D'Orsay / or, The complete dandy

by W. Teignmouth Shore

  Henry Vizetelly roundly states that there was no secrecy about the help rendered to D’Orsay in his equestrian statuettes, etc., by T. H. Nicholson, a draughtsman of horses, and that the faces of these works of art were modelled by Behnes. He goes on to say: “The statuette of the Duke of Wellington on horseback was undoubtedly Nicholson’s, and that famous bust of the Iron Duke which was to make the fortune of the lucky manufacturer who reproduced it in porcelain, is said to have been his and Behnes’ joint work.”

  Then follows this amusing story:—

  “Sir Henry Cole—Old King Cole of the Brompton toilers,[22] and Felix Flummery of the art-manufacture craze—used to tell an amusing story of the high estimate, artistic and pecuniary, which D’Orsay set upon this production. The Count had written to ask him to call at Gore House, and on his proceeding there, after handing his card through the wicket, he was cautiously admitted to the grounds and safely piloted between two enormous mastiffs to the door of the house. He was then conducted to the Count, whom he found pacing up and down Lady Blessington’s drawing-room in a gorgeous dressing-gown.

  “D’Orsay, Cole used to say, at once broke out with—‘You are a friend of Mr Minton’s! I can make his fortune for him!’ Then turning to his servant, ‘François,’ said he, ‘go to my studio and in the corner you will find a bust. Cover it over with your handkerchief and bring it carefully here.’ François soon returned carrying his burthen as tenderly as though it were a baby, and when he had deposited it on the table, the Count removed the handkerchief and posing before the bust with looks of rapt admiration, he promptly asked Cole—

  “‘What do you think of that?’

  “‘It’s a close likeness,’ Cole cautiously replied.

  “‘Likeness! indeed it is a likeness!’ shouted the Count, ‘why, Douro when he saw it exclaimed: “D’Orsay, you quite appal me with the likeness to my father!”’

  “The Count then confided to Cole that the Duke had given him four sittings, after refusing, said he, a single sitting to ‘that fellow Landseer.’

  “The Duke it seems came to inspect the bust after it was completed. In D’Orsay’s biassed eyes he was as great in art as he was in war, and he always went, the Count maintained, straight up to the finest thing in the room to look at it. Naturally, therefore, he at once marched up to the bust, paused, and shouted:—

  “’”By God, D’Orsay, you have done what those damned busters never could do.“’

  “The puff preliminary over, the Count next proceeded to business.

  “‘The old Duke will not live for ever,’ he sagely remarked; ‘he must die one of these days. Now, what I want you to do is to advise your friend Minton to make ten thousand copies of that bust, to pack them up in his warehouse and on the day of the Duke’s death to flood the country with them, and heigh presto! his fortune is made.’

  “The Count hinted that he expected a trifle of £10,000 for his copyright, but Cole’s friend, Minton, did not quite see this, and proposed a royalty upon every copy sold. D’Orsay, who was painfully hard up for ready cash, indignantly spurned the offer.…”

  D’Orsay is most generally known as an artist by reason of his large portrait of the Duke of Wellington now in the National Portrait Gallery, upon the completion of which the Duke is said to have shaken hands with the painter, saying: “At last I have been painted like a gentleman! I’ll never sit to anyone else.” And he certainly did write to Lady Blessington:—“You are quite right. Count d’Orsay’s work is of a higher description of art than is described by the word portrait! But I described it by that word, because the likeness is so remarkably good, and so well executed as a painting, and that this is the truest of all artistic ability, truest of all in this country.” Which last sentence is rather enigmatical.

  Anent the statuette of O’Connell, referred to already, may be quoted a letter written by D’Orsay on 16th March 1847 to John Forster:—

  “Prince Napoleon told me to-night at the French play, that he read in an evening paper, the Globe, I think, an article copied from an Irish paper, stating that I had made a statuette of O’Connell, and praising it, etc. I suppose that it is from Osborne Bernal,[23] who is in Ireland. But I would be glad it were known that I have associated him in the composition with the Catholic Emancipation, and also that I intend to make a present of the copyright to Ireland, for the benefit of the subscription for the poor.”

  Of other works from his hand we may name the bust of Emile de Girardin, a portrait of Sir Robert Peel, and the picture of which some details have already been given, showing a group in the garden of Gore House.

  We have already quoted an account of one visit paid by D’Orsay to Haydon, here is that of a second, from an entry in the painter’s Diary, dated 31st June 1838:—

  “About seven, D’Orsay called, whom I had not seen for long. He was much improved, and looking the glass of fashion and the mould of form; really a complete Adonis, not made up at all. He made some capital remarks, all of which must be attended to. They were sound impressions, and grand. He bounded into his cab, and drove off like a young Apollo, with a fiery Pegasus. I looked after him. I like to see such specimens.”

  In conclusion on this subject, from the New Monthly Magazine of August 1845, this:—

  “Whatever Count d’Orsay undertakes, seems invariably to be well done. As the arbiter elegantiarum he has reigned supreme in matters of taste and fashion, confirming the attempts of others by his approbation, or gratifying them by his example. To dress, or drive, to shine in the gay world like Count d’Orsay was once the ambition of the youth of England, who then discovered in this model no higher attributes. But if time, who ‘steals our years away,’ steals also our pleasures, he replaces them with others, or substitutes a better thing; and thus it has befallen with Count d’Orsay.

  “If the gay equipage, or the well-apparelled man be less frequently seen than formerly, that which causes more lasting satisfaction, and leaves an impression of a far more exalted nature, comes day by day into higher relief, awakening only the regret that it should have been concealed so long. When we see what Count d’Orsay’s productions are, we are tempted to ask, with Malvolio’s feigned correspondent, ‘Why were these things hid?’”

  All things considered we may write down Count d’Orsay as a quite first-rate amateur, as skilful in the arts as any dandy has ever been. What more fitting than that his skill and accomplishment were best shown in his bust of Lady Blessington?

  Lady Blessington

  (From the Bust by D’Orsay)

  [TO FACE PAGE 234

  * * *

  XXII

  LETTERS

  D’Orsay, had he devoted his time and his mind to the matter, could doubtless have attained high eminence as a painter and sculptor, but he was wise and refused to be bitten by the temptation; he well knew that there are many artists, but few dandies. The gifts that other men would have cultivated exclusively, he used to heighten and perfect his genius as a master of dandyship. It is perhaps the highest attribute of genius to be able to recognise genius—in oneself; only mediocre men are modest. Modesty is a sign of incompetency or stupidity.

  Could D’Orsay have achieved greatness as a writer? Byron thought very highly of the journal which, it will be remembered, D’Orsay wrote during his first visit to London, but we cannot accept this criticism as final, for the poet’s literary judgment was often faulty.

  He is reputed to have been a contributor to some of the journals of the day and he was put forward as the “editor” of the translation published in London in 1847 of a French novel, Marie, Histoire d’une Jeune Fille. But other men have gained fame with as little regular literary baggage as the Count, literature in the form of familiar letters, written always, or almost always, without a thought that they would meet the public eye. Of casual letters we have a fair number of D’Orsay’s, and some of them make quite pleasant reading. At any rate they are as good as those which are not written by dandies, which is saying much, for dandies have many
important affairs to fill their time. They are chatty epistles, serve to shed a light upon their writer’s character; by his letters to his friends you may know the man.

  Here is a note from him to Landor, written in September 1828:—

  “I have received, dear Mr Landor, your letter. It has given us great pleasure. You ought to feel sure that we should particularly appreciate a letter from you, and it will appear that our intimacy in Florence counted for nothing with you if you doubt the pleasure that your news arouses in us. As soon as I have received the pictures I will carry out your commission carefully. I do wish you would come to Paris, for we have some fine things to show you, particularly pictures. Apropos, I am sending you herewith the portrait of Prince Borghese, which I hope you will find to be a good likeness.… We talk and think often of you. It is really strange that you are in the odour of sanctity in this family, for it seems to me it is not exactly this sort of reputation you pique yourself on possessing.

  “Lady B. and all our ladies send you a thousand good wishes and I renew the assurance of the sincerity of mine.—Yours very affectionately,

  “D’Orsay.”

  “All our ladies,” included Lady d’Orsay.

  Then of a much later date, probably 1842 or 1843:—

  “I think that Henry the Eighth was at Richmond-on-the-Hill when Anne Boleyn was beheaded. They say that he saw the flag which was erected in London as soon as her head fell. Therefore, as you make him staying at Epping Forest at that time, and as I am sure you have some good reasons for it, I will thank you to give them to me.

  “We regretted much not to have seen you at Bath, and I was on the moment to write to you, like Henry the Fourth did to the brave Crillon after the battle!

  “‘Pends toi, brave Landor, nous avons été à Bath, et tu n’y étois pas—’

  “You will be glad to hear that the second son of my sister has been received at the Ecole of St Cyr, after a ticklish examination. Hoping to see you soon, believe me, yours most affectionately,

  “D’Orsay.”

  There is not very much of distinction, perhaps, in these two letters, but they serve to show the familiar friendship of the two men and also that the dandy studied his English History, at any rate as far as concerns the disposal of wives.

  With John Forster he kept up a fairly lively correspondence, some of the letters containing points of interest:—

  “Gore House, 25th October 1844.

  “It is really an age since you’ve been here. It’s a poor joke! Where have you been?… Macready has sent me a Boston paper, in which I have read with great interest of his success.… I have not seen ‘De la Roche’ Maclise. Give him a thousand good wishes.

  “Eugene Sue gets better and better; he leads you to his moral by somewhat perilous roads, but once you get there you find it pure and beautiful. The fecundity of his imagination surpasses all previous works; the Jesuits are smashed up, the convents broken down and the workman raised upon their debris. Amen.—Yours ever,

  “D’Orsay.”

  Was it not to this practical Forster that D’Orsay wrote upon his project for establishing a means of communication between the guard and the engine-driver of a train? But the “sacrés directeurs de rail road” would not adopt his idea because of their own ideas of economy.

  “P.M., 4th August 1845.

  “I am determined to follow up the directors until they take up my scheme, and if you will assist me” (i.e. by writing in the papers), “these continual accidents will establish a ‘raw,’ which we will tickle continually with cayenne pepper, and in the end they will take real steps to heal the wound. My idea is this, that they shall have a seat behind the last carriage of every train, just like the coachman’s of a hansom cab. It would be in communication with the engine by a long cord passing along the whole length of the roof of the carriages; on pulling the cord a hammer would strike a gong by the engine and would indicate that a halt must be made.…”

  There was also to be an arrangement of lamps and a cord—very similar to that now in use—for the benefit of travellers in trouble. Quite sufficient in all this to prove that a dandy need not be a fool.

  “Gore House, 25th September 1845.

  “I am sorry to tell you that Lady Blessington a reçu des nouvelles” (from here the letter is in French); “very alarming concerning the health of Lady Canterbury. There is no doubt she is gradually sinking, surrounded by those who choose to blind themselves to her condition.… It will be best, I think, for you to tell our dear Dickens why for the moment we must abandon our plans. I should most willingly have gone with you to Knebworth, we will arrange to go there together when I can manage a day.…” Knebworth was Lord Lytton’s country seat.

  The letter continues, throwing a light upon the dark side of our comedy:—

  “Think of poor Lady Blessington losing in so short a time her niece, her little niece, her nephew, her brother-in-law, and her sister dying.…”

  Then again he returns to his railway scheme:—

  “I was just going to write to you from the country, where I have been some time, to tell you that Lady C⸺ and Lady Sophie de V⸺ went to Derby by rail; they were in the last carriage of the train. One of the connections is broken, the carriage is tossed from right to left and left to right so violently, that the two unhappy people think they are lost, and wave their handkerchiefs out of the window. They call out; no one sees them; no one hears them, and happily they reach the station, not a moment too soon—the carriage could not have held out. You will see that a guard in such a case would have saved this? Do you think we had better drop the subject or take it up again? Au revoir, brave Forster.”

  “Bournemouth, Hants, 9th September 1848.

  “We are in the most charming neighbourhood in the world, a kind of Wheemby Hill with the sea: it is three hours from Southampton. Come and see us! You will be delighted, it is perfection for bathing, and the weather is superb; it is the climax of summer.…”

  Of Mathews’ friendship with D’Orsay in Italy, an account has already been given; the following letters show that it was continued on paper:—

  “17th November 1831.

  “My Dear Charles … I have lost my poor friend Blessington and my mother within two months; they died in my arms, and when I think of them it is always their last moments that come to my mind. I would it were in other times, but that is difficult.…”

  The following from London:—

  “1st September.

  “My Dear Charles … I was the other day at Goodwood.… Since I learnt that you had taken the Adelphi I agreed with Lord Worcester that we would do all we could to interest society in your favour by thinking and talking about it. I understand that the first idea of Y(ates)[24] is to put you at a disadvantage, he himself will leave you, in order to make you feel that he is indispensable; this season is a trial that he gives you, hoping that in case of a failure you will give everything up into his hands. No matter what happens you must remedy this. Reeves, also, goes to America. Mrs Honey is engaged elsewhere; in short, most of the old names connected with the theatre are going. I therefore recommend you to make an arrangement with the proprietor of the Queen’s Theatre, who would join his company with yours; union gives strength, and thanks to your talents you will triumph completely over the trap which Y(ates) has set for you. The Queen’s Theatre has been very successful this season; to-day they have taken £90; it is wonderful for the time of year. Chesterfield, Worcester and myself have a box there and we wish to have one at the Adelphi, and speaking this evening on the matter to Bond, he told me that he would be delighted to join his company with yours and then to close the Queen’s Theatre. Think it over, see if you would not find it to your advantage, and let me know.—Your sincere friend, etc.

  “D’Orsay.”

  The Adelphi was opened by Yates and Mathews on 28th September 1835; the house was full, but the season was not satisfactory.

  The details of acting and stage production were not beneath D’Orsay’s
notice:—

  “My Dear Charles,—I like your new piece very much, and you acted very well. You must ask the orchestra to accompany you a little less noisily, for the noise they made made it impossible to follow a quarter of your Aria. You would do well, also, in my opinion, to cut out two verses of the Welsh song. Your Frenchwoman is perfect; it is the best that I have yet seen presented in an English theatre. Use your influence to make Oxberry wear a black wig, he will be the image of George Wombwell,[25] he has the dress and the manner to perfection, and it will be a hit. Wombwell won’t be annoyed, on the contrary.… Au revoir, dear Charles.—Your affectionate,

  “D’Orsay.”

  The bright vivacity of the following letter to Dr Quin had best be left in its native French:—

  “8th Août 1831,

  “Seamore Place, Mayfair.

  Cher et estimate Quin,—Régénérateur de l’humanité souffrante! Nouveau Prophète dont les disciples s’essoufflent à chanter les louanges, et qui finira par triompher comme la civilisation régnante; comment se fait il que vous oubliez entièrement votre disciple Alfred, n’attendez pas en vain l’arrivée d’un ange du ciel pour m’éclairer mais déroulez vos Papyrus pour y graver les progrès de la marche gigantesque de cette methodus medendi, qui jointe à votre intelligence vous assure pour votre vieillesse un outrage de Lauriers dont l’épaisseur permettroit à peine que vous soyez encore plus eclairé par le rayon de gloire que le Ciel dirigera sur vous—Maintenant que je vous ai dit ma façon de penser à votre égard, parlons de moi dans un style moins laconique.