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rheinsbergEarlier this year, selenak reviewed Lucy Worsley's book Courtiers. In the ensuing discussion, mildred_of_midgard became interested in a document cited by Worsley, namely "A Character of Lady Mary Hervey drawn by herself". Having obtained a facsimile of the document from the Suffolk Record Office, Mildred transcribed the document for salon:
At Ickworth the 20th of January 1744
Although it is an opinion generally received that one does
not thoroughly know oneself, I do not believe it. We conceal
our faults from others, therefore it is believed; At least
it sall be seen if I thoroughly know myself. For once
in my life, I will humble myself (which I will not often do
when I can avoid it) by saying what I know of myself.
I am little, but there are many less. I am strait,
the shoulders low, the waist round and slender, tho' I am
gracefull, the neck long, the throat frightfull, the head
too large, the face flat, the complexion is the best thing
I have, and that none of the finest but there is white
and red ,the nose ugly, large at the end with round nostrils
the mouth neither large or small, ugly or pretty, the
teeth very strong, not of a brilliant white, but well
enough and even, the gums flat and pale, the forehead
ugly, large and too high, the eyes not very small, well
enough made and placed, grey, yet soft and sprightly, as to
my hair it has nothing to make it tolerable, it grows
badly, not thick and of a pale and ugly brown. I have
three moles, one on the forehead & two on one cheek, they
become me. Thus much for my person, I shall only say
that I love neatness very much, and that I affect an
air of grandeur, which does not suit my stature
and makes me appear haughty and disdainfull: I had
forgot my eyebrows. Observe that they are not very
handsome, but well enough and set off my face.
I am not silly, tho' it may sometimes be believed I am,
but I have not one grain of solidity or judgmnet. I am
too apt to believe the professions of friendship that
are made to me, which makes me inclinable to
love than hate, this proceeds not from a good heart but a
weak mind. I am naturally gay and delighted with every
thing, unless I have something to afflict me, in which case
I have no moderation, and believe there is no person so
unhappy as myself. I love people of spirit. Raillery is a
very great pleasure to me, but I don't love those who slander
every body and every thing that is done. I like better
that they ridicule in general, than particular persons,
to' the latter diverts me very much, at the same time that I
feel some remorse for being so much pleased with it, and yet
would not silence them if I could, nor be silent myself.
This is another sign of weakness, also when I see any
one much more ridiculous than the generality of mindkind,
I cannot help laughing in their face. I detest lying, as well
because it is mean and file, as because it is a crime. I
am proud to the last degree, nothing equals it but my
ambition, which is boundless, there is nothing so ridiculous
or impossible in the world but that I have thought of to
satisfy the one and the other. I shall find it a great
misfortune to be so ambitious as I am, as there is no
likelyhood I shall ever be able to satisfy it (it not being
easy so to do) if it is not that I value myself for having
such high thoughts, and sometimes I think myself
almost worthy to be what I desire, because I cannot be
satisfied with less. I greatly love pomp, magnificence of all
sorts and ornament, but respect much more than anything
else, as I think they can never shew me too much. I very much
love persons who show me respect, but no one shews
me enough, because they do not treat me with more than
others of the same quality. I diverty myself very well
when alone, and am never tired of myself. I am very
passionate but don't let it appear. I find it beneath me,
not to be able to disguise it. I am easily chagrined,
which sometimes makes me suffer very much, whe nI am in
an ill humour. I do not shew it, but if ever it is perceived that
I answer only by monosyllables, be assured that I am the
Devil within. I can disguise myself without much pain,
I am bashfull, idle and fearfull. I love sleep, but upon
occasion can sit up all night, or get up before it is day.
When I am at home I amloth to leave my chair [to go]
awalking, but when once I have begun, I like it very
well, and am not easily tired, provided I walk slowly.
Above all I like extremely to view the country. I never
go out on horseback I am afraid. I had rather make
use of a coach than my feet. I am very curious and
awkward. I dance badly, write badly, know not how to play
at cards or do any work. I love Musick infinitely. I
mortally hate children and am uneasy when they are
in the room and they also hate me in their turn.
There is no difficulty I cannot surmount to please those
I love. I am not ungrateful, it is a vice I detest. I had
rather be hated than despised, it is the effect of my pride.
I have a very bad memory for want of sufficient
application. I love novels better than history. Geometry
and astronomy please me infinitely. When I take an
aversion to any one, I have an incredible desire
to affront them.
selenak: Wow, that is fascinating. cahn, for the record, because we're talking about so many Herveys and Marys: this lady is Molly, wife of Hervey the memoirist, mother of (among others) Augustus the Seaman and Fred the Bishop, grandmother of Bess Foster. Mildred actually tracked down the manuscript from which the quote in Lucy Worsley's book about Georgian courtiers hails from.
With the caveat that we're just guessing after two centuries anyway, but: this comes across as a ruthlessly honest self portrait. I'm also glad we have an exact date, because 1744 means Lord Hervey the memoirist is dead, her older male kids are off to sea (Augustus) and school (Frederick), and she's living with her father-in-law when she's not in Paris.
I am naturally gay and delighted with everything, unless I have something to afflict me, in which case
I have no moderation, and believe there is no person so unhappy as myself.
I daresay this is true for many people without them being aware of the second part.
I love people of spirit. Raillery is a very great pleasure to me, but I don't love those who slander
every body and every thing that is done. I like better that they ridicule in general, than particular persons, to' the latter diverts me very much, at the same time that I feel some remorse for being so much pleased with it, and yet would not silence them if I could, nor be silent myself.
Ah yes. It's clear why she fell in love with Hervey and why Voltaire went to the trouble of writing a poem in English for her.
I shall find it a great misfortune to be so ambitious as I am, as there is no likelyhood I shall ever be able to satisfy it (it not being easy so to do) if it is not that I value myself for having
such high thoughts, and sometimes I think myself almost worthy to be what I desire, because I cannot be
satisfied with less.
Okay, that's a bit of an intrigiuing puzzle. Ambitious how, in 1744? Because if she said this as a young girl in the 1720s, when she had Alexander Pope and most of the court sighing over her before marrying the guy declared the most handsome and witty courtier, who himself definitely wanted to the confidant of Fritz of Wales and was already Caroline's, that would be one thing. (Plus there's the short lived episode where old G1 flirts with her.) I'd say she is ambitious in that she wants to make a brilliant match and move in the highest circles. But in 1744, she's no longer at court, she's an excentric widow who professes Jacobite loyalties, and is financially completely dependent on her father-in-law, so what is she ambitious for, regarding herself?
I mortally hate children and am uneasy when they are in the room and they also hate me in their turn.
That was the Lucy Worsley quoted passage which got us the entire text via Mildred, and which makes Hervey looking for another guardian for at least one of his daughters in his last will slightly better. For a woman who has had, what, eight children, it's even in an age where you're not supposed to do the hands-on raising of toddlers as a member of the nobility a very rare admission, I'd say. Now I'm assuming she means literally "children", i.e. the fondness expressed in her letters for grown up Augustus, say, isn't faked but another matter and she was one of those types who gets interested once the offspring have made it to the teenage stage. But still, I'd say between Lord Hervey showing zero interest in his children (last will aside) that we know of and Molly disliking hers when they're still in the children stage, that explains something about Fred the Bishop's deadbeat Dad parenting style...
selenak reviewed Lucy Worsley's book Courtiers. In the ensuing discussion, mildred_of_midgard became interested in a document cited by Worsley, namely "A Character of Lady Mary Hervey drawn by herself". Having obtained a facsimile of the document from the Suffolk Record Office, Mildred transcribed the document for salon:At Ickworth the 20th of January 1744
Although it is an opinion generally received that one does
not thoroughly know oneself, I do not believe it. We conceal
our faults from others, therefore it is believed; At least
it sall be seen if I thoroughly know myself. For once
in my life, I will humble myself (which I will not often do
when I can avoid it) by saying what I know of myself.
I am little, but there are many less. I am strait,
the shoulders low, the waist round and slender, tho' I am
gracefull, the neck long, the throat frightfull, the head
too large, the face flat, the complexion is the best thing
I have, and that none of the finest but there is white
and red ,the nose ugly, large at the end with round nostrils
the mouth neither large or small, ugly or pretty, the
teeth very strong, not of a brilliant white, but well
enough and even, the gums flat and pale, the forehead
ugly, large and too high, the eyes not very small, well
enough made and placed, grey, yet soft and sprightly, as to
my hair it has nothing to make it tolerable, it grows
badly, not thick and of a pale and ugly brown. I have
three moles, one on the forehead & two on one cheek, they
become me. Thus much for my person, I shall only say
that I love neatness very much, and that I affect an
air of grandeur, which does not suit my stature
and makes me appear haughty and disdainfull: I had
forgot my eyebrows. Observe that they are not very
handsome, but well enough and set off my face.
I am not silly, tho' it may sometimes be believed I am,
but I have not one grain of solidity or judgmnet. I am
too apt to believe the professions of friendship that
are made to me, which makes me inclinable to
love than hate, this proceeds not from a good heart but a
weak mind. I am naturally gay and delighted with every
thing, unless I have something to afflict me, in which case
I have no moderation, and believe there is no person so
unhappy as myself. I love people of spirit. Raillery is a
very great pleasure to me, but I don't love those who slander
every body and every thing that is done. I like better
that they ridicule in general, than particular persons,
to' the latter diverts me very much, at the same time that I
feel some remorse for being so much pleased with it, and yet
would not silence them if I could, nor be silent myself.
This is another sign of weakness, also when I see any
one much more ridiculous than the generality of mindkind,
I cannot help laughing in their face. I detest lying, as well
because it is mean and file, as because it is a crime. I
am proud to the last degree, nothing equals it but my
ambition, which is boundless, there is nothing so ridiculous
or impossible in the world but that I have thought of to
satisfy the one and the other. I shall find it a great
misfortune to be so ambitious as I am, as there is no
likelyhood I shall ever be able to satisfy it (it not being
easy so to do) if it is not that I value myself for having
such high thoughts, and sometimes I think myself
almost worthy to be what I desire, because I cannot be
satisfied with less. I greatly love pomp, magnificence of all
sorts and ornament, but respect much more than anything
else, as I think they can never shew me too much. I very much
love persons who show me respect, but no one shews
me enough, because they do not treat me with more than
others of the same quality. I diverty myself very well
when alone, and am never tired of myself. I am very
passionate but don't let it appear. I find it beneath me,
not to be able to disguise it. I am easily chagrined,
which sometimes makes me suffer very much, whe nI am in
an ill humour. I do not shew it, but if ever it is perceived that
I answer only by monosyllables, be assured that I am the
Devil within. I can disguise myself without much pain,
I am bashfull, idle and fearfull. I love sleep, but upon
occasion can sit up all night, or get up before it is day.
When I am at home I amloth to leave my chair [to go]
awalking, but when once I have begun, I like it very
well, and am not easily tired, provided I walk slowly.
Above all I like extremely to view the country. I never
go out on horseback I am afraid. I had rather make
use of a coach than my feet. I am very curious and
awkward. I dance badly, write badly, know not how to play
at cards or do any work. I love Musick infinitely. I
mortally hate children and am uneasy when they are
in the room and they also hate me in their turn.
There is no difficulty I cannot surmount to please those
I love. I am not ungrateful, it is a vice I detest. I had
rather be hated than despised, it is the effect of my pride.
I have a very bad memory for want of sufficient
application. I love novels better than history. Geometry
and astronomy please me infinitely. When I take an
aversion to any one, I have an incredible desire
to affront them.
selenak: Wow, that is fascinating. cahn, for the record, because we're talking about so many Herveys and Marys: this lady is Molly, wife of Hervey the memoirist, mother of (among others) Augustus the Seaman and Fred the Bishop, grandmother of Bess Foster. Mildred actually tracked down the manuscript from which the quote in Lucy Worsley's book about Georgian courtiers hails from.With the caveat that we're just guessing after two centuries anyway, but: this comes across as a ruthlessly honest self portrait. I'm also glad we have an exact date, because 1744 means Lord Hervey the memoirist is dead, her older male kids are off to sea (Augustus) and school (Frederick), and she's living with her father-in-law when she's not in Paris.
I am naturally gay and delighted with everything, unless I have something to afflict me, in which case
I have no moderation, and believe there is no person so unhappy as myself.
I daresay this is true for many people without them being aware of the second part.
I love people of spirit. Raillery is a very great pleasure to me, but I don't love those who slander
every body and every thing that is done. I like better that they ridicule in general, than particular persons, to' the latter diverts me very much, at the same time that I feel some remorse for being so much pleased with it, and yet would not silence them if I could, nor be silent myself.
Ah yes. It's clear why she fell in love with Hervey and why Voltaire went to the trouble of writing a poem in English for her.
I shall find it a great misfortune to be so ambitious as I am, as there is no likelyhood I shall ever be able to satisfy it (it not being easy so to do) if it is not that I value myself for having
such high thoughts, and sometimes I think myself almost worthy to be what I desire, because I cannot be
satisfied with less.
Okay, that's a bit of an intrigiuing puzzle. Ambitious how, in 1744? Because if she said this as a young girl in the 1720s, when she had Alexander Pope and most of the court sighing over her before marrying the guy declared the most handsome and witty courtier, who himself definitely wanted to the confidant of Fritz of Wales and was already Caroline's, that would be one thing. (Plus there's the short lived episode where old G1 flirts with her.) I'd say she is ambitious in that she wants to make a brilliant match and move in the highest circles. But in 1744, she's no longer at court, she's an excentric widow who professes Jacobite loyalties, and is financially completely dependent on her father-in-law, so what is she ambitious for, regarding herself?
I mortally hate children and am uneasy when they are in the room and they also hate me in their turn.
That was the Lucy Worsley quoted passage which got us the entire text via Mildred, and which makes Hervey looking for another guardian for at least one of his daughters in his last will slightly better. For a woman who has had, what, eight children, it's even in an age where you're not supposed to do the hands-on raising of toddlers as a member of the nobility a very rare admission, I'd say. Now I'm assuming she means literally "children", i.e. the fondness expressed in her letters for grown up Augustus, say, isn't faked but another matter and she was one of those types who gets interested once the offspring have made it to the teenage stage. But still, I'd say between Lord Hervey showing zero interest in his children (last will aside) that we know of and Molly disliking hers when they're still in the children stage, that explains something about Fred the Bishop's deadbeat Dad parenting style...
