D'Orsay / or, The complete dandy

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D'Orsay / or, The complete dandy Page 15

by W. Teignmouth Shore


  And this message in another letter to Lady Blessington, written in the following year:—

  “Do not let your nieces forget me, if you can help it, and give my love to Count d’Orsay, with many thanks to him for his charming letter. I was greatly amused by his account of ⸺. There was a cold shade of aristocracy about it, and a dampness of cold water, which entertained me beyond measure.”

  There were three dandies in this Gore House circle of strangely different temperaments and abilities. Dickens, a thorough Englishman in almost every habit and instinct, who dressed violently rather than well, sported somewhat fantastic costumes simply because it was the fashion so to do among the young men with whom his growing fame had brought him into contact. In the inner meaning of the word Dickens was no dandy, but simply a dressy man; his was not the dandiacal temper. Of this, indeed, there was far more in the Oriental Disraeli, though he, like his Vivian Grey, used high dressing as a pose. Whatever he undertook he loved to do well, and in his youth even to do to extremes. The effeminate dandy pose was excellently acted in the following which he tells of himself, writing from Malta to his father in 1830:—

  “Affectation tells here even better than wit. Yesterday, at the racket court, sitting in the gallery among strangers, the ball entered, and lightly struck me and fell at my feet. I picked it up, and observing a young rifleman excessively stiff, I humbly requested him to forward its passage into the court, as I really had never thrown a ball in my life. This incident has been the general subject of conversation at all the messes to-day!”

  And this from Gibraltar:—

  “Tell my mother that as it is the fashion among the dandies of this place—that is, the officers, for there are no others—not to wear waistcoats in the morning, her new studs come into fine play and maintain my reputation of being a great judge of costume, to the admiration and envy of many subalterns. I have also the fame of being the first who ever passed the Straits with two canes, a morning and an evening cane. I change my cane as the gun fires, and hope to carry them both on to Cairo. It is wonderful the effect these magical wands produce. I owe to them even more attention than to being the supposed author of—what is it?—I forget!”

  Disraeli in his dress had a touch of the fantastic, as thus, when he appeared at a dinner party attired in a coat of black velvet lined with satin, purple trousers with a gold stripe down the seam, a scarlet waistcoat, lace ruffles down to the fingers’ tips, white gloves with rings worn outside them and his hair in long, black ringlets.

  Dickens was only a clothes-deep dandy; Disraeli was a true dandy as far as he went, but he did not go all the way. He trifled with politics, he did not realise that to be a perfect, complete dandy, calls for the devotion of a lifetime. D’Orsay made no such mistake; he was a dandy through and through and all the way; a dandy in love affairs, in his toilet, in his clothes, in his sport, and in all the arts of life from cookery down to sculpture. Thus it must be with every great man; he aims at one target, pulls his bow with all his strength, and shoots only at that one mark. D’Orsay had but one aim, to lead a life of dandified pleasure.

  * * *

  XIX

  NAP

  Charles Sumner writes in March 1840: “Lady Blessington is as pleasant and time-defying as ever, surrounded till one or two of the morning with her brilliant circle.… Prince Napoleon is always there, and of course D’Orsay.”

  Says Edmund Yates, writing of the great folk in Hyde Park at a later date:—

  “There, in a hooded cabriolet, the fashionable vehicle for men-about-town, with an enormous champing horse, and the trimmest of tiny grooms—‘tigers,’ as they were called—half standing on the footboard behind, half swinging in the air, clinging on to the straps, would be Count d’Orsay, with clear-cut features and raven hair, the king of the dandies, the cynosure of all eyes, the greatest ‘swell’ of the day. He was an admirable whip—he is reported on one occasion, by infinite spirit and dash, to have cut the wheel off a brewer’s dray which was bearing down upon his light carriage, and to have spoken of it afterwards as ‘the triumph of mind over matter’—and always drove in faultless white kid gloves, with his shirt wristbands turned back over his coat-cuffs, and his whole ‘turn-out’ was perfection. By his side was occasionally seen Prince Louis Napoleon, an exile too, after his escape from Ham, residing in lodgings in King Street, St James’—he pointed out the house to the Empress Eugénie when, as Emperor of the French, on his visit to Queen Victoria, he drove by it. He was a constant visitor of Lady Blessington’s at Gore House. Albert Smith, in later years, used to say he wondered whether, if he called at the Tuileries, the Emperor would pay him ‘that eighteenpence,’ the sum which one night at Gore House he borrowed from A. S. to pay a cabman.”

  A strange, almost uncanny personage in some ways, this Louis Napoleon, with his dogged, not to be daunted belief in his high destiny.

  George Augustus Sala thus describes him:—

  “A short, slight form he had, and not a very graceful way of standing. His complexion was swarthily pale, if I may be allowed to make use of that somewhat paradoxical expression. His hair struck me as being of a dark brown; it was much lighter in after years; and while his cheeks were clean-shaven, the lower part of his face was concealed by a thick moustache and an ‘imperial’ or chin-tuft. He was gorgeously arrayed in the dandy evening costume of the period … he wore a satin ‘stock,’ green, if I am not mistaken; and in the centre of that stock was a breastpin in the image of a gold eagle encircled with diamonds.”

  Shee notes in May 1839, of an evening at Gore House: “Among the company last night was Prince Louis Napoleon. He was quiet, silent, and inoffensive, as, to do him justice, he generally is, but he does not impress one with the idea that he has inherited his uncle’s talents any more than his fortunes. He went away before the circle quite broke up, leaving, like Sir Peter Teazle, ‘his character behind him,’ and the few remaining did not spare him, but discussed him in a tone that was far from flattering. D’Orsay, however, who came in later with Lord Pembroke, stood up manfully for his friend, which was pleasant to see.”

  Said D’Orsay: “C’est un brave garçon, mais pas d’esprit”; yet stood manfully by him.

  There is not the slightest doubt that very intimate relations existed between D’Orsay and Louis Napoleon during his days of exile in England. Napoleon III. was the son of Louis Napoleon, King of Holland and his wife Hortense, whom Lady Blessington met in Italy. Of this meeting the following entry from Lady Blessington’s Journal, dated Rome, March 1828, is a quite interesting account:—

  “Though prepared to meet in Hortense Bonaparte, ex-Queen of Holland, a woman possessed of no ordinary powers of captivation, she has, I confess, far exceeded my expectations. I have seen her frequently; and spent two hours yesterday in her society. Never did time fly with greater rapidity than while listening to her conversation, and hearing her sing those charming little French romances, written and composed by herself, which, though I had always admired them, never previously struck me as being so expressive and graceful as they now prove to be. Hortense, or the Duchesse de St Leu, as she is at present styled, is of the middle stature, slight and well formed; her feet and ankles remarkably fine; and her whole tournure graceful, and distinguished. Her complexion and hair are fair, and her countenance is peculiarly expressive; its habitual character being mild and pensive, until animated by conversation, when it becomes arch and spirituelle. I know not that I ever encountered a person with so fine a tact, or so quick an apprehension, as the Duchesse de St Leu: these give her the power of rapidly forming an appreciation of those with whom she comes in contact; and of suiting the subjects of conversation to their tastes and comprehensions. Thus, with the grave she is serious, with the lively gay; and with the scientific, she only permits just a sufficient extent of her own savoir to be revealed to encourage the development of theirs. She is, in fact, ‘all things to all men,’ without at the same time losing a single portion of her own natural character; a peculia
rity of which seems to be, the desire, as well as the power, of sending away all who approach her satisfied with themselves, and delighted with her. Yet there is no unworthy concession of opinions made, or tacit acquiescence yielded to conciliate popularity; she assents to, or dissents from, the sentiments of others, with a mildness and good sense that gratifies those with whom she coincides, or disarms those from whom she differs. The only flattery she condescends to practise is that most refined and delicate of all, the listening with marked attention to the observations of those with whom she converses; and this tacit symptom of respect to others is not more the result of an extreme politeness, than of a fine nature, attentive to the feelings of those around her.…

  “It is not often that a woman so accomplished unites the more solid attraction of a highly-cultivated mind: yet in Hortense this is the case; for, though a perfect musician, a most successful amateur in drawing, and mistress of three languages, she is well read in history and belles-lettres; has an elementary knowledge of the sciences, and a general acquaintance with the works of the most esteemed authors of ancient and modern times. Her remarks denote an acute perception, and a superior understanding; and are delivered with such a perfect freedom from all assumption of the self-conceit of a bas-bleu, or the dictatorial style of one accustomed to command attention, that they acquire an additional charm from the modest grace with which they are uttered.…

  “She showed me her diamonds yesterday, and some of them are magnificent, particularly the necklace presented to the Empress Josephine by the city of Paris. It is a rivière of large diamonds, of such immense value that none but a sovereign, or some of our own princely nobility, could become the purchaser. Her other diamonds are very fine, and consist of many parures, some presented to her as Queen of Holland; and others bequeathed to her, with the necklace, by her mother. Her bed, furniture, and toilette service of gilt plate, are very magnificent, and are the same that served her in her days of regal state. The arrangement of her apartments indicates a faultless taste, uniting elegance and comfort with grandeur. She has some fine portraits of Napoleon and Josephine in her possession: on our contemplating them, she referred to her mother with as much sensibility as if her death had been recent.

  “Prince Louis Bonaparte lives with his mother, and never did I witness a more devoted attachment than subsists between them. He is a fine, high-spirited youth, admirably well educated, and highly accomplished, uniting to the gallant bearing of a soldier all the politeness of a preux chevalier; but how could he be otherwise, brought up with such a mother? Prince Louis Bonaparte is much beloved and esteemed by all who know him, and is said to resemble his uncle, the Prince Eugène Beauharnois (sic), no less in person than in mind; possessing his generous nature, personal courage, and high sense of honour.”

  It is not necessary to follow in any detail the career of Louis Napoleon, so we will skip on to the year 1840, when on 6th August he made his absurd descent upon France, landing at Boulogne with about sixty followers.

  Lord Malmesbury, who was often a visitor at Gore House, mentions a curious little happening.

  “7th August.—News arrived this morning of Louis Napoleon having landed yesterday morning at Boulogne with fifty followers. None of the soldiers, however, having joined him, the attempt totally failed, and he and most of those who accompanied him were taken. This explains an expression he used to me two evenings ago. He was standing on the steps of Lady Blessington’s house after a party, wrapped up in a cloak, with Persigny by him, and I observed to them: ‘You look like two conspirators,’ upon which he answered: ‘You may be nearer right than you think.’”

  Disraeli writes on the same day:—

  “The morning papers publish two editions, and Louis Napoleon, who last year at Bulwer’s nearly drowned us by his bad rowing, has now upset himself at Boulogne. Never was anything so rash and crude to all appearances as this ‘invasion,’ for he was joined by no one. A fine house in Carlton Gardens, his Arabian horses, and excellent cook was hardly worse than his present situation.”

  He was captured, tried, condemned to perpetual imprisonment, and consigned to the fortress of Ham, where he remained for five years, and then escaped to England.

  On August 2nd, 1840, Planché relates that he went between ten and eleven to Gore House, where there had been a small dinner party, of which four men had stayed on, Lord Nugent, “Poodle” Byng, and two strangers. “The youngest immediately engaged my attention. It was the fashion in that day to wear black satin kerchiefs for evening dress; and that of the gentleman in question was fastened by a large spread eagle in diamonds, clutching a thunderbolt of rubies. There was but one man in England at that period who, without the impeachment of coxcombry, could have sported so magnificent a jewel; and, though I had never to my knowledge seen him before, I felt convinced that he could be no other than Prince Louis Napoleon. Such was the fact; and his companion was Count Montholon.” Planché walked home with Nugent and Byng, one of whom remarked: “What could Louis Napoleon mean by asking us to dine with him this day twelvemonths at the Tuileries?” The ill-starred landing at Boulogne a few days later explained the mystery.

  But earlier in this same year (1840), D’Orsay had supported the Prince in another adventure.

  For many years a peculiar Count Léon had been looked on as one of the curiosities of Paris; in appearance he was an enlarged replica of Napoleon the Great, which was not surprising seeing that he was reputed—probably wrongly—to be his son by the Polish Countess Walewska. Napoleon provided for the education of his offspring, who in 1830 attained the dignity of a colonelcy in the Legion of the Garde Nationale.

  In February 1840, Count Léon came over to London, it being absurdly stated afterward that he had been entrusted by the Tuileries with the pleasing duty of removing Louis Napoleon.

  The Prince refused to receive the Count, from whom after some heated correspondence he received a challenge, borne by Lieutenant-Colonel Ratcliffe. Léon refused to engage with swords, so pistols were decided upon; the hour chosen being seven o’clock on the morning of 3rd March, and the place Wimbledon Common. Napoleon was accompanied by D’Orsay and Colonel Parquin. It was not until the parties were on the ground that Count Léon raised the difficulty about the weapons to be used, and the delay caused by the discussion on the point gave time to the authorities to arrive and put an end to the contemplated breach of the peace. The upshot of this fiasco was an appearance at Bow Street. Before the Court proceeded to deal with the ordinary night charges, Prince Louis and Count Léon were charged before Mr Jardine with having attempted a breach of the peace by fighting a duel; Ratcliffe, Parquin, D’Orsay, and Martial Kien, a servant, were brought in as being aiders and abettors. They were all “bound over,” Mr Joshua Bates, of Baring Brothers, becoming surety for Prince Louis and Colonel Parquin, and the Honourable Francis Baring for D’Orsay. So ended the encounter.

  On January 13th, 1841, Napoleon wrote from Ham to Lady Blessington, in reply to a letter from her:—

  “I am very grateful for your remembrance, and I think with grief that none of your previous letters have reached me. I have received from Gore House only one letter, from Count d’Orsay, which I hastened to answer when I was at the Conciergerie. I bitterly regret that my letter was intercepted, for in it I expressed all the gratitude at the interest he took in my misfortunes.… My thoughts often wander to the place where you live, and I recall with pleasure the time I have passed in your amiable society, which the Count d’Orsay still brightens with his frank and spirituel gaiety.”

  On the 26th of May 1846, there was gathered together a gay dinner-party at Gore House, among those assembled, beside the host and hostess, being Landor and John Forster. A message was brought in to D’Orsay that a person, who preferred not to give his name, desired to see him. To the amazement of D’Orsay the unknown turned out to be Louis Napoleon, just landed after his escape from Ham. He came in and entertained the party with a vivacious account of his adventures.

  Serjeant Ba
llantine describes a curious visit paid to him at his chambers in June 1847 by Louis Napoleon and D’Orsay, which certainly strengthens the statements made by others that the dandy was upon very intimate terms with the prince. The visit was concerned with some of Napoleon’s money-raising endeavours, which had resulted in his being swindled by a rascally bill-discounter, but in which the Serjeant could not assist to right the wrong. Ballantine dubs D’Orsay, “the prince of dandies,” adding that he “never saw a man who in personal qualities surpassed him”; continuing, he “was courteous to everyone, and kindly. He put the companions of his own sex perfectly at their ease, and delighted them with his varied conversation, and I never saw anyone whose manner to ladies was more pleasing and deferential.”

  Louis Philippe toppled over; a Republic was set up in February 1848, and Napoleon promptly and effectively took advantage of the situation thus created to push himself to the front. In December of the same year he was elected President. The oath that he swore on the occasion was: “In the presence of God and before the French people represented by the National Assembly, I swear to remain faithful to the Democratic Republic, one and indivisible, and to fulfil all the duties imposed on me by the Constitution.” And on the 2nd of December 1851, he dissolved the said Assembly, upset the Republic, and shortly became Napoleon III, Emperor of the French.

 

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