Then he continues:—
“D’Orsay was as clever and agreeable a companion as any in the world, and perhaps as inventive and extravagant in dress as Beau Brummel, though not so original nor so varied in the grades of costume through which his imagination carried him. There were all sorts of hats and garments named after him by their makers, more or less like those he wore, and a good many men copied him to some extent in his attire. He and I adopted the tight wristbands, turned back upon the sleeve of the coat upon the wrist, in which fashion we were not followed by others, I am happy to say.…
“Among the peculiarities and accomplishments for which D’Orsay desired to be famous was that of great muscular strength, as well as a knowledge of all weapons, and when he shook hands with his friends it was with the whole palm, with such an impressive clutch of the fingers as drove the blood from the limb he held, and sent every ring on the hand almost to the bone. The apparent frankness of manner and kind expression in his good-looking face, when he met you with the exclamation, ‘Ah, ha, mon ami!’ and grasped you by the hand, were charming, and we, who rather prided ourselves on being able to do strong things, used to be ready for this grasp, and exhibit our muscular powers in return. There is no man who can so well imitate D’Orsay’s method of greeting in this particular as my excellent friend, Dr Quin.
“Poor dear D’Orsay! He was a very accomplished, kind-hearted, and graceful fellow, and much in request in what may be called the fashionable world. I knew him well in his happier hours, I knew him when he was in difficulties, and I knew him in distress; and when in France I heard from Frenchmen that those in his native country to whom he looked for high lucrative employment and patronage, and from whom D’Orsay thought he had some claim to expect them, rather slighted his pretensions; and when in his last, lingering, painful illness,[39] left him to die too much neglected and alone.
“That D’Orsay was unwisely extravagant as well as not over-scrupulous in morality, we know; but that is a man’s own affair, not that of his friends. His faults, whatever they were, were covered, or at least glossed over by real kindness of heart, great generosity, and prompt good-nature, grace in manner, accomplishments, and high courage; therefore, place him side by side with many of the men with whom he lived in England, D’Orsay by comparison would have the advantage in many things.”
XXX
WHAT WAS HE?
Witnesses have been heard for the defence and for the prosecution; the defendant himself has been examined and cross-examined; what is the verdict?
Lamb has told us that we must not take the immoral comedies of the Restoration seriously. His argument does not bear precisely upon the case in point, but it is of assistance. Lamb, speaking of plays, whereas we are writing of history, says: “We have been spoiled with—not sentimental comedy—but a tyrant far more pernicious to our pleasures which has succeeded to it, the exclusive and all-devouring drama of common life.” For “comedy” substitute “history”; for “drama” put “psychology” and we can fit our text to our sermon, a thing often more easy to achieve than to fit one’s sermon to one’s text. We had been surfeited with sentimental history, with the white-washing of sinners and the super-humanising of saints; we therefore turned to what we are pleased to call real life, and taking everything seriously have made everything dull.