LORD  BYRON  and  his  TIMES
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The Creevey Papers
Thomas Creevey to Elizabeth Ord, 21 November 1827

Vol. I. Contents
Ch. I: 1793-1804
Ch. II: 1805
Ch. III: 1805
Ch. IV: 1806-08
Ch. V: 1809
Ch. VI: 1810
Ch. VII: 1811
Ch. VIII: 1812
Ch. IX: 1813-14
Ch X: 1814-15
Ch XI: 1815-16
Ch XII: 1817-18
Ch XIII: 1819-20
Vol. II. Contents
Ch I: 1821
Ch. II: 1822
Ch. III: 1823-24
Ch. IV: 1825-26
Ch. V: 1827
Ch. VI: 1827-28
Ch. VII: 1828
Ch. VIII: 1829
Ch. IX: 1830-31
Ch. X: 1832-33
Ch. XI: 1833
Ch. XII: 1834
Ch XIII: 1835-36
Ch XIV: 1837-38
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“Croxteth, Wed., Nov. 21, 1827.
“My dearest Bessy,

“Well, here you see me after all, and everything as right as ever it can be. I arrived here in a chay from Ormskirk yesterday between one and two, and as I pass’d the front of the house, was upon the lookout to see if there were any watchers at the windows. Lady Maria was at her bedroom one, and we had mutual salutations. Where my Lord had seen me from I don’t know, but he was below at the hall door to receive me, and in the middle of very cordial handshaking said:—‘You old rogue! I did not feel sure of your coming till I saw you.’ I was then taken up to see the ladies, and nothing could be warmer than my reception was by each, and Lady Louisa said more than once or twice during the day—‘You don’t know how happy you have made us all by coming.’ So it’s all mighty well.

“As we were sitting cozing about the fire, Sefton said:—‘Well, Brougham is very angry with you for not coming to see him at Brougham.—‘O,’ said I, ‘he is a neat artist. The affectionate, tender-hearted creature wrote a blubbering letter to Lord Darlington, saying how deeply hurt he was that such an old and attached friend as I was should have been so near him and never come to see him; but,’ I added, ‘he never mentioned that he was not at home if I had done so.’ . . . A little after, one of the young ladies said—‘We have seen a good deal of Mr. Brougham lately; he went to the play with us 3 or 4 times, and you never saw such a figure as he was. He wears a black stock or collar, and it is so wide that you see a dirty coloured handkerchief under, tied tight round his neck. You never saw such an object, or anything half so dirty.’ This is all that has passed hitherto respecting the Arch Fiend. . . .

“I said to Sefton just now out a-shooting—who is Montron?—‘Why,’ said he, ‘he is a roué who has no visible living and has one of the best houses going in Paris. He was employed very much by Talleyrand in his jobs and by Buonaparte likewise, and of course
he is in very bad odour with the present Government of France; but he is a clever man and most entertaining.’ I need not add he must be an infernal scoundrel, and to my mind he is the worst mannered man I ever saw. . . . We are expecting hourly a proper match for him in villainy, Henry de R——. . . . He [Montron] is known to and has lived with all the world, but his polar star has been, and continues to be, Talleyrand. He married a Duchesse de Fleury, who was divorced from her husband on purpose; but who afterwards left him to live with a painter. One of his most conspicuous stations was in the Court of the
Princess Borghese, where he lived openly with her principal lady. I never heard anything equal to the depravity of Madame la Princesse, according to the stories Montron tells Sefton, and Montron stated himself as having been the minister to her pleasures in selecting lovers for her. It was for such like offices that the moralist Buonaparte whipped Master Montron into prison one fine day, and kept him there, saying he would put an end to the debauchery of his sister’s establishment. So much for my new friend! Is he not a neat one? . . . I really think there is nothing going on by letter now between Sefton and Brougham, which is odd enough, after all that has passed; but I feel certain Sefton would not conceal anything that was going on, and if he ever mentions Brougham, it is only to say how impossible it is for me to conceive the state of his filth in all ways. . . . Poor Sefton! he was quite au desespoir the night before last; there had been so few pheasants that day at Kirby Ruff, his best cover. He was really speechless, except when he said it was the last time he ever should be there. In short, he might have lost half his estate at least. To think of the most successful man in life, and with the outside of everything the world can give, and he can’t exist without excitement for every moment of the day; whilst a pauper like myself can live upon idleness and jokes, without a blank day to annoy me. . . .”