The Idler in France Part 21

Mouldered in the grave long, long years ago! Through how many hands may these objects not have pa.s.sed since Death s.n.a.t.c.hed away the persons for whom they were originally designed! And here they are in the ign.o.ble custody of some avaricious vender, who having obtained them at the sale of some departed amateur for less than half their first cost, now expects to extort more than double.

He takes them up in his unwashed fingers, turns them--oh, profanation!--round and round, in order to display their various merits, descants on the delicacy of the workmanship, the sharpness of the chiseling, the pure water of the brilliants, and the fine taste displayed in the form; tells a hundred lies about the sum he gave for them, the offers he has refused, the persons to whom they once belonged, and those who wish to purchase them!

The _flacon_ of some defunct prude is placed side by side with the _vinaigrette_ of some _jolie danseuse_ who was any thing but prudish.

How shocked would the original owner of the _flacon_ feel at the friction! The fan of some _grande dame de la cour_ touches the diamond-mounted _etui_ of the wife of some _financier_, who would have given half her diamonds to enter the circle in which she who once owned this fan found more _ennui_ than amus.e.m.e.nt. The cane of a deceased philosopher is in close contact with the golden-hilted sword of a _pet.i.t maitre de l'ancien regime_, and the sparkling _tabatiere_ of a _Marquis Musque_, the partaker if not the cause of half his _succes dans le monde_, is placed by the _chapelet_ of a _religieuse de haute naissance_, who often perhaps dropped a tear on the beads as she counted them in saying her Ave Marias, when some unbidden thought of the world she had resigned usurped the place of her aspirations for a brighter and more enduring world.

"And so 't will be when I am gone," as Moore's beautiful song says; the rare and beautiful _bijouterie_ which I have collected with such pains, and looked on with such pleasure, will probably be scattered abroad, and find their resting places not in gilded _salons_, but in the dingy coffers of the wily _brocanteur_, whose exorbitant demands will preclude their finding purchasers. Even these inanimate and puerile objects have their moral, if people would but seek it; but what has not, to a reflecting mind?--complained bitterly to-day, of having been attacked by an anonymous scribbler. I was surprised to see a man accounted clever and sensible, so much annoyed by what I consider so wholly beneath his notice. It requires only a knowledge of the world and a self-respect to enable one to treat such attacks with the contempt they merit; and those who allow themselves to be mortified by them must be deficient in these necessary qualifications for pa.s.sing smoothly through life.

It seems to me to indicate great weakness of mind, when a person permits his peace to be at the mercy of every anonymous scribbler who, actuated by envy or hatred (the invariable causes of such attacks), writes a libel on him. If a person so attacked would but reflect that few, if any, who have acquired celebrity, or have been favoured by fortune, have ever escaped similar a.s.saults, he would be disposed to consider them as the certain proofs of a merit, the general acknowledgment of which has excited the ire of the envious, thus displayed by the only mean within their reach--anonymous abuse.

Anonymous a.s.sailants may be likened to the cuttle-fish, which employs the inky secretions it forms as a means of tormenting its enemy and baffling pursuit.

I have been reading the poems of Mrs. Hemans, and exquisite they are.

They affect me like sacred music, and never fail to excite religious sentiments. England only could have produced this poetess, and peculiar circ.u.mstances were necessary to the developement of her genius. The music of the versification harmonises well with the elevated character of the thoughts, which inspire the reader (at least such is their effect on me) with a pensive sentiment of resignation that is not without a deep charm to a mind that loves to withdraw itself from the turmoil and bustle incidental to a life pa.s.sed in a gay and brilliant capital.

The mind of this charming poetess must be like an aeolian harp, that every sighing wind awakes to music, but to grave and chastened melody, the full charm of which can only be truly appreciated by those who have sorrowed, and who look beyond this earth for repose. Well might Goethe write,

"Wo du das Genie erblickst Erblickst du auch zugleich die martkrone"[7]

for where is Genius to be found that has not been tried by suffering?

Moore has beautifully said,

"The hearths that are soonest awake to the flowers, Are always the first to be pierced by the thorns;"

and so it is with poets: they feel intensely before they can make others feel even superficially.

And there are those who can talk lightly and irreverently of the sufferings from which spring such exquisite, such glorious music, unconscious that the fine organization and delicate susceptibility of the minds of Genius which give such precious gifts to delight others, receive deep wounds from weapons that could not make an incision on impenetrable hearts like their own. Yes, the hearts of people of genius may be said to resemble the American maple-trees, which must be pierced ere they yield their honied treasures.

If Mrs. Hemans had been as happy as she deserved to be, it is probable that she would never have written the exquisite poems I have been reading; for the fulness of content leaves no room for the sweet and bitter fancies engendered by an imagination that finds its Hippocrene in the fountain of Sorrow, whose source is in the heart, and can only flow when touched by the hand of Care.

Well may England be proud of such poetesses as she can now boast!

Johanna Baillie, the n.o.ble-minded and elevated; Miss Bowles, the pure, the true; Miss Mitford, the gifted and the natural; and Mrs. Hemans and Miss Landon, though last not least in the galaxy of Genius, with imaginations as brilliant as their hearts are generous and tender. Who can read the productions of these gifted women, without feeling a lively interest in their welfare, and a pride in belonging to the country that has given them birth?

Lord B---- arrived yesterday, and, Heaven be thanked! is in better health. He says the spring is three weeks more advanced at Paris than in London. He is delighted at the Catholic Question having been carried; and trusts, as I do, that Ireland will derive the greatest benefit from the measure. How few, with estates in a province where so strong a prejudice is entertained against Roman Catholics as exists in the north of Ireland, would have voted as Lord B---- has done; but, like his father, Lord B---- never allows personal interest to interfere in the discharge of a duty! If there were many such landlords in Ireland, prejudices, the bane of that country, would soon subside. Lord B---- came back laden with presents for me. Some of them are quite beautiful, and would excite the envy of half my s.e.x.

Received letters from good, dear Sir William Gell, and the no less dear and good Archbishop of Tarentum, both urging us to return to Italy to see them, as they say, once more before they die. Receiving letters from absent friends who are dear to us, has almost as much of sadness as of pleasure in it; for although it is consolatory to know that they are in life, and are not unmindful of us, still a closely written sheet of paper is but a poor subst.i.tute for the animated conversation, the cordial grasp of the hand, and the kind glance of the eye; and we become more sensible of the distance that divides us when letters written many days ago arrive, and we remember with dread that, since these very epistles were indited, the hands that traced them may be chilled by death. This fear, which recurs so often to the mind in all cases of absence from those dear to us, becomes still more vivid where infirmity of health and advanced age render the probability of the loss of friends the greater.

Italy--dear, beautiful Italy--with all its sunshine and attractions, would not be the same delightful residence to me if I no longer found there the friends who made my _sejour_ there so pleasant; and among these the Archbishop and Sir William Gell stand prominent.

Gell writes me that some new and interesting discoveries have been made at Pompeii. Would that I could be transported there for a few days to see them with him, as I have beheld so many before when we were present at several excavations together, and saw exposed to the light of day objects that had been for two thousand years buried in darkness! There was a thrilling feeling of interest awakened in the breast by the first view of these so-long-interred articles of use or ornament of a bygone generation, and on the spot where their owners perished. It was as though the secrets of the grave were revealed; and that, to convince us of the perishable coil of which mortals are formed, it is given us to behold how much more durable are the commonest utensils of daily use than the frames of those who boast themselves lords of the creation.

But here am I moralizing, when I ought to be taking advantage of this glorious day by a promenade in the Bois de Boulogne, where I promised to conduct Madame d'O----; so _allons en voiture_.

Read the _Disowned_, and like it exceedingly. It is full of beautiful thoughts, sparkling with wit, teeming with sentiment, and each and all of them based on immutable truths. The more I read of the works of this highly gifted writer, the more am I delighted with them; for his philosophy pa.s.ses through the alembic of a mind glowing with n.o.ble and generous sentiments, of which it imbibes the hues.

The generality of readers pause not to reflect on the truth and beauty of the sentiments to be found in novels. They hurry on to the _denoument_; and a stirring incident, skilfully managed, which serves to develope the plot, finds more admirers than the n.o.blest thoughts, or most witty maxims. Yet as people who read nothing else, will read novels, authors like Mr. Bulwer, whose minds are overflowing with genius, are compelled to make fiction the vehicle for giving to the public thoughts and opinions that are deserving of a higher grade of literature.

The greater portion of novel readers, liking not to be detained from the interest of the story by any extraneous matter, however admirable it may be, skip over the pa.s.sages that most delight those who read to reflect, and not for mere amus.e.m.e.nt.

I find myself continually pausing over the admirable and profound reflections of Mr. Bulwer, and almost regret that his writings do not meet the public as the papers of the _Spectator_ did, when a single one of them was deemed as essential to the breakfast-table of all lovers of literature as a morning journal is now to the lovers of news. The merit of the thoughts would be then duly appreciated, instead of being hastily pa.s.sed over in the excitement of the story which they intersect.

A long visit from ----, and, as usual, politics furnished the topic.

How I wish people would never talk politics to me! I have no vocation for that abstruse science,--a science in which even those who devote all their time and talents to it, but rarely arrive at a proficiency.

In vain do I profess my ignorance and inability; people will not believe me, and think it necessary to enter into political discussions that _ennuient_ me beyond expression.

If ---- is to be credited, Charles the Tenth and his government are so unpopular that his reign will not pa.s.s without some violent commotion.

A fatality appears to attend this family, which, like the house of Stuart, seems doomed never to conciliate the affections of the people.

And yet, Charles the Tenth is said not to be disposed to tyrannical measures, neither is he without many good qualities. But the last of the Stuart sovereigns also was naturally a humane and good man, yet he was driven from his kingdom and his throne,--a proof that weakness of mind is, perhaps, of all faults in a monarch, the one most likely to compromise the security of his dynasty.

The restoration of the Stuarts after Cromwell, was hailed with much more enthusiasm in England than that of Louis the Eighteenth, after the abdication of the Emperor Napoleon. Yet that enthusiasm was no pledge that the people would bear from the descendants of the ill-fated Charles the First--that most perfect of all gentlemen and meekest of Christians--what they deprived him of not only his kingdom but his life for attempting.

The house of Bourbon, like that of Stuart, has had its tragedy, offering a fearful lesson to sovereigns and a terrific example to subjects. It has had, also, its restoration; and, if report may be credited, the parallel will not rest here: for there are those who a.s.sert that as James was supplanted on the throne of England by a relative while yet the legitimate and unoffending heir lived, so will also the place of Charles the Tenth be filled by one between whom and the crown stand two legitimate barriers. Time will tell how far the predictions of ---- are just; but, _en attendant_, I never can believe that ambition can so blind _one_ who possesses all that can render life a scene of happiness to himself and of usefulness to others, to throw away a positive good for the uncertain and unquiet possession of a crown, bestowed by hands that to confer the dangerous gift must have subverted a monarchy.

Pandora's box contained not more evils than the crown of France would inflict on him on whose brow a revolution would place it. From that hour let him bid adieu to peaceful slumber, to domestic happiness, to well-merited confidence and esteem, all of which are now his own.

Popularity, never a stable possession in any country, is infinitely less so in France, where the vivacity of perception of the people leads them to discover grave faults where only slight errors exist, and where a natural inconstancy, love of change, and a reckless impatience under aught that offends them, prompt them to hurl down from the pedestal the idol of yesterday to replace it by the idol of to-day.

I hear so much good of the Duc and d.u.c.h.esse d'O---- that I feel a lively interest in them, and heartily wish they may never be elevated (unless by the natural demise of the legitimate heirs) to the dangerous height to which ---- and others a.s.sert they will ultimately ascend.

Even in the contingency of a legitimate inheritance of the crown, the Tuileries would offer a less peaceful couch to them than they find in the blissful domestic circle at N----.

A long visit from the Duc de T----. I never meet him without being reminded of the truth of an observation of a French writer, who says--"_On a vu des gens se pa.s.ser d'esprit en sachant meler la politesse avec des manieres n.o.bles et elegantes_." The Duc de T---- pa.s.ses off perfectly well without _esprit_, the absence of which his n.o.ble manners perfectly conceal; while ----, who is so very clever, makes one continually conscious of his want of good breeding and _bon ton_.

Finished reading _Sayings and Doings_, by Mr. Theodore Hook. Every page teems with wit, humour, or pathos, and reveals a knowledge of the world under all the various phases of the ever-moving scene that gives a lively interest to all he writes. This profound acquaintance with human life, which stamps the impress of truth on every character portrayed by his graphic pen, has not soured his feelings or produced that cynical disposition so frequently engendered by it.

Mr. Hook is no misanthrope, and while he exposes the ridiculous with a rare wit and humour he evinces a natural and warm sympathy with the good. He is a very original thinker and writer, hits off characters with a facility and felicity that few authors possess, and makes them invariably act in accordance with the peculiar characteristics with which he has endowed them. The _vraisemblance_ is never for a moment violated, which makes the reader imagine he is perusing a true narration instead of a fiction.

House-hunting to-day. Went again over the Hotel Monaco, but its dilapidated state somewhat alarms us. The suite of reception rooms are magnificent, but the garden into which they open pleases me still more, for it is vast and umbrageous. The line old hotels in the Faubourg St.-Germain, and this is one of the finest, give one a good idea of the splendour of the _n.o.blesse de l'ancien regime_. The number and s.p.a.ciousness of the apartments, the richness of the decorations, though no longer retaining their pristine beauty, and above all, the terraces and gardens, have a grand effect.

CHAPTER XIX.

House-hunting all the day with Lord B----. Went again over the Hotel Monaco, and abandoned the project of hiring it. Saw one house newly built and freshly and beautifully decorated, which I like, but Lord B---- does not think good enough. It is in the Rue de Matignon. It is so desirable to get into a mansion where every thing is new and in good taste, which is the case with the one in question, that I hope Lord B---- will be satisfied with this.

Sat an hour with General d'O---- who has been unwell. Never was there such a nurse as his wife, and so he said. Illness almost loses its irksomeness when the sick chamber is cheered by one who is as kind as she is clever. Madame d'O---- is glad we have not taken the Hotel Monaco, for she resided in it a long time when it was occupied by her mother, and she thinks the sleeping-rooms are confined and gloomy.

"After serious consideration and mature deliberation," we have finally decided on taking the house in the Rue de Matignon. It will be beautiful when completed, but nevertheless not to be compared to the Hotel Ney. The _salons de reception_, are very good, and the decorations are rich and handsome.

The large _salon_ is separated from the lesser by an immense plate of unsilvered gla.s.s, which admits of the fireplaces in each room (they are _vis-a-vis_) being seen, and has a very good effect. A door on each side this large plate of gla.s.s opens into the smaller _salon_. The portion of the house allotted to me will, when completed, be like fairy land. A _salon_, destined to contain my buhl cabinets, _porcelaine de Sevres_, and rare _bijouterie_, opens into a library by two gla.s.s-doors, and in the pier which divides them is a large mirror filling up the entire s.p.a.ce.

In the library, that opens on a terrace, which is to be covered with a _berceau_, and converted into a garden, are two mirrors, _vis-a-vis_ to the two gla.s.s doors that communicate from the _salon_; so that on entering this last, the effect produced is exceedingly pretty. Another large mirror is placed at the end of the library, and reflects the terrace.

When my books and various treasures are arranged in this suite I shall be very comfortably lodged. My _chambre a coucher_, dressing-room, and boudoir, are s.p.a.cious, and beautifully decorated. All this sounds well and looks well, too, yet we shall leave the Rue de Bourbon with regret, and Lord B---- now laments that we did not secure it for a long term.

Drove in the Bois de Boulogne. A lovely day, which produced a very exhilarating effect on my spirits. I know not whether others experience the same pleasurable sensations that I do on a fine day in spring, when all nature is bursting into life, and the air and earth look joyous. My feelings become more buoyant, my step more elastic, and all that I love seem dearer than before. I remember that even in childhood I was peculiarly sensible to atmospheric influence, and I find that as I grow old this susceptibility does not diminish.

We dined at the Rocher de Cancale yesterday; and Counts Septeuil and Valeski composed our party. The Rocher de Cancale is the Greenwich of Paris; the oysters and various other kinds of fish served up _con gusto_, attracting people to it, as the white bait draw visitors to Greenwich. Our dinner was excellent, and our party very agreeable.

A _diner de restaurant_ is pleasant from its novelty. The guests seem less ceremonious and more gay; the absence of the elegance that marks the dinner-table appointments in a _maison bien montee_, gives a homeliness and heartiness to the repast; and even the attendance of two or three ill-dressed _garcons_ hurrying about, instead of half-a-dozen sedate servants in rich liveries, marshalled by a solemn-looking _maitre-d'hotel_ and groom of the chambers, gives a zest to the dinner often wanted in more luxurious feasts.