We are now at the door, and I have rung. On whom do you imagine the
curtain will rise? On a _réunion_ of philosophers come to discuss
questions in botany, with M. de ——, or on artists, assembled to talk
over the troubles of their profession, with his wife? The door opens,
and I enter.
The little drawing-room is crowded; chiefly with men. Two card tables
are set, and at one I recognize a party, in which are three dukes of the
_veille cour_, with M. de Duras at their head! The rest of the company
was a little more mixed, but, on the whole, it savoured strongly of
Coblentz and the _emigration_. This was more truly French than any thing
I had yet stumbled on. One or two of the grandees looked at me as if,
better informed than Scott, they knew that General La Fayette had not
gone to America to live. Some of these gentlemen certainly do not love
us; but I had cut out too much work for the night to stay and return the
big looks of even dukes, and, watching an opportunity, when the eyes of
Madame de —— were another way, I stole out of the room.
Charles now took his orders, and we drove down into the heart of the
town, somewhere near the general post-office, or into those mazes of
streets that, near two years of practice, have not yet taught me to
thread. We entered the court of a large hotel, that was brilliantly
lighted, and I ascended, by a noble flight of steps, to the first floor.
Ante-chambers communicated with a magnificent saloon, which appeared to
be near forty feet square. The ceilings were lofty, and the walls were
ornamented with military trophies, beautifully designed, and which had
the air of being embossed and gilded. I had got into the hotel of one of
Napoleon’s marshals, you will say, of at least into one of a marshal of
the old _régime_. The latter conjecture may be true, but the house is
now inhabited by a great woollen manufacturer, whom the events of the
day has thrown into the presence of all these military emblems. I found
the worthy _industriel_ surrounded by a groupe, composed of men of his
own stamp, eagerly discussing the recent changes in the government. The
women, of whom there might have been a dozen, were ranged, like a
neglected parterre, along the opposite side of the room. I paid my
compliments, staid a few minutes, and stole away to the next engagement.
We had now to go to a little, retired, house on the _Champs Elysées_.
There were only three or four carriages before the door, and on
ascending to a small, but very neat apartment, I found some twenty
people collected. The mistress of the house was an English lady, single,
of a certain age, and a daughter of the Earl of ——, who was once
governor of New York. Here was a very different set. One or two ladies
of the old court, women of elegant manners, and seemingly of good
information, several English women, pretty, quiet and clever, besides a
dozen men of different nations. This was one of those little _réunions_
that are so common in Paris, among the foreigners, in which a small
infusion of French serves to leaven a considerable batch of human beings
from other parts of the world. As it is always a relief to me to speak
my own language, after being a good while among foreigners, I staid an
hour at this house. In the course of the evening an Irishman of great
wit and of exquisite humour, one of the paragons of the age in his way,
came in. In the course of conversation, this gentleman, who is the
proprietor of an Irish estate, and a Catholic, told me of an atrocity in
the laws of his country, of which until then I was ignorant. It seems
that any younger brother, or next heir, might claim the estate by
turning Protestant, or drive the incumbent to the same act. I was
rejoiced to hear that there was hardly an instance of such profligacy
known.[12] To what baseness will not the struggle for political
ascendancy urge us!
Footnote 12: