“I send you the engraving, and have only to wish that it may sometimes remind you of the original. You are associated in my memory with some of my happiest days; you were the friend, and the highly-valued friend, of my dear and lamented husband, and as such, even without any of the numberless claims you have to my regard, you could not be otherwise than highly esteemed. It appears to me that I have not quite lost him, who made life dear to me, when I am near those he loved[19]and that knew how to value him. Five fleeting years have gone by since our delicious evenings on the lovely Arno, evenings never to be forgotten, and the recollections of which ought to cement the friendships then formed. This effect I can, in truth, say has been produced on me, and I look forward, with confidence, to keeping alive, by a frequent correspondence, the friendship you owe me, no less for that I feel for you, but as the widow of one you loved, and that truly loved you. We, or more properly speaking I, live in a world where friendship is little known, and were it not for one or two individuals like yourself, I might be tempted to exclaim with Socrates: ‘My friends, there are no friends.’ Let us prove that the philosopher was wrong, and if Fate has denied us the comfort of meeting, let us by letters keepup our friendly intercourse. You will tell me what you think and feel in your Tuscan retirement, and I will tell you what I do, in this modern Babylon, where thinking and feeling are almost unknown. Have I not reason to complain that in your sojourn in London you do not give me a single day? And yet methinks you promised to stay a week, and that of that week I should have my share. I rely on your promise of coming to see me again before you leave London, and I console myself for the disappointment of seeing so little of you, by recollecting the welcome and the happiness that await you at home. Long may you enjoy it, is the sincere wish of your attached friend,“M. Blessington.”
“I send you the engraving, and have only to wish that it may sometimes remind you of the original. You are associated in my memory with some of my happiest days; you were the friend, and the highly-valued friend, of my dear and lamented husband, and as such, even without any of the numberless claims you have to my regard, you could not be otherwise than highly esteemed. It appears to me that I have not quite lost him, who made life dear to me, when I am near those he loved[19]and that knew how to value him. Five fleeting years have gone by since our delicious evenings on the lovely Arno, evenings never to be forgotten, and the recollections of which ought to cement the friendships then formed. This effect I can, in truth, say has been produced on me, and I look forward, with confidence, to keeping alive, by a frequent correspondence, the friendship you owe me, no less for that I feel for you, but as the widow of one you loved, and that truly loved you. We, or more properly speaking I, live in a world where friendship is little known, and were it not for one or two individuals like yourself, I might be tempted to exclaim with Socrates: ‘My friends, there are no friends.’ Let us prove that the philosopher was wrong, and if Fate has denied us the comfort of meeting, let us by letters keepup our friendly intercourse. You will tell me what you think and feel in your Tuscan retirement, and I will tell you what I do, in this modern Babylon, where thinking and feeling are almost unknown. Have I not reason to complain that in your sojourn in London you do not give me a single day? And yet methinks you promised to stay a week, and that of that week I should have my share. I rely on your promise of coming to see me again before you leave London, and I console myself for the disappointment of seeing so little of you, by recollecting the welcome and the happiness that await you at home. Long may you enjoy it, is the sincere wish of your attached friend,
“M. Blessington.”
He to her, in the shape of “bits” out of a long letter written from Florence in March 1835:—
“Poor Charles Lamb, what a tender, good, joyous heart had he! What playfulness! what purity of style and thought! His sister is yet living, much older than himself. One of her tales is, with the sole exception of theBride of Lammermoor, the most beautiful tale in prose composition in any language, ancient or modern. A young girl has lost her mother, the father marries again, and marries a friend of his former wife. The child is ill reconciled to it, but being dressed in new clothes for the marriage, she runs up to her mother’s chamber, filled with the idea how happy that dear mother would be at seeing her in all her glory—not reflecting, poor soul, that it was only by her mother’s death that she appeared in it. How natural, how novel is allthis! Did you ever imagine that a fresh source of the pathetic would burst forth before us in this trodden and hardened world? I never did, and when I found myself upon it, I pressed my temples with both hands, and tears ran down to my elbows.
“The Opium-eater calls Coleridge ‘the largest and most spacious intellect, the subtlest and most comprehensive that has yet existed among men.’ Impiety to Shakespeare! treason to Milton! I give up the rest, even Bacon. Certainly, since their day, we have seen nothing at all comparable to him. Byron and Scott were but as gun-flints to a granite mountain; Wordsworth has one angle of resemblance; Southey has written more, and all well, much admirably.…
“Let me add a few verses as usual:—
‘Pleasures—away, they please no more:Friends—are they what they were before?Loves—they are very idle things,The best about them are their wings.The dance—’tis what the bear can do;Music—I hate your music too.Whene’er these witnesses that timeHath snatch’d the chaplet from our primeAnd called by nature (as we goWith eyes more wary, step more slow),And will be heard, and noted down,However we may fret or frown;Shall we desire to leave the sceneWhere all our former joys have been?No! ’twere ungrateful and unwise:But when die down our charitiesFor human weal and human woes,’Tis then the hour our days should close.’”
‘Pleasures—away, they please no more:Friends—are they what they were before?Loves—they are very idle things,The best about them are their wings.The dance—’tis what the bear can do;Music—I hate your music too.Whene’er these witnesses that timeHath snatch’d the chaplet from our primeAnd called by nature (as we goWith eyes more wary, step more slow),And will be heard, and noted down,However we may fret or frown;Shall we desire to leave the sceneWhere all our former joys have been?No! ’twere ungrateful and unwise:But when die down our charitiesFor human weal and human woes,’Tis then the hour our days should close.’”
‘Pleasures—away, they please no more:Friends—are they what they were before?Loves—they are very idle things,The best about them are their wings.The dance—’tis what the bear can do;Music—I hate your music too.Whene’er these witnesses that timeHath snatch’d the chaplet from our primeAnd called by nature (as we goWith eyes more wary, step more slow),And will be heard, and noted down,However we may fret or frown;Shall we desire to leave the sceneWhere all our former joys have been?No! ’twere ungrateful and unwise:But when die down our charitiesFor human weal and human woes,’Tis then the hour our days should close.’”
‘Pleasures—away, they please no more:
Friends—are they what they were before?
Loves—they are very idle things,
The best about them are their wings.
The dance—’tis what the bear can do;
Music—I hate your music too.
Whene’er these witnesses that time
Hath snatch’d the chaplet from our prime
And called by nature (as we go
With eyes more wary, step more slow),
And will be heard, and noted down,
However we may fret or frown;
Shall we desire to leave the scene
Where all our former joys have been?
No! ’twere ungrateful and unwise:
But when die down our charities
For human weal and human woes,
’Tis then the hour our days should close.’”
And this:—
“D’Orsay’s mind is always active. I wish it would put his pen in motion. At this season of the year (January) I fancied he was at Melton. Doesnot he lament that this bitter frost allows him no chance of breaking his neck over gates and double hedges? Pray offer him my kind remembrances.”
And here a chatty little note from D’Orsay:—
“It is a fact, that my brave nephew has been acting the part of Adonis, with asacré cochon, who nearly opened his leg;[20]his presence of mind was great, he was on his lame leg in time to receive the second attack of the infuriated beast, and killed him on the spot, plunging acouteau de chassethrough his heart—luckily the wild boar had one. The romantic scene would have been complete, if there had been another Gabrielle de Vergy looking at this modern Raoul de Courcy. We think and speak of you often, and are in hopes that you will pay us a visit soon. Poor Forster is ill and miserable at the loss of his brother. I am sure that Forster is one of the best, honestest and kindest men that ever lived. I had yesterday a letter from Eugene Sue, who is in raptures with Macready as an actor and as a man. We saw lately that good, warm-hearted Dickens—he spoke of you very affectionately.… —Most affectionately,
“D’Orsay.”
It behoves us now to pay some attention to D’Orsay’s claims as an artist; if he had posed simply as an amateur, silence would be possible, but he worked for money, entered the lists with other artists, and therefore laid himself open to judgment. In his own day he was highly thought of by many—here we have what was written of him inLa Presseon November 10th, 1850, when D’Orsay’s bust of Lamartine was exhibited:—
“M. le comte d’Orsay est un amateur de l’art plutôt qu’un artiste. Mais qu’est-ce qu’un amateur? C’est un volontaire parmi les artistes; ce sont souvent les volontaires qui font les coup d’éclat dans l’atelier comme sur les champs de bataille. Qu’est ce qu’un amateur? C’est un artiste dont le génie seul fait la vocation. Il est vrai qu’il ne reçoit pas dans son enfance et pendant les premières années de sa vie cette éducation du métier d’où sort Michel Ange, d’où sort Raphaél … mais s’il doit moins au maître, il doit plus à la nature. Il est son œuvre.… M. d’Orsay exerça dans les salons de Paris et de Londres la dictature Athénienne du goût et de l’élégance. C’est un de ces hommes qu’on aurait cru préoccupé de succès futiles,—parce que la nature semble les avoir créés uniquement pour son plaisir—mais qui trompent la nature, et qui, après avoir recueilli les légères admirations des jeunes gens et des femmes de leur âge, échappent à cette atmosphère delégèreté avant le temps où ils laissent ses idoles dans le vide, et se transforment par l’étude et par le travail en hommes nouveaux, en hommes de mérite acquis et sérieux. M. d’Orsay a habité longtemps l’Angleterre ou il donnait l’exemple et le ton à cette société aristocratique, un peu raide et déforme, qui admire surtout ce qui lui manque, la grâce et l’abandon des manières.…
“Dès cet époque, il commenca à jouer avec l’argile, le marbre, le ciseau, liè par un attachement devenu une parenté d’esprit, avec une des plus belles et des plus splendides femmes de son époque, il fit son buste pendant qu’elle vivait; il le fit idéal et plus touchant après sa mort. Il moula en formes après, rudes, sauvages, de grandeur fruste, les traits paysanesque d’O’Connell. Ces bustes furent à l’instant vulgarisés en millièrs d’exemplaires en Angleterre et à Paris. C’étaient des créations neuves.…
“Ces premiers succès furent des plus complets. Il cherchait un visage. Il en trouva un. Lord Byron, dont il fut l’ami et avec lequel il voyagea pendant deux ans[21]en Italie, n’était plus qu’un souvenir aimé dans son cœur.… Il fit le buste de Lamartine,…” and then there is something approaching very closely to a rhapsody on this work of art, and then a set of verses by Lamartine himself!
Debt drove D’Orsay to seek in art a means of adding to his income; in the case of Mr. Mitchell of Bond Street, who published a series of portrait drawings, it is even possible that he used his art to cancel his debt for Opera boxes, etc.! Theseportraits were 14 inches high and 10½ inches wide and were sold at 5s. each. The set must have been almost a pictorial “Who’s Who,” and among those honoured with inclusion may be named Byron, Disraeli, Theodore Hook, Carlyle, Liszt, D’Orsay himself, the Duke of Wellington, Greville, Louis Napoleon, Bulwer Lytton, Trelawney, Landor, Dickens, Lady Blessington, Henry Bulwer, Captain Marryat and Sir Edwin Landseer.
Richard James Lane, the engraver and lithographer, saw much of D’Orsay, and judging by the following letter held him in esteem:—
“As a patron, his kind consideration for my interest, and prompt fulfilment of every engagement, never failed me for the more than twenty years of my association with him; and the friendship that arose out of our intercourse (and which I attest with gratitude) proceeded at a steady pace, without the smallest check, during the same period; and remained unbroken, when on his final departure from England, he continued to give me such evidence of the constancy of his regard, as will be found conveyed in his letters.
“In the sketches of the celebrities of Lady Blessington’ssalons, which he brought to me (amounting to some hundred and fifty, or more), there was generally an appropriate expression and character, that I found difficult to retain in the process of elaboration; and although I may have improved upon them in the qualities for which I was trained, I often found that the final touches of his own hand alone made the work satisfactory.
“Of the amount and character of the assistance of which the Count availed himself, in theproduction of his pictures and models, I have a clear notion.…
“When a gentleman would rush into the practice of that which, in its mechanism, demands experience and instruction, he avails himself of the help of a craftsman, whose services are sought for painting-in the subordinate parts, and working out his rude beginnings. In the first rank of art, at this day, are others who, like the Count d’Orsay, have been unprepared, excepting by the possession of taste and genius, for the practice of art, and whose merits are in no way obscured by the assistance which theyalsofreely seek in the manipulation of their works; and it is no less easy to detect, in the pictures of the Count, the precise amount of mechanical aid which he has received from another hand, than the graces of character and feeling that are superadded by his own. I have seen a rough model, executed entirely by himself, of such extraordinary power and simplicity of design, that I begged him to have itmoulded, and not to proceed to the details of the work, until he could first place this model side by side with the cast in clay, to be worked up. He took my advice, and his equestrian statue of the first Napoleon may fairly justify my opinion.
“In art, he had a heartfelt sympathy, a searching eye, and a critical taste, fostered by habitual intercourse with some of our first artists.”
This letter from D’Orsay to Lane shows the Count in an amiable light:—
“Paris,21st February 1850.“My Dear Lane,—I cannot really express to you the extent of my sorrow about your dear andgood family. You know that my heart is quite open to sympathy with the sorrows of others. But judge therefore, how it must be, when so great a calamity strikes a family like yours, which family I always considered one of the best I ever had the good fortune to know. What a trial for dear Mrs Lane, after so many cares, losing a son like yours, just at the moment that he was to derive the benefit of the good education you gave him.… There is no consolation to offer. The only one that I can imagine, is to think continually of the person lost, and to make oneself more miserable by thinking. It is, morally speaking, an homœopathic treatment, and the only one which can give some relief.… Give my most affectionate regards to your dear family, and believe me always—far or near. Your sincere friend,“D’Orsay.”
“Paris,21st February 1850.
“My Dear Lane,—I cannot really express to you the extent of my sorrow about your dear andgood family. You know that my heart is quite open to sympathy with the sorrows of others. But judge therefore, how it must be, when so great a calamity strikes a family like yours, which family I always considered one of the best I ever had the good fortune to know. What a trial for dear Mrs Lane, after so many cares, losing a son like yours, just at the moment that he was to derive the benefit of the good education you gave him.… There is no consolation to offer. The only one that I can imagine, is to think continually of the person lost, and to make oneself more miserable by thinking. It is, morally speaking, an homœopathic treatment, and the only one which can give some relief.… Give my most affectionate regards to your dear family, and believe me always—far or near. Your sincere friend,
“D’Orsay.”
In 1843 D’Orsay writes jestingly of himself: “I am poetising, modelling, etc., etc. In fact, I begin to believe that I am a Michael Angelomanqué.”
Concerning the Wellington statuette, D’Orsay writes to Madden: “You must have seen by the newspapers that I have completed a great work, which creates a revolution in the Duke of Wellington’s own mind, and that of his family. It is a statuette on horseback of himself, in the costume and at the age of the Peninsular war. They say that it will be a fortune for me, as every regiment in the service will have one, as the Duke says publicly, that it is the only work by which he desires to be known, physically, by portraits. They say that he is very popular in Portugal and Spain. I thought possibly that you couldsell for me the copyright at Lisbon, to some speculator to whom I could send the mould.”
Shortly before his death he completed a smaller equestrian statuette of the Duke, an account of which was given in theMorning Chronicleof 23rd December 1852:—
“One of the last of the late lamented Count d’Orsay’s studies was a statuette of the Duke on horseback, the first copy of which, in bronze, was carefully retouched and polished by the artist. The work is remarkable for its mingled grace and sprightliness. The Duke, sitting firmly back in his saddle, is reining in a pawing charger, charmingly modelled, and a peculiar effect is obtained by the rider dividing the reins, and stretching that on the left side completely back over the thigh. The portrait is good, particularly that of the full face, and very carefully finished, and the costume is a characteristic closely-fitting military undress, with hanging cavalry sabre. Altogether, indeed, the statuette forms a most agreeable memorial, not only of the Duke, but, in some degree, of the gifted artist.”
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 wordportrait! 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, theGlobe, 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 whichmust 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 theNew Monthly Magazineof 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
Lady Blessington
(From the Bust by D’Orsay)
[TO FACE PAGE 234
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.”
“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.”
“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! Wherehaveyou been?… Macready has sent me a Boston paper, in which Ihave 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.”
“Gore House,25th October 1844.
“It is really an age since you’ve been here. It’s a poor joke! Wherehaveyou been?… Macready has sent me a Boston paper, in which Ihave 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.…”
“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 lampsand 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—thecarriage 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.”
“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—thecarriage 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.…”
“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.…”
“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 feelthat 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.”
“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 feelthat 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. Youwould 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 thecontrary.…Au revoir, dear Charles.—Your affectionate,“D’Orsay.”
“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. Youwould 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 thecontrary.…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 cettemethodus 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 stylemoins laconique.“Depuis mon arrivée dans ce pays il étoit difficile de pouvoir donner unFair Trial, à laméthode, étant toujours obligé à diner et boire un verre de vin, avec tous ceux qui ont soif. Ainsi je l’ai abandonné trop tôt pour me guérir, mais toujours à temps pour me pénétrer que jusqu’à ce jour le genre de humain a vegeté au lieu de vivre—Il faut donc que je recommence malgré que je souffre moins; repénêtrez vous de ma santé, consultez vos oracles, et voyez à me reprendre en main comme vous l’aviez fait. Je suivrai ponctuellement vos airs, et vous aurez au moins la gloire d’avoir guéri une des trompettes de la renommée de la méthode, et un ami sincère. Détaillez bien la manière de prendre, les remèdes, et prescrivez non pas enparaboles, mais dans votre style persuasif.… Adieu, brave Quin. Je vous serre la main non pas de toutes mes forces, mais de tout mon cœur.—Votre devoué et sincère ami,“Alfred d’Orsay.”
“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 cettemethodus 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 stylemoins laconique.
“Depuis mon arrivée dans ce pays il étoit difficile de pouvoir donner unFair Trial, à laméthode, étant toujours obligé à diner et boire un verre de vin, avec tous ceux qui ont soif. Ainsi je l’ai abandonné trop tôt pour me guérir, mais toujours à temps pour me pénétrer que jusqu’à ce jour le genre de humain a vegeté au lieu de vivre—Il faut donc que je recommence malgré que je souffre moins; repénêtrez vous de ma santé, consultez vos oracles, et voyez à me reprendre en main comme vous l’aviez fait. Je suivrai ponctuellement vos airs, et vous aurez au moins la gloire d’avoir guéri une des trompettes de la renommée de la méthode, et un ami sincère. Détaillez bien la manière de prendre, les remèdes, et prescrivez non pas enparaboles, mais dans votre style persuasif.… Adieu, brave Quin. Je vous serre la main non pas de toutes mes forces, mais de tout mon cœur.—Votre devoué et sincère ami,
“Alfred d’Orsay.”
Dr Quin was the first homœopathic practitioner in England, and in his early days was denounced as a quack. He was endowed with an inexhaustible fund of good humour, was a wit and a master of repartee. In a postscript to another letter D’Orsay writes:—
“You have, my friend, an unbearable mania, that of always defending the absent. Don’t you know that there is a French proverb which says, ‘Les absens ont toujours tort?’ This fashion never goes out, and, the devil, you who are the ‘pink of fashion,’ you must be in the mode.”
Jekyll declared to Lady Blessington that he “was asked gravely if quinine was invented by Doctor Quin!”
Here is a quaint little note to the Doctor:—
“Gore House,Saturday.“My Dear Dr Quin,—M. Pipelet (D’Orsay) requests that you will send him the letter about Mr ⸺ you promised he should have. I suppose it is in vain to tell you we are going to the Opera to-night. Of course you have 999 impatient patients whomustsee you every five minutes throughout the course of the day and night, and as many more friends who expect you to dinner. However,en passant, I venture to hint that we go with Mdme. Calabrella, so if you manage to kill off the maladies, and put the friends under the table in turn, we shall be delighted to see you ready and waiting, as Homer says in the fifth book of theIliad, line forty-nine. Farewell, may you be happy whilst I—Sobs choke my utterance. Adieu.”
“Gore House,Saturday.
“My Dear Dr Quin,—M. Pipelet (D’Orsay) requests that you will send him the letter about Mr ⸺ you promised he should have. I suppose it is in vain to tell you we are going to the Opera to-night. Of course you have 999 impatient patients whomustsee you every five minutes throughout the course of the day and night, and as many more friends who expect you to dinner. However,en passant, I venture to hint that we go with Mdme. Calabrella, so if you manage to kill off the maladies, and put the friends under the table in turn, we shall be delighted to see you ready and waiting, as Homer says in the fifth book of theIliad, line forty-nine. Farewell, may you be happy whilst I—Sobs choke my utterance. Adieu.”
D’Orsay might have been a great artist and a great man of letters; of his genius as a financier there is no doubt. He solved the question of how to obtain unlimited credit; he paid such debts as he did cancel with money which legally was his, but which almost any other man would not have cared to touch.
Lord Blessington is said, when he persuaded D’Orsay to abandon his career in the French army, to have undertaken to provide for the Count’s future, and he fulfilled his promise at the expense of his daughter’s happiness and of the family estates.
In the return made of “The Annuities, Mortgages, Judgments and other Debts, Legacies, Sums of Money, and Incumbrances, charged upon or affecting the Estates of the said Charles John, Earl of Blessington, at the Time of his Decease,” we find that the mortgages and sums of money charged on D’Orsay’s account from 1837 to 1845, amounted to the quite respectable sum of £20,184. In Blessington’s will all his estates in Dublin, bringing in a rental of £13,322, 18s. 8d. were left to whichever of his daughters married D’Orsay.
By the marriage settlement £20,000 was to be paid to trustees, the Duc de Guiche, and Robert Power, within twelve months of thesolemnisation, and a further £20,000 on Blessington’s decease; the money to be invested in the funds, and the interest thereupon to be paid to D’Orsay during his life.
As we have seen, the happy couple separated actually in 1831, legally in 1838.
In 1834 an order was made by the Court of Chancery in Ireland, upon which was thrown the task of clearing up the mess made of his property by Blessington, granting D’Orsay an income of £500, and to his wife £450.
How great that mess was, for which D’Orsay and his wife were partly to blame, will be seen from the following facts. The Countess had run up debts to the tune of £10,000, which sum, however, is scarcely worth mentioning beside that incurred by her husband. By the deed of separation between them, D’Orsay relinquished all his claims on the Blessington estates, in consideration—
i. Of £2467 of annuities granted by him being redeemed, which cost £23,500.ii. In consideration of the sum of £55,000 being paid to him, £13,000 of which was to be raised as soon as possible, and £42,000 within ten years.
i. Of £2467 of annuities granted by him being redeemed, which cost £23,500.
ii. In consideration of the sum of £55,000 being paid to him, £13,000 of which was to be raised as soon as possible, and £42,000 within ten years.
A grand total of money which all went in one way or another to pay off D’Orsay’s debts.
As to the estate: the trustees were empowered by Act of Parliament to make sales to the amount of £350,000 to pay off all encumbrances and claims. Thus ended the glory of the Blessington fortune; thus often has it been in Ireland.
D’Orsay found fortune and lost it; he couldnot even retain the wife with which it was encumbered.
Over £100,000 of debts we know he paid, and still he owed very much. For at least two years previous to his final departure from England he went in constant dread of arrest at the instigation of sordid persons, who had not sufficient understanding of the fact that it was an honour to them to help in the support of a great man. There are too many petty-minded people in the world! Just heavens! That a man of D’Orsay’s calibre should be confined to his house and grounds all the days of the week save Sunday, excepting that he could creep forth under cover of darkness! That the Prince of the Dandies should go in danger of the vile clutch of a sinister myrmidon of the law and of the degradation of a sponging-house.
In 1845 D’Orsay apparently realised that his pecuniary condition was irreparable, and sought in vain for means of escape. He prepared a schedule of his liabilities, the total sum of his indebtedness amounting to £107,000, not including a number of debts to private friends, which made an additional sum of £13,000. It was even contemplated that he should go through the Court of Bankruptcy, but a difficulty was found in the fact that it could not be proved that he was a commercial man or an agriculturalist. He only sowed wild oats.
The situation so pressed upon him, that he allowed himself for a time to become the prey of impostors, who declared that they had achieved what the alchemists of old had so long looked forin vain, the conversion of the baser metals into gold!
From an unveracious chronicle we quote a passage which is veracious:—
“Now, among the shyest birds that ever ducked from a missile of the law was, without an exception the Marquis d’Horsay (D’Orsay). His maxim had long been ‘catch me who can;’ at the same time, acting up to the patent-safety rule of ‘prevention being so much better than cure,’ he afforded no facilities whatever of being hobbled in the chase. At bay he kept the yelping pack, and within the good, stout, rich walls of his covert he maintained both a pleasant and a secure retreat from the dangers besetting him. He now no longer ventured to frame himself, as it were, in his cab, and exhibit his colours and attractions to the curious crowds, except on that privileged day—when even the debtor is at liberty to rest—the seventh of the week.[26]Then, indeed, he issued forth, decked as of old, and, like a bird free from the confines of his cage, made the most of the brief hours of his freedom.
“Every art, every manœuvre within the subtle and almost inexhaustible resources of those apt functionaries of the law who are ever on the alert to deprive the subject of his liberty, let him be never so chary of the preservation of it, had been put in force to trap our hero; but hitherto in vain. Mr Sloughman,[27]truly, arrived within a short journey of accomplishing this much-desired end; still he was frustrated, and now among theranks of bums there was a cloud which damped their hopes and mildewed their energies. The Marquis was not to be grabbed, and they knew it. With flagging spirits the attempts were renewed over and over again. Bribes and offers of rewards were extended liberally to his menials for their traitorous assistance in obtaining the design, but they had been too well selected, and knew their own interests depended on no such frail or fleeting benefits. False messengers in all garbs and disguises, upon all kinds of errands and excuses, applied for admission and interviews. Even—yes, even the fair sex were at last made not bearers of Love’s despatches, but conveyancers of stern writs, notices of declarations, trials, and suchlike means to the end and breaking up of a man of fashion. Still the Marquis was proof against all these attacks, let them come in what shape they would.”
That may be fancy, but it is close akin to fact.
InThe English Spywe read of the crowd in Hyde Park of a Sunday afternoon at the fashionable hour:—