Mr. Rogers and Mr. Luttrell spent last evening here. The minds of both
teem with reflection, and their conversation is a high intellectual
treat to me. There is a repose in the society of clever and refined
Englishmen to be met with in no other: the absence of all attempts to
shine, or at least of the evidence of such attempts; the mildness of
the manners; the low voices, the freedom from any flattery, except the
most delicate and acceptable of all to a fastidious person, namely,
that implied by the subjects of conversation chosen, and the interest
yielded to them;--yes, these peculiarities have a great charm for me,
and Mr. Rogers and Mr. Luttrell possess them in an eminent degree.
The mercurial temperaments of the French preclude them from this
calmness of manner and mildness of speech. More obsequiously polite and
attentive to women, the exuberance of their animal spirits often
hurries them into a gaiety evinced by brilliant sallies and clever
observations. They shine, but they let the desire to do so be too
evident to admit of that quietude that forms one of the most agreeable,
as well as distinguishing, attributes of the conversation of a refined
and highly-intellectual Englishman.
---- and ---- spent last evening here. Two more opposite characters
could not easily have encountered. One influenced wholly by his
feelings, the other by his reason, each seemed to form a low estimate
of the other; and this, _malgré_ all the restraint imposed by good
breeding, was but too visible. Neither has any cause to be vain, for he
becomes a dupe who judges with his heart instead of his head, and an
egotist who permits not his heart to be touched by the toleration of
his head. ---- is often duped, but sometimes liked for his good nature;
while ----, if never duped, is never liked.
I took Lord John Russell, Mr. Rogers, and Mr. Luttrell yesterday to La
Muette to see M. Erard's fine collection of pictures, with which they
were very much pleased. Our drive to the Bois de Boulogne was a very
agreeable one, and was rendered so by their pleasant conversation.
I have presented Mr. Rogers with some acquisitions for his cabinet of
antique _bijouterie_, with which he appears delighted. I outbid M.
Millingen, who was bargaining at Naples for these little treasures, and
secured a diminutive Cupid, a Bacchus, and a small bunch of grapes of
pure gold, and of exquisite workmanship, which will now be transferred
to the museum of my friend, Mr. Rogers. He will not, I dare say, be
more grateful for the gift of my Cupid than his sex generally are when
ladies no longer young bestow their love on them, and so I hinted when
giving him the little winged god; but, _n'importe_, the gift may
please, though the giver be forgotten.
Lord Pembroke dined here yesterday, he is peculiarly well-bred and
gentlemanlike, and looks a nobleman from top to toe. He has acquired
all the polish and _savoir-vivre_ of the best foreign society without
having lost any of the more solid and fine qualities peculiar to the
most distinguished portion of his countrymen. Lord Pembroke maintains
the reputation of English taste in equipages by sporting horses and
carriages that excite the admiration, if not the envy, of the
Parisians, among whom he is, and deserves to be, very popular.
The Duke of Hamilton paid me a long visit to-day. We talked over old
times, and our mutual friend Dr. Parr, in whose society we formerly
passed such agreeable hours in St. James's Square. The Duke is a very
well-informed man, has read much, and remembers what he has read; and
the ceremoniousness of his manners, with which some people find fault,
I have got used to, and rather like than otherwise. The mixture of
chivalric sentiments, Scotch philosophy, and high breeding of the old
French school which meet in the Duke, render his conversation very
piquant.
He has, indeed, the dignity of his three dukedoms; the _fierté_ of that
of Chatelherault, the reserve of that of England, and the spirit of
that of Scotland: witness his dignified reproof to the Duc de Blacas at
Rome, when that very unpopular personage, then Ambassador from the
court of France, presumed to comment on the frequency of the Duke of
Hamilton's visits to the Princess Pauline Borghese, who, being a
Buonaparte, was looked on with a jealous eye by Blacas.
Monsieur Mignet spent last evening here. The more I see of him the more
I am pleased with his society. To a mind stored with knowledge he joins
a happy facility of bringing forth its treasures, never as if
ostentatious of his wealth, but in illustration of any topic that is
discussed, on which he brings it to bear most aptly and appropriately.
His countenance lights up with expression when he converses, and adds
force to an eloquence always interesting and often instructive.
Though Monsieur Mignet shines in monologue more than in dialogue, there
is nothing either dictatorial or pedantic in his manner, he utters
opinions new and original, which it is evident he has deeply reflected
on, and elucidates them to the comprehension of his auditors with great
felicity. I like listening to the conversation of such a man; and
clever people, when they find an attentive listener, are incited to
talk well.
In general society, in which many persons of totally opposite tastes,
pursuits, and opinions, are thrown together, a clever man has seldom an
opportunity of bringing forth the treasures of his mind. He can only
dispense the small coin, which is easily changed with those he comes in
contact with; but the weighty and valuable, metal is not brought into
use, because he knows the greater number of those, around him could
give him no equivalent in exchange.
----, conversing with Lady ---- to-day, she observed that in early life
conscience has less influence than in advanced life, and accounted for
it by the nearer approach to death rendering people more alarmed, and
consequently more disposed to listen to it. Some persons attribute all
good impulses to fear, as if mortals were more governed by its
influence than by that of love and gratitude.
If conscience is less frequently heard in youth, it is that the
tumultuous throbbing of the heart, and the wild suggestions of the
passions, prevent its "still small voice" from being audible; but in
the decline of life, when the heart beats languidly and the passions
slumber, it makes itself heard, and on its whispers depends our
happiness or misery.
My old acquaintance, Lord Palmerston, has arrived at Paris, and dined
here yesterday, to meet the Duc and Duchesse de Guiche, Count Valeski,
and Mr. Poulett Thomson. Seven years have produced no change in Lord
Palmerston. He is the same intelligent, sensible, and agreeable person
that I remember him to have been for many years.
Lord Palmerston has much more ability than people are disposed to give
him credit for. He is, or used to be, when I lived in England,
considered a good man of business, acute in the details, and quick in
the comprehension of complicated questions. Even this is no mean
praise, but I think him entitled to more; for, though constantly and
busily occupied with official duties, he has contrived to find time to
read every thing worth reading, and to make himself acquainted with the
politics of other countries.
Lively, well-bred, and unaffected, Lord Palmerston is a man that is so
well acquainted with the routine of official duties, performs them so
readily and pleasantly, and is so free from the assumption of
self-importance that too frequently appertains to adepts in them, that,
whether Whig or Tory government has the ascendant in England, his
services will be always considered a desideratum to be secured if
possible.
Lord Castlereagh, Mr. Cutlar Fergusson, and Count Valeski dined here
yesterday. Lord C. has just arrived from England, and is a good
specimen of the young men of the present day. He reminds me of his
uncle, the late Marquess of Londonderry, one of the most amiable and
well-bred men I ever knew. Lord C---- is very animated and piquant in
conversation, thinks for himself, and says what he thinks with a
frankness not often met with in our times. Yet there is no _brusquerie_
in his manners; _au contraire_, they are soft and very pleasing; and
this contrast between the originality and fearlessness of his opinions,
and the perfect good-breeding with which they are expressed, lend a
peculiar attraction to his manner. If Lord C---- were not a man of
fashion he would become something vastly better, for he has much of the
chivalrous spirit of his father and the tact of his uncle. Fashion is
the gulf in whose vortex so many fine natures are wrecked in England;
what a pity it is that they cannot be rescued from its dangers!
Mr. Cutlar Fergusson is a clever and amiable man, mild, well-informed,
and agreeable.
The Baron and Baroness de Ruysch spent yesterday with us. They are an
estimable couple, and very pleasant withal. His philosophy, which has
nothing of the ascetic in it, harmonises very well with her vivacity,
and her sprightliness never degenerates into levity. It is the gaiety
of a mind at ease, pleased with others, and content with self. How
unlike the exuberant spirits of ----, which always depress mine more
than a day's _tête-à-tête_ with the moodiest hypochondriac could do!
Nothing can be more dreary and cheerless than the weather; and a second
winter's residence at Paris has convinced me that London is infinitely
preferable at this season, except to those who consider gaiety an
equivalent for comfort. The negligence and bad management of the
persons whose duty it is to remove the snow or mud from the streets,
render them not only nearly impassable for pedestrians but exceedingly
disagreeable to those who have carriages.
Previously to the heavy fall of snow that occurred a week ago, and
which still encumbers the streets, a succession of wet days occasioned
an accumulation of mud that gave forth most unsavoury odours, and lent
a damp chilliness to the atmosphere which sent home to their sick
chambers, assailed by sore throats and all the other miseries peculiar
to colds, many of those who were so imprudent as to venture abroad. The
snow, instead of being swept away, is piled up on each side of the
streets, forming a wall that increases the gloom and chilliness that
reigns around. The fogs, too, rise from the Seine, and hover over the
Champs-Elysées and streets adjacent to it, rendering a passage through
them a service of danger.
Lord Castlereagh and Madame Grassini dined here last evening. He was
much amused with the raciness and originality of her remarks; and she
was greatly gratified by the polite attention with which he listened to
them. At one moment, she pronounced him to be "_la vraie image de ce
cher et bon Lord Castlereagh_," whom she had so much liked; and the
next she declared him to be exactly like "_ce preux chevalier, son
père_," who was so irresistible that no female heart, or, as she said,
at least no Italian female heart, could resist him.
Then she spoke of "_ce cher et excellent Duc de Wellington_," who had
been so kind to her, asked a thousand questions about him, the tears
starting into her brilliant eyes as she dwelt on the reminiscences of
those days when, considered the finest singer and most beautiful woman
of her time, she received a homage accorded to her beauty and talent
never since so universally decreed to any other _prima donna_. The
Grassini cannot be known without being liked, she is so warm-hearted,
unaffected, and sincere.
The prettiest sight imaginable was a party of our friends in sledges,
who yesterday passed through the streets. This was the first time I had
ever seen this mode of conveyance, and nothing can be more picturesque.
The sledge of the Duc de Guiche, in which reclined the Duchesse, the
Duc seated behind her and holding, at each side of her, the reins of
the horse, presented the form of a swan, the feathers beautifully
sculptured. The back of this colossal swan being hollowed out, admitted
a seat, which, with the whole of the interior, was covered with fine
fur. The harness and trappings of the superb horse that drew it were
richly decorated, and innumerable silver bells were attached to it, the
sound of which was pleasant to the ear.
The Duchesse, wrapped in a pelisse of the finest Russian sable, never
looked handsomer than in her sledge, her fair cheeks tinged with a
bright pink by the cold air, and her luxuriant silken curls falling on
the dark fur that encircled her throat.
Count A. d'Orsay's sledge presented the form of a dragon, and the
accoutrements and horse were beautiful; the harness was of red morocco,
embroidered with gold. The Prince Poniatowski and Comte Valeski
followed in sledges of the ordinary Russian shape, and the whole
cavalcade had a most picturesque effect. The Parisians appeared to be
highly delighted with the sight, and, above all, with the beautiful
Duchesse borne along through the snow in her swan.
My medical adviser pressed me so much to accede to the wishes of my
friends and try the salutary effect of a drive in a sledge, that I
yesterday accompanied them to St.-Cloud, where we dined, and returned
at night by torch-light. Picturesque as is the appearance of the
sledges by day-light, it is infinitely more so by night, particularly
of those that have the form of animals or birds.
The swan of the Duchesse de Guiche had bright lamps in its eyes, which
sent forth a clear light that was reflected in prismatic colours on the
drifted snow, and ice-gemmed branches of the trees, as we drove through
the Bois de Boulogne. Grooms, bearing lighted torches, preceded each
sledge; and the sound of the bells in the Bois, silent and deserted at
that hour, made one fancy one's self transported to some far northern
region.
The dragon of Comte A. d'Orsay looked strangely fantastic at night. In
the mouth, as well as the eyes, was a brilliant red light; and to a
tiger-skin covering, that nearly concealed the cream-coloured horse,
revealing only the white mane and tail, was attached a double line of
silver gilt bells, the jingle of which was very musical and cheerful.
The shadows of the tall trees falling on an immense plain of snow, the
light flashing in fitful gleams from the torches and lamps as we were
hurried rapidly along, looked strange and unearthly, and reminded me of
some of the scenes described in those northern fictions perused in the
happy days of childhood.
This excursion and exposure to the wintry air procured me a good
night's sleep,--the first enjoyed since the severity of the weather has
deprived me of my usual exercise. This revival of an old fashion (for
in former days sledges were considered as indispensable in the winter
_remise_ of a grand seigneur in France as cabriolets or britchkas are
in the summer) has greatly pleased the Parisian world, and crowds flock
to see them as they pass along. The velocity of the movement, the
gaiety of the sound of the bells, and the cold bracing air, have a very
exhilarating effect on the spirits.
Met the Prince Polignac at the Duchesse de G----'s today. His
countenance is remarkably good, his air and manner _très-distingué_,
and his conversation precisely what might be expected from an English
gentleman--mild, reasonable, and unaffected. If I had not previously
known him to be one or the most amiable men in the world, I should have
soon formed this judgment of him, for every expression of his
countenance, and every word he utters, give this impression.
The Prince Polignac has lived much in England, and seems to me to be
formed to live there, for his tastes are decidedly English. Twice
married, both his wives were English; so that it is no wonder that he
has adopted much of our modes of thinking. Highly as I am disposed to
estimate him, I do not think that he is precisely the person calculated
to cope with the difficulties that must beset a minister, and, above
all, a minister in France, in times like the present.
The very qualities that render him so beloved in private life, and
which make his domestic circle one of the happiest in the world, are
perhaps those which unfit him for so trying a post as the one he is now
called on to hold--a post requiring abilities so various, and
qualifications so manifold, that few, if any, could be found to possess
the rare union.
A spirit is rife in France that renders the position of _premier_ in it
almost untenable; and he must unite the firmness of a stoic, the
knowledge of a Machiavelli, and the boldness of a Napoleon, who could
hope to stem the tide that menaces to set in and sweep away the present
institutions. If honesty of intention, loyalty to his sovereign,
personal courage, attachment to his country, and perfect
disinterestedness could secure success, then might Prince Polignac
expect it.