D'Orsay / or, The complete dandy

by W. Teignmouth Shore

  The wilds of Ireland, however, were not a fitting stage for one so ambitious to charm as was Lady Blessington, so after a short sojourn in Tyrone she and her husband returned to London, where they took up their residence at 10 St James’ Square, a house that had been dignified by the occupancy of Chatham and was to be by that of Gladstone.

  Lady Blessington was as blest as was to be the Duke of Leeds’ bride, of whom the rhyme ran:—

  “She shall have all that’s fine and fair,

  And the best of silk and satin shall wear;

  And ride in a coach to take the air,

  And have a house in St James’ Square.”

  The mansion was fitted and furnished in a style that only great wealth could afford or ill taste admire.

  Lady Blessington with her “gorgeous charms” set the one-half of London society raving about her beauty and her extravagance; the other half avoided the company of a lady with so speckled a past.

  There were at that time two great salons in London: the one at Holland House to which wit, beauty and respectability resorted; the second being at Lady Blessington’s house, to which only wit and beauty were attracted. Among the constant visitors to the latter may be named Canning, Castlereagh, who lived a few doors off; Brougham, Jekyll, Rogers, Moore, Kemble, Mathews the elder, Lawrence, Wilkie. Moore records a visit paid by him in May 1822, accompanied by Washington Irving. He speaks of Lady Blessington as growing “very absurd.”

  “I have felt very melancholy and ill all this day,” she said.

  “Why is that?” Moore asked, doubtless with becoming sympathy in his voice and manner.

  “Don’t you know?”

  “No.”

  “It is the anniversary of my poor Napoleon’s death.”

  Joseph Jekyll, who was well known in society as a wit and teller of good stories and to his family as a writer of capital letters, was born in 1754, dying in 1837. It is quite startling to find him writing casually in 1829 of having talked with “Dr” Goldsmith; how close this brings long past times; there are those alive who met D’Orsay, who in turn knew Jekyll, who talked with Goldsmith. Jerdan speaks of Jekyll as having “a somewhat Voltaire-like countenance, and a flexible person and agreeable voice.”

  He was a great hand at dining-out, though it distressed him to meet other old folk, whom he unkindly dubbed “Methusalems.”

  In November 1821, he writes: “London still dreary enough; but I have dinners with judges and lawyers—nay, yesterday with the divine bit of blue, Lady Blessington and her comical Earl. I made love and Mathews (the elder) was invited to make faces.”

  And in the February of the succeeding year, he records another visit to St James’ Square:—

  “London is by no means yet a desert. Lately we had a grand dinner at Lord Blessington’s, who has transmogrified Sir T. Heathcote’s ground floor into a vast apartment, and bedizened it with black and gold like an enormous coffin. We had the Speaker, Lord Thanet, Sir T. Lawrence.…” etc.

  In June 1822 we find Blessington in quite unexpected company and engaged upon matters that would scarcely have seemed likely to appeal to him. On the first of that month a meeting was held of the British and Foreign Philanthropic Society, of which the object was “to carry into effect measures for the permanent relief of the labouring classes, by communities for mutual interest and co-operation, in which, by means of education, example and employment, they will be gradually withdrawn from the evils induced by ignorance, bad habits, poverty and want of employment.” Robert Owen was the moving spirit of the Society, and the membership was highly distinguished, including among other unforgotten names those of Brougham, John Galt and Sir James Graham. At a meeting at Freemasons’ Hall, Blessington was entrusted with the reading of a report by the committee, in which it was recommended that communities should be established on Owen’s wildly visionary plan. The meeting was enthusiastic, much money was promised, and—history does not record anything further of the Society.

  * * *

  III

  MARS AND VENUS

  In France—a youthful son of Mars; in England—Venus at her zenith.

  D’Orsay paid his first visit to London in 1821, as the guest of the Duc de Guiche, to whom his sister, Ida, was married. De Guiche, son of the Duc de Grammont, had been one of the many “emigrants” of high family who had sought and had found in England shelter from the tempest of the Revolution, and had shown his gratitude for hospitality received by serving in the 10th Hussars during the Peninsular War.

  Landor, writing some twenty years later, says: “The Duc de Guiche is the handsomest man I ever saw. What poor animals other men seem in the presence of him and D’Orsay. He is also full of fun, of anecdote, of spirit and of information.”

  Gronow describes him as speaking English perfectly, and as “quiet in manner, and a most chivalrous, high-minded and honourable man. His complexion was very dark, with crisp black hair curling close to his small, well-shaped head. His features were regular and somewhat aquiline; his eyes, large, dark and beautiful; and his manner, voice, and smile were considered by the fair sex to be perfectly irresistible”; concluding, “the most perfect gentleman I ever met with in any country.”

  So we may take it that D’Orsay did not feel that he was visiting a land with which he had not any tie of sympathy.

  His sister Ida was a year older than himself, or, to put it more gallantly, a year less young, and bore to him a strong likeness in appearance but not in disposition—fortunately for her husband. Her good looks were supported by good sense.

  William Archer Shee describes the Duchesse de Guiche as “a blonde, with blue eyes, fair hair, a majestic figure, an exquisite complexion.…”

  In those golden days the adornment of a handsome person with ultra-fashionable clothes did not qualify a man as a dandy. Much more was demanded. It was, therefore, no small feather in D’Orsay’s cap that he came to London an unknown young man, was seen, and by his very rivals at once acknowledged as a conqueror. His youth, his handsome face, his debonairness, his wit, were irresistible. Everywhere, even at Holland House, he made a good impression. He rode in Hyde Park perfectly “turned out,” the admired of those who were accustomed to receive, not to give, admiration. At a ball at the French Embassy where all the lights of fashionable society shone in a brilliant galaxy, he was a centre of attraction “with his usual escort of dandies.”

  St James’s Square in 1812

  [TO FACE PAGE 36

  At the Blessingtons’ he was a favoured guest. Gronow, discreetly naming no names, writes of the “unfortunate circumstances which entangled the Count as with a fatal web from early youth”; surely a poorly prosaic way of describing the romantic love of a young man for a beautiful woman only twelve years his senior?

  As Grantley Berkeley puts it: “The young Count made a most favourable impression where-ever he appeared; but nowhere did it pierce so deep or so lasting as in the heart of his charming hostess of the magnificent conversaziones, soirées, dinners, balls, breakfasts and suppers, that followed each other in rapid succession in that brilliant mansion in St James’ Square.”

  Grantley Berkeley also says: “At his first visit to England, he was pre-eminently handsome; and, as he dressed fashionably, was thoroughly accomplished, and gifted with superior intelligence, he became a favourite with both sexes. He had the reputation of being a lady-killer … and his pure classical features, his accomplishments, and irreproachable get-up, were sure to be the centre of attraction, whether in the Park or dining-room.”

  Then of later times: “He used to ride pretty well to hounds, and joined the hunting men at Melton; but his style was rather that of the riding-school than of the hunting-field.…

  “In dress he was more to the front; indeed, the name of D’Orsay was attached by tailors to any kind of raiment, till Vestris tried to turn the Count into ridicule. Application was made to his tailor for a coat made exactly after the Count’s pattern. The man sent notice of it to his patron, asking whether he sho
uld supply the order, and the answer being in the affirmative, the garment was made and sent home. No doubt D’Orsay imagined that some enthusiastic admirer had in this way sought to testify his appreciation; but, on going to the Olympic Theatre to witness a new piece, he had the gratification of seeing his coat worn by Liston as a burlesque of himself.” This “take-off” did not please D’Orsay, who withdrew his patronage from the Olympic and appeared no more in the green-room which he had been wont to frequent. But the town, which had caught wind of the joke, was delighted, and roared with merriment.

  Is there a hidden reference to D’Orsay’s visit and possibly even to Lady Blessington in these lines from “Don Juan”?

  “No marvel then he was a favourite;

  A full-grown Cupid, very much admired;

  A little spoilt, but by no means so quite;

  At least he kept his vanity retired.

  Such was his tact, he could alike delight

  The chaste, and those who are not so much inspired.

  The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke, who loved ‘tracasserie,’

  Began to treat him with some small ‘agacerie.’

  “She was a fine and somewhat full-blown blonde,

  Desirable, distinguished, celebrated

  For several winters in the grand grand monde.

  I’d rather not say what might be related

  Of her exploits, for this were ticklish ground.…”

  At a later date we find Byron describing the Count to Tom Moore as one “who has all the air of a cupidon déchainé, and is one of the few specimens I have ever seen of our ideal of a Frenchman before the Revolution.”

  Also at that later date (1823), when he met D’Orsay at Genoa with the Blessingtons, Byron was lent by Blessington a journal which the Count had written during this first visit of his to London. When returning it, he writes, on 5th April:—

  “My Dear Lord,—How is your gout? or rather how are you? I return the Count d’Orsay’s journal, which is a very extraordinary production, and of a most melancholy truth in all that regards high life in England. I know, or knew personally, most of the personages and societies which he describes; and after reading his remarks, have the sensation fresh upon me as if I had seen them yesterday. I would, however, plead in behalf of some few exceptions, which I will mention by and bye. The most singular thing is, how he should have penetrated not the facts, but the mystery of English ennui, at two-and-twenty.[2] I was about the same age when I made the same discovery, in almost precisely the same circles—for there is scarcely a person whom I did not see nightly or daily, and was acquainted more or less intimately with most of them—but I never could have discovered it so well, Il faut être Français to effect this. But he ought also to have seen the country during the hunting season, with ‘a select party of distinguished guests,’ as the papers term it. He ought to have seen the gentlemen after dinner (on the hunting days), and the soirée ensuing thereupon—and the women looking as if they had hunted, or rather been hunted; and I could have wished that he had been at a dinner in town, which I recollect at Lord Cowper’s—small, but select, and composed of the most amusing people.… Altogether, your friend’s journal is a very formidable production. Alas! our dearly-beloved countrymen have only discovered that they are tired, and not that they are tiresome; and I suspect that the communication of the latter unpleasant verity will not be better received than truths usually are. I have read the whole with great attention and instruction—I am too good a patriot to say pleasure—at least I won’t say so, whatever I may think.… I beg that you will thank the young philosopher.…”

  A few days later—how pleasing it is to find one great writer openly admiring another and a younger!—Byron writes to D’Orsay himself:—

  “My Dear Count d’Orsay (if you will permit me to address you so familiarly)—you should be content with writing in your own language, like Grammont, and succeeding in London as nobody has succeeded since the days of Charles the Second, and the records of Antonio Hamilton, without deviating into our barbarous language—which you understand and write, however, much better than it deserves. ‘My approbation,’ as you are pleased to term it, was very sincere, but perhaps not very impartial; for, though I love my country, I do not love my countrymen—at least, such as they now are. And besides the seduction of talent and wit in your work, I fear that to me there was the attraction of vengeance. I have seen and felt much of what you have described so well … the portraits are so like that I cannot but admire the painter no less than his performance. But I am sorry for you; for if you are so well acquainted with life at your age, what will become of you when the illusion is still more dissipated?”

  It is much to be regretted that this vivacious journal has never seen the light of publicity; there must have been considerable interest in a piece of writing which so greatly attracted and excited the admiration of Byron; but even more important, its pages would have helped to the understanding of D’Orsay and have brought us closer to him in these his young days. Further, a view of English society at that date by a candid Frenchman must have been highly entertaining. D’Orsay, apparently having changed his mind with regard to persons and things, or fearing that the publication of so scathing an indictment might savour of ingratitude toward those who had entertained him with kindness, consigned to the flames this “very formidable production” of his ebullient days of youth. Another account is that it was destroyed by his sister.

  In 1822 D’Orsay tore himself away from the enchantments of London and bade farewell to the beautiful enchantress of St James’ Square.

  * * *

  IV

  THE PRIMROSE PATH

  In November 1822, D’Orsay again met Lady Blessington.

  Apparently it was at Blessington’s express desire that the house in St James’ Square was shut up; its glories were dimmed with holland sheetings; the mirrors that had reflected so much of youth and love and beauty were covered; the windows that had so often shone with hospitable lights were shuttered and barred. On 25th August a start was made on a Continental tour. Blessington was satiated with the turmoil of pleasures that London afforded, satiety held him in its bitter grasp. He had exhausted the wild joys of the life of a man about town; he was still thirsty for enjoyment, but the accustomed draughts no longer quenched his thirst. It was bluntly said by one that he was “prematurely impaired in mental energies.” Whether that were or were not the case, judging by his conduct during the remainder of his life he must have lost all sense of honour and of social decency.

  To the party of two a third member was added in the person of Lady Blessington’s youngest sister, Mary Anne Power, a woman pretty in a less full-blown style than her sister, which caused her to be likened to a primrose set beside a peach blossom. Lady Blessington, who for herself preferred Marguerite to Margaret, renamed her sister Marianne. In 1831 Marianne married the Comte de St Marsault, but the union was disastrously unhappy. The Comte was an aged gentleman of ancient lineage, and his wintriness blighted the poor primrose.

  The tourists travelled in great style by Dover, Calais, Rouen, St Germain-en-Laye, and so on to Paris. At St Germain Lady Blessington’s thoughts naturally turned toward the unhallowed fortunes of the La Pompadour and du Barry. She pondered over the curious fact that decency does in social estimation take from vice half its sting, and over the coarseness displayed by Louis XV. in choosing his mistresses from outside the ranks of the ladies of his Court, rendering the refinement of Louis XIV. virtuous by contrast. She very truly says—and what better judge could we wish for upon such a point than she?—“A true morality would be disposed to consider the courtly splendour attached to the loves of Louis XIV. as the more demoralising example of the two, from being the less disgusting.”

  In Paris they halted for some days, meeting among other distinguished men with the volatile Tom Moore, whom Lady Blessington hits off with the singular felicity and simplicity of language that distinguishes her literary style. She found him to be of “a happy temperament, t
hat conveys the idea of having never lived out of sunshine, and his conversation reminds one of the evolutions of some bird of gorgeous plumage, each varied hue of which becomes visible as he carelessly sports in the air.”

  Lady Blessington’s birthday, September 1st, was celebrated during this visit to Paris, and she tells us that after a woman has passed the age of thirty the recurrence of birthdays is not a matter for congratulation, concluding with the striking remark: “Youth is like health, we never value the possession of either until they have begun to decline.”

  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.