Oh what reproaches! However, three letters at once are a compensation
for every thing. I read the news from home till I nearly appeased my
appetite for it, and can hardly express my gratitude to you * * *
* * * * *
You are indeed right; such an ally as you would be of great use to me.
Governess Prose would have kept Poetry better within bounds; and the boy
who never grows old, and whose nature it is to play with gay
soap-bubbles, would perhaps, under the guidance of a sage Mentor, have
tried to pluck some more solid earthly fruit, instead of grasping at the
rainbow balls. 'Mais tout ce qui est, est pour le mieux!' Let us never
forget this axiom. Voltaire was wrong to turn it into jest; and Panglos
was really in the right. This persuasion can alone console us under all
afflictions; and for myself, I confess it is the essence of my religion.
Your letter No. I. is wisdom and goodness itself: but, dear Julia, as
far as the former is concerned, it is powder and shot thrown away upon
me. I am too much--what shall I call it?--a man of feeling and impulse,
and shall never be wise, _i. e._ prudent in a worldly sense. But I am so
much the more accessible to kindness,--yours only excepted; the measure
of which is already so full and overflowing, that not a drop more can
find entrance into my heart. With this full heart you must once for all
be satisfied; your poor friend can give you no more. But is it possible
that you can find room for fears that these two years of absence can
have changed me towards you? that I may no longer find in you what I
formerly found,--and so on. Do you know what the English would call
this?--'Nonsense.' That I can wish nothing more intensely than to see
you again, my unwearied correspondence might surely convince you; but
you quite forget that * * *
* * * * *
How often have I told you that I am not suited to the world! My defects
as well as my merits, nay even the intellectual character which you
imagine you find in me, are only so many stumbling-blocks in my way. A
man who is intelligent, somewhat poetical, good-natured and sincere, is
commonly awkward and ill at ease in every-day society. Like all
those,--to use the words of an English writer,--whose feelings and
affections paralyze their advantages, I do not find out till too late
what was the prudent and discreet course: "an artless disposition,"
continues the Englishman, "which is ill adapted to enter the lists with
the cunning and the cold selfishness of the world." I know a
distinguished man, a hundredfold my superior, who in this respect is in
the same predicament, and who continually laments that he has been
transformed from a poet into a statesman. "I ought to have ended my life
as I began it," said he; "wandering about the world unknown, and
rejoicing undisturbed in the beauty and grandeur of God's works; or
remote from men, shut up in my study, alone with my books, my fancy, and
my faithful dog."[148]
_Oct. 31st._
I spent a very pleasant evening to-day at Lady M----'s. The company was
small, but amusing, and enlivened by the presence of two very pretty
friends of our hostess, who sang in the best Italian style. I talked a
great deal with Lady M---- on various subjects, and she has talent and
feeling enough always to excite a lively interest in her conversation.
On the whole, I think I did not say enough in her favour in my former
letter; at any rate, I did not then know one of her most charming
qualities,--that of possessing two such pretty relatives.
The conversation fell upon her works, and she asked me how I liked her
Salvator Rosa? "I have not read it," replied I; "because," (I added by
way of excusing myself, 'tant bien que mal,') "I like your fictions so
much, that I did not choose to read any thing historical from the pen of
the most imaginative of romance writers." "O, that is only a romance,"
said she; "you may read it without any qualms of conscience." "Very
well," thought I; "probably that will apply to your travels too,"--but
this I kept to myself. "Ah," said she, "believe me, it is only ennui
that sets my pen in motion; our destiny in this world is such a wretched
one that I try to forget it in writing." (Probably the Lord Lieutenant
had not invited her, or some other great personage had failed in his
engagement to her, for she was quite out of spirits.) "What a fearful
puzzle is this world," said she: "Is there a presiding Power or not? And
if there be one, and he were malevolent! what a horrible idea!" "But in
Heaven's name," replied I, "how can a woman of sense, like you,--forgive
me,--utter such nonsense?" "Ah, I know well enough all that you can say
on that subject," said she; "certainly, no man can give me." This
obscurity in a most acute mind was unintelligible to me, even in a
woman. ('Ne vous en fachez pas, Julie!')
Lady M----'s husband, formerly a physician, now a philosopher and
author, and what the French call 'un bon homme,' affecting moreover the
man of taste and judgment, gave me a book of his, containing a
thoroughly materialist system of philosophy: there are, however, some
good things in it, and it has altogether more merit than I should have
expected from the author. I was busied in reading it half the night.
From the unconnected and daring character of the whole, I however
concluded either that Lady M---- had written a considerable portion of
it herself, or at least that these views of things had thrown her mind
into such a state of doubt and confusion, that she had actually imagined
the question whether God might not possibly be malevolent. Your
celebrated people are but men like others, Heaven knows!--scholars and
statesmen, philosophers and poets. At every acquaintance of this sort
that I make, I think of Oxenstierna, who, when his young son expressed
some hesitation and diffidence as to the part he should play at the
Congress of Münster in the presence of so many great and wise men,
replied with a smile, "Ah, my son, depart in peace, and see by what
manner of men the world is governed!"
_Nov. 1st._
'Les Catholiques me font la cour ici.' The * * * sent me word through
his wife, that as I was a lover of their church music, I should go to
their chapel to-day, where the choir would be remarkably full and good,
and he himself was to perform the service. I heard indeed some
magnificent vocal music, (in which female voices took part,) accompanied
only by some few notes of a powerful organ. It was a high
enjoyment--this sublime music, which filled the soul with a fulness of
delight, and raised it on its soft wings above the cares of this lower
world, while the whole congregation knelt in reverent supplication.
You will begin to think, dear Julia, that I intend to imitate the Duke
of C----, and turn Catholic. And to say the truth, the motives which
lead to such a change do not appear to me wholly absurd.
Protestantism,--such Protestantism as we commonly find,--is not a whit
more rational, and far less poetical and attractive to the senses. I am
fully persuaded, however, that a new Luther or a new Messiah is at hand,
and will help us through all our difficulties and doubts: then we shall
not need to cast a look behind us;--till then, I can quite imagine that
many may find more consistency, at least, in the Catholic faith. It is
no imperfect half-idolatry, but perfect and consistent,--a ladder
descending from heaven to earth, whose last steps are those deified
creatures, those kind sympathizing saints of both sexes, who are so near
to us, and who know so well our human wishes, emotions, and passions! *
* *
* * * * *
When the priest and the acolytes toss about the censers; when the bishop
every minute puts on a fresh embroidered garment,--now standing still
before the altar, now running forwards, then backwards, then touching
the ground with his forehead, and at length turning himself about like a
weather-cock with the pyx, and then keeping his eyes fixed upon it as
upon a microscope,--I am perfectly prepared to hear any of the miracles,
wonders, or monstrous absurdities with which religion has been overlaid.
But when a man in simple garb, and quiet reasonable appearance, gets up
and speaks to me of patience, of purity, of eternal truth and eternal
love, and then goes on to ascribe to the God of justice and of love, and
to his noblest and purest interpreter on earth, fables and atrocities
which shock every sound and unperverted understanding, and then requires
me to receive them as something holy and divine,--I turn disgusted from
such hypocrisy or such folly. A bigot may reply, Your sound
understanding is no measure for the ways or the works of God. To which I
answer, But _your_ God is a human being; and our understanding and our
reason, with our knowledge of external nature, and the experience thence
derived, are the only true and genuine revelation of God, of which we
are all sharers and which no one can doubt. Man is so formed by nature,
that it is his inevitable destiny for ever to carry on through these
means his own education, for ever to advance in the career of
improvement. Thus Christianity was a consequence of this progressive
civilization; as were at an earlier period the Mosaic law, and at a
later the Reformation, and its second act the French Revolution. Its
latest results are the universal liberty of thought and of printing
which have sprung from the latter event, and all that is now preparing
by their more tranquil but so much the more certain operation. In every
case we find only the results of the same gradual civilization. No man
can know the highest point which this civilization will reach; but be
that point what it may, it must always retain its human character, and
be furthered by human means.
_November 2d._
My last and longest visit this morning was to the sweet girls I met at
Lady M----'s. I took them some Italian music, which they sang like
nightingales, and with a total absence of all pretension and all
affectation. Their father is a distinguished physician; and like most of
the 'doctors' of eminence here, a 'Baronet' or 'Knight,' a title which
is not esteemed a mark of nobility in England, although some families of
great antiquity and consideration bear it. There are, however, Creti and
Pleti, as among our lower nobility. A Baronet is generally called not by
his family, but by his Christian name; as Sir Charles, Sir Anthony; as
in Vienna they say, Graf Tinterle, Kürst Muckerle, and so on. The
medical Knight of whom I now speak, received his title in consequence of
the establishment of excellent baths, and is a very interesting man. His
wife seemed to me still more remarkable for talent. She is very superior
to her celebrated relative in accurate tact and judgment, and possesses
an extraordinary power of mimicry, whose comic bent does not always
spare her own family. The daughters, though perfectly different, are
both very original; the one in the gentle, the other in the wild
'genre.' I always call her Lady M----'s 'wild Irish girl.' All three
have a characteristic nationality,[149] and indeed have never quitted
Ireland.
In the evening Lady M---- told me that the translations of her works,
which were often so bad as to destroy the sense, were a source of great
vexation to her. In her Letters on Italy for instance, where she says of
the Genoese, "They bought the scorn of all Europe," the translator read
for _scorn_, _corn_, and wrote, 'Gênes dans ce temps achetait tout le
blé de l'Europe.'
_November 3d._
I rose early, and went to the window, when a genuine Irish scene
presented itself to my eyes; such a one as no other country can show.
Opposite to me in the street sat an old woman selling apples, and
smoking her pipe with great satisfaction. Nearer to the house a man in a
ragged dress was performing all sorts of antics, assisted by his monkey.
A regular ring of people, four or five deep, surrounded him, and at
every fresh trick there was a loud shout, accompanied by such
'demonstrations,' cries and gesticulations, that you would have thought
they were quarrelling, and would soon get to blows. The recommencement
of the acting, however, immediately caused a deathlike stillness. But
now the most lively person of the audience could not be satisfied to
remain a mere spectator; she must take a part in the action; and with
uncontrollable gaiety sprang into the magic circle, seized the terrified
monkey, and outdid him in antics, leaps, and grimaces of every kind,
which were rewarded by the redoubled shouts and laughter of the
multitude. The rage for acting grew infectious; many joined the first
actress; the order which had hitherto prevailed became more and more
lost in wild confusion; the original performer, anxious for the safety
of his ally the monkey, or fearful lest he should be corrupted by bad
example, broke hastily off. His retreat soon assumed the air of a
hurried flight; the whole crowd rushed, screaming and shouting, after
him; every one tried to be close at his heels, some jeered at him, and
several shilelahs, which pleasure had till now kept sheathed, came to
view. Others took the part of the fleeing artist, who meanwhile
disappeared; and before they knew what they were about, the pursuit
ended in a universal battle among the pursuers.
A bachelor's dinner at Lord S----'s, at which I was present, closed my
day nearly as tumultuously, though not quite so violently, and kept me
awake till midnight. 'Voilà tout ce que j'ai à vous conter
d'au-jourdhui.'
_November 6th._
I spend a great deal of my time with the little nightingales, see Lady
M---- frequently, and avoid general society as much as I can. The young
ladies keep a burlesque journal, in which they write a chronicle of
their daily 'fata,' illustrated with the most extravagant drawings,
which is infinitely diverting. After that we sing, talk, or act
pictures, in which the mother, with her talent for the drama, contrives
admirable dresses out of the most heterogeneous materials. You would
have laughed if you had seen the 'wild Irish girl,' with moustaches and
whiskers marked with charcoal, pocket-handkerchief and stick in her
hand, come in as my caricature. These girls have an inexhaustible fund
of grace and vivacity, extremely un-English, but truly Irish.
The eldest, who is eighteen, has brown eyes, and hair of a most singular
kind and expression, the latter has a sort of deep golden hue without
being red, and in the former is a tranquil humid glow, over which comes
at times a perfectly red light like that of fire; but yet it always
remains only an intense glow, not a lightning-flash like that which
often glances from the eyes of the little wild girl. With her, all is
flame; and under her maidenly blushes there often breaks out the
determination and high spirit of a boy. Indiscreet, and carried away by
the impulse of the moment, she sometimes gives way to too great
vivacity, which, however, from her sweet simplicity and inimitable
grace, does but enhance the charm which distinguishes her. To-day when
my carriage was announced, I exclaimed with a sigh, "Ah, que cette
voiture vient mal à propos!" "Eh bien," cried she, with the perfect air
of a little hussar, (she was still in male costume,) "envoyez la au
diable." A very severe and reproving look from her mamma, and one of
terror from her gentle sister, covered all of her little face, that was
not concealed by her disguise, over and over with scarlet: she cast down
her eyes ashamed, and looked indescribably pretty.
_Nov. 17th._
Lady M---- received me to-day in her authoress-boudoir, where I found
her writing, not without some view to effect, elegantly dressed, and
with a mother-of-pearl and gold pen in her hand. She was employed on a
new book, for which she had invented a very good title, "Memoirs of
Myself and for Myself." She asked me whether she should put 'of myself'
or 'for myself' first. I decided for the former as the more natural
order; for I observed she must _write_, before she can _have written_.
Upon this we fell into a sportive contest, in which she reproached me
with my German pedantry, and maintained that hitherto 'bonnet blanc' and
'blanc bonnet' had been the same; the justice of which I was obliged to
admit. The motto she had chosen was from Montaigne, 'Je n'enseigne pas,
je raconte.' She read me some passages, which I thought very good. This
woman, who appears so superficial, is quite another being when she takes
the pen in her hand.
She told me that she intended to go next winter to Paris, and wished to
go on into Germany, but that she had a great dread of the Austrian
police. I advised her to go to Berlin. "Shall not I be persecuted
there?" said she. "God forbid!" rejoined I: "in Berlin talent is
worshipped: only I advise you to take at least one of your pretty young
friends, who is fond of dancing and dances well, so that you may be
invited to the balls at court, and may thus have an opportunity of
becoming acquainted with our amiable and accomplished young military
men: they are well worth knowing, and you may not find any other way of
being introduced to them." At this moment her husband entered, and
begged me to get his philosophical work translated into German, that he
might not figure there only as aide-de-camp to his wife, but fly with
his own wings. I promised all he wished; but observed that a new
prayer-book would have a better chance of success at the present day
than a new system of philosophy, of which we had enough already.
In the evening I took a box in the Equestrian theatre for the young
ladies, who go out very little. Their 'naif' delight at the varied skill
of the riders was most charming to witness. The little one never turned
her eyes for a moment from Ducrow's terrific feats; she trembled all
over with anxiety and eagerness, and kept her hands fast clenched the
whole time.
There was a child of wonderful beauty in the company, just seven years
old, who danced on horseback, performed a variety of parts with uncommon
grace, and especially that of Napoleon, in which the tiny girl mimicked
the abrupt manners of the Emperor most divertingly, and was rewarded by
thunders of applause. My young friends wished to have a nearer view of
her, and I accordingly went behind the scenes, where she was just
undressed, and stood naked as a little Cupid before the looking-glass.
Her part was finished for the night; and as soon as she was dressed
again I took her in my arms, and brought 'l'enfant prodige,' as she was
called in the bills, in triumph to the box. After the first caresses
were over, the little creature was the most attentive spectator of the
performance among us, though one might have thought she had enough of it
every day. Only a paper of sweetmeats which I gave her had power to
distract her attention for a few minutes. She sat for some time on the
lap of the elder Miss ----, who put her down rather suddenly, and
accidentally scratched the child's arm against a pin in her dress, so as
to draw blood. We were all afraid she would cry; but the miniature
Napoleon was only angry, beat the offender as hard as she could, and
cried out indignantly, "Fy, for shame, you stung me like a bee!" With
that she sprung on the lap of the younger, laid her little arms over the
edge of the box, and fixed her eyes again with undisturbed attention on
the Siege of Saragossa. Between the acts Lady C----, to whom I had
related the laughable mistake concerning me in Limerick, told her I was
Napoleon's son. She turned quickly round, looked at me fixedly for a
while, and then exclaimed with the most serious 'grandezza,' "O, I have
played your father very often, and always gained uncommon applause by
it." Thus natural, droll, and completely free from embarrassment, the
little thing captivated us all: and we saw with regret the end of the
performance approaching--the signal for us to part with her. She would
not let anybody but me carry her down, because I had brought her up.
When we arrived behind the scenes, where every place was filled with
horses, I scarcely knew how we should get through. She cried out
eagerly, while she slapped my arm impatiently with her little velvet
hand, "Come, are you afraid? only do you go on, I'll keep the horses in
order;" and so saying she distributed to the right and left, blows on
the noses of her old acquaintances, who obediently made way for us to
pass. "Now set me down!" said she; and scarcely did her feet touch the
ground, when with the swiftness of a little hare she flew across the
back part of the stage, and vanished in the crowd. Children are
certainly the most graceful of all creatures when they are not crippled
and distorted by education: seldom, however, does so much genuine nature
appear on the stage, yet seldomer perhaps on the theatre of the great
world.
_Nov. 18th._
I forgot to mention to you that I have met O'Connell again here. I heard
him speak at the meetings of the Catholic Association, the present Irish
Parliament, which I visited to-day for the second time. I was received,
as a well-disposed foreigner, with applause, and O'Connell immediately
made room for me between himself and Lord C----. The room is not very
large, and as dirty as the English House of Commons. Here too every man
keeps his hat on, except while he is speaking: here too are good and bad
orators; but certainly occasionally less dignified manners than there.
The heat was suffocating, and I had to sit out five hours; but the
debate was so interesting that I scarcely remarked the annoyances.
O'Connell was undoubtedly the best speaker. Although idolized by the
greater number, he was severely attacked by several, and defended
himself with equal address and moderation: on the other hand, he
assailed the Government without reserve; and in my opinion in too strong
expressions. It was easy to perceive that much intrigue and several
firmly united parties, whose minds were made up beforehand, were to be
found here, as in other bodies of the like kind, and consequently that
the discussion was often only a sort of sham-fight. The leaders at least
had however studied their parts well. The three most prominent speakers
are O'Connell, Shiel, and Lawless. Mr. Fin and Mr. Ford also spoke well,
and with great dignity of manner. Shiel is a man of the world, and has
even more ease in society than O'Connell: but as a speaker he appeared
to me too affected, too artificial; and all he said, too much _got up_;
his manner was theatrical, and there was no real feeling in the
'delivery' of his speech, as the English expressively call it. I am not
surprised that, in spite of his undoubted talents, he is so much less
popular than O'Connell. Both are very vain, but the vanity of O'Connell
is more frank, more confiding, and sooner satisfied; that of Shiel,
irritable, sore, and gloomy. The one is therefore, with reference to his
own party, steeped in honey; the other in gall; and the latter, though
contending for the same cause, is evidently jealous of his colleague,
whom he vainly thinks to surpass. Mr. L----s is the Don Quixote of the
Association. His fine head and white hair, his wild but noble dignity,
and his magnificent voice, excite an expectation of something
extraordinary when he rises: but the speech, which commences in an
earnest tone, soon falls into the most incredible extravagancies, and
sometimes into total absurdity, in which friend and foe are assailed
with equal fury. He is therefore little heeded; laughed at when he rages
like King Lear, unmindful of his audience, and of all that is passing
around him. The dominant party, however, use him to make a noise when
they want him. To-day he outdid himself to such a degree in the flight
he took, that he suddenly erected the standard of Deism in the midst of
the Catholic, arch-Catholic Association. Perhaps, indeed, this was only
done to give occasion to O'Connell to call him indignantly to order, and
to bring in a pious tirade; for on the orator's rostrum as on the tub,
on the throne as in the puppet-show booth, clap-traps are necessary.
I rested myself this evening in the accustomed place. 'Tableaux' were
again the order of the day. I had to appear successively as Brutus, an
Asiatic Jew, Francis the First, and Saladin. Miss J---- was a
captivating little fellow as a student of Alcala; and her eldest sister,
as a fair slave, a welcome companion to Saladin. As the beautiful
Rebecca she also assorted not ill with the Oriental Jew. All these
metamorphoses were accomplished by the mother with the help only of four
candles, two looking-glasses, a few shawls and coloured handkerchiefs, a
burnt cork, a pot of rouge, and different heads of hair. Yet Talma could
not have dressed Brutus better, nor altered the physiognomy more
completely, than with these slight materials Lady C---- had the skill to
do.
To conclude, we drew caricatures, and at my request each sister
attempted a portrait of the other. Both succeeded very well, and are now
placed in my gallery.
_Nov. 19th._
To-day I found myself compelled to do something which was very
disagreeable to me, and which I had long deferred; I was obliged to
resort to my 'grand expedient,' in order to conquer my aversion. You
will laugh when I tell you what this is; but I find it a powerful aid in
great things as well as in small. The truth is, there are few men who
are not sometimes capricious, and yet oftener vacillating. Finding that
I am not better than others in this respect, I invented a remedy of my
own, a sort of _artificial resolution_ respecting things which are
difficult of performance,--a means of securing that firmness in myself
which I might otherwise want, and which man is generally obliged to
sustain by some external prop.[150] My device then is this:--I give my
word of honour most solemnly to myself, to do, or to leave undone, this
or that. I am of course extremely cautious and discreet in the use of
this expedient, and exercise great deliberation before I resolve upon
it; but when once it is done, even if I afterwards think I have been
precipitate or mistaken, I hold it to be perfectly irrevocable, whatever
inconveniences I foresee likely to result. And I feel great satisfaction
and tranquillity in being subject to such an immutable law. If I were
capable of breaking it after such mature consideration, I should lose
all respect for myself;--and what man of sense would not prefer death to
such an alternative? for death is only a necessity of nature, and
consequently not an evil;--it appears to us so only in connexion with
our present existence; that is to say, the instinct of self-preservation
recoils from death; but reason, which is eternal, sees it in its true
form, as a mere transition from one state to another. But a conviction
of one's own unconquerable weakness is a feeling which must embitter the
whole of life. It is therefore better, if it comes to the struggle, to
give up existence for the present with a feeling of inward triumph, than
to crawl on with a chronic disease of the soul. I am not made dependent
by my promise; on the contrary, it is just that which maintains my
independence. So long as my persuasion is not firm and complete, the
mysterious formula is not pronounced; but when once that has taken
place, no alteration in my own views--nothing short of physical
impossibility--must, for the welfare of my soul, alter my will. But
whilst I thus form to myself a firm support in the most extreme cases,
do you not see that I also possess a formidable weapon of attack, if I
were compelled to use it, however small and inconsiderable the means may
appear to many? I, on the contrary, find something very satisfactory in
the thought, that man has the power of framing such props and such
weapons out of the most trivial materials, indeed out of nothing, merely
by the force of his will, which hereby truly deserves the name of
omnipotent. I cannot answer for it that this reasoning will not appear
to you, dear Julia, distorted and blameworthy: indeed it is not made for
a woman; while on the other hand a completely powerful mind would
perhaps as little stand in need of it. Every man must however manage
himself according to his own nature; and as no one has yet found the art
of making a reed grow like an oak, or a cabbage like a pine-apple, so
must men, as the common but wise proverb has it, cut their coat
according to their cloth.[151] Happy is he who does not trust himself
beyond his strength! But without being so tragical about the matter,
this _grand expedient_ is of admirable use in trifles. For example, to
fulfil tedious, irksome duties of society with the resignation of a calm
victim,--to conquer indolence so as to get vigorously through some long
deferred work,--to impose upon oneself some wholesome restraint, and
thus heighten one's enjoyment afterwards,--and many, many more such
cases, which this occasionally sublime, but generally childish life
presents.
After dinner, to drive away blue devils, I took a long ride into the
country towards the mountains. After riding about twelve miles I came to
a bare region of interminable bog extending in all directions. You would
have thought yourself a hundred miles from any capital. The character of
the country was not wild, not so desert as a plain of sand, but awfully
void, lonely, and monotonous. One single wretched cabin was visible, but
in ruins, and uninhabited; and a white footpath winded along toilfully
through the brown heather, like a huge worm. The whole ground was
lightly powdered with snow, and the wind blew icy cold over the bare
heights. Nevertheless the melancholy of the scene had such a strange
attraction for me, that necessity alone made me turn my horse's head
homewards. Nearer to Dublin I found an isolated mountain, on which was a
strange caprice;--a house built in imitation of a rock; and in fact so
like one, that it deceived me till I saw the entrance. I reached my inn
by moonlight, with a face burning with the keen air. I had invited
Father L'Estrange to dine with me, 'car j'aime les prêtres, comme
Voltaire la Bible, malgré tout ce que j'en dis.'
I found too a letter from you; but I must complain that you do not write
to me sufficiently in detail. Do consider that every trifle from home is
precious. Whether my favourite horse is well; whether my sweet little
friend the parroquet sometimes calls on my name; whether your domestic
tyrant Fancy is more or less naughty; whether the parrots are 'in good
spirits,' the new plantations thriving, the visitors to the baths
gay;--all these particulars have an extraordinary interest at a distance
of some hundreds of miles. But I see clearly that if I have a mind to
know all these things I must take you by surprise, if it be but for one
day. You know that I hate all scenes and solemnities, all tumultuous
meetings, and all leave-takings; 'un beau matin' therefore you will find
me comfortably established in your breakfast-room, where I shall receive
you with a smile, as if my long journey had been but a dream; 'et toute
la vie, hélas! est elle autre chose?' Seriously, we ought to learn to
take all these things much more coolly and easily than we fancy
possible.--An English dandy may serve you as an admirable model. His
best friend and comrade was going to India; and in his emotion at taking
leave of him, was going to grasp both his hands, and to shake them
perhaps for the last time: the 'Incroyable,' half warding him off, held
out the tip of his little finger to him, while he lisped smiling,
"Strange and horridly fatiguing English custom, for two men to move each
other's arms up and down like the handle of a pump!"
Your portrait did not give me so much pleasure as it ought. The features
are much too hard, and must be 'softened' before it can pass as a
representative of the original,--whose image, however, is too vividly
pressed on my heart to want any refreshing.
Your ever faithful L----.