September, 1829.—A chasm of many months in my journal. When last I closed it, little could I have foreseen the terrible blow that awaited me. Well may I exclaim with the French writer whose works I have been just reading, "Nous, qui sommes bornés en tout, comment le sommes-nous si peu quand il s'agit de souffrir." How slowly has time passed since! Every hour counted, and each coloured by care, the past turned to with the vain hope of forgetting the present, and the future no longer offering the bright prospect it once unfolded!
How is my destiny changed since I last opened this book! My hopes have faded and vanished like the leaves whose opening into life I hailed with joy six months ago, little dreaming that before the first cold breath of autumn had tinted them with brown,hewho saw them expand with me would have passed from the earth!
October.—Ill, and confined to my chamber for several days, my physician prescribes society to relieve low spirits; but in the present state of mine, the remedy seems worse than the disease.
My old friends Mr. and Mrs. Mathews, and their clever son, have arrived at Paris and dined here yesterday. Mr. Matthews is as entertaining as ever, and his wife as amiable andspirituelle. They are excellent as well as clever people, and their society is very agreeable. Charles Mathews, the son, is full of talent, possesses all his father's powers of imitation, and sings comic songs of his own composition that James Smith himself might be proud to have written.
The Duc and Duchesse de Guiche, the Marquise de Poulpry, Lady Combermere, Madame Craufurd, and Count Valeski, came in the evening, and were all highly gratified with some recitations and songs given us by Mr. Mathews and his son. They were not less pleased with Mrs. Mathews, whose manners and conversation are peculiarly fascinating, and whose good looks and youthfulness of appearance made them almost disbelieve that she could be the mother of a grown-up son.
How forcibly did the recitations and songs bring back former times to my memory, when in St. James's Square, or in his own beautiful cottage at Highgate, I have so frequently been delighted by the performances of this clever and worthy man! The recollection of the past occupied me more last night than did the actual present, and caused me to return but a faint echo to the reiterated applause which every new effort of his drew forth from the party. There are moments when the present appears like a dream, and that we think the past, which is gone for ever, has more of reality in it!
I took Mr. and Mrs. Mathews to the Jardin des Plantes to-day, and was much amused by an incident that occurred there. A pretty child, with herbonne, were seated on a bench near to which we placed ourselves. She was asking questions relative to the animals she had seen, and Mr. Mathews having turned his head away from her, gave some admirable imitations of the sounds peculiar to the beasts of which she was speaking, and also of the voice and speeches of the person who had exhibited them.
Never did he exert himself more to please a crowded and admiring audience than to amuse this child, who, maintaining an immovable gravity during the imitations, quietly observed to her nurse, "Ma bonne, ce Monsieur est bien drôle."
The mortification of Mr. Mathews on this occasion was very diverting. "How!" exclaimed he, "is it possible that all my efforts to amuse that child have so wholly failed? She never moved a muscle! I suppose the French children are not so easily pleased as our English men and women are?"
He reverted to this disappointment more than once during our drive back, and seemed dispirited by it. Nevertheless, he gave us some most humorous imitations of the lower orders of the French talking loudly together, in which he spoke in so many different voices that one could have imagined that no less than half-a-dozen people, at least, were engaged in the conversation.
I think so highly of the intellectual powers of Mr. Mathews, and find his conversation so interesting that, admirable as are his imitations, I prefer the former. He has seen so much of the world in all its phases, that he has a piquant anecdote or a clever story to relate touching every place and almost every person mentioned. Yet, with all this intuitive and acquired knowledge of the world, he possesses all the simplicity of a child, and a good nature that never can resist an appeal to it.
Spent all yesterday in reading, and writing letters on business. I begin to experience theennuiof having affairs to attend to, and groan in spirit, if not aloud, at having to read and write dry details on the subject. To unbend my mind from its painful thoughts and tension, I devoted the evening to reading, which affords me the surest relief, by transporting my thoughts from the cares that oppress me.
Had a long visit from my old acquaintance the Count de Montalembert, to-day. He is in very low spirits, occasioned by the recent death of an only and charming daughter, and could not restrain his deep emotion, when recounting to me the particulars of her latter days. His grief was contagious, and found a chord in my heart that responded to it. When we last met, it was in a gay and brilliant party, each of us in high spirits; and now, though but a few more years have passed over our heads, how changed are our feelings! We meet, not to amuse and to be amused, but to talk of those we have lost, and whose loss has darkened our lives. He spoke of his son, who already gives the promise of distinguishing himself, and of reflecting credit on his family.
How little do we know people whom we meet only in general society, in which every one assumes a similar tone and manner, reserving for home the peculiarities that distinguish each from the other, and suppressing all demonstration of the feelings indulged only in the privacy of the domestic circle!
I have been many years acquainted with the Count de Montalembert, yet never really appreciated him until today. Had I been asked to describe him yesterday, I should have spoken of him as aspirituel, lively, and amusing man, with remarkably good manners, a great knowledge of the world, and possessing in an eminent degree the tact and talentde société. Had any one mentioned that he was a man of deep feeling, I should have been disposed to question the discernment of the person who asserted it: yet now I am as perfectly convinced of the fact as it is possible to be, and had he paid this visit before affliction had assailed me, he would not, I am convinced, have revealed his own grief. Yes, affliction is like the divinatory wand, whose touch discovers deep-buried springs the existence of which was previously unknown.
—— called on me to-day, and talked a good deal of ——. I endeavoured to excite sympathy for the unhappy person, but failed in the attempt. The unfortunate generally meet with more blame than pity; for as the latter is a painful emotion, people endeavour to exonerate themselves from its indulgence, by trying to discover some error which may have led to the misfortune they are too selfish to commiserate. Alas! there are but few friends who, like ivy, cling to ruin, and —— is not one of these.
The Prince and Princesse Soutzo dined with us yesterday. They are as amiable and agreeable as ever, and I felt great gratification in meeting them again. We talked over the many pleasant days we passed together at Pisa. Alas! how changed is my domestic circle since then! They missedonewho would have joined me in welcoming them to Paris, and whose unvaried kindness they have not forgotten!
The "decent dignity" with which this interesting couple support their altered fortunes, won my esteem on our first acquaintance. Prince Soutzo was Hospodar, or reigning Prince of Moldavia, and married the eldest daughter of Prince Carraga, Hospodar of Walachia. He maintained the state attendant on his high rank, beloved and respected by those he governed, until the patriotic sentiments inseparable from a great mind induced him to sacrifice rank, fortune, and power, to the cause of Greece, his native land. He only saved his life by flight; for the angry Sultan with whom he had previously been a great favourite, had already sent an order for his decapitation! Never was a reverse of fortune borne with greater equanimity than by this charming family, whose virtues, endowments, and acquirements, fit them for the most elevated station.
My old acquaintances, Mr. Rogers the poet, and Mr. Luttrell, called on me to-day. Of how many pleasant days in St. James's Square did the sight of both remind me! Such days I shall pass there no more: but I must not give way to reflections that are, alas! as unavailing as they are painful. Both of these my old friends are unchanged. Time has dealt gently by them during the seven years that have elapsed since we last met: the restless tyrant has been less merciful to me. We may, however, bear with equanimity the ravages of Time, if we meet the destroyer side by side with those dear to us, those who have witnessed our youth and maturity, and who have advanced with us into the autumn of life; but, when they are lost to us, how dreary becomes the prospect!
How difficult it is to prevent the mind from dwelling on thoughts fraught with sadness, when once the chord of memory vibrates to the touch of grief!
Mr. Rogers talked of Byron, and evinced a deep feeling of regard for his memory, He little knows the manner in which he is treated in a certain poem, written by him in one of his angry moods, and which I urged him, but in vain, to commit to the flames. The knowledge of it, however, would, I am convinced, excite no wrath in the heart of Rogers, who would feel more sorrow than anger that one he believed his friend could have written so bitter a diatribe against him. And, truth to say, the poem in question is more injurious to the memory of Byron than it could be painful to him who is the subject of it; but I hope that it may never be published, and I think no one who had delicacy or feeling would bring it to light.
Byron read this lampoon to us one day at Genoa, and enjoyed our dismay at it like a froward boy who has achieved what he considers some mischievous prank. He offered us a copy, but we declined to accept it; for, being in the habit of seeing Mr. Rogers frequently beneath our roof, we thought it would be treacherous to him. Byron, however, found others less scrupulous, and three or four copies of it have been given away.
The love of mischief was strong in the heart of Byron even to the last, but, while recklessly indulging it in trifles, he was capable of giving proofs of exalted friendship to those against whom he practised it; and, had Rogers stood in need of kindness, he would have found no lack of it in his brother poet, even in the very hour he had penned the malicious lampoon in question against him.
Comte d'Orsay, with his franknaÏveté, observed, "I thought you were one of Mr. Rogers's most intimate friends, and so all the world had reason to think, after reading your dedication of theGiaourto him."
"Yes," answered Byron, laughing, "and it is our friendship that gives me the privilege of taking a liberty with him."
"If it is thus you evince your friendship," replied Comte d'Orsay, "I should be disposed to prefer your enmity."
"You," said Byron, "could never excite this last sentiment in my breast, for you neither say nor do spiteful things."
Brief as was the period Byron had lived in what is termed fashionable society in London, it was long enough to have engendered in him a habit ofpersiflage, and a love of uttering sarcasms, (more from a desire of displaying wit than from malice,) peculiar to that circle in which, if every man's hand is not against his associates, every man's tongue is. He drew no line of demarcation betweenutteringandwritingsatirical things; and the first being, if not sanctioned, at least permitted in the society in which he had lived in London, he considered himself not more culpable in inditing his satires than the others were in speaking them. He would have laughed at being censured for putting on paper the epigrammatic malice that his former associates would delight in uttering before all except the person at whom it was aimed; yet the world see the matter in another point of view, and many of those whospeakas much evil of theirsoi-disantfriends, would declare, if not feel, themselves shocked at Byron's writing it.
I know no more agreeable member of society than Mr. Luttrell. His conversation, like a limpid stream, flows smoothly and brightly along, revealing the depths beneath its current, now sparkling over the objects it discloses or reflecting those by which it glides. He never talks for talking's sake; but his mind is so well filled that, like a fountain which when stirred sends up from its bosom sparkling showers, his mind, when excited, sends forth thoughts no less bright than profound, revealing the treasures with which it is so richly stored. The conversation of Mr. Luttrell makes me think, while that of many others only amuses me.
Lord John Russell has arrived at Paris, and sat with me a considerable time to-day. How very agreeable he can be when his reserve wears off, and what a pity it is he should ever allow it to veil the many fine qualities he possesses! Few men have a finer taste in literature, or a more highly cultivated mind. It seizes with rapidity whatever is brought before it; and being wholly free from passion or egotism, the views he takes on all subjects are just and unprejudiced. He has a quick perception of the ridiculous, and possesses a fund of dry caustic humour that might render him a very dangerous opponent in a debate, were it not governed by a good breeding and a calmness that never forsake him.
Lord John Russell is precisely the person calculated to fill a high official situation. Well informed on all subjects, with an ardent love of his country, and an anxious desire to serve it, he has a sobriety of judgment and a strictness of principle that will for ever place him beyond the reach of suspicion, even to the most prejudiced of his political adversaries. The reserve complained of by those who are only superficially acquainted with him, would be highly advantageous to a minister; for it would not only preserve him from the approaches to familiarity, so injurious to men in power, but would discourage the hopes founded on the facility of manner of those whose very smiles and simple acts of politeness are by the many looked on as an encouragement to form the most unreasonable ones, and as an excuse for the indulgence of angry feelings when those unreasonable hopes are frustrated.
Lord John Russell, Mr. Rogers, Mr. Luttrell, Monsieur Thiers, Monsieur Mignet, and Mr. Poulett Thomson, dined here yesterday. The party was an agreeable one, and the guests seemed mutually pleased with each other.
Monsieur Thiers is a very remarkable person—quick, animated, and observant: nothing escapes him, and his remarks are indicative of a mind of great power. I enjoy listening to his conversation, which is at once full of originality, yet free from the slightest shade of eccentricity.
Monsieur Mignet, who is the inseparable friend of Monsieur Thiers, reminds me every time I see him of Byron, for there is a striking likeness in the countenance. With great abilities, Monsieur Mignet gives me the notion of being more fitted to a life of philosophical research and contemplation than of action, while Monsieur Thiers impresses me with the conviction of his being formed to fill a busy and conspicuous part in the drama of life.
He is a sort of modern Prometheus, capable of creating and of vivifying with the electric spark of mind; but, whether he would steal the fire from Heaven, or a less elevated region, I am not prepared to say. He has called into life a body—and a vast one—by his vigorous writings, and has infused into it a spirit that will not be soon or easily quelled. Whether that spirit will tend to the advancement of his country or not, time will prove; but,en attendant, its ebullitions may occasion as much trouble to thepowers that beas did the spirit engendered by Mirabeau in a former reign.
The countenance of Monsieur Thiers is remarkable. The eyes, even through his spectacles, flash with intelligence, and the expression of his face varies with every sentiment he utters. Thiers is a man to effect a revolution, and Mignet would be the historian to narrate it.
There is something very interesting in the unbroken friendship of these two men of genius, and its constancy elevates both in my estimation. They are not more unlike than are their respective works, both of which, though so dissimilar, are admirable in their way. The mobility and extreme excitability of the French, render such men as Monsieur Thiers extremely dangerous to monarchical power. His genius, his eloquence, and his boldness, furnish him with the means of exciting the enthusiasm of his countrymen as surely as a torch applied to gunpowder produces an explosion. In England these qualities, however elevated, would fail to produce similar results; for enthusiasm is there little known, and, when it comes forth, satisfies itself with a brief manifestation, and swiftly resigns itself to the prudent jurisdiction of reason. Napoleon himself, with all the glory associated with his name—a glory that intoxicated the French—would have failed to inebriate the sober-minded English.
Through my acquaintance with the Baron de Cailleux, who is at the head of the Musée, I obtained permission to take Lord John Russell, Mr. Rogers, and Mr. Luttrell, to the galleries of the Louvre yesterday, it being a day on which the public are excluded. The Baron received us, did the honours of the Musée with all the intelligence and urbanity that distinguish him, and made as favourable an impression on my countrymen as they seemed to have produced on him.
Rogers has a pure taste in the fine arts, and has cultivated itcon amore; Luttrell brings to the study a practised eye and a matured judgment; but Lord John, nurtured from infancy in dwellings, the walls of which glow with thechefs-d'oeuvreof the old masters and the best works of the modern ones, possesses an exquisite tact in recognizing at a glance the finest points in a picture, and reasons on them with all thesavoirof a connoisseur and the feeling of an amateur.
It is a pleasant thing to view collections of art with those fully capable of appreciating them, and I enjoyed this satisfaction yesterday. The Baron de Cailleux evinced no little pleasure in conducting my companions from one masterpiece to another, and two or three hours passed away rapidly in the interesting study.
The Marquis and Marquise de B——, Comte V——, and some others, dined here yesterday. The Marquise de B—— is very clever, has agreeable manners, knows the world thoroughly, and neither under nor overvalues it. A constant friction with society, while it smoothes down asperities and polishes manners, is apt to impair if not destroy much of the originality and raciness peculiar to clever people. To suit themselves to the ordinary level of society, they become either insipid or satirical; they mix too much water, or apply cayenne pepper to the wine of their conversation: hence that mind which, apart from the artificial atmosphere of the busy world, might have grown into strength and beauty, becomes like some poor child nurtured in the unhealthy precincts of a dense and crowded city,—diseased, stunted, rickety, and incapable of distinguishing itself from its fellows.
As clever people cannot elevate the mass with which they herd to their own level, they are apt to sink to theirs; and persons with talents that might have served for nobler purposes are suffered to degenerate intodiseurs de bons motsandraconteurs de société, content with the paltry distinction of being considered amusing. How many such have I encountered, satisfied with being pigmies, who might have grown to be giants, but who were consoled by the reflection that in that world in which their sole aim is to shine, pigmies are more tolerated than giants, as people prefer looking down to looking up!
Lord Allen and Sir Andrew Barnard dined here yesterday. They appear to enter into the gaiety of Paris with great zest, go the round of the theatres, dine at all the celebratedrestaurateurs, mix enough in thebeau mondeto be enabled to observe the difference between the Parisian and London one, and will, at the expiration of the term assigned to theirséjourhere, return to England well satisfied with their trip and with themselves.
Lord A—— has tasted all thenouveaux plats à la mode, for at Paris new dishes are as frequently invented as new bonnets or caps; and the proficiency in the culinary art which he has acquired will render him an oracle at his clubs, until the more recent arrival of some other epicurean from the French capital deposes his brief sovereignty.
But it is not in the culinary art alone that Lord Allen evinces his good taste, for no one is a better judge of all that constitutes theagrémensof life, or moreau faitof the [* omitted word?] of contributing to them.
Sir A. B——, as devoted as ever to music, has heard all the new, and finds that the old, like old friends, loses nothing by comparison. It is pleasant to see that the advance of years impairs not the taste for a refined and innocent pleasure.
Mr. Rogers and Mr. Luttrell spent last evening here. The minds of both teem with reflection, and their conversation is a high intellectual treat to me. There is a repose in the society of clever and refined Englishmen to be met with in no other: the absence of all attempts to shine, or at least of the evidence of such attempts; the mildness of the manners; the low voices, the freedom from any flattery, except the most delicate and acceptable of all to a fastidious person, namely, that implied by the subjects of conversation chosen, and the interest yielded to them;—yes, these peculiarities have a great charm for me, and Mr. Rogers and Mr. Luttrell possess them in an eminent degree.
The mercurial temperaments of the French preclude them from this calmness of manner and mildness of speech. More obsequiously polite and attentive to women, the exuberance of their animal spirits often hurries them into a gaiety evinced by brilliant sallies and clever observations. They shine, but they let the desire to do so be too evident to admit of that quietude that forms one of the most agreeable, as well as distinguishing, attributes of the conversation of a refined and highly-intellectual Englishman.
—— and —— spent last evening here. Two more opposite characters could not easily have encountered. One influenced wholly by his feelings, the other by his reason, each seemed to form a low estimate of the other; and this,malgréall the restraint imposed by good breeding, was but too visible. Neither has any cause to be vain, for he becomes a dupe who judges with his heart instead of his head, and an egotist who permits not his heart to be touched by the toleration of his head. —— is often duped, but sometimes liked for his good nature; while ——, if never duped, is never liked.
I took Lord John Russell, Mr. Rogers, and Mr. Luttrell yesterday to La Muette to see M. Erard's fine collection of pictures, with which they were very much pleased. Our drive to the Bois de Boulogne was a very agreeable one, and was rendered so by their pleasant conversation.
I have presented Mr. Rogers with some acquisitions for his cabinet of antiquebijouterie, with which he appears delighted. I outbid M. Millingen, who was bargaining at Naples for these little treasures, and secured a diminutive Cupid, a Bacchus, and a small bunch of grapes of pure gold, and of exquisite workmanship, which will now be transferred to the museum of my friend, Mr. Rogers. He will not, I dare say, be more grateful for the gift of my Cupid than his sex generally are when ladies no longer young bestow their love on them, and so I hinted when giving him the little winged god; but,n'importe, the gift may please, though the giver be forgotten.
Lord Pembroke dined here yesterday, he is peculiarly well-bred and gentlemanlike, and looks a nobleman from top to toe. He has acquired all the polish andsavoir-vivreof the best foreign society without having lost any of the more solid and fine qualities peculiar to the most distinguished portion of his countrymen. Lord Pembroke maintains the reputation of English taste in equipages by sporting horses and carriages that excite the admiration, if not the envy, of the Parisians, among whom he is, and deserves to be, very popular.
The Duke of Hamilton paid me a long visit to-day. We talked over old times, and our mutual friend Dr. Parr, in whose society we formerly passed such agreeable hours in St. James's Square. The Duke is a very well-informed man, has read much, and remembers what he has read; and the ceremoniousness of his manners, with which some people find fault, I have got used to, and rather like than otherwise. The mixture of chivalric sentiments, Scotch philosophy, and high breeding of the old French school which meet in the Duke, render his conversation very piquant.
He has, indeed, the dignity of his three dukedoms; thefiertéof that of Chatelherault, the reserve of that of England, and the spirit of that of Scotland: witness his dignified reproof to the Duc de Blacas at Rome, when that very unpopular personage, then Ambassador from the court of France, presumed to comment on the frequency of the Duke of Hamilton's visits to the Princess Pauline Borghese, who, being a Buonaparte, was looked on with a jealous eye by Blacas.
Monsieur Mignet spent last evening here. The more I see of him the more I am pleased with his society. To a mind stored with knowledge he joins a happy facility of bringing forth its treasures, never as if ostentatious of his wealth, but in illustration of any topic that is discussed, on which he brings it to bear most aptly and appropriately. His countenance lights up with expression when he converses, and adds force to an eloquence always interesting and often instructive.
Though Monsieur Mignet shines in monologue more than in dialogue, there is nothing either dictatorial or pedantic in his manner, he utters opinions new and original, which it is evident he has deeply reflected on, and elucidates them to the comprehension of his auditors with great felicity. I like listening to the conversation of such a man; and clever people, when they find an attentive listener, are incited to talk well.
In general society, in which many persons of totally opposite tastes, pursuits, and opinions, are thrown together, a clever man has seldom an opportunity of bringing forth the treasures of his mind. He can only dispense the small coin, which is easily changed with those he comes in contact with; but the weighty and valuable, metal is not brought into use, because he knows the greater number of those, around him could give him no equivalent in exchange.
——, conversing with Lady —— to-day, she observed that in early life conscience has less influence than in advanced life, and accounted for it by the nearer approach to death rendering people more alarmed, and consequently more disposed to listen to it. Some persons attribute all good impulses to fear, as if mortals were more governed by its influence than by that of love and gratitude.
If conscience is less frequently heard in youth, it is that the tumultuous throbbing of the heart, and the wild suggestions of the passions, prevent its "still small voice" from being audible; but in the decline of life, when the heart beats languidly and the passions slumber, it makes itself heard, and on its whispers depends our happiness or misery.
My old acquaintance, Lord Palmerston, has arrived at Paris, and dined here yesterday, to meet the Duc and Duchesse de Guiche, Count Valeski, and Mr. Poulett Thomson. Seven years have produced no change in Lord Palmerston. He is the same intelligent, sensible, and agreeable person that I remember him to have been for many years.
Lord Palmerston has much more ability than people are disposed to give him credit for. He is, or used to be, when I lived in England, considered a good man of business, acute in the details, and quick in the comprehension of complicated questions. Even this is no mean praise, but I think him entitled to more; for, though constantly and busily occupied with official duties, he has contrived to find time to read every thing worth reading, and to make himself acquainted with the politics of other countries.
Lively, well-bred, and unaffected, Lord Palmerston is a man that is so well acquainted with the routine of official duties, performs them so readily and pleasantly, and is so free from the assumption of self-importance that too frequently appertains to adepts in them, that, whether Whig or Tory government has the ascendant in England, his services will be always considered a desideratum to be secured if possible.
Lord Castlereagh, Mr. Cutlar Fergusson, and Count Valeski dined here yesterday. Lord C. has just arrived from England, and is a good specimen of the young men of the present day. He reminds me of his uncle, the late Marquess of Londonderry, one of the most amiable and well-bred men I ever knew. Lord C—— is very animated and piquant in conversation, thinks for himself, and says what he thinks with a frankness not often met with in our times. Yet there is nobrusqueriein his manners;au contraire, they are soft and very pleasing; and this contrast between the originality and fearlessness of his opinions, and the perfect good-breeding with which they are expressed, lend a peculiar attraction to his manner. If Lord C—— were not a man of fashion he would become something vastly better, for he has much of the chivalrous spirit of his father and the tact of his uncle. Fashion is the gulf in whose vortex so many fine natures are wrecked in England; what a pity it is that they cannot be rescued from its dangers!
Mr. Cutlar Fergusson is a clever and amiable man, mild, well-informed, and agreeable.
The Baron and Baroness de Ruysch spent yesterday with us. They are an estimable couple, and very pleasant withal. His philosophy, which has nothing of the ascetic in it, harmonises very well with her vivacity, and her sprightliness never degenerates into levity. It is the gaiety of a mind at ease, pleased with others, and content with self. How unlike the exuberant spirits of ——, which always depress mine more than a day'stête-à-têtewith the moodiest hypochondriac could do!
Nothing can be more dreary and cheerless than the weather; and a second winter's residence at Paris has convinced me that London is infinitely preferable at this season, except to those who consider gaiety an equivalent for comfort. The negligence and bad management of the persons whose duty it is to remove the snow or mud from the streets, render them not only nearly impassable for pedestrians but exceedingly disagreeable to those who have carriages.
Previously to the heavy fall of snow that occurred a week ago, and which still encumbers the streets, a succession of wet days occasioned an accumulation of mud that gave forth most unsavoury odours, and lent a damp chilliness to the atmosphere which sent home to their sick chambers, assailed by sore throats and all the other miseries peculiar to colds, many of those who were so imprudent as to venture abroad. The snow, instead of being swept away, is piled up on each side of the streets, forming a wall that increases the gloom and chilliness that reigns around. The fogs, too, rise from the Seine, and hover over the Champs-Elysées and streets adjacent to it, rendering a passage through them a service of danger.
Lord Castlereagh and Madame Grassini dined here last evening. He was much amused with the raciness and originality of her remarks; and she was greatly gratified by the polite attention with which he listened to them. At one moment, she pronounced him to be "la vraie image de ce cher et bon Lord Castlereagh," whom she had so much liked; and the next she declared him to be exactly like "ce preux chevalier, son père," who was so irresistible that no female heart, or, as she said, at least no Italian female heart, could resist him.
Then she spoke of "ce cher et excellent Duc de Wellington," who had been so kind to her, asked a thousand questions about him, the tears starting into her brilliant eyes as she dwelt on the reminiscences of those days when, considered the finest singer and most beautiful woman of her time, she received a homage accorded to her beauty and talent never since so universally decreed to any otherprima donna. The Grassini cannot be known without being liked, she is so warm-hearted, unaffected, and sincere.
The prettiest sight imaginable was a party of our friends in sledges, who yesterday passed through the streets. This was the first time I had ever seen this mode of conveyance, and nothing can be more picturesque. The sledge of the Duc de Guiche, in which reclined the Duchesse, the Duc seated behind her and holding, at each side of her, the reins of the horse, presented the form of a swan, the feathers beautifully sculptured. The back of this colossal swan being hollowed out, admitted a seat, which, with the whole of the interior, was covered with fine fur. The harness and trappings of the superb horse that drew it were richly decorated, and innumerable silver bells were attached to it, the sound of which was pleasant to the ear.
The Duchesse, wrapped in a pelisse of the finest Russian sable, never looked handsomer than in her sledge, her fair cheeks tinged with a bright pink by the cold air, and her luxuriant silken curls falling on the dark fur that encircled her throat.
Count A. d'Orsay's sledge presented the form of a dragon, and the accoutrements and horse were beautiful; the harness was of red morocco, embroidered with gold. The Prince Poniatowski and Comte Valeski followed in sledges of the ordinary Russian shape, and the whole cavalcade had a most picturesque effect. The Parisians appeared to be highly delighted with the sight, and, above all, with the beautiful Duchesse borne along through the snow in her swan.
My medical adviser pressed me so much to accede to the wishes of my friends and try the salutary effect of a drive in a sledge, that I yesterday accompanied them to St.-Cloud, where we dined, and returned at night by torch-light. Picturesque as is the appearance of the sledges by day-light, it is infinitely more so by night, particularly of those that have the form of animals or birds.
The swan of the Duchesse de Guiche had bright lamps in its eyes, which sent forth a clear light that was reflected in prismatic colours on the drifted snow, and ice-gemmed branches of the trees, as we drove through the Bois de Boulogne. Grooms, bearing lighted torches, preceded each sledge; and the sound of the bells in the Bois, silent and deserted at that hour, made one fancy one's self transported to some far northern region.
The dragon of Comte A. d'Orsay looked strangely fantastic at night. In the mouth, as well as the eyes, was a brilliant red light; and to a tiger-skin covering, that nearly concealed the cream-coloured horse, revealing only the white mane and tail, was attached a double line of silver gilt bells, the jingle of which was very musical and cheerful.
The shadows of the tall trees falling on an immense plain of snow, the light flashing in fitful gleams from the torches and lamps as we were hurried rapidly along, looked strange and unearthly, and reminded me of some of the scenes described in those northern fictions perused in the happy days of childhood.
This excursion and exposure to the wintry air procured me a good night's sleep,—the first enjoyed since the severity of the weather has deprived me of my usual exercise. This revival of an old fashion (for in former days sledges were considered as indispensable in the winterremiseof a grand seigneur in France as cabriolets or britchkas are in the summer) has greatly pleased the Parisian world, and crowds flock to see them as they pass along. The velocity of the movement, the gaiety of the sound of the bells, and the cold bracing air, have a very exhilarating effect on the spirits.
Met the Prince Polignac at the Duchesse de G——'s today. His countenance is remarkably good, his air and mannertrès-distingué, and his conversation precisely what might be expected from an English gentleman—mild, reasonable, and unaffected. If I had not previously known him to be one or the most amiable men in the world, I should have soon formed this judgment of him, for every expression of his countenance, and every word he utters, give this impression.
The Prince Polignac has lived much in England, and seems to me to be formed to live there, for his tastes are decidedly English. Twice married, both his wives were English; so that it is no wonder that he has adopted much of our modes of thinking. Highly as I am disposed to estimate him, I do not think that he is precisely the person calculated to cope with the difficulties that must beset a minister, and, above all, a minister in France, in times like the present.
The very qualities that render him so beloved in private life, and which make his domestic circle one of the happiest in the world, are perhaps those which unfit him for so trying a post as the one he is now called on to hold—a post requiring abilities so various, and qualifications so manifold, that few, if any, could be found to possess the rare union.
A spirit is rife in France that renders the position ofpremierin it almost untenable; and he must unite the firmness of a stoic, the knowledge of a Machiavelli, and the boldness of a Napoleon, who could hope to stem the tide that menaces to set in and sweep away the present institutions. If honesty of intention, loyalty to his sovereign, personal courage, attachment to his country, and perfect disinterestedness could secure success, then might Prince Polignac expect it.
May.—Some months have elapsed since I noted down a line in this book. Indisposition and its usual attendants, languor and lassitude, have caused me to throw it by. Time that once rolled as pleasantly as rapidly along, seems now to pace as slowly as sadly; and even the approach of spring, that joyous season never before unwelcomed, now awakens only painful recollections. Who can see the trees putting forth their leaves without a dread that, ere they have yet expanded into their full growth, some one may be snatched away who with us hailed their first opening verdure?
When once Death has invaded our hearths and torn from us some dear object on whose existence our happiness depended, we lose all the confidence previously fondly and foolishly experienced in the stability of the blessings we enjoy, and not only deeply mourn those lost, but tremble for those yet spared to us. I once thought that I could never behold this genial season without pleasure; alas! it now occasions only gloom.
Captain William Anson, the brother of Lord Anson, dined here yesterday. He is a very remarkable young man; highly distinguished in his profession, being considered one of the best officers in the navy, and possessing all the accomplishments of a finished gentleman. His reading has been extensive, and his memory is very retentive. He has been in most quarters of the globe, and has missed no opportunity of cultivating his mind and of increasing his stock of knowledge. He is, indeed, a worthy descendant of his great ancestor, who might well be proud of such a scion to the ancient stock. Devoted to the arduous duties of his profession, he studies every amelioration in itcon amore; and, if a long life be granted to him, will prove one of its brightest ornaments.
The Marquis and Marquise de B—— spent last evening here, and several people dropped in. Among them was the pretty Madame de la H——, as piquant and lively as ever, as content with herself (and she has reason to be so, being very good-looking and amusing) and as careless of the suffrages of others. I like the young and the gay of my own sex, though I am no longer either.
Prince Paul Lieven and Captain Cadogan[8] dined here yesterday. The first is asspiritueland clever as formerly, and the second is as frank, high-spirited, and well-bred—the verybeau idéalof a son of the sea, possessing all the attributes of that generous race, joined to all those said to be peculiar to the high-born and well-educated.
I like the conversation of such men—men who, nursed in the lap of luxury, are sent from the noble dwellings of their sires to be "cabined, cribbed, confined," in (to my thinking) the most unbearable of all prisons—a ship; pass months and years exposed to hardships, privations, and dangers, from the endurance of which even the poor and lowly born often shrink, and bring back to society the high breeding and urbanity not to be surpassed in those whose lots have been exempt from such trials; and, what is still more precious, the experience and reflection acquired in their perilous profession, and in the many hours of solitude and anxiety that appertain to it.
Sat a considerable time with the Duchesse de Guiche today. How amiable and kind-hearted she is, and how unspoilt by all the brilliancy of her position! While I was there the mother and son of a young page, for whom the Duc and Duchesse have obtained that office at court, came to thank her. The boy is a very fine youth, and the mother and sister seem to dote on him. They reminded me of the mother and sister that a sentimental writer would have created for the occasion, being exceedingly interesting in their appearance and manner. The boy was evidently as fond and proud of them as they were of him, and the group formed a charming picture.
The warmth and gentleness of the manners of the Duchesse de G——, and the remarkable beauty of her face and figure, never appeared more captivating in my eyes than when I beheld her to-day, evincing such good nature to the youthful page and his mother and sister; and I saw by their eyes, when they took leave of her, that she sent away grateful hearts.
July1830.—Indisposition has interrupted my journal for several weeks, and idleness has prolonged the chasm. The noting down the daily recurrence of uninteresting events is as dull as the endurance of them.
If reports may be credited, we are on the eve of some popular commotion in France, and the present ministers are said to be either ignorant of the danger that menaces, or unprepared to meet it. The conquest of Algiers has produced much less exultation in the people than might have naturally been expected; and this indifference to an event calculated to gratify theamour-proprewhich forms so peculiar a characteristic of the nation, is considered a bad sign by those who affect to be acquainted with the people. I have so often heard rumours of discontent and revolts that I have grown incredulous, and I think and hope the French are too wise to try any dangerous experiments.
26th July.—This morning General E—— came to breakfast with us, and announced that the ordonnances were yesterday signed in council at St.- Cloud. This good man and brave soldier expressed the liveliest regret at this rash measure, and the utmost alarm at the consequences likely to result from it. Is Charles the Tenth ignorant of the actual state of things in Paris, and of the power of public opinion? or does he hope to vanquish the resistance likely to be offered to this act? I hope his majesty may not acquire this knowledge when it has become too late to derive advantage from it.
The unpopularity of the present ministry, and above all of its leader, the Prince Polignac, is surprising, when one considers how estimable his private character is, and that theirs are irreproachable. They are rendered responsible for the will of the sovereign, who, if report speak truth, is very pertinacious in exacting a rigid fulfilment of it whenever it is exercised.
The present are not times to try experiments how far the will of a monarch can be pushed; and it is not in France, as in England, where our law supposes that a king can do no wrong, for the French are prone to pay no more respect to sovereigns than to their supposed advisers, and both may suffer a heavy penalty for incurring the dislike of the people.
The prosperity of France, which is acknowledged by all, has failed to silence the murmurs of discontent which, loud and deep, are heard every where save in the palace,—too frequently the last place where public opinion gets an impartial hearing. The success of the Algerine expedition has buoyed up the confidence of the ministry in their own strength; but, if I may credit what I hear, it has by no means really added to it.
Concessions too long delayed come with a bad grace when at length extorted, and the change of ministry factiously demanded, even if complied with, would have placed the sovereign in any thing but a dignified position. The dissolution of the Chambers in March, after a session of only ten days, might be considered as a demonstration of discontent on the part of the monarch, as well as a want of power of quelling the spirit that evoked it.
A circumstance, trivial in itself, added to this unpopularity, which was, that several of the deputies were on their route to Paris when the unexpected intelligence of the dissolution reached them, and they could not pardon the expense to which they had been put by this unnecessaryfrais de route, their places in the diligence being paid for. How frequently do trifles exercise a powerful influence over grave affairs!
The portion of the public press that advocates the defence of the government is even more injudicious than that which assails it; and the monarchy has decidedly suffered in general opinion by the angry excitement produced by the recrimination of both parties. The prosecutions entered into against the editors of the liberal papers are considered by the party to which they belong to be persecutions; and the sentiments avowed by theGazette de Franceare received as those of not only the government but of the sovereign. The discussions occasioned by these prosecutions, as well as by the principles of monarchical absolutism maintained by the adverse party, have greatly extended the ranks of the liberals, who, looking on the editors who expound or promulgate their opinions as martyrs, become more exasperated against their opponents, and more reckless in the modes likely to be adopted for marking their disapprobation.
27th.—On returning from a late drive last night we passed near the hôtel of the Ministerdes Finances, around which some fifty or sixty persons, chiefly youths, were assembled, crying out "Vive la charte!" "A bas les ministres!" A patrol passed close to these persons, but made no attempt to disperse them, which I think was rather unwise, for, encouraged by this impunity, their numbers, I am told, increased rapidly.
I have just heard that the post ofgendarmeswas tripled this morning, and that a crowd of persons have assembled around the hôtel of the Prince Polignac, where a cabinet council was held. It is said that the ministers were insulted as they entered. This looks ill; nevertheless, I trust that it is nothing more than a demonstration of the spirit that is rife in the people, and that no more violent ones will be resorted to. The visitors I have seen to-day seem much alarmed.
The Duc de Guiche set off for St.-Cloud yesterday morning, the moment he had read the ordonnances. Had his counsel been listened to, they would never have been promulgated; for he is one of the few who, with a freedom from prejudice that enables him to judge dispassionately of the actual state of public opinion, has the moral courage to declare the truth to his sovereign, however unpalatable that truth might be, or however prejudicial to his own interests.
I have this moment returned from a drive through the streets, and, though far from being an alarmist, I begin to think that affairs wear a more serious aspect than I dreaded. Already has a collision taken place between the populace and the soldiers, who attempted to disperse them near the Palais-Royal; and it required the assistance of a charge of cavalry to secure the dangerous victory to themselves.
Crowds were hurrying through the streets, many of the shops were closed, and not above three or four carriages were to be seen. Never did so great a change take place in the aspect of a city in so few hours! Yesterday the business of life flowed on in its usual current. The bees and the drones of this vast hive were buzzing about, and the butterflies of fashion were expanding their gay wings in the sunshine. To-day the industrious and orderly seem frightened from their usual occupations, and scarcely a person of those termed fashionable is to be seen. Where are all the household of Charles the Tenth, that vast and well-paid crowd who were wont to fill the anterooms of the Tuileries on gala days, obsequiously watching to catch a nod from the monarch, whose slightest wish was to them as the laws of the Modes and Persians? Can it be that they have disappeared at the first cloud that has darkened the horizon of their sovereign, and increased the danger that menaces him by shewing that they have not courage to meet it? Heaven send, for the honour of France, that thenoblesseof the court of Charles the Tenth may not follow the disgraceful example furnished by that of his unfortunate brother, Louis the Sixteenth! In England how different would it be if danger menaced the sovereign!
—— has just been here, and, in answer to my question of where are the men on whose fidelity the king could count, and in whose military experience he might confide in such a crisis as the present, he told me that for the purposes of election interests all the general officers who could be trusted had unfortunately been sent from the court.
The sound of firing has announced that order, far from being restored, seems less likely than ever to be so. People are rushing wildly through the streets proclaiming that several persons have been killed by the military. All is confusion and alarm, and every one appears to dread what the coming night may produce.
Intelligence has just reached us that the mob are demolishing the lanterns, and that they have broken into the shops of the gunsmiths, and seized all the arms they could find. The Duc de Raguse commands the troops, and already several charges have taken place. This selection, under present circumstances, is not considered to be a good one.
The people are forming barricades in various parts of the town, and some of our servants, who have been out to collect intelligence, assert that no hinderance seems to be opposed to this mischievous measure. Where are the civil authorities during all this commotion? is the natural question that suggests itself to one who knows how in London, under any disturbance, they would oppose themselves to check such proceedings. And why, if the civil authorities are too weak to resist the torrent, is there not a sufficient military force to stem it? is the next question that presents itself. No one seems to know where the blame lies, but every one foretells a dangerous result from this unaccountable state of things.
The promulgation of the ordonnances which had led to this tumult, ought to have been accompanied by a display of force sufficient to maintain their enactment. If a governmentwilltry the hazardous measure of acoup d'état, it ought to be well prepared to meet the probable consequences.
I feel so little disposed to sleep that, instead of seeking my pillow, I occupy myself by noting down my impressions, occasionally looking out of my window to catch the sounds that break the stillness of the night. The heat is intense, but the sky is as pure and cloudless as if it canopied a calm and slumbering multitude instead of a waking and turbulent one, filled with the most angry emotions.
Comtes d'Orsay and Valeski have just returned, and state that they have been as far as the Place de la Bourse, where they saw a scene of the utmost confusion. The populace had assembled there in great force, armed with every kind of weapon they could obtain, their arms bared up to the shoulders, and the whole of them presenting the most wild and motley appearance imaginable. They had set fire to the Corps-de-Garde, the flames of which spread a light around as bright as day. Strange to say, the populace evinced a perfect good-humour, and more resembled a mob met to celebrate a saturnalia than to subvert a monarchy.
Comtes d'O—— and V—— were recognised by some of the people, who seemed pleased at seeing them. On returning, they passed through the Rue de Richelieu, which they found in total darkness, all the lanterns having been broken. Comte d'O—— luckily found his cabriolet in the Rue de Ménars, where he had left it, not being able to take it farther, owing to a portion of the pavement being broken up, and had only time to reach the club-house in the Rue de Gramont, in the court of which he placed his cab, before the populace rushed by, destroying every thing they met, among which was the carriage of the Prince Tufiakin. A considerable number of the members of the club were assembled, a few of whom witnessed, from the balcony on the Boulevart, the burning of the chairs placed there, the breaking of the lamps, and other depredations.
Some gentlemen went to the battalion of the guards stationed in front of the Prince Polignac's, and suggested to the officer in command the propriety of sending a few men to arrest the progress of the insurgents, a thing then easily to be accomplished; but the officer, having no orders, declined to take any step, and the populace continued their depredations within three hundred yards of so imposing a force as a battalion of the guards!
What may not to-morrow's sun witness, ere it goes down? But conjecture is vain in a crisis in which every thing appears to go on in a mode so wholly unaccountable. The exhibition of a powerful force might and would, I am persuaded, have precluded the collision that has occurred between the populace and the military. Blood has been shed on both sides, and this has rendered the breach between people and sovereign too wide to be repaired except by something almost miraculous, and alas! the time of miracles is past.
I cannot help wondering at the calmness I feel on this occasion. I experience no personal alarm; but I am apprehensive for my friends, some of whom are deeply interested in this struggle. How may their destinies, lately so brilliant, be overclouded by the change that menaces to take place!
Well may Monsieur Salvandy have observed at the ball so recently given by the Duc of Orléans to the royal families of France and Naples, "This may be termed a Neapolitanfête, for they are dancing over a volcano."
All now seems quiet, so I will go to bed. Heaven only knows if to-morrow night we may be allowed to seek our pillows in safety.
28th.—Myfemme-de-chambreundrew my curtains this morning, "with such a face—so faint, so spiritless, so dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone"—proclaiming that barricades had been erected during the night, and that the bodies of those killed in the encounter yesterday have been paraded through the streets in order to excite still more the angry feelings of the people. This last measure reminds one of the appalling exhibitions in the fearful and memorable Revolution of former days; and the reminiscences it awakens are not calculated to tranquillize the mind.
She states that the shops are all closed, and that no provisions can be obtained; the cook complains that his stockpots want replenishing; and thefemme de chargehints that the larder is not so well supplied as it would have been had she known what was to occur. Each and all of these functionaries seem wholly occupied by the dread of not being able to furnish us with as copious repasts as usual, unmindful that a mighty throne is tottering to its foundation, and that a struggle is going on in which many lives may be sacrificed.
The Duc de Raguse has incurred great blame for his intercourse with the supposed leaders of the Revolution. This conduct has had the effect of destroying the confidence of the troops in their chief, and of weakening their attachment to the cause they were to support. The Maréchal was the Commandant appointed by the King, and as such, bound to treat as rebels those who opposed themselves to his government; instead of which, he seemed more like theconfidentof a party who, it is alleged, owe their victory to his supineness.
The Duc de Guiche has not left his post, near the royal family, since the 26th, except to pass and repass with instructions from the King to the Duc de Raguse, twice or thrice a-day. He has been repeatedly recognised by the people, though in plain clothes, and experienced at their hands the respect so well merited by his honourable conduct and devotion to his sovereign. How often have I heard this noble-minded man censured for encouraging the liberal sentiments of the Dauphin; and heard this, too, from some of those who are now the first to desert Charles the Tenth in the emergency which is the result of the system they advocated!
—— has been here; he tells me that to Marshal Marmont the king has confided unlimited power, and that Paris has been declared in a state of siege.
He says that the military dispositions are so defective, that there is not a young officer in the army capable of committing a similar mistake. The regiments are crowded into narrow streets, in which even children may become dangerous enemies, by throwing from the windows every missile within their reach on the heads of the soldiers. He is of opinion that, in twenty-four hours, the populace will be in possession of Paris. The tri-coloured flag is now floating from the towers of Notre-Dame; while the white flag of the luckless Bourbons, as often stained by the faithlessness of its followers, as by the blood of its foes, still waves from the column of the Place Vendôme,—that column erected to commemorate the glory of the great chief now calmly sleeping in his ocean-washed grave.
The civil authorities seem paralyzed: the troops have been twelve hours on duly without any refreshment, except that afforded by the humanity of the people, who have brought them wine and bread; can it be hoped that these same soldiers will turn their arms against those who have supplied their necessities?
The royal emblems are destroyed wherever they are found, and the bust of the king has been trampled on. The disgusting exhibition of the dead bodies has had the bad effect calculated upon, and all is tumult and disorder. Every one wonders where are the authorities, and why a sufficient military force does not appear, for there has been ample time, since the disposition to insurrection manifested by the people, to assemble the troops.
Every visitor, and, notwithstanding the disturbed state of Paris, we have already had several to-day, announces some fresh disaster, each representing it according to the political creed to which he adheres. The Royalists assert that the outbreak is the result of a long and grave conspiracy, fomented by those who expect to derive advantage from it; while the Liberals maintain that it has arisen spontaneously and simultaneously from the wounded spirit of liberty, lashed into a frenzied resistance by the ordonnances. I pretend not to know which of these statements is the most correct; but I believe that the favourite opinion of the worthy Sir Roger de Coverley, that "much could be said on both sides of the question," might now fairly be urged; for, according to the march of events, it is but too probable that the melodrama now enacting before our eyes has not been an impromptu; and it is quite clear that the ordonnances have furnished the occasion, and the excuse (if such were required), for the performance.
Well might a great Italian writer pronounce revolutions to be the carnivals of history. This one seems to be not only a carnival but Saturnalia, for the ebriety of the slaves of liberty is well calculated to disgust the friends; and those who witness this intoxication are reminded of the observation of Voltaire, that "Les Français goûtent de la liberté comme des liqueurs fortes avec lesquelles ils s'enivrent."A revolution affected by physical instead of moral force, is a grave wound inflicted on social order and civilization—a wound which it takes ages to heal.
When on the point of sitting down to ourdéjeûner a la fourchette(for people will eat while thrones are crumbling), repeated knockings, at theporte-cochèreinduced us to look from the window in order to see who the persons were who thus loudly demanded admittance, when it was discovered that they were Doctors Pasquier and De Guise. They had been dressing the wounded at the hospital in the Faubourg du Roule, and finding on their return that the Champs-Élysées and Rue St.-Honoré were the scenes of combat, had bethought themselves of our vicinity, and sought shelter. When our unexpected visitants, deeming themselves fortunate in having found a refuge, prepared to join our repast, it was ludicrous to observe the lengthened faces of our servants at this addition to our party. They, having previously lamented the paucity of provisions in the larder, and being aware of the difficulty, if not impossibility, of procuring a further supply, looked on the new-comers as interlopers, who would inevitably diminish the already too limited stock.
We had not been seated above five minutes at table, when the report of fire-arms announced that hostilities were renewed, and we hurried to the drawing-room to observe what was going on. The servants looked as if they rather enjoyed the interruption to the morning's meal, thinking no doubt that it would preserve the provisions, now so precious in their eyes, and they prepared to remove the viands with unusual alacrity; but their visages lengthened when told to let them remain on the table, and became still longer when we shortly after resumed our places at the board.
An Englishwoman, in the kitchen establishment, has just performed a feat that has elevated her into a heroine in the eyes of the rest of the servants. Finding the larder not sufficiently supplied, she sallied forth into the street, passed through the Rue St.-Honoré, while the fighting was going on, and returned bearing a basket of meat, obtained certainly at the risk of her life, as shots were flying around her. As none of the men offered to undertake this action, she is now considered little less than an amazon, and heramour-proprebeing excited by the commendations bestowed on her courage, she declares that she will go forth for all that may be required, as she despises fear.
We have now entrenched ourselves in the front drawing-rooms, with the external shutters, which are stuffed to exclude noise, closed, but which we open occasionally, in order to see what is going on. Sitting in darkness, with the sound of firing, and the shouts of the people, continually in our ears, I can hardly bring myself to think that all that is now passing is not a dream.
The populace, ten minutes ago, rushed from the Rue St.-Honoré towards the Champs-Élysées, assailing the troops stationed in the latter place; and were in turn assailed by these last, and forced to retreat to the Rue St.-Honoré. The scene was one of the utmost confusion.
The firing is going on; stragglers are rushing to and fro; a body of troops are stationed at the bottom of this street, and some pieces of cannon have been placed. A thousand rumours are afloat, each more improbable than the other. One moment it is announced that several regiments have fraternized with the people; another, that the royal family have fled to Belgium; the next, that Paris is to be fired by the insurgents; but it would be impossible to repeat one-half the wild rumours in circulation.
There is a mixture of the sublime and of the ridiculous in the scenes now passing before my eyes that is quite extraordinary. Looking from my window, twenty minutes ago, I saw a troop of boys, amounting to about fifty, the eldest of whom could not be more than ten or eleven years old, and some who appeared under that age, march through our streets, with wooden swords, and lances pointed with sharp nails, flags flying, and crying, "Vive la charte! Vive la liberté!" The gravity and intrepidity of thesegamins de Pariswould, at any other period, have elicited a smile; but now, this demonstration on the part of mere children creates the reflection of how profound and general must be the sympathy enlisted against the government and the sovereign in the hearts of the people.
Many are those who, like their children, shout "Vive la charte!" and "Vive, la liberté!" who are as ignorant of the true sense and value of both as they are. Well might the victim, when being led to execution in the days of the past revolution in France, exclaim, "O Liberty, what crimes are committed in thy name!"
One of our servants has this moment informal me that the children, whose warlike demeanour I was disposed to smile at an hour ago, have rendered (notthe state, but the popular cause) some service. The troops, more amused than surprised at the appearance of these mimic soldiers, suffered them to approach closer than prudence warranted, and the urchins, rushing among the horses, wounded several of the poor animals severely, and effected their retreat before the soldiers were aware of what had occurred.
A fatality seems to prevail in the preset crisis that is little less than marvellous. A want of provisions for the troops is now added to the catalogue of excitements against the cause of royalty. Harassed by the repeated attacks of the populace, and exhausted by long exposure to the intense heat of a burning sun, they are little prone to consider as enemies those who approach them with food to allay the pangs of hunger, and drink to cool their scorching thirst. ——, and others who have mingled with the crowd, tell me that they have beheld repeated examples of soldiers throwing down their arms, to embrace those who came to seduce them with the most irresistible of all seductions—refreshment, when they were nearly exhausted by the want of it.
I shall begin to consider myself half a heroine, after an exploit I performed this evening. The men who shared our dinner having gone out to observe what was passing, I determined,coûte que coûte, to pay a visit to my friend Madame Craufurd. I attired myself as simply as possible, and, attended by avalet de pied, sallied forth. Having traversed the short distance that separates this house from the Rue St.-Honoré, I arrived at the barricade erected in front of the entrance to the Rue Verte, and I confess this obstacle seemed to me, for the first minute or two that I contemplated it, insurmountable. My servant, too, expressed his belief of the difficulty, if not impossibility, of climbing over this mountain of loose stones, that I felt half disposed to retrace my steps.
The shouts of a mob approaching along the Rue St.-Honoré quickly decided me on the course to pursue; I clambered up as best I could, not without considerable risk; nor was the danger and difficulty of the descent on the other side of this rude pyramid less imminent. The evening was more sultry than I ever experienced an evening to be, even in Italy; the houses were all closed, the streets deserted, except when a few occasional stragglers rushed along, glancing at me with surprise, and uttering their comments on my courage. Now and then a dog ran by, with a terrified air and drooping tail, keeping close to the houses as if for protection. One might have fancied oneself in some city ravaged by the plague, and the burning heat of the atmosphere, and lurid red of the clouds, might have strengthened the notion.
It more than once occurred to me how singular it was for me, a woman and a stranger, to find myself with only one attendant in the streets, on foot, in a city declared to be in a state of siege, and with the noise of firing in the distance, and the shouts of the populace, continually breaking on my ears.
Having passed the Rue de la Ville-l'Évêque, and entered the Rue d'Anjou, I soon reached theporte-cochèreof my friend. My servant knocked, and very loudly, but before the Swiss porter would open the door, he reconnoitred from the window in theentresolof his lodge. He could hardly credit his eyes when he saw me; and while he unbolted and unchained the door, an operation which took him more time than I thought necessary, I could hear him muttering that, "Les dames Anglaises n'ont peur de rien, positivement rien." I was not sorry when I heard the massive door closed after me, with its bolts and chains again secured; but, as I crossed the courtyard, the different aspect of the house, with its closed windows, reminded me so forcibly of the change that had occurred since my last visit, only three days previously, that I felt more agitated than while traversing the streets.
When I entered the drawing-room, in which a large circle were assembled, Madame Craufurd, though the servants announced my name, could hardly believe I was indeed come. She wept bitterly while embracing me, and observed on the hardship of a person so aged as herself being called on to witness two revolutions. All the horrors of the first are recalled vividly to her mind, and her terror of what may occur is proportioned to what she remembers to have formerly taken place. Nothing seemed to pacify her terror so much as the fact of my having been permitted to pass unmolested to her house, though she considered me little less than insane to have undertaken the task.
"For myself," said Madame C——, "I have little fear (though her blanched cheek and trembling hand told another story); but for those dearer to me than life, what have I not to dread? You who know the chivalrous sentiments of the Duc de Guiche, and the attachment entertained by him and my granddaughter for the royal family, will understand how much I have to dread for them from the vengeance which their devotion to their sovereign may draw on their heads.Theyare not, as you are aware, time-servers, like so many others, who will desert their king in his hour of need. No; they will brave death, I am assured, rather than forsake in adversity those whose prosperity they shared."
The marquis d'Aligre, one of, it not the, richest landed proprietors in France, was among the circle at Madame Craufurd's, and evinced no little composure and courage in the circumstances in which we found ourselves. He joined me in endeavouring to soothe her fears; and probably the fact of his having so immense a stake to risk in the crisis now taking place, added not a little weight to the arguments he urged to quiet her alarms. When people have so much to lose, their calmness has an imposing effect; and the rhetoric of the most accomplished orator would have probably been less successful than was the composed manner of the marquis d'Aligre, in restoring the wonted courage of our amiable hostess.
When I rose to take leave, Madame C—— tried all her efforts to persuade me to remain to sleep at her house, and I had no little difficulty to escape from her importunity. She would fain send all her men servants to escort me home, and the Marquis d'Aligre also pressingly offered his services; but I was obstinate in my refusal to allow anyone to accompany me, being convinced that there was even less danger in proceeding with a single servant than more numerously attended. I tore myself from the embraces of Madame C——, whose tears flowed afresh, and bedewed my cheeks, and I once more passed through the court-yard, followed to the porter's lodge by thedames de compagnie, femmes de chambre, andvalets de chambre, wondering at my courage, offering up their prayers for my safety, and proclaiming that only an Englishwoman would have faced such danger. The old Swiss porter would not risk opening the gate until he had assured himself, from the window, that the coast was clear, and closed it so rapidly when I had passed it as almost to have endangered my heels.