Part 15

“How happens it, Mrs. Jordan,” said I to her, when last in Dublin, “that you still exceed all your profession even in characters not so adapted to you now as when I first saw you? How do you contrive to be so buoyant—nay, so childish, on the stage, while you lose half your spirits, and degenerate into gravity, the moment you are off it?” “Habit!” replied Mrs. Jordan, “old habit! had I formerly studied my positions, weighed my words, and measured my sentences, I should have been artificial, and they might have hissed me: so, when I had got the words well by heart, I told Nature I was then at _her_ service to do whatever she thought proper with my feet, legs, hands, arms, and features: to her I left the whole matter: I became, in fact, merely _her puppet_, and never interfered further _myself_ in the business. I heard the audience laugh at me, and I laughed at myself: they laughed again, so did I: and they gave me credit for matters I knew very little about, and for which Dame Nature, not I, should have received their approbation.

“The best rule for a performer,” said Mrs. Jordan, “is to forget, if possible, that any audience is listening. We perform best of all in our closets, and next best to crowded houses. How singular the contrast! but I scarcely ever saw a good performer who was always _eyeing_ the _audience_. If,” continued she, “half the gesticulation, half the wit, drollery, and anecdote which I heard among you all at Curran’s Priory, at Grattan’s cottage, and at your house, had been displayed before an audience, _without your knowing that any body was listening to you_, the performance would have been cheered as one of the finest pieces of comic acting possible, though, in fact, your only _plot_ was endeavouring to get tipsy as agreeably as possible!”

This last visit of Mrs. Jordan to the Irish capital took place in the year 1809, and afforded me a full opportunity of eliciting the traits of her nature and disposition. She was greeted in that metropolis with all the acclamations that her reputation and talent so fully merited: she was well received among the best society in Dublin, whose anxiety was excited beyond measure to converse with her in private. Here, however, she disappointed all; for there was about her no _display_; and the animated, lively, brilliant mimic, on the boards, was in the saloon retiring, quiet, nay, almost reserved. Mrs. Jordan seldom spoke much in company, particularly in very large assemblies: but then she spoke well: she made no exertion to appear distinguished, and became more so by the absence of effort. The performer was wholly merged in the gentlewoman; and thus, although on her entrance this celebrated person failed to _impress_ the company, she _never_ failed to retire in possession of their respect.

On that tour she said she was very ill-treated by the managers. The understanding was, she told me, that she was to receive half the profits: yet, although the houses were invariably crowded, the receipts were inadequate to her expectations. Many of the performers who had been appointed to act with her were below mediocrity. One was forgetful—another drunk. I confess I never myself saw such a crew. All this rendered Mrs. Jordan miserable, and she sought relief in the exercise of her benevolent feelings. Among other objects of her bounty was an old actor called Barrett, who had played on the night of her _début_, and was then in most indigent circumstances. Him she made comfortable, and gave efficient assistance to several others whom she had known in former years.

The managers (I know not why) acted toward her not with so much respect as _every body_, except themselves, had shown that most amiable woman. She had found it absolutely necessary to refuse performing with one or two vulgar fellows belonging to the set whom they had selected to _sustain_ her; and she quitted the country at length, having formed a fixed determination never to repeat any engagement with the same persons.

She had scarcely arrived in England when some of the parties, including a Mr. Dwyer, a player, quarrelled; and actions for defamation were brought forward among them. A writer of the name of Corri also published periodical libels, in one of which he paid Mrs. Jordan the compliment of associating her with the Duchess of Gordon. I and my family had likewise the honour of partaking in the abuse of that libel, and I prosecuted the printer. On the trial of the cause, one of the counsel, Mr. Thomas (now Serjeant) Gold, thought proper (as reported in the newspapers) to indulge himself in language and statements respecting Mrs. Jordan neither becoming nor true. In cross-examining me as a witness, on the prosecution of the printer, he _essayed_ a line of interrogation highly improper as to that lady; but he took care not to go too far with me when I was _present_: a monosyllable or two I found quite sufficient to check the exuberance of “my learned friend;” and on this occasion he was not backward in taking a hint. The libeller was found guilty, and justly sentenced to a protracted imprisonment.

I never knew Mrs. Jordan feel so much as at the speech of Mr. Gold on that occasion: as it appeared in _several newspapers_, it was too bad even for a vulgar declaimer; and when Mrs. Jordan’s situation, her family, and her merits were considered, it was inexcusable. I do not state this feeling of Mrs. Jordan solely from my own impression: I received from her a letter indicative of the anguish which that speech had excited within her; and I should do injustice to her memory if (as she enjoined me to do) I did not publish in her justification an extract of that letter.

“Bushy House, Wednesday.

“My dear Sir,

“Not having the least suspicion of the business in Dublin, it shocked and grieved me very much; not only on my own account, but I regret that I should have been the involuntary cause of any thing painful to you, or to your amiable family. But of Mr. Jones I can think any thing: and I beg you will do me the justice to believe that my feelings are not selfish. Why indeed should _I_ expect to escape their infamous calumnies? Truth, however, will force its way.* * * * * I wanted nothing from Mr. C * * *’s generosity, but I had a claim on his justice:—* * * * *

“During the two representations of ‘The Inconstant’ I represented to him the state Mr. Dwyer was in, and implored him, out of respect to the audience, if not in pity to my terrors, to change the play. As to the libel on Mr. Dwyer, charged to me by Mr. Gold, I never directly or indirectly, by words or by writing, demeaned myself by interfering in the most remote degree with so wretched a concern. I knew no editor—I read no newspapers while in Dublin. The charge is false and _libellous_ on _me_, published, I presume, through Mr. Gold’s assistance. Under that view of the case, he will feel himself rather unpleasantly circumstanced should I call upon him either to _prove_ or _disavow_ his assertions. To be introduced any way into such a business shocks and grieves me: he might have pleaded for his companions without calumniating me: but, for the present, I shall drop an irksome subject, which has already given me more than ordinary uneasiness. * * * * * *

“Yours, &c. “DORA JORDAN.”[34]

* * * * *

I have seen this accomplished woman in the midst of one of the finest families in England, surrounded by splendour, beloved, respected, and treated with all the deference paid to a member of high life. I could perceive, indeed, no offset to her comforts and gratification. She was, in my hearing, frequently solicited to retire from her profession: she was _urged_ to forego all further emoluments from its pursuit; and this single fact gives the contradiction direct to reports which I should feel it improper even to allude to further. Her constant reply was, that she would retire _when Mrs. Siddons did_; but that her losses by the fire at Covent Garden, together with other incidental outgoings, had been so extensive, as to induce her continuance of the profession to replace her finances. Her promise to retire with Mrs. Siddons, however, she did not act up to, but continued to gratify the public, with enormous profit to herself, down to the very last year she remained in England. It is matter of fact, too, (though perhaps here out of place,) that, so far from a desertion of this lady, as falsely reported, to the last hour of her life the solicitude of her royal friend was, I believe, undiminished; and though separated, for causes in no way discreditable to either, he never lost sight of her interest or her comforts. It was not the nature of His Royal Highness:—he was incapable of _unkindness toward Mrs. Jordan_: those reports had, indeed, no foundation, save in the vicious representation of hungry or avaricious editors, or in the scurrility of those hackneyed and indiscriminate enemies of rank and reputation, whose aspersions are equally a disgrace and an injury to the country wherein they are tolerated.

Footnote 34:

The speeches of counsel on that trial being published in the newspapers, she requested my advice as to bringing an action for defamation against some of the parties. My reply to her was the same that had been pleasantly and adroitly given to myself by Sir John Doyle.

“If you wrestle with a chimney-sweeper,” said Sir John, “it is true you may _throw_ your antagonist; but you will be sure to dirty your own coat by the encounter.” Never was there a better aphorism. Mrs. Jordan adopted it; and most properly satisfied herself with despising, instead of punishing, all her calumniators.

To contribute toward the prevention of all further doubt as to Mrs. Jordan’s unmixed happiness at the period of her residence at Bushy, as well as to exhibit the benevolence of her heart and the warmth of her attachments, I will introduce at this point extracts from some other letters addressed to myself:—

“Bushy.

“My dear Sir,

“I cannot resist the pleasure of informing you that your dear boy has not only passed, but passed with great credit, at the Military College:—it gives us all the highest satisfaction. My two beloved boys are now at home:—they have both gone to South-Hill to see your Edward. We shall have a full and merry house at Christmas; ’tis what the dear duke delights in:—a happier set, when altogether, I believe never yet existed. The ill-natured parts of the world never can enjoy the tranquil pleasures of domestic happiness.

* * * * *

“I have made two most lucrative trips since I saw you. Adkinson came to see me at Liverpool—quite as poetical as ever, and the best-natured _poet_ I believe in the world.

“Yours, ever truly, “DORA JORDAN.”

“Bushy.

“My dear Sir,

“I returned here on the 7th inst. after a very fatiguing, though very prosperous _cruise_ of five weeks, and found all as well as I could wish. Your Edward left us this morning for Marlow: I found him improved in every thing. I never saw the duke enjoy any thing more than the poultry you sent us:[35] they were delicious: he desires me to offer his best regards to yourself and your ladies. Lucy is gone on a visit to Lady De Roos.

“Yours, most truly, “DORA JORDAN.”

“Bushy.

“My dear Sir,

“I have returned here:—but, alas! the happiness I had promised to myself has met a cruel check at finding the good duke very unwell. You can scarcely conceive my misery at the cause of such a disappointment: but there is every appearance of a favourable result not being very distant: ’tis his old periodical attack, but not near so severe as I have seen it. I shall not write to you as I intended till I can announce His Royal Highness’s recovery. I shall have neither head nor nerves to write, or even to think, till I am able to contribute to your pleasure, by announcing my own happiness and his recovery.

“* * * * &c. “DORA JORDAN.

“Sir J. Barrington, “Merrion-square, Dublin.”

Footnote 35:

There were a species of chickens then to be had in Dublin such as I never saw in any other country;—as white as snow, very small, fat, and trussed up as round as little balls: the eye and the palate were equally gratified by them. The _crammed_ fowls of Dublin were then also unrivalled. I believe they are now _equalled_ in London, and vastly _exceeded_ by the _capons_ of Paris, which are quite delicious:—lamb at Paris, too, is finer than any where else.

“Bushy.

“We have just returned from Maidenhead; and I postponed writing to you till I could give you an account of Edward, who, with Colonel Butler, dined with us there:—he looks wonderfully well, and the uniform becomes him extremely. On the ladies leaving the room, Colonel Butler gave the duke a very favourable account of him; and I trust it will give you and Lady Barrington the more satisfaction, when I assure you that it is by no means a partial account.

“I am sure you will be pleased to hear that your young friend Lucy is about to be married, much to my satisfaction, to Colonel Hawker, of the 14th dragoons: he is a most excellent man, and has a very good private property: she will make the best of wives; a better girl never yet lived: it makes me quite happy, and I intend to give her the value of 10,000_l._

“* * * * &c. “DORA JORDAN.”

The days of Mrs. Jordan continued to pass on, alternately in the exercise of a lucrative profession and the domestic enjoyment of an adoring family, when circumstances (which, because _mysterious_ to the public, are construed necessarily to imply culpability somewhere or other) occasioned a separation:—certainly an event most unexpected by those who had previously known the happy state of her connexion. I was at first ignorant of it, and it would be worse than presumption to enter into any converse on a subject at once so private, so delicate, and so interesting. Suffice it to say, that of all the accounts and surmises as to that event in which the public prints were pleased to indulge themselves, not one was true: indeed, I have good reason to believe that there was scarcely a single incident whereto that separation was publicly attributed, that had any degree of foundation whatsoever. Such circumstances should ever remain known to those only who feel the impropriety of amusing the readers at a news-room with subjects of private importance. I will, however, repeat, from authority I cannot doubt, that the separation took effect from causes no way dishonourable to either party: that it was not sought for by the one, nor _necessary_ on the part of the other. It was too hasty to be discreet, and too much influenced by feelings of the moment to be hearty. Though not altogether unacquainted with those circumstances, I never presumed to make an observation upon the subject, save to contradict, in direct terms, statements which, at the time I heard them, I knew to be totally unfounded; and never was the British press more prostituted than in the malicious colouring given (and rather recently, too,) to the conduct of a royal personage on that occasion.

General Hawker, one of the late King’s aides-de-camp, had married Miss Jordan; and in the punctilious honour and integrity of this gentleman, every body who knew and knows him did and does rely with unmixed confidence. Such reliance His Royal Highness evinced by sending, through him, I believe, _carte blanche_ to Mrs. Jordan, when the separation had been determined on, enabling her to dictate whatever she conceived would be fully adequate to her maintenance, without recurrence to her profession, in all the comforts to which she had been so long accustomed; and every thing she wished for was arranged to her satisfaction. Still, however, infatuated with attachment to theatrical pursuits, she continued to accept of temporary engagements to her great profit: and it will perhaps scarcely be credited, that so unsated were British audiences with Mrs. Jordan’s unrivalled performances, that even at her time of life, with certainly diminished powers and an altered person, the very last year she remained in England brought her a clear profit of near 7000_l._ I _cannot_ be mistaken in this statement; for my authority (a person of truth and honour in their fullest extent) could not wilfully err on that point. The malicious representations, therefore, of her having been left straitened in pecuniary circumstances were literally _fabulous_; for to the very moment of her death she remained in full possession of all the means of comfort—nay, if she chose it, of _luxury_. Why, therefore, she emigrated, pined away, and expired in a foreign country (of whose language she was ignorant, and in whose habits she was wholly unversed), with every _appearance_ of necessity, is also considered a mystery by those unacquainted with the cruel circumstances which led to that unfortunate catastrophe. It is not by my pen that miserable story, as I learned it, shall be told. It was a transaction wherein her royal friend had, _directly or indirectly_, no concern, nor did it _in any way_ spring out of _that_ connexion. She had, in fact, only to _accuse_ herself of benevolence, confidence, and honour: to those _demerits_, and to the ingratitude of others, she fell a lingering, broken-hearted victim.

When His Royal Highness was informed of the determination on the part of her friends that Mrs. Jordan should take up a temporary residence on the continent, he insisted on her retaining the attendance of Miss K * * * *, who for many years had been attached to the establishment at Bushy, as superintendent and governess of the duke’s children. This lady, therefore, whose sincere attachment had been so long and truly proved, accompanied Mrs. Jordan (as I have understood) as her companion, and almost to the time of her death continued to administer to her comforts—endeavouring, so far as in her lay, by her society and attentions, to solace the mental misery which pressed upon her friend’s health and had extinguished her spirits. She was also accompanied to the continent by Colonel Hawker, the general’s brother: but, as she wished, during her residence in France, to be totally retired, she took no suite. She selected Boulogne as a place of convenient proximity to England; and in a cottage half a mile from that town awaited with indescribable anxiety the completion of those affairs which had occasioned her departure, rapturously anticipating the happiness of embracing her children afresh after a painful absence.

MRS. JORDAN IN FRANCE.

Decline of Mrs. Jordan’s health—Description of her cottage and grounds at Boulogne-sur-Mer—Madame Ducamp and her servant Agnes—Their account of Mrs. Jordan’s habits and manners—Removal of that lady to Versailles and subsequently to St. Cloud—Account of her illness and last moments.

The circumstances which induced Mrs. Jordan to repair to the continent were of such a nature, that the reader need not think it extraordinary that a deep impression was made upon her health; not indeed in the shape of actual disease, but by the workings of a troubled spirit, pondering and drooping over exaggerated misfortunes. Estranged, though only temporarily, from those she loved, and from that profession the resort to which had never failed to restore her animation and amuse her fancy, mental malady soon communicated its contagion to the physical organisation, and sickness began to make visible inroads on the heretofore healthy person of that lamented lady.

She established herself first at Boulogne-sur-Mer. A cottage was selected by her at Maquetra, about a quarter of a mile from the gate of the fortress. Often have I since, as if on classic ground, strolled down the little garden which had been there her greatest solace. The cottage is very small, but neat, commodious, and of cheerful aspect. A flower and fruit garden of corresponding dimensions, and a little paddock (comprising much less than half an acre) formed her demesne. In an adjoining cottage resided her old landlady, Madame Ducamp, who was in a state of competence, and altogether an original. She had married a gardener, much younger and of humbler birth than herself. I think she had been once handsome: her story I never heard fully; but it appeared that she had flourished during the Revolution. She spoke English when she pleased; and, like most Frenchwomen, when _d’âge mûr_, was querulous, intrusive, and curious _beyond limitation_, with as much _professed_ good-nature as would serve at least fifty of our old English gentlewomen. She was not, in truth, devoid of the reality as well as the semblance of that quality: but she _overacted_ the philanthropist, and consequently did not deceive those accustomed to look deeper than the surface. This good lady is still _in statu quo_, and very likely to remain so.

Under colour of taking her vacant cottage for a friend, a party of my family went to Maquetra, to learn what we could respecting Mrs. Jordan’s residence there. The old lady recollected her name, but pronounced it in a way which it was scarcely possible for us to recognise. A long conversation ensued, in some parts as interesting, and in others nearly as light as the subject could admit of.—Madame Ducamp repeated to us a hundred times, in five minutes, that she had “beaucoup, _beaucoup_ de vénération pour cette _chère, chère_ malheureuse dame Anglaise!” whom she assured us, with a deep sigh, was “sans doute _un ange supérieur_!” She was proceeding to tell us every thing she knew, or I suppose could invent, when, perceiving a child in the garden pulling the flowers, she abruptly discontinued her eulogium, and ran off to drive away the intruder; having done which, she returned to resume: but too late! in her absence her place had been fully and fairly occupied by Agnes, an ordinary French girl, Madame Ducamp’s _bonne_ (servant of _all work_), whom we soon found was likely to prove a much more truth-telling person than her mistress.

Agnes informed us, with great feeling, that “the economy of that charming lady was very strict: _nécessairement, je crains_,” added she, with a slow movement of her head and a truly eloquent look. They had found out (she said) that their lodger had been once _riche et magnifique_; but when there she was _very—very_ poor indeed! “But,” exclaimed the poor girl, her eye brightening up and her tone becoming firmer, “that could make no difference to me! _si j’aime,—j’aime! J’ai servi cette pauvre dame avec le même zèle (peut-être encore plus) que si elle eut été une princesse!_”

This frank-hearted display of poor Agnes’s sentiments was extremely affecting; it was, however, not in fact called for, since Mrs. Jordan might have commanded, during the whole period of her continental residence, any sums she thought proper. She had money in the bank, in the funds, and in miscellaneous property, and had just before she came over received some thousands. But she was become nearly careless as well of pecuniary as other matters, and took up a whim (for it was nothing more) to affect poverty,—thus deceiving the world, and giving, herself, a vantage-ground to the gossiping and censorious.