To Maggie Power,

Countess of Blessington

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Cast

Lord Byron

Teresa Guiccioli

Henry Fox

Earl of Blessington

Countess of Blessington

Count D'Orsay

Fletcher​

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SCENE 1

 

1823, Genoa - there is a deluge, earthquakes, lightning & suchlike

 

B: Dio, Teresa - che tempesta!! - Look! (points) - are there (squints) perukes and gingerbread in the trees?

T: Our padre will most certainly be lynched (is indignant) - to falsify the weather forecast that he may enrich himself with prayers to St. Medard! Il pagano!

B: Why, the rogue should be disbarred! (sighs and paces) What think you of removing to Nice, mio tesoro? I am exhausted with the constant intrusions from autograph and hair hunters - I've already proffered an invitation to my sister and her drone of a husband to join us

T: Augusta? - she is tired of London and the six miles of bottom?

B: One hopes (slumps into chair) - her great obstacle is that, as spouses, my sister and her husband are so admirably yoked - she so necessary as a housekeeper - and a letter writer - and a place-hunter to that very helpless gentleman - her first Cousin, I may add! - but they are dashed short on Capital

T(gazes in wonder): It is most thoughtful of you, mio Byron - your heart is truly noble and great - but you would break your jaw on that diabolico language - francese

B: French - pfft! I shall let you - my love - and Goose - do the talking for me (shrugs) - but I think she will not - there is no racetrack nearby at which her disgraceful marito can lose my money - and return - shamelessly - requesting yet more

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Fletcher enters

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F: The Bold James Wedderburn Webster to see you, my Lord

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T flees at the mention of an Englishman - her abundant curls romantically falling about her shoulders

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B(shudders): Webster?! Send him to the devil! (grinds teeth) What else can catastrophize my life right now? (kicks fire) - I'm throwing over that timorous tradesman, Murray - this intemperate deluge has ceased to amuse me - I have an unsightly cold sore (shakes out his slightly greying curls) - well, be dashed to it - avant Fletcher! - Show him in - well? - hurry!

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W comes crashing in

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W: Byron - I owe you a thousand guineas! I also have a favour to ask

B: That is now a decade-old debt, Webster - with interest - have you come to settle? Damned if that money wouldn't have saved my marriage

W: In sooth, I did let you ogle and pass notes to my wife (B shuffles) - I was well aware of her infatuation, although she has since transferred her affections to your motley Scrope Davies, and (proudly) had a flirtation with the Duke of Wellington (beams) - in Napoleon's captured carriage!

B: That butcher! Waging war to fatten his own pocket!

W: To the point - Lady Frances wants to leave me - again - would you mind awfully counselling her against it? 

B: You ask too much, but I shall try - leave the cash with Fletcher - as a keeper of monies, oddly, he is quite the nonesuch (B shows W the door)

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Fletcher announces that Henry Fox, son of Lord Holland, is due to visit

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B: Fox! Oh, how I have always liked that boy 

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A noisy ruckus on the marble staircase - Fletcher's voice is raised - the Blessingtons have arrived

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EofB: Byron! Sorry to knuckle my way in - your man seems not to know me - insufferable Northerner! Please let me introduce my smashing - and expensive - wife

LyB (curtsies): My LORD - sure, how very delighted I am to meet you here in Italy where I am so totally appreciated and admired by the highly literary Italian Ton - without your English society ladies attempting to exclude me - me! - a Lady - with my own crown! (pokes about, inspecting stamps on the china) Do you own this small house - is there room for a pony? What is that boil on your face? You appear to be crying - my naked shoulders have that effect on men - where is your mistress?

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Henry Fox walks slowly in

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B: Henry Fox! How you have grown! It is a sincere pleasure and honour to see you (the two men shake hands, with feeling) Welcome, my old friend - I have so many unwanted visitors - they exhaust me quite 

H: Byron - how handsome you still are - no wonder every woman you meet falls in love with you

LyB: Hello (offers hand) I am Lady Blessington - wife of the Earl here - have we met? I am a doyenne of sorts - (winks and whispers) - I can tell you now, I  have not fallen in love with Lord Byron - he is somewhat short - I suspect he, au contraire, will find me both fascinating and inspiring

B: Fletcher!!! Brandy!!! - What will you have, Fox? - you'll have Brandy, of course - what for the Blessingtons? - yes, you'll have Brandy too (fine nostrils flare) - I suspect

LyB: Our mutual aristocrat - you can't know him, he's French - the Count D'Orsay, un Cupidon déchaîné they call him in elite circles - will meet us here in Genoa presently - Byron! (wags finger) - you must not use crudities of expression around our Exquisite Frenchman

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Fletcher drops tray, shattering precious Venetian brandy glasses

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SCENE 2

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​The Blessingtons join Byron on his daily ride around Genoa

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EofB: Damned bad business about our Dublin mortgage plan, eh what?! To compensate, Byron, I shall buy that badly-made two-master of yours with the politically controversial name - what was it? Bolivar? - heh heh - does she sail well?

B: I've not had the heart to sail her - I am ashes where once I was fire, what I loved I now merely admire - and my heart is as grey as my head

LyB: I noticed - it's also quite thin. To the vessel - we can reach a bargain and rename her, after meself, bien sûr, not some vulgar politician. Have you met my equally stunning sister, Miss Power? Blessington, it would be quite marvellous for us to locate here - we could buy the Villa Paradiso - and our names, Byron, would be entwined for eternity - I will have our coronets painted on my new Royal Doulton coronation ware

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A loud crash emanates from Byron's palazzo

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EofB: Why - that window has been actually quite ripped off its frame!

B: Ah, yes (smirks) - my amica is prone to ad hoc house repairs

EofB: Damned thrilling - a jealous woman - what? Myself - I am incapable of jealousy 

LyB: You will meet Alfred tonight, Byron - he is a mildly talented sketch artist as well as being an aristocrat of the first order - like us, did I mention him at all? - Would you like to buy my horse Mameluke - she has fine teeth and shanks - at £100, she's a steal! - we could trade you the boat -yes? (spits on hand) - deal?

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Another loud crash emanates from Byron's palazzo

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B: You will excuse me - I have many prior engagements (trots, yea, gallops toward his villa)

LyB: Begor! What an unhappy man! His mistress cannot be inspiring enough - perhaps I can help - what say you, Blessington? Would you mind sharing your wife?

EofB: As a helpmate to immortality? A marvellous idea! You will be immortalised, and literary men years hence will - absurdly - recognise you as a major player in his Lordship's life

LyB: Move your arse will you! We must dress for dinner - Alfred will be arriving from his jewellers 

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SCENE 3

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Evening - B is knackered by the strain of enforced sociability

 

F: There is a handsome, beautifully tailored Frenchman, with a strange moustachioed arrangement on his face, to see you, my Lord

B: Saints preserve me from these interminable madmen! Send him away, Fletcher!! (door opens)

D'O: Bon soir, Byron! - forgive, please the intrusion - I heard you were unwell and have bought you these fresh violets - as I know by careful perusal of your minor poems that they are favourites of yours

B(taken aback): Dio - but they are! - please do come in - D'Orsay, I believe? How very Ancien Régime of you - Fletcher?! - D'Orsay, you must stay for supper - I will not dress, for I am sure you approve of my silk charmeuse 

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Fletcher appears with Champagne, lobster and  lemon granita

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D'O: Exquisite! Piquante! I have been much in high London society - you should satirise it - it is quite, quite ridiculous

B: Why, I have just been occupied in that very...

EofB: Halloo the House!!

LyB: Bon soir all - Byron, I see you already requested Alfred's presence - can you speak French well enough? I am much like a mother to the dear boy - soon, in fact, I will be a mother-in-law to him (all except B laugh)

B(his interest is finally piqued): Yes? - How so?

Eof B: My child - a daughter of 15 - is engaged to Alfred - although unmet, and undeniably unsuitable, they are to be married shortly - duns and debts, Byron - you understand of course - duns!! Our little pact of three - my Lady, D'Orsay, and me - is a long way from the glory of gems and snuff-boxes - and uniforms, be damned to it!! (LyB is throwing daggers at EofB) Oh yes, yes my dear - Byron, would you like to be inspired by my wife? That dauber Thomas Lawrence would be nothing without her yielding shoulders - but - oh! such a master of the palate knife!

B: You have ask’d for a verse?! - the request in a rhymer ’twould be strange to deny, but my Hippocrene was but my breast, and my feelings - its fountain - are dry 

LyB: Dry?! - Why my beauty does not fail even in daylight!

B: Would I dare to say otherwise, Milady? - but let the young and the brilliant aspire to sing what I gaze on in vain (eyes lobster claws) - for sorrow has torn from my lyre the string which was worthy of the strain 

LyB: Do you suffer from Gout? Is that scurvy (points to his lip)? Is your thinning hair making you triste?

B: You must excuse me - I have had three days of dinners during the last seven days - they have made me so headachy and sulky that it will take me a whole Lent to subside back into wit and merriment

LyB(with pity): Sweet lord above!! That your wit cannot rise above your indigestion explains your aversion to stimulating conversationers, like us here (B shakes head) - Ah! - my shoulders, and challenging brilliance, have stunned you into silence - come, Blessington - we shall depart (gathers geegaws B has left lying about the place) - Byron, you can post my paean - we are all off to London to get married - Byron - are you crying? Blessington, Alfred - I can torture him no longer - his adoration is mortifying!​​

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The trio depart - Fletcher attempts to announce yet another visitor..

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B: Fletcher - my life is not dated by years, these are moments which act as plough - and there is not a furrow appears but is deep in my soul as my brow (stirs his melted granita)

F: My Lord - you are not at home (shakes head) - I understand, these intrusions you deplore - I shall leave your bear-skin and teeth, and paws and claws by the door

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B is already asleep, lets out a groan - and dreams of escaping to a friendly war zone

 

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END​​​​​​