“See! what is this vision of the age of chivalry, that comes careering towards us on horseback, in the form of a stately cavalier, than whom nothing has been witnessed in modern times more noble in air and bearing, more splendid in person, more distingué in dress, more consummate in equestrian skill, more radiant in intellectual expression, and altogether more worthy and fitting to represent one of those knights of the olden time, who warred for truth and beauty, beneath the banner of Cœur de Lion. It is Count D’Orsay.”
This language is as dazzling as the vision itself must have been!
Writing of various fashions in horsemanship, Sidney says:—
“As late as 1835 it was the fashion for the swells or dandies of the period—Count d’Orsay, the Earl of Chesterfield, and their imitators—to tittup along the streets and in the Park with their toes just touching the stirrups, which hung three inches lower than in the hunting-field.”
Abraham Hayward rode in the Park with D’Orsay in March 1838, “to the admiration of all beholders, for every eye is sure to be fixed upon him, and the whole world was out, so that I began to tremble for my character.”
Here is another contemporary account, which deals rather with the outer habit than with knight-like man:—
“From the colour and tie of the kerchief which adorned his neck, to the spurs ornamenting the heels of his patent boots, he was the original for countless copyists, particularly and collectively. The hue and cut of his many faultless coats, the turn of his closely-fitting inexpressibles, the shade of his gloves, the knot of his scarf, were studied by the motley multitude with greater interest and avidity than objects more profitable and worthy of their regard, perchance, could possibly hope to obtain. Nor did the beard that flourished luxuriantly upon the delicate and nicely-chiselled features of the Marquis (Count) escape the universal imitation. Those who could not cultivate their scanty crops into the desirable arrangement, had recourse to art and stratagem to supply the natural deficiency.”
D’Orsay was indeed the Prince of the Dandies, it might be more truthfully said, the Tyrant. What he did and wore, they must do and wear; the cut of his coat and the cut of his hair, the arrangement of his tie—the Prince could do no wrong. Of this sincere form of flattery a comical tale is told. Riding back to town one day, as usual capitally mounted, D’Orsay was overtaken by a downpour of rain. The groom, who usually carried an overcoat for his master, had this day forgotten to bring it. D’Orsay was equal to this as to most occasions. He spied a sailor who wore a long, heavy waistcoat which kept him snug.
“Hullo, friend,” called out D’Orsay, pulling up, “would you like to go into that inn and drink to my health until the rain’s over?”
The sailor was naturally enough somewhat surprised, and asked D’Orsay why he was chaffing him.