The reader, who has had so many letters from Madame Patterson Bonaparte, may like to see that her husband, King Jerome, in his later time, found himself living on very familiar terms in Lady Morgan’s London circle.
Jerome Bonaparte had been, from the beginning, the
plague of his family. Thoughtless, idle, vain, extravagant, and inconsiderate, the one idea
which his mind was capable of containing, was a supreme conception of his own value, or, as
his biographer politely expresses it, “le trait dominant de son
caractère etait le sentiment profond de sa dignité
personelle.” He tried the patience of his august brother as no one,
except his wife, Josephine, had ever ventured to do.
Being the youngest of the family, he was a spoiled child, and developed into a prodigal
son, with an unlimited faculty for spending money, getting into debt and mischief, varied
by an occa-
| 448 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
| LONDON LIFE—1839. | 449 |
At first, there was an affectation of incognito observed; but
Jerome, with his vainglorious folly, was quite
unable to keep it up, and all the United States were made aware that the brother of the
First Consul of France had come among them. They proceeded to offer the homage so dear to
Jerome’s heart; and he was flattered and feted to the top of
his bent. He proceeded to Baltimore, and was received with enthusiasm. For the first time
in his life he was entirely his own master, and he gave himself up to the pleasures of the
position. Pichon had not much money to give him, but
all Baltimore asked for the honour of giving him unlimited credit. At Baltimore, he met
Miss Elizabeth Patterson,—whom all
contemporary testimony declares to have been extremely beautiful, agreeable, witty clever,
and ambitious. Her father was a rich merchant, well known and respected. All her family
belonged to the American aristocracy of the upper ten thousand. In birth, parentage, and
education, she was Jerome’s equal. In
| 450 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
Pichon was frightened out of his senses at what the First Consul would say, and made formal representations, both to Mr. Patterson and the French consul at Baltimore, declaring that he was under the age at which a lawful marriage could be contracted. Jerome feigned to comply; but not the less, on the 25th of December, 1803, he was married to Miss Patterson by Bishop Carrol, the Roman Catholic bishop of Baltimore. The marriage was regular and legal in every particular, and so far as rites and ceremonies could make her so, Miss Patterson became the lawful wife of Jerome Bonaparte,—qualified to share in all the honours of his rising star. Jerome coupled this announcement to Pichon with orders to supply him with funds; and then proceeded on his wedding tour.
They passed a few months in the midst of all the social gaieties and
splendours that American society could bestow. On the 18th of May news came that the
First Consul had been declared Emperor. Jerome had not yet received his brother’s answer to the
announcement of his marriage. He had not, however,
| LONDON LIFE—1839. | 451 |
Jerome himself was ordered to return home immediately. A pension was offered to Miss Patterson of sixty thousand francs a year on condition that she never assumed the name of Bonaparte, nor molested Jerome. Napoleon could not, however, alter the law of marriage as recognised by the Catholic church and by the consent of all Christendom. Except the local enactment, which only held good in France, Miss Patterson’s marriage with Jerome was as valid as the sacraments of the church could make it. If Jerome could only be firm, the marriage must hold good whether the Emperor recognised it or not; but Jerome could not hold firm to anything but his own inclination. He was, in fact, a man—who could see nothing, feel nothing, care for nothing, except the whim of the moment.
He had had his whim out in marrying Miss
Patterson, and now to go back to France and be the Emperor’s brother,
was the idea that possessed him. He
| 452 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
| LONDON LIFE—1839. | 453 |
I regret very much that I cannot have the pleasure of passing this evening with you; the news of the death of my uncle, Cardinal Fesch, which has just reached here, would render my presence too unseasonable. I shall probably leave here on Friday, for the interior of England, and eventually for Ireland; would you be so kind as to send in the evening of to-morrow the letter you were good enough to offer me for Lady Clarke.
In the course of the same season, Lady Morgan received a note from Madame Patterson Bonaparte.
| 454 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
You will be less surprised to know of my arrival in
Europe than I am to find myself here. I never supposed that I had preserved
sufficient energy or moral courage to put into effect my inclination to absent
myself from the République par
excellence. A residence of a few months in the Etats Unis would cure the most ferocious
Republican of the mania of Republics. We have security neither for our lives
nor our persons in America. I have been two months nearly in France, a period
of time which has passed very dully; I have found few of those persons whom I
knew and saw habitually five years ago. Death, time, and absence have left me
scarcely an acquaintance at Paris. If our friends do not die, their sentiments
change towards us so much, that really I know not which is most distressing, to
hear that they are gone to the other world, or that they have forgotten us in
this vale of tears, and have become strangers to us. I have met few persons who
possess the stability of friendship that I find in yourself. You are, in this
particular, as in most others, une personne
distinguée. My son is gone from Geneva to Italy, to
visit his relatives, and to see after a legacy, which the late Cardinal Fesch, his grand uncle, had the
goodness to leave to him. He wanted me to go to Geneva to see
| LONDON LIFE—1839. | 455 |
Madame Benjamin de Constant is an agreeable person; has had the goodness to recollect me. I dined yesterday at her house, en petit comité. I have myself grown fat, old, and dull,—all good reasons for people not to think me an intelligent hearer or listener. They mistake, however; I have exactly the talent to appreciate the high powers of all others, without being able to contribute much to the liveliness of conversation myself.
Have you no agreeable work to promise us?
The poor Duchess d’Abrantes, Madame Junot, made a sad end, the natural consequence of her prodigal expenditure. Her pecuniary difficulties, it is said, caused her death. I liked her very much, and I always felt pained at the misery which her want of judgment in the direction of her affairs had brought on her. I believe that her heart and feelings were generous and warm.
I wonder that you did not select Paris in preference to
London, for a permanent séjour.
I should much
| 456 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
I hope that Sir Charles Morgan still recollects me, and preserves for myself the friendship he formerly entertained for me.
Adieu, my dear Lady Morgan,
It was during this year that Lady
Morgan completed the first portion of her important work, Woman and her Master. It was
published by Colburn. The sum she received for it
does not appear. It is only a first instalment of a very extensive project. The design is
nothing less than to demonstrate that in all ages, women, in spite of the systematic
depression and subordination in which they have been kept, and in spite of all
difficulties, have not only never been subordinated, but have, on
the contrary, been always the depositories of the vital and leading idea of the time; that the spiritual life in women has always been more pure and
vigorous than in men;
| LONDON LIFE—1839. | 457 |
| 458 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
We return to the diary, in which there is a brief reference to this book.
June 9, 1840.—The first time I have written in this journal during the year 1840. En attendant, I have finished and published the first and second volume of my Woman and her Master.
Just read the account of the funeral of Mary, Dowager Countess of Cork and Orrery; she died in harness, full of bitterness and good dinners.
The following note from Mrs. Otway Cave is about the Braye peerage. Lady Braye, as she ultimately became, was one of the closest of Lady Morgan’s friends.
I am going to be very troublesome, but I am quite sure
you will be kind and indulgent. The case is this:—The Lord Chancellor has fixed to-morrow afternoon, at
half-past three o’clock, to give judgment as to my claim to the
Braye Peerage, and it is my
business to obtain a sufficient number of peers to form the committee; numbers
of whom, as you know are gone out of town, and I have a thousand fears, lest we
should
| LONDON LIFE—1839. | 459 |
Remaining with best compliments to Sir Charles,
The judgment was given in Mrs. Otway
Cave’s favour, and she became Baroness Braye in
her own right. Lady Braye died February 21st, 1862. She
| 460 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
The next letter will interest readers who knew the fine though undeveloped genius of George Darley.
I felt very much flattered by your warm praises of Thomas à
Beckett, and the more so, as its rough nature is opposed to
the present refined and polished mode of poetry. Most persons prefer a
Paris or a Perseus by Canova, to a
Knight-Templar on a tombstone, and looking as if he had been sculptured with a
pickaxe, not a chisel. But I suppose you have a heart big enough for both
styles, a heart on both sides, while most critics have only the sinister one,
or none at all. Your suggestion about “a series of historical
dramas,” such as Beckett, encouraged me in that design, and hence
Ethelstan. I
hope not to have presented this subject in all the mere ruggedness and rust of
antiquity, yet to have preserved some of its simple relish and raciness. If my
recurrence to such olden times be objected, you will say for me, (as your
countryman, proud of the name) that King
Ethelstan is, to us living now, a far more poetical personage
than the Emperor Napoleon, and that
history often teaches us nearer the farther it removes, like “dear
home,” which is seldom so very
| LONDON LIFE—1839. | 461 |
Dear Lady Morgan, excuse the liberty of this long answer to your note; but as I am, in a worse sense than the weird woman, one of the “imperfect speakers,” [he had an impediment in his speech] it forces me to spend all my tediousness in writing. Sir Charles will perhaps take the trouble of deciphering these hieroglyphical characters for your convenience.
With best respects to him and your ladyship, I remain what all the world is towards you, and to what I need not say besides,
John Poole, the dramatist, and author of Paul Pry, had made the acquaintance of Sir Charles and Lady Morgan. From the letters of this singular and farcical genius, the following note may be given:—
I wish I could come and see whether you are better. I
hope you are. Are you? Mr. Herring
was here a
| 462 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
So here I am still, seeing everybody out. None of your acquaintances here, I believe, but Edwin Landseer, who is gone, and Colonel Webster, whom I don’t know, so faites vous en une idée! The fish are all in the water, because there is nobody here to want them out; the flies stand sulkily waiting to be caught, and nobody to catch them; the goats’ occupation’s gone—two, with their pretty baby-carts at their tails, are at this moment fast asleep under my window, and likely to remain so till next September—because there are not sufficient carriage-children to wake them; the theatre is closed, because, as nobody went to it when the town was full, it would be very stupid indeed of them to expect people to go to it now that the town is empty. The only happy person in the place I believe to be Garcia, who is in the seventh heaven at Sir Charles’s notice of him in the Brighton article. A propos of theatre—our tragedy will be in the Miscellany next month. Bentley has had it for a long time under a restriction that he should not publish it till then, I expecting to have finished what I am about for his dear friend that time; but, alas! though every day adds a little bit to the heap, it is so little!
When I come to town I hope to find some or all of your charming nieces with you. Has some lucky Irishman caught Miss Josephine yet? Oh, how I do wish I were two or three years younger and thirty thousand pounds richer!
| LONDON LIFE—1839. | 463 |
That being all, with kind regards to Sir Charles, who, I take it for granted is well,
Sir Charles and Lady Morgan this year made another visit to Germany; they went to Kissingen for Lady Morgan’s health. She did not keep a journal while in that country; but the following letters to Lady Talbot gave some account of her progress:—
In the course of our delightful and prosperous tour in
this region of plenty and bonhomie I
have often thought of writing to you; but, strange to say, having come to the
very heart of Germany, as a retreat from bustle of all
sorts, I have been living in a continual fuss and movement, and, except to my
family, to tell them I am “alive and kicking,” I have never put pen
to paper since I left London. I requested Lady
Clarke to send you a fragment of my scrawl as a remembrance. I
have derived infinite benefit from the waters of Kissingen, and I was delighted
with the society I found there, and gratified up to my
bent, by the manner of our reception everywhere. The kindness of the
Esterhazys and several other distinguished
| 464 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
| LONDON LIFE—1839. | 465 |
Last night we were at the most original entertainment
ever given since the days of Charlemagne!
by the Princessa Vasa, for it was amongst the ruins of the
old castle (Alte Schloss) at the top of that steep rugged
mountain, which I need not describe to you. I got very nervous about going, as
the descent at night was no joke! We assembled at five in the centre of the
ruins, all in grand toilette—the men all chapeau bas! The grand spectacle was the sun
setting—and the moon rising over such scenes! Here there was a
collation—three tables. I was summoned to her Royal Highness, where,
by-the-bye, Lord Douglas and myself were the only British.
As the night advanced, the rest of the ruins were suddenly illuminated, as if
by magic, and we ascended to a Gothic chamber, superbly furnished en rococo,
where there was a concert, and a ball terminated the whole. The old dungeons
rang with the echoes of the most delightful bands of music all night. To-night
is the Grand Duke’s fête,
to which we are invited. And now I think I have tired you out, and shall beg of
| 466 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
With kind respects to Lord Talbot,
In the autumn, Sir Charles and Lady Morgan returned to England by way of the Rhine, Brussels, and Ostend. By the end of September, they were again in William Street. Of their pleasant journey, no literary use was made by Lady Morgan. She spoke, for years to come, with ardour of the beauty of German scenery and the cordiality of German manners; but she had long ago given up the thought of making a book on that country, to range with her Italy and France. Another race of writers, younger and less scrupulous than herself, had rushed into the field which her genius had first laid open to feminine adventurers.
Even in the lighter sphere of fiction, the public mind had somewhat changed, as Lady Morgan thought, for the worse. The days of sentimental and patriotic novels had passed away,—Ireland had no serious wrongs to redress; and the story, with a purpose graver than the amusement of a passing hour, no longer warned, or even found, a public In place of laughing and musing over adventures like those of O’Donnel, the world was sneering and mangling over the character of The Dowager, by Mrs. Gore.
In this once popular novel, Mrs.
Gore was supposed
| LONDON LIFE—1839. | 467 |
Here is her note:—
You are very kind to like my new book. Till you praised it, I was in despair. It sells, and I was convinced of its utter worthlessness; for surely nothing can equal the degradation of the public taste in such matters! The subject and title were of Bentley’s choosing; and my part distinctly was to avoid hooking “M.C.O.” into the book. In certain mannerisms the Dowager may resemble her; but not in essentials. She was better or worse. I never heard of her troubling herself about her opposite neighbours, except so far as by sending her dog to walk in their gardens, when under a course of Epsom salts.
I am grieved (à propos to being sick) to hear that you have been so great a sufferer. No person who writes books has the least claim to a digestion; and I wonder you should ever have thought of such a thing!
| 468 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
My French books will disappoint you. Paris has been a land of Canaan to me, and the milk and honey will necessarily find their way to my pen, and prevent the possibility of adding shades to the picture. I love them all so well as to see everything en couleur de rose.
The English (except you, who are frank and generous, but then you are not English) are not half so good to me; and I therefore permit myself to see them as nature made them and art has spoiled them.
My daughter is going to Brighton in the course of the week, and will throw herself at your feet. I hope she will send me better news of you.
Sincere regards to yourself and Sir Charles, from
| ≪ PREV | NEXT ≫ |
