Miss Owenson, on her return to Dublin, after her visit to Longford House, had established herself in handsome lodgings, in Dublin, with her faithful Molly Cane for her guardian angel.
She was now very much the fashion; all that was best and pleasantest in
Dublin society was at her disposal; she went everywhere, and knew everybody best worth
knowing. But what was far more valuable than social success, was the increased number of
those who became her true and sterling friends. In addition to Mrs. Lefanu, and her family, Dr. and
Mrs. Pellegrini, the Atkinsons—who had all proved themselves friends when she most needed
them—the circle now included the Countess of
Charleville, the Dowager Lady Stanley
(of Penrhôs), with whom she had become acquainted through the interest of the Wild Irish Girl, and
many others. She had the gift of making friends, and the still more valuable gift of
retaining them. No one ever better understood the difference
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In the midst of the first flush of celebrity, flattery, the homage of society, and the pleasant things of all kinds that at this period came to her, with the consciousness that she owed everything to herself, and had earned her own position, she never relaxed her labour, but held fast to industry as her sheet anchor; she took all the rest at its true value—a tide that might ebb, and not a stream that would flow for ever. She had an intuitive sagacity to discern between what was really valuable, and what possessed mere glitter; but she was none the less delighted at having effected her entrance into high society; it marked the measure of the distance she had placed between Miss Owenson, the distinguished authoress, with a success as brilliant as a blaze of fireworks, and the two forlorn little girls left in lodgings, under Molly’s care, with no money to meet their expenses. To the end of her days she always thought of her position in life as a conquest—the titles and equipages of her great acquaintance were to her what scalps are to an Indian “brave,” outward and visible signs of conquest, not inheritance. Mrs. Tighe, the authoress of Psyche, was one of her intimate friends. Here is one of her graceful notes:—
I have very often thought of you, and the pleasure you kindly promised me since I had last the pleasure of seeing you; but the weather has been so unfavourable for walking, that I could hardly wish you to come so far unless you dined in the neighbourhood, and could steal an hour for me, as you did before; if it should happen that you could dine with us at five, on Thursday, it would make us very happy; but I am so uncertain about Mr. T——, that at present I cannot name any other day. You know you promised to try and prevail on your sister to accompany you; but indeed, I am ashamed to ask, to a sick room, two so much fitter for a ball room. If this does not find you at home, do not trouble yourself to send an answer till my messenger can call again Tuesday.
Miss Owenson paid another visit to England in 1808, in all respects a complete contrast to her journey thither, two years previously. In the Book of the Boudoir she describes her first party at Lady Cork’s; but now Miss Owenson took her place in society as a guest, not as a curiosity.
The object of her journey was to arrange with Sir Richard Phillips for the publication of a new novel. “Violent delights have violent endings,” and the gallantry of the man of the Million Facts was destined to give way over this novel to the trickery of a publisher’s dispute.
On her way to London, Miss Owenson
paid a visit to Lady Stanley, at Penrhôs; and a
letter addressed whilst there to Sir Charles Ormsby,
lets us into the
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Charles Montague Ormsby, was a barrister at law, a King’s counsel, baronet, and a member of parliament. He was of Irish blood and of Irish temperament, being a grandson to Charles M. Ormsby, of Cloghan’s Castle, County Mayo, Ireland. He was older than Sydney, had buried a first wife, who had left him with a family of sons; was the ugliest fellow and the most accomplished gentleman in Dublin. Sydney Owenson’s graces and successes had charmed the brilliant man of fashion and society; intimacy between them ripened into friendship and affection. How far either of these sparkling players in this comedy was in earnest, who shall say? Let the sagacious reader judge.
This letter shows the acquaintance of Sydney Owenson and Sir Charles Ormsby to have stood on the debateable and dangerous ground between love and friendship.
I am still here, delighted with everything around
me—let me add (and not in the mere vanity of my heart) not undelighting.
All here is stamped with a character new and impressive to my fancy. The fine
old Welsh mansion, ponderous furniture, and, above all, the inhabitants! The
figure and person of Lady Stanley is
inimitable. Vandyke would have estimated
| IDA OF ATHENS. | 325 |
I have found a harp and piano here, and Sir John has given me a splendid little edition of Burns for singing one of his songs. They have loaded my dressing-box with perfumes and such simple things as you know I like. All this brings you to my recollection—oh, what does not? In all my joys and sorrows you have a part. The flattery, the kindness addressed to me here! I think it is all to you it is offered, and it is most gratifying. I have been obliged to sing “Deep in love” so often for my handsome host, and every time it is as for you I sing it—people of true taste have but one opinion.
Adieu; write directly to London. I leave this tomorrow.
Aimons toujours comme à l’ordinaire.
A great number of letters from Sir
Charles to Miss Owenson remains among her
papers; they are certainly the letters of a lover. Miss Owenson
encouraged his addresses, and even gave him the pledge of a ring. But they had begun to
quarrel long before she left Dublin, and her present visit to England was destined to be
the occasion of a violent quarrel, from which their intimacy never thoroughly recovered. It
is evident from the letters written by him, that he was very much attached to her and she
to him. It seemed probable that they would marry each other; but there was no engagement
between them. The intimacy continued on and off for several years, and they were generally
quarrelling. He was criblé de dettes, and
involved in difficulties and embarrassments of various kinds which excited her impatience,
and she was a great coquette, surrounded by a crowd of admirers, who excited his jealousy.
Ormsby was unable to extricate himself from his entanglements so
as to be free to marry again. Miss Owenson, at length, definitely
broke with him; but he always continued to evince a friendly interest in her career.
Lady Morgan left behind a packet of his letters endorsed in her
own hand, “Sir Charles Montague Ormsby, Bart., one of the
most brilliant wits, determined roués, agreeable persons,
and ugliest men of his day!” It was not until after his death that she
| IDA OF ATHENS. | 327 |
A visit to her relations at Shrewsbury came into this journey to England; but although they were the same, she was not, and she found the place much less enchanting than on her first visit, but she always continued on the most friendly terms with them.
The Lady Stanley, with whom she stayed at Penrhôs, on her way into England, and to whom the next letter from Sydney Owenson is addressed, was Margaret, daughter and heiress of Hugh Owen, Esq., of Penrhôs, in Anglesea. She married, in 1763, Sir John Thomas Stanley, Bart. Lady Stanley died February 1, 1816. They had two sons and three daughters. The letter will explain itself.
It is so natural to anticipate the return of hours that
were dear to us, and take the enjoyment we can estimate by experience, that you
cannot be surprised; my dear madam, if the Wild Irish
Girl again seeks that welcome at Penrhôs which has been already
so kindly lavished upon her. In the midst of the inebriety of London
pleasures—of gay connexions and kind and flattering attentions equally
beyond the hopes or merits of their object; Penrhôs, its perfumes,
drawing-rooms, its gardens, the strawberry plants, and
above
| 328 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
I shall leave Salop on Wednesday next (2nd of August); I shall stay Thursday at Llangollen, with the Ladies of the Vale; on Friday, I suppose I sleep at Capel-Cerni; and on Saturday evening I shall be at Holyhead. Such are my arrangements, if I am not disappointed in a place in the Shrewsbury coach, for I shall not go by mail.
If, therefore, dear madam, you do not repent your kind and flattering invitations, I shall be delighted to pass a day with you in going back to Ireland; but I hope your Ladyship will be entirely governed by your convenience, without taking my wishes or inclinations into the account.
I have brought with me a little plant from London as a
companion for the strawberry plant. I do not know that it is very rare; but it
is very curious and very sentimental; I like it
selfishly for its resemblance to her whom your kindness touched so deeply. It
is a little twining, clinging thing, that fastens gratefully on whatever is
held out to its support; it is humble and unattractive, but perennial! You
shall, if you please, call it the Wild Irish Girl, for I
really believe it has no name; and so observe, I imagine it forms a little
class by itself. Adieu, dear madam; I request my affectionate souvenir to Miss Stanley, and
as ten-
| IDA OF ATHENS. | 329 |
PS. St. Pierre says, a woman always keeps the part of her letter in which she is most interested for the postscript—dare I then add my respects to Sir J. Stanley, whose little premium for singing the Scotch songs is now before me.
I send this by hand to Holyhead.
Lady Stanley received her youthful and lively guest. A note, dated Penrhôs, tells Mrs. Lefanu of her doings in London:—
Since I left London (until within this week back) my life
has been so unvaried, so wholly devoted to the irksome labours of my trade, that I have not written to you, because I wished
to spare you the ennui of reading the effects of my stupidity, or being teased
with unavailing complaints at the distress of a life no longer in consonance
with my habits and my feelings; while that anxiety which never slumbers for you—dearest of dear friends—and all that
concerns you, depended upon Olivia for information, who always men-
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My affection for you is connected and associated with some of the most interesting moments of my early life; it does and must influence, in some degree, the present and future events of my existence—your tender little councils, your affectionate solicitudes, your smiling reproofs, your kind indulgences, dear friend, they are all present to me. You are sometimes neglected, and I am a wretch; but never has my heart ceased to love or to remember you—and when I hear you are not all your friends could wish you in health and spirits, my tenderness to you increases with reprobation towards myself.
I suppose Livy
told you how gaily I closed my campaign in London. Mrs. Sheridan continued her attentions to the last. I spent two
dear mornings with lovely Mrs. Tom
Sheridan; he was at Lord
Cra-
| IDA OF ATHENS. | 331 |
A thousand loves and kisses to Mr. Le F——, to the Tom, Bess, and Joes; respects to Silky.
The book goes on swimmingly.
A few days later she crossed the Irish Channel, when she was seized
upon by all the heroine seekers in the Irish metropolis. A series of visits to the
Asgills, Alboroughs, and
Arrans, broke upon her time, but
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Am I never to hear from you, my dear madam? am I to admire and to love you, and to have received a thousand kindnesses from you, and is it all to end thus?
The day after my arrival, I wrote to you and sent you the songs you flattered me by approving. I sent them by hand, under cover to Mrs. Spencer. Of course, you have received them, and I am reduced to the pleasant alternative of believing that you are ill or I am forgotten. Write me but a single line merely to say, “I am well, and you are remembered,” and I will try and be contented.
Since I have left you, I have been in one continued round
of dissipation. They have actually seized me and carried me off to this little
Versailles by force of arms. I have been on a visit to Judge Crookshank’s. I am now with the
dear Atkinsons, and I have been a day or two with the
Asgills, Alboroughs, and
Arrans, and am now going off to the other side of
| IDA OF ATHENS. | 333 |
I write with Mr. Atkinson at my elbow, waiting to take this into town, and with General Graham and his lady, and twenty more in the room.
A thousand loves to dear Miss Stanley; if you won’t write, perhaps she will. I shall be delighted to hear from either.
I have this moment reached town (for I live at the Black Rock), and am seated at dinner with Olivia, and dinner and Livy are all thrown by till I tell my own dear kind mamma of Penrhôs how much her charming and affectionate billet delighted me. Mr. Atkinson is not the only one who longs to know and see you. A dear family, Judge Crookshank’s, are languishing to have you at their beautiful seat, and many others worthy of being known to you, long to have you amongst them. Do, do come; it is Sydney (and never call me odious Miss O.) who requests it.
Why not come and live amongst us? We are full of heart—we have some talent, and we should idolize you.
I go off the 8th to the Bishop of Ossory’s, and shall
| 334 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
I am just sending my maid over with this to Daddy Atkinson and to Lady Asgills, with whom I return to meet the commander-in-chief at dinner to-morrow, meantime the poor book lies by—heart still taking the lead of the head in the old way,
Miss Owenson, notwithstanding that she had her literary
credit at stake, and a half-written novel on hand, accepted an invitation to join in all
the “gaieties of the season,” at the Bishop of
Ossory’s. How Ida of Athens was ever written at all is wonderful. At that period she
had an inexhaustible fertility of resource, and writing a novel was as natural as
breathing, and not more fatiguing. She obtained, through the kindness of one of her
friends, a plan of the City of Athens, with the different sites marked upon it to which her
story refers. It did not render the story less romantic and unlike real life, but it showed
a commendable desire to obtain all the information in her
| IDA OF ATHENS. | 335 |
Your kind letter and highly estimated present reached me two days before I left town, and I thought the best way to express my gratitude for both, was to wait until I could address you from a scene of splendid gaiety, that might enhance the value of my otherwise valueless letter.
A sentiment of affection and friendship must have deeply penetrated a heart, which, when united to a young, a gay, and giddy spirit, turns from pleasure and amusement, and pauses in the midst of its little triumphs, to think of the friend that is far away, and almost to regret the solitude which that dear friend rendered so gracious to every better feeling.
This, dear madam, I assure you, is frequently my case,
and in the midst of ovations decreed me, I think of the sweet walks and quiet
crags of Penrhôs; I think of the mass of black rocks I have so often
scrambled over with Miss “Munchee,” of
Mam’selle Gavotte, and the bathing-house; and,
above all, I think of Her who gave the spell, the charm to the whole. I write
to you from a fine old Gothic episcopal palace, and one of the oldest of our
Irish families, and I certainly
| 336 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
This is my first appearance in this part of my native
country, and the attention I receive produces the desired effect; but the
little heart is still worthy of you, so don’t fear for me. Your gown is
quite beautiful, and has been a great ally, for never wardrobe was so called
on. Dressing three times a day, without interval or cessation, for dinner and
the theatre leaves one’s dress quite unfit for the ball afterwards. Now
do, dearest madam, if you will not come, write to me. Your kind and
affectionate letters, your friendship and esteem, are infinitely more necessary
to me than balls and concerts. I hourly feel the strong line of demarcation
that exists between pleasure and amusement, and that it is to the heart we must
all return. I am indignant against Miss Munchee, and send
her no souvenir. She is a recluse, and might spare a
moment from lilies and roses to ask me how I do. I do not believe a word of the
baise-mains
| IDA OF ATHENS. | 337 |
A note from John Wilson Croker is curious in its voluntary politeness, as contrasted with the subsequent rancour of that critic towards Lady Morgan and her works.
Croker was one of the Irish crowd of Miss Owenson’s adorers, and his vanity led him to
believe that his person and address were invincible. Miss Owenson,
courted by the most wealthy and accomplished men of Irish society, had no eyes for the
briefless barrister; not much patience with his audacities and personalities.
Croker’s talents had begun to make the disreputable noise in
Dublin which talents like his always do make in a society loving scandal and sarcasm more
than truth, for he had not only published—anonymously, of course—his Familiar Epistles to J. F.
Jones, and his Intercepted Letter from China (papers which no man of
good feeling could have written) but the more important essay on The State of Ireland. This work
had brought him into notice, and was soon after to bring him into Parliament for
Downpatrick, when he rose into favour and office by his vigorous subserviency to the
Duke of York, then on trial at the bar of public
opinion for the sale of army commissions. A man of such attainments and such principles was
not
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Mr. Croker takes the opportunity of this frank to request that Miss Owenson will present his best respects to the Bishop of Ossory and Mrs. Kearney, and to inform them that he would have written specially to them, but that on his return, he found his brother so dangerously ill that it occupied all his time and thoughts; and that a sea voyage having been advised to his brother, Mr. Croker sails this very day to accompany him to Cork, on his way to Spain and Madeira.
Mr. Croker requests Miss Owenson’s pardon for taking the liberty of requesting her to deliver this message to his friends at the palace.
The bitter fruit of Croker’s disappointment will be seen by and bye. Meanwhile, there are
pleasanter things in our way. Another letter from Lady
Charleville. One secret of the preservation of this friendship between the
noble lady and the working authoress, was the punctilious politeness and high breeding
evinced—there was never the abrasion of familiarity. Lady
Charleville placed some valuable prints and views of Greece at the disposal
of Miss Owenson, for her assistance whilst engaged upon
Ida; and it was
pro-
| IDA OF ATHENS. | 339 |
I received your letter at Shrewsbury, where I have staid five weeks under the care of Dr. Darwin; from some part of his prescription I have benefitted, and my case seemed to me of that nature which warranted applying to an eccentric practitioner. Life is certainly valueless under torments; and I think it right to struggle with physical calamity, and yet endeavour to be ultimately resigned to the will of the Supreme Disposer of all events.
I thank you very much for wishing for my return to
Ireland, inevitably postponed, now, until next summer; I hope in God to be then
able to reside where only I feel myself useful, and consequently happy. I am
delighted that your last effort promises a fair superiority over your former
productions. You should think so, that it may in fact attain it; nor am I slow
to believe that every work you shall write the next thirty years will still
deserve a higher degree of estimation. A person gifted as you are with fancy,
taste and feeling, requires only a correct attention to the language and the
ripening hand of time (to prune away juvenile exuberance and consolidate the
judgment, ) to write well. A woman’s writings, too, should
| 340 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
Now I do think, though you may smile at my notion, that
you had written with more simplicity and verve, and had less chance of your
talent being tainted and sullied, under the humble roof of Mr.
Hill, than in the circle you describe to me. Virtuous, laborious
life offers no sophisticated views, though sometimes, perhaps, coarse ones;
but, from those refined and alive to refinement as you are, you had nothing to
fear; whilst empty circles and ignorant fine ladies will taint your nicer
judgment, by not offending your lighter tastes, they will corrupt your talents
and reduce you to the vacuum of their conversation, which you must (to mix with
them) of course, form yours upon, and they shall (like cards) soon level all
distinctions, which talent and genius marked originally out for you, and lead
you imperceptibly on to the
| IDA OF ATHENS. | 341 |
What did poor Versailles ever do, you should in your wrath compare it with Dublin? . . . . The ghosts of Maintenon, Sevigné, Coulanges, nay, even Fontany, La Valiere and Montespan rise against you. Some of them had hearts—and most of them talents; they were at least elegant and refined in the manners of the politest court in Europe. In our days that court showed us, in the Duchess of Coigny, most extraordinary talent; and even in Diana de Polignac, a woman who could write as a gentlewoman and act as a friend. But what can your Versailles say or do, that shall tempt the heart of feeling to sympathy, or the eye of genius to rest with complacency upon them? Nature seemed to have intended Lady Aldborough for an exception to this sentence, the world, even their own world, has long since pronounced upon them! And I have felt deeply shocked for what she must have lately suffered.
But, wherever you are, accept my best wishes, burn my nonsense, and only consider it as a proof of the pleasure I find in corresponding with you that I have written so long a letter. And that I am, dear madam,
The year ended pleasantly with the marriage of Olivia Owenson to Dr.
Clarke. She was married to
| 342 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
For the remaining years of his life, Mr. Owenson was freed from the anxieties he had suffered for so many years; his declining age was made happy in the society and care of one of his daughters, and in witnessing the increasing fame and prosperity of the other. He had been an exemplary father to the utmost of his power, and he had his reward. The Doctor was knighted by the Lord Lieutenant for his public services, and the son of Clasagh na Valla had the pleasure of healing his younger daughter addressed as Lady Clarke. Sir Arthur and Lady Clarke wished Miss Owenson also to reside with them, but her love of being independent in all her movements and her many engagements in society prevented her acceding to this; she continued in her own lodgings with Molly for her maid; but Sir Arthur’s carriage and house were as much at her disposal as though they had been her own.
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