VISITS ABROAD AND AT HOME.
Life at Edgeworthstown underwent no outward change owing to the death of
its master. His place was taken by his eldest and unmarried son, Lovell,
who sought to the best of his abilities to keep the house a home for his
father's widow and his numerous brothers and sisters, an endeavor in
which he was successful. Miss Edgeworth describes herself at this time
as "quite absorbed in low domestic interests, of which only those who
love home and love us can possibly bear to hear."
For some years after her father's death all she did was done as an
effort, and more from a high sense of duty and from the thought that it
would have pleased him who was gone, than from any inner desire to act.
When the family after a short absence reassembled at Edgeworthstown, it
required all her inherited activity of mind, all her acquired
self-command, to enable her to keep up her spirits on reentering that
house in which for her the light was quenched. It was well for her not
only that work was the purpose in life of all that family, that no
drones were suffered in that household, but that her work had been
planned for her by her father, and that in settling down to it she was
obeying his commands.
It had been not only his darling wish, but his dying injunction, that
she should complete the memoir of his life which he had begun and
abandoned ten years previously. Why Mr. Edgeworth had written his life
is not made clear, even by the preface, in which he attempts to explain
the reasons that impelled him. The real reason was probably the
excessive importance he attached to himself and his actions. It had
always been his intention that Miss Edgeworth should revise and complete
this memoir; but when he was dying he emphatically enjoined that it
should be published without any change. This complicated her task, which
she felt a heavy one. Excepting a few passages, he had never shown what
he had written even to his own family; and when he was urged by them to
continue it, he used to say he "would leave the rest to be finished by
his daughter Maria." Almost before her eyes were recovered she set to
work upon her pious duty. Her anxiety lest she should not do justice to
the theme weighed upon her so greatly that she could hardly speak of
the memoirs even to her most intimate friends. It is reflected in the
touchingly helpless preface she prefixed to the second volume:--
Till now I have never on any occasion addressed myself to the
public alone, and speaking in the first person. This egotism is not
only repugnant to my habits, but most painful and melancholy.
Formerly I had always a friend and father who spoke and wrote for
me; one who exerted for me all the powers of his strong mind, even
to the very last. Far more than his protecting kindness I regret,
at this moment, the want of his guiding judgment now, when it is
most important to me--where _his_ fame is at stake.
To save her eyesight her sisters assisted her in copying or in writing
from her dictation; but even so she was forced to use her own vision,
and while busy with the memoirs she allowed herself little of what was
now her greatest relaxation, writing letters to her friends:--
We are looking to the bright side of every object that remains to
us, and many blessings we have still. I am now correcting what I
had written of my father's life, and shall be for some months, so
shall not write any letters of such length as this.
Bear up and struggle as she would, bitterly and painfully she missed the
always kind and ready adviser, the sympathetic intellectual companion,
who had stood by her side till now and aided her in every difficult
task. She felt like "drifting over an unknown sea without chart or
compass." Nor were her spirits or those of the family raised by outward
events. Wet seasons had induced famine and typhus fever, and the tenants
were suffering from disease and distress. Then, too, the family had
their own private anxieties in the illness of William, Lovell and Fanny.
They were all more or less delicate; most of them had inherited
consumptive tendencies, and many months rarely passed without Miss
Edgeworth having to record cases of sickness in those about her. These
illnesses always absorbed her whole attention, called forth all her
kindliness and unselfishness. She was ever the ready, willing nurse, the
writer of bulletins to those away, the cheerer of long, sad hours of
suffering. They were weary months, those early ones of 1818, and only in
her affections did she find comfort. She writes:--
I was always fond of being loved, but of late I am become more
sensible of the soothing power of affectionate expressions. Indeed,
I have reason, although much has been taken from me, to be heartily
grateful for all I have left of excellent friends, and for much,
much unexpected kindness which has been shown to me and mine, not
only by persons unconnected by any natural ties with me or them,
but from mere acquaintance become friends.
In June she was able to announce: "I am now within two months' work of
finishing all I mean to write; but the work of revision and
consideration--O! most anxious consideration." She was still desirous of
having the opinion of friends, and more especially she desired the
opinion of M. Dumont. Hearing he was to stay with Lord Lansdowne, at
Bowood, she yielded to the importunities of these friends and went there
to meet him, taking with her her sister Honora. She was soon able to
tell Mrs. Edgeworth that Dumont "has been very much pleased with my
father's manuscript; he has read a good deal and likes it. He hates Mr.
Day in spite of all his good qualities; he says he knows he could not
bear that sort of man, who has such pride and misanthropies about
trifles, raising a great theory of morals upon an _amour propre
blesse_."
The change of scene was clearly beneficial to her. Once more her letters
were filled with the anecdotes, the interesting talk she hears, accounts
of which she knows will give pleasure to those at home. To give pleasure
to others was always the one thought uppermost in her mind. "I am a vile
correspondent when I have nothing to say; but at least I do write in
some sort of way when I know I have something to say that will give
pleasure to my friends." The whole character of the woman is revealed
in these simple words. Among the good stories she tells from Bowood is
one concerning Madame de Stael:--
Madame de Stael--I tumble anecdotes together as I recollect
them--Madame de Stael had a great wish to see Mr. Bowles, the poet,
or as Lord Byron calls him, the sonneteer; she admired his sonnets
and his _Spirit of Maritime Discovery_, and ranked him high as an
English genius. In riding to Bowood he fell and sprained his
shoulder, but still came on. Lord Lansdowne alluded to this in
presenting him to Madame de Stael, before dinner, in the midst of
the listening circle. She began to compliment him and herself upon
the exertion he had made to come and see her. "O, ma'am, say no
more, for I would have done a great deal more to see so great a
curiosity!" Lord Lansdowne says it is impossible to describe the
shock in Madame de Stael's face--the breathless astonishment and
the total change produced in her opinion of the man. She said
afterwards to Lord Lansdowne, who had told her he was a simple
country clergyman, "_Je vois bien que ce n'est qu'un simple cure
qui n'a pas le sens commun quoique grand poete!_"
From Bowood Miss Edgeworth paid some other visits, seeing many old
friends, and among them Mrs. Barbauld and the Misses Baillie:--
Joanna Baillie and her sister, most kind, cordial and warm-hearted,
came running down their little flagged walk to welcome us. Both
Joanna and her sister have such agreeable and new
conversation--not old trumpery literature over again, and reviews,
but new circumstances worth telling apropos to every subject that
is touched upon; frank observations on character without either ill
nature or the fear of committing themselves; no blue-stocking
tittle-tattle or habits of worshipping or being worshipped;
domestic, affectionate, good to live with and without fussing,
continually doing what is most obliging and whatever makes us feel
most at home. Breakfast is very pleasant in this house, the two
good sisters look so neat and cheerful.
Although she had met with much encouraging criticism in the matter of
her father's life, she still hesitated to publish. "The result of all I
see, think and feel," she tells her stepmother, "is that we should be in
no haste." Down to the very business arrangements the book weighed on
her. She had hitherto left all such details to her father; and her kind
friend Johnson being also dead, she felt yet more undecided how to act.
At every moment, in every detail of her life, she missed her father; but
she was too brave a woman not to struggle with her grief, or not to
adapt herself to altered conditions. Her eyes still caused her much
trouble, and for nearly two years she was obliged to give them almost
entire rest.
But for her patience and fortitude in following the doctor's
injunctions, it seems possible she might have entirely lost her sight.
As it was, a complete recovery took place; and though at times her eyes
were weak, she was able to the end of her life to read, write and work
with ease. At the end of the year 1819 she is able gleefully to tell her
cousin that she must now make up for lost time and read.
"Now that I have eyes to read again, I find it delightful, and I have a
voracious appetite and a relish for food; good, bad and indifferent, I
am afraid, like a half-famished, shipwrecked wretch."
She read all the new literature of the day, and eagerly inquired among
all her friends what they commended. Byron's _Don Juan_ had caused much
talk, but this did not attract her:--
After what you have told me, and after all I hear from every good
judge of _Don Juan_, I never desire to see it. The only regret I
feel upon the subject is that any pearls should be found, as I am
told they may be found, in this intellectual dung-hill. How can the
public allow this drunken, flagitious actor to appear before them,
disgracing genius and the taste of his country? In Scott's last
tales there are all the signs of a master mind, but now and then
all the spasms in the stomach, for which I pity him. I am glad he
is going to try some new scheme, for he has, I think, exhausted
every variety of Scotch character.
It was not till early in 1820 that the memoirs of Mr. Edgeworth were
completed. Having arranged that they should appear at Easter, Miss
Edgeworth resolved to carry out a long-cherished plan, that of visiting
Paris in company with her two young sisters, Fanny and Harriet. At one
time it seemed as if political events were too unsettled to make this
project advisable, on which account she asked her good friend, Dr.
Holland, of Knutsford, to propose some other plans. Very significant is
the remark she makes: "Observe that Fanny and I both prefer society,
good society, even to fine landscapes or even to volcanoes." Finally
Paris was pronounced safe, and they set out thither. It was on this
occasion, when crossing to Holyhead, that she made her first
acquaintance with a steamboat. She disliked what she called the "jigging
motion," which, she said, was like the shake felt in a carriage when a
pig is scratching himself behind the hind wheel while waiting at an
Irish inn door. Her letters to her stepmother and sisters during this
trip are frequent and detailed. At Paris they stayed some months,
establishing themselves domestically in apartments in the Place du
Palais Bourbon. "_Madame Maria Edgeworth et Mademoiselles ses soeurs_"
ran their visiting-cards, which were soon left at the best Parisian
houses. Many new friends were added to those they had previously made,
and under the changed regime the connection of Miss Edgeworth with the
Abbe Edgeworth became a passport to the homes of the old nobility. The
circumstance that Miss Edgeworth was a most accomplished French scholar,
speaking the language with as much ease as if it were her own, enabled
her thoroughly to enter into and enjoy the society that was offered her.
Her knowledge of French classic literature charmed her hosts and brought
out all their best powers of conversation. Her ready sympathy and real
interest won their hearts and induced many of them to tell her the sad
stories of their adventures in the revolutionary days. But her
intercourse was not confined to the aristocracy. Her hereditary taste
for science brought her in contact with most of the distinguished
scientific men of France, while literary society was, of course, thrown
open to her. She noticed a great alteration in manners since their last
visit:--
I should observe that a great change has taken place: the men
huddle together now in France as they used to do in England,
talking politics with their backs to the women in a corner, or even
in the middle of the room, without minding them in the least, and
the ladies complain and look very disconsolate, and many ask "If
this be Paris?" and others scream Ultra nonsense or Liberal
nonsense to make themselves of consequence and to attract the
attention of the gentlemen. In 1803, under the First Consul's
reign, when all freedom of discussion on public affairs was
dangerous, and when all parties were glad to forget the horrors of
the revolutionary days, conversation was limited to literary or
scientific subjects, and was therefore much more agreeable to
foreigners; now in 1820 the verb _politiquer_, to talk politics,
had been invented.
As a foreigner Miss Edgeworth was enabled to visit at the houses of all
factions, and she found much entertainment in hearing their opinions and
diametrically opposite views. The Emigrants spoke of the Liberals with
the bitterest detestation as revolutionary monsters; the Liberals spoke
of the Ultras as bigoted idiots. One of these said of a lady celebrated
in 1803 as a brilliant talker: "_Autrefois elle avait de l'esprit, mais
elle est devenue Ultra, devote et bete._" While not sympathizing with
the insolence of either party, Miss Edgeworth extracted some diversion
and yet more moral reflection from all she saw. Writing to Dr. Holland
after she had been an observer for some time, she says:--
Upon the whole, after comparing the society in Paris and London, I
far prefer the London society, and feel a much stronger desire to
return to London than ever to revisit Paris. There is scarcely any
new literature or any taste for old literature in Paris. In London
the production of a single article in the _Edinboro'_ or _Quarterly
Review_, the lustre, however evanescent, it casts on the reviewer
or the author, is a proof of the importance of literature in
fashionable society. No such thing in Paris. Even the Parisian men
of science, many of them equal, some superior to ours, are obliged
or think themselves obliged to turn statesmen, and sorry statesmen
they make. Everything in Parisian society is, as it were, tainted
by politics, and the politicians themselves seem to be mere actors.
I could forgive all their violence and the noise they make,
screaming always all at a time, if they were really actuated by
patriotism, but it seemed all for effect. A few exceptions, of
course, to prove the rule.
The more she saw of Parisian life, the more convinced she felt that the
French required, if not a despot, at least an absolute monarch to reign
over them. A brilliant and ready talker, Miss Edgeworth was also an able
listener, and hence her society was much sought after, while the beauty,
intelligence and excellent dressing of her sisters caused them also to
be regarded as acquisitions in days when the Continent was not swamped
with tourists, as it is now, and natives were therefore able to open
their doors. A galaxy of brilliant and historical names pass across the
pages of Miss Edgeworth's letters, and many a reminiscence she has
preserved of them. Her accounts of the various parties to which they
went are so vivacious and graphic that those for whom they were written
must have felt as if they had been present too, and had listened to all
the talk in which science, politics, literature and nonsense were mixed
in happy proportions. Here is an account of an evening at Cuvier's:--
Prony, with his hair nearly in my plate, was telling me most
entertaining anecdotes of Bonaparte; and Cuvier, with his head
nearly meeting him, talking as hard as he could, not striving to
show learning or wit--quite the contrary; frank, open-hearted
genius, delighted to be together at home and at ease. This was the
most flattering and agreeable thing to me that could possibly be.
Harriet was on the off side, and every now and then he turned to
her in the midst of his anecdotes and made her so completely one of
us; and there was such a prodigious noise, nobody could hear but
ourselves. Both Cuvier and Prony agreed that Bonaparte never could
bear to have any but a decided answer. "One day," said Cuvier, "I
nearly ruined myself by considering before I answered. He asked me,
'_Faut il introduire le sucre de bettetrave en France?' 'D'abord,
Sire, il faut songer si vos colonies'--'Faut il avoir le sucre de
bettetrave en France?' 'Mais, Sire, il faut examiner'--'Bah! je le
demanderai a Berthollet._'" This despotic, laconic mode of
insisting on learning everything in two words had its
inconveniences. One day he asked the master of the woods at
Fontainebleau, "How many acres of wood here?" The master, an honest
man, stopped to recollect. "Bah!" and the under-master came forward
and said any number that came into his head. Bonaparte immediately
took the mastership from the first and gave it to the second.
"_Qu'arrivait il?_" continued Prony; "the rogue who gave the guess
answer was soon found cutting down and selling quantities of the
trees, and Bonaparte had to take the rangership from him and
reinstate the honest hesitator."
Many of her good stories had to be cut short or omitted for lack of time
to tell them. "I find always that when I come to the end of my paper I
have not told you half the entertaining things I had treasured up for
you," she tells her stepmother. As in London, they lived in a constant
whirl of gaiety. But Miss Edgeworth never forgot others amid the
distinctions paid to herself. She was constantly thinking either what
would please those left behind or what kind act she could do for those
around her; and if it were nothing more than helping other English
visitors to gain a glimpse of French society, she set herself with all
ardor to accomplish it:--
Next to the delight of seeing my sisters so justly appreciated and
so happy at Paris, my greatest pleasure has been in the power of
introducing people to each other, who longed to meet, but could not
contrive it before.
Social success did not turn her head:--
Certainly no people can have seen more of the world than we have
done in the last three months. By seeing the world I mean seeing
varieties of characters and manners, and being behind the scenes of
life in many different societies and families. The constant chorus
of our moral as we drive home together at night is, "How happy we
are to be so fond of each other! How happy we are to be independent
of all we see here! How happy that we have our dear home to return
to at last!"
Her sisters told on their return how readily Miss Edgeworth would quit
the company of the greatest people of the day, to superintend their
dress or arrange some pleasure for them. "We often wondered," they said,
"what her admirers would say, after all the profound remarks and
brilliant witticisms they had listened to, if they heard all her
delightful nonsense with us."
The sisters' gay life continued without intermission, only varied now
and then by visits to French country houses. Among the most agreeable
people they met Miss Edgeworth numbered some Russians and Poles. At the
house of the Princess Potemkin she first made wondering acquaintance
with, what is now fortunately a matter of course, the more refined mode
of serving dinner known as _a la Russe_. She met, too, Prince
Rostopchin, the man who burned Moscow by first setting fire to his own
house:--
I never saw a more striking Calmuck countenance. From his
conversation as well as from his actions I should think him a man
of great strength of character. Speaking of the Russians, he
compared their civilization to a naked man looking at himself in a
gilt-framed mirror, and he told an anecdote that illustrated the
perfunctory method of government. The Governor of Siberia lived at
Petersburg and never went near his Government. One day the Emperor,
in presence of this Governor and Rostopchin, was boasting of his
far-sightedness. "Commend me," said Rostopchin, "to M. le
Gouverneur, who sees so well from Petersburg to Siberia."
At a breakfast at Camille Jordain's were assembled three of the most
distinguished of the party who called themselves _Les Doctrinaires_, and
alleged that they were more attached to measures than to men:--
These three doctrinaires were Casimir Perier, Royer Collard and
Benjamin Constant, who is, I believe, of a more violent party. I do
not like him at all; his countenance, voice, manner and
conversation are all disagreeable to me. He is a fair, "whithky"
looking man, very near-sighted, with spectacles which seemed to
pinch his nose. He pokes out his chin to keep his spectacles on,
and yet looks over the top of his spectacles, _squinching_ up his
eyes, so that you cannot see your way into his mind. Then he speaks
through his nose and with a lisp, strangely contrasting with the
vehemence of his emphasis. He does not give me any confidence in
the sincerity of his patriotism, nor any high idea of his talents,
though he seems to have a mighty high idea of them himself. He has
been well called _Le Heros des Brochures_. We sat beside one
another, and I think felt a mutual antipathy. On the other side of
me was Royer Collard, suffering with toothache and swelled face;
but notwithstanding the distortion of the swelling, the natural
expression of his countenance and the strength and sincerity of
his soul made their way, and the frankness of his character and
plain superiority of his talents were manifest in five minutes'
conversation.
In June Miss Edgeworth and her sisters left Paris for a tour in
Switzerland, visiting their friends the Moilliets, who lived at Pregny,
near Geneva. Their house, which had formerly belonged to Josephine,
commanded a superb view of the lake and of Mont Blanc. It was a surprise
to Miss Edgeworth to find how much she was impressed with the beauty of
the scenery about her:--
I did not conceive it possible that I should feel so much pleasure
from the beauties of nature as I have done since I came to this
country. The first moment when I saw Mont Blanc will remain an era
in my life--a new idea, a new feeling, standing alone in the mind.
Geneva was at that time enjoying what has been termed its Augustan age.
An unusual number of distinguished persons resided there, and it was
besides largely resorted to by eminent men and women from all lands,
most of whom Miss Edgeworth met at the house of her host. Besides,
Monsieur Pictet and Monsieur Dumont, these old, faithful friends, were
also domiciled at Geneva, and strove to do the honors of the place.
Among temporary residents were such men and women as Dr. and Mrs.
Marcet, Arago, De Candolle, the botanist, Freiherr von Stein, Madame
Necker de Saussure, and Sismondi. They also met Bonstetten, the poet
Gray's youthful friend, then an old man, who spoke with enthusiasm of
Madame de Stael.
This mixture of persons from all parts of the world gave a piquancy to
the reunions that were held at Geneva. Sometimes the guests met in the
evening at a house in town, sometimes at breakfast in the different
country villas in all the freshness of the sweet Swiss morning,
sometimes by moonlight on lawns sloping down to the lake; when they
would sit under trees or stroll about, while tea and ices and the famous
varieties of Geneva cakes were handed round. It was at one of these
evening assemblies that Miss Edgeworth, while talking to De Candolle in
her most brilliant strain, attracted a crowd five deep.
Several short excursions into the lower Alpine regions were made from
Geneva by the sisters and their friends; but though Miss Edgeworth
enjoyed the beauties of nature beyond her expectations, she yet, as
before in her letters, mentions persons and matters of intellectual
interest more frequently than scenery. It was a keen gratification to
her that M. Dumont spoke well of the now published memoirs. She cared
more for this than for the many compliments that were paid to herself,
only a few of which she modestly records, and then only because she
knows they will please the dear ones at home. At Coppet the party
breakfasted with M. de Stael, who showed them all the rooms once
inhabited by his mother, which Miss Edgeworth "could not regard as
common rooms; they have a classical power over the mind." M. de Stael
told her--
That his mother never gave any work to the public in the form in
which she had originally composed it. She changed the arrangement
and expression of her thoughts with such facility, and was so
little attached to her own first views of the subject, that often a
work was completely remodeled by her while passing through the
press. Her father disliked to see her make any formal preparation
for writing when she was young, so that she used to write often on
the corner of the chimney-piece or on a pasteboard held in her
hand, and always in the room with others, for her father could not
bear her to be out of the room, and this habit of writing without
preparation she preserved ever afterwards.
M. de Stael told me of a curious interview he had with Bonaparte
when he was enraged with his mother, who had published remarks on
his government, concluding with "_Eh bien! vous avez raison aussi.
Je concois qu'un fils doit toujours faire la defense de sa mere,
mais enfin, si monsieur veut ecrire des libelles, il faut aller en
Angleterre. Ou bien s'il cherche la gloire c'est en Angleterre
qu'il faut aller. C'est l'Angleterre, ou la France--il n'y a que
ces deux pays en Europe--dans le monde._"
During her absence abroad Miss Edgeworth had revised the manuscript of
the latter portion of _Rosamond_ and sent it home to press. At the
eleventh hour her publisher discovered that there was not enough
material to complete two volumes, and urged her to supply more copy
without delay. "I was a little provoked," she writes on first hearing
the news, "but this feeling lasted but a moment, and my mind fixed on
what is to be done. It is by no means necessary for me to be at home or
in any particular place to invent or to write." Instantly she set to
work, and in the midst of all social attractions and distractions around
her she wrote the two additional chapters called _The Bracelet of
Memory_ and _Blind Kate_.
Late in October the Misses Edgeworth left Switzerland for Paris,
visiting Lyons on their way. The town had a special interest for Miss
Edgeworth because of her father's early residence there. By the end of
October they were once more settled at Paris in a floor to themselves,
with a _valet de place_ and a _femme de chambre_. Another gay three
months followed, seeing old friends and making new ones:--
We have seen Mademoiselle Mars twice, or thrice rather, in the
_Mariage de Figaro_, and in the little pieces of _Le jaloux sans
amour_ and _La jeunesse de Henri Cinq_, and admire her
exceedingly. _En petit comite_ the other night at the Duchesse
d'Escars, a discussion took place between the Duchesse de la Force,
Marmont and Pozzo di Borgo on the _bon et mauvais ton_ of different
expressions; _bonne societe_ is an expression bourgeoise. You may
say _bonne compagnie_ or _la haute societe_. "_Viola des nuances_,"
as Madame d'Escars said. Such a wonderful jabbering as these
grandees made about these small matters! It puts me in mind of a
conversation in the _World_ on good company, which we all used to
admire.
In December the travellers were back again in London, but several more
visits were paid before they returned to Ireland. Thus they halted at
Clifton to see Miss Edgeworth's sister Emmeline, who was married there,
and stayed at Bowood, Easton Grey, Badminton and various other houses,
in all of which they met with a warm welcome. Beloved Aunt Ruxton, too,
had to be seen on the way home. It was March before the sisters reached
Edgeworthstown, after not quite a year's absence; a year that seemed to
Miss Edgeworth like a delightful dream, full of Alps and glaciers and
cascades and Mont Blanc, and "troops of acquaintances in splendid
succession and visionary confusion"--a dream of which the sober
certainty of happiness remained, assuring her that all that had passed
had been no dream, but a reality.