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Lady Morgan’s Memoirs
Sydney Owenson to Alicia Le Fanu, 18 January 1810
INTRODUCTION & INDEXES
DOCUMENT INFORMATION
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Preface
Vol. I Contents.
Prefatory Address
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Vol. I Index
Vol. II Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter IV
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Chapter XXXIX
Chapter XL
Vol. II Index
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Priory,
January 18th, 1810.

Well, I am everything that by this you have said. I am “an idle, addle-pated, good-for-nothing thing,” who, at the end of three months’ absence, begins to remember there is somebody whose demands upon her grateful and affectionate recollection are undeniable; and who, in fact, she never ceases to love and respect, though she does not regularly tell her so by the week, “in a double letter from Northamptonshire;” and now, I dare say, a very clever letter you will expect. Alas! madam, that which in me “makes fat the ribs but bankrupts out the wits,” the morale, in its excellence, bears no proportion to the physique, and I am, at this moment, the best lodged, best fed and dullest author in his Majesty’s dominions. My memory comes surcharged with titles and pedigrees, and my fancy laden with stars and garters,—my deep study is pointed towards the red book, and my light reading to the French bill of fare which lies under my cover at dinner; but you will say, “hang your fancy, give me facts.” Hélas! ma belle, I have none to relate, that your philosophic mind would not turn up its nose at. What is it to you that I live in one of the largest palaces in England? and that the sound of a commoner’s name is refreshment to my organs, wearied out with
394 LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR.  
the thrilling vibrations of “your Royal Highness,” “your Grace,” and “your Majesty!” Aye, now you open your big dark eyes, not knowing all the time (as how should you, poor soul!) that I am surrounded by ex-lord-lieutenants, unpopular princesses, and “deposed potentates,” (for in the present state of things, we here are in the wrong box); on either side of me I find chatting lords Westmorland and Hardwick (poor dears!) pop, then comes the Princess of Wales, with “quips and cranks and wreathed smiles,” and “anon stalks by in royal sadness,” the “exiled majesty of Sweden,” who certainly deserves to reign, because he boldly affichés himself as not deserving to reign and says tout bonnement, “that his people were the best judges, and they were of his opinion.” This is fact, not fancy. The truth is that the wonderful variety of distinguished and extraordinary characters who come here, make it to me a most delicious séjour,—and though I am now going on my fourth month it seems as if I was beginning my first day. It were in vain to tell you the names of our numerous and fluctuating visitors, as they include those of more than half the nobility of England, and of the first class; add to which, many of the wits, authors, and existing ministers (poor dears!) The house is no house at all, for it looks like a little town, which you will believe when I tell you that a hundred and twenty people slept under the roof during the Christmas holidays without including the under servants; and that Lords Abercorn and Hamilton have between them nine apartments de plain-pied, and Lady A. four. The Queen’s
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chamberlain told me, indeed, that there was nothing like the whole establishment in England, and, perhaps, for a subject, in Europe. I have seen a great deal of the Devonshire family; the daughters are charming, and I am told, Lady G. Morpeth very like her mother, whom they all say, actually died in consequence of the shock she received from the novel of The Winter in London. What will please you more than anything is that I have sold my book, The Missionary, famously. That I am now correcting the proof sheets, and that I have sat to the celebrated Sir Thomas Lawrence for my picture, from which an engraving is done for my work.

I was presented almost immediately on my arrival to the Princess of Wales, who received me most graciously, and with whom I have dined. The Duchess of Gordon has been particularly kind and attentive to me, and is here frequently. We have at present a very celebrated person, Payne Knight, and Lord Aberdeen, who has a farm at Athens. He is married to one of our daughters.

I swore like a trooper to Livy I would be back by the 1st of January, but as that is past, I will be back before the 1st of March, for these folk then move themselves for Ireland, and it will be then time to move off myself; so I propose myself to take a family dinner with you the 1st of March new style. Poor Mrs. Wallace! she held out wondrously. The last day I saw her I did not think she would live a week, and she lived twelve. I hear he is inconsolable (poor man!!) (do you perceive through all this a vein of
396 LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR.  
tender pity!) I wish he would get a star or garter that I might smile on him, as it is “nothing under nobility approaches Mrs. Kitty.”) The majesty of the people!! Oh, how we laugh at such nonsense! My dear Mistress What-do-ye-call’em, can I do anything for you, or the good man, your husband? command me. As to the worthy person, your son, I have nothing interesting to communicate to him, but that we have had the Archbishops of York and Canterbury, and they have exorcised the evil spirit out of me, so that I shall go back to him a saint in grain. Have you seen Livy? Love to all in a lump, and pray write to me under cover to the Marquis, St. James’s Square, London.

Yours affectionately,
S. O.