Took possession of our new house to-day, and are delighted with it. Its
repose and quiet are very agreeable, after the noise and bustle of the
Rue de Rivoli. Spent several hours in superintending the arrangement of
my books, china, _bijouterie_, and flowers, and the rooms look as
habitable as if we had lived in them for weeks. How fortunate we are to
have found so charming an abode!
A chasm here occurs in my journal, occasioned by the arrival of some
dear relatives from England, with whom I was too much occupied to have
time to journalise. What changes five years effect in young people! The
dear girls I left children are now grown into women, but are as artless
and affectionate as in childhood. I could hardly believe my eyes when I
saw them, yet I soon traced the same dear countenances, and marvelled
that though changed from the round, dimpled ones of infancy, to the
more delicate oval of maidenly beauty, the expression of gaiety and
innocence of their faces is still the same.
A week has passed rapidly by, and now that they have returned to
England, their visit appears like a dream. I wish it had been longer,
for I have seen only enough of them to wish to see a great deal more.
The good Mrs. W. and her lively, clever, and her pretty daughter, Mrs.
R., dined with us yesterday. They are _en route_ for England, but give
many a sigh to dear Italy. It was pleasant to talk over the happy days
passed there, which we did with that tender regret with which the past
is always referred to by those who have sensibility, and they possess
no ordinary portion of this lovable quality. Les Dames Bellegarde also
dined with us, and they English friends took a mutual fancy to each
other. I like the Bellegardes exceedingly.
Our old friend, Lord Lilford, is at Paris, and is as amiable and
kind-hearted as ever. He dined with us yesterday, and we talked over
the pleasant days we spent at Florence. Well-educated, and addicted to
neither of the prevalent follies of the day, racing nor gaming, he only
requires a little ambition to prompt him to exertion, in order to
become a useful, as well as an agreeable member of the community, but
with a good fortune and rank, he requires an incentive to action.
Met last evening at Madame Craufurd's the Marquis and Marquise Zamperi
of Bologna. She is pretty and agreeable, and he is original and
amusing. They were very civil, and expressed regret at not having been
at Bologna when we were there.
Had a visit from Count Alexandre de Laborde to-day. His conversation is
lively and entertaining. Full of general information and good sense, he
is no niggard in imparting the results of both to those with whom he
comes in contact, and talks fluently, if not always faultlessly, in
Italian and English.
The Marquis de Mornay and his brother Count Charles de Mornay dined
here yesterday. How many associations of the olden time are recalled by
this ancient and noble name, Mornay du Plessis!
The Marquis is agreeable, sensible, well-informed, and well-bred.
Though justly proud of his high descent, the consciousness of it is
never rendered visible by any symptom of that arrogance too often met
with in those who have less cause for pride, and can only be traced by
a natural dignity and bearing, worthy a descendant of the noble Sully.
Count Charles de Mornay is a very remarkable young man. With a
brilliant wit, the sallies of which can "set the table in a roar;" it
is never used at the expense of others, and, when he chooses to be
grave, the quickness and justice of his perception, and the fine tact
and good sense which mark his reflections, betray a mind of no common
order, and give the promise of future distinction.
Nothing can be more agreeable than the mode in which I pass my time
here. I read from nine until twelve: order the household arrangements,
and inspect the _menu_ at twelve: write letters or journalise from one
until four; drive out till six or half-past; return home, dress, dine,
pay visits, or receive them at home, and get to bed at one o'clock.
How much preferable is the French system of evening visits, to the
English custom of morning ones, which cut up time so abominably! Few
who have lived much abroad could submit patiently to have their
mornings broken in upon, when evening, which is the most suitable time
for relaxation, can be enlivened by the visits that are irksome at
other hours.
Paris is now nearly as empty as London is in September; all the _élite_
of French fashionable society having taken their departure for their
country houses, or for the different baths they frequent. I, who like
not crowds, prefer Paris at this season to any other, and shall be
rather sorry than glad when it fills again.
Madame Craufurd, Lady Barbara and Colonel Craufurd, the Ducs de
Gramont, Dalberg, and Mouchy, dined with us yesterday. We had music in
the evening, The Duc Dalberg is agreeable and well-bred, and his manner
has that suavity, mingled with reserve, said to be peculiar to those
who have lived much at courts, and filled diplomatic situations.
The Duc was Minister Plenipotentiary from Baden at Paris, when Napoleon
was First Consul, and escaped not censure on the occasion of the
seizure of the unfortunate Duc d'Enghien; of the intention of which it
was thought he ought to have apprised his court, and so have prevented
an event which has entailed just blame on all concerned in it, as well
as on some who were innocent.
There is nothing in the character of the Duc Dalberg to warrant a
belief of his being capable of lending himself to aught that was
disloyal, for he is an excellent man in all the relations of life, and
is esteemed and respected by as large a circle of friends as most
persons who have filled high situations can boast of.
The Duc de Mouchy is a very amiable as well as high-bred man; he has
been in England, and speaks English with fluency.
Letters from the camp of Luneville, received from our dear friends
to-day, give a very animated description of their doings there. The Duc
de Mouchy told me yesterday that they were winning golden opinions from
all with whom they came in contact there, by their urbanity and
hospitality. He said that people were not prepared to find the
handsomest and most fashionable woman at Paris, "the observed of all
observers," and the brightest ornament of the French court, doing the
honours to the wives of the officers of the camp with an amiability
that has captivated them all. The good Duc de Gramont was delighted at
hearing this account, for never was there a more affectionate father.
Went with a party yesterday to Montmorency. Madame Craufurd, the
Comtesse de Gand, the Baronne d'Ellingen, Comte F. de Belmont, and our
own circle, formed the party. It was gratifying to witness how much
dear Madame Craufurd enjoyed the excursion; she even rode on a donkey
through the woods, and the youngest person of the party did not enter
into the amusement with more spirit and gaiety. Montmorency is a
charming place, but not so the road to it, which, being paved, is very
tiresome.
We visited the hermitage where Rousseau wrote so many of his works, but
in which this strange and unhappy man found not that peace so long
sought by him in vain, and to which his own wayward temper and
suspicious nature offered an insurmountable obstacle.
As I sat in this humble abode, and looked around on the objects once
familiar to his eyes, I could not resist the sentiment of pity that
filled my breast, at the recollection that even in this tranquil
asylum, provided by friendship [2], and removed from the turmoil of the
busy world, so repugnant to his taste, the jealousies, the
heart-burnings, and the suspicions, that empoisoned his existence
followed him, rendering his life not only a source of misery to
himself, but of pain to others; for no one ever conferred kindness on
him without becoming the object of his suspicion, if not of his
aversion.
The life of Rousseau is one of the most humiliating episodes in the
whole history of literary men, and the most calculated to bring genius
into disrepute: yet the misery he endured more than avenged the wrongs
he inflicted; and, while admiring the productions of a genius, of which
even his enemies could not deny him the possession, we are more than
ever compelled to avow how unavailing is this glorious gift to confer
happiness on its owner, or to secure him respect or esteem, if
unaccompanied by goodness.
Who can reflect on the life of this man without a sense of the danger
to which Genius exposes its children, and a pity for their sufferings,
though too often self-inflicted? Alas! the sensibility which is one of
the most invariable characteristics of Genius, and by which its most
glorious efforts are achieved, if excited into unhealthy action by
over-exercise, not unseldom renders its possessor unreasonable and
wretched, while his works are benefiting or delighting others, and
while the very persons who most highly appreciate them are often the
least disposed to pardon the errors of their author.
As the dancer, by the constant practice of her art, soon loses that
roundness of _contour_ which is one of the most beautiful peculiarities
of her sex, the muscles of the legs becoming unnaturally developed at
the expense of the rest of the figure, so does the man of genius, by
the undue exercise of this gift, acquire an irritability that soon
impairs the temper, and renders his excess of sensibility a torment to
himself and to others.
The solitude necessary to the exercise of Genius is another fruitful
source of evil to its children. Abstracted from the world, they are apt
to form a false estimate of themselves and of it, and to entertain
exaggerated expectations from it. Their morbid feelings are little able
to support the disappointment certain to ensue, and they either rush
into a reprisal of imaginary wrongs, by satire on others, or inflict
torture on themselves by the belief, often erroneous, of the injuries
they have sustained.
I remembered in this abode a passage in one of the best letters ever
written by Rousseau, and addressed to Voltaire, on the subject of his
poem, entitled _Sur la Loi Naturelle, et sur le Désastre de Lisbonne_;
in which, referring to an assertion of Voltaire's that few persons
would wish to live over again on the condition of enduring the same
trials, and which Rousseau combats by urging that it is only the rich,
fatigued by their pleasures, or literary men, of whom he writes--"_Des
gens de lettres, de tous les ordres d'hommes le plus sédentaire, le
plus malsain, le plus réfléchissant, et, par conséquent, le plus
malheureux_," who would decline to live over again, had they the power.
This description of men of letters, written by one of themselves, is a
melancholy, but, alas! a true one, and should console the enviers of
genius for the want of a gift that but too often entails such misery on
its possessors.
The church of Montmorency is a good specimen of Gothic architecture,
and greatly embellishes the little town, which is built on the side of
a hill, and commands a delicious view of the chestnut forest and
valley, clothed with pretty villas, that render it so much and so
justly admired.
It was amusing to listen to the diversity of opinions entertained by
our party relative to Rousseau, as we wandered through the scenes which
he so often frequented; each individual censuring or defending him,
according to the bias of his or her disposition. On one point all
agreed; which was, that, if judged by his actions, little could be said
in mitigation of the conduct of him who, while writing sentiments
fraught with passion and tenderness, could consign his offspring to a
foundling hospital!
Having visited every object worthy of attention at Montmorency, we
proceeded to Enghien, to examine the baths established there. The
building is of vast extent, containing no less than forty chambers,
comfortably furnished for the accommodation of bathers; and a good
_restaurateur_ furnishes the repasts. The apartments command a
beautiful view, and the park of St.-Gratien offers a delightful
promenade to the visitors of Enghien.
Our route back to Paris was rendered very agreeable by the lively and
clever conversation of the Comtesse de Gand. I have rarely met with a
more amusing person.
With a most retentive memory, she possesses the tact that does not
always accompany this precious gift--that of only repeating what is
perfectly _à propos_ and interesting, with a fund of anecdotes that
might form an inexhaustible capital for a professional diner-out to set
up with; an ill-natured one never escapes her lips, and yet--hear it
all ye who believe, or act as if ye believe, that malice and wit are
inseparable allies!--it would be difficult to find a more entertaining
and lively companion.
Our old friend, Col. E. Lygon, came to see us to-day, and is as amiable
as ever. He is a specimen of a military man of which England may well
be proud.
The Ducs de Talleyrand and Dino, the Marquis de Mornay, the Marquis de
Dreux-Brezé, and Count Charles de Mornay, dined here yesterday. The
Marquis de Brezé is a clever man, and his conversation is highly
interesting. Well-informed and sensible, he has directed much of his
attention to politics without being, as is too often the case with
politicians, wholly engrossed by them. He appears to me to be a man
likely to distinguish himself in public life.
There could not be found two individuals more dissimilar, or more
formed for furnishing specimens of the noblemen of _la Vieille Cour_
and the present time, than the Duc de Talleyrand and the Marquis de
Dreux-Brezé. The Duc, well-dressed and well-bred, but offering in his
toilette and in his manners irrefragable evidence that both have been
studied, and his conversation bearing that high polish and urbanity
which, if not always characteristics of talent, conceal the absence of
it, represents _l'ancien régime_, when _les grands seigneurs_ were more
desirous to serve _les belles dames_ than their country, and more
anxious to be distinguished in the _salons_ of the Faubourg St.-Germain
than in the _Chambre de Parlement_.
The Marquis de Dreux-Brezé, well-dressed and well-bred, too, appears
not to have studied either his toilette or his manners; and, though by
no means deficient in polite attention to women, seems to believe that
there are higher and more praiseworthy pursuits than that of thinking
only how to please them, and bestows more thought on the _Chambre des
Pairs_ than on the _salons à la mode_.
One is a passive and ornamental member of society, the other a useful
and active politician, I have remarked that the Frenchmen of high birth
of the present time all seem disposed to take pains in fitting
themselves for the duties of their station. They read much and with
profit, travel much more than formerly, and are free from the narrow
prejudices against other countries, which, while they prove not a man's
attachment to his own, offer one of the most insurmountable of all
barriers to that good understanding so necessary to be maintained
between nations.
Dined yesterday at St.-Cloud with the Baron and Baroness de Ruysch; a
very agreeable and intellectual pair, who have made a little paradise
around them in the shape of an English pleasure ground, blooming with
rare shrubs and flowers.
Our old friend, Mr. Douglas Kinnaird--"the honourable Dug," as poor
Lord Byron used to call him--paid me a visit to-day. I had not seen him
for seven years, and these same years have left their traces on his
brow. He is in delicate health, and is only come over to Paris for a
very few days.
He has lived in the same scenes and in the same routine that we left
him, wholly engrossed by them, while
"I've taught me other tongues, and in strange eyes
Have made me not a stranger;"
and wonder how people can be content to dwell whole years in so
circumscribed, however useful, a circle.
Those who live much in London seem to me to have tasted the lotus
which, according to the fable of old, induced forgetfulness of the
past, so wholly are they engrossed by the present, and by the vortex in
which they find themselves plunged.
Much as I like England, and few love it more dearly, I should not like
to pass all the rest of my life in it. _All, all_: it is thus we ever
count on futurity, reckoning as if our lives were certain of being
prolonged, when we know not that the _all_ on which we so boldly
calculate may not be terminated in a day, nay, even in an hour. Who is
there that can boast an English birth, that would not wish to die at
home and rest in an English grave?
Sir Francis Burdett has arrived, and means to stay some time here. He
called on us yesterday with Colonel Leicester Stanhope, and is as
agreeable and good-natured as ever. He is much _fêted_ at Paris, and
receives great attention from the Duc d'Orléans, who has offered him
his boxes at the theatres, and shews him all manner of civilities.
Colonel Leicester Stanhope gave me some interesting details of poor
Byron's last days in Greece, and seems to have duly appreciated his
many fine qualities, in spite of the errors that shrouded but could not
eclipse them. The fine temper and good breeding that seem to be
characteristic of the Stanhope family, have not degenerated in this
branch of it; and his manner, as well as his voice and accent, remind
me very forcibly of my dear old friend his father, who is one of the
most amiable, as well as agreeable men I ever knew, and who I look
forward with pleasure to meeting on my return home.
The Marquise Palavicini from Genoa, her daughter-in-law the Princesse
Doria, sir Francis Burdett, and Colonel Leicester Stanhope, dined with
us yesterday. The marquise Palavicini is a very sensible and agreeable
woman, and the Princesse Doria is very pretty and amiable. Like most of
her countrywomen, this young and attractive person is wholly free from
that affectation which deteriorates from so many of the women of other
countries; and the simplicity of her manner, which is as remote from
_gaucherie_ as it is from affectation, invests her with a peculiar
charm.
We talked over Genoa, where we have spent so many pleasant days, and
the beautiful gardens of the villa Palavicini, the possession of which
has always tempted me to envy its owner. I have never passed an hour in
the society of Italian women without feeling the peculiar charm of
their manner, and wishing that its ease and simplicity were more
generally adopted.
The absence of any effort to shine, the gentleness without insipidity,
the liveliness without levity, and above all, the perfect good nature
that precludes aught that could be disagreeable to others, form the
distinguishing characteristics of the manner of Italian women from the
princess to the peasant, and are alike practised by both towards all
with whom they converse.
Lord Darnley and Lord Charlemont dined here yesterday. It is pleasant
to see old and familiar faces again, even though the traces of Time on
their brows recall to mind the marks which the ruthless tyrant must
have inflicted on our own. We all declared that we saw no change in
each other, but the looks of surprise and disappointment exchanged at
meeting contradicted the assertion.
Mr. Charles Young, the tragedian, dined here to-day. We were very glad
to see him again, for he is a very estimable as well as agreeable
member of society, and reflects honour on his profession.
Lord Lansdowne came here with Count Flahault this evening. It is now
seven years since I last saw him, but time has dealt kindly with him
during that period, as it ever does to those who possess equanimity of
mind and health of body. Lord Lansdowne has always appeared to me to be
peculiarly formed for a statesman.
With a fortune that exempts him from incurring even the suspicion of
mercenary motives for holding office, and a rank which precludes that
of entertaining the ambition of seeking a higher, he is free from the
angry passions that more or loss influence the generality of other men.
To an unprejudiced mind, he joins self-respect without arrogance,
self-possession without effrontery, solid and general information,
considerable power of application to business, a calm and gentlemanly
demeanour, and an urbanity of manner which, while it conciliates good
will, never descends to, or encourages, familiarity.
A lover and liberal patron of the fine arts, he is an encourager of
literature, and partial to the society of literary men; irreproachable
in private life, and respected in public, what is there wanting to
render him faultless?
I, who used to enjoy a good deal of his society in England, am of
opinion, that the sole thing wanting is the warmth and cordiality of
manner which beget friends and retain partisans, and without which no
minister can count on constant supporters.
It is a curious circumstance, that the political party to which Lord
Lansdowne is opposed can boast a man among those most likely to hold
the reins of government, to whom all that I have said of Lord Lansdowne
might, with little modification, be applied. I refer to Sir Robert
Peel, whose acquaintance I enjoyed in England; and who is much younger,
and perhaps bolder, than Lord Lansdowne.
Happy, in my opinion, is the country which possesses such men; though
the friends and admirers of each would probably feel little disposed to
admit any comparison to be instituted between them, and would deride,
if not assail, any one for making it.
Sir Francis Burdell dined here yesterday, and we had the Count
Alexandra de Laborde and Count Charles de Mornay, to meet him. Several
people came in the evening. I have lent a pile of books to Sir F. B.,
who continues to read as much as formerly, and forgets nothing that he
peruses. His information is, consequently, very extensive, and renders
his conversation very interesting. His thirst for knowledge is
insatiable, and leads him to every scientific resort where it may be
gratified.
Spent last evening at Madame Craufurd's. Met there, the Princesse
Castelcicala and her daughter, Lady Drummond, Mr. T. Steuart, and
various others--among them, a daughter of the Marquess of Ailesbury,
who has married a French nobleman, and resides in Paris.
Lady Drummond talked to me a good deal of Sir William, and evinced much
respect for his memory. She is proud, and she may well be so, of having
been the wife of such a man; though there was but little sympathy
between their tastes and pursuits, and his death can produce so little
change in her habits of life, that she can scarcely be said to miss
him.
He passed his days and the greater portion of his nights in reading or
writing, living in a suite of rooms literally filled with books; the
tables, chairs, sofas, and even the floors, being encumbered with them,
going out only for a short time in a carriage to get a little air, or
occasionally to dine out.
He seldom saw Lady Drummond, except at dinner, surrounded by a large
party. She passed, as she still passes her time, in the duties of an
elaborate toilette, paying or receiving visits, giving or going to
_fêtes_, and playing with her lap-dog. A strange wife for one of the
most intellectual men of his day! And yet this total dissimilarity
produced no discord between them; for she was proud of his
acquirements, and he was indulgent to her less _spirituelle_ tastes.
Lady Drummond does much good at Naples; for, while the _beau monde_ of
that gay capital are entertained in a style of profuse hospitality at
her house, the poor find her charity dispensed with a liberal hand in
all their exigencies; so that her vast wealth is a source of comfort to
others as well as to herself.
I have been reading _Vivian Grey_--a very wild, but very clever
book, full of genius in its unpruned luxuriance; the writer revels
in all the riches of a brilliant imagination, and expends them
prodigally--dazzling, at one moment, by his passionate eloquence, and,
at another, by his touching pathos.
A pleasant dinner-party, yesterday. The Duc de Mouchy, the Marquis de
Mornay, Count Flahault, the Count Maussion, Mons. de Montrond, and Mr.
Standish, were the guests. Count Flahault is so very agreeable and
gentlemanly a man, that no one can call in question the taste of the
Baroness Keith in selecting him for her husband.
Mr. Standish has married a French lady, accomplished, clever, and
pretty. Intermarriages between French and English are now not
unfrequent; and it is pleasant to observe the French politeness and
_bon ton_ ingrafted on English sincerity and good sense. Of this, Mr.
Standish offers a very good example; for, while he has acquired all the
Parisian ruse of manner, he has retained all the English good qualities
for which he has always been esteemed.