Here stands D’Orsay, jeune premier, the hero of this comedy À trois, with the limelight full upon him; supported by Marguerite, Lady Blessington, as leading lady, of whom Landor said to Crabb Robinson:—“She was to Lord Blessington the most devoted wife he ever knew,” which either speaks badly for the wives known to Walter Savage or more probably shows that he was as blind in the matter of the lady’s virtue as he was with regard to her age, which in 1832 he declared to be about thirty. Probably in both cases he was judging simply by appearances, which in women are so apt to deceive men, particularly elderly poets.

For what part shall we consider Lord Blessington as cast? Villain or fool? We incline to the latter: it takes a fairly astute man to play the villain with success; moreover, no man smiles and smiles and is a villain without motive for his villainy—at least not in real life. To complete our company we have two light comedians, Marianne Power, pretty and ever ready with a smile, and Mathews, always ready to provide amusing entertainment. For stage crowd, diplomatists, antiquarians, artists, noblemen, servants and so forth:—

Sir William Gell, whom we have met, with pleasure; an Hon. R. Grosvenor, whom Lady Blessington declared “the liveliest Englishman I have ever seen,” and considered that his gaiety sat very gracefully upon him; queens of beauty, too, such as the Duchess di Forli, “with hair dark as the raven’s wing, and lustrous eyes of nearly as deep a hue, and her lips as crimson as the flower of the pomegranate”; the Princess Centolla, who “might furnish a faultless model for a Hebe, she is so fair, so youthful, and so exquisitely beautiful”; an Hanoverian soldier of fortune, who came down to fight in Sicily and captured the heart and wealth of the Princess Bultera and her title too; the lively, diminutive, aged Thomas James Mathias, writer of that pungent satire upon authors, Pursuits of Literature, whose denial of his being the only begetter of it did not meet with credence. He was a man with peculiarities, one of which was the frequent use of the exclamation, “God bless my soul!” Another was his singularly accurate memory for dates connected with the eating of any special dish. It was fortunate for him that motor-cars were not of his day, for he was extremely nervous when crossing the street. He appears also to have been curiously simple. One day while dining in a cafÉ a shower of rain came down heavily, and Sir William Gell remarked to Mathias that it was raining cats and dogs. On the instant, as luck would have it, a dog ran in at one door and a cat at the other. “God bless my soul,” said Mathias, solemnly, “so it does! so it does! Who would have believed it!”

There was Sir William Drummond, scholar and diplomatist, minister-plenipotentiary to Naples, whose brilliant conversation was a mixture of pedantry illuminated by flashes of imagination; the Archbishop of Tarentum, a typical father of the Roman Church, “his face, peculiarly handsome, is sicklied o’er with the pale hue of thought; his eyes are of the darkest brown, but soft, and full of sensibility, like those of a woman. His hair is white as snow, and contrasts well with the black silk calotte that crowns the top of his head. His figure is attenuated and bowed by age, and his limbs are small and delicate…;” the astronomer Piazzi, discoverer of the planet Ceres; General the Duc di’ Rocco Romano, “the very personification of a preux chevalier; brave in arms, and gentle and courteous in society”; Lord Dudley, eccentric as is easily pardoned in a peer with an income of £40,000, with his unfortunate habit of expressing aloud his opinion, good or bad, of those with whom he conversed; James Milligan, the antiquary, to whom it was mere waste of time to submit a forgery as a genuine antique; Casimir de la Vigne, who recited his unpublished ‘Columbus’ at the Palazzo.

Fine company, of which but a few have been named; a liberal education in themselves to a young man on his way through a world where the proper study of mankind is man—and woman.

In junketings and journeyings the days sped by very merrily. Blessington himself was not fond of walking and was an enemy to sight-seeing of all kinds, so did not often join in the expeditions. Moreover, he was not an early riser, usually breakfasting in bed, and we cannot imagine that his company was very greatly missed; four is company, five is a crowd. The expeditionary party, therefore, consisted of Lady Blessington and D’Orsay, Marianne Power and Mathews; to which various guests were added as occasion and convenience dictated.

The romantic beauty of the gardens of the Palazzo appealed to at any rate some of the members of the household. In the evening they would resort to the charming Pavilion at the end of the terrace, and there listen to the playing and singing of the servants, some of whom proved to be delectable masters of music. There was, too, an open-air theatre in the grounds; the stage of springy turf, the proscenium formed of trees and shrubs, the seats of marble, backed by hedges of trimmed box and ilex. This shady playhouse the company frequented in the heat of the day; fruits and iced drinks were served. A pleasant earthly paradise, wherein the tempting of Adam by Eve was highly civilised—in its externals.

There were dinners on board the Bolivar, in the cabin wherein, it is said, Byron wrote much of “Don Juan”; D’Orsay must have felt quite in his element there.

In March 1825, the Palazzo Belvedere was deserted for the Villa Gallo at Capo di Monte, a less palatial but more comfortable abode, also possessing grounds of great beauty.

It was not until February 1826 that our party left Naples, where they had so greatly enjoyed themselves, returning to Rome, where they remained for a few weeks, going thence in April to Florence and in December being once again in Genoa. In Florence it may be noted that the Blessingtons and D’Orsay met Landor, with whom they quickly came to be upon terms of friendship.

It was while on their first visit to Genoa, three years before this, that news had reached Blessington of the death at the age of ten of his son and heir, Lord Mountjoy. Of this unhappy event one of the results was that Blessington was able to make such disposition of his property as he considered right and proper, or at any rate to a certain and very considerable extent. Of this freedom he availed himself in a manner that proves either a lack of common understanding or actual inhumanity. Included in the arrangements he made was the marriage to D’Orsay of one of his daughters, this apparently in fulfilment of his promise to see to it that D’Orsay’s future was provided for. Not content that the young Frenchman should be his wife’s lover he decided to make him also his daughter’s husband. Such a story told as fiction would be incredible.

Three months after his son’s death, Blessington signed a codicil to his will, which ran thus:—

In August (1823) this amazing plan was more securely fixed by the making of a will. By this document D’Orsay was appointed one of three executors, each of whom received £1000; to Lady Blessington was allotted £2000 British, per annum, and all her own jewels. Then we must quote in full:—“I give to my daughter, Harriet Anne Jane Frances, commonly called Lady Harriet, born at my house in Seymour Place, London, on or about the 3rd day of August 1812, all my estates in the county and city of Dublin, subject to the following charge. Provided she intermarry with my friend, and intended son-in-law, Alfred d’Orsay, I bequeath her the sum of ten thousand pounds only. I give to my daughter, Emily Rosalie Hamilton, generally called Lady Mary Gardiner, born in Manchester Square, on the 24th of June 1811, whom I now acknowledge and adopt as my daughter, the sum of twenty thousand pounds.

“In case the said Alfred d’Orsay intermarries with the said Emily, otherwise Mary Gardiner, I bequeath to her my estates in the county and city of Dublin.…” It did not matter upon which daughter the gallant and chivalrous D’Orsay fixed his fancy; in either case he was to be well rewarded. D’Orsay knew that his future was assured.

In fact, D’Orsay was handsomely dowered! How joyous must have been the meeting between him and his sister at Pisa in 1826. Lady Blessington has left a pleasant picture of it in her Journal:—

Who better could appreciate this happy scene than Lady Blessington, with all her dear objects around her: her sister, her husband, her dear friend?

One more Pisan scene is worth quoting:—

Summer faded into autumn, but surely not too quickly for the ardent D’Orsay, who must have longed to take to his arms his schoolgirl bride, who was coming over from Dublin, where she had spent her childhood in the care of her aunt.

It was a cruel thing to do, to fling this girl not yet sixteen years of age into the arms of a man entirely strange to her, who could not even be likely to learn to love her consumed with passion as he already was for another. What chance had the child of happiness? As little as had Marguerite Power when forced to marry Farmer. Did Lady Blessington recall her first wedding-day as she stood by and watched this sacrifice? She could not speak; her tongue was tied; what could it be to her if D’Orsay married? And D’Orsay, what word of exculpation or excuse can be said for him? Not one. Had he been free from intrigue this marriage would have been a mere episode—as marriage then was and now so often is—in the life of a man of the world. The little schoolgirl must marry someone; why not D’Orsay? D’Orsay must have money, why not obtain it by this simple means? Even if he had desired to hold back, what excuse could he offer—to Blessington? There have been few scenes so grimly sardonic, not one more tragic.

On December 1st 1827, Count Albert d’Orsay, only son of General Count d’Orsay, was married to Lady Harriet Anne Frances Gardiner at the British Embassy at Naples. Never can nuptials have been bigger with ill-fortune, which was the only fruit they bore.

Some few months after the wedding Madden met the bride at Rome, and writes of her:—

“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 demeanour or deportment. She seldom or ever spoke, she was little noticed, she was looked on as a mere schoolgirl; I think her feelings were crushed, repressed, and her emotions driven inwards, by the sense of slight and indifference, and by the strangeness and coldness of everything around her; and she became indifferent, and strange and cold, and apparently devoid of all vivacity and interest in society, or in the company of any person in it.”

Juliet mated with Lothario. Doubtless the latter was quite contented with his bargain, as indeed he had good cause to be. He had been paid a fine price for bending his neck to the yoke matrimonial, as is shown by the marriage settlements to which act the parties were Lord Blessington, D’Orsay, Lady Harriet, the Duc de Guiche, Lieutenant-General and Ecuyer of His Royal Highness the Dauphin, and Robert Power, formerly Captain of the 2nd Regiment of Foot. The deed is specifically stated as being designed to make provision for D’Orsay and Lady Harriet, “then an infant of the age of fifteen years or thereabouts.”