Back again in Paris, which lay blistering under the hot summer sun. Rooms were secured at the HÔtel de Terrace in the Rue de Rivoli; noisy quarters, and Lady Blessington was not fond of noise.

“On entering Paris,” says Lady Blessington, “I felt my impatience to see our dear friends then redouble; and, before we had despatched the dinner awaiting our arrival, the Duc and Duchesse de Guiche came to us. How warm was our greeting; how many questions to be asked and answered; how many congratulations and pleasant plans for the future to be formed.…” Doubtless D’Orsay was again congratulated on having married a fortune.… “The Duchesse was in radiant health and beauty, and the Duc looking, as he always does, more distinguÉ than anyone else—the perfect beau-idÉal of a nobleman. We soon quitted the salle À manger; for who could eat during the joy of a first meeting with those so valued?”

The attitude of D’Orsay’s family throughout this strange affair is amazing. Can they have really understood the situation? Did they thank Blessington for having provided so munificently for their brother? Did they express their gratitude to Lady Blessington for the many favours she had shown to him? We can scarcely believe it so. But however all these things were, the evening passed pleasantly; the windows of the salon looked out over the garden of the Tuileries, over their scented orange-trees and formal walks.

The Comte and Comtesse d’Orsay were also in Paris, later on, and great must have been their satisfaction at seeing their son so well settled. Of a dinner at their house Lady Blessington—la belle mÈre of their son—says there was a “large family party. The only stranger was Sir Francis Burdett. A most agreeable dinner followed by a very pleasant evening.” Did Countess Alfred enjoy it?

The next day Lady Blessington devoted to shopping, visiting among other high shrines of fashion Herbault’s, where the latest things in caps, hats and turbans were tried and sentenced; then on to Mdlle. La Touche where canezus and robes de matin were selected. Three hundred and twenty francs were given for a crape hat and feathers, two hundred for a chapeau À fleurs, one hundred for a negligÉ de matin, and eighty-five for an evening cap of tulle trimmed with blonde and flowers.

The hotel was a mere stop-gap, and the Blessingtons settled down in a house belonging to the Marquis de Lillers, which had once been the residence of Marshal Ney; it was situated in the Rue de Bourbon, the principal rooms giving on the Seine and commanding a view over the Tuileries’ gardens. The sumptuous scale of the decorations is typified by those of the bathroom, where the bath of marble was sunk in a tessellated pavement, and over it swung an alabaster lamp hanging from the beak of a dove, the ceiling being painted with Cupids and flowers; the walls were panelled alternately with mirrors and allegorical groups. Furniture, equally luxurious, was hired—dark crimson carpets with golden borders, crimson satin curtains also bordered in gold, sofas and chairs upholstered in crimson satin and richly gilded, gilt consoles, buhl cabinets, a multitude of mirrors; a veritable orgy of gold and glitter. But all else was surpassed by the Blessington’s chambre À coucher and her dressing-room, which she found to be exquisite, at any rate, to her taste: the silvered bedstead was supported on the backs of two large silver swans, the recess in which it stood being lined with white fluted silk, bordered with blue lace; pale blue curtains, lined with white, closed in its sanctity. There was a silvered sofa, rich coffers for jewels and for lace, a pale blue carpet, a lamp of silver … “a more tasteful or elegant suite of apartments cannot be imagined!” For the housing of beauty and virtue what more fitting than silver, white and light blue? “Chastely beautiful,” so said its owner. Then, Heaven commend us to the unchaste.

Gaiety was the order of the day, as it ever was when Lady Blessington and D’Orsay were in command; drives in the Bois de Boulogne with the Duchesse de Guiche; evenings at Madame Crawford’s, whom Lady Blessington describes as gifted with “all the naÏvetÉ of a child. She possesses a quick perception of character and a freshness of feeling rarely found in a person of her advanced age.” Here is a truly touching family group at a leave-taking breakfast: “It was touching to behold Madame Crawford kissing again and again her grandchildren and great-grand-children, the tears streaming down her cheeks, and the venerable Duc de Grammont, scarcely less moved, embracing his son and daughter-in-law, and exhorting the latter to take care of her health, while the dear little Ida, his grand-daughter, not yet two years old, patted his cheek, and smiled in his face.” Doubtless Madame Crawford was not a little proud of her gallant D’Orsay; we wonder what opinion, if any, she formed of his bride, and whether she congratulated her on marrying the grandson of a king?

Among other places of interest to which expeditions were made none can have come more closely home to the heart of Lady Blessington than D’Orsay, the fortified chÂteau of the family with which she was now so closely connected.

Two letters written by members of the party to Landor are interesting, not only as showing the terms of friendship between the writers and the recipient. The first was from Blessington, dated 14th July:—

The second letter is from D’Orsay, who dates his note 4th September, and writes from the HÔtel Ney:—

Of a visit to the opera this is a pleasant reminiscence:—“Went to the Opera last night, where I saw the dÉbut of the new danseuse Taglioni. Hers is a totally new style of dancing; graceful beyond all comparison, wonderful lightness, an absence of all violent effort, or at least of the appearance of it, and a modesty as new as it is delightful to witness in her art.… The Duc de Gazes, who came into the Duchesse de Guiche’s box, was enthusiastic in his praises of Mademoiselle Taglioni, and said hers was the most poetical style of dancing he had even seen. Another observed that it was indeed the poetry of motion. I would describe it as the epic of dancing,” a not very brilliant remark for a woman of reputed wit.

Henry Greville writing in 1832 says: “Taglioni is dancing at Covent Garden; it is impossible to conceive the perfection to which she has brought the art. She is an animated statue; her motions are the perfection of grace and decency, and her strength quite marvellous.” And again in Paris, four years later, when she was still highly proper: “Her grace and dÉcence are something that no one can imagine who has not seen her.” The actor complains that nothing remains of his art by which posterity can judge him; but the dancer can, at any rate, leave behind a reputation for propriety—while on the stage.

A welcome visitor was Charles Kemble, who dined with the Blessingtons, and after dinner read to the party his daughter’s, Fanny Kemble’s play, Francis the First. “I remembered,” says Lady Blessington, “those pleasant evenings when he used to read to us in London, hour after hour, until the timepiece warned us to give over. I remembered, too, John Kemble—‘the great John Kemble,’ as Lord Guildford used to call him—twice or thrice reading to us with Sir T(homas) Lawrence; and the tones of Charles Kemble’s voice, and the expression of his face, forcibly reminded me of our departed friend.”

In 1829 an event befell, which probably altered the course of D’Orsay’s career, and which may be counted as a nice stroke of irony on the part of Fate, that past-mistress of the ironical.

The question of the repeal of the civil disabilities inflicted upon the Irish Catholics had grown to be a burning question, and Lord Rosslyn wrote anxiously to Paris, urging Blessington to go over to London to support in the House of Lords the Duke of Wellington’s Catholic Emancipation Act. On July 15th, Blessington set out for England; “his going,” wrote his wife, “at this moment, when he is far from well, is no little sacrifice of personal comfort; but never did he consider himself when a duty was to be performed. I wish the question was carried, and he safely back again.” While in town he presided at the Covent Garden Theatrical Fund annual dinner. After an absence of only a few days he returned to Paris, apparently in improved health, and—indulgent husband that he was—laden with gifts for his lovely wife.

But disaster was at hand. While riding out in the heat he was seized with apoplexy in the Champs ElysÉes. He lingered, speechless, until half-past four on the following Monday morning when he breathed his last. Lady Blessington was stunned with grief by the sudden calamity.

The remains were conveyed to Dublin, where they were interred in Saint Thomas’ Church, Marlborough Street.

What epitaph are we to write? What character to paint of this man, so well-beloved, yet possessing so little strength, so little self-restraint, such a pittance of ability? Landor wrote of him to Lady Blessington—

And again he writes to her:

Five years later Lady Blessington writes to Landor:—

“I have often wished that you would note down for me your reminiscences of your friendship, and the conversations it led to with my dear and ever-to-be-lamented husband; he who so valued and loved you, and who was so little understood by the common herd of mankind. We, who knew the nobleness, the generosity, and the refined delicacy of his nature, can render justice to his memory.…”

Amid all this sugar, it is quite refreshing to come across a little acid, and Cyrus Redding speaks out quite plainly of Lady Blessington. He says: “She was a fine woman; she had understood too well how to captivate the other sex. She had won hearts, never having had a heart to return. No one could be more bland and polished, when she pleased. She understood from no short practice, when it was politic to be amiable, and yet no one could be less amiable, bland and polished when her temper was roused, and her language being then well suited to the circumstances of the provocation, both in style and epithet.… The gentry of this country, of all political creeds, are frequently censured for their pride and exclusiveness; but they may sometimes be proud and exclusive to no ill end. The higher ranks have their exceptions, as well as others, of which Lord Blessington himself was an instance. The dissipation of Lord Blessington’s fortune, and the reception of Lady Blessington’s favourite, the handsome youth, D’Orsay, into Lord Blessington’s house, ran together, it has been said, before the finish of his education. Old Countess d’Orsay was scarcely able to do much for her son, owing to the narrowness of her income; but no family could be more respectable than hers. Lord Blessington was a weak-minded creature, and his after-dinner conversations, when the wine was in, became wretchedly maudlin.”

However, exit Lord Blessington and end Act One of our tragi-comedy.