NO one knows to-day with whom the idea of having an English
_fête-champêtre_ at The Oaks upon the occasion of the marriage of the
young Lord Stanley to Lady Betty Hamilton originated. The secret
was well kept; and it can be easily understood that in case of this
innovation proving a fiasco, no one would show any particular desire to
accept the responsibility of having started the idea. But turning out as
it did, a great success, it might have been expected that many notable
persons would lay claim to be regarded as its parents. A considerable
number of distinguished people had something to do with it, and any
one of them had certainly sufficient imagination, backed up by an
acquaintance with some of the exquisite pieces of MM. Watteau and
Fragonard, to suggest the possibility of perfecting such an enterprise
even in an English June. It was the most diligent letter-writer of that
age of letter-writing who had referred to the “summer setting in with
its customary severity,” so that the trifling of the month of June
with the assumption of the poets who have rhymed of its sunshine with
rapture, was not an experience that was reserved for the century that
followed. But in spite of this, the idea of a _fête-champêtre_, after
the most approved French traditions, in an English demesne found favour
in the eyes of Lord Stanley and his advisers, and the latter were
determined that, whatever price might have to be paid for it, they would
not run the chance of being blamed for carrying it out in a niggardly
spirit.
The young Lord Stanley had as many advisers as any young nobleman with
a large immediate allowance and prospects of a splendid inheritance may
hope to secure. There was his _fiancée's_ mother, now the Duchess of
Argyll, who was never disposed to frown down an undertaking that would
place a member of one of her families in the forefront of the battle of
the beauties for the most desirable _parti_ of the year.
[Illustration: 0155]
The Duchess had both taste and imagination, so that people called her an
Irishwoman, although she was born in England. Then there was Mr. George
Selwyn, who said witty things occasionally and never missed a hanging.
He was fully qualified to prompt a wealthy companion as to the best
means to become notorious for a day. There was also young Mr. Conway,
the gentleman who originated the diverting spectacle when Mrs. Baddeley
and Mrs. Abington were escorted to the Pantheon. Any one of these, to
say nothing of Lady Betty herself, who had some love for display, might
have been inclined to trust an English June so far as to believe an _al
fresco_ entertainment on a splendid scale quite possible.
On the whole, however, one is inclined to believe that it was Colonel
Burgoyne who was responsible for the whole scheme at The Oaks. In
addition to having become Lord Stanley's uncle by running away with
his father's sister, he was a budding dramatist, and as such must have
perceived his opportunity for exploiting himself at the expense of
some one else--the dream of every budding dramatist. There is every
likelihood that it was this highly accomplished and successful
“gentleman-adventurer” who brought Lord Stanley up to the point of
embarking upon his design for an entertainment such as had never
been seen in England before--an entertainment that should include the
production of a masque devised by Colonel Burgoyne and entitled _The
Maid of The Oaks_. The fête came off, and it was pronounced the most
brilliant success of the year 1774.
Lord Stanley was a very interesting young man; that is to say, he was
a young man in whom no inconsiderable number of persons--mainly of the
opposite sex--were greatly interested. Of this fact he seems to have
been fully aware. A good many people--mainly of the opposite sex--felt
very strongly on the subject of his marrying: it was quite time that he
married, they said. His grandfather, the Earl of Derby, was eighty-four
years of age, and it would be absurd to believe that he could live much
longer. Lord Stanley being his heir, it was agreed that it was the young
man's duty not to procrastinate in the matter of marriage. It is always
understood that a patriarchal nobleman sings “_Nunc dimittis_” when he
holds in his arms the second in direct succession to the title, and this
happy consummation could, in the case of the aged Lord Derby, only be
realised by the marriage of Lord Stanley.
He was small in stature, and extremely plain of countenance; still
this did not prevent his name from being coupled with that of several
notable--but not too notable--young women of his acquaintance. But as
it was well known that he was greatly interested in the stage, it
was thought that, perhaps, he might not be so complaisant as his best
friends hoped to find him in regard to marrying. An ardent interest in
the progress of the drama, especially in its lighter forms, has been
known to turn a young man's attention from marriage, when it does not do
what is far worse--turn his attention to it with too great zest. Before
long, however, it became apparent that his lordship recognised in what
direction his duty lay. There was a young lady connected with the Ducal
House of Bedford--a niece of that old Duchess who played so conspicuous
a part in the social and political history of the middle of the
eighteenth century--and to her Lord Stanley became devoted. But just
when every one assumed that the matter was settled, no one thinking
it possible that the young lady would be mad enough to refuse such a
_parti_, the news came that she had done so; and before people had
done discussing how very eccentric were the Bedford connections,
the announcement was made that Lord Stanley was to marry Lady Betty
Hamilton, the beautiful daughter of a beautiful mother, the Duchess of
Argyll.
There is in existence a letter written by the Duchess to Sir William
Hamilton, in which she hints that Lord Stanley was an old suitor for the
hand of her daughter. “Lady Betty might have taken the name of Stanley
long ago if she had chose it,” she wrote, adding: “A very sincere
attachment on his side has at last produced the same on hers.” This
being so, it would perhaps be unsafe to assume that Lord Stanley
proposed to Lady Betty out of pique at having been rejected by the other
lady, though one might be disposed to take this view of the engagement.
The alternative view is that Lady Betty had been advised by her
accomplished mother that if she played her cards well there was no
reason why she should not so attract Lord Stanley as to lead him to be a
suitor for her hand, and that the girl at last came to see that the
idea was worth her consideration. Her portrait, painted by Sir Joshua
Reynolds in the year of her marriage, shows her to have been a graceful,
girlish young creature; but her beauty could never have been comparable
with that of her mother at the same age, or with that of her aunt, Lady
Coventry, whom it is certain she closely resembled in character. Her
mother, in her letter to Sir William Hamilton, apologises in a way
for her liveliness, assuring him that such a disposition was not
incompatible with serious thought upon occasions; and this gives us
a hint that the reputation for vivacity which she always enjoyed was
closely akin to that which made the life of Lady Coventry so very
serious.
This was the young lady in whose honour the first English _fête
champêtre_ was organised. To be more exact, or to get more into touch
with the view of the Derby family, perhaps one should say that the
_fête_ was set on foot in consideration of the honour the young lady
was doing herself in becoming a member of the great house of
Stanley. Different people look at a question of honour from different
standpoints. Probably Colonel Burgoyne, although a member of the Derby
family by marriage, left honour out of the question altogether, and only
thought of his masque being produced at his nephew's expense.
And produced the masque was, and on a scale as expensive as the most
ambitious author could desire. It was described, with comments, by all
the great letter-writers of the time. Walpole has his leer and his sneer
at its expense (literally). It was to cost no less than £5000, he said,
and he ventured to suppose that in order to account for this enormous
outlay Lord Stanley had bought up all the orange trees near London--no
particular extravagance one would fancy--and that the hay-cocks would be
of straw-coloured riband. George Selwyn thought it far from diverting.
The Dowager Lady Gower affirmed that “all the world was there,” only she
makes an exception of her relations the Bedfords--she called them “the
Bloomsbury lot”--and said that the Duchess would not let any of them go
because Her Grace thought that Lord Stanley should have taken his recent
rejection by Her Grace's niece more to heart. Lady Betty's stepfather,
the Duke of Argyll, said that the whole day was so long and fatiguing
that only Lady Betty could have stood it all.
But did Lady Betty stand it all? It was rumoured in the best-informed
circles that she had broken off the match the next day; and when one
becomes acquainted with the programme of the day's doings one cannot but
acknowledge that the rumour was plausible. She probably made an attempt
in this direction; but on her fiancé's promising never to repeat the
offence, withdrew her resolution.
The famous brothers Adam, whose genius was equally ready to build
an Adelphi or to design a fanlight, had been commissioned to plan an
entertainment on the most approved French models and to carry it out on
the noblest scale, taking care, of course, that the central idea should
be the masque of _The Maid of The Oaks_, and these large-minded artists
accepted the order without demur. The pseudo-classical feeling entered,
largely through the influence of the Adams, into every form of art at
this period, though the famous brothers cannot be accused of originating
the movement. Sir Joshua Reynolds painted his most charming ladies in
the costume of Greeks, and Angelica Kauffmann depicted many of her early
English episodes with the personages clad in togas which seemed greatly
beyond their control. But for that matter every battle piece up to
the date of Benjamin West's “Death of Wolfe” showed the combatants in
classical armour; and Dr. Johnson was more than usually loud in his
protests against the suggestion that a sculptor should put his statues
of modern men into modern clothing.
But the Adams were wise enough to refrain from issuing any order as to
the costume to be worn by the shepherds and shepherdesses who were
to roam the mead at The Oaks, Epsom, upon the occasion of this _fête
champêtre_; and they were also wise enough to distrust the constancy of
an English June. The result was (1) a charming medley of costume, though
the pseudo-pastoral peasants, farmers, gardeners, and shepherds were in
the majority, and (2) the most interesting part of the entertainments
took place indoors, the octagonal hall lending itself nobly--when
improved by Messrs. Adam--to the show. The “transparencies” which
constituted so important a part of the ordinary birthday celebrations
of the time, took the form of painted windows, and, later, of a
device showing two of the conventional torches of Hymen in full blaze,
supporting a shield with the Oak of the Hamiltons' crest and the usual
“gules.”
This design occupied the place of the “set piece” which winds up a
modern display of fireworks and sets the band playing “God save the
King.” It could not have been brought on until the morning sunlight
was flooding the landscape outside; for supper was not served until
half-past eleven, and the company had to witness the representation of
an intolerably long masque--the second of the day--after supper, with a
procession of Druids, fauns, cupids, and nymphs, all in suitable, but it
is to be hoped not traditional, costume.
The entertainment began quite early in the afternoon, when there was
a long procession of shepherds and shepherdesses through the lanes to
where a pastoral play was produced and syllabub drunk under the trees.
But this was only an _hors d'ouvre_; it was not Colonel Burgoyne's
masterpiece. This was not produced in the open air. Only when further
refreshments had been served and evening was closing in did the guests,
who had been sauntering through the sylvan scenes, repair to the great
hall, which they found superbly decorated and, in fact, remodelled, for
colonnades after the type of those in the pictures of Claude had been
built around the great ballroom, the shafts being festooned with roses,
and the drapery of crimson satin with heavy gold fringes. There were
not enough windows to make excuses for so much drapery, but this was no
insuperable obstacle to the artful designers; they so disposed of the
material as to make it appear that it was the legitimate hanging for six
windows.
For the procession through the colonnades the young host changed his
costume and his fiancée changed hers. He had appeared as Rubens and she
as Rubens' wife, from the well-known picture. But now she was dressed as
Iphigenia. They led the first minuet before supper, and it was thought
that they looked very fine. No one who has seen the two pictures of the
scene, for which Zucchi was commissioned, can question this judgment.
Lady Betty's portrait in one of these panels makes her even more
beautiful than she appears on Sir Joshua's canvas.
With a display of fireworks of a detonating and discomposing type--the
explosion, it was said, affected the nerves of nearly all the
guests--and the illumination of the “transparency” already alluded to,
this memorable fête came to no premature conclusion. Every one was bored
to death by so much festivity coming all at once. The idea of twelve
hours of masques and minuets is enough to make one's blood run cold. Its
realisation may have had this effect upon the heroine of the day, hence
the rumour that she found she had had enough of the Derby family to
last her for the rest of her life without marrying the young heir.
Unfortunately, however, if this was the case, she failed to justify the
accuracy of the report; and she was married to Lord Stanley on the 23rd
of the same month.
The union of Maria Gunning with the Earl of Coventry was a miserable
one, but this of her niece and Lord Stanley was infinitely worse. Lady
Betty soon found out that she had made a mistake in marrying a man so
incapable of appreciating her charm of manner as was Lord Stanley. The
likelihood is that if she had married any other man she would have made
the same discovery. The vivacity for which her mother apologised to Sir
William Hamilton was, after her marriage, much more apparent than the
thoughtfulness which the Duchess assured her correspondent was one of
her daughter's traits. She showed herself to be appallingly vivacious
upon more than one occasion. Just at that time there was a vivacious
“set” in Lady Betty's world, and every member of it seemed striving for
leadership. Few of the ladies knew exactly where the border line lay
between vivacity and indiscretion. If Lady Betty was one of the better
informed on this delicate question of delimitation, all that can be said
is that she overstepped the line upon several occasions. It is not to be
thought that her lightness ever bordered into actual vice, but it rarely
fell short of being indiscreet.
She was always being talked about--always having curious escapades, none
of them quite compromising, but all calculated to make the judicious
grieve. But it is one thing to be subjected to the censure of the
judicious and quite another to come before a judicial authority, and it
is pretty certain that if Lady Derby--her husband succeeded to the title
two years after his marriage--had incriminated herself, she would have
been forced to defend a divorce suit.
It is, however, likewise certain that for some time she kept hovering
like a butterfly about the portals of the Court, and a good deal of the
bloom was blown off her wings by the breath of rumour. She had accepted
the devotion of the Duke of Dorset, and, considering the number of
eyes that were upon her and the devotion of His Grace, this was a very
dangerous thing to do. They were constantly seen together and at all
hours. This was in the second year of her marriage, but even in
the first her desire to achieve notoriety by some means made itself
apparent. But her escapade that was most talked about was really not
worthy of the gossip of a Gower. She was at a ball at the house of Mrs.
Onslow in St. James's Square, and her chair not arriving in good time to
take her back to Grosvenor Square, it was suggested by Lord Lindsay and
Mr. Storer that they should borrow Mrs. Onslow's chair and carry her
between them to her home. She agreed to this gallant proposal, and off
they set together. The young men bore her to her very door in spite of
the fact that they had met her own chair soon after they had left Mrs.
Onslow's porch.
There was surely not much of an escapade in this transaction. The truth
was probably that the chair did not arrive owing to the condition of the
bearers, and when the young gentlemen met it they refused to jeopardise
the safety of the lady by transferring her from Mrs. Onslow's chair to
her own.
Rumour, however, was only too anxious to put the worst construction upon
every act of the merry Countess, and it was doubtless because of this,
and of her own knowledge of her daughter's thoughtlessness, that
the Duchess of Argyll appeared upon the scene and endeavoured by her
presence and advice to avert the catastrophe that seemed imminent.
The Duchess insisted on accompanying her to every entertainment, and
succeeded in keeping a watchful eye on her, though the Duke, who was
at Inveraray, and was doubtless tired of hearing of the vivacity of
his stepdaughter, wrote rather peremptorily for Her Grace to return
to Scotland. She did not obey the summons, the fact being that she was
devoted to this daughter of hers, who must have daily reminded her of
her own sister Maria, to whom she had been so deeply attached. *
* It was said that she had refused the offer of the Duke of
Bridgewater, because of his suggestion that she should break
off all intercourse with Lady Coventry.
Seeing, however, that she could not continue to look after this lively
young matron, and being well aware of the fact that Lord Derby would
never consent to live with her again, the Duchess could do no more than
condone the separation which was inevitable. The deed was drawn up in
1779, five years after Lady Betty had been so inauspiciously bored by
the _fête champêtre_.
[Illustration: 0171]
In the meantime there was a good deal of talk about the Earl of Derby
himself. A young nobleman who takes a lively, or even a grave, interest
in the personnel of the theatre is occasionally made the subject of
vulgar gossip. Lord Derby had a reputation as an amateur actor, and
he seemed to think that it would be increased by association with
professional actresses. It is doubtful if he was justified in his views
on this delicate question. At any rate, rightly or wrongly, on his
estrangement from his wife, but two years before the final separation,
he showed a greater devotion than ever to dramatic performances and
dramatic performers. His uncle by marriage, now General Burgoyne, had
written a play that turned out an extraordinary success. This was _The
Heiress_, and it had received extravagant praise in many influential
quarters. It was while it was still being talked of in society that a
company of distinguished amateurs undertook to produce it at Richmond
House, in Whitehall Place. In order that the representation might be as
perfect as possible, the Duchess of Richmond engaged the actress who
had taken the chief part in the original production, to superintend
the rehearsals of her amateurs. Miss Farren was a young person
of considerable beauty, and more even than an actress's share of
discretion. She was in George Colman's company at the Haymarket, and
was rapidly taking the place of Mrs. Abington in the affections of
playgoers. She was the daughter of a surgeon in a small way--he may have
been one of the barber surgeons of the eighteenth century. Marrying an
actress (also in a small way), he adopted the stage as a profession, and
became a strolling actor-manager, whenever he got the chance, and died
before his drinking habits had quite demoralised his family.
Mrs. Farren was a wise woman--wise enough to know that she was a bad
actress, but that there were possibilities in her two daughters. It was
after only a brief season of probation that Colman engaged one of
the girls to do small parts, promoting her in an emergency to be a
“principal.” Miss Farren proved herself capable of making the most of
her opportunity, and the result was that within a year she was taking
Mrs. Abington's parts in the best comedies.
Her mother was sensible enough to perceive that there was room in the
best society for an actress of ability as well as respectability--up to
that time the two qualities had seldom been found associated--and Mrs.
Farren was right. No whisper had ever been heard against the young lady,
and a judicious introduction or two brought her into many drawing-rooms
of those leaders of society who were also respectable, and this was of
advantage to her not only socially, but professionally. Horace Walpole
was able to write of her: “In distinction of manner and refinement she
excelled Mrs. Abington, who could never go beyond Lady Teazle, which is
a second-rate character.” Again, in a letter to Lady Ossory, he ascribed
the ability of Miss Farren to the fact that she was accustomed to mingle
with the best society.
This theory of Walpole's has been frequently controverted since his day,
and now no one will venture to assert that there is really anything in
it, although it sounds plausible enough. Miss Farren had, however, ample
opportunity of studying “the real thing” and of profiting by her study.
She found herself on the most intimate footing with duchesses--not of
the baser sort like her of Ancaster, or of the eccentric sort like her
of Bedford, but of the most exalted. The Duchess of Richmond and the
Duchess of Leinster were among her friends, and thus it was that her
appearance at the rehearsals of _The Heiress_ of Whitehall Place was
not wholly professional. Upon this occasion she met Lord Derby and also
Charles James Fox, the latter having accepted the rather onerous duties
of stage manager. Before any of the performers were letter perfect in
their dialogue, Miss Farren had captured the hearts of both these
men. Having some of the qualities necessary to success as a statesman,
including caution and an instinct as to the right moment to retire from
a contest that must end in some one being made a fool of, Mr. Fox soon
withdrew from a position of rivalry with Lord Derby. It was rumoured by
the malicious, who had at heart the maintenance of the good name of
Miss Farren, that Mr. Fox had been dismissed by the lady with great
indignation on his making a proposition to her that did not quite
meet her views in regard to the ceremony of marriage. Miss Farren they
asserted to be a paragon of virtue, and so she undoubtedly was. Her
virtue was of the most ostentatious type. She would never admit a
gentleman to an audience unless some witness of her virtue was present.
She accepted the devotion of Lord Derby, but gave him to understand
quite plainly that so long as his wife was alive she could only agree to
be his _fiancée_. Truly a very dragon of virtue was Miss Farren!
The Earl, previous to his meeting the actress, had been a dutiful if not
a very devoted husband. But as soon as he fell in love with this paragon
of virtue he became careless, and made no attempt to restrain his wife
in her thoughtless behaviour. He allowed her to go her own way, and he
went his way. His way led him almost every evening to the green room
at the Haymarket and Drury Lane, where Miss Farren was to be found. The
estrangement between himself and his wife that resulted in the final
separation was the result not of his infatuation for the actress, but of
her virtuous acceptance of him as her moral lover. She took care never
to compromise herself with him or any one else, but she did not mind
taking the man away from his wife and home in order that she might be
accredited with occupying an absolutely unique position in the annals of
the English stage.
If Miss Farren had been a little less virtuous and a little more human
she would run a better chance of obtaining the sympathy of such people
as are capable of differentiating between a woman's virtue and the
virtues of womankind. She seemed to think that the sole duty of a woman
is to be discreet in regard to herself--to give no one a chance of
pointings finger of scorn at her; and it really seemed as if this was
also the creed of the noble people with whom she associated. Every
one seemed to be so paralysed by her propriety as to be incapable of
perceiving how contemptible a part she was playing. An honest woman,
with the instincts of goodness and with some sense of her duty, would,
the moment a married man offers her his devotion, send him pretty
quickly about his business. The most elementary sense of duty must
suggest the adoption of such a course of treatment in regard to
an illicit admirer. But Miss Farren had no such sense. She met the
philandering of her lover with smiles and a virtuous handshake. She
accepted his offer of an adoring friendship for the present with a
reversion of the position of Countess of Derby on the death of the
existing holder of the title and its appurtenances; and people held her
up, and continue to hold her up, as an example of all that is virtuous
and amiable in life!
She was also commended for her patience, as Lord Derby was for his
constancy. They had both great need of these qualities, for the unhappy
barrier to their union showed no signs of getting out of their way,
either by death or divorce. She became strangely discreet, taking, in
fact, a leaf out of Miss Farren's book of deportment, and never giving
her husband a chance of freeing himself from the tie that bound him
nominally to her. It must have been very gratifying to the actress to
perceive how effective was the example she set to the Countess in regard
to the adherence to the path of rectitude.
What was the exact impression produced upon Lord Derby by all this
decorum it would be difficult to say. He may have been pleased to
discover that he was married to a lady to whom his honour was more
precious than he had any reason or any right to believe it to be. But
assuredly a less placid gentleman would have found himself wishing now
and again that--well, that matters had arranged themselves differently.
The years went by without bringing about a more satisfactory _modus
vivendi_ than was in existence when Lord Derby originally offered his
heart and hand (the latter when it should become vacant) to the actress.
Lady Derby was in wretched health, but still showed no more inclination
to die than does a chronic invalid. Miss Farren continued to drive her
splendid chariot, with its coachmen on the hammer-cloth and its footmen
clinging on to the straps behind, down to the stage-door of the theatre,
and to fill the house every night that she played. Her popularity seemed
to grow with years, and she appeared in a wide range of characters,
making her audiences accept as correct her reading of every part, though
the best critics--Walpole was about the worst--of her art had a good
deal to say that was not quite favourable to her style. Only once,
however, did she make a flagrant error on the stage, and this was when
she was misguided enough to put on men's garments in representing the
part of Tracy Lovell in Colman's play, _The Suicide_.
By this unhappy exhibition which she made of herself she disillusioned
those of her admirers who fancied that she was a model of grace from
the sole of her feet to the crown of her head. She never repeated this
performance. Had she done so in Lord Derby's presence, his constancy
would have been put to a severer test than any to which he had been
previously subjected. The best judges of what constitutes grace in a
woman were unanimous in their advice to the lady never to forsake the
friendly habiliments which she was accustomed to wear, and never to
allow her emulation of the perpetually chaste goddess to lead her to
adopt even for an hour the convenient garb in which she went a-hunting.
And while his fiancée was moving from triumph to triumph, putting every
other actress in the shade, the Earl of Derby was putting on flesh. But
as his flesh became more visible so did his faith. He was a model of
fidelity. His name was never associated with the name of any other
lady--not even that of his wife--during his long years of probation, and
twenty years form a rather protracted period for a man to wait in order
to marry an actress. It was not to be wondered if the spectacle of the
devoted young peer waiting for the beautiful girl in the green room,
which was allowed to the habitués of that fascinating apartment during
the earlier years of this strange attachment, produced quite a different
effect upon people from that which was the result of witnessing a
somewhat obese, elderly gentleman panting along by the side of a chaste
lady of forty. Nor was it remarkable that, on seeing one day by the side
of Miss Farren, a gallant young man whose walk and bearing suggested
to elderly spectators a rejuvenated Lord Stanley, they should rub their
eyes and ask what miracle was this that time and true love had wrought.
The only miracle that time had wrought was to make the son of the Earl
of Derby twenty-one years of age and rather interested in the personnel
of green rooms. He had been introduced to Miss Farren by his father; but
to his honour be it said, he made no attempt to take his father's
place in regard to the lady, except as her escort to her house in Green
Street. The gossip that suggested such a possibility was just what one
might expect to find in one of Walpole's letters.
At last the shameful, if virtuous, devotion of twenty years was
rewarded by the announcement of the death of the wretched Countess whose
desertion dated from the day her husband met the actress. Miss Farren,
with that extraordinary bad taste which characterised every period
of her intimacy with Lord Derby, took an ostentatious farewell of the
stage, and proved by the faltering of her voice, her emotion, and her
final outburst in tears, that time had not diminished from the arts of
her art. Of course, there was a scene of intense emotion in the theatre,
which was increased when King led her forward and Wroughton spoke a
rhymed and stagey farewell in her presence. Four of its lines were
these:
But ah! this night adieu the joyous mien,
When Mirth's lov'd fav'rite quits the mimic scene,
Startled Thalia would th'assent refuse,
But Truth and Virtue sued and won the Muse.
Truth and Virtue--these were the patrons of the compact by which Miss
Farren waited for twenty years for the death of the wife of the man whom
she had promised to marry--when she could.
The scene in the green room when the actress came off the stage was
an unqualified success. Tears flowed freely, making channels as they
meandered down the paint; sobs came from the actresses who hoped to get
a chance of doing some of her parts now that she had left the stage;
and Miss Farren herself showed that she knew what were the elements of a
proper climax, by fainting with a shriek, in the midst of which she made
an exit supported by all the actors who were not already supporting some
of the hysterical ladies in the background. They all deserved to have
their salaries raised. The whole scene was a triumph--of art.
The exact chronology of the crisis is worth noting. Lady Derby died on
March 4th, and was buried on April 2nd. On April 8th Miss Farren took
her farewell of the stage, and on May 1st she was married to the Earl
of Derby. A satisfactory explanation of the indecent delay in the
celebration of the marriage was forthcoming: his lordship had been
suffering from an attack of gout.
But if no one ventured to cast an aspersion upon his character or to
accuse him of shilly-shallying in regard to the postponement of his
nuptials until his wife had been nearly a whole month in her grave,
there was a good deal of funny gossip set loose when, after a honeymoon
of two days, the Earl and the Countess returned to London. This also was
satisfactorily explained: the Countess was devoted to her mother!
The marriage proved a very happy one, and thirty-two years passed before
the Countess died. Her husband survived her by five years. He died in
1834, fifty-seven years after his first meeting with the actress, and
forty-seven since he instituted “The Derby” race meeting, winning the
first cup by his horse Sir Peter Teazle.