A letter, from excellent Lady Charleville, carries us back to the time when Tales of the Hall, Mazeppa, and Don Juan, were the “last new poems!”
Had I required to learn the uncertainty of all human
projects being fulfilled, my now sad tale had taught it me. After a
consultation here, a warm climate was held to be good for Lord Charleville, and I had no doubt of quitting
England forthwith, but my son’s illness forbids our emigration; thus
sinks, for the second time, to the ground, my hope of selfish relief for
myself, and advantage to my children by foreign travel, and observation of man
in other climes. Upon receipt of your kind letter, I went
to Colburn, whose
| LETTERS AND GOSSIP. | 105 |
Lord and Lady
Westmeath’s separation for temper, and the overthrow of
Lord Belfast’s marriage and
fortunes, by Lord Shaftesbury having
discovered that the Marquis and Marchioness of Donegal were married under age by
licence, and not by banns, which renders it illegal, and bastardizes their
children irreparably, is the greatest news of the upper circles at present. The
young lady had said she married only for money; therefore, for her, no pity is
shown; but poor Lord Belfast, to lose rank, fortune, and
wife at once, at twenty years of age, is a strong and painful catastrophe to
bear properly. I hear Mr. Chichester (rightful heir now)
behaves well; but he cannot prevent the
| 106 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
There have been half a dozen marriages, and another dozen are about to take place. Lady J. Moore to Mr. William Peele; Lord Temple, Lady M. Campbell; Mr. Neville, Lady Jane Cornwallis; Mr. Packenham, Miss Ponsonby, and so on, &c.
This letter is a true account of a most agitating, frightful state of mind, that required all the effort that I was capable of to enable me to seem like other people before my dear child, for he judged his state by my impressions of it as they appeared to him, and I did act a difficult and a cruel part, laughing and telling tales to him when I thought all lost!!
Farewell; and to your better pencil I consign all the glories of Italian scenery; may you, in Sir Charles’s health, find a recompence and a joy such as I wish you, to sweeten life and reward your real merits.
PS. I have just finished Don Juan—it is beautifully written, not immoral, not personal. Farewell; I am always your Ladyship’s sincere friend.
Here we are again, and here, owing to the kindness and
hospitality of our Milanese friends, we sojourn for two days. You never saw
such lamentation as our
| LETTERS AND GOSSIP. | 107 |
| 108 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
In contrast with the tone of keen enjoyment in Lady Morgan’s letters, here is one from Madame Jerome Bonaparte. She has come from America to Geneva, and finds herself almost as uneasy in one place as the other. It was as much the custom then to be ruined in America by “commercial speculations,” as it has continued to be since; but whether ruined or prosperous, her letters are always pleasant.
Your letter from Casa Fontana
reached me yesterday. I cannot imagine the cause of this long delay, as it
appears, from the direction you gave me for the 1st of September, that the
letter was written previously; the date you neglected putting. I am very
anxious to see you again, to assure you of an affection
| LETTERS AND GOSSIP. | 109 |
You know we have been nearly ruined in America, by
commercial speculations, and even I have suffered, as my tenants are no longer
able to pay me the same rents, and the banks have been obliged to diminish the
amount of yearly interest which I formerly received from them; these
inconveniences are, however momentané, and I flatter myself that in a year or two,
tout ira bien; it is,
however, provoking enough to find one’s income curtailed at a moment when
I most required it; my son’s education, too, demands no inconsiderable
expense, and as you know, his father never has and never will contribute a single farthing towards his
maintenance. We have no correspondence with him since the demand I made two
years ago, which was merely that he would pay some part of his necessary
expenditure; this he positively refused, therefore, I consider myself
authorized to educate him in my own way. I wish I could see you again; it was
so unfortunate for me that you had left Geneva before my arrival. I fear, too,
that you will not return this way, and it is impossible for me to leave my son
without
| 110 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
My health is entirely restored, and I am much less
| LETTERS AND GOSSIP. | 111 |
The above would reach Lady Morgan in Florence, at which city she arrived early in October. Before giving her own account of her journey, we present a billet from the Comtesse d’Albany, the widow of Charles Stuart and of Alfieri! The words are little, a mere permission to visit the Ducal library, but gracefully courteous. If we could transfer the autograph to the reader, the clear, firm, round, legible writing,—he would look at it with an interest borrowed from the fortunes of the writer.
La Comtesse d’Albany n’a pas oublié qu’elle
devait procurer a Lady Morgan le plaisir
de von la bibliothèque du Grand Duc. Elle sera la maitresse d’y
aller Vendredi prochain 18 de Mai depuis dix heures jusqu’a deux ou
bien Lundi si ce jour ne lui convient pas.
| 112 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
We left you setting off for Florence. At the opera the
Counts Confalonieri and
Visconti told us we were mistaken, and that we were
going with them the next morning to Genoa! Without more ceremony they ran off
with our passport to the police and got it changed, and finalemente, as we say in Italy, we set
off next day for Genoa. Our journey lay partly over the Apennines; we began to
ascend them a little before the purple sunset of Italian skies, and pursued our
route by moonlight, and never did any light shine upon scenes more romantically
lovely. Nothing was wanting. In the cleft of a mountain we heard a funeral
chaunt, and the next moment appeared a procession of monks, their faces
covered, and only their eyes seen,—horrible, but strange and new to me.
We slept that night on the top of the mountain, and the next day, having walked
more than we drove, we beheld “Genoa the superb” at the foot of the
Apennines, and the Mediterranean spreading far and wide. Our hotel lay on its
banks, and we had scarcely dined,
| LETTERS AND GOSSIP. | 113 |
| 114 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
| LETTERS AND GOSSIP. | 115 |
Arrived at Bologna, we sent out our letters, and the next
day were visited by all that was delightful and distinguished in the town. The
Countess Semperiva, a young, pretty, clever widow,
took us at once under her wing; her carriage was at our door every morning to
take us to see the galleries, palaces, &c. She made a delightful dinner
party for us, so did our banker, at his villa; a Madame
Martinelli, the Beauty and Wit of Bologna, was equally kind, and
made two very elegant evening parties for us; at the last we found Crescentini, singing some of his own
delightful compositions at the piano, and Sir
Humphrey and Lady Davy;
nothing could be more cordial than he was, though he is completely turned into
a fine man upon town. All the cleverest professors called on Morgan, and when he went to the hospitals he
was complimented on his work (Outlines of the Physiology
| 116 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
The hotels at Florence are handsome, comfortable, and
expensive. We set up at the Nova-Yorka, kept by an Englishwoman. Our arrival
being known, some of the principal persons came to visit us instanter; the Prince Corsini
(minister of the interior), Prince Borghese
(Bonaparte’s brother-in-law),
the Countess D’Albany, widow of
the last Pretender, and the fair
friend of Alfieri. Several of the
learned came to see Morgan,—Lord
Burghersh, the Ambassador, and Lady
Burghersh, Lady Florence Lindsay, and her
charming daughters, and lots of my Paris Wednesday evening acquaintances of all
nations. The Countess D’Albany, who never goes out,
asked us immediately; she is “at home” every evening, and holds
quite a royal circle. All her fine gold plate, the finest I ever saw, was
displayed. The circle is most formal, and you will scarce believe, and I am
ashamed to say, she kept the seat of honour vacant for me, next herself. It was
in vain, last night (for we go to her constantly), that when ambassadresses and
princesses were announced, I begged to be allowed to retreat, she would not
hear of it. You have no idea the sensation this makes among the folks
| LETTERS AND GOSSIP. | 117 |
| 118 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
You will now like to know how the deuce we have got into
a palace, into a suite of elegant and spacious apartments, filled with flowers
such as are only found in Italy. (Moore
says “how are we ever to leave it all.”) The fact is we are here in
the thraldom of a fairy. Everything has been prepared for us; we want for
nothing. A few days after our arrival, when we were sick of the expenses of our
inn, comes a gentleman to say he is the Marquis de
Capponi’s homme
d’affaire that he has an apartment ready for us,
an opera box, &c., &c., and here we are in a palace once belonging to
the Prince Corsini. The palace Capponi
is the finest I have seen, except the great Orsini, and a much more extensive
building than Carlton House. There are apartments for every season: those of
summer open into an orangery. The actions of its historical lords are painted
on the walls of the great saloon. They have eight villas round Florence, at one
of which we breakfasted the other day: one immense room laid out with
curiosities and antiquities. Should the handsome Marchese
Capponi call on you, (for he is now on his way to Ireland), tell
him how gratefully I express myself. All the English
| LETTERS AND GOSSIP. | 119 |
Lady Morgan did not in the least exaggerate the attention she received; for Moore in his diary, dated Florence, October 17, 1819, confirms every word.
| 120 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
A little note from Moore, pleasant, and by no means romantic for a poet.
I have only time for a line; but a line from Rome is worth a hundred from anywhere else. This place does not disappoint. There are some old brick walls to be sure, before which people stand with a delight and veneration in which I cannot sympathize; but the Coliseum is the very poetry of ruins. My leg, thanks to you and Goulard, arrived quite sound and well, and has never troubled me since.
I think of being off from here the latter end of this week. It was my intention at first to go to Naples, but Cannæ was by no means tempting, and then there is such talk of escort, &c., &c., that, what with the Colonel and the guards, I thought it much too dilatory a proceeding, and gave it up.
Love to Lady Morgan.
The “son of Hortense,” so slightly passed in the next letter from Lady Morgan to her sister, was no other than Louis Napoleon, now Emperor of the French.
| LETTERS AND GOSSIP. | 121 |
I received your letter at the foot of
Antonines’ Pillar, and have seen nothing at Rome
pleased me better—and now for our journey of seven days in the middle of
December. We travelled in furs and rugs like Russian bears; but the climate
softened as we proceeded—we found the trees in full leaf, and the
enchanting, lovely, and diversified scenery wore a fine October appearance. The
romantic views are beyond description—all the towns dreary ruins, too
much for English spirits to stand; we ascended to many of them (Cortona and
Perugia particularly) up perpendicular mountains, and the horns of the oxen
that drew us, were on a level with the top of our carriage; but oh, the inns!!!
We travelled with tea, sugar, tea-things and kettle, but
from Florence to Rome we could get neither milk nor butter. There was but one fire-place in each inn, and
that kept in the heat and let out the smoke. Our precious servant (a treasure) took care of us as if we were children, and
made a fire in a crock in our bedroom, which, with stone
floors, black rafters, and a bier for a bed,
and the smell of the stable to regale us (for it generally opened to it) was
quite beyond the reach of his art to make comfortable.
We always set off before daylight and stop before dark. Thirty miles from Rome
begins that fearful desert the
| 122 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
The kindness of our Florence friends pursued, or rather
devancés us here. The
Princes Corsini and Borghese, who have the two finest palaces at
Rome, wrote to their librarians and agents to be of use to us in every way. The
Countess D’Albany wrote to the Duchess of
Devonshire to say we were expected, and yesterday (the day after
our arrival) are their invitations sent to us. The Princess
Borghese (Pauline, Napoleon’s beautiful sister) has written
to invite us to spend the evening, and the Duchess de
Braciano, has asked us for every Thursday evening whilst we
remain in Rome. To night we go to the Duchess of
Devonshire, and after her soirée, to
a concert at the Princess Borghese’s. The former
wrote us the kindest of notes. I think you will like to hear something of
Pauline. She is separated from Prince Borghese, who was so civil to us at
Florence; but she lives in his superb palace here quite like a little queen!
Nothing could equal her reception. She said it was noble in me not to fall heavy on the unfortunate,
&c. I confess I do not see that exquisite beauty she was so celebrated for.
She is, she says, much altered, and grown thin, fretting about her brother. Her
dress, though demi-toilette, very superb; and the
apartments, beyond
| LETTERS AND GOSSIP. | 123 |
The Eternal City disappoints at first entrance. I thought it mighty like an Irish town, shabby and dirty—we have yet seen nothing save St. Peter’s, to which we ran like mad the moment we arrived. The first impression of that disappointed too; the interior overwhelmed me! but not as I expected—but of such places and things it is impossible to speak with the little space a letter affords. The climate heavenly—orange trees in boxes out of every window, mignonette, &c.; young lamb, chickens, and salad every day. We have got into private lodgings, lots of visitors—Lord Fortescue and Lady Mary, Sir Thomas Lawrence (who has just shown us his picture of the Pope, that has left all the Italian painters in despair). I have two cardinals on my list of visitors. The Italian ladies dress as we do—the French toilette—some of them very fine creatures, a rich beauty, all glowing and bright—the most good-natured, caressing creatures. We get on famously with our Italian. I spoke all along the road to the common people, and got lots of information. Did I not tell you that Bartolini, of Florence, has done my bust in marble?—just as I had written so far, Canova called on us. He is delightful, and recalled Dénon to our recollection.
December 18.—We had a delightful party at the
| 124 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
The following amusing account of a visitation from two bores is written in a journal of scraps kept whilst on her journey—this is the only finished entry. There are other things which, if finished, might have been entertaining, or if legible; but they are jotted down in memoranda as indications for her own memory, and are unintelligible to any one else. The present sketch of a morning with two Bores, has been recovered from MS., compared with which, ill-written Greek characters, or a cuneiform inscription, would be legible as fair Italian text-hand!
Enter Mrs. B—— and her brother, who prosed me out of Spa, begged me from Lausanne, and hummed me into such a lethargy at Geneva that it is a mercy I was not buried alive! They are the best poor dears on earth—and there’s the worst of it.
I had my cheek kissed by the sister, and my hand by the
brother, for ten minutes at least, by the town clock—not rapid electrics,
but long-drawn kisses,
| LETTERS AND GOSSIP. | 125 |
The kissing over, the prosing began.
Mrs. B—— took the lead, comme de raison, opened the campaign d’ennui, with unwonted vigour; the fun was to see her brother deliberately taking up his posture of patience, like a general on active service, his heavy lids gently falling over his heavy eyes, his very nostrils breathing stupefaction.
Observe, for it is good to know the outer and visible signs of our natural enemies, Bores have noses peculiar to themselves. The nose of a German Bore is a sort of long, broad, romantic, rather aquiline, and rather drooping nose—the drooping nose characterises invariably the nosology of a bore—in a word, it is the leading feature.
But to return; Mrs. B—— began with an account
of her journey. Not a stage, not a turn in the road, not a cross that I had
gone over six days before but was described to me, first en gros and then en détail; but this was
nothing—at least it was fact, topographical fact—but to my utter
despair, every village, town, and house, “put her in mind” of some
cottage, town, road, street, or something, in Ireland, Scotland, or
England—something had happened to her in one or all of the aforesaid
places. But still this was nothing; they were graphic
pictures, however ill-drawn—it was the moral
demonstrations, the particular parentheses, which left me without hope, help,
or resource; every beggar, post, landlord, or landlady, “put her in
mind” of her mother’s housemaid, who used to say when
| 126 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
The dear B——’s have drunk like sparrows
and swelled like crows, but drunk a little of everything, “from humble
port to imperial tokay,” and it is this that renders them more
tiresome in their prosy scraps than the most obdurate ignorance could ever make
itself. No one could be in the room a moment after Mr. B—— came in,
without knowing that he was a geologist, botanist,
archæologist,—everything. He began by complaining of all he had
suffered from heat, and I gave him my whole share of sympathy! But when he got
upon the causes, and talked of the fundamental laws of
nature, I started up in the midst of a diatribe on cosmogony, and in despair,
exclaimed, “My dear Mr. B——, you are aware that God made the
world in six days, and did not say one word about cosmogony!” It might be
thought that was a hard hit;—not at all, he took it gravely and began a
disquisition on the Mosaic account. The word Moses
over-
| LETTERS AND GOSSIP. | 127 |
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