by A G Mogan
Mrs. Maurice Farmer was descended from an Irish landowner named Robert Power, who was the embodiment of all the vices of the time. Robert Power gambled quite recklessly and would often have appalling parties with degenerates that would last from sunset until dawn. His wife and his young daughters were terrified of him, and the life they led was a continuous nightmare because of their father’s carousing. He wasted his money and mortgaged his estates until the end of his wild career was in plain sight.
It just so happened that there was a captain by the name of Maurice St. Leger Farmer who was stationed at Clonmel. He was wealthy, but eccentric with an uncontrolled temper. Even his fellow officers could scarcely live with him, and he was given to strange impulses. At a ball in Clonmel, he met the young daughter of Robert Power, then a child of just fourteen years. Captain Farmer was became immediately infatuated with her and he immediately asked her father for her hand in marriage. He also proposed on a small amount of money to be given to her if she married him.
Her father was quick to accept the offer. He was almost to the point of losing everything and this would give him the chance to provide for one of his daughters, or more specifically, to get rid of her. That night, he bullied his wife and commanded his daughter to marry the captain. Due to his bullying, her mother joined her father in commanding the young girl to marry Captain Farmer.
Margaret Power didn’t have many options since she was only a child. She was familiar with obeying her father as he had all the power. She spent a lot of time sobbing and she was quite frightened, yet there was no one to help her. Therefore, she was married at the tender age of fifteen and she was the unhappy slave of a half-crazy tyrant. At this time, her beauty was undeveloped and she was no considered attractive. She was thin and pale, and with rough hair that fell over her frightened eyes; yet Farmer wanted her, and he settled his money on her, just as he would have spent the same amount to satisfy any other sudden whim.
Her life with him proved that he was more devil than man and so her terror was not abated. He delighted in frightening her, and he did not stop himself from beating her with his fists. The girl had reached her breaking point and she made the decision to leave her husband. She returned to her father's house, where she was reprimanded harshly, but since she was safe from harm, her possession of a dowry made her a person of some small importance.
Not long afterward, Captain Farmer quarreled with his colonel, Lord Caledon, and drew his sword on his commanding officer. He was court-martialed and they may have decided to have him shot were it not for the fact that he was believed to be insane. So he was simply forced to leave the service and relocate elsewhere. Thus the girl whom he had married was free to leave her miserable home and even to leave Ireland.
She left Ireland and was able to establish herself in London, where became acquaintances with the Earl of Blessington. After the death of his wife, he fell in love with Margaret Farmer. She was always alone and she was happy with the kindness he bestowed upon her. Her past experience led her to have no real belief in love. However, she had become interested in literature and art and developed an ambition to be known as a writer. As it happened, Captain Farmer had died some months before Lord Blessington had decided to make a new marriage. The earl proposed to Margaret Farmer, and the two were married by special license.
The newest Countess of Blessington was now twenty-eight years of age and had developed into a woman of great beauty. She was noted to be vivacious and radiant. It was also noted that she had a kind of intense loveliness accompanied by grace, simplicity, and a form of exquisite proportions. As there were no traces of the plainness from her childhood, the Lady of Blessington had transformed from an ugly duckling into a swan.
Despite her two marriages, she had still never known love. Her first husband had been forced upon her and had treated her horribly. Though she cared for her second husband, he was much older than her and she married him, first and foremost, for his title and position.
Lady Blessington had never known wealth. Having been raised in poverty, she did not understand the value of money and the new countess was even more extravagant than her husband. One by one, they opened their London properties and they were extremely lavish and indulgent with the decorations. They gave countless entertainments to the nobility and to men of rank, as well as to artists and actors and writers of all degrees because this was Lady Blessington's particular interest. The American, N. P. Willis, in his Pencilings by the Way, has given an interesting sketch of the countess and her surroundings, while the younger Disraeli (Lord Beaconsfield) has depicted D'Orsay as Count Mirabel in Henrietta Temple. Willis says:
“In a long library, lined alternately with splendidly bound books and mirrors, and with a deep window of the breadth of the room opening upon Hyde Park, I found Lady Blessington alone. The picture, to my eye, as the door opened, was a very lovely one—a woman of remarkable beauty, half buried in a fauteuil of yellow satin, reading by a magnificent lamp suspended from the center of the arched ceiling. Sofas, couches, ottomans, and busts, arranged in rather a crowded sumptuousness through the room; enameled tables, covered with expensive and elegant trifles in every corner, and a delicate white hand in relief on the back of a book, to which the eye was attracted by the blaze of diamond rings.”
All this "crowded sumptuousness" was due to the taste of Lady Blessington. She received royal dukes, statesmen such as Palmerston, Canning, Castlereagh, Russell, and Brougham, actors such as Kemble and Matthews, artists such as Lawrence and Wilkie, and men of letters such as Moore, Bulwer-Lytton, and the two Disraelis. In order to maintain this lifestyle, Lord Blessington raised large amounts of money, totaling about half a million pounds sterling, by mortgaging his different estates and giving his promissory notes to his lenders. Of course, he did not spend this money immediately. Even though he lived in luxury, he was restless and eager and most of his extravagances were prompted by the urgings of his wife.
Throughout this display of extravagant wealth, one can find a psychological basis for her actions. She was now approaching her thirties, a critical period in a woman's emotional life, especially if she has never received the love that she so desires. During Lady Blessington's earlier years she had suffered in many ways, and it is probable that no thought of love had entered her mind. Her only thoughts were probably to escape the cruelty of her father and her first husband. Then she became a beautiful woman and was happy to remain still and enjoy the rest and peace that had come to her at last.
It was not possible for there to be love in her marriage to Lord Blessington; he was much older than her, he was absentminded, showy and appeared to have no intellectual promise. So there was a time when she looked for satisfaction in social victories, in exhibiting capturing political and literary lions, and in lavish spending. But none of these things could truly satisfy her for none of them gave her what she wanted most. She was the type of beautiful and vivacious woman that would never be satisfied unless she was able to release all the emotion that she had pent-up.
She began to grow dissatisfied with London and she began to dream of experiencing something new. The earl, her husband, was just as restless as his wife and so he willingly consented to a journey on the Continent, even without knowing her reasons for behind the journey as she was not able to understand those reasons herself.
They soon reached the town of Valence, where Count d'Orsay was still living with his regiment. She was immediately attracted to him, but she was inexperienced in these feelings and did not know how to proceed. She had never before experienced such intense longing, which was stirred at the sheer sound of the French officer's voice and the sight of his face. However, it appeared as though neither of them were conscious of their desires; they only knew that the presence of each other’s company was quite satisfying.
Oddly enough, the Earl of Blessington became as devoted to D'Orsay as his wife. D’Orsay was easily persuaded by the two to request a leave of absence and journey with them to Italy. The journey among the l
akes and towns of romantic Italy passed in a slow and charming haze. No one really knows what happened between Count d'Orsay and Margaret Blessington during this trip, but one thing that was certain was that before long they came to know that each was vital to the other.
Meanwhile, the Earl of Blessington was unaware and unsuspicious of the developing feelings between his wife and Count d’Orsay. The situation grew more complicated when he suggested that the Count should marry Lady Harriet Gardiner, his eldest legitimate daughter by his first wife. He pressed the match upon the embarrassed D'Orsay, and offered to settle the sum of forty thousand pounds upon the bride. The girl was only fifteen years old. She was not particularly beautiful or intelligent and to make matters worse, D’Orsay was profoundly in love with her stepmother.
There were growing rumors of the relations between Count d'Orsay and Lady Blessington , which made the Count’s position with them more difficult. Lord Byron, in a letter written to the countess, spoke to her openly and in a playful way of "YOUR D'Orsay." Even though the morals of the time were particularly erratic, it was inevitable that sooner or later, the earl would begin to pick up what people were saying. Because of this inevitability and because he wanted to protect his relationship with Lady Blessington, D'Orsay consented to marry Lady Harriet.
This upcoming marriage made the familiarity between D'Orsay and the Blessingtons appear to be completely natural; but, as it turns out, the marriage was no marriage. The family made their home together in Seymour Place while Lady Harriet was left to her own devices.
Within two years, Lord Blessington fell ill and died. Unfortunately, D’Orsay was not free to marry Lady Blessington since he was married to her stepdaughter. At that time, there was no divorce court in England so he was forced to live on through a very unique situation. Nevertheless, he did openly reside with Lady Blessington at Gore House after separating from his bride. People were more easy-going at this time and they generally approved of the couple’s relationship.
Lady Blessington was extremely happy with the fact that the two were very free to live as they chose and Count d'Orsay was accepted in London as a vision of fashion. The couple received all the notable men of the time as everyone was enthusiastic to visit Gore House. Even with her happiness, Lady Blessington was no less extravagant and continued her reckless spending, accumulating everything from jewels and trinkets up to magnificent pictures and beautiful sculptures.
D'Orsay’s self-respect kept him from spending the money that had come to Lady Blessington from her husband; instead, he was able to make a professional living as a painter, something of which he had a great talent. The Duke of Wellington preferred D’Orsay’s painting of him to that of any other that had been made of him. The Iron Duke was, in fact, a frequent visitor at Gore House, and he had a very high opinion of Count d'Orsay. Lady Blessington wrote novels of "high life” and some of were very popular in their day. But of all her works, there remains only one book which is of permanent value and that is of her conversations with Lord Byron, a very treasured contribution to our knowledge of the brilliant poet.
But eventually, there was destined to be a nemesis to the happiness of the couple. Money flowed through Lady Blessington's hands and she could never understand that what she had might not last forever. Even when it was all gone, her overindulgence continued. She acquired momentous debts and signed notes without even reading them; she had no hesitation about incurring obligations of all kinds.
There was a period of time during which her creditors kept their distance from her, mainly because they did not really believe that she had no more resources. It wasn’t long until things crashed around her. All of her creditors moved against her at once; they took out judgments against her and descended upon Gore House in a swarm. This was in the spring of 1849, when Lady Blessington was sixty years old and D'Orsay fifty-one.
It is certainly an interesting coincidence that her earliest novel portrayed the wreck of a great residence such as her own. Of the scene in Gore House Mr. Madden, Lady Blessington's literary biographer, has written:
“Numerous creditors, bill-discounters, money-lenders, jewelers, lace-venders, tax-collectors, gas-company agents, all persons having claims to urge pressed them at this period simultaneously. An execution for a debt of four thousand pounds was at length put in by a house largely engaged in the silk, lace, India-shawl, and fancy-jewelry business.”
This sum of four thousand pounds was only an insignificant one, but it opened the flood-gates for all of Lady Blessington's creditors. Mr. Madden writes still further:
“On the 10th of May, 1849, I visited Gore House for the last time. The auction was going on. There was a large assemblage of people of fashion. Every room was thronged; the well-known library-salon, in which the conversaziones took place, was crowded, but not with guests. The arm-chair in which the lady of the mansion was wont to sit was occupied by a stout, coarse gentleman of the Jewish persuasion, busily engaged in examining a marble hand extended on a book, the fingers of which were modeled from a cast of those of the absent mistress of the establishment. People, as they passed through the room, poked the furniture, pulled about the precious objects of art and ornaments of various kinds that lay on the table; and some made jests and ribald jokes on the scene they witnessed.”
At this necessary sale, things went for less than half their value. Pictures by Lawrence and Landseer, a library consisting of thousands of volumes, vases of exquisite workmanship, chandeliers of ormolu, and precious porcelains—all were knocked down to absurd amounts. Lady Blessington kept nothing for herself. She knew that things were over for her, and very soon she was on her way to Paris, where Count d'Orsay had already gone, having been threatened with arrest by a boot-maker to whom he owed five hundred pounds.
The reason behind D'Orsay’s flight to Paris was that he had always been a passionate Bonapartist, and now Prince Louis Bonaparte had been chosen president of the Second French Republic. During the prince's long period of exile, he had been the guest of Count d'Orsay, who had helped him both with money and with influence. D’Orsay had expected to be paid back for his generosity, but unfortunately this return came too late. In 1852, shortly after Prince Louis assumed the title of emperor, the count was appointed director of fine arts; but he was already dying. Lady Blessington died soon after coming to Paris, before the end of the year 1849.
It is not necessary to comment on this twisted tale. Yet one may quote a few words from a sort of diary which Lady Blessington called her "Night Book." They seem to show that her happiness lasted only for a short while.
“A woman's head is always influenced by her heart; but a man's heart is always influenced by his head.”
“The separation of friends by death is less terrible than the divorce of two hearts that have loved, but have ceased to sympathize, while memory still recalls what they once were to each other.”
“People are seldom tired of the world until the world is tired of them.”
“A woman should not paint sentiment until she has ceased to inspire it.”
“It is less difficult for a woman to obtain celebrity by her genius than to be pardoned for it.”
“Memory seldom fails when its office is to show us the tombs of our buried hopes.”
* * *
9
General Houston
Many decades ago it was considered a great joke to write up on any man's house-door, the letters "G. T. T." The laugh went round, and every one who saw the inscription chuckled and said: "They've got it on you, old hoss!" The three letters meant, "gone to Texas"; and for any man to go to Texas in those days could only mean one thing: his moral and financial collapse. That sign meant that he had either fallen into bankruptcy and wished to begin life over again or the sheriff had issued a warrant for his arrest.
The journey to Texas was a frightful one that stretched for hundreds of miles and was filled with rivers that overran their banks, lowlands where haggard faces peered out from rotting cabins, and bottomless swam
ps with oozing mud and repulsive alligators. Despite these dangers, many pioneers took the risks to make this perilous journey, whether it was by boat or through the open mountains with weapons in hand.
In those days, even with all the suffering and grime, there was a strict line between “the quality” and those who had no claim to be aristocrats. "The quality" was made up of migrants that came from the more civilized East, or who had slaves, or who dragged with them some rickety vehicle with carriage-horses, however emaciated the animals might be. All those who had no slaves or horses were grouped as "poor whites” and they willingly accepted their mediocrity.
Young Sam Houston, born in Lexington, Virginia before moving with his family to Tennessee, was also categorized as "the quality" after reaching his boyhood home. He was further differentiated from others based on the fact that he could read and write, and he was even familiar with some of the classics in translation.
He wasn’t even eighteen years old before he had reached his full height of more than six feet. He was talented with his rifle, he was a fighter, and he was very quick with his knife. This made him a noteworthy figure and he was considered even more remarkable because he never abused his strength. He was never known as anything but "Sam." In his own domain, he was considered a gentleman and a scholar, thanks to his Virginian birth and to the fact that he could repeat a great part of Pope's translation of the "Iliad."
