There is no more ordinary illusion belonging to humanity than that
which enables us to discover, in the fashions of the day, an elegance
and comeliness of dress which a few years after we ourselves regard as
odious caricatures of costume. Thousands of oddly-dressed English
flocked to Paris immediately after the war: I remember that the burden
of one of the popular songs of the day was, "All the world's in Paris;"
and our countrymen and women having so long been excluded from French
modes, had adopted fashions of their own quite as remarkable and
eccentric as those of the Parisians, and much less graceful. British
beauties were dressed in long, strait pelisses of various colours; the
body of the dress was never of the same colour as the skirt; and the
bonnet was of the bee-hive shape, and very small. The characteristic
of the dress of the gentleman was a coat of light blue, or
snuff-colour, With brass buttons, the tail reaching nearly to the
heels; a gigantic bunch of seals dangled from his fob, whilst his
pantaloons were short and tight at the knees; and a spacious waistcoat,
with a voluminous muslin cravat and a frilled shirt, completed the
toilette. The dress of the British military, in its stiff and formal
ugliness, was equally cumbrous and ludicrous.
Lady Oxford--that beautiful and accomplished woman, who lived in her
hotel in the Rue de Clichy--gave charming soirees, at which were
gathered the elite of Paris society. Among these were Edward Montague,
Charles Standish, Hervey Aston, Arthur Upton, "Kangaroo" Cook, Benjamin
Constant, Dupin, Casimir Perier, as well as the chief Orleanists. On
one occasion, I recollect seeing there George Canning and the
celebrated Madame de Stael. Cornwall, the eldest son of the Bishop of
Worcester, had, from some unaccountable cause, a misunderstanding with
Madame de Stael, who appeared very excited, and said to Lady Oxford, in
a loud voice, "Notre ami, M. Cornewal, est grosso, rosso, e furioso."
It should be observed that the gentleman thus characterized was
red-haired, and hasty in temper. All who heard this denunciation were
astounded at the lady's manner, for she looked daggers at the object of
her sarcasm.
Fox, the secretary of the embassy, was an excellent man, but odd,
indolent, and careless in the extreme; he was seldom seen in the
daytime, unless it was either at the embassy in a state of negligee, or
in bed. At night he used to go to the Salon des Etrangers; and, if he
possessed a Napoleon, it was sure to be thrown away at hazard, or rouge
et noir. On one occasion, however, fortune favoured him in a most
extraordinary manner. The late Henry Baring having recommended him to
take the dice-box, Fox replied, "I will do so for the last time, for
all my money is thrown away upon this infernal table." Fox staked all
he had in his pockets; he threw in eleven times, breaking the bank, and
taking home for his share 60,000 francs. After this, several days
passed without any tidings being heard of him; but upon my calling at
the embassy to get my passport vised, I went into his room, and saw it
filled with Cashmere shawls, silk, Chantilly veils, bonnets, gloves,
shoes, and other articles of ladies' dress. On my asking the purpose
of all this millinery, Fox replied, in a good-natured way, "Why, my
dear Gronow, it was the only means to prevent those rascals at the
salon winning back my money."