Back in the day – the eighteenth century, I mean – Emily Fitzgerald, Countess of Kildare, set up a school for her many children (by the end she had 22). She and her husband, the Duke of Leinster, bought Black Rock, a bathing lodge south of Dublin, and fixed it up so her children could live, swim, and be taught there. She considered sea bathing essential to health. Maybe it is.

Emily, Countess of Kildare, bearing up under so much grief.

Needing a tutor for the place, and having been impressed by Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s Émile: de l’Éducation, she tried to get Rousseau himself, since he had recently fled Paris for England. She offered him “an elegant retreat if he would educate her children.” He said no. I doubt this was the reason he then fled England.

Eventually she hired William Ogilvie, an impoverished but learned Scot, to teach her children along the lines Rousseau envisioned. Plus classics. Charles, 12, was the first pupil. He and Ogilvie gardened, kept chickens, sewed, fished, worked in the stables, and studied Latin, French, English history, and drawing. As things went well, 7 more young Fitzgeralds were sent to Black Rock. I speak of Henry, Sophia, Edward, Robert, Fanny, Lucy, & Louisa.

Near the beginning something went wrong.

I can’t figure out what it was, but Charles Fitzgerald apparently acted like a brat. Perhaps prodded by Mr. Ogilvie, he wrote a note of apology to his mother:

My dear Mama, I am very sorry that I have given you so much grief. I dun a great many things very improper and beneath a gentleman and below my rank. I am very sorry for my ill behavior I have disobeyed you and Mr. Ogilvie Mama wich to be chure wass very improper. I own I am vastly distrest. I hope you will be so good as to forgive me. i give you my word and honour my dear Mama that I will never do such a thing again.

His mother saved the letter, writing on the back of it, “Dr. little Charles’ penitent letter wrote quite by himself, 1768.”

Clearly this nice apology was accepted. He is upset – distrest – about his bad behavior, but doesn’t make it all about him. He talks about the impact on others (so much grief). He hopes for, but does not ask for, forgiveness. He promises to do better.

Chickens can provoke a person.

It’s interesting to see how he has already internalized what he’s been taught about rank and noblesse oblige – ‘you’re intrinsically better than other people, so you have to behave better than other people.’

I imagine his mother knew precisely what he had done, since Ogilvie wrote constantly to keep her informed when she wasn’t visiting Black Rock herself. (What? Chased the chickens? Failed to curry the horses? Called Julius Caesar a stupidhead?) So he didn’t need to go down the list of his misdeeds, but I still wish I knew. (Swam out of bounds? Ate the best carrots himself? Called his sisters donkey faces?)

Could be it was something about fishing.

Charles Fitzgerald later in life.

We all know where this is going, don’t we? Charles Fitzgerald grew up to join the Navy, rising to rear admiral. His family cut him off when he voted for the Act of Union and took a government job. Long before that, his doting mother began an affair with Mr. Ogilvie. After the Duke died, they married, moved to France, and had still more children. Mimi, Cecilia, and probably when you get down to it, George. (To learn more, consult Stella Tillyard’s Aristocrats: Caroline, Emily, Louisa, & Sarah Lennox 1740-1832.)

There was talk of a duel, but it came to nothing. Were apologies involved? I do not know, I am distrest to say.