Chapter II (2)

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.

MRS. JORDAN IN FRANCE.

Decline of Mrs. Jordan’s health—Description of her cottage and grounds
at Boulogne-sur-Mer—Madame Ducamp and her servant Agnes—Their account
of Mrs. Jordan’s habits and manners—Removal of that lady to Versailles
and subsequently to St. Cloud—Account of her illness and last moments.

The circumstances which induced Mrs. Jordan to repair to the continent were of such a nature, that the reader need not think it extraordinary that a deep impression was made upon her health; not indeed in the shape of actual disease, but by the workings of a troubled spirit, pondering and drooping over exaggerated misfortunes. Estranged, though only temporarily, from those she loved, and from that profession the resort to which had never failed to restore her animation and amuse her fancy, mental malady soon communicated its contagion to the physical organisation, and sickness began to make visible inroads on the heretofore healthy person of that lamented lady.

She established herself first at Boulogne-sur-Mer. A cottage was selected by her at Maquetra, about a quarter of a mile from the gate of the fortress. Often have I since, as if on classic ground, strolled down the little garden which had been there her greatest solace. The cottage is very small, but neat, commodious, and of cheerful aspect. A flower and fruit garden of corresponding dimensions, and a little paddock (comprising much less than half an acre) formed her demesne. In an adjoining cottage resided her old landlady, Madame Ducamp, who was in a state of competence, and altogether an original. She had married a gardener, much younger and of humbler birth than herself. I think she had been once handsome: her story I never heard fully; but it appeared that she had flourished during the Revolution. She spoke English when she pleased; and, like most Frenchwomen, when _d’âge mûr_, was querulous, intrusive, and curious _beyond limitation_, with as much _professed_ good-nature as would serve at least fifty of our old English gentlewomen. She was not, in truth, devoid of the reality as well as the semblance of that quality: but she _overacted_ the philanthropist, and consequently did not deceive those accustomed to look deeper than the surface. This good lady is still _in statu quo_, and very likely to remain so.

Under colour of taking her vacant cottage for a friend, a party of my family went to Maquetra, to learn what we could respecting Mrs. Jordan’s residence there. The old lady recollected her name, but pronounced it in a way which it was scarcely possible for us to recognise. A long conversation ensued, in some parts as interesting, and in others nearly as light as the subject could admit of.—Madame Ducamp repeated to us a hundred times, in five minutes, that she had “beaucoup, _beaucoup_ de vénération pour cette _chère, chère_ malheureuse dame Anglaise!” whom she assured us, with a deep sigh, was “sans doute _un ange supérieur_!” She was proceeding to tell us every thing she knew, or I suppose could invent, when, perceiving a child in the garden pulling the flowers, she abruptly discontinued her eulogium, and ran off to drive away the intruder; having done which, she returned to resume: but too late! in her absence her place had been fully and fairly occupied by Agnes, an ordinary French girl, Madame Ducamp’s _bonne_ (servant of _all work_), whom we soon found was likely to prove a much more truth-telling person than her mistress.

Agnes informed us, with great feeling, that “the economy of that charming lady was very strict: _nécessairement, je crains_,” added she, with a slow movement of her head and a truly eloquent look. They had found out (she said) that their lodger had been once _riche et magnifique_; but when there she was _very—very_ poor indeed! “But,” exclaimed the poor girl, her eye brightening up and her tone becoming firmer, “that could make no difference to me! _si j’aime,—j’aime! J’ai servi cette pauvre dame avec le même zèle (peut-être encore plus) que si elle eut été une princesse!_”

This frank-hearted display of poor Agnes’s sentiments was extremely affecting; it was, however, not in fact called for, since Mrs. Jordan might have commanded, during the whole period of her continental residence, any sums she thought proper. She had money in the bank, in the funds, and in miscellaneous property, and had just before she came over received some thousands. But she was become nearly careless as well of pecuniary as other matters, and took up a whim (for it was nothing more) to affect poverty,—thus deceiving the world, and giving, herself, a vantage-ground to the gossiping and censorious.

Agnes’s information went on to show that Mrs. Jordan’s whole time was passed in anxious expectation of letters from England, and on the English post-days she was peculiarly miserable. We collected from the girl that her garden and guitar were her only resources against that consuming melancholy which steals even the elements of existence, and plunges both body and mind into a state of morbid languor—the fruitful parent of disease, insanity, and death.

At this point of the story Madame Ducamp would no longer be restrained, and returned to the charge with redoubled assertions of her own friendship to “the poor lady,” and _bonne nature_ in general.

“Did you know her, Monsieur?” said she: “alas! she nearly broke _my_ heart by trying to break _her own_!”

“I have heard of her since I arrived here, Madame,” replied I cautiously.

“Ah! Monsieur, Monsieur,” rejoined Madame Ducamp, “if you had known her as well as Agnes and I did, you would have loved her just as much. I am sure she had been accustomed to _grandeur_, though I could never _découvrir la cause de sa ruine_. Ah!” pursued Madame, “she was _aimable et honnête_ beyond description; and though _so very poor_, paid her _louage_ like a goddess.” At this moment some other matter, perhaps suggested by the word _louage_, came across the old woman’s brain, and she again trotted off. The remaining intelligence which we gathered from Agnes related chiefly to Mrs. Jordan’s fondness for music and perpetual indulgence therein, and to her own little achievements in the musical way on a guitar, which she produced,—whereby, she told us with infinite _naïveté_, she had frequently experienced the gratification of playing and singing _Madame to sleep_! She said that there was some little mutual difficulty in the first place as to understanding each other, since the stranger was ignorant of the French language, and she herself “had not the honour” to speak English. “However,” continued Agnes, “we formed a sort of language of our own, consisting of looks and signs, and in these _Madame_ was more eloquent than any other person I had ever known.” Here the girl’s recollections seemed fairly to overcome her; and with that apparently exaggerated sensibility which is, nevertheless, _natural_ to the character of her country, she burst into tears, exclaiming, “_Oh Ciel! oh Ciel!—elle est morte! elle est morte!_”[36]

-----

Footnote 36:

The intermixed French phrases which I have retained in sketching this
conversation at Maquetra may perhaps appear affected to some; and I
frankly admit there are few things in composition so disagreeable to
me as a jumble of words culled from different tongues, and
constituting a _mélange_ which advances no just claim to the title of
any language whatever. But those who are accustomed to the familiar
terms and expressive ejaculations of French colloquy, know that the
idiomatic mode of expression _only_ can convey the _true_ point and
spirit of the dialogue, and more particularly does this observation
apply to the variegated traits of character belonging to French
females.

The conversation with Agnes consisted, on her part, nearly of broken
sentences throughout—I may say, almost of looks and monosyllables! at
all events, of simple and expressive words in a combination utterly
unadapted to the English tongue. Let a well-educated and unprejudiced
gentleman hold converse on the same topics with an English and a
French girl, and his remarks as to the difference will not fail to
illustrate what I have said.

Far—very far be it from me to depreciate the fair ones of our own
country. I believe that they are steadier and better calculated to
describe _facts_, or to advise in an emergency: but they must not be
offended with me for adding, that in the _expression_ of every
feeling, either of a lively or tearful nature, as well as in the
graces of motion, their elastic neighbours are immeasurably superior.
Even their _eyes_ speak idioms which our less pliable _language_
cannot explain. I have seen humble girls in France who speak more in
one second than many of our finest ladies could utter in almost a
century! _Chaqu’un a son goût_, however; and I honestly confess, that
a sensitive French girl would make but an ill-assorted match with a
thorough-bred John Bull!

-----

I cannot help thinking that the deep and indelible impression thus made by Mrs. Jordan upon an humble unsophisticated servant girl exemplifies her kind and winning manners better than the most laboured harangues of a whole host of biographers.

Madame Ducamp meanwhile had been fidgeting about, and arranging every thing to show off her cottage to the greatest advantage; and without further conversation, except as to the price of the tenement, we parted with mutual “assurances of the highest consideration.”

I renewed my visits to the old woman; but her stories were either so fabulous or disconnected, and those of Agnes so unvaried, that I saw no probability of acquiring further information, and lost sight of Mrs. Jordan’s situation for a considerable time after her departure from Boulogne. I thought it, by-the-bye, very extraordinary that neither the mistress nor maid said a word about any attendant of Mrs. Jordan, even although it was not till long after that I heard of Col. Hawker and Miss K * * * * having accompanied her from England. After Mrs. Jordan left Boulogne, it appears that she repaired to Versailles, and subsequently, in still greater privacy, to St. Cloud, where, _totally_ secluded, and under the name of Johnson, she continued to await, with agitated impatience, in a state of extreme depression, the answers to some letters, by which was to be determined her future conduct as to the distressing business that had led her to the continent. Her solicitude arose not so much from the real importance of this affair as from her indignation and disgust at the ingratitude which she had experienced, and which by drawing aside the curtain from before her unwilling eyes, had exposed a novel and painful view of human nature.

At that period I occupied a large hotel adjoining the Bois de Boulogne. Not a mile intervened between us; yet, until long after Mrs. Jordan’s decease, I never heard she was in my neighbourhood. There was no occasion whatever for such entire seclusion; but the anguish of her mind had by this time so enfeebled her, that a bilious complaint was generated, and gradually increased. Its growth did not appear to give her much uneasiness—so dejected and lost had she become. Day after day her misery augmented, and at length she seemed (we were told) actually to regard the approach of dissolution with a kind of placid welcome!

The apartments she occupied at St. Cloud were in a house in the square adjoining the palace. This house appeared to me large, gloomy, cold, and inconvenient; just the sort of place which would tell in description in a romance. It seemed almost in a state of dilapidation. I could not, I am sure, wander over it at night without a superstitious feeling. The rooms were numerous, but small; the furniture scanty, old, and tattered. The hotel had obviously once belonged to some nobleman; and a long, lofty, flagged gallery stretched from one wing of it to the other, which looked over a large uncultivated garden, and a charming country beyond. But Mrs. Jordan’s chambers were wretched: no English comforts solaced her latter moments! In her little drawing-room, a small old sofa was the best piece of furniture: on this she constantly reclined, and on it she expired.[37]

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Footnote 37:

When I first saw Mrs. Jordan’s abode at St. Cloud, it was on a dismal,
chilly winter’s day, and I was myself in corresponding mood. Hence
perhaps every cheerless object was exaggerated, and I wrote on the
spot the above description. I have again viewed the place: again
beheld with melancholy interest the sofa on which Mrs. Jordan breathed
her last. There it still, I believe, remains; but the whole premises
have been repaired, and an English family has now one wing, together
with an excellent garden, before overgrown with weeds: the two
melancholy cypress-trees I first saw upon the little terrace yet
remain. The surrounding prospect is undoubtedly very fine; but I would
not, even were I made a present of that mansion, consent to reside in
it _one month_;—in winter, not one _night_!

-----

The account given to us of her last moments, by the master of the house, was very affecting: he likewise thought she was poor, and offered her the use of money, which offer was of course declined. Nevertheless, he said, he always considered her apparent poverty, and a magnificent diamond ring which she wore, as quite incompatible, and to him inexplicable. I have happened to learn since that she gave four hundred guineas for that superb ring. She had also with her, as I heard, many other valuable trinkets; and on her death, seals were put upon all her effects, which I understand still remain unclaimed.

From the time of her arrival at St. Cloud, it appears, Mrs. Jordan had exhibited the most restless anxiety for intelligence from England. Every post gave rise to increased solicitude, and every letter she received seemed to have a different effect on her feelings. Latterly she appeared more anxious and miserable than usual: her uneasiness increased almost momentarily, and her skin became wholly discoloured. From morning till night she lay sighing upon her sofa.

At length an interval of some posts occurred during which she received no answers to her letters, and her consequent anxiety, my informant said, seemed too great for mortal strength to bear up against. On the morning of her death this impatient feeling reached its crisis. The agitation was almost fearful: her eyes were now restless, now fixed; her motion rapid and unmeaning; and her whole manner seemed to bespeak the attack of some convulsive paroxysm. She eagerly requested Mr. C * * *, _before_ the usual hour of delivery, to _go for her letters_ to the post. On his return, she started up and held out her hand, as if impatient to receive them. He told her _there were none_. She stood a moment motionless; looked toward him with a vacant stare; held out her hand again, as if by an involuntary action; instantly withdrew it, and sank back upon the sofa from which she had arisen. He left the room to send up her attendant, who however had gone out, and Mr. C * * * returned himself to Mrs. Jordan. On his return, he observed some change in her looks that alarmed him: she spoke not a word, but gazed at him steadfastly. She wept not—no tear flowed: her face was one moment flushed—another livid: she sighed deeply, and her heart seemed bursting. Mr. C * * * stood uncertain what to do: but in a minute he heard her breath drawn more hardly, and as it were sobbingly. He was now thoroughly terrified: he hastily approached the sofa, and leaning over the unfortunate lady, discovered that those _deep-drawn sobs_ had immediately preceded the moment of Mrs. Jordan’s dissolution. She was already no more!

Thus terminated the worldly career of a woman at the very head of her profession, and one of the best-hearted of her sex! Thus did she expire, after a life of celebrity and magnificence, in exile and solitude, and literally of _a broken heart_! She was buried by Mr. Forster, now chaplain to the ambassador.

Our informant told this little story with a feeling which evidently was not affected. The French have a mode of narrating even trivial matters with gesticulation and detail, whereby they are impressed on your memory. The slightest incident they repeat with emphasis; and on this occasion Mr. C * * * completed his account without any of those digressions in which his countrymen so frequently indulge.

Several English friends at Paris, a few years ago, entered into a determination to remove Mrs. Jordan’s body to Père la Chaise, and place a marble over her grave. The subscription, had the plan been proceeded in, would have been ample; but some (I think rather mistaken) ideas of delicacy at that time suspended its execution. As it is, I believe I may say, “Not a stone tells where she lies!”

MEMORY.

Diversity of the author’s pursuits—Superficial acquirements contrasted
with solid—Variety and change of study conducive to health—Breeding
ideas—How to avoid _ennui_—The principles of memory and fear—The
author’s theory respecting the former, and his motive for its
introduction.

My pursuits from my earliest days have been (right or wrong) all of my own selection: some of them were rather of a whimsical character; others merely adopted _pour passer le temps_; a few of a graver and more solid cast. (The law was an _indispensable_ one.) On the whole, I believe I may boast that few persons, if any, of similar standing in society adopted a greater variety of occupations than myself.

The truth is, I never suffered my mind to _stagnate_ one moment; and unremittingly sought to bring it so far under my own controul, as to be enabled to turn its energies at all times, promptly and without difficulty, from the lightest pursuits to the most serious business, and vice versâ; and, for the time being, to occupy it exclusively on a single subject. These are the arts of managing thought; a person who can do such things is never _bilious_!

My _system_ (if such it may be called) led me to a dabbling in sciences, arts, and literature—just sufficient to feed my intellect with varieties, and keep my mind busy and afloat without being overloaded: thus, I dipped irregularly into numerous elementary treatises, embracing a great variety of subjects—among which, even theology, chemistry, physic, anatomy, architecture, the trades and mechanical arts, (to say nothing of politics) were included. In a word, I looked into every species of publication I could lay my hands on; and I never have been honoured by one second of _ennui_, or felt a propensity to an hour’s _languor_ during my existence except when I was actually sick. My _mind_ is never disordered, and my brain having plenty of occupation, I never had _time_ to go _mad_!

This fanciful—the reader may, if he pleases, say superficial and frivolous species of learning and self-employment, would, I doubt not, be scouted with contempt by learned LL. Ds., Bachelors of Arts, Fellows of Colleges, Wranglers at Universities, &c. These gentlemen very properly saturate their capacities with more _solid_ stuff, each imbibing, even to the dregs, one or two dignified, substantial sciences, garnished with dead languages, and served up to their pupils with a proper seasoning of pedantry and importance. Thus they enjoy the gratification of being wiser in _something_ than their neighbours, without much troubling their organs of _variety_; a plan, I readily admit, more appropriate to learning and philosophy, and perhaps more useful to others: but at the same time, I contend that mine (and I speak with the experience of a very long life) is conducive in a greater degree to pleasure, to health, to happiness; and I shrewdly suspect far more _convenient_ to the greater number of capacities.

A certain portion of external and internal variety, like change of air, keeps the animal functions in due activity, while it renders the mind supple and elastic, and more capable of accommodating itself with promptitude to those difficult and trying circumstances into which the vicissitudes of life may plunge it. I admire and respect solid learning; but even a _superficial_ knowledge of a _variety_ of subjects tends to excite that inexhaustible succession of thoughts which, at hand on every emergency, gives tone and vigour both to the head and heart, (not infrequently excluding more unwelcome visitors,) and is a decided and triumphant enemy to hanging, drowning, shooting, cutting of throats, and every other species of suicide except that which so frequently originates from being _too rich_—a _misfortune_ which seldom falls to the lot of persons who follow the _system_ I have recommended. I do really think, that if a very rich man, who meditated suicide, would for one moment reflect what sincere pleasure his heirs, executors, administrators, and personal representatives (probably his wife and children) would derive from his dangling from the ceiling, he would lock up his rope and become vastly more hospitable.

All my life I perceived the advantage of _breeding ideas_: the brain can never be too populous, so long as you keep its inhabitants in that wholesome state of discipline, that _they_ are under _your_ command, not _you_ under _theirs_; and, above all things, never suffer a mob of them to come jostling each other in your head at the same time: keep them as distinct as possible, or it is a hundred to one they will make a blockhead of you at last.

From this habit it has ensued that the longest day is always too short for me. If in tranquil mood, I find my ideas as playful as kittens; if chagrined, consolatory fancies are never wanting. When a man can send the five orders of architecture to build castles in the firmament, of any shape, size or materials he may fancy, and furnish it accordingly, I think a permanent state of melancholy quite unnecessary. Should I grow weary of thoughts relating to the present, my memory carries me back fifty or sixty years with equal politeness and activity; and never ceases shifting time, place, and person, till it lights on some matter more agreeable.

I had naturally _very_ feeble sight: at fifty years of age, to my extreme surprise, I found it had strengthened so much as to render the continued use of spectacles unnecessary; and now I can peruse the smallest print without any glass, and can write a hand so minute, that I know several elderly gentlemen of my own decimal who cannot conquer it even with their reading-glasses. For general use I remark, that I have found my sight more confused by poring for a given length of time over _one_ book, than in double that time when shifting from one print to another, and changing the place I sat in, and of course the _quality of light and reflection_: to a neglect of such precautions I attribute many of the weak and near visions so common with book-worms.

But another quality of inestimable value which I did and still do possess, thank Heaven! in a degree which, at my time of life, if not supernatural, is not very far from it—is a memory of the most wide-ranging powers: its retrospect is astonishing to myself, and has wonderfully increased since my necessary application to a single science has been dispensed with. The recollection of one early incident of our lives never fails to introduce another; and the marked occurrences of my life from childhood to the wrong side of a grand climacteric are at this moment fresh in my memory, in all their natural tints, as at the instant of their occurrence.

Without awarding any extraordinary merit either to the brain, or to those human organs generally regarded as the seat of recollection, or rather _retention_ of ideas, I think this fact may be accounted for in a much simpler way—more on _philosophical_ than on _organic_ principles. I do not insist on my theory being a true one; but as it is, like Touchstone’s forest-treasure, “my own,” I like it, and am content to hold by it “for better, for worse.”

The two qualities of the human mind with which we are most strongly endowed in childhood are those of fear and memory; both of which accompany us throughout all our worldly peregrinations—with this difference, that with age the one generally declines, while the other increases.

The mind has a tablet whereon Memory begins to engrave occurrences even in our earliest days, and which in old age is full of her handy-work, so that there is no room for any more inscriptions. Hence old people recollect occurrences long past better than those of more recent date; and though an old person can faithfully recount the exploits of his schoolfellows, he will scarcely recollect what he himself was doing the day before yesterday.

It is also observable that the recollection, at an advanced period, of the incidents of childhood, does not require that extent of memory which at first sight may appear essential; neither is it necessary to bound at once over the wide gulf of life between sixty years and three.

Memory results from a _connected_ sequence of thought and observation: so that intervening occurrences draw up the recollection as it were to preceding ones, and thus each fresh-excited act of _remembrance_ in fact operates as a new _incident_. When a person recollects well (as one is apt to do) a correction which he received in his childhood, or whilst a schoolboy, he probably owes his recollection not to the whipping, but to the _name of the book_ which he was whipped for neglecting; and whenever the book is occasionally mentioned, the _whipping_ is recalled, revived, and perpetuated in the memory.

I once received a correction at school, when learning prosody, for falsely pronouncing the word _semisopitus_; and though this was between fifty and sixty years ago, I have never since heard prosody mentioned but I have recollected that word, and had the schoolmaster and his rod clearly before my eyes. I even recollect _the very leaf_ of the book whereon the word was printed. Every time I look into a book of poetry, I must of course think of prosody, and prosody suggests _semisopitus_, and brings before me, on the instant, the scene of my disgrace.

This one example is sufficient for my theory, and proves also the advantage of breeding ideas, since, the more links to a chain, the farther it reaches.

The faculty of memory varies in individuals almost as much as their features. One man may recollect names, dates, pages, numbers, admirably, who does not well remember incidents or anecdotes; and a linguist will retain fifty thousand words, not one-tenth part of which a wit can bury any depth in his recollection.

This admission may tend to excite doubts and arguments against the general application of my theory: but I aim not at making proselytes; indeed I have only said thus much to anticipate observations which may naturally be made respecting the extent to which my memory has carried the retention of bygone circumstances, and to allay the scepticism which might perhaps otherwise follow.

POLITICAL CONDUCT OF THE AUTHOR.

Letter from the author to Mr. Burne, relating to the political conduct
of the former at the period of the Union—Extracts from letters written
to the author by Lord Westmoreland—General reflections on the
political condition of Ireland at the present time—Hint toward the
revival of a curious old statute—Clerical justices—The king in
Ireland—The Corporation of Dublin—The “Glorious Memory”—Catholics and
Protestants—Mischievous virulence of party feeling.

The introduction of the following letter and extracts (though somewhat digressive from my original intention in compiling this work) is important to me, notwithstanding they relate to times so long past by; inasmuch as certain recent calumnies assiduously propagated against me demanded at my hands a justification of my conduct toward government at the period of the Union. With this view the letter in question was written to my friend Mr. Burne, whom I requested to communicate its contents to my connexions in Dublin, or indeed to any person who might have been prejudiced against me by those aspersions. Having, however, reason to fear that only a very partial circulation of my letter took place, I have adopted this opportunity of giving it full publicity by mixing it up with these sketches:—

“Paris, Rue de Richelieu, 2nd May, 1825.

“My dear Friend,

“I am well aware that the reports you mention as to my
‘having broken trust with the government in the years 1799 and
1800’ had been at one period most freely circulated: but I could
scarcely suppose the same would be again and lately revived, to
do me injury on a very important concern. This has not been
altogether without its operation, and I feel it a duty to myself
unequivocally to refute such imputation. The fact is proved in
few words:—I _could_ not break my trust with the government, for
I _never accepted any trust_ from them. I never entered into any
stipulation or political engagement with _any_ government; and
every public act which I did—every instance of support which I
gave, resulted from my own free agency and unbiassed judgment.

“My first return to parliament, in the year 1790, for the city
of Tuam, was altogether _at my own expense_. I had before
stood a contested election for Ballynakill, formerly my
father’s borough. I was under no tie nor obligation to the
government: I had not then, nor have I ever had, any patron; I
never, in fact, solicited patronage: I never submitted to the
dictation of any man in my life: my connexion with government
therefore was my own choice, and the consequent support I gave
to Lord Westmoreland’s administration of my own freewill. I
liked Lord Buckinghamshire (Major Hobart) individually, and
lived much in his society: I respected Lord Westmoreland
highly, and he has always been very obliging to me during a
period of seven-and-thirty years whenever he had an
opportunity. During his administration I accepted office; and
on his recall, he recommended Lord Camden to return me to
parliament. Mr. Pelham did so for the city of Clogher; but
made no sort of _terms_ with me, _directly or indirectly_. In
the autumn of 1798 Mr. Cooke wrote to me, and I had two
interviews with him; on the second, I found that a Union would
probably be submitted to parliament; and I promptly replied,
that I must decline all further support to any government
which should propose so destructive a measure, at the same
time tendering my seat. He replied, ‘That I should think
_better_ of it.’

“Lord Cornwallis came over to carry this great measure; and I
opposed him, Lord Castlereagh, and the Union, in every stage of
the business, and by every means in my power, both in and out of
parliament. Lord Cornwallis was defeated: he tried again;—Lord
Castlereagh had purchased or packed a small majority in the
interval, and the bill was carried. In January, 1800, I received
a letter from Lord Westmoreland, stating that as Clogher had
been a government seat, he doubted if I could in honour retain
it. I had already made up my mind to resign it when required. I
mentioned the subject to Mr. Forster, the speaker, who thought I
was _not_ bound to resign; however, I acceded to the suggestion
of Lord Westmoreland, and accepted an escheatorship. But no
office in his Majesty’s gift—no power, no _deprivation_, would
have ever induced me to support the Union.

“I stood, at my own expense, a very hard-contested election for
Maryborough, Queen’s County, in which I was supported by Sir
Robert Staples, Mr. Cosby of Stradbally Hall, Dean Walsh,
Colonel Pigot, Mr. Warburton, (member for the county,) the
Honourable Robert Moore, (against his brother, the Marquess of
Drogheda,) &c., and by the tenantry of the present Lord
Maryborough. I was outvoted by a majority of three, the scale
being turned against me by Lord Castlereagh, who sent down Lord
Norbury, the crown solicitor, and several such-like gentry for
the purpose. With that election my political career concluded:
but I am happy and proud to state that, at its termination, I
retained the confidence and esteem of every body whose
friendship I considered it desirable to retain. Lord
Westmoreland bears the most unexceptionable testimony to my
straightforward conduct: I have been honoured by his friendship,
without intermission, down to the present day; and the following
extracts from his lordship’s letters to me, wherein he states
his desire to bear witness to my strict conduct in my
transactions with government, form the best refutal of all these
calumnies against me.

“Since the period of my retirement from public life two of my
then most intimate friends (namely, the present Chief Justice
Bush and the present Attorney-general Plunkett) have succeeded
beyond their most sanguine expectations, yet certainly not
beyond their just merits. No government could pass such men by,
at the bar, if they chose to claim offices. They took the same,
and as strong an anti-Union part as I did; but, after the Union,
my public pursuits were nearly at an end. Ireland lost all
charms for me; the parliament (the source of all my pride,
ambition, and gratification as a public man) had been bought and
sold; I felt myself as if nobody,—became languid, careless, and
indifferent to every thing. I was no longer in fact in my proper
sphere: my health rapidly declined; and I neither sought for nor
would have accepted any other government office in Ireland.

“Most of these facts, my dear Burne, you have been long
acquainted with; and this is solely a recapitulation of some
circumstances which I have no other means of making generally
known. You will use it as you think may best serve me; and it
only remains for me to repeat, what you already know, that I am
most sincerely

“Yours ever,
“JONAH BARRINGTON.

“John Burne, Esq., K. C.
“Merrion-square.”

Extracts of letters from the Earl of Westmoreland to Sir Jonah Barrington (enclosed to Mr. Burne):—

“London, March 28th, 1795.

“My dear Sir,

* * * * * “I shall always be obliged to you whenever you will
have the goodness to let me know what is going on on your side
of the water, wherein I am convinced you will always bear a very
considerable part. I must at the same time assure you that no
man’s name is more in public repute than your own.

“Lord Camden left town this morning, and I have not failed to
assure him of your talents and spirit, which were so useful to
my government on many occasions; and which, as I am satisfied he
will find equally so, so is he equally disposed, I believe, to
give them that countenance they deserve.

* * * * *

“The state of Ireland since I left you is most wonderful, but
the reign of faction seems drawing to a close.

“I beg to be remembered to all friends, and am,

“Dear Sir, yours very faithfully,
“WESTMORELAND.

“To Jonah Barrington, Esq., one of His
“Majesty’s Counsel at Law, &c. &c.
“Merrion-square, Dublin.”

Much correspondence took place between his lordship and me after that period, in which he was always equally kind.[38] Indeed, in that kindness he never varied; and after knowing me seven-and-thirty years, (the most important of all revolutions having during that interval taken place in Ireland,) and after I had directly and diametrically opposed, in parliament and out of it, his lordship’s opinion and acts upon that great question;—the following extract of another letter from the same nobleman (dated 1817) proves that he never has changed his opinion of my honourable conduct toward the king’s government, (and permits me to state his approbation of that conduct,) every part of which he must have well known; since he had been, with very little intermission, a member of the British cabinet during the entire period.

-----

Footnote 38:

He proposed, and superficially effected, a reconciliation between me
and Lord Castlereagh: it had no good practical effect for me, but
occasioned a very important episode in my history, which I may
hereafter mention, though not in the present work.

-----

(Abstract.)

“Paris, 19th August, 1817.

“Dear Sir,

* * * * *

* * * * “I have enclosed you a letter of introduction to Sir C.
Stuart, and will certainly speak to him as you wish, and shall
have great pleasure if it should prove of any convenience to you
or your family: and I assure you I have _always_ much
satisfaction in giving my testimony to the honourable manner in
which you have always conducted yourself in the political
relations wherein you have stood with me.

“I am your very faithful servant,
“WESTMORELAND.”

I also added the following, by way of postscript, to my explanatory letter to Mr. Burne:—

“I think, my dear Burne, that after these testimonials, he must
be a daring enemy who will reassert the calumnies against me. I
apprehend that few public men can show more decided proofs of
honour and consistency than I, in the fair and disinterested
conduct I displayed when I found it necessary to oppose the
government. I must also observe, on a principle of gratitude,
that throughout the whole course of my public life I have
uniformly experienced from the government and ministers of
_England_, (let me here particularise Lord Stowell,) at all
times and on all occasions, whether supporting or opposing them,
the greatest kindness, justice, and considerate attention;
together with a much greater interest, in any concerns of mine
submitted to them, than I could possibly have conceived, much
less have expected.

“But his Majesty’s public functionaries in _Ireland_ were men of
a different bearing: after the _surveillance_ of a local
parliament was extinguished, the country was, as it were, given
over to them, bound hand and foot, and they at once assumed new
powers, which before they durst not even have aimed at. Every
grade of public functionaries bounded above their station; and
brevet rank was no longer confined to military officers. I
possess much knowledge respecting some of them, of the
communication of which they are not aware; and I am not inclined
to permit certain individuals to go down to their graves without
hearing my observations. When the proper time arrives I shall
not be silent.

“Again, dear Burne, yours,
“J. BARRINGTON.”