The Idler in France Part 10

Went to the Vaudeville Theatre last evening, to see the new piece by Scribe, so much talked of, ent.i.tled _Avant_, _Pendant, et Apres_. There is a fearful _vraisemblance_ in some of the scenes with all that one has read or pictured to oneself, as daily occurring during the terrible days of the Revolution; and the tendency of the production is not, in my opinion, calculated to produce salutary effects. I only wonder it is permitted to be acted.

The piece is divided, as the t.i.tle announces, into three different epochs. The first represents the frivolity and vices attributed to the days of _l'ancien regime_, and the _tableau des moeurs_, which is vividly coloured, leaves no favourable impression in the minds of the audience of that _n.o.blesse_ whose sufferings subsequently expiated the errors said to have accelerated, if not to have produced, the Revolution.

Nothing is omitted that could cast odium on them, as a preparation for the Reign of Terror that follows. The anarchy and confusion of the second epoch--the fear and horror that prevail when the voices and motions of a sanguinary mob are heard in the streets, and the terrified inmates of the houses are seen crouching in speechless terror, are displayed with wonderful truth.

The lesson is an awful, and I think a dangerous, one, and so seemed to think many of the upper cla.s.s among the audience, for I saw some fair cheeks turn pale, and some furrowed brows look ominous, as the scene was enacted, while those of the less elevated in rank among the spectators a.s.sumed, or seemed to a.s.sume, a certain _fierte_, if not ferocity, of aspect, at beholding this vivid representation of the triumph achieved by their order over the _n.o.blesse_.

It is not wise to exhibit to a people, and above all to so inflammable a people as the French, what _they_ can effect; and I confess I felt uneasy when I witnessed the deep interest and satisfaction evinced by many in the _parterre_ during the representation.

The _Apres_, the third epoch, is even more calculated to encourage revolutionary principles, for in it was displayed the elevation to the highest grades in the army and in the state of those who in the _ancien regime_ would have remained as the Revolution found them, in the most obscure stations, but who by that event had brilliant opportunities afforded for distinguishing themselves.

Heroic courage, boundless generosity, and devoted patriotism, are liberally bestowed on the actors who figure in this last portion of the drama; and, as these qualities are known to have appertained to many of those who really filled the _roles_ enacted at the period now represented, the scene had, as might be expected, a powerful effect on a people so impressible as the French, and so liable to be hurried into enthusiasm by aught that appeals to their imaginations.

The applause was deafening; and I venture to say, that those from whom it proceeded left the theatre with a conviction that a revolution was a certain means of achieving glory and fortune to those who, with all the self-imagined qualities to merit both, had not been born to either.

Every Frenchman in the middle or lower cla.s.s believes himself capable of arriving at the highest honours. This belief sometimes half accomplishes the destiny it imagines; but even when it fails to effect this, it ever operates in rendering Frenchmen peculiarly liable to rush into any change or measure likely to lead to even a chance of distinction.

As during the performance of _Avant, Pendant et Apres_, my eye glanced on the faces of some of the emigrant _n.o.blesse_, restored to France by the entry of the Bourbons, I marked the changes produced on their countenances by it. Anxiety, mingled with dismay, was visible; for the scenes of the past were vividly recalled, while a vague dread of the future was instilled. Yes, the representation of this piece is a dangerous experiment, and so I fear it will turn out.

I am sometimes amused, but more frequently irritated, by observing the _moeurs Parisiennes_, particularly in the shop-keepers. The airs of self-complacency, amounting almost to impertinence, practised by this cla.s.s, cannot fail to surprise persons accustomed to the civility and a.s.siduity of those in London, who, whether the purchases made in their shops be large or small, evince an equal politeness to the buyers.

In Paris, the tradesman a.s.sumes the right of dictating to the taste of his customers; in London, he only administers to it. Enter a Parisian shop, and ask to be shewn velvet, silk, or riband, to a.s.sort with a pattern you have brought of some particular colour or quality, and the mercer, having glanced at it somewhat contemptuously, places before you six or eight pieces of a different tint and texture.

You tell him that they are not similar to the pattern, and he answers, "That may be; nevertheless, his goods are of the newest fashion, and infinitely superior to your model." You say, "You prefer the colour of your pattern, and must match it." He produces half-a-dozen pieces still more unlike what you require; and to your renewed a.s.sertion that no colour but the one similar to your pattern will suit you, he a.s.sures you, that his goods are superior to all others, and that what you require is out of fashion, and a very bad article, and, consequently, that you had much better abandon your taste and adopt his. This counsel is given without any attempt at concealing the contempt the giver of it entertains for your opinion, and the perfect satisfaction he indulges for his own.

You once more ask, "If he has got nothing to match the colour you require?" and he shrugs his shoulders and answers, "_Pourtant_, madame, what I have shewn you is much superior," "Very possible; but no colour will suit me but this one," holding up the pattern; "for I want to replace a breadth of a new dress to which an accident has occurred."

"_Pourtant_, madame, my colours are precisely the same, but the quality of the materials is infinitely better!" and with this answer, after having lost half an hour--if not double that time--you are compelled to be satisfied, and leave the shop, its owner looking as if he considered you a person of decidedly bad taste, and very troublesome into the bargain.

Similar treatment awaits you in every shop; the owners having, as it appears to me, decided on shewing you only what _they_ approve, and not what you seek. The women of high rank in France seldom, if ever, enter any shop except that of Herbault, who is esteemed the _modiste, par excellence_, of Paris, and it is to this habit, probably, that the want of _bienseance_ so visible in Parisian _boutiquiers_, is to be attributed.

CHAPTER IX.

An agreeable party dined here yesterday--Lord Stuart de Rothesay, our Amba.s.sador, the Duc and d.u.c.h.esse de Guiche, the Duc de Mouchy, Sir Francis Burdett, and Count Charles de Mornay. Lord Stuart de Rothesay is very popular at Paris, as is also our Amba.s.sadress; a proof that, in addition to a vast fund of good-nature, no inconsiderable portion of tact is conjoined--to please English and French too, which they certainly do, requires no little degree of the rare talent of _savoir-vivre_.

To a profound knowledge of French society and its peculiarities, a knowledge not easily acquired, Lord and Lady Stuart de Rothesay add the happy art of adopting all that is agreeable in its usages, without sacrificing any of the stateliness so essential in the representatives of our more grave and reflecting nation.

Among the peculiarities that most strike one in French people, are the good-breeding with which they listen, without even a smile, to the almost incomprehensible attempts at speaking French made by many strangers, and the quickness of apprehension with which they seize their meaning, and a.s.sist them in rendering the sense complete.

I have seen innumerable proofs of this politeness--a politeness so little understood, or at least so little practised, among the English, that mistakes perfectly ludicrous, and which could not have failed to set my compatriots in a t.i.tter, if not in a roar, have not produced the movement of a single risible muscle, and yet the French are more p.r.o.ne to gaiety than are the English.

Mr. D---- and Mr. T---- dined here yesterday. The former, mild, gentlemanlike, and unostentatious, seems to forget what so many would, if similarly situated, remember with arrogance, namely, that he is immensely rich; an obliviousness that, in my opinion, greatly enhances his other merits.

Mr. T---- is little changed since I last saw him, and is well-informed, clover, and agreeable,--but his own too-evident consciousness of possessing these recommendations prevents other people from according him due merit for them.

In society, one who believes himself clever must become a hypocrite, and so conceal all knowledge of his self-complacency, if he wishes to avoid being unpopular; for woe be to him who lets the world see he thinks highly of himself, however his abilities may justify his self-approval!

The sight of Mr. T---- recalled his amiable and excellent mother to my memory. I never esteemed any woman more highly, or enjoyed the society of any other person more than hers. How many pleasant hours have I pa.s.sed with her! I so well remember John Kemble fancying that if I went through a course of reading Shakspeare with his sister Mrs. T----, I should make, as he said, a fine actress; and we were to get up private theatricals at Mountjoy Forest.

In compliance with the request of Lord Blessington, I studied Shakspeare with this amiable and gifted woman for many months, which cemented a friendship between us that ended but with her life. Her method of reading was admirable; for to the grandeur of her sister Mrs.

Siddons, she united a tenderness and softness, in which that great actress was said to be deficient. I never open any of the plays of Shakspeare which I studied with her without thinking I hear her voice, and I like them better for the a.s.sociation.

To great personal attractions, which even to the last she retained enough of to give a notion of what her beauty must have been in her youth, Mrs. T---- added a charm of manners, a cultivation of mind, and a goodness of heart seldom surpa.s.sed; and, in all the relations of life, her conduct was most praiseworthy. Even now, though six years have elapsed since her death, the recollection of it brings tears to my eyes. Good and gentle woman, may your virtues on earth find their reward in Heaven!

I pa.s.sed last evening at Madame Craufurd's, where I met Lady Charlotte Lindsay and the Misses Berry. How perfectly they answered to the description given of them by Sir William Gell; who, though exceedingly attached to all three, has not, as far as one interview permitted me to judge, overrated their agreeability! Sir William Gell has read me many letters from these ladies, replete with talent, of which their conversation reminded me.

Francis Hare and his wife dined here to-day. They are _en route_ from Germany--where they have been sojourning since their marriage--for England, where her _accouchement_ is to take place. Francis Hare has lived with us so much in Italy, that we almost consider him a member of the domestic circle; and, on the faith of this, he expressed his desire that we should receive _madame son epouse_ as if she were an old acquaintance.

Mrs. Hare is well-looking, and agreeable, appears amiable, and is a good musician. I remember seeing her and her sisters with her mother, Lady Paul, at Florence, when I had little notion that she was to be Mrs. Hare. I never meet Francis Hare without being surprised by the versatility of his information; it extends to the fine arts, literature, rare books, the localities of pictures and statues; in short, he is a moving library that may always be consulted with profit, and his memory is as accurate as an index in rendering its precious stores available.

It is strange, that the prominent taste of his wife, which is for music, is the only one denied to him. He afforded an amusing instance of this fact last night, when Mrs. Hare, having performed several airs on the piano-forte, he asked her, "Why she played the same tune so often, for the monotony was tiresome?"--an observation that set us all laughing.

Took Mrs. Hare out shopping--saw piles of lace, heaps of silk, pyramids of riband, and all other female gear. What a multiplicity of pretty things we women require to render us what we consider presentable! And how few of us, however good-looking we may chance to be, would agree with the poet, that "loveliness needs not the foreign aid of ornament, but is, when unadorned, adorned the most."

Even the fairest of the s.e.x like to enhance the charms of nature by the aid of dress; and the plainest hope to become less so by its a.s.sistance. Men are never sufficiently sensible of our humility, in considering it so necessary to increase our attractions in order to please them, nor grateful enough for the pains we bestow in the attempts.

Husbands and fathers are particularly insensible to this amiable desire on the parts of their wives and daughters; and, when asked to pay the heavy bills incurred in consequence of this praiseworthy humility and desire to please, evince any feeling rather than that of satisfaction.

It is only admirers not called on to pay these said bills who duly appreciate the cause and effect, and who can hear of women pa.s.sing whole hours in tempting shops, without that elongation of countenance peculiar to husbands and fathers.

I could not help thinking with the philosopher, how many things I saw to-day that could be done without. If women could be made to understand that costliness of attire seldom adds to beauty, and often deteriorates it, a great amelioration in expense could be accomplished.

Transparent muslin, the cheapest of all materials, is one of the prettiest, too, for summer's wear, and with the addition of some bows of delicate-coloured riband, or a _bouquet_ of fresh flowers, forms a most becoming dress. The lowness of the price of such a robe enables the purchaser to have so frequent a change of it, that even those who are far from rich may have half-a-dozen, while one single robe of a more expensive material will cost more; and having done so, the owner will think it right to wear it more frequently than is consistent with the freshness and purity that should ever be the distinguishing characteristics in female dress, in order to indemnify herself for the expense.

I was never more struck with this fact, than a short time ago, when I saw two ladies seated next each other, both young and handsome; but one, owing to the freshness of her robe, which was of simple _organdie_, looked infinitely better than the other, who was quite as pretty, but who, wearing a robe of expensive lace, whose whiteness had fallen into "the sere and yellow leaf," appeared faded and _pa.s.see_.

Be wise, then, ye young and fair; and if, as I suspect, your object be to please the Lords of the Creation, let your dress, in summer, be snowy-white muslin, never worn after its pristine purity becomes problematical; and in winter, let some half-dozen plain and simple silk gowns be purchased, instead of the two or three expensive ones that generally form the wardrobe, and which, consequently, soon not only lose their l.u.s.tre but give the wearer the appearance of having suffered the same fate!

And you, O husbands and fathers, present and future, be ye duly impressed with a sense of your manifold obligations to me for thus opening the eyes of your wives and daughters how to please without draining your purses; and when the maledictions of lace, velvet, and satin-sellers full on my hapless head, for counsel so injurious to their interests, remember they were incurred for yours!

Mr. and Mrs. Hare dined here yesterday. They brought with them Madame de la H----, who came up from near Chantilly to see them. She is as pretty as I remember her at Florence, when Mademoiselle D----, and is _piquante_ and _spirituelle_. Counts Charles de Mornay and Valeski formed the party, and Count Maussion and some others came in the evening.

I observe that few English shine in conversation with the French. There is a lightness and brilliancy, a sort of touch and go, if I may say so, in the latter, seldom, if ever, to be acquired by strangers. Never dwelling long on any subject, and rarely entering profoundly into it, they sparkle on the surface with great dexterity, bringing wit, gaiety, and tact, into play.

Like summer lightning, French wit flashes frequently, brightly and innocuously, leaving nothing disagreeable to remind one of its having appeared. Conversation is, with the French, the aim and object of society. All enter it prepared to take a part, and he best enacts it who displays just enough knowledge to show that much remains behind.

Such is the tact of the Parisians, that even the ignorant conceal the poverty of their minds, and might, to casual observers, pa.s.s as being in no way deficient, owing to the address with which they glide in an _a propos oui, ou non_, and an appropriate shake of the head, nod of a.s.sent, or dissent.

The const.i.tutional vivacity of the French depending much on their mercurial temperaments, greatly aids them in conversation. A light and playful sally acquires additional merit when uttered with gaiety; and should a _bon mot_ even contain something calculated to pique any one present, or reflect on the absent, the mode in which it is uttered takes off from the force of the matter; whereas, on the contrary, the more grave and sententious manner peculiar to the English adds pungency to their satire. Our old and valued friend, Mr. J. Strangways, has arrived at Paris, and very glad were we to see him once more. He pa.s.sed through a severe trial since last we parted; and his conduct under it towards his poor friend, Mr. Anson, does him credit.

The two companions--one the brother of the Earl of Ilchester, and the other of Lord Anson--were travelling in Syria together. They had pa.s.sed through Aleppo, where the plague had then appeared, and were at the distance of several days' journey from it, congratulating themselves on their safety, when, owing to some error on the part of those who examined their firman, they were compelled to retrace their steps to Aleppo, where, condemned to become the inhabitants of a lazaretto until the imagined mistake could be corrected, they found themselves _tete-a-tete_.

The first two or three days pa.s.sed without any thing to alarm the friends. Engaged in drawing maps for their intended route, and plans for the future, the hours glided away even cheerfully.

But this cheerfulness was not long to continue; for Mr. Anson, having one morning asked Mr. Strangways to hold the end of his shawl while he twisted it round his head as a turban, the latter observed, with a degree of horror and dismay more easily to be imagined than described, the fatal plague-spot clearly defined on the back of the neck of his unfortunate friend.