Part 16
Less than nine months after his arrival in America, poor Neilson died, his giant frame worn out by all he had endured during his long imprisonment, as truly a martyr for Ireland as if he had perished, with so many others of his comrades, on the scaffold of ’98 or ’03.
Mrs. Neilson, soon after the break up of the _Star_, embarked in a small line of business, and God prospered her little enterprise. “She was enabled,” says Madden, “by the fruit of her industry, to bring up her children respectably, to give them education, and to leave them—such as it would have been her husband’s pride to have found them, had he lived to have seen them in their ripe years—trained to virtue and matured in useful knowledge.
“Miss McCracken, speaking of her, says: ‘Mrs. Neilson was a very superior woman, a most exemplary wife and mother, for whom I had the highest esteem, and continued on terms of intimacy and friendship, from 1795, when I first became acquainted with her, until her death. I never saw a family so well regulated, such order and neatness, on such a limited income; and such well-trained children, most amiable and affectionate to each other, and so respectful to their mother, and all so happy together—it was quite a treat to spend an evening with them.’ This excellent woman, esteemed and respected by all who knew her, even by those to whom her husband’s political principles were most obnoxious, struggled for her family during her husband’s imprisonment and exile and subsequently to his death, and died in November, 1811, in her forty-eighth year. Her remains were interred at Newtownbreda. The inscription on her tomb truly describes her to have been, ‘A woman who was an ornament to her sex; who fulfilled in the most exemplary manner, the duties of a daughter, wife and mother.’”
There remains only to tell, as briefly as may be, the story of her children, for of this woman, in a special degree it is true to say, that she has no history but the history of her husband and family. Poor William, whom we have learned to love as dearly as any of his masters in Fort George, lived long enough to show the fruits of the remarkable education he had received there—but alas! not long enough to confer on his country the benefits which all those who knew him expected from him. After a brilliant course at the Academical Institution, Belfast, he embraced a commercial career, where his splendid talents ensured for him a speedy success. His employers described him as “a young man of the most splendid talents we have ever known; there was no subject in mercantile affairs that he could not make himself master of. In public affairs he soon became conspicuous, and had he lived he would have been an ornament to his country.”
Alas! his career was cut by his death from yellow fever in Jamaica on February 7th, 1817.
Of the four daughters of Samuel and Anne Neilson, Anne (who lived much with Mrs. Oliver Bond) married a Mr. Magennis, in New York, and died there at an advanced age. Sophia and Jane married gentlemen of the name of McAdam, and one lived in Belfast, the other in New York. Mary, the youngest, married William Hancock of Lurgan, and was the mother of the distinguished statistician, William Neilson Hancock, LL.D.
The Wife of Lord Edward Fitzgerald
PAMELA (1776?-1831)[79]
“Would God thou wert among the Gael! Thou wouldst not then from day to day Weep thus alone.”—MANGAN.
Footnote 79:
_Authorities_: Madden’s “United Irishmen” (Second Series, Second Edition;) Moore’s “Life of Lord Edward Fitzgerald”; Gerald Campbell’s “Edward and Pamela Fitzgerald”; Harmand’s “Madame de Genlis”; various works of Madame de Genlis, including “Mèmoires,” “Adèle et Théodore,” “Leçons d’une Gouvernante à ses Élèves,” etc.
IT is not Romney, ravishing as his portrait of her is, nor Giroust, who in his _Leçon de Harpe_ has painted her for us in all the virginal charm, and sweet, and fresh, and innocent loveliness of her early girlhood, nor Mieris, whose miniature of her shows an exquisite Diana, with little white buskined feet, as light and swift as the wind on which they seem to be borne—it is none of these that has given us the picture of Pamela we Irish people love best. It is as Lord Edward, himself, pictured her in a letter to his mother that we think of her most willingly—with her baby in her arms, the little son, the first-born, of whom the young husband and father was so proud: “I wish I could show the baby to you all—dear mother, how you would love it! Nothing is so delightful as to see it in its dear mother’s arms, with her sweet, pale, delicate face, and the pretty looks she gives it.” For the sake of the five years of perfect happiness she gave Lord Edward we, the Irish nation, to whom he has given so much, have taken “the dear little, pale, pretty wife” into our hearts for all time.
Poor Pamela! We have need to keep her place in our hearts very safe and warm; for the rest of the world has dealt pitilessly with her fame during life, and her memory after death—and fate has spared her no unkindness, no humiliation, from the shadows that surrounded her cradle to the sordid and _macabres_ details of her incoffining.
As we read the sad story of Pamela, and contrast “what might have been” (“if the dear little, pale, pretty wife” had been suffered by destiny to ripen, in the sweet, and simple and wholesome atmosphere of Irish family life, to her gracious maturity, and lovely old age) with the sordid actuality, our love for Pamela becomes doubled with a great pity, and an infinite regret. We feel how right Madden was in ascribing what was unlovely in her to the education she received at the hands of Madame de Genlis, and the blame which some of her critics have lavished on her levity, her errors and her frailties we join with him in apportioning to those who failed in their duty towards her in the most critical and trying moment of her life.
* * * * *
Into the disputed question of the parentage of Pamela it is not our business to enter. Suffice it to say that in the common belief she was regarded as the daughter of the Duke of Orleans, the notorious _Egalité_, and Madame de Genlis, the Governess of the Orleans children. On the other hand, Madame de Genlis asserted that Pamela was the daughter of a poor English woman named Mary Simms, who had married a gentleman of good family called Seymour,[80] and fled with him, from the displeasure of his family, to Fogo in Newfoundland. Here their little daughter Nancy was born, and here shortly after the young husband died. His widow returned to England, and settled down in Christ Church, where the extraordinary beauty and fascination of her little girl attracted the attention of a Mr. Forth. Mr. Forth was accustomed to buy horses in England for his Grace of Orleans, but recently he had received another commission: to look out for a little English girl, to be educated with the Orleans children, and to speak English with them. Mary Simms was very poor, and her desire to keep her child with her was not strong enough to stand in the way of the brilliant provision thus promised her. Accordingly, Mr. Forth was soon able to announce to his royal patron that he was sending him “the handsomest mare and the prettiest little girl in all England.”
Footnote 80:
It has been pointed out by Madden that in the civil marriage contract of Pamela and Lord Edward, the bride’s father is stated to have been a William Berkley, while in the religious contract of the same date (Tournai, December 17th, 1792) Pamela is entered as the daughter of William de Brixey.
All we know with certainty of Pamela’s[81] “origin” is that at a very early age she made her appearance in the Convent of Bellechasse, whither Madame de Genlis had retired to devote herself to the education of the children of the Duke and Duchess of Orleans, and that until her marriage with Lord Edward in December, 1792, she was the constant companion of the young princes and their sister, and shared that remarkable and original system of education, which Madame de Genlis—one of the most gifted educationists of France, the country of educationists—had devised for her pupils.
Footnote 81:
The name Pamela was borrowed by Madame de Genlis, who was an enthusiastic admirer of the novels of Samuel Richardson, from the heroine of the most famous of them.
M. Emile Faguet has discovered in the pedagogy of Madame de Genlis the origin of all modern education—in its theories, its practices, its tendencies. “With some of its defects,” he admits, but “wanting most of these defects,” as he also claims: “an education, directed towards the true, as well as to the beautiful, paying much attention to history, modern languages, _Realien_, the study of the most important new discoveries, as well as the literary masterpieces of ancient and modern times.”
It seems to us, as we study this education in its results—that is to say in the character of the pupils who were formed by it—that some of the defects of our modern education were more inherent in Madame de Genlis’s system than M. Faguet is willing to admit. Lady Sarah Napier, with her shrewd woman’s wit, has perhaps formed a truer estimate of it. In a letter written to her friend, Lady Susan O’Brien, shortly after Lord Edward’s marriage to Pamela, she says: “Your account of M. Sillery (_i.e._ Madame de Genlis) and her _élèves_ answers my idea of her, all pleasing to appearance, and nothing _sound_ within _her_ heart, whatever may be so in the young minds whom she _can_ and does of course easily deceive. I hope we have got our lovely little niece time enough out of her care to have acquired all the _perfections_ of her education, which are certainly great, as she has a _very uncommon_, clever, active mind and turns it to the most useful purposes, and I trust our pretty little _Sylph_ (for she is not like other mortals) has not a tincture of all the double-dealing, cunning, false reasoning, and lies with which M. S. is forced to gloss over a very common ill-conduct, because she _will_ set herself _above_ others in virtue, and she happens to be no better than her neighbours.”
The great fault we seem to find in Madame de Genlis as an educationist is that she failed to make true religion the foundation of it. Though she insisted on devoting a large portion of her pupils’ time-table to the study of the Catechism, and reserved for herself, as the most important of her duties, their preparation for First Communion, and their religious instruction, she failed signally to make them realise that they were created and placed in this world for one end and aim only: “to know God, to love Him, and serve Him, and by that means to gain everlasting life.” The system of morality which she taught them was founded less on the knowledge and love and service of God than on that curious code of external ethics called _Les Convenances_. The strange thing about this was that she, herself, was an ardent, not to say a noisy, protagonist of religion, and enjoyed nothing more than a tilt with the _Philosophes_. But, somehow, one thinks of religion as an element a little fortuitous in the heterogeneous collection of ingredients which went to the making of her character—and when she failed to make it the foundation of her own conception of life, it is not to be wondered at that she failed equally in respect of her pupils. Louis Philippe and Madame Adélaïde were worse than indifferent in the matter of religion. And it is sufficient to say of Pamela that though she was reconciled to the Church before her death, and died, as one has reason to believe, truly penitent, she seems to have given up the practice of her religion immediately after her marriage with Lord Edward, without the slightest qualm of conscience.
“_Les Convenances_,” external appearances, it was these Madame de Genlis kept steadily in view in educating her pupils. The consequence was that she made them think of life as an act played on a stage for the benefit of spectators, whose applause determined the success of the actor, rather than a solemn business between God and each lonely human soul. To have their bodies trained to the highest degree of strength, and grace, agility and efficiency; to have their minds adorned with all useful and agreeable knowledge, to be adepts and connoisseurs of the fine arts: painting, and music, poetry and literature—this was the educational ideal she set before herself. If the hearts of her pupils withered a little under the neglect which they necessarily suffered—if the lessons of “love, and pain and death” were missing from this positive and modernist education, who can wonder that the results in poor Pamela’s case at least were disastrous?
* * * * *
Nevertheless, there were in Madame de Genlis’s system, as Lady Sarah Napier admits, sufficient “perfections” to make it worth our while to study it in a certain detail, in the hope of finding something in it to suit our own educational needs. The books in which she expounds her system (_Adèle et Théodore_, _Leçons d’une Gouvernante_, etc.) exercised a tremendous influence on a generation of parents much more interested in the education of their children than their present-day successors. We learn from Lady Sophia Fitzgerald that her mother, the Duchess of Leinster, admired “all the writings of Madame de Genlis to the greatest degree,” and was often bantered by Lord Edward (who little suspected in what a relation he was one day to stand to the educationist) over her _engouement_. (He, for his part, pronounced her _Plans d’Education_ all perfect nonsense). Lady Sophia, herself, began to re-read _Adèle et Théodore_ (which she had first read about eight or nine years previously) after her brother, Lord Edward, brought home Pamela as his bride. She pays a pretty compliment to Pamela while she makes a record of this intention of hers in her diary: “Knowing what a charming, engaging little creature Lady Edward is, I think I shall be more interested than ever, and give more attention to all she [_i.e._ Madame de Genlis] says upon Education.”
In 1777 Madame de Genlis, who had been attached since 1770 to the Court of the Duchess of Chartres, at the _Palais Royal_, as Lady in Waiting, was appointed Governess of the little twin Princesses, who had recently been born to the Duke and Duchess. She insisted on taking charge of them practically from their birth—contrary to the usual custom which left the care of baby princesses to a _Sous-Gouvernante_, and in order that she might develop unhampered the system of education which she had devised for them she stipulated that they should be removed from the _Palais Royal_, and a special pavilion built for them in the garden of the Convent of Bellechasse, on plans drawn up by herself.
In designing these plans the Countess kept steadily in view the destination of the pavilion as a place of education. Her first care was to secure the possibility of exercising her _surveillance_ over the little princesses by day, and by night. A glass door separated her room from their nursery, and it was so arranged that even from her bed she could see what was going on in their room. The decorations of the place had all an educational aim. The walls of the Princesses’ room were adorned with frescoes, representing the seven kings of Rome and the emperors and empresses up to the time of Constantine, each with the date and name beneath it. Above the doors were depicted scenes taken also from Roman history. “Two large screens bore representations of the Kings of France, the hand screens depicted incidents taken from mythology.” The staircase was hung with maps. A long gallery was devoted to Grecian history, and certain other rooms were frescoed with scenes taken from the history of France.
Into this peaceable retreat Madame de Genlis was accompanied by her mother and her two daughters, Caroline and Pulchérie de Genlis, the completion of whose education she thus found an opportunity of directing, before their early marriages to the Marquis de La Woestine and the Viscount de Valence respectively.
In 1782 one of the little twin princesses died of smallpox, and in the same year Madame de Genlis was appointed “Governor” to the young princes, their brothers—the first woman to hold such a post of honour and responsibility.
From this moment Bellechasse became a regular academy. In addition to the three princes, the Duke de Valois (afterwards Louis Philippe, King of the French), the Duke de Montpensier, the small Duke de Beaujolais, and their sister Mlle. d’Orléans (afterwards known to history as Madame Adélaïde), the Countess had also, under her care her nephew, César de Crest, her niece, Henrietta de Sercey, and the two mysterious little girls, Pamela and Hermione. Of Hermione’s parentage nothing is known; but she was thought by some people to be a sister of Pamela.
The education given by Madame de Genlis in this academy has been chronicled by her in considerable detail in her _Mèmoires_, and in her celebrated pedagogical novel, _Adèle et Théodore_, and its spirit very finely analysed by her latest biographer, Jean Harmand. M. Harmand traces the main body of her educational doctrines to the great educationists of the seventeenth century, Fénélon and Madame de Maintenon, but finds them profoundly modified by the influence of Rousseau.
In order to have a free hand to carry them out Madame de Genlis got rid of the Princes’ tutor, M. de Bonnard, and substituted M. Lebrun, a former secretary of her husband. Their second master, M. l’Abbé Guyot, was allowed to remain, though he and the Countess were anything but kindred spirits.
The princes lived at the _Palais Royal_ and came to Bellechasse every day at eleven. In the earlier portion of the day they had their religious instruction, and their Latin Course from the Abbé, and M. Lebrun was asked to keep a record of each morning’s work for the “Governor’s” information. The rest of the day Madame herself took charge, the masters being merely expected to dine with their pupils at two, and after supper at nine, to escort them back to the _Palais Royal_.
The Countess, according to herself, had her work cut out for her to correct the defects of the little boys’ previous education. They knew nothing at all, and the eldest, in particular, was wanting in application to an unheard-of degree. Their new teacher began by reading history for them. “M. le duc de Valois paid no attention, yawned, stretched himself and finally lay back on the sofa with his heels on the table.” The Countess put him “in penance” immediately. But the good sense of the little boy, which even at that period of his development, was easily appealed to, made him take it in good part. He was very much addicted to slang, and had some very peculiar foibles: he was in terror of dogs, and could not endure the smell of vinegar. The Countess succeeded in ridding him of these peculiarities.
Modern languages, taught on the direct method, were a strong point in the Bellechasse system. There was a German Valet de Chambre to speak German to the children; an Italian to speak Italian; an Englishman to help them to a conversational knowledge of English. It was ostensibly to speak English with Mademoiselle that Pamela, as we have seen, was added to the establishment.
The children’s father, who spared no money to carry out the “Governor’s” ideas, bought for them a country place, Saint Leu, and there they passed the summer each year. In the beautiful park the Countess had assigned to each the ground for a little garden, which they dug and planted for themselves—with the help of a German gardener, who gave his gardening instruction in German. During their afternoon walks nothing was spoken but English, and this was the language of the dinner table. At supper Italian was spoken.
A clever chemist and a good botanist, M. Alyon, was also engaged for Bellechasse. He accompanied the children on their walks, and gave them practical lessons in botany while under his direction they gathered the wayside flowers and plants. He gave them a course of Chemistry every summer at which the Countess delighted to assist.
For their training in the fine arts a Pole, named Merys, was employed, and under his presidency an “Academy” of industrious little artists met every evening in the Salon. At the request of the Countess, M. Merys painted a series of slides for an educational magic lantern. Each series furnished illustrations for a lecture on Scripture History, Ancient History, Roman History, and the History of China and Japan—and the youngsters took turns, once a week, in showing the magic lantern and giving a little lecture with the aid of it. Can anything be more modern and up-to-date?
In order to teach her pupils geography, Madame de Genlis invented for them a game in which they took the keenest delight. She made them dramatise, and act, all the celebrated voyages of discovery. Everybody in the establishment had a share in these representations. They used wooden horses for cavalcades, the river in the park stood for the sea and a fleet of pretty little boats took the place of ships. Their theatrical wardrobe was as complete as possible. The “voyages” they staged with the greatest success were those of Vasco da Gama, and Snelgrave. They had, moreover, a moveable theatre which was first housed in the large dining room, and on which they staged historical _tableaux_. M. Merys grouped the actors behind the curtains, and the spectators guessed what each _tableau_ represented. A dozen _tableaux_ were thus often staged in the course of one evening. The great painter, David, took the greatest delight in this amusement, and often grouped the little actors. After some time the Countess had a regular theatre built at Saint Leu and here all her own pieces were staged—as well as a series of _tableaux vivants_. One of these represented Psyche persecuted by Venus, and the _rôles_ were taken by Caroline and Pulchérie de Genlis and Pamela—a ravishing little god of love. No wonder David in his enthusiasm pronounced the picture “le perfection du beau idéal.”
There were many who thought that the theatre played too great a _rôle_ in the system of Bellechasse, and that the education given to the children was too theatrical. The Marquise de Laroche-Jaquelin relates in her Memoirs how, being taken one day, as a little girl, by her grandmother, for a private view of the new pictures in the Louvre, she saw there Madame de Genlis with all her _élèves_. The Marquise’s grandmother and the Countess were old friends, and their delight at meeting each other was mutual—and the little girl who had read so many of the Countess’s books for children, and acted in so many of her pieces was enchanted to see the author of them in the flesh. She thought the little princes, who were all dressed in the English fashion, with their hair in ringlets and unpowdered, very odd looking. While the royal children were viewing the pictures Madame de Genlis presented to her old friend her daughter Pulchérie—but said nothing of an exquisite looking little girl of about seven years, who was on her other side, until her friend enquired who she was. “Ah!” replied Madame de Genlis in a low tone, “it is a very touching and interesting story—which I must reserve for another occasion.” Then turning to the little girl she said, “Pamela, act Héloise.” Immediately Pamela took out her comb; her fine hair, without powder, fell in disorder upon her shoulders. She threw herself to the ground on her knees, raised her eyes to Heaven, as also one of her arms, and her whole figure expressed an ecstasy of passion.”