And Moore reminds her of the day when he beheld "two dazzling faces popped out of a window in Sackville-street" (those of the sisters Marguerite and Ellen.) Lord Blessington had kept his second marriage a secret, even from: his own friends. None of them were aware of it, until at a dinner given to a distinguished circle in Henrietta-street, in the same room where the £4,000 catafalque of the deceased wife had lain, he entered "with a lady of extraordinary beauty, and in bridal costume, leaning upon his arm, and presented her as Lady Blessington." Decorations, costly as the catafalque, were now lavished on the new bride. At Mountjoy Forest she found her private sitting-room hung with crimson silk velvet, trimmed with gold. At their hotel in Paris the reception-rooms were fitted up with crimson satin and gold. Gold, and marble, and mirrors, abounded everywhere. But her ladyship's bed-room and dressingroom was "a surprise of splendor, prepared for her by her gallant husband" (to use her own words). The bed was silvered in place of being gilt, and rested on the backs of two large silver swans. It was placed in a recess, lined with fluted white silk, while pale blue silk curtains, lined with white, fell from the frieze, which was supported by columns at each side. A silvered sofa, resting on a velvet carpet of pale blue, rich coffers for jewels and India shawls, a silver lamp, and all the ornaments silvered, complete the picture. The dres-ing-room had hangings of blue silk, covered with lace, and the furniture was all silvered like the bed. The bath-room also, VOL. XXXV.—NO. I with its draperies of white lace, its marble floor, painted ceiling, and alabaster lamp, in the form of a lotus, is a pretty picture to contemplate; but we have had enough of sybarite upholstery. The splendid town mansion of the newmarried Lord and Lady became, as we have said, the rendezvous of all men of intellect -literati, statesmen, artists, eminent men in all professions, were the habitual visitors of the house. Two royal dukes even condescended to do homage at the new shrine of Irish beauty and intellect. Canning and Castlereagh, Lords Palmerston and Russell, Scarlett, Jekyll, Erskine, and other celebrities paid their devoirs there. Kemble and Matthews, Laurence and Wilkie; eminent divines, Parr and others; Rogers and Moore were among her votaries; and all murmured around the fair countess their homage of admiration, respect, or gratitude; for to all she had shown some courtesy or kindness, special and graceful. All who approached her found sympathy, and by this quick sympathy with others she won their confidence. This was perhaps the great secret of her powers of attraction, and for this beautiful and womanly grace, that made her presence, her letters, her kind words and smiles synonymous with happiness, may many errors be forgiven. About three years after Lady Blessington's marriage, among the distinguished foreigners who appeared at her house were the Duc de Gramont, and his brother-in-law, the young Count D'Orsay. The Count was handsome as the divine Apollo, and clever and brilliant in addition. With such qualities he soon won the ardent friendship of Lord and Lady Blessington. They were meditating a tour through Italy, and proposed that he should accompany them. The rest of the party consisted of Miss Power, afterwards the Comtesse de St. Marsault, and Mr. Charles Matthews, the present great comedian, then a youth of twenty, and a protégé of Lord Blessington's. At Genoa they met Lord Byron, who describes Lady Blessington, in a letter to Moore, as "highly literary, and very pretty, even in a morning-a species of beauty on which the sun of Italy does not shine so frequently as the chandelier." Her ladyship was "disappointed" in Byron: pass them in review, pronouncing sarcasms on each as they were mentioned. His laugh is musical," she continues," 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 in Byron's manner, I should pronounce it to be a flippancy incompatible with the notion we attach to the author of 'Childe Harold,' 'Manfred; and a want of self-possession and dignity that ought to characterize a man of birth and genius. Yet his manners are very fascinating more so, perhaps, than if he were dignified; but he is too gay, too flippant for a poet.' "His lordship," Dr. Madden states, “suffered Lady Blessington to lecture him in prose, and what was worse, in verse;" especially on the publicity he gave to his domestic unhappiness, when, as was said, "Byron wept for the press, and wiped his eyes with the public." His lordship wrote her some complimentary lines in return, but her inspiration could not make him rise above some very commonplace doggerel. "A paradise of a place, with a splendid view of the Mediterranean and surrounding mountains, Vesuvius in the centre. Nothing can be more delightful than the exterior and interior. Lady Blessington is more charming than ever. This is the place, with all its associations, to draw out the resources of her mind; to discover her talents, and be captivated by them. Our evenings are charming; we have each of us a table in the same room, at which we prosecute our various studies, writing, drawing, reading, &c. our conversations, which are frequent, are upon improving subjects; the classics, the existing antiquities around us. We write essays upon various subjects proposed, which are read in the evening, opposed, and defended. I am treated as one of the family. I make all my drawings in the room with them, and am going to instruct Lady Blessington in architecture. It is proposed, as all of us desire to improve ourselves in Italian, that we should learn it in a class, devoting an hour each day to that study. For antiquarian research we have all the ancient authors here to refer to. In short, there never were people so perfectly happy as we are. Whenever any excursion is proposed, the previous evening is employed in reading and informing ourselves thor That same year, 1823, they parted at Ge-oughly about what we are going to see." noa, with much mutual regret, even tears -the Blessingtons for the gaieties of Rome and Naples; Byron for glory, and a grave in Greece. If any intellect be lying latent in a human frame, it must awaken in Italy, where the earth is grand and the heavens beautiful; and especially in the silent Rome, where the great dead of old lie stretched upon their monumental seven hills. Besides, travelling is employment-what all women want, and the increased activity of the brain finds a manifestation somehow in the life. Lady Blessington not only beheld, but studied the world around her. Then it was her literary ambition was aroused, and the sense of power awoke in her. She read much, and strove to penetrate the beauty and mystery of the Past, whether in art or literature; always, too, under the guidance of some leading intellect. At Genoa she had studied poetry in a poet's heart. At Rome, Naples, and Florence, she talked of antiquities with Sir William Gell; of literature with Lord Morpeth; and of all that was deep and noblest in the antique life with Walter Savage Landor. Uwins the painter, Westmacott, Maclise, Sir John Herschell, were also her daily companions. With them she could investigate the heavens and the earth, temples and tombs, fallen columns, and fragments of dead gods, a new planet, or a buried city. Mr. Charles Matthews thus describes the mode of life at the Blessington Villa, in Naples : Every one of these distinguished Italian friends continued their intimacy with Lady Blessington by frequent letters, after her return to London; and thus we are indebted to this continental tour for the brilliant correspondence which forms the chief interest of her published life. In 1823, while in Genoa, Lord Blessington lost his only legitimate son, the heir to his estates-the son of his first wife--for the second Lady Blessington had no children; upon which event he drew up a will so singular in its provisions, that Dr. Madden imputes it to partial insanity. By this will he bequeathed all his property, except some legacies and the Tyrone estate, to Count D'Orsay, and whichever of his two daughters Count D'Orsay chose to marry; and in case of refusal on the part of either of the daughters selected, she was to receive but £10,000. These two daughters were Mary Gardiner, illegitimate, aged twelve, and Lady Harriet Gardiner, legitimate, aged eleven, both daughters of the one mother. Lady Blessington he left a jointure of £3,000 a-year. But two months after, when the will was legally executed, this jointure was reduced to £2,000 a-year, while the other provisions remained the same. strange infatuation for Count D'Orsay this appears, to offer him the choice of either of his daughters, with a bribe of a vast property appended, while the daughters themselves were then but children, who had never seen To A Count D'Orsay, having been brought up in Dublin under the care of an aunt. When the will was executed, General Count D'Orsay, father to Count Alfred, accompanied by Lord Blessington, went to Ireland to see the estates, and the layoung dies. Lady Harriet was selected as the future bride, her legitimacy, perhaps, being the motive of preference with the proud D'Orsay family. Meanwhile, as the young Count is not mentioned as being of the party to Ireland, he probably remained in Italy with Lady Blessington. Curiosity even did not prompt him to go and see his bride. Four years after this arrangement, the young girl was sent for to Naples from Ire land, and the marriage took place. Count D'Orsay was then twenty-six, the bride fifteen; and her supposed rival in the Count's affections was thirty-seven; a disparity of years which almost precludes the idea of any rivalry whatever. The Count received £40,000 fortune with his wife, and "separated himself from her almost at the church door." Dr. Madden, when on his way back from Egypt, met the Blessingtons about this time at Rome, and thus describes the young bride : "Lady Harriet was exceedingly girlish-looking, pale and rather inanimate in expression, silent and reserved. There was no appearance of familiarity with any one around her; no air or look of womanhood, no semblance of satisfaction in her new position, were to be observed in her demeanor or deportment. She seldom or ever spoke, she was little noticed, and looked on as a mere school-girl. her; they thought of turning homewards. At Genoa, on their return, Lady Blessington was reminded at every spot of Byron, from whom she had there parted five years before: "I think her feelings were driven inward by the sense of slight and indifference, and by the strangeness and coldness of everything around and she became indifferent, and strange, and cold, and apparently devoid of all vivacity and interest in society. People were mistaken in her, and she, perhaps, mistaken in others. Her father's act had led to all these misconceptions, ending in suspicions, animosities, aversions, and total estrangements. In the course of a few years, the girl of childish mien and listless looks, who was so silent and apparently inanimate, became a person of remarkable beauty, spirituelle, and intelligent, the reverse in all respects of what she was considered when misplaced and misunderstood. "It was an unhappy marriage (he adds), and nothing to any useful purpose can be said of it, except that Lord Blessington sacrificed his child's happiness, by causing her to marry without consulting her inclinations or interests." "While thus musing one day, she saw a young English girl, who resembled Byron in an extraordinary degree, accompanied by an elderly lady. The English girl was 'Ada, sole daughter of my house and heart,' and the elderly lady was her mother-the widow of Lord Byron." However, the D'Orsays and the Blessingtons continued to reside together during the remainder of their stay abroad; but as eight years had now been passed travelling, The year 1829 was passed at Paris in the splendid Hotel Ney; but the sudden death of Lord Blessington broke up the establishment at once. By this event her ladyship found herself reduced to an income of only £2,000 a-year, in place of £30,000; and besides, she really seemed to regret her husband's death from personal affection for him. In her confidential letters long after, she speaks of much unkindness experienced at this period, after his death-of much suffering she had gone through, we know not of what nature; for Dr. Madden states only, that "painful circumstances obliged the family to leave Paris; and accordingly, the year following, 1830, Lady Blessington proceeded to London, accompanied by the Count and Countess D'Orsay. In a short time the Countess D'Orsay returned to Paris, and her husband rented a small house in Curzon-street adjoining Lady Blessington's residence, in Seymour-place; but after her removal to GoreHouse, the Count took up his abode entirely under the same roof with her ladyship. Some time after a deed of separation was drawn up between the Count and Lady Harriet, by which he relinquished his claim on the Blessington estates for the sum of £100,000, which was agreed to, and paid by successive instalments. On Lady Blessington's return to London, she seriously turned her thoughts to authorship, as a means of increasing a very diFirst appeared, in The minished income. New Monthly, her "Conversations with Lord Byron." The papers attracted immense notice, in consequence of the morbid curiosity, then quite an epidemic, to know something or anything of what Byron thought, said, or did. The literary reputation of the Countess was at once established, and from that till her death, novels, tales, reviews, verses, &c., never ceased flowing from her pen, all of the most mediocre nature certainly, but still they brought her an income of about two thousand a-year, or more. are to judge of their merits by that fact. Her ladyship did not write absolute trash Not that we certainly on the contrary, she sometimes uttered very shrewd, common-sense opinions: but there was such a total want of elevation of feeling or depth of thought in all her works, that it was impossible to read them with profit, or remember them with interest. She had neither Lady Morgan's wit, nor Mrs. Norton's almost agonizing pathos; and if compared with the lady authoresses her cotemporaries, must in all things be named the lowest of the list. We speak of her works in the past tense, for they have probably disappeared from all memories and all libraries; or if they have not, we would recommend them (in Carlyle's phrase) to gather themselves up with all possible speed, and be off to the dust-bin. Something vastly more attractive than penmanship and authorship were the fascinations that surrounded Lady Blessington, and which made her irresistible- grace, beauty, brilliancy, and kindness. Why should a woman with these gifts stain her fair hands with ink, and dim her eyes at midnight manuscripts? Yet this she did for twenty long years of her life, working, ay, as hard as any factory girl at her loom, and for the same reason to support herself-not only herself, but seven or eight members of her family besides; and in addition, all the poor Irish cousins from Clonmel an interminable, exacting, longlived, vigorous race, like all Irish cousins, requiring a great deal to keep up their systems. In one of her letters she says: "I am so constantly and fatiguingly occupied in copying and correcting, that I have not a moment to myself." Again : "When I tell you that I have no less than three works passing through the press, and have to furnish the manuscript to keep the printers at work for one of them, you may judge of my uneasiness and overwhelming occupations, which leave me time neither for pleasure nor for taking air or exercise enough for health. I am literally worn out. I look for release from my literary toils more than ever a slave did from bondage. I never get out any day before five o'clock. I am suffering in health from too much writing." The entire novel of "The Repealers" was written in five weeks; and in a letter to Dr. Madden, dated 4th March, she says: |derstand why I cannot read over the story you sent me, and which I am persuaded is like all I have seen from your pen-graphic, and full of talent." And yet withal, year after year, her expenditure was more than double her income. Fashionable life and literary notoriety are expensive pleasures, as she found one day to her cost, when the poor brain, with all its toil, could no longer meet the expenses of the worthless body with all its necessary luxuries, and appanages, and decorations. Upon this state of affairs the wise editor remarks: "Little was she aware of the nature of literary pursuits, or the precariousness of their remuneremolument could be derived from such sources. ation, if she imagined that secure and permanent life to get a livelihood by literature, or the means A lady of quality who sits down in fashionable of sustaining herself or her position at the hands of the publishers, had better build any other description of castles in the air, however ethereal the order of architecture may be." Too true; for does not Carlyle describe this weird race of publishers, as "seated in their back-parlor Valhallas, drinking wine out of the skulls of authors." Very terrible to think of! But when the pen was laid aside, and the weary daily task ended, then the enchanted gates were unfolded, and the tired toiler over manuscript became transformed into the brilliant idol of a brilliant circle. Every evening, from ten to half-past twelve, Gore-House was thrown open to visitors, like to a temple of Minerva, to which all literary votaries went up nightly to worship. The high-priestess takes her position at once, as centre and leader, and all revolve around her, suns, satellites and stars. Stars there were in plenty. They came, not singly, nor even in binary combination, but in whole systems. A perfect via lactea of literary luminaries flashed through her salons each evening. What was this strange, indefinable, subtle, yet permanent charm which attracted to her circle every man of note in England, from the great Wellington down to the small annualists, and Alaric Watts? Her writings, we have said, were not beyond mediocrity, and her conversation, however gay and sparkling, was yet wholly devoid of real wit or energetic power. Compare her with the supreme De Stael, the deep wise Rahel of Germany, the intensely-earnest Margaret Fuller of America, and how commonplace and unsatisfying, as mental re agents, do all her recorded sayings fall upon unfrequently into the habit of lavishing eulogies, the ear and heart. Was the flattery, then, with a view to repayment in the same coin. The that gilded her life, elicited mainly by the queen regnant of a literary circle must at length become an actress there; she must adapt her coronet on her escutcheon? Perhaps so; manners, her ideas, her conversation, by turns, to especially likely, when the coronet on the those of every individual around her. She must be brow crowned so much beauty and enough perpetually demonstrating her own attractions and of genius to found sonnets on; for beauty attainments, or calling forth those of others. She makes a surprising difference in the reception must become a slave to the caprices, envious feela woman meets with in society, and the airings, contentions, rivalries, selfish aims, ignoble artifices, and exigeants pretensions of literati, artistes, of superiority she is privileged to assume and all the notabilities of fashionable circles. there: "Besides, the wear and tear of literary life leave very unmistakable evidence of their oper"The swinging of the censer before the fair face ation on the traits, thoughts and energies of bookof Lady Blessington never ceased in those salons; ish people. Like the ceaseless efforts of Sisyand soft accents of homage to her beauty and tal-phus, are the pursuits of the literati, treading on ent seldom failed to be whispered in her ear, the heels of one another, day after day, tugging while she sat enthroned in her well-known fau- with unremitting toil at one uniform task-to obteuil (Willis tells us it was of yellow satin), holdtain notoriety, to overcome competition, and having high court in queen-like state-the most gor-ing met with some success, to maintain a position geous Lady Blessington!" at any cost." Truly, a life of intoxicating excitement, but fatal to all earnestness of thought; talent laid on the salver of publicity, to be breathed upon and dimmed, so at best only to reflect the shows and surfaces of things. Was it wonderful that her literature reflected her life, dealing only with the follies and crimes, or the fashion and glitter of social life, and never descending with searching analysis into the real healthy humanity, such as God created, and meant to be immortal, to seek for noble types, and strengthening principles of action. The editor makes some very just remarks on the inevitable tendencies of a nature fed by indiscriminate flatteries; and on the bad effects of a life of literary display upon the mind: 66 It was in Lady Blessington's time that the epidemic of illustrated annuals broke out in England, which raged with considerable flimsiness and platitude for about twenty years. Her ladyship of course became an editress; for, as her biographer asserts, with laudable candor, "she had a great facility for versification, and her verse was quite equal to the ordinary run of bouts rymees.' Besides, a titled editress was indispensable as nurse to the small literary buds of fashion that lisped their pretty twaddle in gilded annuals, while the lady herself loved celebrities and display; and "This occupation brought her into contact with almost every literary man of eminence in the kingdom, or of any foreign country who visited England. But it also involved an enormous expense, far beyond any amount of remuneration derived from editing the works. It made a necessity for entertaining continually persons to whom she looked for contributions, or from whom she had received assistance. It involved her, moreover, in all the drudgery of authorship, in all the turmoil of contention with publishers, communication with artists, and never-ending correspondlife miserable." ence with contributors. In a word, it made her Those to whom the art of pleasing becomes a business daily to be performed, pass from the excitement of society into exhaustion, languor and ennui, and from this state they are roused to new efforts in the salons by a craving appetite for notice and for praise. Lady Blessington had that fatal gift of pre-eminent attractiveness in society, which has rendered so many clever women distinguished and unhappy. The power of pleasing indiscriminately is never long exercised by women with advantage to the feminine character of The whole system of the annuals was, in their fascinations. "The facility of making one's self so univer-fact, a speculation based upon personal vanisally agreeable in literary salons, as to be there the observed of all observers,' becomes in a time fatal to naturalness of character and sincerity of mind. Relations with intellectual celebrities must be kept up by constant administrations of cordial professions of kindness and affection, epistolatory and conversational, and frequent interchange of compliments and encomiums. The praiser and the praised have a nervous apprehension of depreciation; and those who live before the public in literature or society, get not ty. Court beauties had their pictures engraved with (as Dickens describes) the traditional back-ground of flower-pots; and then verses were ordered by the editor to suit these portraits. When the mothers of the nobility were exhausted, the annualists turned to the children of the nobility, whose portraits came out with impossible eyes and hair, white frocks, the flower-pot, and a dog. For them verses were in like manner ordered; |