A Journal of Conversations with Lord Byron/Memoir of the Countess of Blessington
Memoir
of the
Countess of Blessington.
Marguerite, Countess of Blessington, was born at Knockbrit, near Clonmel, Tipperary County, Ireland, on the 1st of September, 1789, and was the third daughter of Mr. Edmund Power, who was of respectable family, but broken fortune and reckless habits.
She was married in her fifteenth year to a Captain Farmer, but the marriage was a very unhappy one, and Mrs. Farmer after a time quitted his house. He was killed by falling from a window in the King's Bench prison while in a state of intoxication, and within four months his widow was married to the Earl of Blessington, February, 1818. After exhausting every means of enjoyment in England and Ireland, the Earl and Countess started in September, 1822, on a continental tour which, partly owing to the Earl's property having become considerably encumbered, was prolonged till his death.
At Paris they were joined by Count Alfred D'Orsay, who in 1827 married a daughter of Lord Blessington by his first wife. It was an unhappy marriage, and a separation eventually took place; but Count D'Orsay continued after the death of Lord Blessington to reside with Lady Blessington during the remainder of her life. Lord Blessington died at Paris in May, 1829.
Lady Blessington on her return to London made her house the centre of a brilliant circle of persons of social and intellectual eminence. She quickly became one of the celebrities of London; and for nearly twenty years the Salon, first of Seamore Place, and afterwards of Gore House, disputed the palm with those of Holland House as the resort of the learned, the witty, and the famous of the day.
In the twelfth letter of "the Pencillings," dated 1834, Mr. Willis gives an account of his first visit to Lady Blessington in London, then residing in Seamore Place, certainly more graphic than any other description of her réunions that has been given:—
"A friend in Italy had kindly given me a letter to Lady Blessington, and with a strong curiosity to see this celebrated authoress, I called on the second day after my arrival in London. It was 'deep i' the afternoon,' but I had not yet learned the full meaning of town hours. 'Her ladyship had not come down to breakfast.' I gave the letter and my address to the powdered footman, and had scarce reached home, when a note arrived inviting me to call the same evening at ten.
"In a long library, lined alternately with splendidly-bound books and mirrors, and with a deep window, of the breadth of the room, opening upon Hyde Park, I found Lady Blessington alone. The picture, to my eye, as the door opened, was a very lovely one—a woman of remarkable beauty, half buried in a fauteuil of yellow satin, reading by a magnificent lamp suspended from the centre of the arched ceiling; sofas, couches, ottomans, and busts arranged in rather a crowded sumptuousness through the room; enamel tables, covered with expensive and elegant trifles in every corner, and a delicate white hand relieved on the back of a book, to which the eye was attracted by the blaze of its diamond rings. As the servant mentioned my name, she rose and gave me her hand very cordially; and a gentleman, entering immediately after, she presented me to Count D'Orsay, the well-known Pelham of London, and certainly the most splendid specimen of a man, and a well-dressed one, that I had ever seen. Tea was brought in immediately, and conversation went swimmingly on.
"Her ladyship's inquiries were principally about America, of which, from long absence, I knew very little. She was extremely curious to know the degrees of reputation the present popular authors of England enjoy among us, particularly Bulwer and D'Israeli, (the author of 'Vivian Grey.') 'If you will come to-morrow night,' she said, 'you will see Bulwer. I am delighted that he is popular in America. He is envied and abused—for nothing, I believe, except for the superiority of his genius, and the brilliant literary success it commands; and knowing this, he chooses to assume a pride which is only the armor of a sensitive mind afraid of a wound. He is to his friends the most frank and noble creature in the world, and open to boyishness with those who he thinks understand and value him. He has a brother Henry, who is also very clever in a different vein, and is just now publishing a book on the present state of France.
"Do they like the D'Israelis in America?'
"I assured her ladyship that the 'Curiosities of Literature,' by the father, and 'Vivian Grey' and 'Contarini Fleming,' by the son, were universally known.
"'I am pleased at that, for I like them both. D'Israeli the elder came here with his son the other night. It would have delighted you to see the old man's pride in him, and the son's respect and affection for his father. D'Israeli the elder lives in the country, about twenty miles from town; seldom comes up to London, and leads a life of learned leisure, each day hoarding up and dispensing forth treasures of literature. He is courtly, yet urbane, and impresses one at once with confidence in his goodness. In his manners, D'Israeli the younger is quite his own character of "Vivian Grey;" full of genius and eloquence, with extreme good nature, and a perfect frankness of character.'
"I asked if the account I had seen in some American paper of a literary celebration at Canandaigua, and the engraving of her ladyship's name with some others upon a rock, was not a quiz.
"'Oh, by no means. I was much amused by the whole affair. I have a great idea of taking a trip to America to see it. Then the letter, commencing, "Most charming Countess—for charming you must be, since you have written the ’Conversations of Lord Byron'"—oh, it was quite delightful. I have shown it to every body. By-the-way, I receive a great many letters from America from people I never heard of, written in the most extraordinary style of compliment, apparently in perfect good faith. I hardly know what to make of them.'
"I accounted for it by the perfect seclusion in which great numbers of cultivated people live in our country, who, having neither intrigue, nor fashion, nor twenty other things to occupy their minds, as in England, depend entirely upon books, and consider an author who has given them pleasure as a friend. 'America,' I said, 'has probably more literary enthusiasts than any country in the world; and there are thousands of romantic minds in the interior of New England who know perfectly every writer on this side of the water, and hold them all in affectionate veneration, scarcely conceivable by a sophisticated European. If it were not for such readers, literature would be the most thankless of vocations; I, for one, would never write another line.'
"'And do you think these are the people which write to me? If I could think so, I should be exceedingly happy. A great proportion of the people of England are refined down to such heartlessness; criticism, private and public, is so much influenced by politics, that it is really delightful to know there is a more generous tribunal. Indeed, I think many of our authors now are beginning to write for America. We think already a great deal of your praise or censure.'
"I asked if her ladyship had known many Americans.
"'Not in London, but a great many abroad. I was with Lord Blessington in his yacht at Naples when the American fleet was lying there ten or eleven years ago, and we were constantly on board your ships. I knew Commodore Creighton and Captain Deacon extremely well, and liked them particularly. They were with us frequently of an evening on board the yacht or the frigate, and I remember very well the bands playing always "God save the King" as we went up the side. Count D'Orsay here, who spoke very little English at the time, had a great passion for "Yankee Doodle," and it was always played at his request.'
"The count, who still speaks the language with a very slight accent, but with a choice of words that shows him to be a man of uncommon tact and elegance of mind, inquired after several of the officers, whom I have not the pleasure of knowing. He seems to remember his visits to the frigate with great pleasure. The conversation, after running upon a variety of topics, turned very naturally upon Byron. I had frequently seen the Countess Guiccioli on the Continent, and I asked Lady Blessington if she knew her.
"Yes, very well. We were at Genoa when they were living there, but we never saw her. It was at Rome, in the year 1828, that I first knew her, having formed her acquaintance at Count Funchal's, the Portuguese ambassador.'
"It would be impossible, of course, to make a full and fair record of a conversation of some hours. I have only noted one or two topics which I thought most likely to interest an American reader. During all this long visit, however, my eyes were very busy in finishing for memory a portrait of the celebrated and beautiful woman before me.
"The portrait of Lady Blessington in the 'Book of Beauty' is not unlike her, but it is still an unfavorable likeness. A picture by Sir Thomas Lawrence hung opposite me, taken, perhaps, at the age of eighteen, which is more like her, and as captivating a representation of a just matured woman, full of loveliness and love, the kind of creature with whose divine sweetness the gazer's heart aches, as ever was drawn in the painter's most inspired hour. The original is no longer dans sa première jeunesse. Still she looks something on the sunny side of thirty. Her person is full, but preserves all the fineness of an admirable shape; her foot is not pressed in a satin slipper, for which a Cinderella might long be sought in vain; and her complexion (an unusually fair skin, with very dark hair and eyebrows) is of even a girlish delicacy and freshness. Her dress, of blue satin, (if I am describing her like a milliner, it is because I have here and there a reader in my eye who will be amused by it,) was cut low, and folded across her bosom, in a way to show to advantage the round and sculpture-like curve and whiteness of a pair of exquisite shoulders; while her hair, dressed close to her head, and parted simply on her forehead with a rich feronier of turquoise, enveloped in clear outline a head with which it would be difficult to find a fault, Her features are regular, and her mouth, the most expressive of them, has a ripe fulness and freedom of play peculiar to the Irish physiognomy, and expressive of the most unsuspicious good-humor. Add to all this a voice merry and sad by turns, but always musical, and manners of the most unpretending elegance, yet even more remarkable for their winning kindness, and you have the prominent traits of one of the most lovely and fascinating women I have ever seen. Remembering her talents and her rank, and the unenvying admiration she receives from the world of fashion and genius, it would be difficult to reconcile her lot to the 'doctrine of compensation.'[1]
"In the evening I kept my appointment with Lady Blessington. She had deserted her exquisite library for the drawing-room, and sat, in full dress, with six or seven gentlemen about her. I was presented immediately to all; and when the conversation was resumed, I took the opportunity to remark the distinguished coterie with which she was surrounded.
"Nearest me sat Smith, the author of 'Rejected Addresses'—a hale, handsome man, apparently fifty, with white hair, and a very nobly-formed head and physiognomy. His eye alone—small, and with lids contracted into an habitual look of drollery, betrayed the bent of his genius. He held a cripple's crutch in his hand, and, though otherwise rather particularly well-dressed, wore a pair of large India-rubber shoes—the penalty he was paying, doubtless, for the many good dinners he had eaten. He played rather an aside in the conversation, whipping in with a quiz or witticism whenever he could get an opportunity, but more a listener than a talker.
"On the opposite side of Lady Blessington stood Henry Bulwer, the brother of the novelist, very earnestly engaged in a discussion of some speech of O'Connell's. He is said by many to be as talented as his brother, and has lately published a book on the present state of France. He is a small man; very slight and gentlemanlike; a little pitted with the smallpox, and of very winning and persuasive manners. I liked him at the first glance.
"A German prince, with a star on his breast, trying with all his might—but, from his embarrassed look, quite unsuccessfully—to comprehend the drift of the argument; the Duke de Richelieu; a famous traveller just returned from Constantinople; and the splendid person of Count D'Orsay, in a careless attitude upon the ottoman, completed the cordon.
"I fell into conversation after a while with Smith, who, supposing I might not have heard the names of the others in the hurry of an introduction, kindly took the trouble to play the dictionary, and added a graphic character of each as he named him. Among other things, he talked a great deal of America, and asked me if I knew our distinguished countryman, Washington Irving. I had never been so fortunate as to meet him. 'You have lost a great deal,' he said, 'for never was so delightful a fellow. I was once taken down with him into the country by a merchant to dinner. Our friend stopped his carriage at the gate of his park, and asked us if we would walk through his grounds to the house. Irving refused, and held me down by the coat, so that we drove on to the house together, leaving our host to follow on foot. 'I make it a principle,' said Irving, 'never to walk with a man through his own grounds. I have no idea of praising a thing whether I like it or not. You and I will do them to-morrow morning by ourselves.' The rest of the company had turned their attention to Smith as he began his story, and there was a universal inquiry after Mr. Irving. Indeed, the first question on the lips of every one to whom I am introduced as an American is of him and Cooper. The latter seems to me to be admired as much here as abroad, in spite of a common impression that he dislikes the nation. No man's works could have higher praise in the general conversation that followed, though several instances were mentioned of his having shown an unconquerable aversion to the English when in England. Lady Blessington mentioned Mr. Bryant, and I was pleased at the immediate tribute paid to his delightful poetry by the talented circle around her.
"Toward twelve o'clock Mr. Lytton Bulwer was announced, and enter the author of 'Pelham.' I had made up my mind how he should look, and, between prints and descriptions, thought I could scarcely be mistaken in my idea of his person. No two things could be more unlike, however, than the ideal of Mr. Bulwer in my mind and the real Mr. Bulwer who followed the announcement. I liked his manners extremely. He ran up to Lady Blessington with the joyous heartiness of a boy let out of school; and the 'how d'ye, Bulwer?' went round, as he shook hands with every body, in the style of welcome usually given to the best fellow in the world.' As I had brought a letter of introduction to him from a friend in Italy, Lady Blessington introduced me particularly, and we had a long conversation about Naples and its pleasant society.
"Bulwer's head is phrenologically a fine one. His forehead retreats very much, but is very broad and well marked, and the whole air is that of decided mental superiority. His nose is aquiline. His complexion is fair, his hair profuse, curly, and of a light auburn. A more good-natured, habitually-smiling expression could hardly be imagined. Perhaps my impression is an imperfect one, as he was in the highest spirits, and was not serious the whole evening for a minute—but it is strictly and faithfully my impression.
"I can imagine no style of conversation calculated to be more agreeable than Bulwer's. Gay, quick, various, half-satirical, and always fresh and different from every body else, he seemed to talk because he could not help it, and infected every body with his spirits. I cannot give even the substance of it in a letter, for it was in a great measure local or personal.
"Bulwer's voice, like his brother's, is exceedingly lover-like and sweet. His playful tones are quite delicious, and his clear laugh is the soul of sincere and careless merriment.
"It is quite impossible to convey in a letter, scrawled literally between the end of a late visit and a tempting pillow, the evanescent and pure spirit of a conversation of wits. I must confine myself, of course, in such sketches, to the mere sentiment of things that concern general literature and ourselves.
"'The Rejected Addresses' got upon his crutches about three o'clock in the morning, and I made my exit with the rest, thanking Heaven that, though in a strange country, my mother tongue was the language of its men of genius.
"Letter June 14, 1834. I was at Lady Blessington's at eight. Moore had not arrived, but the other persons of the party—a Russian count, who spoke all the languages of Europe as well as his own; a Roman banker, whose dynasty is more powerful than the Pope's; a clever English nobleman, and the 'observed of all observers,' Count D'Orsay, stood in the window upon the park, killing, as they might, the melancholy twilight half hour preceding dinner.
"Dinner was announced, the Russian handed down 'miladi,' and I found myself seated opposite Moore, with a blaze of light on his Bacchus head, and the mirrors with which the superb octagonal room is panelled reflecting every motion . . . . The soup vanished in the busy silence that beseems it, and as the courses commenced their procession, Lady Blessington led the conversation with the brilliancy and ease for which she is remarkable over all the women I ever met . . . .
"O'Connell was mentioned.
"'He is a powerful creature,' said Moore; 'but his eloquence has done great harm both to England and Ireland. There is nothing so powerful as oratory. The faculty of "thinking on his legs" is a tremendous engine in the hands of any man. There is an undue admiration for this faculty, and a sway permitted to it which was always more dangerous to a country than any thing else. Lord A— is a wonderful instance of what a man may do without talking. There is a general confidence in him—a universal belief in his honesty, which serves him instead. Peel is a fine speaker, but, admirable as he had been as an Oppositionist, he failed when he came to lead the House. O'Connell would be irresistible, were it not for the two blots on his character—the contributions in Ireland for his support, and his refusal to give satisfaction to the man he is still willing to attack. They may say what they will of duelling: it is the great preserver of the decencies of society. The old school, which made a man responsible for his words, was the better. I must confess I think so. Then, in O'Connell's case, he had not made his vow against duelling when Peel challenged him. He accepted the challenge, and Peel went to Dover on his way to France, where they were to meet; and O'Connell pleaded his wife's illness, and delayed till the law interfered. Some other Irish patriot, about the same time, refused a challenge on account of the illness of his daughter, and one of the Dublin wits made a good epigram on the two:—
"Some men, with a horror of slaughter,
Improve on the Scripture command,
And 'honor their' wife and their daughter,
'That their days may be long in the land.'"
'The great period of Ireland's glory,' continued Moore, 'was between '82 and '98, and it was a time when a man almost lived with a pistol in his hand. Grattan's dying advice to his son was, "Be always ready with the pistol!" He himself never hesitated a moment . . . .'
"Talking of Grattan, is it not wonderful, with all the agitation in Ireland, we have had no such man since his time? You can scarcely reckon Shiel of the calibre of her spirits of old, and O'Connell, with all his faults, stands alone in his glory.
"The conversation I have given is a mere skeleton of course . . . .
"This discussion may be supposed to have occupied the hour after Lady Blessington retired from the table; for with her vanished Moore's excitement, and everybody else seemed to feel that light had gone out of the room. Her excessive beauty is less an inspiration than the wondrous talent with which she draws from every person around her his peculiar excellence. Talking better than any body else, and narrating, particularly, with a graphic power that I never saw excelled, this distinguished woman seems striving only to make others unfold themselves; and never had diffidence a more apprehensive and encouraging listener. But this is a subject with which I should never be done.
"We went up to coffee, and Moore brightened again over his chasse-café, and went glittering on with criticisms on Grisi, the delicious songstress now ravishing the world, whom he placed above all but Pasta; and whom he thought, with the exception that her legs were too short, an incomparable creature. This introduced music very naturally, and with a great deal of difficulty he was taken to the piano. My letter is getting long, and I have no time to describe his singing. It is well known, however, that its effect is only equalled by the beauty of his own words; and, for one, I could have taken him into my heart with my delight. He makes no attempt at music. It is a kind of admirable recitative, in which every shade of thought is syllabled and dwelt upon, and the sentiment of the song goes through your blood, warming you to the very eyelids, and starting your tears, if you have a soul or sense in you. I have heard of women's fainting at a song of Moore's; and if the burden of it answered by chance to a secret in the bosom of the listener, I should think, from its comparative effect upon so old a stager as myself, that the heart would break with it.
"We all sat around the piano, and after two or three songs of Lady Blessington's choice, he rambled over the keys a while, and sang 'When first I met thee' with a pathos that beggars description. When the last word had faltered out, he rose and took Lady Blessington's hand, said good-night, and was gone before a word was uttered."[2]
But Lady Blessington aspired to be something more than merely their hostess. She had in 1822 published a couple of volumes of Sketches, and in 1832 she fairly entered upon her career of authorship by contributing to the "New Monthly Magazine" a journal of conversations with Lord Byron. She became acquainted with Lord Byron when residing on the Continent, and as she repeated his remarks with little reserve, the 'journal' excited considerable interest and was soon republished in a separate form.
Dr. Madden, in his Life of Lady Blessington, thus narrates an account of her meeting with Lord Byron at Genoa.
The 1st of April, 1823, Lady Blessington's strong desire was gratified—she saw Byron. But the lady was disappointed, and there is reason to believe that the lord, always indisposed abroad to make new acquaintances with his countrymen or women, was on the occasion of this interview taken by surprise, and not so highly gratified by it as might have been expected, when the agrèmens and personal attractions of the lady are taken into consideration.
Lady Blessington's expression of disappointment has a tincture of asperity in it which is seldom, indeed, to be found in her observations. There are very evident appearances of annoyance of some kind or another in the account given by her of this interview, occasioned either by the reception given her by Byron, or at some eccentricity, or absence of mind, that was unexpected, or apparent want of homage on his part to her beauty or talents on this occasion, to which custom had habituated her.
It must also be observed, that the interview with her ladyship is described as having been sought by Lord Byron. It is more than probable, however, a little ruse was practised on his lordship to obtain it. It is stated by one who has a good knowledge of all the circumstances of this visit, that a rainy forenoon was selected for the drive to Byron's villa; that shelter was necessitated, and that necessity furnished a plea for a visit which would not have been without some awkwardness under other circumstances. Lord Blessington, having been admitted at once on presenting himself at Byron's door, was on the point of taking his departure, apologizing for the briefness of the visit on account of Lady Blessington being left in an open carriage in the court-yard, the rain then falling, when Byron immediately insisted on descending with Lord Blessington, and conducting her ladyship into his house.
"When we arrived," says Lady Blessington, "at the gate of the court-yard of the Casa Saluzzo, in the village of Albano,[3] where he resides, Lord Blessington and a gentleman of our party left the carriage and sent in their names.[4] They were admitted immediately, and experienced a very cordial reception from Lord Byron, who expressed himself delighted to see his old acquaintance. Byron requested to be presented to me, which led to Lord Blessington's avowing that I was in the carriage at the gate, with my sister. Byron immediately hurried out into the court, and I, who heard the sound of steps, looked through the gate, and beheld him approaching quickly toward the carriage without his hat, and considerably in advance of the other two gentlemen."
The visit was a long one; and many questions were asked about old friends and acquaintances. Lady Blessington says Byron expressed warmly, at their departure, the pleasure which the visit had afforded him—and she doubted not his sincerity; not that she would arrogate any merit in her party to account for his satisfaction, but simply because she could perceive that Byron liked to hear news of his old associates, and to pass them en revue, pronouncing sarcasms on each as he turned up in conversation.
In a previous notice of this interview, which bears some internal evidence of having been written long after the period it refers to, lamenting over the disappointment she felt at finding her beau ideal of a poet by no means realized, her ladyship observes: "Well, I never will allow myself to form an ideal of any person I desire to see, for disappointment never fails to ensue."
Byron, she admits, had more than usual personal attractions, "but his appearance nevertheless had fallen short of her expectations." There is no commendation, however, without a concomitant effort at depreciation. For example, her ladyship observes, "His laugh is musical, but he rarely indulged in it during our interview; and when he did, it was quickly followed by a graver aspect, as if he liked not this exhibition of hilarity. Were I asked to point out the prominent defect of Byron's manner, I should pronounce it to be a flippancy incompatible with the notion we attach to the author of Childe Harold and Manfred, and a want of self possession and dignity that ought to characterize a man of birth and genius. Notwithstanding this defect, his manners are very fascinating—more so, perhaps, than if they were dignified; but he is too gay, too flippant for a poet."[5]
Lady Blessington was accompanied on this occasion by her sister, Miss Mary Anne Power, now Comtesse de St. Marsault. Byron, in a letter to Moore, dated April 2, 1823, thus refers to this interview:—
"Your other allies, whom I have found very agreeable personages, are Milor Blessington and épouse, travelling with a very handsome companion in the shape of a 'French count,' (to use Farquhar's phrase in the Beaux Stratagem,) who has all the air of a Cupidon déchainé, and is one of the few specimens I have seen of our ideal of a Frenchman before the Revolution, an old friend with a new face, upon whose like I never thought that we should look again. Miladi seems highly literary, to which, and your honor's acquaintance with the family, I attribute the pleasure of having seen them. She is also very pretty, even in a morning—a species of beauty on which the sun of Italy does not shine so frequently as the chandelier. Certainly English women wear better than their Continental neighbors of the same sex. Mountjoy seems very good-natured, but is much tamed since I recollect him in all the glory of gems and snuff-boxes, and uniform, and theatricals, and speeches in our house—'I mean of Peers'—I must refer you to Pope, whom you don't read and won't appreciate, for that quotation (which you must allow to be poetical)—and sitting to Stroelling, the painter, (do you remember our visit, with Leckie, to the German?) to be depicted as one of the heroes of Agincourt, with his long sword, saddle, bridle, Whak fal de," &c. &c.
We thus find, from the letter of Byron to his friend Moore, that the Blessingtons were accompanied by the Count Alfred D'Orsay in their visit to his lordship, and that he was one of the party on their arrival and at their departure from Genoa.
It is probable that the arrangements for the count's journey to Italy with the Blessingtons had been made in Paris, though he did not accompany them from that city, but joined them first at Valence on the Rhone, and subsequently at Avignon.
D'Orsay, who had been attached to the French army of the pretended expedition against Spain, abandoned his profession in an evil hour for the career of a mere man of pleasure and of fashion.
Byron and the Blessingtons continued to live on the most intimate terms, we are told by Lady Blessington, during the stay of the latter at Genoa; and that intimacy had such a happy influence on the author of Childe Harold, that he began to abandon his misanthropy. On the other hand, I am assured by the Marquise de Boissy, formerly Countess of Guiccioli, that the number of visits of Byron to Lady Blessington during the entire period of her sojourn in Genoa, did not exceed five or six at the utmost, and that Byron was by no means disposed to afford the opportunities that he believed were sought, to enable a lady of a literary turn to write about him. But D'Orsay, she adds, at the first interview, had struck Byron as a person of considerable talents and wonderful acquirements for a man of his age and former pursuits. "Byron from the first liked D'Orsay; he was clever, original, unpretending; he affected to be nothing that he was not."
Byron sat for his portrait to D'Orsay, that portrait which subsequently appeared in the "New Monthly Magazine," and afterward as a frontispiece of her ladyship's work, "Conversations with Lord Byron."
His lordship suffered Lady Blessington to lecture him in prose, and, what was worse, in verse. He endeavored to persuade Lord Blessington to prolong his stay in Genoa, and to take a residence adjoining his own named "Il Paradiso." And a rumor of his intention to take the place for himself, and some good-natured friend observing, "Il diavolo è ancora entrato in Paradiso," his lordship wrote the following lines:—
Beneath Blessington's eyes
The reclaimed Paradise
Should be free as the former from evil;
But if the new Eve
For an apple should grieve,
What mortal would not play the devil?
But the original conceit was not in poetry.
Lady Blessington informed me that, on the occasion of a masked ball to be given in Genoa, Byron stated his intention of going there, and asked her ladyship to accompany him: en badinant about the character she was to go in, some one had suggested that of Eve—Byron said, "As some one must play the devil, I will do it."
Shortly before her departure from Genoa, Lady Blessington requested Byron to write some lines in her album, and, accordingly, he composed the following stanzas for her:—
To the Countess of Blessington.
1.
You have ask'd for a verse: the request
In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny;
But my Hippocrene was but my breast,
And my feelings (its fountain) are dry.
2.
Were I now as I was, I had sung
What Lawrence has painted so well;
But the strain would expire on my tongue,
And the theme is too soft for my shell.
3.
I am ashes where once I was fire,
And the bard in my bosom is dead;
What I loved I now merely admire,
And my heart is as gray as my head.
4.
My life is not dated by years—
There are moments which act as a plow;
And there is not a furrow appears,
But is deep in my soul as my brow.
5.
Let the young and the brilliant aspire
To sing what I gaze on in vain;
For sorrow has torn from my lyre
The string which was worthy the strain.
"One of the most important services conferred upon Lord Byron by Lady Blessington during this intimacy, was that half reviving of his old regard for his wife, and the check which she contrived to place upon the composition of Don Juan, and upon the continuation of its most glaring immoralities. He spoke of Ada; her mother, he said, 'has feasted on the smiles of her infancy and growth, but the tears of her maturity shall be mine.' Lady Blessington told him that if he so loved his child, he should never write a line that could bring a blush of shame to her cheek, or a sorrowing tear to her eye; and he said, 'You are right; I never recollected this. I am jealously tenacious of the undivided sympathy of my daughter; and that work, (Don Juan,) written to beguile hours of tristesse and wretchedness, is well calculated to loosen my hold on her affections. I will write no more of it—would that I had never written a line.' In this gentler mind, with old loves, old times, and the tenderest love that human heart can know, all conducing to soothe his pride and his dislike of Lady Byron, he learned that a near friend of her ladyship was in Genoa, and he requested Lady Blessington to procure for him, through this friend, a portrait of his wife. He had heard that Lady Byron feared he was about to come to England for the purpose of claiming his child. In requesting the portrait and in refuting the report, he addressed the following letter to Lady Blessington:—
"'Dear Lady Blessington: My request would be for a copy of the miniature of Lady B. which I have seen in possession of the late Lady Noel, as I have no picture, or indeed memorial of any kind of Lady B., as all her letters were in her own possession before I left England, and we have had no correspondence since—at least on her part. My message with regard to the infant is simply to this effect, that in the event of any accident occurring to the mother, and my remaining the survivor, it would be my wish to have her plans carried into effect, both with regard to the education of the child, and the person or persons under whose care Lady B. might be desirous that she should be placed. It is not my intention to interfere with her in any way on the subject during her life; and I presume that it would be some consolation to her to know (if she is in ill health, as I am given to understand,) that in no case would any thing be done, as far as I am concerned, but in strict conformity with Lady B's own wishes and intentions, left in what manner she thought proper. Believe me, dear Lady B., your obliged,'" &c.
At length, in the early part of June, 1823, the Blessingtons took their departure from Genoa, and Moore tells us how the separation affected Byron:—
"On the evening before the departure of his friends, Lord and Lady Blessington, from Genoa, he called upon them for the purpose of taking leave, and sat conversing for some time. He was evidently in low spirits, and after expressing his regret that they should leave Genoa before his own time of sailing, proceeded to speak of his own intended voyage in a tone full of despondence. 'Here,' said he, 'we are all now together; but when, and where, shall we meet again? I have a sort of boding that we see each other for the last time; as something tells me I shall never again return from Greece.' Having continued a little longer in this melancholy strain, he leaned his head upon the arm of the sofa on which they were seated, and, bursting into tears, wept for some minutes with uncontrollable feeling. Though he had been talking only with Lady Blessington, all who were present in the room observed, and were affected by, his emotion, while he himself, apparently ashamed of his weakness, endeavored to turn off attention from it by some ironical remark, spoken with a sort of hysterical laugh, upon the effects of nervousness. He had, previous to this conversation, presented to each of the party some little farewell gift—a book to one, a print from his bust by Bartolini to another, and to Lady Blessington a copy of his Armenian Grammar, which had some manuscript remarks of his own on the leaves. In now parting with her, having begged, as a memorial, some trifle which she had worn, the lady gave him one of her rings; in return for which he took a pin from his breast, containing a small cameo of Napoleon, which he said had long been his companion, and presented it to her ladyship. The next day Lady Blessington received from him the following note:—
"'My dear Lady Blessington: I am superstitious, and have recollected that memorials with a point are of less fortunate augury: I will, therefore, request you to accept, instead of the pin, the inclosed chain, which is of so slight a value that you need not hesitate. As you wished for something worn, I can only say that it has been worn oftener and longer than the other. It is of Venetian manufacture, and the only peculiarity about it is that it could only be obtained at or from Venice. At Genoa they have none of the same kind. I also inclose a ring, which I would wish Alfred to keep; it is too large to wear; but it is formed of lava, and so far adapted to the fire of his years and character. You will perhaps have the goodness to acknowledge the receipt of this note, and send back the pin, (for good luck's sake,) which I shall value much more for having been a night in your custody. Ever faithfully your obliged, &c.
"'P S.—I hope your nerves are well to-day, and will continue to flourish.'"
Lady Blessington continued to write for the press with little intermission. She wrote a great many novels of which "The Repealers," was the first in point of time; and the "Victim of Society," the "Two Friends," and the "Belle of a Season," were the most popular.
When portraying the habits of fashionable society she was on familiar ground, and could write with effect; when she treated of subjects of more general interest she lost her power.
One of her most pleasant books after the "Conversations with Lord Byron," is her "Idler in Italy," published in two volumes in 1839.
To this literary industry Lady Blessington was incited by pecuniary necessity, brought about by her splendid style of living. But both her jointure and her literary earnings proved insufficient to meet her expenditure; and when the famine in Ireland cut off in a great measure the returns of the Blessington property, it became necessary in 1849, to dispose of the costly fittings and furniture of Gore House.
Count D'Orsay had gone to Paris in the hope, as was understood, of obtaining a post under Louis Napoleon, with whom he had been on terms of much intimacy. Lady Blessington followed him in April, 1849, and died at Paris almost suddenly on the 4th of June, 1849. Count D'Orsay died at Paris, August 4, 1852.
- ↑ Pencillings by the Way, pp. 355, 356.
- ↑ Pencillings by the Way, pp. 360 to 367.
- ↑ About a mile and a half from Genoa.
- ↑ The gentleman's name will be found in a letter of Byron to Moore, dated 2d April, 1823.
- ↑ Idler in Italy, p. 392.