Yesterday evening at seven o'clock I left Bath, again by the mail, for
Salisbury. My only companion was a widow in deep mourning;
notwithstanding which, she had already found a lover, whom we took up
outside the town. He entertained us, whenever he spoke of any thing but
farming, with those horrible occurrences of which the English are so
fond that the columns of their newspapers are daily filled with them.
Perhaps he was one of their 'accident makers,' for he was inexhaustible
in horrors. He asserted that the Holyhead mail (the same by which I
came) had been washed away by a waterspout; and horses, coachman, and
one of the passengers, drowned.
After some hours the loving pair left me, at a place where the widow was
proprietress of an inn (probably the real object of John Bull's
tenderness,) and I was quite alone. My solitude was not of long
duration, for a very pretty young girl, whom we overtook in the dark,
begged that we would take her on to Salisbury, as she must otherwise
pass the night in the nearest village. I very willingly took upon myself
the cost of her journey. She was very grateful; and told me she was a
dress-maker, and had gone to pass her Christmas with her parents; and
that she had staid rather too late, but had reckoned on the chance of
getting a cast by the mail.--We reached this city at midnight, where a
good supper but a cold and smoky bedchamber awaited me.
_December 28th._
Early in the morning I was awakened by the monotonous patter of a gentle
rain, so that I am still sitting over my breakfast and my book. A good
book is a true electrical machine: one's own thoughts often dart forth
like flashes;--they generally, however, vanish as quickly; for if one
tries to fix them at the moment with pen and ink, the enjoyment is at an
end; and afterwards, as with dreams, it is not worth the pains. The book
by which I electrified myself to-day, is a very ingenious and admirable
combination of the fundamentals of history, geography, and astronomy,
adapted for self-instruction. These little encyclopædias are really one
of the great conveniences of our times. Accurate knowledge of details is
indeed necessary to the accomplishment of any thing useful, but the
walls must be built before the rooms can be adorned. In either sort of
study, superficial or profound, I hold self-instruction to be the most
efficacious; at least so it has always been with me. It is, however,
certain that many men can, in no way, acquire any real knowledge. If,
for instance, they study history, they never perceive the Eternal and
the True: to them it remains a mere chronicle, which their admirable
memory enables them to keep at their fingers' ends. Every other science
is learned in a like mechanical manner, and consists of mere words. And
yet _this_ is precisely the sort of knowledge commonly called
fundamental; indeed, most examiners by profession require no other. The
absurdities still committed by these learned persons in many places,
would furnish abundance of most diverting anecdotes if they were brought
to light. I know a young man who had to undergo a diplomatic examination
a short time ago, in a certain _Residenz_. He was asked "how much a
cubic foot of wood weighed?" Pity he did not answer, "How much does a
gold coin weigh?" or, "How much brains does a dolt's head contain?"
Another was asked in the course of a military examination, "Which was
the most remarkable siege?" The respondent (a nationalized German)
answered, without the slightest hesitation, "The siege of Jericho,
because the walls were blown down with trumpets." Conundrums might be
made out of these examinations; indeed I rather think that tiresome
diversion sprung from them.
Many clergymen still ask, "Do you believe in the Devil?" A 'mauvais
plaisant,' who did not care much for being turned back, lately replied,
'Samiel, help!'
_Evening._
About three o'clock the sky cleared a little; and as I had waited only
for that, I jumped into the bespoken gig, and drove as hard as an old
hunter would carry me to Stonehenge, the great druidical temple, burial
place, or sacrificial altar. The country round Salisbury is fertile, but
without trees and in no way picturesque. The wondrous Stonehenge stands
on a wide, bare, elevated plain. The orange disk of the cloudless sun
touched the horizon just as, astounded at the inexplicable monument
before me, I approached the nearest stone, which the setting beams
tinged with rose-colour. It is no wonder that popular superstition
ascribes this singular group to demoniac power, for scarcely could
another such work be achieved with all the mechanical means and
contrivances of our times. How then was it possible for a nearly
barbarous people to erect such masses, or to transport them thirty
miles, the distance of the _nearest_ quarry?[159] Some have maintained
that it was merely a sport of Nature, but no one who sees it will assent
to this.
I was not the only spectator. A solitary stranger was visible from time
to time, who, without seeming to perceive me, had been going round and
round among the stones incessantly for the last quarter of an hour. He
was evidently counting, and seemed very impatient at something. The next
time he emerged, I took the liberty to ask him the cause of his singular
demeanour; on which he politely answered, "that he had been told no one
could count these stones aright; that every time the number was
different; and that this was a trick which Satan, the author of the
work, played the curious: that he had within the last two hours
confirmed the truth of this statement seven times, and that he should
inevitably lose his senses if he tried again." I advised him to leave
off, and go home, as it was growing dark, and Satan might play him a
worse trick than this. He fixed his eyes upon me sarcastically, and with
what the Scotch call a very 'uncanny' expression, looked about him as if
for somebody; then suddenly exclaiming "Good-bye, Sir!" strode off, like
Peter Schlemil, casting no shadow, ('tis true the sun was set,) with
seven-league steps across the down, where he disappeared behind the
hill. I now likewise hastened to depart, and trotted on towards the high
tower of Salisbury Cathedral, which was just visible in the twilight.
Scarcely had I gone a mile, when the high crazy gig broke, and the
driver and I were thrown, not very softly, on the turf. The old horse
ran off with the shafts, neighing merrily, towards the city. While we
were crawling up, we heard the trotting of a horse behind us;--it was
the stranger, who galloped by on a fine black horse, and cried out to
me, "The Devil sends his best compliments to you, Sir, 'au revoir;'"
and darted off like a whirlwind. This jest was really provoking. "O, you
untimely jester!" exclaimed I, "give us help, instead of your
'fadaises.'" But the echo of his horse's hoofs alone answered me through
the darkness. The driver ran almost a mile after our horse, but came
back without any tidings of him. As there was not even a hut near, we
were obliged to make up our minds to walk the remaining six miles. Never
did a road seem to me more tedious; and I found little compensation in
the wonders which the driver related of his hunter, when, twenty years
ago, he was the 'leader of the Salisbury hunt.'
_December 29th._
I have turned this day to very good account, but brought home a violent
head-ache in the evening, probably the effect of my last night's
adventure.
Salisbury's far-famed Cathedral boasts of the highest tower in Europe.
It is four hundred and ten feet high,--five feet higher than the Minster
at Strasburg, if I mistake not. It is at any rate far more beautiful.
The exterior is peculiarly distinguished by an air of newness and
neatness, and by the perfection of its details. For this it is indebted
to two grand repairs which in the course of time it has undergone; the
first, under the superintendence of Sir Christopher Wren; the second, of
Mr. Wyatt. The site of this church is also peculiar. It stands like a
model, perfectly free and isolated on a smooth-shaven plain of short
turf, on one side of which is the Bishop's palace, on the other high
lime-trees. The tower terminates in an obelisk-like spire, with a cross,
on which, rather ominously, a weather-cock is planted. This tasteless
custom disgraces most of the Gothic churches in England. The tower is
five-and-twenty inches out of the perpendicular. This is not visible,
except on the inside, where the inclination of the pillars is
perceptible. The interior of this magnificent temple is in the highest
degree imposing, and has been improved by Wyatt's genius. It was an
admirable idea to remove the most remarkable old monuments from the
walls and obscure corners, and to place them in the space between the
grand double avenues of pillars, whose unbroken height would almost turn
the head giddy. Nothing can have a finer effect than these rows of
Gothic sarcophagi, on which the figures of knights or priests lie
stretched in their eternal sleep, while their habiliments or armour of
stone or metal are lighted with rainbow-tints from the painted windows.
Among Templars and other knights, I discovered 'Richard Longsword,' who
came to England with the Conqueror: near him, a giant figure in
alabaster, the sword-bearer of Henry the Seventh, who fell at Bosworth
Field, where he fought with two long swords, one in each hand, with
which he is here represented.
The cloisters are also very beautiful. Long finely proportioned
corridors run at right-angles around the chapter-house, which is
supported, like the Remter in Marienburg, by a single pillar in the
centre. The bas-reliefs, which surround it in a broad entablature, seem
to be of very fine workmanship, but were half destroyed in Cromwell's
time. In the centre stands a worm-eaten oaken table of the thirteenth
century, on which--as it seems from tolerably credible tradition--the
labourers employed in building the church were paid every evening, at
the rate of a penny a-day. The ascent of the spire is very difficult:
the latter half must be climbed by slender ladders, like the
Stephansthurm in Vienna. At length you reach a little door in the roof,
thirty feet under the extreme point. Out of this door, the man who
weekly oils the weathercock ascends, in so perilous a manner that it
appears inconceivable how a man of seventy can accomplish it. From this
door, or rather window, to the top, is, as I have said, a distance of
thirty feet, along which there are no other means of climbing than by
iron hooks projecting from the outside. The old man gets out of the
little window backwards; then, on account of a sort of penthouse over
the window, is obliged to bend his body forward, and in that posture to
feel for the first hook, without being able to see it. When he has
reached it, and caught fast hold, he swings himself up to it, hanging in
the air, while he feels out the projection over the window with his
feet, after which he climbs from hook to hook. It would certainly be
easy to contrive a more convenient and less dangerous ascent; but he has
been used to it from his childhood, and will not have it altered. Even
at night he has made this terrific ascent, and is delighted that
scarcely any strangers, not even sailors, who generally climb the most
impracticable places, have ventured to follow him.
As we reached the first outer gallery around the tower, the guide
pointed out to me a hawk which hung poised in air twenty or thirty feet
above us. "For many years," said he, "a pair of these birds have built
in the tower, and live on the Bishop's pigeons. I often see one or other
of them hanging above the cross, and then suddenly pounce upon a bird:
they sometimes let it fall on the roof or gallery of the church, but
never stop to pick up prey which has once fallen,--they let it lie and
rot there, if I don't remove it."
The Bishop's palace and garden lay in a picturesque group beneath us,
and all the chimneys were smoking merrily, for, 'His Lordship' was just
arrived, but was preparing for a journey to a watering-place. The guide
thought that they saw the 'Lord Bishop' twice or three times a-year in
the cathedral. 'His Lordship' never preaches: his sacred functions
consist, as it seems, in the spending of fifteen thousand a-year with as
much good taste as it has pleased God to bestow upon him;--the labour is
sufficiently performed by subalterns. This beautiful Establishment is
the only one we on the Continent want to complete our felicity,--the
only one which it is worth our while to copy from England. On my return,
I walked for some time longer in the darkening church, amid the noble
monuments of old heroes, whom my imagination summoned from their tombs.
I took care to secure a more substantial carriage than that of
yesterday, and drove very comfortably to Wilton, the beautiful seat of
the Earl of Pembroke. Here is a valuable collection of antiques,
tastefully arranged by the deceased Earl, who was a great lover of art.
It is placed in a broad gallery running round the inner court,
communicating with the apartments on the ground-floor, and finely
lighted from one side. It affords a most interesting walk, winter and
summer, and is within a few steps of every room. The windows are
ornamented with the coats of arms, in coloured glass, of all the
families with which the Earls of Pembroke have been allied by
marriage,--a rich collection, which includes even the royal arms of
England. In the halls are placed the coats of armour of the old warriors
of the family, and those of their most distinguished prisoners; among
them, the Grand Constable Montmorenci, a French Prince of the blood, and
several others. Unquestionably these old recollections of a high and
puissant aristocracy have their poetical side.
The Châtelaine who conducted me about seemed herself to have crept out
of a colossal coat of armour: she was full six feet high, and of a very
masculine aspect, nor could anybody be better versed in the history of
the Middle Ages. On the other hand, she murdered the names of Roman
emperors and Grecian sages most barbarously. She explained some rather
equivocal subjects quite circumstantially, and in very droll connoisseur
language.
One of the adjoining rooms is filled with family portraits, which derive
more of their value and splendour from the hand of Holbein or Vandyke
than from the personages they represent. After a certain lapse of time,
the nobility of genius outshines that of birth, 'comme de raison.' The
house contains several other valuable pictures; among which an Interment
of Christ by Albrecht Dürer, executed in the most finished manner in
water-colours, was the most striking.
The Countess's garden, upon which the library opens, is laid out in the
old French style, and is terminated by a small very richly ornamented
temple, which has one great singularity. It was built by Holbein, but
does no credit to his taste: it is, on the contrary, an ugly overloaded
thing. The garden is extremely pretty and elegant: it reflects honour on
English women of rank, that most of them are distinguished for their
taste and skill in this beautiful art. We should fall into a great
mistake if we hoped that any English gardener whatever were capable of
producing such master-pieces of garden decoration as I have described to
you in my former letters.[160] These all owe their existence to the
genius and the charming taste for the embellishment of _home_ which
characterize their fair owners.
As it was positively forbidden to admit any stranger without a written
order from the possessor, I should not have obtained a sight of the
house had I not practised a stratagem, which the lord of the mansion
will of course forgive, if he ever knows it. I announced myself to the
Châtelaine as a Russian relative of the family, with a name she could
neither read nor speak.--It is really too annoying to drive four miles
for an express purpose, and then to turn back without accomplishing it:
I therefore lay my _obligé_ falsehood entirely at the door of these
inhuman English manners. With us, people are not so cruel; and never
will an Englishman have to complain of similar illiberality in Germany.
On the other side of the town lies an interesting place, Langford, the
seat of the Earl of Radnor; an extensive park, and very old castle of
strange triangular form, with enormously massy towers whose walls are
like mosaic. In insignificant, low and ill-furnished rooms I found one
of the most precious collections of pictures; master-pieces of the
greatest painters; hidden treasures, which nobody sees and nobody knows
of,--of which so many exist in English private houses. There is a
Sunrise and a Sunset by Claude. The morning exhibits Æneas with his
followers landing on the happy shores of Italy, and makes one envy the
new-comers to the paradise which this picture discloses to them. In the
evening scene, the setting sun gilds the magnificent ruins of temples
and palaces, which are surrounded by a solitary wild country;--they are
allegorical representations of the rise and fall of the Roman Empire.
Water, clouds, sky, trees, the transparent quivering atmosphere,--it is
all, as ever in Claude, Nature herself. It is difficult to imagine how a
man in his five-and-thirtieth year could be a cook and a colour-grinder,
and in his five-and-fortieth give to the world such unequalled
productions. The wondrously beautiful head of a Magdalen by Guido, whose
tearful eyes and warm rosy mouth certainly seem to invite rather to a
thousand kisses than to repentance; a Holy Family by Andrea del Sarto,
brilliant in all the pomp of colour; and many other 'chef-d'oeuvres' of
the most illustrious masters, riveted me for many hours. A portrait of
Count Egmont would have served but ill as a frontispiece to Göthe's
tragedy; for the joyous-hearted, magnificent visionary, here appears a
corpulent man of forty, with a bald pate and a thoroughly every-day
physiognomy. His friend of Orange, hanging near him, exhibited a face of
far different intellectual character. Between them hung the gloomy Alba,
who pursued cruelty as a luxury.
Besides the pictures and some antiques, this seat contains a rare and
precious curiosity,--a chair or throne of steel, which the city of
Augsburgh gave to the Emperor Rudolph the Second, which Gustavus
Adolphus stole, and an ancestor of Lord Radnor's bought at Stockholm.
The workmanship is admirable. How do all the fine steel works of our
day,--those of Birmingham, or the Berlin iron ornaments--fade before
this splendid piece of art into miserable trifles and toys! You think
you see before you a work of Benvenuto Cellini; and know not which to
admire most, the fine execution and the elegance of the details, or the
tasteful and artist-like disposition of the whole.
_London, December 31st._
Yesterday I was obliged to sacrifice to my hereditary foe 'migraine:'
to-day I travelled in continual rain to the metropolis, and shall depart
to-morrow morning for France.--The country had little in it attractive;
but the conversation on the outside of the coach was the more animated.
It turned, during nearly the whole day, on a famous 'boxing-match,' in
which a Yankee had, it seemed, cheated a John Bull; and, bribed by the
principal patrons of the art, had won ten thousand pounds. Cheating, in
every kind of 'sport,' is as completely in the common order of things in
England, among the highest classes as well as the lowest, as false play
was in the time of the Count de Grammont. It is no uncommon thing to
hear 'gentlemen' boast of it almost openly; and I never found that those
who are regarded as 'the most knowing ones' had suffered in their
reputation in consequence;--'au contraire,' they pass for cleverer than
their neighbours; and you are only now and then warned with a smile to
take care what you are about with them. Some of the highest members of
the aristocracy are quite notorious for their achievements of this
description. I heard from good authority, that the father of a nobleman
of sporting celebrity, to whom some one was expressing his solicitude
lest his son should be cheated by a 'Blacklegs,' answered, "I am much
more afraid for the Blacklegs than for my son!" _To every country its
customs!_[161]--Another characteristic trait of England, though in a
lower step in society, was, that the coachman who drove us had lost two
hundred pounds in this same unlucky match, and only laughed at it;
giving us significantly to understand that he should soon find another
dupe, who should pay it him back with interest. What advances must the
'march of intellect' make on the continent before the postillions of the
Prince of Tour and Taxis, or the Eilwagen drivers of the Herr von Nagler
will be able to lay such bets with their passengers!
Some miles from Windsor we passed through a sort of country uncommon in
England, consisting only of sand and pebbles. A magnificent building,
with a park and garden, has been erected here,--the New Military
College, which is fitted up with all the luxury of a princely residence.
The sand and stones made me feel at home,--not so the palace. While I
was eyeing the soil with looks of tender affection, 'car a toute âme
bien née la patrie est chère,' we saw a gray old fox, which with
sweeping brush galloped across the heath. Our bet-loving coachman saw
him first, and cried out, "By God, a fox! a fox!" "It's a dog," replied
a passenger. "I bet you five to four 'tis a fox," rejoined the
steed-compelling hero. "Done!" replied the doubter--and soon had to pay;
for it was indeed an indubitable fox, though of extraordinary size.
Several hounds, who had lost the scent, now ran in sight, and a few red
coats were also visible. All the passengers on the mail screamed and
hallooed to them which way the fox was gone, but could not make them
understand. The time of the mail is rigorously fixed, and all
unnecessary delays forbidden: but here was a national calamity
impending; the pack and the hunters had _lost the fox_! The coachman
drew up, and several sprang down to show the party, which now every
moment increased, the right way. We did not get afloat again till we saw
the whole hunt once more in full pursuit; whereupon we all waved our
hats, and shouted 'Tally-ho!' As soon as our consciences were thus
entirely set at ease, and the fox delivered over to his inevitable fate,
the coachman whipped on his horses to make up for the delay, and the
rest of the way we dashed along at a rattling gallop, as if the Wild
Huntsman himself were at our heels.
_Dover, January 1st, 1829._
The box of the mail-coach is become my throne, from which I occasionally
assume the reins of government, and direct four rapid steeds with great
skill. I proudly overlook the country, hurry _forwards_, which every
governor cannot boast; and yet wish for wings that I might the sooner
get home to you.
I found all the towers in Canterbury decorated with flags in celebration
of New-year's day. I commemorated it in the proudest and most beautiful
of all English cathedrals. This romantic edifice, begun by the Saxons,
continued by the Normans, and recently restored with great judgment,
forms three distinct and yet connected churches; with many irregular
chapels and staircases, black and white marble floors, and a forest of
pillars in harmonious confusion. The yellow tone of the sandstone is
very advantageous, especially in the Norman part of the church, where it
is beautifully relieved by the black marble columns. Here lies the
brazen effigy of the Black Prince, on a sarcophagus of stone. Over him
hang his half-mouldered gloves, and the sword and shield he wore at
Poictiers. A number of other monuments adorn the church;--among them,
those of Henry the Fourth and Thomas à Becket, who was killed in one of
the adjoining chapels. A great part of the old painted window is
preserved, and is unrivalled in the splendour of its colours. Some
parts of it are only patterns and arabesques, like transparent carpets
of velvet: others appear like jewellery formed of every variety of
precious stones. But few contain historical subjects. What gives this
magnificent cathedral a great pre-eminence over every other in England,
is, that there is no screen in the middle to cut and obstruct the view,
and you see the whole extent of the aisle,--from four to five hundred
paces long,--at one glance. The organ is concealed in one of the upper
galleries, and when it sounds produces a magical effect. I timed my
visit so luckily, that just as I was going out, almost in the dark, the
choristers began to sing, and their beautiful music filled the church,
at the same time that the last sunbeam glowed through the window in
tints of sapphire and ruby. The Archbishop of Canterbury is primate of
England, and the only subject in Great Britain, except the princes of
the blood, who has the dignity of prince. I believe, however, he enjoys
it only in his see, not in London. This Protestant clergyman has sixty
thousand a year and may marry;--more I know not by which to distinguish
him from the Catholic ecclesiastical princes.
_Calais, Jan. 2nd._
At length I set my foot once more in beloved France. However little
advantageous is the first contrast, I yet greet this, my half-native
soil, the purer air, the easier, kinder, franker manners, almost with
the feeling of a man escaped from a long imprisonment.
We waked at five o'clock in the morning at Dover, and got on board the
packet in utter darkness. We had already walked up and down for at least
half an hour before there appeared any preparation for sailing. On a
sudden the rumour was spread that the 'boiler' was damaged. The most
timid immediately made their escape to shore; the others cried out for
the Captain, who was nowhere to be found. At last he sent a man to tell
us that we could not sail without danger, and our luggage was
accordingly transferred to a French steam-packet which was to sail at
eight o'clock. I employed the interval in seeing the sun rise from the
fort which crowns the lofty chalk cliffs above the town. The English,
who have money enough to execute every useful plan, have cut a passage
through the cliff, forming a kind of funnel, in which two winding
staircases lead to the height of two hundred and forty feet. The view
from the top is highly picturesque, and the sun arose out of the sea,
almost cloudless, over the extensive prospect. I was in such an ecstacy
at the scene that I nearly lost my passage. The vessel sailed the moment
I was on board. A violent wind carried us over in two hours and a half.
The sea-sickness, this time, was endurable; and an excellent dinner,
such an one as no English inn can offer, soon restored me. This Hotel
(Bourbon) is, as far as cookery goes, one of the best in France.
_Jan. 3rd._
My first morning walk in France was quite delicious to me. The unbroken
sunshine; the clear sky, which I had not seen for so long; a town in
which the houses are not put in eternal mourning by coal smoke, and
stood out bright and sharp from the atmosphere, made me feel at home
again, and I walked down to the harbour to take my last farewell of the
sea. There it lay before me, boundless everywhere except in one spot,
where a black line of something like cloud, probably the concentrated
fog and smoke of the island, denoted the existence of the English
coast. I followed the jetty (a sort of wooden dam), and found myself at
length entirely alone. I saw nothing living but a sea-bird, swimming by
with the swiftness of lightning, often diving, and then after an
interval of several minutes reappearing at some distant spot. He
continued this sport a long while; and so agile and full of enjoyment
did the creature seem, that I could almost fancy he took pleasure in
exhibiting his feats to me. I was giving in to a train of fancies which
insensibly grew out of this exhibition, when I heard the step and the
voices of an English family behind me,--and away we went, bird and I.
On the ramparts I met a French _bonne_ with two English children,
miracles of beauty, and very elegantly dressed in scarlet cachemire and
white. The youngest had taken fast hold of a tree; and with true English
love of liberty and determination, refused in the most decided manner to
go home. The poor French girl vainly murdered all sorts of English
coaxings and threats which she could command. "Mon darling, come,
allons," exclaimed she, in a tone of distress. "I wont," was the laconic
answer. The stubborn little creature interested me so much that I walked
up to the tree to try my luck with her. I had better success; for after
a few jokes in English, she followed me readily, and I led her in
triumph to her _bonne_. But as I was going away, the little devil seized
me with all her might by the coat, and said, laughing aloud, "No no, you
shan't go now; you forced me away from the tree, and now I'll force you
to stay with us!" And I actually could not escape, till, amid playing
and battling, during which she never quitted her hold of me, we reached
the door of her parents' house. "Now I have done with you," cried the
little thing, while she ran shouting and laughing into the house. "You
little flirt!" cried I after her, "French education will bring forth
little fruit in you."
Returning to the town, I visited the celebrated B----. I see you turn
over the 'Dictionnaire Historique et des Contemporains' in vain. Has he
distinguished himself in a revolution, or a counter-revolution? Is he a
warrior or a statesman? 'Vous n'y êtes pas.' He is less and greater,--as
you choose to take it. In a word, he is the most illustrious, and was,
in his time, the most puissant of dandies London ever knew. At one
period B---- ruled a whole generation by the cut of his coat; and
leather breeches went out of fashion because all men despaired of being
able to reach the perfection of his. When at length, for weighty
reasons, he turned his back on Great Britain, he bequeathed to the land
of his birth, as his last gift, the immortal secret of starched cravats,
the unfathomableness of which had so tormented the 'élégants' of the
metropolis that, according to the 'Literary Gazette,' two of them had
put an end to their lives in despair, and a youthful Duke had died
miserably 'of a broken heart.' The foundation of this malady had however
been laid earlier. On one occasion, when he had just received a new
coat, he modestly asked B---- his opinion of it. B----, casting a slight
glance at it, asked, with an air of surprise, "Do you call that thing a
coat?" The poor young man's sense of honour received an incurable wound.
Although it is no longer dress by which a man gives the ton in London,
it is merely the vehicle that is altered--not the thing. The influence
which Br----, without birth or fortune, without a fine person or a
superior intellect, merely by a lofty sort of impudence, a droll
originality, love of company, and talent in dress, acquired and
maintained for many years in London society, forms an admirable
criterion by which the tone and quality of that society may be
estimated; and as I have briefly described in my former letters some of
those who now occupy the place B---- once filled, you will perhaps agree
with me, that he excelled them in good-humour and social qualities, as
well as in innocence of manners. It was a more frank, and, at the same
time, more original and harmless folly, which bore the same comparison
to that of his successors, that the comedy and the morality of Holberg
do to those of Kotzebue.
Play at length accomplished what even the hostility of the heir to the
throne could not. He lost every thing, and was obliged to flee; since
which time he has lived in Calais, and every bird of passage from the
fashionable world dutifully pays the former patriarch the tribute of a
visit, or of an invitation to dinner.
This I did also, though under my assumed name. Unfortunately, in the
matter of dinner I had been forestalled by another stranger, and I
cannot therefore judge how a coat really ought to look; or whether his
long residence in Calais, added to increasing years, have rendered the
dress of the former king of fashion less classical; for I found him at
his second toilet, in a flowered chintz dressing-gown, velvet night-cap
with gold tassel, and Turkish slippers, shaving, and rubbing the remains
of his teeth with his favourite red root. The furniture of his rooms was
elegant enough, part of it might even be called rich, though faded; and
I cannot deny that the whole man seemed to me to correspond with it.
Though depressed by his present situation, he exhibited a considerable
fund of humour and good-nature. His air was that of good society; simple
and natural, and marked by more urbanity than the dandies of the present
race are capable of. With a smile he showed me his Paris peruque, which
he extolled at the cost of the English ones, and called himself 'le
ci-devant jeune homme qui passe sa vie entre Paris et Londres.' He
appeared somewhat curious about me; asked me questions concerning people
and things in London, without belying his good breeding by any kind of
intrusiveness; and then took occasion to convince me that he was still
perfectly well-informed as to all that was passing in the English world
of fashion, as well as of politics. "Je suis au fait de tout," exclaimed
he; "mais à quoi celà me sert-il? On me laisse mourir de faim ici.
J'éspère pourtant que mon ancien ami, le Duc de W---- enverra un beau
jour le Consul d'ici à la Chine, et qu' ensuite il me nommera à sa
place. Alors je suis sauvé." * * *
And surely the English nation ought in justice to do something for the
man who invented starched cravats! How many did I see in London in the
enjoyment of large sinecures, who had done far less for their country.
As I took my leave, and was going down stairs, he opened the door and
called after me, "J'éspère que vous trouverez votre chemin, mon Suisse
n'est pas là, je crains." "Hélas!" thought I, "point d'argent, point de
Suisse."
That I may not leave you too long without intelligence, I despatch this
letter from hence. Probably I shall soon follow it. I shall, however,
stay at least a fortnight in Paris, and execute all your commissions.
Meanwhile think of me with your usual affection.