Among the papers which refer to the period covered generally by the foregoing autobiography, is a packet of letters tied together, and endorsed in Lady Morgan’s own handwriting:—“Youth, Love, and Folly! from the meridian of sweet fifteen to the freezing point of matrimony.”
This packet contains the records of many incidents which illustrate at once her history, her character, and the manners of the time when they were written. Some of the letters are interesting for their own sake, all of them are endowed with that questionable interest which attaches to the unadorned records of those “very privatest of men’s affairs,” about which every one likes to hear, but about which scarcely any person ever tells the truth.
The packet has two lines by way of epigraph:—
“Que l’amour eat beau et son commencement joyeux
Mais il n’y a point d’eternel amour.” |
Under date of 1823, there is a memorandum:—“This whole farrago I lay at the feet of my dear husband, with whom love began (true love, par parenthèse), folly ended, and youth has already passed away in the enjoyment of the purest happiness.”
All who knew Lady Morgan know that this assertion is quite true.
The letters written to her father during her stay at Bracklin, give no indications of correspondence with any one else; but the following letters found in the above-mentioned packet, are addressed to Miss Owenson at that time. In spite of the prudent counsels of her father (and as regarded good advice he gave the best possible counsel to his daughters), and in spite, too, of her own prudence, which was early called into exercise and never called in question—it will be seen that she did not escape the natural fate of young women who are witty, agreeable, good humoured and—good looking. She drew adorers to her side, whom she did not altogether discourage.
The activity of her mind, her passion for self-improvement and self
cultivation; her ambition to help her father in his embarrassments, an ambition that came
before the desire of personal distinction had made itself felt, were so many guardian
spirits which took her thoughts out of the enervating and dangerous course of day dreams of
love, marriage and eternal felicity. In writing her novels, she found a channel for her
imagination, which turned to profit a warmth of sentiment which would otherwise have gone
into love affairs, and have brought neither comfort nor credit to
| ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY. | 193 |
Captain White Benson and Captain Earle were two young officers quartered in Kilkenny, during the period when Mr. Owenson had his daughters with him whilst his theatre was being built. She refers to the young men in one of her Dublin letters to her father, telling him that they had called, but that “Molly would not let them in.”
Molly was a very dragon of discretion, and the two
girls might have had a worse guardian. Lady Clarke
often told of the Kilkenny days, when she, “an unformed lump of a girl,”
whose greatest delight was to go rambling about the fields “armed with a big
stick, and followed by a dog,” once returned from her rambles covered with
mud, and her frock torn from scrambling over hedges and ditches; her hair all blown over
her face (she had the loveliest long golden hair that ever was seen) and found her sister
Sydney, and
| 194 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
Molly came in at the same moment to lay the cloth for dinner, and thinking they had staid quite long enough, said, in her most unceremonious manner, “Come, be off with yez—an the masther will be coming in to his dinner, and what will he say to find you here fandangoing with Miss Sydney?”
Olivia, who had no patience with sentiment, fell on them with her stick, and pelted them with the apples she had picked up in her ramble. Sydney, who the moment before had been enjoying her sorrows, burst out laughing at this sally, and shaking her black curly head, danced away like a fairy. In early girlhood her figure was slight and graceful; there was little or no appearance of the curvature which, in after life, became apparent. It was developed by the habit of leaning to one side over her writing, and playing upon the harp.
These letters require no explanation.
To address you perhaps from the most selfish of all
motives, as I once resigned the correspondence you honoured me with from one of
all motives the least so, I begin enigmatically; but I shall unravel as I go
on, and if you then doubt me I shall at least have the consolation of your
pity. You will at least give me
| ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY. | 195 |
To say that I have been unhappy since these afflicting
tidings were conveyed to me, would be to say nothing. I have incessantly
mourned a loss no circumstance can efface, no time repair, and the only act of
alleviation I can now have recourse to I have thought of often, and at the
distance we now are it is, perhaps, no longer liable to the objection that once
influenced me—at least, should it again become
dangerous to my peace of mind,—it is impossible I should feel an added
weight of sorrow to that I have so long endured. Yes, my dear Sydney, dangerous it is too true, I repeat the
words, dangerous to my peace of mind. I anticipate your incredulity; it is,
nevertheless, too true; I renounced your correspondence, I sacrificed the first
wishes of my heart when I found wishes springing up in which I durst not
indulge, and I determined to listen no more to the voice of the charmer. I was
not true to that friendship I once pledged to you—I dared to violate the
brotherly affection I fear I never truly felt for you; but it was not till the
receipt of your last letter, when you defined so beautifully the nature of your
sentiments towards me, when conscious those sentiments
were not mine, it became me to declare what they were, or to be silent for
ever. I will not now suppose what might have been the effect of such a
decla-
| 196 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
What absence and the distance we are now at may have done
I will not describe to you; I will not be guilty of a falsehood in saying I
have either forgotten you or that I remember nothing of the sensations I have
felt for you; on this subject, indeed, I dare
| ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY. | 197 |
Miss Owenson wrote an elegy on Captain Earle, in which real feeling shows itself in spite of phraseology which reminds the reader of the marble ladies bending over marble urns, which seem de rigueur in monumental tablets.
A second time I address you—in what manner I ought
to do it I know not. I have offended you, I
| 198 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
I wrote to you, Miss Owenson, last month; I conjured you, by the remembrance of our lost friend Earle, to give consolation to one who, labouring under the most poignant sorrow for the death of his only friend, felt some degree of alleviation in the idea there was on earth still one who could feel and relieve the affliction of his soul.
I offended you, perhaps, in daring to transgress the
sacred rule of friendship you only authorised me to preserve. If so, let me
perhaps be more daring in saying, I ought to be forgiven. I have prescribed to
myself limits of affection over whose boundaries it were wrong to pass. You
conceive, perhaps, it is imprudent in you to continue a correspondence with a
man who has said that he once loved you. Be it so, I
pledge to you my word of honour to mention the subject no more; I pledge you my
promise never to violate that friendship I have so repeatedly professed for
you, and to remember only the sister of my heart. If,
from any circumstance whatever that has occurred since I first knew you, of
whatever nature it may be, you are convinced it will not be the least
gratifying to you to hold any communication with a man you certainly once
honoured with some degree of regard, at least say so, leave me not in cruel
ignorance whether
| ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY. | 199 |
These two letters are much worn and torn, as though from frequent reading and handling; very different to the condition of the other letters in this packet. On the back of the above letter is written, “This elegant-minded and highly-gifted young man drowned himself near York, a few months after I received this letter!”
The unfortunate young man seems to have served for the model of St. Clair, or, at least, to have furnished some of the characteristics.
One advantage that artists possess over the rest of the world is, that although they suffer keenly, they have the faculty of turning their emotions into knowledge, and of finding consolation in the very act of using this knowledge as material for their art.
In spite of her natural heterodoxy, Lady
Morgan had always a penchant for bishops and church dignitaries, who, in
their turn, seemed to have reciprocated the good will. She was always a good tough subject
for conversion, and offered the attraction of an unsolved problem; here, however, is a
bishop’s letter to Mr. Owenson, about his
daughter, when, as yet,
| 200 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
I received your kind letter, and it gave me very sincere satisfaction to find that you were blessed with a child whose talents and good disposition were likely to prove so great a comfort to you. I need not tell you how necessary it is, at the same time that you foster her genius, not to feed her vanity, which is so apt to keep pace with reputation. Neither need I tell you that vanity is one of the most dangerous passions in the female breast. I have been in Dublin these six weeks, under the hands of the surgeons, confined to a sick room, and therefore little qualified to forward your wishes respecting her publication. I hope that I shall not always be a prisoner; but the first effects of my liberty will be to return to the country, where alone I can hope to perfect my recovery. When I return to town, both Mrs. Young and I will have great pleasure in forwarding the publication of your young poetess. I hope your friend received the pamphlet on sounds, which I sent to Henrietta Street, directed to him in the manner you desired,
The next letter in the packet is from Dermody, and like to the love-letters of other young poets, is more concerned with his own vanities than those of the lady to whom it is addressed:—
I received your very affectionate letter with the
sincerest transport, and take the earliest opportunity of answering it. Though
of late not unused to general adulation, when I pictured that angelic semblance
I had once seen, writing my encomium, the flattery, I confess, was of the most
pleasing kind. Did I not know your taste and accomplishments, indeed, in my
opinion unrivalled, the pleasure would be less. Why not mention my dear
Olivia? Why not tell me more of
your, I may say my, father, for as such
I shall ever respect him. I have a thousand things to say, so expect nothing
but incoherency. First for the army:—I am not now in commission, being
put on half-pay after the reducement of the corps. I have lost the use of my
left hand, and received two wounds more, being in five different engagements;
however, I do not know but I shall be promoted, having lately had a line from
His Royal Highness the Duke—of this you shall hear more. Now for
literature; besides the little volume you have seen, there have been two
satirical poems of mine, published under the signature of “Mauritius
Moonshine;” one, the Battle of the Bards, the other, More
Wonders, besides a variety of biographical and critical
pieces in the monthly publications. I have just transcribed another volume of
| 202 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
| ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY. | 203 |
From the same clever but foolish young poet, there is a letter to Miss Owenson’s father.
I received your letter this moment, and waive all other business to accelerate the answer. I shall not take up your time with professions of gratitude, which you know I owe you ever, and will therefore excuse. I have been very fortunate since I had the pleasure of Miss Owenson’s last letter, which I intended to answer when I could, with most news and propriety. A certain great man of literary celebrity coming accidentally acquainted with some things of mine, has nearly freed my fortune. One poem of mine has been applauded as the finest in this age, in which are the venerable names of Cumberland and Arthur Murphy. This poem, with others, will be published in the most splendid style, by subscription, which is expected to be very large. His Majesty, the Duke, and Princess Amelia, are among the first. In this volume will be a poetical epistle to my sister competitor, Sydney, which proves I need no other incentive, even at this distant period, but my own sensibility of your goodness, to render our friendship immortal. The lines are very beautiful, but it is impossible to give you any adequate extract. I have had some lines from Sydney which are eminently charming, but how she has arrived at such excellence I cannot well imagine.
| 204 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
I have not yet seen her poems here, but will inquire among the booksellers for them. Are you certain they have been sent here? When I can find a copy I will be their reviewer myself in three monthly publications—viz., the London Review, Monthly Review, and Monthly Magazine. Though unconnected with newspaper editors, I will likewise observe what you mentioned with regard to them. The Monthly Mirror is what I publish most poetry in (which is very little, for some reasons), and I therefore shall send some verses, on the appearance of these poems, to it. Pray let me manage the affair in my own way. Two satirical poems of mine, under the signature of “Mauritius Moonshine,” have made a great noise here; but I shall pursue that path no further. You may be dreaded and admired, but never loved for such productions. Who is the Mr. Moore Sydney mentions? He is nobody here, I assure you, of eminence. Let me have no strictures on some little vanity I have been forced to indulge in, describing my literary prospects; pardon likewise this illegible, unauthor-like scribble, and ever believe me,
I had like to have forgot your remembering me to my dear Olivia, and all old acquaintances.
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