The sorrow felt by Lady Morgan for the death of her niece, was soon to be merged in a deeper grief. The suggestion thrown out by Sir Charles to moderate her grief about her niece was suddenly realised. That expedition to Richmond was the very last they had together. They had seldom been separated during their long married life; but the final separation came when least expected. Lady Morgan had often complained of Sir Charles Morgan’s disinclination to take exercise, and of his love of remaining all day at home, engrossed in reading and writing, never feeling the need of fresh air. It would seem that this was connected with his state of health, though she did not then suspect it. He was ill only a fortnight; he had an attack of heart-disease, sank into a state of stupor and died before those round him had begun to fear danger.
It was the second great sorrow of her life. The death of her father, a
few months after her marriage, was her first grief; the death of her husband was a far
heavier affliction. As years went on, she felt his loss more
| DEATH OF SIR CHARLES MORGAN—1843. | 479 |
It was not in Lady Morgan’s nature to cherish grief; she could not bear to be unhappy; she resolutely put sorrow away from her throughout her life. It is not the noblest way of treating sorrow, nor the most profitable; but it was her nature to refuse to entertain it, and she could not do otherwise. But if she endeavoured to bury her misery out of sight, she did not forget the dead. One who knew her very intimately in the later years of her life, bears testimony to the fresh tenderness with which she, from time to time, spoke of her husband, as though she had lost him but yesterday; but it was never for more than a moment; she always broke off abruptly, saying, “I must not think of that,” and turned to something else.
The death of Sir Charles cast a
gloom over the whole circle of their friends; he was a man singularly be-
| 480 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
It is long before there is any further entry in Lady Morgan’s diary. She was as much crushed down by her great sorrow as she could be crushed by anything. The innumerable letters of sympathy which she received, the public testimonials to the worth and memory of her husband soothed her feelings; but she was in deep and bitter affliction. The first entry in her diary after her widowhood is—
Oh, my husband! I cannot endure this—I was quite unprepared for this. So ends my life.
November, 1843.—Plus ne m’est rien, rien ne m’est plus.
The winter fire kindles alone for me now. The chair, the
table, the lamp, the very books and paper-cutter, all these are here, this November—gloomy, wretched November!! How I
used to long for November—social, home-girt November; now I spend it in
wandering through this deserted house. Is it possible? “Ce
que je serai dorénavant ne sera plus qu’une demi
être!—ne sera plus moi—je m’échappe tous
les jours.” When I first transcribed that mono-
| DEATH OF SIR CHARLES MORGAN—1843. | 481 |
The next entry in her journal is many months later; but it is given here not to break the thread of the subject:—
April, 1844.—Time applied to grief is a worldly common place—time has its due influence over visible grief, that which is expressed by visible emotions—it softens sighs and dries tears! but le fond remains the same! Time gives you back to the exercise of your faculties and your habits; but the loss of that which is, or was, part of yourself, remains for ever. This melancholy Sunday morning, April! The first word written in this once gay record of pleasant sensations!
There is a long blank, and then the following entry, headed—
In the most awful moment of my life, I was not without
aid and solace; my sister was with me, my brother-in-law, and my niece
Sydney Jones and her husband came to
me immediately, and I was removed from my own house to lodgings, whilst all the
wretched business that necessarily followed my most miserable loss was
arranged. After that, I accompanied my sister to Brighton, where I was received
by the dear, kind family of Horace
Smith, with affection and sympathy.
| 482 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
July 28.—Everybody makes a point of having me out, and I am beginning to be familiarised with my terrible loss. I go in and out of drawing-rooms, and “sit at good men’s tables,” and submit to the influence of the laughing-gas of society. I was told, only the other day, “I was so brilliant at somebody’s dinner;” all this is very contemptible, but it is inevitable.
I could read now, if I had sight—once, and so lately, I never missed my eyes! One thing cheers me—my beloved sister comes to me soon, and will meet under my roof her beloved children and mine—the all that is left me now.
London is the best place in the world for the happy and the unhappy, there is a floating capital of sympathy for every human good or evil; I am nobody, and yet what kindness I am daily receiving!
| DEATH OF SIR CHARLES MORGAN—1843. | 483 |
If I were not incapacitated by a weak sight and a heavy heart, and above all, by the eternal “qui bono?” that now impedes every flow of thought, and checks every tendency to action, what amusing memoranda would I not set down from the ceaseless anecdotes dropped by the congress of visitors, foreign and home, that daily fill my little salon. Poor, dear, kind Sir Mathew Tierny has just been here; his loss, like my own, is irreparable, and of the same nature.
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