it, and it would be worse than presumption to enter
into any converse on a subject at once so private, so delicate, and so
interesting. Suffice it to say, that of all the accounts and surmises as
to that event in which the public prints were pleased to indulge
themselves, not one was true: indeed, I have good reason to believe that
there was scarcely a single incident whereto that separation was
publicly attributed, that had any degree of foundation whatsoever. Such
circumstances should ever remain known to those only who feel the
impropriety of amusing the readers at a news-room with subjects of
private importance. I will, however, repeat, from authority I cannot
doubt, that the separation took effect from causes no way dishonourable
to either party: that it was not sought for by the one, nor _necessary_
on the part of the other. It was too hasty to be discreet, and too much
influenced by feelings of the moment to be hearty. Though not altogether
unacquainted with those circumstances, I never presumed to make an
observation upon the subject, save to contradict, in direct terms,
statements which, at the time I heard them, I knew to be totally
unfounded; and never was the British press more prostituted than in the
malicious colouring given (and rather recently, too,) to the conduct of
a royal personage on that occasion.
General Hawker, one of the late King’s aides-de-camp, had married Miss
Jordan; and in the punctilious honour and integrity of this gentleman,
every body who knew and knows him did and does rely with unmixed
confidence. Such reliance His Royal Highness evinced by sending, through
him, I believe, _carte blanche_ to Mrs. Jordan, when the separation had
been determined on, enabling her to dictate whatever she conceived would
be fully adequate to her maintenance, without recurrence to her
profession, in all the comforts to which she had been so long
accustomed; and every thing she wished for was arranged to her
satisfaction. Still, however, infatuated with attachment to theatrical
pursuits, she continued to accept of temporary engagements to her great
profit: and it will perhaps scarcely be credited, that so unsated were
British audiences with Mrs. Jordan’s unrivalled performances, that even
at her time of life, with certainly diminished powers and an altered
person, the very last year she remained in England brought her a clear
profit of near 7000_l._ I _cannot_ be mistaken in this statement; for my
authority (a person of truth and honour in their fullest extent) could
not wilfully err on that point. The malicious representations,
therefore, of her having been left straitened in pecuniary circumstances
were literally _fabulous_; for to the very moment of her death she
remained in full possession of all the means of comfort—nay, if she
chose it, of _luxury_. Why, therefore, she emigrated, pined away, and
expired in a foreign country (of whose language she was ignorant, and in
whose habits she was wholly unversed), with every _appearance_ of
necessity, is also considered a mystery by those unacquainted with the
cruel circumstances which led to that unfortunate catastrophe. It is not
by my pen that miserable story, as I learned it, shall be told. It was a
transaction wherein her royal friend had, _directly or indirectly_, no
concern, nor did it _in any way_ spring out of _that_ connexion. She
had, in fact, only to _accuse_ herself of benevolence, confidence, and
honour: to those _demerits_, and to the ingratitude of others, she fell
a lingering, broken-hearted victim.
When His Royal Highness was informed of the determination on the part of
her friends that Mrs. Jordan should take up a temporary residence on the
continent, he insisted on her retaining the attendance of Miss
K * * * *, who for many years had been attached to the establishment at
Bushy, as superintendent and governess of the duke’s children. This
lady, therefore, whose sincere attachment had been so long and truly
proved, accompanied Mrs. Jordan (as I have understood) as her companion,
and almost to the time of her death continued to administer to her
comforts—endeavouring, so far as in her lay, by her society and
attentions, to solace the mental misery which pressed upon her friend’s
health and had extinguished her spirits. She was also accompanied to the
continent by Colonel Hawker, the general’s brother: but, as she wished,
during her residence in France, to be totally retired, she took no
suite. She selected Boulogne as a place of convenient proximity to
England; and in a cottage half a mile from that town awaited with
indescribable anxiety the completion of those affairs which had
occasioned her departure, rapturously anticipating the happiness of
embracing her children afresh after a painful absence.