The Lady In Red: An Eighteenth-Century Tale Of Sex, Scandal, And Divorce (32 page)
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Authors: Hallie Rubenhold
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BOOK: The Lady In Red: An Eighteenth-Century Tale Of Sex, Scandal, And Divorce
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John Morritt, the heir to Rokeby Park, and his friend Robert Stockdale,
a Fellow of Pembroke College were just the sort of travellers that Worsley enjoyed entertaining with his tales and artefacts. In May 1796, they were
en route
for England after a lengthy expedition through Greece and Turkey. Like Sir Richard, Morritt had been caught in the flurry of enthusiasm for Greek antiquities, and he was eager to examine the baronet’s treasures. He was not disappointed. As they were ‘Greecian travellers’ Worsley made a show of hospitality, paying them ‘great attention’ and giving them ‘free ingress and regress to his cabinet, which is very well worth seeing, and particularly rich in cameos and antique stones’, Morritt surmised. Worsley then hosted a dinner for his guests where wine warmed their memories of the Acropolis and the sight of the sparkling Bosporus. After the dishes were cleared, the baronet allowed them to inspect the larger objects in his collection, which Morritt found to be ‘very fine in the way of sculpture and painting’. At last, Sir Richard opened his portfolio of Reveley’s images and, as the young man wrote, ‘gave us a gallop on our own hobby-horse through from the plains of Greece and Asia’. But in spite of the fulsome welcome, the exceptional contents of his cabinet, the artistic expertise of the drawings, the showmanship and the knowledge displayed by his host, Morritt spent most of the evening sitting rather uncomfortably. None of the baronet’s remarkable objects could distract him from the greatest spectacle in the Palazzo. As Morritt observed Worsley immersed in recollections or expounding on Greek history, he ‘could not help now and then thinking of the
peeping
scene’. The more intently he watched Britain’s Minister-Resident to Venice, the less able he was to shake the twelve-penny cuckold from his mind; that fat figure with his dumb smile, bearing the weight of his betrayer on his shoulders. The young man later admitted to being ‘rather surprised at him, as, from his conversation and ideas, he by no means seems as if he had been such an ass’. The strength of this impression even undermined that of the glittering
Museum Worsleyanum
. All of the relics of antiquity would fail to obscure it entirely.
a Fellow of Pembroke College were just the sort of travellers that Worsley enjoyed entertaining with his tales and artefacts. In May 1796, they were
en route
for England after a lengthy expedition through Greece and Turkey. Like Sir Richard, Morritt had been caught in the flurry of enthusiasm for Greek antiquities, and he was eager to examine the baronet’s treasures. He was not disappointed. As they were ‘Greecian travellers’ Worsley made a show of hospitality, paying them ‘great attention’ and giving them ‘free ingress and regress to his cabinet, which is very well worth seeing, and particularly rich in cameos and antique stones’, Morritt surmised. Worsley then hosted a dinner for his guests where wine warmed their memories of the Acropolis and the sight of the sparkling Bosporus. After the dishes were cleared, the baronet allowed them to inspect the larger objects in his collection, which Morritt found to be ‘very fine in the way of sculpture and painting’. At last, Sir Richard opened his portfolio of Reveley’s images and, as the young man wrote, ‘gave us a gallop on our own hobby-horse through from the plains of Greece and Asia’. But in spite of the fulsome welcome, the exceptional contents of his cabinet, the artistic expertise of the drawings, the showmanship and the knowledge displayed by his host, Morritt spent most of the evening sitting rather uncomfortably. None of the baronet’s remarkable objects could distract him from the greatest spectacle in the Palazzo. As Morritt observed Worsley immersed in recollections or expounding on Greek history, he ‘could not help now and then thinking of the
peeping
scene’. The more intently he watched Britain’s Minister-Resident to Venice, the less able he was to shake the twelve-penny cuckold from his mind; that fat figure with his dumb smile, bearing the weight of his betrayer on his shoulders. The young man later admitted to being ‘rather surprised at him, as, from his conversation and ideas, he by no means seems as if he had been such an ass’. The strength of this impression even undermined that of the glittering
Museum Worsleyanum
. All of the relics of antiquity would fail to obscure it entirely.
Repentance
In September 1792, the French Revolution which had begun with the fall of the Bastille and a whoop of political idealism three years earlier had taken a terrifying turn into bloodshed and chaos. Declaring an end to the monarchy, revolutionaries stormed the Tuileries Palace on the 10th of August and massacred over 600 guards, courtiers and servants. Paris was cast into turmoil. Gangs of violent, often drunken thugs wearing the ‘bonnet rouge’ patrolled the streets with sharp weapons and shouts, accosting enemies of the revolution. ‘Every person who had the appearance of a gentleman, whether stranger or not, was run through the body with a pike,’ wrote a correspondent for the
The Times
on the 10th of September, ‘He was of course an
Aristocrate
… A ring, a watch chain, a handsome pair of buckles, a new coat, or a good pair of boots in a word, every thing which marked the appearance of a gentleman, and which the mob fancied, was sure to cost the owner his life.’ According to
The Times
, limbs and heads were strewn throughout the public squares and causeways, while ‘carcases lie scattered in hundreds, diffusing pestilence all around’. After such carnage, the sight of death was so common that bodies were simply ‘passed by and trod on without any particular notice’.
The Times
on the 10th of September, ‘He was of course an
Aristocrate
… A ring, a watch chain, a handsome pair of buckles, a new coat, or a good pair of boots in a word, every thing which marked the appearance of a gentleman, and which the mob fancied, was sure to cost the owner his life.’ According to
The Times
, limbs and heads were strewn throughout the public squares and causeways, while ‘carcases lie scattered in hundreds, diffusing pestilence all around’. After such carnage, the sight of death was so common that bodies were simply ‘passed by and trod on without any particular notice’.
Following the assault on the Tuileries, it had become virtually impossible to secure the papers necessary to leave the city. The international diplomatic corps, including the British Ambassador, Lord Gower, had been ordered to return to the safety of their home countries. They were some of the last to depart. Behind them the gates of Paris were shut and an assortment of their
unprotected nationals were sealed into a violent labyrinth. Within it was trapped Lady Worsley.
unprotected nationals were sealed into a violent labyrinth. Within it was trapped Lady Worsley.
Long before the summer of 1792, many of Seymour’s noble friends were able to read the portents of impending danger; they could see that the
ancien régime
and its comfortable privileges were on the brink of extinction. As early as 1790, Seymour had observed the traffic of French nobles and those sympathetic to the monarchy move northward from Paris, seeking refuge in Brussels, Lille, Calais and Britain. Even the King and his family had mounted an escape attempt to Varennes which ended in their capture. In the face of these developments, Lady Worsley had become increasingly concerned for her own security and in March 1792 took up temporary residence in Lille among a community of royalists. At that time, only weeks before the conflict in France would escalate into a war with Austria, she wrote an urgent letter to Sir Richard’s banker, Mr Drewe. In it she not only ‘complained of want of money’ but ‘hinted an intention of coming to England’. As she had waived her right to return to her homeland Mr Drewe was forced to remind her of the consequences of this course of action. Corresponding with William Clarke he assured Worsley’s steward that ‘the letter I have written to her today will induce her to drop that idea’. With eight months left to elapse on the period of her exile, Seymour could do little more than hope that the situation around her would not deteriorate further.
ancien régime
and its comfortable privileges were on the brink of extinction. As early as 1790, Seymour had observed the traffic of French nobles and those sympathetic to the monarchy move northward from Paris, seeking refuge in Brussels, Lille, Calais and Britain. Even the King and his family had mounted an escape attempt to Varennes which ended in their capture. In the face of these developments, Lady Worsley had become increasingly concerned for her own security and in March 1792 took up temporary residence in Lille among a community of royalists. At that time, only weeks before the conflict in France would escalate into a war with Austria, she wrote an urgent letter to Sir Richard’s banker, Mr Drewe. In it she not only ‘complained of want of money’ but ‘hinted an intention of coming to England’. As she had waived her right to return to her homeland Mr Drewe was forced to remind her of the consequences of this course of action. Corresponding with William Clarke he assured Worsley’s steward that ‘the letter I have written to her today will induce her to drop that idea’. With eight months left to elapse on the period of her exile, Seymour could do little more than hope that the situation around her would not deteriorate further.
Initially, the life she had returned to in Paris at the end of 1788 had promised a fresh start. Although her relationship with the Chevalier Saint-Georges ended the following year, Lady Worsley soon attached herself to another skilled duellist. However, unlike Saint-Georges, Dick England fought with pistols. He was a ‘black-leg’, a fast-living, boot-wearing disciple of the turf and card table, and it is likely that Seymour had got to know him through her association with the Prince of Wales long before he had arrived in Paris. The circumstances that brought him there were nearly as sensational as Seymour’s. In June 1784, England had challenged a brewer named William Peter Lee Rowlls to a duel over an unpaid gambling debt. Pistols were drawn in the garden of an inn near Ascot and rather than shooting over his opponent’s shoulder (a gesture necessary to restore honour while preserving a man’s life) England aimed at Rowlls’s torso and fired. The brewer died instantly and England, in fear of the law, fled to France. This imbroglio did little to improve the gambler’s reputation. Even among the knavish fraternity of blacklegs and prior to this incident, he was, according to
The Particulars of the Late Dick
England by an Old Crony
, ‘considered by some to be beneath contempt’. With a ‘Herculean form and an athletic constitution’, as well as a ‘natural ferocity, hardness of heart and a selfish passion’, the Irish-born England could be both a dangerous adversary and an ideal protector for an unattached woman in revolutionary Paris. He also had an expert knowledge of the gaming hall.
The Particulars of the Late Dick
England by an Old Crony
, ‘considered by some to be beneath contempt’. With a ‘Herculean form and an athletic constitution’, as well as a ‘natural ferocity, hardness of heart and a selfish passion’, the Irish-born England could be both a dangerous adversary and an ideal protector for an unattached woman in revolutionary Paris. He also had an expert knowledge of the gaming hall.
It may have been Lady Worsley’s connection with the Duke of Orleans that enabled her and Dick England to be among the first to establish a Faro table at the Palais Royal. By the time he inherited his family property in 1785, the Duke was a slave to horse racing and card games, two habits which managed to deplete even his overflowing coffers. Unwilling to curtail his pleasures he instead came up with a scheme which utilised his home to fund his extravagant lifestyle. Determined to make his Palais Royal ‘the capital of Paris’, Orleans employed the architect Victor Louis to convert the ground floor into a ring of 180 exclusive shops, while adapting the top two floors into rented lodgings. The building’s capacious cellars were transformed into spaces for restaurants, cafés and social clubs, locations which later became hives of political intrigue during the revolution. The most elegant rooms within the palace, those tucked into the first floor
piano nobile
, became the preserve of gamesters.
piano nobile
, became the preserve of gamesters.
Surprisingly, this had never been part of the Duke’s original design. Outside the mirrored salons of the aristocracy (into which the law could not extend its long arm) gambling had been banned. But as Orleans let his shop fronts and lavish apartments to a variety of individuals, circumspect and otherwise, they assumed that his name guaranteed security for whatever enterprises they launched. The lantern-lit arcades soon became populated by brothels offering girls as expensive as the fine merchandise peddled by the Palais Royal’s shopkeepers. Eager to make a handsome return, many of the madams subsequently sublet their best rooms on the first floor to gambling salons. In August 1790, when the actors Michael Kelly and Jack Johnstone ‘met with the well-known Richard England’ there was only a modest collection of gaming tables within the precincts of the palace. England’s
salle
, which ‘was kept in conjunction with the celebrated Lady Worsley’, Kelly remarked was among the most fashionable of these and ‘was frequented by the
beau monde
of Paris’. Lady Worsley’s presence would have been vital to the operation. While Dick England acted as the card table’s banker, Seymour passed her evenings circulating among her guests, lending a genteel air to the scene. Ultimately, her role as a ‘hostess with savoir-faire’, as described by Jean Paul Marat in his contemporary periodical,
L’Ami
du peuple
, was to ensure that players were manipulated to the banker’s advantage. A gentle word of encouragement might keep a loser at the table one game longer, while striking up a conversation at a decisive interval might distract another player’s judgement. The most successful hostesses were able to cloak their manoeuvres discreetly in charm and could earn as much as 96
livres
in a day (equivalent to roughly £500 today). However, as Seymour’s pleading letters to her husband’s bank suggest, it is unlikely that their gambling venture was as lucrative as they would have wished.
salle
, which ‘was kept in conjunction with the celebrated Lady Worsley’, Kelly remarked was among the most fashionable of these and ‘was frequented by the
beau monde
of Paris’. Lady Worsley’s presence would have been vital to the operation. While Dick England acted as the card table’s banker, Seymour passed her evenings circulating among her guests, lending a genteel air to the scene. Ultimately, her role as a ‘hostess with savoir-faire’, as described by Jean Paul Marat in his contemporary periodical,
L’Ami
du peuple
, was to ensure that players were manipulated to the banker’s advantage. A gentle word of encouragement might keep a loser at the table one game longer, while striking up a conversation at a decisive interval might distract another player’s judgement. The most successful hostesses were able to cloak their manoeuvres discreetly in charm and could earn as much as 96
livres
in a day (equivalent to roughly £500 today). However, as Seymour’s pleading letters to her husband’s bank suggest, it is unlikely that their gambling venture was as lucrative as they would have wished.
By 1791, the Palais Royal’s first floor was supporting the weight of over a hundred tables where games of chance could be played. Lady Worsley and Dick England’s concern was cast adrift among a sea of others. Gambling now competed with an array of equally attractive entertainments both inside and outdoors. The ‘steerers’ or touts employed to direct passing trade to the gaming tables upstairs were frequently defeated by the shouts from the sideshow booths where Prussian giantesses and 500-pound men awaited spectators. The cross-section of Parisian society which poured through the entryways and into the enclosed garden could enjoy activities ranging from spontaneous political debates to theatrical performances while prostitutes, pick-pockets and police informers circulated freely among them. Critics such as the marquis de Bombelles lambasted the ‘habitual indecency’ of the ‘nasty place’ where ‘the most indefensible debauchery’ transpired in darkened rooms. The liberality of the Palais Royal, the progressive ideology preached in its cafés, the dissoluteness of its gaming tables, and the presence of
filles de joye
within its colonnades, horrified many in the court. The increasingly anti-monarchical Duke intended this. Along with the populist alterations he made to his ancestral home, the Duke of Orleans sealed his reputation as a champion of the people by re-branding himself Philippe Égalité, a name given to him by the radical Paris Commune. Unfortunately, in the end neither this title nor the democratic façade of the Palais Royal could shield his neck from the guillotine.
filles de joye
within its colonnades, horrified many in the court. The increasingly anti-monarchical Duke intended this. Along with the populist alterations he made to his ancestral home, the Duke of Orleans sealed his reputation as a champion of the people by re-branding himself Philippe Égalité, a name given to him by the radical Paris Commune. Unfortunately, in the end neither this title nor the democratic façade of the Palais Royal could shield his neck from the guillotine.
When Philippe Égalité was arrested in April 1793 along with the other members of the ruling house of Bourbon, a shadow of suspicion was thrown across his associates as well. The Duke’s extended circle of free-thinking hedonists, horse-loving Anglomaniacs, and well-dressed members of the
beau monde
, whether nobility, bourgeoisie or servants, whether French, English or Irish, were all regarded as potential enemies of the republic. In May the Chevalier Saint-Georges was denounced. At the end of 1793 Dick
England was imprisoned, as was Lady Worsley’s friend, Grace Dalrymple Elliott. By September that year British subjects not already in one of fifty places of detention in Paris were by order of the Jacobin government ‘seized as hostages for Toulon’.
beau monde
, whether nobility, bourgeoisie or servants, whether French, English or Irish, were all regarded as potential enemies of the republic. In May the Chevalier Saint-Georges was denounced. At the end of 1793 Dick
England was imprisoned, as was Lady Worsley’s friend, Grace Dalrymple Elliott. By September that year British subjects not already in one of fifty places of detention in Paris were by order of the Jacobin government ‘seized as hostages for Toulon’.
After December 1792 Lady Worsley’s correspondence with Sir Richard’s banker, the only trail by which it is possible to trace her movements, comes to an inexplicable end. Given the restrictions placed on travel, the scantiness of her financial resources, the individuals with whom she was affiliated and her status as an enemy national, it is highly probable that she, like most of her confidants, was imprisoned during the Reign of Terror. Grace Dalrymple Elliott, who left an intriguing though embellished account of her experiences during the revolution, frequently mentions a friend whose true identity has always been subject to question. Mrs Meyler, or Naylor, was an English woman of genteel birth and compromised circumstances who moved within the circle of the Parisian
haut ton
. What precisely her matrimonial status was seems to be unclear. According to one of Mrs Elliott’s biographers Horace Bleakley, she was either a widow or a woman whose husband had some association with Italy. Whatever her marital position, her lifestyle at the onset of the Terror was not a comfortable one. Elliott describes her as living ‘very retired’ and keeping ‘but one maid … in a part of Paris very private’ (or unfashionably down-at-heel). This ‘English Lady’ was in fact living ‘up four stairs’, in a garret on ‘the Rue de I’Encre behind the old Opera house’, an area known for its dancing girls and prostitutes. As a supporter of the royalist cause and without assets to protect or a political agenda to pursue there was no logical reason why this friend should have chosen to remain in Paris at a time when her safety was in jeopardy, unless compelled by external factors to do so. At some point between 1793 and 1794, ‘Mrs Meyler’ was confined at the Carmes Prison along with Grace Elliott and other fashionable women of the court such as the duchesse D’Aiguillon, the marquise de Custine, and Josephine Beauharnais, the future wife of Napoleon Bonaparte. After their release, Elliot and her friend remained intimate. The editor of Grace Elliott’s journal mentions that she later ‘resided at Brompton’ with ‘Mrs Meyler’, from 1801 until 1814, a period that coincides with rate book records stating that Mrs Elliott was living at Brompton House with Lady Worsley. Elliott’s account had passed through two sets of meddling hands before it was published in the Victorian era. As a result it is littered with errors and deliberate deceptions to distract readers from the fact that
its heroine had been a courtesan. Given the circumstances, it is likely that identities were confused and notorious names changed.
haut ton
. What precisely her matrimonial status was seems to be unclear. According to one of Mrs Elliott’s biographers Horace Bleakley, she was either a widow or a woman whose husband had some association with Italy. Whatever her marital position, her lifestyle at the onset of the Terror was not a comfortable one. Elliott describes her as living ‘very retired’ and keeping ‘but one maid … in a part of Paris very private’ (or unfashionably down-at-heel). This ‘English Lady’ was in fact living ‘up four stairs’, in a garret on ‘the Rue de I’Encre behind the old Opera house’, an area known for its dancing girls and prostitutes. As a supporter of the royalist cause and without assets to protect or a political agenda to pursue there was no logical reason why this friend should have chosen to remain in Paris at a time when her safety was in jeopardy, unless compelled by external factors to do so. At some point between 1793 and 1794, ‘Mrs Meyler’ was confined at the Carmes Prison along with Grace Elliott and other fashionable women of the court such as the duchesse D’Aiguillon, the marquise de Custine, and Josephine Beauharnais, the future wife of Napoleon Bonaparte. After their release, Elliot and her friend remained intimate. The editor of Grace Elliott’s journal mentions that she later ‘resided at Brompton’ with ‘Mrs Meyler’, from 1801 until 1814, a period that coincides with rate book records stating that Mrs Elliott was living at Brompton House with Lady Worsley. Elliott’s account had passed through two sets of meddling hands before it was published in the Victorian era. As a result it is littered with errors and deliberate deceptions to distract readers from the fact that
its heroine had been a courtesan. Given the circumstances, it is likely that identities were confused and notorious names changed.
If Lady Worsley was imprisoned, the length of her detention is unknown. The death of Robespierre which brought the Reign of Terror’s machinery to a halt at the end of July 1794 threw wide the doors of many of Paris’s prisons. Grace Elliott and the mysterious Mrs Meyler were released from the Carmes in August, but they as well as many other British nationals who had been incarcerated found it difficult to secure a return passage to their homeland in the midst of war. It can therefore be assumed with some certainty that Seymour would not have been in England when, in the following year, her son Robert died unexpectedly.
In the years since her elopement, it is unlikely that Lady Worsley had so much as glimpsed her son. As a separated woman, the law stripped her of access to her children. The repercussions of this cruel measure, when combined with the bitterness of her daughter Jane’s death and her parting with the infant Charlotte, must have grieved her incessantly. Although communication between mother and child was forbidden, Lady Worsley received occasional reports of Robert from her husband’s steward. In December 1791 he wrote to inform Seymour of her son’s academic progress, news which delighted her. ‘I am very happy to hear that my Dearest Worsley is so well and that his master is so contented with him,’ she enthused before her memories were flooded with anguish. ‘Pray give my love to him,’ she continued, ‘I hope he will not forget a mother that dotes upon him. A time may come that I shall be able to prove to him how much I love him, but I will say no more on a subject that causes me much pain.’ Sadly, the day that she had longed for was never to arrive.
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