A Scandalous Life: The Biography of Jane Digby (Text only)

by Mary S. Lovell

  It was a pretty compliment, but, just as Lely did before him, Stieler, though undoubtedly an artist of great talent, reduced some of his subjects to a contemporaneous ideal. Technically speaking, his portrait of Jane set against a typically classical background captures perfectly the sumptuousness of her clothes, the richness of her colouring, the transparency of her skin, the symmetry of her features. But the quicksilver quality which was Jane’s real beauty eluded Stieler. At the time of this portrait Jane was in her mid-twenties and just coming into her full magnificence, and Stieler himself wrote that, of all the women in the Schönheits-Galerie, Jane was the only one who could rival in beauty the exquisite Marchesa Marianna Florenzi.28 Jane herself some time later nevertheless made the comment that it was not ‘very like’. A white marble bust of Jane that Ludwig commissioned Josef Bandel to sculpt a month later confirms the slender voluptuousness hinted at in Stieler’s portrait.

  Arguably, her intelligent vivacity as much as her physical beauty attracted Ludwig, and also brought Charles Venningen back to her time and again. But it was her own physical needs that broke her sexual fast in November. It is not entirely clear whether this was with Ludwig or with Charles, but the reawakened desire provoked by the encounter created difficulties, as she told Ludwig in a letter:

  Forgive me, dearest Lewis, if our last night’s conversation pained you, but your openness, affection and sincerity encourage mine.

  It is not to be denied that rapture, untasted for six months, has [now] reawakened passions I flattered myself were nearly if not quite extinguished. Still, dearest, I repeat my intentions remain unchanged … My word of honour I regard as a sacred vow and I dare not, dare not, give it lightly.

  What would [you]… think if after all my promises to the contrary I fell a victim? Do not be thus unhappy. I vow not to deceive you, I never will.29

  In her latest letter to Felix she had begged him to allow her to come and live near him in Berlin. If he would not agree, she wrote, she would go into a convent and take Didi with her.30 It is difficult to believe that Felix took this threat seriously, since a more unlikely nun would have been hard to find. But when, in fulfilment of her promises, Jane revealed to Ludwig her dilemma over the ever more pressing Charles, she found the King unsympathetic. It would be impossible for their relationship to continue, he told her, if she eventually succumbed to Charles’s advances. This frightened her into agreeing not to take her relationship with Charles further, for ‘to cut with you, I cannot, will not. Do not be angry with him for I am sure his intentions are good … Believe that I love and will love you for ever.’31

  For a while Charles seems to have been kept in check, but he was a proud man, unused to being balked. He allowed himself to be played on Jane’s line throughout January and February, during which time Jane told Ludwig that Charles was ‘in a terrible state’ at her treatment of him. ‘I cannot doubt his … devoted love, but I cannot return it, at least not now.’32

  One evening in March the baron called on Jane again. She knew in advance it would be a difficult interview and that the situation was becoming uncontrollable if she was to retain his friendship, which she valued. She had even rehearsed with Ludwig what she would say. She told Charles she had decided that she could not allow their relationship to become more intimate and that she would only continue to receive him if he gave his word of honour not to continue his proposals of marriage and his attempts to make love to her. Afterwards she wrote to Ludwig:

  It was in vain. Neither entreaties nor threats could prevail upon him. He answered that on such a subject it was morally impossible for him to give his word of honour; that all he could promise were his resolutions not to ask more, but a vow he could not, and would not, give.

  At the same time he told me that he could not help suspecting that you had more than friendship for me, as this last sentiment could be mixed with no jealousy. He added, too, that he plainly perceived that I was ever more ready to follow your advice in the slightest circumstances than to listen to his most earnest prayers. At the same time he felt that the greatest joys would have no value if yielded with regret.33

  It is hard not to sympathise with the baron. Jane’s close friendship with the King, whose reputation for extramarital amours was well known, was something of an enigma. Jane’s letters reveal that they had discussed his relationship with Marianna Florenzi, for the King forbade Jane to be jealous of the love he bore the Marchesa.34 Jane also complains of hearing that he has taken another lover and ‘this’, she said, ‘gives me deep pain’. These hints at deep intimacy, even proprietorship, allied to the conviction at Ludwig’s court that Jane was the King’s mistress, are impossible to dismiss.

  But Charles was not the only person immediately concerned that the ‘true sentiments’ of the pair were more than those of a platonic nature. Marianna Florenzi had recently refused to meet Ludwig, using the curt excuse that her health prevented it. ‘Besides,’ she added with false insouciance, ‘I do not wish to bore you. I fear that I am no longer in exclusive possession of your love.’35 It was left to Marianna’s maid to explain to the King what lay behind this jibe. Her mistress was angry about the time he spent with Jane, the maid wrote to Ludwig. ‘How could this Lady Ellenborough, whose scandalous life is known to all the world, have deceived you, Your Majesty?’ she asked angrily.36

  It was inevitable that Jane would eventually submit to her own physical needs, and unfortunate that she so quickly suffered the consequences. At the beginning of May 1832 Jane conceived her fourth child, though by the time she realised her condition Ludwig had already departed for his annual summer vacation with his wife and children. On the eve of his leaving he presented her with a puppy as a living reminder of their affection, and to reinforce his attachment to Jane despite his relationship with the Marchesa.37 It seems clear that Jane was sure from the first that the baby was Charles’s. Furthermore, Charles accepted the child as his and renewed his entreaties that she should marry him. Irritated at the fecundity that had placed her in such an unenviable position, Jane wrote to Felix telling him of Charles’s desire to marry her, hoping that it would make Felix jealous. The plan backfired. The prince replied that, although he loved her and she would always be part of his life, if she had the offer of marriage with a good man she should accept it for marriage with him would never be possible.38

  Jane was now in another of her so-called ‘scrapes’, for while she was undoubtedly fond of Charles she had no desire to marry him. She believed that it would signal the end of her relationship with the King, of whom she was far fonder, though, as Ludwig had already gently pointed out, her relationship with him could never lead to anything beyond close friendship. Furthermore, she was still convinced she was in love with Felix, though how she proposed to explain her pregnancy to him is a mystery. For both reasons she insisted to Charles that her pregnancy be kept a complete secret. Felix must never know; the world must never know. From the hint dropped in a letter to Ludwig that ‘if I did not know from experience that all my letters are opened, there would be a thousand things I would give worlds to tell you’39 it appears that she would have confided in him in person, possibly without damaging their intimacy.

  After some consideration, Jane decided to go to Italy, find a remote place where she could stay under an assumed name, and have her baby secretly. All she could tell Ludwig openly was that she was planning a trip to Italy, but not that she intended to stay away until at least February of the following year. The remainder of her letter answered his questions about Felix. Her old friend the Princess Ester-hazy had written that Felix’s family would probably agree to their marriage.

  Stieler called upon me on his return and told me that Felix’s father often came to him at Vienna and spoke of nothing but me, asked a thousand questions of my manner of life here, whether you really took as great an interest in my fate as people said, and many other things …

  … You ask if I love him still. Alas, yes, and I feel convinced I shall never be able to marry anoth
er. There exists something in a first passion, especially in one such as mine has been, which has dared all and sacrificed all for its object, that no time, no subsequent ill treatment can efface.40

  During that summer she travelled south through the glorious scenery of the Alps with a small party consisting of her personal maid Emma, her daughter Didi and nursemaid, the little dog given by Ludwig which she called Tuilly and another puppy given her by Ludwig’s mother. Behind her followed the luggage coach with all the comforts essential for enjoyable travel; fine bedlinen, crystal and plate, a full wardrobe, painting materials, a small library of books. These precepts had been instilled in her at an early age by her mother on a previous journey through Italy. Jane’s letters to Ludwig, through a go-between called Monsieur Kreutzer, are full of rapturous descriptions of her travels, as well as news of Felix, who had ‘once more created a sparkle of hope in my heart that one day he will return to love me. I have just received a letter in which he speaks of a future.’ She was convinced that ‘sooner or later I shall reap the rewards of patience in a union with him that I have so long worshipped.’41

  In September she began to make excuses for her delayed return, relying on the King’s own passion for Italy for his understanding, and assuring him in a letter from Naples that ‘it was not my intention to go further than Genoa. There, however, as I still continued not very well, the physician ordered me to try a sea voyage, and as I dislike any undertaking without an object, I embarked in a vessel for Sicily.’ At this point she felt she could no longer keep from Ludwig the fact that she was not alone.

  And now I must tell you what greeted my arrival [at Genoa]. Baron von Venningen has followed me day and night, travelling under a different name … when he heard I had left or was about to leave Genoa for Sicily, he could no longer endure the separation, combined with the idea that I was now alone in Italy.

  By abandoning his affairs he has added this proof of his devotion to all the rest. I confess that his unceasing love, in spite of all my refusals, touches my heart, without inspiring that passion it is in my nature to feel. I tell him that before I can give the least hope or answer to his constant prayer for marriage everything must be finally settled between me and Felix, and that also I must see the latter once more. You are the only person to whom I shall mention these circumstances.42

  The King received this information uneasily, suspecting that her journey with Charles had been prearranged. In her subsequent letter from Palermo in northern Sicily, however, Jane denied this: ‘I give you my word it was not … He begged to come, it is true, but I positively refused on account of the world, and principally of Felix [who writes] that he will see me as soon as he can leave Berlin.’ However, she reiterated that the baron’s devotion had touched her and disposed her to listen to his proposal that should she decide to marry, she would marry him. She reminded the King that he himself had told her that passionate love such as she had felt for Felix ‘was not necessary in marriage’. She now accepted that principle, ‘but the time for decision is not yet come. Should I marry, I would fain make him a good wife, and that I feel I am not yet prepared to do. Felix, in spite of all, is still too dear.’43

  In fact Felix had just written in great irritation that she should ‘bury herself’ and his daughter in so remote a place as Palermo. Perhaps, after all, he believed there might be something in her threat of entering a convent. He said he had sent a draft of £400 to his bank at Naples in case she should want for money while there, and he would try to arrange a time when they could meet. Jane had received similar promises on previous occasions; she returned the money.44

  Meanwhile, since there was nothing she could do about her condition and she was committed to remaining in Palermo for some months at least, she decided to enjoy her time there. She rented a house under an assumed name, though her identity was known to the Austrian consul, a friend of Felix Schwarzenberg. She spent her time sketching and taking lessons from a singing master. As usual she quickly attracted a small court of admirers and several proposals (to Charles’s fury), one from a young French aristocrat and one from a Sicilian, who several times managed to enter her house disguised variously as a friar, a woodcutter, a travelling musician and a milk-seller. She insisted to Ludwig, however, that ‘I have forgotten none of my promises, although temptation is not wanting here’.

  The Baron is still at Palermo and intends remaining probably as long as I do. I must confess I have the greatest reason to praise his conduct towards me in every respect; he dreams of marriage and I should be ungrateful if I were totally insensible to such tried and constant devotion. But alas! in love I am not, and while Felix continues to write as he does, assuring me that he is not extinguished, I fear much I never can be.45

  During December, when Jane was eight months pregnant, she heard from Felix that he intended to visit his sister in Italy, and she wrote to Ludwig that a meeting had at last been arranged. She had recently received a letter from a mutual friend which stated that all the barriers to marriage with her were in Felix’s imagination. This forced her to conclude that Felix had never desired to marry her; ‘if that is so, my pride must conquer my too long victorious passion.’46 And if, she wrote, on meeting Felix she was able to say that passionate love no longer existed between them, she would probably marry Charles. She felt unable to be more precise, for despite everything Felix wrote regularly ‘as though he still considered me his property. [And] I cannot be entirely free from all engagements towards him, particularly as much must be settled first with regard to his child.’47

  On 27 January 1833 a healthy boy, Herberto, was born. There were no complications and as usual Jane recovered rapidly. The child was registered with the Austrian consul at Palermo, Signor Antonio de Laurin, simply as the son of ‘LJD’,48 and placed in the care of foster parents. This arrangement had been made some months in advance and would last for three years, until Jane considered it safe to reveal the child’s existence. As before, Jane liked the baby well enough but there was no fierce rush of joy, no maternal urge. She had not wished for this child any more than she had wished for the previous two; if anything, he was an embarrassment.

  Her letters to Ludwig, written in reply to the King’s frequent enquiries about her return, mention nothing of her confinement, though she took care to warn him that all his letters ‘are received opened and fumigated!’49 She advised him that she intended leaving Palermo in April but before returning to Italy she wished to tour Sicily, after which she expected to see Felix in Rome. This plan was changed when Felix wrote from Nice in March saying that he could no longer accommodate the appointment in his schedule; however, he would be grateful if Jane would instead join his sister Mathilde in Rome for the months of April and May. ‘Is this not extraordinary?’ Jane wrote in anguish:

  could he not have done more when we were on the best footing together, whereas now I am no longer his mistress, nor even engaged to him, he volunteers to introduce me to his unmarried sister … [Still], the visit must have the good effect of justifying me as to the supposed cause of our rupture at Paris, as no one with common sense would believe after that, that he would seek my connection with his sister.

  Something in the King’s letter, which has not survived, prompted her to add a plea: ‘one thing alone I beg, dearest Lewis, give [the Marchesa] no promises concerning me. The first place I yield, however reluctantly. The second – may it not be mine?’50

  In the weeks between her confinement and her proposed visit to Italy, Jane settled down to enjoy the time she had left in Sicily. She threw off all care, and with the joy of a healthy young woman, her body no longer hampered by pregnancy, she pursued her ambition to tour the island. For the first time in years she felt truly happy.51 In late April she arrived in Rome, where Charles and Jane parted after some eight months of constant companionship. Charles travelled on to his home near Baden and the duties he had abandoned to pursue Jane, while she went with renewed optimism to visit Princess Mathilde.

  The visit lasted
a month, and, when Jane left, the princess begged her to allow little Mathilde to remain with her until she returned to Austria. It may have been a deliberate attempt to sever Jane’s last tie with her brother but in her letters Jane gives no hint that the visit had been unpleasant, nor that Felix’s sister had been unfriendly towards her. She stated that she was making her way to a German spa town where the prince was shortly expected. Subsequently, Didi was taken to Princess Mathilde’s home in Austria and grew up without any recollection of her mother, believing she was the adopted orphan of friends of the princess.52

  From Rome, Jane travelled to the western borders of Germany, but she missed Felix and went to Paris, arriving there on 10 July 1833 with the primary intention of consulting a doctor, possibly regarding some complication arising from her recent confinement,53 and also to meet her mother. Jane had no desire to prolong her stay in the French capital but it was restful to discuss her problems with someone on whom she could truly rely. She felt dispossessed, beginning to accept at last that the break with Felix was probably irrevocable and to realise that, despite having borne four children, the manner in which she had conducted her life had rendered her to all intents and purposes childless and rootless. Yet she still loved Felix; could she, should she marry Charles, feeling as she did? These questions haunted her, she told the King. Quite naturally her family strongly urged her to accept the baron and forget Felix. Steely, who had been told everything, also wrote unequivocally that she should take the opportunity of a fresh start. As to the prince, Steely wrote: