The Life and Letters of Maria Edgeworth Volume I Part 26

MRS. WATT'S, HEATHFIELD,

_April 1820._

I was much surprised at finding that the postillion who drove us from Wolverhampton could neither tell himself, nor learn from any one up the road, along the heath, at the turnpike, or even in the very suburbs of Birmingham, the way to Mr. Watt's! I was as much surprised as we were at Paris in searching for Madame de Genlis; so we went to Mr. Moilliet's, and stowed ourselves next day into their travelling landau, as large as our own old, old delightful coach, and came here.

Oh, my dear Honora, how melancholy to see places the same--persons, and such persons gone! Mrs. Watt, in deep mourning, coming forward to meet us alone in that gay trellice, the same books on his table, his picture, his bust, his image everywhere, _himself_ nowhere upon this earth. Mrs.

Watt has, in that poor little shattered frame, a prodigiously strong mind; indeed she could not have been so loved by such a man for such a length of time if she had not superior qualities. She was more kind than I can express, receiving f.a.n.n.y and Harriet as if they had been of her own family.

In the morning I fell to penning this letter, as we were engaged to breakfast at Mr. James Watt's, at Aston Hall. You remember the fine old brick palace? Mr. Watt has fitted up half of it so as to make it superbly comfortable: fine hall, breakfast room, Flemish pictures, Boulton and Watt at either end. After breakfast, at which was Mr.

Priestly, an American, son of Dr. Priestly, we went over all the habitable and uninhabitable parts of the house: the banqueting room, with a most costly, frightful ceiling, and a chimneypiece carved up to the cornice with monsters, one with a nose covered with scales, one with human face on a tarantula's body. Varieties of little staircases, and a garret gallery called d.i.c.k's haunted gallery; a blocked-up room called the King's room; then a modern dressing-room, with fine tables of Bullock's making, one of wood from Brazil--Zebra wood--and no more to be had of it for love or money.

But come on to the great gallery, longer than that at Sudbury,--about one hundred and thirty-six feet long,--and at the farthest end we came to a sort of oriel, separated from the gallery only by an arch, and there the white marble bust of the great Mr. Watt struck me almost breathless. What everybody went on saying I do not know, but my own thoughts, as I looked down the closing lines of this superb gallery, now in a half-ruined state, were very melancholy, on life and death, family pride, and the pride of wealth, and the pride of genius, all so perishable.

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH.

CANTERBURY, _April 21._

I wrote to your dear father the history of our visit to Mr. Wren's at Wroxall Abbey, and Kenilworth, and Warwick, and Stratford-upon-Avon, and our pleasant three hours at Oxford. When we were looking at the theatre, Mr. Biddulph told us, that when all the Emperors and Kings came with the Regent, the theatre was filled in every part; but such was the hush you could have heard a pin drop till the Prince put his foot upon the threshold, when the whole a.s.sembly rose with a tremendous shout of applause. The Prince was supremely gratified, and said to the Emperor of Russia, "You heard the London mob hoot me, but you see how I am received by the young gentlemen of England!"

When Lord Grenville was installed as chancellor, he was, the instant he look his seat, a.s.sailed with loud hisses and groans. Mr. Biddulph said he admired the dignity with which Lord Grenville behaved, and the presence of mind of the Bishop of Peterborough (Parsons), who said in Latin, "Either this disturbance must instantly cease, or I dismiss you from this a.s.sembly!" Dead silence ensued.

PARIS, PLACE DU PALAIS BOURBON,

_April 29._

One moment of reward for two days of indescribable hurry I have at this quiet interval after breakfast, and I seize it to tell you that f.a.n.n.y is quite well: so far for health. For beauty, I have only to say that I am told by everybody that my sisters are _lovely_ in English, and _charmantes_ in French. Last night was their _debut_ at Lady Granard's--a large a.s.sembly of all manner of lords, ladies, counts, countesses, princes, and princesses, French, Polish, and Italian: Marmont and Humboldt were there. I was told by several persons of rank and taste--Lady Rancliffe, the Countess de Salis, Lady Granard, Mrs.

Sneyd Edgeworth, _and_ a Polish Countess, that my sister's dress, the grand affair at Paris, was _perfection_, and I believed it! Humboldt is excessively agreeable, but I was twice taken from him to be introduced to grandeurs, just as we had reached the most interesting point of conversation.

_May 3rd._

On Sunday we went with the Comtesse de Salis and the Baronne de Salis, who is also Chanoinesse, but goes into the world in roses and pink ribbons nevertheless, and is very agreeable, moreover, and with M. Le Baron, an officer in the Swiss Guards, an old bachelor, to St. Sulpice, to hear M. Fressenus. He preached in the Kirwan style, but with intolerable monotony of thumping eloquence, against _les Liberaux_, Rousseau, etc.; it seemed to me old stuff, ill embroidered, but it was much applauded. _Mem._: the _audience_ were not half so attentive or silent at St. Sulpice as they were at the Theatre Francais the night before.

After church a visit to Madame de Pastoret. Oh, my dear mother, think of my finding her in that very boudoir, everything the same! f.a.n.n.y and Harriet were delighted with the beauty of the house till they saw her, and then nothing could be thought of but her manner and conversation.

They are even more charmed with her than I expected: she is little changed.

After a ball at the Polish Countess Orlowski's (the woman who is charmed with _Early Lessons_, etc.), where f.a.n.n.y and Harriet were delighted with the children's dancing--they waltzed like angels, if angels waltz--after this ball I went with the Count and Countess de Salis and La Baronne--I was told that the first time it must be without my sisters--to the d.u.c.h.esse d'Escars, who _receives_ for the King at the Tuileries: mounting a staircase of one hundred and forty steps. I thought the Count's knees would have failed while I leaned on his arm; my own ached.

A long gallery, well lighted, opened into a suite of _little_ low apartments, most beautifully hung, some with silk and some with cashmere, some with tent drapery, with end ottomans, and lamps in profusion. These rooms, with busts and pictures of kings, swarmed with old n.o.bility, with historic names, stars, red ribbons, and silver bells at their b.u.t.ton-holes: ladies in little white satin hats and _toques_, with a profusion of ostrich or, still better, _marabout_ powder-puff feathers; and the roofs were too low for such lofty heads.

After a most fatiguing morning at all the impertinent and pertinent dressmakers and milliners, we finished by the dear delight of dining with Madame Gautier at Pa.s.sy. The drive there was delicious: we found her with her Sophie, now a matron mother with her Caroline, like what Madame Gautier and her Sophie were in that very room eighteen years ago.

All the Delessert family that remain were a.s.sembled except Benjamin, who was detained by business in Paris. Madame Benjamin is very handsome, nearer the style of Mrs. Admiral Pakenham than anybody I know; Francois the same as you saw him, only with the additional crow's-feet of eighteen years, sobered into a husband and father, the happiest I ever saw in France. They have three houses, and the whole three terraces form one long pleasure-ground. Judas-tree, like a Brobdingnag almond-tree, was in full flower; lilacs and laburnums in abundance. Alexandre Delessert takes after the father--good, sensible, commercial conversation. He made a panegyric on the Jews of Hamburgh, who received him at their houses with the utmost politeness and liberality. This was _a propos_ of Walter Scott's Jewess, and, vanity must add, my own Jew and Jewess, who came in for more than their due share.

Bank-notes were talked of: Francois tells me that the forging of bank-notes is almost unknown at Paris: the very best artists--my father's plan--are employed.

Tuesday we were at the Louvre: many fine pictures left. Dined at home: in the evening to Madame de Pastoret's, to meet the d.u.c.h.esse de Broglie: very handsome, little, with large soft dark eyes: simple dress, winning manner, soft Pastoret conversation: speaks English better than any foreigner I ever heard: not only gracious, but quite _tender_ to me.

After Madame de Pastoret's we went to the Amba.s.sador's and were received in the most distinguished manner. We saw crowds of fine people and conversed with Talleyrand, but he said nought worth hearing.

_May 20._

Paris is wonderfully embellished since we were here in 1803. f.a.n.n.y and Harriet are quite enchanted with the beauty of the Champs elysees and the Tuileries gardens: the trees are out in full leaf, and the deep shade under them is delightful. I had never seen Paris in summer, so I enjoy the novelty. Some of our happiest time is spent in driving about in the morning, or returning at night by lamp or moonlight.

Lady Elizabeth Stuart has been most peculiarly civil to "Madame Maria Edgeworth et Mesdemoiselles ses soeurs," which is the form on our visiting tickets, as I was advised it should be. The Amba.s.sador's hotel is the same which Lord Whitworth had, which afterwards belonged to the Princess Borghese. It is delightful! opening into a lawn-garden, with terraces and conservatories, and a profusion of flowers and shrubs. The dinner was splendid, but not formal; and n.o.body can _represent_ better than Lady Elizabeth. She asked us to go with her and Mrs. Canning to the opera, but we were engaged to Madame Recamier; and as she is no longer rich and prosperous, I could not break the engagement.

We went to Madame Recamier's, in her convent--L'Abbaye aux Bois, up seventy-eight steps; all came in with the asthma: elegant room, and she as elegant as ever. Matthieu de Montmorenci, the ex-Queen of Sweden, Madame de Boigne--a charming woman, and Madame la Marechale de Moreau--a battered beauty, smelling of garlic, and screeching in vain to pa.s.s for a wit.

Yesterday we had intended to have killed off a great many visits, but the fates willed it otherwise. Mr. Hummelaur, attached to the Austrian Emba.s.sy, came; and then Mr. Chenevix, who converses delightfully, but all the time holding a distorting magnifying gla.s.s over French character, and showing horrible things where we thought everything was delightful. While he was here came Madame de Villeneuve and Madame de Kergolay. Scarcely were they all gone, when I desired Rodolphe to let no other person in, as the carriage had been ordered at eleven, and it was now near two. "_Miladi!_" cried Rodolphe, running in with a card, "voila une dame qui me dit de vous faire voir son nom."

It was "Madame de Roquefeuille," with her bright, benevolent eyes: and much agreeable conversation. There is a great deal of difference between the manners, tone, p.r.o.nunciation, and quietness of demeanour of Madame de Pastoret, Madame de Roquefeuille, and the little old Princess de Broglie Revel, who are of the old n.o.bility, and the striving, struggling of the new, with all their riches and t.i.tles, who can never attain this indescribable, incommunicable charm. But to go on with Sat.u.r.day: Madame de Roquefeuille took leave, and we caparisoned ourselves, and went to Lady de Ros. She was at her easel, copying very well a portrait of Madame de Grignan, and it was a very agreeable half-hour. Lady de Ros and her daughter are very agreeable people. She has asked f.a.n.n.y to meet her three times a week, at the Riding-House, where she goes to take exercise.

We were engaged to Cuvier's in the evening, and went first to M.

Jullien's, in the Rue de _l'Enfer_, not far from the Jardin des Plantes, and there we saw one of the most extraordinary of all the extraordinary persons we have seen--a Spaniard, squat, black-haired, black-browed, and black-eyed, with an infernal countenance, who has written the _History of the Inquisition_, and who related to us how he had been sent _en penitence_ to a monastery by the Inquisition, and escaped by presenting a certain number of kilogrammes of good chocolate to the monks, who represented him as very penitent. But I dare not say more of this man, lest we should never get to Cuvier's, which, in truth, I thought we never should accomplish alive. Such streets! such turns! in the old, old parts of the city: lamps strung at great distances: a candle or two from high houses, making darkness visible: then bawling of coach or cart-men, "Ouais! ouais!" backing and scolding, for no two carriages could by any possibility pa.s.s in these narrow alleys. I was in a very bad way, as you may guess, but I let down the gla.s.ses, and sat as still as a frightened mouse: once I diverted Harriet by crying out, "Ah, mon _cher_ cocher, arretez;" like Madame de Barri's "Un moment, _Monsieur_ le Bourreau." It never was so bad with us that we could not laugh. At last we turned into a _porte-cochere_, under which the coachman bent literally double: total darkness: then suddenly trees, lamps, and buildings; and one, brighter than the rest by an open portal, illuminating large printed letters, "College de France."

Cuvier came down to the very carriage door to receive us, and handed us up narrow, difficult stairs into a smallish room, where were a.s.sembled many ladies and gentlemen of most distinguished names and talents.

p.r.o.ny, as like an honest water-dog as ever; Biot (_et moi aussi je suis pere de famille_), a fat, double volume of himself--I could not see a trace of the young _pere de famille_ we knew--round-faced, with a bald head and black ringlets, a fine-boned skull, on which the tortoise might fall without cracking it. When he began to converse, his superior ability was immediately apparent. Then Cuvier presented Prince Czartorinski, a Pole, and many compliments pa.s.sed; and then we went to a table to look at Prince Maximilian de Neufchatel's _Journey to Brazil_, magnificently printed in Germany, and all tongues began to clatter, and it became wondrously agreeable; and behind me I heard English well spoken, and this was Mr. Trelawny, and I heard from him a panegyric on the Abbe Edgeworth, whom he knew well, and he was the person who took the first letter and news to the d.u.c.h.esse d'Angouleme at Mittau, after she quitted France. She came out in the dead of the night in her nightgown to receive the letter.

Tea and supper together: only two-thirds of the company could sit down, but the rest stood or sat behind, and were very happy, loud, and talkative: science, politics, literature, and nonsense in happy proportions. Biot sat behind f.a.n.n.y's chair, and talked of the parallax and Dr. Brinkley. p.r.o.ny, with his hair nearly in my plate, was telling me most entertaining anecdotes of Buonaparte; 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 completely one of us; and there was such a prodigious noise n.o.body could hear but ourselves. Both Cuvier and p.r.o.ny agreed that Buonaparte never could bear to have any answer 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 betrave en France?' 'D'abord, Sire, il faut songer si vos colonies----' 'Faut-il avoir le sucre de betrave 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 are 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. Buonaparte immediately took the mastership from the first, and gave it to the second. "Qu'arrivait-il?" continued p.r.o.ny; "the rogue who gave the guess answer was soon found cutting down and selling quant.i.ties of the trees, and Buonaparte had to take the rangership from him, and reinstate the honest hesitater."

p.r.o.ny is, you know, one of the most absent men alive. "Once," he told me, "I was in a carriage with Buonaparte and General Caffarelli: it was at the time he was going to Egypt. He asked me to go. I said, I could not; that is, I would not; and when I had said those words I fell into a reverie, collecting in my own head all the reasons I could for not going to Egypt. All this time Buonaparte was going on with some confidential communication to me of his secret intentions and views; and when it was ended, le seul mot, Arabie, m'avait frappe l'oreille. Alors, je voudrais m'avoir arrache les cheveux," making the motion so to do, "pour pouvoir me rapeller ce qu'il venait de me dire. But I never could recall one single word or idea."

"Why did you not ask Caffarelli afterwards?"

"I dared not, because I should have betrayed myself to him."

p.r.o.ny says that Buonaparte was not obstinate in his own opinion with men of science about those things of which he was ignorant; but he would bear no contradiction in tactics or politics.

_May 29._

Madame Recamier has no more taken the veil than I have, and is as little likely to do it. She is still beautiful, still dresses herself and her little room with elegant simplicity, and lives in a convent [Footnote: The Abbaye aux Bois.] only because it is cheap and respectable. M.

Recamier is living; they have not been separated by anything but misfortune.

We have at last seen a comedy perfectly well acted--the first representation of a new piece, _Les Folliculaires_: it was received with thunders of applause, admirably acted in every character to the life. It was in ridicule of journalists and literary young men.

LA CELLE, M. DE VINDe'S COUNTRY HOUSE,

_June 4._

Is it not curious that, just when you wrote to us, all full of Mrs.

Strickland at Edgeworthstown, we should have been going about everywhere with Mr. Strickland at Paris? I read to him what you said about his little girl and Foster as he was going with us to a breakfast at Cuvier's, and he was delighted even to tears.

We breakfasted at Pa.s.sy on our way here: beautiful views of Paris and its environs from all the balconied rooms; and Madame Francois showed us all their delightful comfortable rooms--the bed in which Madame Gautier and Madame Francois had slept when children, and where now her little Caroline sleeps. There is something in the duration of these family attachments which pleases and touches one, especially in days of revolution and change.