Chapter II: Part 2

From Paris they went on to Switzerland. Their travelling equipage not unnaturally aroused the wonderment of the onlookers who assembled to witness their departure. Travelling carriages and a baggage wagon—a _fourgon_—piled high with imperials and packages of all sizes; the courier, as important in his mien as a commander of an army corps, bustling here, bustling there; lady’s maid busily packing; valets and footmen staggering and grumbling under heavy trunks. Lady Blessington heard a Frenchman under her window exclaim: “How strange those English are! One would suppose that instead of a single family, a regiment at least were about to move!”

Move at last the regiment did, though not without dire struggling. They are off! Amid a tornado of expostulations and exhortations; off along the straight, dusty roads to Switzerland. Further we need not accompany them. For us the centre of interest lies at Valence, on the Rhone, where D’Orsay was with his regiment under orders to march with the Duc d’Angoulême over the Pyrenees. But to war’s alarms D’Orsay was now deaf. He heard above the din of trumpet and of drum the call of love, and answered to it. He resigned his commission. For at the hotel where was established the regimental mess the Blessingtons arrived on November 15th; the romance of love eclipsed the romance of war.

From this point onward there can be little doubt as to D’Orsay’s position as regards Lady Blessington, but as concerns Blessington everything grows more and more extraordinary, and more and more discreditable to the blind or easy-going husband. Charles Greville says that Blessington was really fond of the fascinating young Frenchman. He looked on him as a charming, happy comrade. It was at his persuasion that D’Orsay threw up his commission, Blessington making “a formal promise to the Count’s family that he should be provided for.” At any rate such provision was made later on. Greville adds that D’Orsay’s early connection with Lady Blessington was a mystery; certainly it was so as far as concerns the behaviour of the lady’s husband. D’Orsay’s conduct is explicable in two ways: either infatuation for a beautiful woman blinded him to his real interests and rendered him unable to count the cost of the course he now decided to pursue, or he preferred to that of the soldier the _dolce far niente_ life of a dependent loafer. Possibly, however, the two motives mingled.

The company was now complete and each member of it apparently entirely content. They moved on to Orange, and on November 20th reached Avignon, at which place a considerable stay was made. Avignon! Petrarch and Laura! Lady Blessington and Count d’Orsay! Glory almost overwhelming for any one town. The battlemented walls; the ancient bridge; the swift stream of the Rhone; the storied palace of the Pope; and the famous fountain of Vaucluse, given to fame by Petrarch; a proper setting for the love of Alfred and of Marguerite.

They stayed at the _Hôtel de l’Europe_, a comfortable hostelry, an inn which many years before had been the scene of an incident which formed the groundwork of the comedy of _The Deaf Lover_. It was now the scene of incidents which might well have supplied the materials for a comedy of _The Blind Husband: or, There are None so Short-sighted as those who Won’t See!_

There was gaiety and society at Avignon, much social coming and going, dinners, dances, receptions and routs. The Duc and Duchesse de Caderousse Grammont, who resided in a château close to the town, were doubtless delighted to see their young connection the Count, and to welcome his friends. Lady Blessington enjoyed herself immensely, and it is interesting to know that her refined taste was charmed by the decorum of French dancing:—

“The waltz in France,” she writes, “loses its objectionable familiarity by the manner in which it is performed. The gentleman does not clasp his fair partner round the waist with a freedom repugnant to the modesty and destructive to the _ceinture_ of the lady; but so arranges it, that he assists her movements, without incommoding her delicacy or her drapery. In short, they manage these matters better in France than with us;[3] and though no advocate for this exotic dance, I must admit that, executed as I have seen it, it could not offend the most fastidious eye.”

Lady Blessington was, as we know, an authority upon “objectionable familiarity.” What would this fastidious dame have thought of the shocking indelicacy of modern ball-room romps? Would “kitchen” Lancers have appealed favourably to her? Would her approbation have honoured the graceful cake-walk? But we must not linger over such nice inquiries; we must not lose ourselves in the maze of might-have-beens, but must move on to fact, Southward ho! To Italy, the land of Love and Olives.

V

BYRON

Genoa was reached on the last day of March 1823, and Lady Blessington, as also doubtless D’Orsay, because of the sweet sympathy between two hearts that beat as one, was enraptured with the beautiful situation of the town, in her Journal breaking forth into descriptive matter which must be the envy of every conscientious journalist. Their entrance was made by night, and they found lodging at the _Alberga del la Villa_, a house situated upon the sea front, bedecked with marble balconies and the rooms adorned with a plenitude of gilding that brought comfort to the simple heart of Lady Blessington. But it was not by matters so material as its beauties or the comforts of its inns that her soul was really touched. To be in Genoa was to be in the same place as Byron, of whom the very morrow might bring the sight. The only fly in the honey was that the poet might still be fat, as, alack, Tom Moore had reported him to be when at Venice. An imperfect peer is sad enough; but an obese poet—Oh, fie!

On April first, auspicious date, the fair inspirer of poems met with the writer of them, the vision being not entrancing but disappointing to the eager lady. What it was to the poet we do not know, though there are, indeed, quite firm grounds for surmising that Byron was not entirely pleased by the invasion of the privacy which he so jealously guarded, by the intrusion upon his retirement of the Blessingtons even when accompanied by D’Orsay.

Ingenuity was practised in order to secure admission. The day selected for the drive out to Albano was rainy, a circumstance which it was calculated would compel even the most curmudgeonly of poets to offer hospitality and shelter. The event proved the soundness of the calculation. The carriage drew up to the gates of the _Casa Saluzzo_; the two gentlemen alighted, sent in their names, were admitted, were cordially welcomed. Outside in the downpour sat the two pretty ladies. We know not what emotion, if any, agitated Marianne Power; but who can doubt that painful anxiety and doubt fluttered in the bosom of her sister? Would Byron, or would Byron not? To be admitted or not to be admitted? Of what count were all the charms of Genoa, what weighed all the joys of illicit love, if she could not gain admission to the presence of the poet whose conversation—and her own—she was destined to record?

Slowly the minutes passed. Then at last came relief. Byron had learned that the ladies were at his gates; breathless, hatless, he ran out.

“You must have thought me,” he gasped, “quite as ill-bred and _sauvage_ as fame reports in having permitted your ladyship to remain a quarter of an hour at my door: but my old friend Lord Blessington is to blame, for I only heard a minute ago that it was so highly honoured. I shall not think you do not pardon (_sic_) this apparent rudeness, unless you enter my abode—which I entreat you will do.”

So the lady reports his speech, the which is precisely the manner in which Byron would have expressed himself—more or less.

Lady Blessington was quite easily mollified, granting the pardon so gracefully sought, accepting his assisting hand, and, crossing the courtyard, passed into the vestibule. Before them bowed the uniformed _chasseur_ and other obsequious attendants, all showing in their faces the surprise they felt at their master displaying so much cordiality in his reception of the visitors.

The whole account in her Journal gives promise of the eminence to which Lady Blessington afterward attained as a writer of fiction.

Lady Blessington was disappointed in Byron as Oscar Wilde was by the Atlantic and Mr Bernard Shaw is by the world. He did not reach the ideal she had framed of the author of _Childe Harold_ and _Manfred_. He was a jovial, vivacious, even flippant man of the world. His brow should have been gloomy with sardonic melancholy, and his eyes shadowed by a hidden grief which not even love or the loveliness of Lady Blessington could assuage. But, alas, for the evanescence of ideals!

(_By D’Orsay_)

[TO FACE PAGE 50]

Of this meeting we also have Byron’s version. He writes to Moore:—

“Miladi seems highly literary, to which and your honour’s acquaintance with the family, I attribute the pleasure of having seen them. She is also very pretty, even in a morning,—a species of beauty on which the sun of Italy does not shine so frequently as the chandelier. Certainly English women wear better than their Continental neighbours of the same sex.”

Accounts differ as to whether Byron did or did not extend familiar friendship to the Blessingtons; it really does not much matter—if at all. But it is of importance to know that he fell before the charms of the irresistible D’Orsay. Indeed so blinded was he with admiration that he not only discovered the young Frenchman to be “clever, original, unpretending,” but also stated that “he affected to be nothing that he was not.” We fancy D’Orsay would not have counted an accusation of modesty as a compliment. In such a man, properly conscious of his gifts, modesty can only be a mockery. Mock modesty is to the true what mock is to real turtle—an insolent imitation. D’Orsay was above all things candid, when there existed no valid reason for being otherwise.

While at Genoa D’Orsay drew Byron’s portrait, which afterward formed the frontispiece to Lady Blessington’s _Conversations of Lord Byron_, which is quite the most realistic and skilful of her ladyship’s works of fiction. The poet gave the painter a ring, a souvenir not to be worn for it was too large. It was made of lava, “and so far adapted to the fire of his years and character,” so Byron wrote to Lady Blessington, through whose hand he conveyed the gift, perchance deeming that by so doing he would enhance its value.

Byron’s yacht, the _Bolivar_, was purchased by Blessington for £300, having cost many times that sum. The vessel was fitted in the most sumptuous manner; soft cushions, alluring couches, marble baths, every extravagance that the heart of a woman could conceive or the purse of man pay for; suitable surroundings for our modern Antony and Cleopatra.

VI

PILGRIMS OF LOVE

“The Pilgrims from St James’ Square” travelled onward through Florence to Rome, from which latter city they were driven in haste by the heat and the fear of malaria; so to Naples where they arrived on July 17th. It was from the hill above the _Campo Santo_ that they gained their first view of the town where they were to spend so many happy hours. On the brow of the eminence the postilions pulled up the horses, so that the travellers might at their leisure survey the wonderful panorama; the towers, the steeples, the domes, the palaces, the multitude of gardens, the blue waters of the famous Bay; Vesuvius outlined against the spotless sky; from behind the Isle of Capri the sun sending up broad shafts of light; directly below them the high walls and the solemn cedars of the city of the dead.

At the hotel _Gran Bretagna_, facing the sea, they secured comfortable quarters commanding a fine view over the Bay, which enchanted Lady Blessington. But it was quickly decided that a less noisy abode was desirable, and after a prolonged house-hunting the Palazzo Belvedere at Vomero was engaged. Before they could move into it English comforts had to be superimposed upon Italian magnificence, much to the amazement of the Prince and Princess Belvedere, who had not found their home lacking in anything material. Blessington must have been born with the bump of extravagance highly developed, and Lady Blessington did not do anything to depress it. The gardens of the _Palazzo_ were superb and delightful the views they commanded. So in these luxurious surroundings the toil-worn travellers settled down to contentment—though the heat was intense.

Of the rooms we may note that the _salon_ was a spacious apartment, of which the four corners were turned into so many independent territories, of which one was occupied by Lady Blessington’s paper-strewn table, and another by D’Orsay’s, artistically untidy; the others were allotted to Marianne Power and to young Charles Mathews. Blessington had his own private sanctum, in which he busied himself with literary and artistic enterprises, all of which were still-born, except a novel, concerning which Jekyll gives this advice: “Don’t read Lord Blessington’s _Reginald de Vavasour_ … duller than death.”

How charming a morning spent in that salon in that charming company: the Lady of the House, romantic and tender; D’Orsay, debonair and gracious; Marianne, pretty, never in the way, never out of it when her company was wanted; and gay, young Charles Mathews intent upon his drawings. To them enter, upon occasion fitting or otherwise, the Lord of the House, too full of his own affairs to heed the affair that was going on before his eyes, or heedless of it, who can say which; now bestowing a caress upon his adoring wife, now casting a heavy jest to his young _protégé_, the Count; now summoning Mathews to come into his room and discuss the plans for the superb home that he was going to build in Ireland, but which remained a castle in the air.

Charles James Mathews, who was born December 26th, 1803, was in his early years destined for the Church, but his exuberant high spirits scarcely foreshadowed success in that walk of life. Having evinced a decided taste for architecture, he was articled to Augustus Pugin, whose office he entered in 1819. Charles James was a lively lad, quick of wit and ready of tongue, a well-read young fellow, too. In August, 1823, the elder Mathews received a letter from Blessington, who had returned from Italy and with whom he had long been intimately acquainted, expressing his intention to build a house at Mountjoy Forest and to give the younger Mathews “an opportunity of making his _début_ as an architect.” So off to the North of Ireland went Charles James, and for a couple of months lived a very jolly life with his “noble patron.” The plans for the new house were approved, but it was considered necessary to consult Lady Blessington before any final decisions were arrived at, and, eventually, the whole scheme was shelved. Young Mathews was invited by Blessington to accompany him on his return to Italy, and—says Mathews—“on the twenty-first of September, 1823, eyes were wiped and handkerchiefs waved, as, comfortably ensconced in the well-laden travelling carriage, four post-horses rattled us away from St James’ Square.”

So it will be seen that kindly Blessington left Marguerite and Alfred to take care of each other this summer time, with Marianne to play gooseberry. Expeditions here, there and everywhere, were the order of the day; drives along the coast, or in the evening down into Naples, to the Chiaja thronged with carriages. There were many English then resident in Naples, among them Sir William Gell, whom D’Orsay once described as “Le brave Gell, protecteur-général des _humbugs_.” He was evidently a bit of a “character”; a man of learning, withal, who wrote of the topography of Troy and the antiquities of Ithaca; chamberlain to the eccentric Queen Caroline, in whose favour he gave his evidence; an authority on Pompeii—and an amiable man. Mathews speaks of him as “Dear, old, kind, gay Sir William Gell, who, while wheeling himself about the room in his chair, for he was unable to walk a step without help, alternately kept his friends on the broad grin with his whimsical sallies” and talked archæological “shop”; “his hand was as big as a leg of mutton and covered with chalkstones”; nevertheless he could draw with admirable precision.

Greville tells of him, some years later, as living in “his eggshell of a house and pretty garden, which he planted himself ten years ago, and calls it the Boschetto Gellio.” Moore speaks of him as “still a coxcomb, but rather amusing.”

He was a man of sound humour; he could make fun out of his own misfortunes, as in this letter written from Rome in 1824: “I am sitting in my garden, under the shade of my own vines and figs, my dear Lady Blessington, where I have been looking at the people gathering the grapes, which are to produce six barrels of what I suspect will prove very bad wine; and all this sounds very well, till I tell you that I am positively sitting in a wheelbarrow, which I found the only means of conveying my crazy person into the garden. Don’t laugh, Miss Power.”

He was not always respectful to his royal mistress, for he accuses her of being capable of saying, “O trumpery! O Moses!”

Lady Blessington was indeed fortunate in the guides who chaperoned her on her visits to the many interesting places around Naples; Uwins, the painter, escorted her to picture-galleries and museums; so did Westmacott, the sculptor; Herschel, afterward Sir John, accompanied her to the Observatory; Sir William Gell was her cicerone at Pompeii, and to D’Orsay fell the honour of everywhere being by her side.

Pompeii inspired Lady Blessington to verse—

“Lonely city of the dead!
Body whence the soul has fled,
Leaving still upon thy face
Such a mild and pensive grace
As the lately dead display,
While yet stamped upon frail clay,
Rests the impress of the mind,
That the fragile earth refined.”

The house-party was once again complete when Blessington and Mathews arrived in November.

Young Mathews fancied he had dropped into Paradise, and gives a glowing description of his environment: “The Palazzo Belvedere, situated about a mile and a half from the town on the heights of Vomero, overlooking the city, and the beautiful turquoise-coloured bay dotted with latine sails, with Vesuvius on the left, the island of Capri on the right, and the lovely coast of Sorrento stretched out in front, presented an enchanting scene. The house was the perfection of an Italian palace, with its exquisite frescoes, marble arcades, and succession of terraces one beneath the other, adorned with hanging groves of orange-trees and pomegranates, shaking their odours among festoons of vines and luxuriant creepers, affording agreeable shade from the noontide sun, made brighter by the brilliant parterres of glowing flowers, while refreshing fountains plashed in every direction among statues and vases innumerable.”

Among the company Mathews found one of about his own age, with whom he struck up a firm friendship; D’Orsay was naturally a fascinating companion and exemplar for any young man of parts. Enthusiasm glows in the following description: “Count d’Orsay … I have no hesitation in asserting was the _beau-idéal_ of manly dignity and grace. He had not yet assumed the marked peculiarities of dress and deportment which the sophistications of London life subsequently developed. He was the model of all that could be conceived of noble demeanour and youthful candour; handsome beyond all question; accomplished to the last degree; highly educated, and of great literary acquirements; with a gaiety of heart and cheerfulness of mind that spread happiness on all around him. His conversation was brilliant and engaging, as well as clever and instructive. He was moreover the best fencer, dancer, swimmer, runner, dresser; the best shot, the best horseman, the best draughtsman of his age.” There are some touches of exaggeration here, but it is valuable as the impression made upon a shrewd youth of the world.

He notes, too, that D’Orsay spoke English in the prettiest manner; maybe with a touch of Marguerite’s brogue.

Mathews has given us a description of the routine of life at the Palazzo Belvedere:—“In the morning we generally rise from our beds, couches, floors, or whatever we happen to have been reposing upon the night before, and those who have morning gowns or slippers put them on as soon as they are up. We then commence the ceremony of washing, which is longer or shorter in its duration, according to the taste of the persons who use it. You will be glad to know that from the moment Lady Blessington awakes she takes exactly one hour and a half to the time she makes her appearance, when we usually breakfast; this prescience is remarkably agreeable, as one can always calculate thus upon the probable time of our breakfasting; there is sometimes a difference of five or six minutes, but seldom more. This meal taking place latish in the day, I always have a premature breakfast in my own room the instant I am up, which prevents my feeling that hunger so natural to the human frame from fasting. After our collation, if it be fine we set off to see sights, walks, palaces, monasteries, views, galleries of pictures, antiquities, _and all that sort of thing_; if rainy, we set to our drawing, writing, reading, billiards, fencing, and _everything in the world_.… In the evening each person arranges himself (and herself) at his table and follows his own concerns till about ten o’clock, when we sometimes play whist, sometimes talk, and are always delightful! About half-past eleven we retire with our flat candlesticks in our hands.… At dinner Lady B. takes the head of the table, Lord B. on her left, Count d’Orsay on her right, and I at the bottom. We have generally for the first service a joint and five _entrées_; for the second, a _rôti_ and five _entrées_, including sweet things. The name of our present cook is Raffelle, and a very good one when he likes.”

A heated but brief quarrel between D’Orsay and Mathews gives us a glimpse of the former’s hot temper. The two had become constant comrades, fencing, shooting, swimming, riding, drawing together.

Blessington had formed the habit of boring the party by insisting on their accompanying him on sailing trips aboard the _Bolivar_, his purchase from Byron, which expeditions had more than once culminated in their being becalmed for hours and overwhelmed with heat and _ennui_. One sultry morning when Blessington suggested a sail, they with one consent began to make excuses, good and bad: the ladies were afraid of the sun; D’Orsay said a blunt “No,” and Mathews was anxious to complete a sketch. To which last Lord Blessington remarked—

“As you please. I only hope you will really carry out your intention; for even your friend Count d’Orsay says that you carry your sketch-book with you everywhere, but that you never bring back anything in it.”

Possibly there was an element of truth in the criticism; at any rate it struck home.

It was apparently a somewhat sulky party that went a-driving that afternoon; two charming women and two ill-humoured young men. Suddenly, without any further provocation, Mathews burst out—

“I have to thank you, Count d’Orsay, for the high character you have given me to Lord Blessington, with regard to my diligence.”

“Comment?” responded D’Orsay.

“I should have been more gratified had you mentioned to me, instead of to his lordship, anything you might have—”

“Vous êtes un mauvais blagueur, par Dieu, la plus grande bête et blagueur que j’ai jamais rencontré, et la première fois que vous me parlez comme ça, je vous casserai la tête et je vous jetterai par la fenêtre.”

Indubitably ill-temper, of which we know not the cause, had made the Count forget his manners; Mathews rightly kept silent, reserving the continuation of the quarrel for a future and more proper occasion, and Lady Blessington aided him by the rebuke—

“Count d’Orsay, I beg you to remember I am present, and that such language is not exactly what I should have expected before me.”

But the fiery Frenchman was not to be suppressed and answered hotly.

In the evening Mathews received a note from D’Orsay, repeating the offence in almost more offensive terms. Of course, a duel was the order of the day; Mathews wrote demanding satisfaction or an apology; of which former he was promptly promised all he might desire to have. Mathews found his friend Madden willing to act as his second, but Blessington very naturally, as host of both the parties, refused to act for the Count. But Madden was a diplomatist, and despatched to D’Orsay what his principal terms a “very coolly written” letter, which called forth the following:—

“MON CHER MR MADDEN,—Je suis très loin d’être fâché que Mr
Mathews vous ait choisi pour son témoin, ma seule crainte eut
été qu’il en choisît un autre.

“Je suis aussi très loin d’être offensé d’un de vos avis.
Lorsque j’estime quelqu’un, son opinion est toujours bien reçue.

“L’affaire, comme vous savez, est très simple dans le principe.
On me fit la question si Mathews avait dessiné à Caprée; je
dis que non, mais qu’il emportoit toujours ses crayons et
son album pour ne rien faire—que cela étoit dommage avec ses
grandes dispositions. Lord Blessington n’as pas eu le courage
de lui représenter sans y mêler mon nom, et Mathews a pris
la chose avec moi sur un ton si haut que j’ai été obligé de
la rabaisser, après lui avoir exprimé que ce n’étoit que par
intérêt pour lui que j’avois fait cette représentation. Il à
continué sur le même ton; je lui dis alors que la première fois
qu’il prendroit un ton semblable avec moi je le jetterois hors
de la voiture et lui casserois la tête. J e vous répète mot
pour mot cette altercation. La seule différence que j’ai fait
entre lui et un autre, c’est que je n’ai fait que dire ce que
j’aurois fait certainement vis-à-vis d’un autre qui prendroit
ce ton avec moi. Si j’ai accompagné mon projet d’avenir de mots
offensants et inconvenants, j’en suis aussi fâché pour lui que
pour moi, car c’est me manquer à moi-même que d’user des mots
trop violents.

“Pour votre observation sur la différence des rangs, elle est
inutile, car jamais je n’attache d’importance au rang qui
se trouve souvent compromis par tant de bêtes. Je juge les
personnes pour ce qu’elles sont, sans m’informer qui étoient
leurs ancêtres, et si mon supérieur eut employé la même manière
de me rapprocher qu’a pris Mathews, j’aurois sûrement fait
ce que je n’ai fait que dire à Mathews, que j’aime beaucoup
trop pour le rabaisser à ses propres yeux. Il seroit ridicule
à moi de ne pas avouer que j’ai tort de lui avoir dit des
paroles trop fortes, mais en même temps je ne veux pas nier mes
paroles, c’est-à-dire, mon projet de voiture, etc. Si Mathews
veut satisfaction, je lui donnerai tant qu’il lui plaira, tout
en lui sachant bon gré de vous avoir choisi pour son témoin.

“Cette affaire est aussi désagréable pour vous que pour nous
tous, mais au moins elle n’altérera pas l’amitié de votre tout
dévoué,

“CTE. D’ORSAY.”

Upon receipt of which letter Madden advised Mathews to shake hands, which on meeting the Count the following morning he proceeded to do, the overture of peace being cordially received.

“J’espère, mon cher Mathews,” said D’Orsay, “que vous êtes satisfait. Je suis bien fâché pour ce que je vous ai dit, mais j’étais en colère et—”

To which Mathews, interrupting—

“Mon cher Comte, n’en parlons plus, je vous en prie, je l’ai tout-à-fait oublié!”

But apparently Lady Blessington had something to say upon the affair, for later on Mathews found the Count with her, in tears, and a further apology followed.

Then the storm-clouds cleared away and all again was sunshine.

Madden who played the peacemaker, was Richard Robert of that name, born in 1798, and at that time studying medicine at Naples. In after years he was author of _The United Irishmen_, and of that curious book, _The Literary Life and Correspondence of the Countess of Blessington_. Mathews writes of him as “the witty, lively Dr Madden, at that time as full of spirits as of mental acquirements.”

VII

MARRIAGE

Here stands D’Orsay, _jeune premier_, the hero of this comedy _à trois_, with the limelight full upon him; supported by Marguerite, Lady Blessington, as leading lady, of whom Landor said to Crabb Robinson:—“She was to Lord Blessington the most devoted wife he ever knew,” which either speaks badly for the wives known to Walter Savage or more probably shows that he was as blind in the matter of the lady’s virtue as he was with regard to her age, which in 1832 he declared to be about thirty. Probably in both cases he was judging simply by appearances, which in women are so apt to deceive men, particularly elderly poets.

For what part shall we consider Lord Blessington as cast? Villain or fool? We incline to the latter: it takes a fairly astute man to play the villain with success; moreover, no man smiles and smiles and is a villain without motive for his villainy—at least not in real life. To complete our company we have two light comedians, Marianne Power, pretty and ever ready with a smile, and Mathews, always ready to provide amusing entertainment. For stage crowd, diplomatists, antiquarians, artists, noblemen, servants and so forth:—

Sir William Gell, whom we have met, with pleasure; an Hon. R. Grosvenor, whom Lady Blessington declared “the liveliest Englishman I have ever seen,” and considered that his gaiety sat very gracefully upon him; queens of beauty, too, such as the Duchess di Forli, “with hair dark as the raven’s wing, and lustrous eyes of nearly as deep a hue, and her lips as crimson as the flower of the pomegranate”; the Princess Centolla, who “might furnish a faultless model for a Hebe, she is so fair, so youthful, and so exquisitely beautiful”; an Hanoverian soldier of fortune, who came down to fight in Sicily and captured the heart and wealth of the Princess Bultera and her title too; the lively, diminutive, aged Thomas James Mathias, writer of that pungent satire upon authors, _Pursuits of Literature_, whose denial of his being the only begetter of it did not meet with credence. He was a man with peculiarities, one of which was the frequent use of the exclamation, “God bless my soul!” Another was his singularly accurate memory for dates connected with the eating of any special dish. It was fortunate for him that motor-cars were not of his day, for he was extremely nervous when crossing the street. He appears also to have been curiously simple. One day while dining in a café a shower of rain came down heavily, and Sir William Gell remarked to Mathias that it was raining cats and dogs. On the instant, as luck would have it, a dog ran in at one door and a cat at the other. “God bless my soul,” said Mathias, solemnly, “so it does! so it does! Who would have believed it!”

There was Sir William Drummond, scholar and diplomatist, minister-plenipotentiary to Naples, whose brilliant conversation was a mixture of pedantry illuminated by flashes of imagination; the Archbishop of Tarentum, a typical father of the Roman Church, “his face, peculiarly handsome, is sicklied o’er with the pale hue of thought; his eyes are of the darkest brown, but soft, and full of sensibility, like those of a woman. His hair is white as snow, and contrasts well with the black silk _calotte_ that crowns the top of his head. His figure is attenuated and bowed by age, and his limbs are small and delicate…;” the astronomer Piazzi, discoverer of the planet Ceres; General the Duc di’ Rocco Romano, “the very personification of a _preux chevalier_; brave in arms, and gentle and courteous in society”; Lord Dudley, eccentric as is easily pardoned in a peer with an income of £40,000, with his unfortunate habit of expressing aloud his opinion, good or bad, of those with whom he conversed; James Milligan, the antiquary, to whom it was mere waste of time to submit a forgery as a genuine antique; Casimir de la Vigne, who recited his unpublished ‘Columbus’ at the _Palazzo_.

Fine company, of which but a few have been named; a liberal education in themselves to a young man on his way through a world where the proper study of mankind is man—and woman.

In junketings and journeyings the days sped by very merrily. Blessington himself was not fond of walking and was an enemy to sight-seeing of all kinds, so did not often join in the expeditions. Moreover, he was not an early riser, usually breakfasting in bed, and we cannot imagine that his company was very greatly missed; four is company, five is a crowd. The expeditionary party, therefore, consisted of Lady Blessington and D’Orsay, Marianne Power and Mathews; to which various guests were added as occasion and convenience dictated.

The romantic beauty of the gardens of the Palazzo appealed to at any rate some of the members of the household. In the evening they would resort to the charming Pavilion at the end of the terrace, and there listen to the playing and singing of the servants, some of whom proved to be delectable masters of music. There was, too, an open-air theatre in the grounds; the stage of springy turf, the proscenium formed of trees and shrubs, the seats of marble, backed by hedges of trimmed box and ilex. This shady playhouse the company frequented in the heat of the day; fruits and iced drinks were served. A pleasant earthly paradise, wherein the tempting of Adam by Eve was highly civilised—in its externals.

There were dinners on board the _Bolivar_, in the cabin wherein, it is said, Byron wrote much of “Don Juan”; D’Orsay must have felt quite in his element there.

In March 1825, the _Palazzo Belvedere_ was deserted for the _Villa Gallo_ at Capo di Monte, a less palatial but more comfortable abode, also possessing grounds of great beauty.

It was not until February 1826 that our party left Naples, where they had so greatly enjoyed themselves, returning to Rome, where they remained for a few weeks, going thence in April to Florence and in December being once again in Genoa. In Florence it may be noted that the Blessingtons and D’Orsay met Landor, with whom they quickly came to be upon terms of friendship.

It was while on their first visit to Genoa, three years before this, that news had reached Blessington of the death at the age of ten of his son and heir, Lord Mountjoy. Of this unhappy event one of the results was that Blessington was able to make such disposition of his property as he considered right and proper, or at any rate to a certain and very considerable extent. Of this freedom he availed himself in a manner that proves either a lack of common understanding or actual inhumanity. Included in the arrangements he made was the marriage to D’Orsay of one of his daughters, this apparently in fulfilment of his promise to see to it that D’Orsay’s future was provided for. Not content that the young Frenchman should be his wife’s lover he decided to make him also his daughter’s husband. Such a story told as fiction would be incredible.

Three months after his son’s death, Blessington signed a codicil to his will, which ran thus:—

“Having had the misfortune to lose my beloved son, Luke
Wellington, and having entered into engagements with Alfred,
Comte d’Orsay that an alliance should take place between
him and my daughter, which engagement has been sanctioned
by Albert, Comte d’Orsay, general, etc., in the service of
France. This is to declare and publish my desire to leave to
the said Alfred d’Orsay my estates in the city and county of
Dublin (subject, however, to the annuity of three thousand per
annum, which sum is to include the settlement of one thousand
per annum to my wife, Margaret, Countess of Blesinton (_sic_)
…). I make also the said Alfred d’Orsay sole guardian of my
son Charles John, and my sister, Harriet Gardiner, guardian of
my daughters, until they, the daughters, arrive at the age of
sixteen, at which age I consider they will be marriageable.…
(Signed) BLESINTON.”

In August (1823) this amazing plan was more securely fixed by the making of a will. By this document D’Orsay was appointed one of three executors, each of whom received £1000; to Lady Blessington was allotted £2000 British, per annum, and all her own jewels. Then we must quote in full:—“I give to my daughter, Harriet Anne Jane Frances, commonly called Lady Harriet, born at my house in Seymour Place, London, on or about the 3rd day of August 1812, all my estates in the county and city of Dublin, subject to the following charge. Provided she intermarry with my friend, and intended son-in-law, Alfred d’Orsay, I bequeath her the sum of ten thousand pounds only. I give to my daughter, Emily Rosalie Hamilton, generally called Lady Mary Gardiner, born in Manchester Square, on the 24th of June 1811, whom I now acknowledge and adopt as my daughter, the sum of twenty thousand pounds.

“In case the said Alfred d’Orsay intermarries with the said Emily, otherwise Mary Gardiner, I bequeath to her my estates in the county and city of Dublin.…” It did not matter upon which daughter the gallant and chivalrous D’Orsay fixed his fancy; in either case he was to be well rewarded. D’Orsay knew that his future was assured.

In fact, D’Orsay was handsomely dowered! How joyous must have been the meeting between him and his sister at Pisa in 1826. Lady Blessington has left a pleasant picture of it in her Journal:—

“PISA.—Arrived here yesterday, and found the Duc and Duchesse
de Guiche (Ida d’Orsay) with their beautiful children,
established in the Casa Chiarabati, on the south side of the
Lung’ Arno. The Duchesse is one of the most striking-looking
women I ever beheld; and though in very delicate health, her
beauty is unimpaired. Tall and slight, her figure is finely
proportioned, and her air remarkably noble and graceful. Her
features are regular, her complexion dazzlingly fair, her
countenance full of intelligence, softened by a feminine
sweetness that gives it a peculiar attraction, and her limbs
are so small and symmetrical, as to furnish an instance of
Byron’s favourite hypothesis, that delicately formed hands
and feet were infallible indications of noble birth. But had
the Duchesse de Guiche no other charm than her hair, that
would constitute an irresistible one. Never did I see such
a profusion, nor of so beautiful a colour and texture. When
to those exterior attractions are added manners graceful
and dignified, conversation witty and full of intelligence,
joined to extreme gentleness, it cannot be wondered at that
the Duchesse de Guiche is considered one of the most lovely
and fascinating women of her day. It is a pleasing picture to
see this fair young creature, for she is still in the bloom
of youth, surrounded by her three beautiful boys, and holding
in her arms a female infant strongly resembling her. One
forgets _la grande dame_ occupying her tabouret at Court, ‘the
observed of all observers,’ in the interest excited by a fond
young mother in the domestic circle, thinking only of the dear
objects around her.”

Who better could appreciate this happy scene than Lady Blessington, with all her dear objects around her: her sister, her husband, her dear friend?

One more Pisan scene is worth quoting:—

“_March._—Mr Wilkie,[4] our celebrated painter, has come to
spend a few days with us. He enjoys Italy very much, and his
health is, I am happy to say, much improved. He was present,
last evening, at a concert at the Duchesse de Guiche’s, where
a delicate compliment was offered to her, the musicians having
surprised her with an elegantly turned song, addressed to her,
and very well sung; copies of which were presented to each
of the party, printed on paper _couleur de rose_, and richly
embossed. This _galanterie_ originated with half a dozen of the
most distinguished of the Pisans, and the effect was excellent,
owing to the poetic merit of the verses, the good music to
which they were wedded, and the unaffected surprise of the fair
object to whom they were addressed. Mr Wilkie seemed very much
pleased at the scene, and much struck with the courtly style of
beauty of our hostess.”

Summer faded into autumn, but surely not too quickly for the ardent D’Orsay, who must have longed to take to his arms his schoolgirl bride, who was coming over from Dublin, where she had spent her childhood in the care of her aunt.

It was a cruel thing to do, to fling this girl not yet sixteen years of age into the arms of a man entirely strange to her, who could not even be likely to learn to love her consumed with passion as he already was for another. What chance had the child of happiness? As little as had Marguerite Power when forced to marry Farmer. Did Lady Blessington recall her first wedding-day as she stood by and watched this sacrifice? She could not speak; her tongue was tied; what could it be to her if D’Orsay married? And D’Orsay, what word of exculpation or excuse can be said for him? Not one. Had he been free from intrigue this marriage would have been a mere episode—as marriage then was and now so often is—in the life of a man of the world. The little schoolgirl must marry someone; why not D’Orsay? D’Orsay must have money, why not obtain it by this simple means? Even if he had desired to hold back, what excuse could he offer—to Blessington? There have been few scenes so grimly sardonic, not one more tragic.

On December 1st 1827, Count Albert d’Orsay, only son of General Count d’Orsay, was married to Lady Harriet Anne Frances Gardiner at the British Embassy at Naples. Never can nuptials have been bigger with ill-fortune, which was the only fruit they bore.

Some few months after the wedding Madden met the bride at Rome, and writes of her:—

“Lady Harriet was exceedingly girlish-looking, pale and rather inanimate in expression, silent and reserved; there was no appearance of familiarity with any one around her; no air or look of womanhood, no semblance of satisfaction in her new position were to be observed in her demeanour or deportment. She seldom or ever spoke, she was little noticed, she was looked on as a mere schoolgirl; I think her feelings were crushed, repressed, and her emotions driven inwards, by the sense of slight and indifference, and by the strangeness and coldness of everything around her; and she became indifferent, and strange and cold, and apparently devoid of all vivacity and interest in society, or in the company of any person in it.”

Juliet mated with Lothario. Doubtless the latter was quite contented with his bargain, as indeed he had good cause to be. He had been paid a fine price for bending his neck to the yoke matrimonial, as is shown by the marriage settlements to which act the parties were Lord Blessington, D’Orsay, Lady Harriet, the Duc de Guiche, Lieutenant-General and Ecuyer of His Royal Highness the Dauphin, and Robert Power, formerly Captain of the 2nd Regiment of Foot. The deed is specifically stated as being designed to make provision for D’Orsay and Lady Harriet, “then an infant of the age of fifteen years or thereabouts.”

VIII

ROME

Early one night in December 1827, the Blessingtons, the D’Orsays and Marianne Power arrived in Rome to find that the palace hired for their accommodation was entirely unsuitable and insufficient. House-hunting once again was the order of the day, the outcome being the renting of the two principal floors of the Palazzo Negroni for six months at one hundred guineas per month. Additional and doubtless unnecessary furniture was hired at a further cost of twenty guineas. It is quite amusing to hear of the domesticated Lady Blessington undertaking the transformation of countless yards of white muslin into window curtains and to see to a dozen or so of eiderdown pillows being recased so that the hardness of half-stuffed sofas might be softened. Her account of the advantages of possessing a _fourgon_ must be given in her own words, which could not be re-written without diminishing their merit:—

“Thence comes the patent brass bed, that gives repose at night; and the copious supply of books, which ensure amusement during the day. Thence emerges the modern invention of easy-chairs and sofas to occupy the smallest space when packed; _batteries de cuisine_, to enable a cook to fulfil the arduous duties of his _métier_; and, though last, not least, cases to contain the delicate _chapeaux_, _toques_, _bérets_; and _bonnets_ of a Herbault, too fragile to bear the less easy motion of leathern bandboxes crowning imperials.”

Doubtless the noble authoress found it impossible to write unadulterated Saxon after listening through so many hours to D’Orsay’s gallant but broken English.

At this time there were many English folk in Rome, to accommodate whose insular fancies there were English shops, including a confectionery establishment, which contributed to the indigestions of the British and the entertainment of the Romans. It was the custom then for English travellers at Rome to make a point of doing what the Romans did not do; happily all that has been changed for the better and to-day the Britisher abroad, and equally his cousins from America, behave themselves with consideration and becoming modesty, always.

Here, as at Naples, D’Orsay made a large and interesting circle of friends. Among these was to be numbered the French Ambassador, the Duc de Laval-Montmorenci, an antique who afforded much amusement. He is described as having been a curious mixture of opposites; simple and at the same time acute, well-bred and clownish, ostentatious and prudent, witty and wise—the last a very rare combination; an old-fashioned _beau_ in spite of his short memory and his deafness, his short sight and his unfortunate stammer; a capital hand at an anecdote, good-tempered, good-humoured. One of his quaint peculiarities was the habit of falling asleep during a conversation; then an awakening after a few minutes’ nap to exclaim:—“_Oui, oui, vous avez bien raison, c’est clair: je vous fais mes compliments: c’est impossible d’être plus juste._”

“Middle Ages” Hallam was another friend of these days, when also Walter Savage Landor was met again.

The time was passed in a round of merry makings by all save the silent child-wife.

Then in May their backs were turned upon Rome, or as Lady Blessington has it—“We leave the Eternal City—perhaps to see it _no more_. This presentiment filled me with sadness when I this evening from the Monte Pincio saw the golden sun sink beneath his purple clouds, his last beams tinging with a brilliant radiance the angel on the fortress of St Angelo, and the glorious dome of St Peter’s.”

Of all their friends the one with whom they were most loath to part was Sir William Gell, who when bidding farewell to Lady Blessington said: “You have been visiting our friend Drummond’s grave to-day, and if you _ever_ come to Italy again, you will find me in mine.”

He died some eight years later, on 4th April 1836. Of his last days Keppel Craven wrote an account to Lady Blessington:—

“He never ceased, I don’t say for an hour, but an _instant_, to have a book open before him; and though he sometimes could not fix his eyes for two minutes at a time on its contents, he nevertheless understood it, and could afterwards talk of the work in a manner which proved, that while his mental powers were awake, they were as strong as ever—more especially his memory; but the state he was in, caused much confusion in his ideas of time and distance, of which he was aware, and complained of.”

The first Lord Lytton wrote of Gell: “I never knew so popular or so petted a man as Sir William Gell; every one seems to love him.”

Gell was a capital letter-writer, as the following example will suffice to show. In April 1824, he writes to Lady Blessington:

“I did really arrive at Rome … having experienced in the way every possible misfortune, except being overturned or carried into the mountains. In short, I know nothing to equal my journey, except the ninety-nine misfortunes of Pulicinella in a Neapolitan puppet-show. I set out without my cloak in an open carriage; my only hope of getting warmer at St Agatha was destroyed by an English family, who had got possession of the only chimney. I had a dreadful headache, which, by-the-bye, recollecting to have lost at your house by eating an orange, I tried again with almost immediate effect. Next morning one grey horse fell ill at the moment of being put to the carriage, and has continued so ever since, so that I have had to buy another, which is so very (what they call) good, that it is nearly as useless as the other, so that I never go out without risking my neck. When, at length, I got to Rome in a storm of sleet, I found a bill of an hundred and fifty dollars against me for protecting useless lemon-trees against the frost of the winter, which, added to the expense of the new horse and the old one have ever since caused the horrors of a gaol to interpose themselves between me and every enjoyment, and so much for the ugly side of the question.”

Through Loretto, Ancona, Ravenna, Ferrara, Padua, the Blessingtons and company made their way to Venice, where they halted for several weeks, and where once again they forgathered with Landor. Then by Verona and Milan to Genoa, and in June 1828 they arrived in Paris.

IX

PARIS

Back again in Paris, which lay blistering under the hot summer sun. Rooms were secured at the _Hôtel de Terrace_ in the Rue de Rivoli; noisy quarters, and Lady Blessington was not fond of noise.

“On entering Paris,” says Lady Blessington, “I felt my impatience to see our dear friends then redouble; and, before we had despatched the dinner awaiting our arrival, the Duc and Duchesse de Guiche came to us. How warm was our greeting; how many questions to be asked and answered; how many congratulations and pleasant plans for the future to be formed.…” Doubtless D’Orsay was again congratulated on having married a fortune.… “The Duchesse was in radiant health and beauty, and the Duc looking, as he always does, more _distingué_ than anyone else—the perfect _beau-idéal_ of a nobleman. We soon quitted the _salle à manger_; for who could eat during the joy of a first meeting with those so valued?”

The attitude of D’Orsay’s family throughout this strange affair is amazing. Can they have really understood the situation? Did they thank Blessington for having provided so munificently for their brother? Did they express their gratitude to Lady Blessington for the many favours she had shown to him? We can scarcely believe it so. But however all these things were, the evening passed pleasantly; the windows of the _salon_ looked out over the garden of the Tuileries, over their scented orange-trees and formal walks.

The Comte and Comtesse d’Orsay were also in Paris, later on, and great must have been their satisfaction at seeing their son so well settled. Of a dinner at their house Lady Blessington—_la belle mère_ of their son—says there was a “large family party. The only stranger was Sir Francis Burdett. A most agreeable dinner followed by a very pleasant evening.” Did Countess Alfred enjoy it?

The next day Lady Blessington devoted to shopping, visiting among other high shrines of fashion Herbault’s, where the latest things in caps, hats and turbans were tried and sentenced; then on to Mdlle. La Touche where _canezus_ and _robes de matin_ were selected. Three hundred and twenty francs were given for a crape hat and feathers, two hundred for a _chapeau à fleurs_, one hundred for a _negligé de matin_, and eighty-five for an evening cap of tulle trimmed with blonde and flowers.