No shame in infamy, no hell beyond
The doubts and jealous fears that rack my soul
Lest thou should e’er forget her who has loved
With more than woman’s love, and given thee all
She had to give; a spotless name, and virtue.2
For him and for his love she had risked everything: her marriage, hurting Edward, family honour and public contempt. Out of superstition, rather than penitence, she ceased to attend church as a communicant, lest she should provoke divine vengeance. George had taken her innocence and her unquestioning love and, it now seemed to her, tossed them in her face. She felt utterly betrayed. Her family saw none of this; she was, outwardly at least, the same sweet, smiling, brilliant Janet. Family letters to her are chatty and congratulatory.3
Jane’s first child, a boy, was born on 15 February 1828. Ellenborough, who had longed for a son, was elated. Only a month earlier he had achieved his primary ambition, a Cabinet post; he was made Lord Privy Seal in Wellington’s new government. It was not a universally popular appointment. Lady Holland is said to have ‘nearly killed’ the messenger who brought her the news.4 A fellow member of the Upper House wrote of the new administration:
and indeed, were it not for one blot, there is not a name I object to. The blot is Ellenborough. It is miserable and unworthy to stop his teasing babble by [giving him] one of the great offices of State and his appointment is an indignity to the memory of Canning which I regret was advocated in the House of Lords. He will be nothing; though he might be a worrying opponent and as a member of the cabinet will be unpractical and unmanageable.5
Even Princess Lieven, whom, together with her husband, Ellenborough regarded as a friend, was less than happy, writing to Earl Grey, ‘You will imagine that I am not highly delighted at seeing Lord Ellenborough, a rabid Turk, in the Ministry.’6 And, though there were some who felt that Ellenborough had earned his appointment, clearly the King was not among them. He met the new Lord Privy Seal only once, out of courtesy. He was charming and polite but Ellenborough was never again invited into his presence.
Ellenborough did not allow his monarch’s dislike to worry him. He wrote a triumphant personal note in his political diary:
Janet has brought me a boy. I put this down as a political occurrence because I shall make him, if he lives and I live, a political Character. I shall ask the Duke of Wellington and Lord Dudley to be his Godfathers. Princess Esterhazy is to be his Godmother. A good diplomatic introduction to the world.7
One must assume from this that Ellenborough accepted the child as his. The baby was named Arthur Dudley after his illustrious godparents. Evidently the birth was an uncomplicated one, for the smart christening party was held only a fortnight later, and within two months or, as one biographer cheerfully put it, ‘as soon as she could get her stays fastened again’, Jane was back in circulation apparently in glowing good looks.8 Lord Ellenborough was now more preoccupied than ever with his work of national importance, though Jane accompanied him to several state functions at this time.
She was a poor mother, which is surprising, for she was a warm and caring person by nature. But she was unable to form any maternal bonds with her baby. It was not that she did not love him, but it was as though the child belonged to someone else. This disappointed her, but, as she wrote to her brother, she was as a child ‘never naturally fond of babies, never played with dolls, if you recollect, but was much fonder of animals etc.’9 Her inability to bond may also have been rooted in the fact that her lifestyle did not allow a great deal of contact with her ‘darling boy’.10 It was the established custom of the upper class to have children cared for by servants, thus enabling the mother to regain her place in society quickly. Moreover, London with its winter palls of smog from coal fires, and its summer plagues of typhoid, was considered unhealthy; the mortality of infants was high enough (hence Ellenborough’s remark ‘if he lives’), without exposing a child to additional risks. It was considered almost a duty to have a child professionally cared for in a quiet, healthy place. In little Arthur’s case this care devolved initially on a wetnurse and nursemaid in the country.
Despite her glowing appearance, Jane was deeply unhappy in the weeks and months following her confinement. Edward was tolerant but remote, and her relationship with her child was conducted at arm’s length. She pined, according to her poetry, for the days of love and laughter, and the ‘magic’ she had shared with George.11
The Ellenboroughs’ close friendship with the Russian and Austrian ambassadors and their wives meant that Jane was a frequent guest at embassy balls. It was at one such ball at the Austrian embassy, in May 1828, shortly after her twenty-first birthday, that Jane’s life was changed for ever. Her son’s godmother, Princess Esterhazy, introduced her on a warm early-summer evening, when the lilac trees in London squares were drenched in rain and heady scent, to Prince Felix Schwarzenberg, the newly arrived, darkly handsome attaché and secretary to Prince Esterhazy.
Prince Felix Ludvig Johann Friedrich zu Schwarzenberg was a member of one of the great aristocratic families of Europe. Born the fourth child and second son of a happy marriage, he grew up at Schloss Krumlov, one of the most beautiful and romantic castles in Bohemia, situated amid dense forests on rocks overlooking the River Vltava. His father’s holdings of land amounted to half a million acres over which the family ruled in an almost feudal manner.12
The name Schwarzenberg was already familiar in London and Paris for the exploits of Felix’s uncle, Field Marshal Karl Philipp Schwarzenberg, Commander-in-Chief of the Austrian forces ranged against Napoleon at Leipzig; and no less for the tragic story of Felix’s mother Princess Pauline who died at a state banquet given in Paris to honour Napoleon and Marie-Louise in 1810. When the building caught fire everyone was successfully ushered to safety, but a false report that her daughters were trapped in their bedchambers sent Princess Pauline flying back inside to rescue them. When they found her body next day, crushed by a fallen roof beam, all that was recognisable in the charred remains was her diamond necklace.13
By the age of twenty-one, Felix had attained the rank of captain in a cavalry regiment bearing his family name (the Schwarzenberg Uhlans). After catching the eye of the self-appointed kingmaker, Prince Metternich, Felix joined the Austrian Diplomatic Corps. His first assignment was to the legation at St Petersburg where the Tsar was a friend of his father.14 Unfortunately, he became innocently involved in the Dekabrist revolt of army officers attempting to overthrow the Tsar’s government – a minor embarrassment which made it politically expedient to transfer him to another post. He was sent to Portugal to prepare for the arrival of Dom Miguel, Metternich’s choice for King. Dom Miguel was not the choice of the people, however, and Prince Felix subsequently found himself very unpopular, on one occasion being stoned by a mob from which he was lucky to escape without serious injury. He stuck to his post, regardless of unpopularity and, once Dom Miguel was safely installed in 1826, Felix was sent via Paris to London, where he took a ship for Rio de Janeiro on a special mission.15 He was subsequently appointed as attaché to London in May 1828.
At the time he met Lady Ellenborough, Prince Felix was twenty-seven years old, handsome, dashing and accomplished. Highly intelligent, he was an excellent linguist, speaking fluent German, Czech, French, English, Latin and Spanish. He studied anatomy and, to judge from remarks