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 Lytt
on 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.
The hotel was a mere stop-gap, and the Blessingtons settled down in a house belonging to the Marquis de Lillers, which had once been the residence of Marshal Ney; it was situated in the Rue de Bourbon, the principal rooms giving on the Seine and commanding a view over the Tuileries’ gardens. The sumptuous scale of the decorations is typified by those of the bathroom, where the bath of marble was sunk in a tessellated pavement, and over it swung an alabaster lamp hanging from the beak of a dove, the ceiling being painted with Cupids and flowers; the walls were panelled alternately with mirrors and allegorical groups. Furniture, equally luxurious, was hired—dark crimson carpets with golden borders, crimson satin curtains also bordered in gold, sofas and chairs upholstered in crimson satin and richly gilded, gilt consoles, buhl cabinets, a multitude of mirrors; a veritable orgy of gold and glitter. But all else was surpassed by the Blessington’s chambre à coucher and her dressing-room, which she found to be exquisite, at any rate, to her taste: the silvered bedstead was supported on the backs of two large silver swans, the recess in which it stood being lined with white fluted silk, bordered with blue lace; pale blue curtains, lined with white, closed in its sanctity. There was a silvered sofa, rich coffers for jewels and for lace, a pale blue carpet, a lamp of silver … “a more tasteful or elegant suite of apartments cannot be imagined!” For the housing of beauty and virtue what more fitting than silver, white and light blue? “Chastely beautiful,” so said its owner. Then, Heaven commend us to the unchaste.
Gaiety was the order of the day, as it ever was when Lady Blessington and D’Orsay were in command; drives in the Bois de Boulogne with the Duchesse de Guiche; evenings at Madame Crawford’s, whom Lady Blessington describes as gifted with “all the naïveté of a child. She possesses a quick perception of character and a freshness of feeling rarely found in a person of her advanced age.” Here is a truly touching family group at a leave-taking breakfast: “It was touching to behold Madame Crawford kissing again and again her grandchildren and great-grand-children, the tears streaming down her cheeks, and the venerable Duc de Grammont, scarcely less moved, embracing his son and daughter-in-law, and exhorting the latter to take care of her health, while the dear little Ida, his grand-daughter, not yet two years old, patted his cheek, and smiled in his face.” Doubtless Madame Crawford was not a little proud of her gallant D’Orsay; we wonder what opinion, if any, she formed of his bride, and whether she congratulated her on marrying the grandson of a king?
Among other places of interest to which expeditions were made none can have come more closely home to the heart of Lady Blessington than D’Orsay, the fortified château of the family with which she was now so closely connected.
Two letters written by members of the party to Landor are interesting, not only as showing the terms of friendship between the writers and the recipient. The first was from Blessington, dated 14th July:—
“Oh! it is an age, my dear Landor, since I thought of having determined to write. My first idea was to defend Vavaseur,[5] but the book was lent to one friend or another, and always out of the way when the pen was in hand. My second inclination was, to inquire after you and yours; but I knew that you were not fond of corresponding, so that sensation passed away. And now my third is to tell you that Lady B. has taken an apartment in the late residence of Marshal Ney, and wishes much that some whim, caprice, or other impelling power, should transform you across the Alps, and give her the pleasure of again seeing you. Here we have been nearly five weeks, and, unlike Italy and its suns, we have no remembrance of the former, but in the rolling of the thunder; and when we see the latter, we espy at the same time the threatening clouds on the horizon. To balance or assist such pleasure, we have an apartment bien décoré with Jardin de Tuileries en face, and our apartment being at the corner, we have the double advantage of all the row, from morn till night. Diligences and fiacres—coachmen cracking their whips, stallions neighing—carts with empty wine-barrels—all sorts of discordant music, and all sorts of cries, songs, and the jingling of bells.…”
The second letter is from D’Orsay, who dates his note 4th September, and writes from the Hôtel Ney:—
“
J’ai reçu, mon cher M. Landor, votre lettre. Elle nous a fait le plus grand plaisir. Vous devriez être plus que convaincu que j’apprécirois particulièrement une lettre de vous, mais il paroit que notre intimité de Florence ne compte pour rien à vos yeux, si vous doutez du plaisir que vos nouvelles doivent produire dans notre intérieur. Sitôt que je recevrai les tableaux je ferai votre commission avec exactitude. Je desirerois bien que vous veniez à Paris, car nous avons de belles choses à vous montrer; surtout en fait de tableaux. A propos de cela, je vous envoye ci joint le portrait du Prince Borghése que vous trouverez j’espère ressemblant.… Nous parlons et pensons souvent de vous, il est assez curieux que vous soyez en odeur de sainteté dans cette famille, car il me semble que ce n’est pas la chose dont nous vous piquiez particulièrement d’être. Lady B. et toutes nos dames vous envoye mille amitiés, et moi je ne fais que renouveller l’assurance de la sincérité de la mienne. Votre très affectionné,
“D’Orsay.”
Of a visit to the opera this is a pleasant reminiscence:—“Went to the Opera last night, where I saw the début of the new danseuse Taglioni. Hers is a totally new style of dancing; graceful beyond all comparison, wonderful lightness, an absence of all violent effort, or at least of the appearance of it, and a modesty as new as it is delightful to witness in her art.… The Duc de Gazes, who came into the Duchesse de Guiche’s box, was enthusiastic in his praises of Mademoiselle Taglioni, and said hers was the most poetical style of dancing he had even seen. Another observed that it was indeed the poetry of motion. I would describe it as the epic of dancing,” a not very brilliant remark for a woman of reputed wit.
D'Orsay / or, The complete dandy Page 6