de réputation_, such as it was; that my letters of recommendation were
letters of supererogation, and that I had nothing to do, but sit quiet
(no very easy task by the by for me), and to see and receive all that
was best worth seeing and receiving in France. On looking over a list
of visitors, one day, presented by Pierre, the porter of the Hôtel
d’Orléans, I read the immortal name of Humboldt, and under it, Helen
Maria Williams, Rue de Bondi. A visit from Humboldt was always an epoch;
and a visit from Helen Maria, the amiable and elegant, the subject of my
first ode, was no vulgar event. I made my inquiries as to the present
position of the admired of Dr. Johnson, and the adored of Bozzy; and
learned that for the last quarter of a century she had lived in literary
retirement, in the neighbourhood of the Sévignés, and the Ninons; that
she was much beloved and esteemed, surrounded by a circle of sober,
sedate, literary friends, and much _liée_ with the enlightened Protestant
party in France, and their excellent chief, who (with the name of the
protestant Pope, given him by Napoleon) was respectable and influential
with all parties. I immediately returned her visit, wrote my name at her
door, and shortly after received an invitation to a _soirée_, which I
accepted.
I happened to be asked, for this very same evening, to a ball at Lord
H——k’s; and was accordingly obliged to go to Miss Williams’s sober and
learned party in all the _tulle_ and tiffany of a _robe purée_. We were
ushered into just such a room as that, in which one might suppose Mad.
du Deffand received her coterie. A few wax lights dimly discovered its
gloomy vastness; and “in the haze of distance,” a row of large, dark
bonnets, was visible, which, on a nearer approach, obviously gave shelter
to as many intelligent, but not very blooming countenances. Small groups
of men recalling the _hommes de lettres_ of old France, were scattered,
in earnest conversation; and tea and refreshments were serving round by a
servant, who looked as wise, and literary as the rest of the party.
My celebrated hostess rose to receive me from her ponderous chair,
which formed the centre of her circle, with as much graciousness and
cordiality as can well be conceived. Every look was a welcome, every
word an eulogium, and every tone as musical and as modulated as the most
fastidious ear could desire. But oh! Sylphs, nymphs, and Muses, and
you, bright image of my youthful dreams, young, elegant, and amiable,
Helen Maria Williams, did I at last find you in the bulky, formless,
and faded old lady, who now stood before me! Although I ought to have
expected this, I was not prepared for it. In spite of Mrs. Le Fanu’s
letters, written years before, I had not got a step farther than Bozzy’s
description: and when the high bred Miss Williams handed me, with true
French ceremony, to the _bergère_ at her right, and thus incorporated
me with the learned ladies of her society, it required some minutes to
recover from the shock of my disappointment. My frippery appearance, too,
was such an anomaly in this demure and sober circle. What I would have
given for a _douillette bien ouattée_, or a coal-box bonnet to cover
my bare head; (the identical head with which I had appeared at Lady
Cork’s a few years before, and which I have worn, for divers reasons of
convenience and economy, down to this very winter, 1828, when I find
it more decent, though not quite so economical, to shelter it under
the shade of a hat or a _beret_, _afin de prendre mon parti_). Let me
add, that it is easier to take arms against twenty Popes, and Emperors
of Austria, and stand the attacks of fifty Quarterlies, with the new
reinforcement of Mr. L—— to boot, than to stare the first symptom of a
furrow in the face, and announce such an epoch without shrinking: thus
then I fairly announce myself to be no longer what the _Journal des
Débats_ once so pleasantly called me, “_Cette jeune dame, qui a été jeune
si long-tems_.”[29]
As neither wit, learning, nor age, exempts a French woman from the
interests of the toilette, (and Madame Dacier herself was, I have no
doubt, a _petite maîtresse_,) we had scarcely warmed into intimacy over
the subject of Madame de Staël’s new work on the Revolution (which, by
the by, drew forth some very entertaining and characteristic anecdotes
of that lady’s recent residence in Paris, and her admiration for the
Emperor of Russia, and the Duke of Wellington), when one of the ladies
complimented me on my dress; it was said to be _à la rigueur_, for the
season, and supposed to be from the fabrique of Le Roi. When I said that
I made all my own dresses myself, exclamations from all sides poured
in! Did ever any body make a dress, that did not serve her time to the
mysteries of the craft; but, above all, a literary lady—an authoress—a
_femme savante_, working at the needle! I soon set them right as to my
learning, by the assurance, that, except a very little bog Latin picked
up from a hedge schoolmaster in the wilds of Ireland, I knew nothing
of any learning whatever; that my authorship had originated in dire
necessity; that being obliged to read and write books for many hours per
day, I never talked of them; and that above all, “_Mon métier à moi,
c’êtait d’étre femme_;” and so the conversation took a very _enjouée_
turn.
The amiable protestant Pope, and others of the gentlemen, enlarged our
circle; and the hours passed away so lightly, that it was late when I
left the dim rooms and clever circle of Helen Maria Williams, for the
splendid and brilliant salon of our ex-Irish lady lieutenant, in the
Faubourg St. Honoré, (by the by, one of the few vice-queens who have
left behind them an indelible remembrance of virtues, that threw a
lustre upon her high position, and of accomplishments that render it the
fashion to be gifted, even in that land, where talent is but another
word for proscription!) I cannot better close these recollections of my
acquaintance with Miss Williams, than by giving one, or two, of the many
notes with which she honoured me, as being extremely illustrative of a
certain pretty tone of _cajolerie_, which always flattered its object,
without degrading the writer. “_Vous me flattez, coquin, mais n’importe;
flattez toujours._”[30]
“What poetical fictions did I indulge myself in, when I
believed all Lady Morgan’s kind promises, repeated with all
her graces and enchantments, of returning soon to the _Rue
de Bondi_. I feel quite disposed to _bouder_; and yet Lady
Morgan can instantly make her peace with me, by consenting to
come with Sir Charles on Sunday next. I shall be extremely
flattered, if I am not refused. _Milles tendres complimens._
“H. M. WILLIAMS.”
“_Thursday, Rue de Bondi._”
“Miss H. M. Williams, lest she should not be so fortunate as
to find Lady Morgan at home, writes this note to express her
regret, and almost even to _complain_ that her ladyship has
only found time to bestow upon her one transient visit, since
her arrival at Paris. Lady Morgan is not one of those passing
travellers, whom having seen once, one can easily be resigned
to see no more. H. M. W. is therefore extremely flattered to
hear from her friend Mr. Warden, that Lady Morgan had expressed
something like a kind purpose of returning. Will she do H. M.
W. the honour of passing an hour with her on Sunday evening
next, with Sir Charles, to whom she begs her particular
compliments. H. M. W. wishes it the more, as she expects a
friend on Sunday, who has the greatest desire to be presented
to Lady Morgan, whom he has long admired at a distance.”
“_Friday, July 5th, Rue de Bondi._”
Oh! dear! I am ready to _pamer_ over this allusion to my “graces and
enchantments,” after being called an Irish she wolf, in Blackwood’s, and
indexed in the Quarterly for “my unwomanly brutality.” Since I wrote
the above, in great _gaieté de cœur_, I received a letter from a mutual
friend of Miss Williams and myself, inclosing the following paragraph
from a French paper.
“DEATH OF HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS.
“We ought to devote a few lines to the memory of a literary
lady, whose name is dear to the friends of public liberty. Mrs.
Helen Maria Williams, the author of a vast number of political
and poetical works, lately died at Paris, after a long illness.
This lady left England for France, to assist in the important
events of the Revolution. Since 1790, she has constantly
resided at Paris. She contracted an intimate acquaintance with
the most ardent and most disinterested patriots. She was the
friend of Madame Roland, and the Girondins. Since that period,
she has related the different events of our Revolution in a
series of works published at London, and which have served to
direct the opinion of England and the United States to the
facts of the French Revolution. To these literary claims, she
joined qualities of mind equally affectionate and intelligent.
She was always the patron of the poor; and frequently, in the
class of unfortunate literary men, her kindness was extended
to that independent merit, which is ashamed to solicit. She
published her ‘_Souvenirs de la Révolution_,’ the analysis of
which was suppressed by the Censorship. The last wishes of this
distinguished woman were in favour of the heroes who overcame
barbarity at Navarin. Her death has plunged her family and
numerous friends in the bitterest grief.”—_Constitutionnel._
NO POPERY.
The Duchess of Marlborough, when ill of an ague, refused to take the
cinchona, because it was called at that time, Jesuit’s bark. The clergy
at the reformation were wiser, inasmuch as they did not refuse to take
the papistical tithes: for all the rest, our no-popery legislators are
pretty much on an intellectual par with poor Sarah.
MARTINUS SCRIBLERUS.
The comparison of logic to matrimony, one of the most diverting passages
in Martinus Scriblerus, is copied from the Nuptiæ Peripateticæ of Caspar
Burlæus.
EXERCISE.
“When I consider the physical structure of man,” said Frederick the
Great, “it appears to me, as if nature had formed us rather to be
postilions, than sedentary men of letters.” There is some exaggeration
in this. We hear a good deal of the diseases of literary men, because
literary men are most interested in their own afflictions; and they
hold the pen in their own hands; but the diseases peculiar to excessive
exertion are not less numerous, nor severe, than those of excessive
repose. Besides, half the so called desk diseases arise from the
combination of excessive nourishment, with sedentary habits. Like all
other machines, the human frame wears out the most rapidly, in those
parts, where there is the greatest friction and strain. Continued
exercise of the brain is very exhausting, and occasions a demand for
nourishment and for stimulation, greater than is consonant with health.
Most literary men are _tant soit peu gourmands_; and they pay the penalty
of their indulgence the more, because they neglect a regular and gentle
exercise. That nature did not intend us for postilions, is evident in
the abridged lives, and diseased, deformed, and premature old age of the
working population.
BOMBAZEEN.
This article of dress should be written bombycine. It is a texture of
worsted and of silk, the latter substance being the produce of the animal
termed bombyx.
LAW.
Truth is the last object of legal research. Under most arbitrary
governments, the law seems calculated to condemn the innocent: so
anxious are the lawgivers to prevent the escape of the guilty. The
English criminal procedure appears as directly aimed at screening
offenders, under a false notion of protecting the innocent. Which is
the most mischievous, it would be difficult to determine. The great
object of investigating the truth, at once protects the public, and the
lawful interests of individuals; while the business of the advocate is
professedly to serve his client to the uttermost, and to lay aside all
considerations of justice in his favour. In this he far exceeds the
egotism of the parties themselves, who, if they pleaded their own cause,
would be checked in their misrepresentations and quibbles, by some sense
of shame, by some fear of the prejudice which detected falsehood would
excite against them. Whereas the lawyer glories in his sophistical
ingenuity; and if baffled in his effort, bears the whole blame for the
bad spirit in which he has acted. Thus it happens most frequently that
we do not try the accused, but the indictment; the overt act is lost in
the accidents; the innocent are acquitted without the re-establishment of
character, and the guilty are let loose, to renew their aggressions on
society. Yet the law is the perfection of human reason!!
RICHES.
La Bruyère observes, “_Il se croit des talens et de l’esprit; il est
riche._” This is the counter error to that of men of merit who complain
that they have not attained wealth. The acquisition of large fortunes,
in as far as it is not altogether a matter of accident, requires the
exercise of far other faculties than wit and intellect: and it would be
as reasonable to complain that this species of merit will not ensure
health, as that it will not procure money.
TRUTH.
The love which most men have for truth, arises from the desire to make
their own falsehood available. If falsehood were general in society, no
man would be believed, and deceit would be impossible. It was a keen
remark, that Fielding has, I believe, placed in the mouth of Jonathan
Wild, that a lie is too precious a thing to be wasted. Truth is the first
interest of society; more harm is done by falsehood in an hour, than by
violence in a year: yet have all nations paid dearly for establishments,
calculated for the express purpose of confining inquiry in one exclusive
direction, and shutting out all other avenues of light but their own.
WOMAN’S LOVE.
What a gift, or rather what a fatal necessity is the temperament which
leads to the living out of one’s self, and becoming bound up in the
existence of another, over whose will, passions, and conduct, one has no
controul! This faculty of devotedness is, I suspect, peculiar to females.
It is quite possible that a woman, to whom honour and reputation are
dearer than life, should risk them a thousand times for the man she loves
(particularly if he be her husband), to save his life and honour. The
attachment of a man, however strong and tender, would not reach this. We
women love the person beyond all abstract principle; and the error (for
it is an error in morals) is seated in the organization which makes us
wives and mothers. Men love principles, and even prejudices, more than
the persons they love best; that is, they love themselves best of all,
and love themselves in that point of honour on which the world’s opinion
depends.
“I could not love thee, dear, so well,
Loved I not honour more.”
Ah! this “_honour more_!”
Every woman has not the “_cœur aimant_” of Julie: women of gallantry
never,—coquettes and prudes rarely. Still, woman may be defined a loving
animal, and _tant pis pour elle_.
MALTHUS.
Cobbett and the Irish reformers look with detestation on Malthus and his
doctrines: and many “right thinking” persons, as they call themselves,
fancy that they have discovered a valuable ally in him. The same error
is common to both. If Malthus’s position be true, (and no naturalist
can doubt it,) it follows as a matter of demonstration, that there is
a greater necessity for political freedom. The greater the obstacles
nature opposes to man’s comfortable existence, the greater efforts
are required to overcome them, and the greater is the necessity that
all his powers should be developed to the uttermost. Hitherto the
animal has been fully equal to the task of self-subsistence, wherever
bad governments have not interfered with the natural distribution of
the products of industry, and quartered noble indigence upon plebeian
activity. Civilization confers an increased power over the elements, and
a corresponding facility in manufacturing food; but unjust governments
weigh down the labourer, and avail themselves of every improvement to
increase the lion’s share of the product. Malthus, properly understood,
is a powerful radical reformer.
PATERNAL BENEDICTIONS.
Madame de Genlis regrets the abandonment of the nightly ceremony of
paternal benedictions (Dict. des Etiquettes). The mere repetition,
however, must destroy any efficacy it might be supposed to possess, in
forcing good conduct. A benediction is at first valued as a reward of
virtue, or a symbol of pardon for repented error: but it inevitably
becomes a thing of course; and is desired for its own sake alone, or as
a pledge of the favourable prepossession of a doating old man who has
something to leave.
If a benediction be supposed to possess efficacy in procuring good to its
object, so also must a curse be potent in evil; and by the prevalence of
this notion, the delirious ravings of disappointed ambition may become
the cause of misery to the innocent. Thus considered, the benediction
enters into the category of spells and enchantments; and the formulary
once recited, the omnipotence of heaven is enchained to the performance
of its conditions. This is a most degrading superstition; and, like all
similar errors, it cannot in the long run be serviceable to the species.
Its obvious ill effect is to make the will of others, and not the
morality of things, the standard of action.
SENTIMENT.
Sentiment is at best an invention of vanity to mask the infirmities of
mind and body: no wonder that it so easily lapses into affectation.
Joseph Surface is but a cynical display of what passes in the mind of the
great majority of the species; and of what the hypocrite is as anxious to
hide from himself as from the rest of the world. Marriage is the grave of
sentimentality; because the parties are like Cicero’s Augurs; they cannot
carry on the farce, and keep their countenance.
PRESENTS.
The great are fond of presents; but they are superlatively ungrateful.
Little people, in their need of protection, instinctively apply to the
great, with a bribe in their hand: and they do so wisely. Flattered
self-love yields what justice or benevolence alone might deny. It
is, however, by a succession of trifling gifts that the experienced
toad-eater makes way with a patron. Women (_par parenthèse_) enter into
the details of toad-eating much better than men.
An ignoramus offers something valuable, something above his means to
afford; and he “takes nothing by the motion;” for neither money, nor
money’s worth is valued by those whose wants are supplied as soon as they
arise. Such persons receive without compunction or consideration; and are
neither obliged, nor disposed to return in kind. It is courtesy, and not
pecuniary value they want; and it enters not into their conception that
the value, which is nothing to them, may be an inconvenient sacrifice to
the donor. Valuable presents must be rare; while it is unceasing homage
that wins. The spooneys alone are taken in, and strive to astonish by
the splendour of their gifts. The “able-bodied” toadies “win with honest
trifles to betray to deepest consequences.”
Kings, however, like substantial presents; but they will take anything,
even from the poorest of their subjects. When George the Third went to
return thanksgivings at St. Paul’s, on the recovery of his health, a
picture was made by Dayes of the ceremony in the interior of the church.
This picture was bought by an engraver, and a print executed from it;
and an application was made for the king’s permission to dedicate the
work to him. The permission was graciously granted by that patron of the
arts; with a stipulation that the original picture should be consigned to
himself: a proposition with which the spirited engraver refused to comply.
Courtiers laud the liberality of kings; and, in the eyes of poets
laureate, regal munificence is the first of virtues: but a
present-taking king is less mischievous than he, whom a silly vanity and
ignorance of the value of money, betrays into wasting the treasure which
is not his own. Besides, a greedy monarch is further excusable, inasmuch
as the cupidity of those who surround him, may be supposed to give an
intelligible lesson: he has only to profit by the example.
PER CONTRA.
If the great are fond of presents, the little make their gifts in the
same spirit, in which the farmer commits the seed to the earth. M——,
in reading Lucian this morning at breakfast, hit upon this curious
question: whether, on occasion of some general assembly of the gods,
the divinities should take precedence according to the respective value
of their materials, as images, or according to the merit of their
sculpture. The more weighty consideration very properly carried the
day; for the gods, both of this world and the other, are honoured
only as they have something to bestow. The reverence for mere wealth,
which is the besetting sin of the English character, is a sad mark of
moral degradation; but it is at least wiser than a stupid admiration of
the oppressors and destroyers of mankind, or an adoration of titles,
ribbons, and the accident of noble birth. It is a mistake to suppose
that the homage paid to riches is an homage to the folly or roguery of
the possessor: it is to his merit and utility as a conduit pipe, for
distributing that, of which every one is desirous, that the worship
is offered. The honors paid to mere aristocracy are like a pompous
inscription over a dry pump; compared with which, Rothschildolatry is a
return to simple nature.
EDUCATION.
The great error of all systems of education is, that they are
systems;—schemes built upon moral theories, instead of developments
of physiological facts; they are the result of a neglect of elements
which are indestructible, in the attempt to establish doctrines which
are hypothetical. Even Pestalozzi’s system has this radical defect. His
doctrine of “_la foi et l’amour_,” which he has taken for its basis, or
“that which children feel for their parents,” is to me unintelligible;
for schoolmasters are not, and cannot be, parents; and his rejection
of emulation, as a germ of dangerous passions,[31] is utterly
unphilosophical. Until Nature ceases to give passions, man must use them.
The lever of all action is motive.
TEMPERAMENT.
All character, and much of conduct, is a mere affair of temperament.
Early association will do something in forming opinions; precepts may
modify, and example influence; but nothing will give sensibility, where
nature has denied it. Something may be effected by the friend or the
physician; and caution and calomel may tell, in the long run. Nero,
perhaps, might have been bled down to a maudlin methodist; but returning
health would have raised him to the zeal of a St. Dominick; and on a
perfect convalescence, he would have ceased to cant, and began to burn.
In General Count P. de Ségur’s beautiful work, in which the story of a
campaign is given, with all the charm of a romance, and all the dignity
of an epic, the author accounts for the Russian war, and the headlong
precipitation with which it was conducted, on the simple principle of
a latent malady “in the world’s great master,” which sharpened his
passions, and urged him to his ruin; “an acrid humour which reigned in
his blood, which he considered as the cause of his irascibility, but
without which,” said Napoleon himself, “there is no gaining battles.”
“Which of us,” adds the author, “has penetrated sufficiently into the
human organization to affirm, that this hidden vice was not one of the
causes of that restless activity, which hurried on events, and occasioned
at once his grandeur and his fall?”