I have been treasuring up for some time everything I have seen and heard
which I think would interest you; and now my little head is so full that
I must empty it, or it would certainly burst. All that I have seen and
heard has tended to attach me more firmly to you by the double effect of
resemblance and of contrast. Every agreeable person recalls you; every
disagreeable, makes me exclaim, how different, etc.
I wish I could paint the different people we have seen in little
William's magic-lanthorn, and show them to you. At Madame Delessert's
house there are, and have been for years, meetings of the most agreeable
and select society in Paris: she has the courage absolutely to refuse to
admit either man or woman of whose conduct she cannot approve; at other
houses there is sometimes a strange mixture. To recommend Madame
Delessert still more powerfully to you, I must tell you that she was the
benefactress of Rousseau; he was, it is said, never good or happy except
in her society: to her bounty he owed his retreat in Switzerland. She is
nobly charitable, but if it were not for her friends no one would find
out half the good she does. One of her acts of beneficence is recorded
in Berquin's _Ami des Enfans_, but even her own children cannot tell in
which story it is. Her daughter, Madame Gautier, gains upon our esteem
every day.
Turn the handle of the magic-lanthorn: who is this graceful figure, with
all the elegance of court manners, and all the simplicity of domestic
virtue? She is Madame de Pastoret. She was chosen preceptress to the
Princess in the _ancien régime_ in opposition to the wife of Condorcet,
and M. de Pastoret had I forget how many votes more than Condorcet when
it was put to the vote who should be preceptor to the Dauphin at the
beginning of the Revolution. Both M. and Madame de Pastoret speak
remarkably well; each with that species of eloquence which becomes them.
He was President of the First Assembly, and at the head of the King's
Council: the four other ministers of that council all perished! He
escaped by his courage. As for her, the Marquis de Chastelleux's speech
describes her: "Elle n'a point d'expression sans grace et point de grace
sans expression."
Turn the magic-lanthorn. Here comes Madame Suard and Monsieur, a member
of the Academy: very good company at their house. Among others Lally
Tolendal, who is exceedingly like Father Tom, and whose real name of
Mullalagh he softened into Lally, said to be more eloquent than any man
in France; M. de Montmorenci, worthy of his great name.
Push on the magic-lanthorn slide. Here comes Boissy d'Anglas: a fine
head! Such a head as you may imagine the man to have who, by his single
courage, restrained the fury of one of the National Assemblies when the
head of one of the deputies was cut off and set on the table before him.
Next comes Camille Jordan, with great eloquence of pen, not of tongue;
[Footnote: Orator and statesman, 1771-1821.] and M. de Prony, a great
mathematician, of whom you don't care to know more, but you would if you
heard him.
Who comes next? Madame Campan, mistress of the first boarding-school
here, who educated Madame Louis Buonaparte, and who professes to keep
her pupils entirely separate from servants, according to _Practical
Education_, and who paid us many compliments. Teaches drawing in a
manner superior to anything I had any idea of in English schools: she
gave me a drawing in a gilt frame, which I shall show to you. At Madame
Campan's, as my father told you, we met the beautiful Madame Recamier,
and at her dinner we met the most fashionable tragic and comic poet, and
the richest man in Paris sat beside Charlotte. We went to the Opera with
Madame Recamier, who produces a great sensation whenever she appears in
public. She is certainly handsome, very handsome, but there is much of
the magic of fashion in the enthusiasm she creates.
There is a Russian Princess here, who is always carried in and out of
her carriage by two giant footmen, and a Russian Prince, who is so rich
that he is never able to spend his fortune, and asks advice how he shall
do it. He never thinks, it seems, of _giving_ it away.
Who comes next? Kosciusko, [Footnote: The Polish patriot and leader,
1756-1817.] cured of his wounds, simple in his manners, like all truly
great men. We met him at the house of a Polish Countess, whose name I
cannot spell.
Who comes next? M. de Leuze, who translated the _Botanic Garden_ as well
as it could be translated into Fénelon prose; and M. and Madame de
Vindé, who have a superb gallery of paintings, and the best concerts in
Paris, and a library of eighteen thousand volumes well counted and well
arranged; and what charms me more than either the books or the pictures,
a little grand-daughter of three years old, very like my sweet Fanny,
with stockings exactly the same as those Aunt Mary knitted for her, and
listing shoes precisely like what Fanny used to wear: she sat on my
knee, and caressed me with her soft, warm little hands, and looked at me
with her smiling intelligent eyes.
_Dec._ 3. Here I am at the brink of the last page, and I have said
nothing of the Apollo, the Invalides, or Les Sourds et Muets. What shall
I do? I cannot speak of everything at once, and when I speak to you so
many things crowd upon my mind.
Here, my dear aunt, I was interrupted in a manner that will surprise you
as much as it surprised me, by the coming in of Monsieur Edelcrantz, a
Swedish gentleman, whom we have mentioned to you, of superior
understanding and mild manners: he came to offer me his hand and heart!!
My heart, you may suppose, cannot return his attachment, for I have seen
but very little of him, and have not had time to have formed any
judgment, except that I think nothing could tempt me to leave my own
dear friends and my own country to live in Sweden.
My dearest aunt, I write to you the first moment, as next to my father
and mother no person in the world feels so much interest in all that
concerns me. I need not tell you that my father,
Such in this moment as in all the past,
is kindness itself; kindness far superior to what I deserve, but I am
grateful for it.
_To_ MISS SOPHY RUXTON.
PARIS, RUE DE LILLE, No. 525,
_Dec. 8, 1802._
I take it for granted, my dear friend, that you have by this time seen a
letter I wrote a few days ago to my aunt. To you, as to her, every
thought of my mind is open. I persist in refusing to leave my country
and my friends to live at the Court of Stockholm, and he tells me (of
course) that there is nothing he would not sacrifice for me except his
duty: he has been all his life in the service of the King of Sweden, has
places under him, and is actually employed in collecting information for
a large political establishment. He thinks himself bound in honour to
finish what he has begun. He says he should not fear the ridicule or
blame that would be thrown upon him by his countrymen for quitting his
country at his age, but that he should despise himself if he abandoned
his duty for any passion. This is all very reasonable, but reasonable
for him only, not for me; and I have never felt anything for him but
esteem and gratitude.
* * * * *
Mrs. Edgeworth, however, writes:
* * * * *
Maria was mistaken as to her own feelings. She refused M. Edelcrantz,
but she felt much more for him than esteem and admiration; she was
exceedingly in love with him. Mr. Edgeworth left her to decide for
herself; but she saw too plainly what it would be to us to lose her, and
what she would feel at parting from us. She decided rightly for her own
future happiness and for that of her family, but she suffered much at
the time and long afterwards. While we were at Paris, I remember that in
a shop where Charlotte and I were making some purchases, Maria sat apart
absorbed in thought, and so deep in reverie, that when her father came
in and stood opposite to her she did not see him till he spoke to her,
when she started and burst into tears. She was grieved by his look of
tender anxiety, and she afterwards exerted herself to join in society,
and to take advantage of all that was agreeable during our stay in
France and on our journey home, but it was often a most painful effort
to her. And even after her return to Edgeworthstown, it was long before
she recovered the elasticity of her mind. She exerted all her powers of
self-command, and turned her attention to everything which her father
suggested for her to write. But _Leonora_, which she began immediately
after our return home, was written with the hope of pleasing the
Chevalier Edelcrantz; it was written in a style which he liked, and the
idea of what he would think of it was, I believe, present to her in
every page she wrote. She never heard that he had even read it. From the
time they parted at Paris there was no sort of communication between
them, and beyond the chance which brought us sometimes into company with
travellers who had been in Sweden, or the casual mention of M.
Edelcrantz in the newspapers or scientific journals, we never heard more
of one who had been of such supreme interest to her, and to us all at
Paris, and of whom Maria continued to have all her life the most
romantic recollection. I do not think she repented of her refusal, or
regretted her decision; she was well aware that she could not have made
him happy, that she would not have suited his position at the Court of
Stockholm, and that her want of beauty might have diminished his
attachment. It was better perhaps that she should think so, as it calmed
her mind, but from what I saw of M. Edelcrantz I think he was a man
capable of really valuing her. I believe that he was much attached to
her, and deeply mortified at her refusal. He continued to reside in
Sweden after the abdication of his master, and was always distinguished
for his high character and great abilities. He never married. He was,
except very fine eyes, remarkably plain. Her father rallied Maria about
her preference of so ugly a man; but she liked the expression of his
countenance, the spirit and strength of his character, and his very able
conversation. The unexpected mention of his name, or even that of
Sweden, in a book or a newspaper, always moved her so much that the
words and lines in the page became a mass of confusion before her eyes,
and her voice lost all power.
I think it right to mention these facts, because I know that the lessons
of self-command which she inculcates in her works were really acted upon
in her own life, and that the resolution with which she devoted herself
to her father and her family, and the industry with which she laboured
at the writings which she thought were for the advantage of her
fellow-creatures, were from the exertion of the highest principle. Her
precepts were not the maxims of cold-hearted prudence, but the result of
her own experience in strong and romantic feeling. By what accident it
happened that she had, long before she ever saw the Chevalier
Edelcrantz, chosen Sweden for the scene of _The Knapsack_ I do not know,
but I remember his expressing his admiration of that beautiful little
piece, and his pleasure in the fine characters of the Swedish gentleman
and peasants.
CHARLOTTE EDGEWORTH _to_ MRS. CHARLOTTE SNEYD.