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 her _bonne_, 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 drole_."

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 the _ennui_ of 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sumes 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 a _spirituel_, lively, and amusing man, with remarkably good manners, a great knowledge of the world, and possessing in an eminent degree the tact and talent _de societe_. 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 a.s.serted 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 a.s.sailed 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 pa.s.sed together at Pisa. Alas! how changed is my domestic circle since then!

They missed _one_ who 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 pa.s.s 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 frank _navete_, 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 the _Giaour_ to 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 of _persiflage_, 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 a.s.sociates, every man's tongue is. He drew no line of demarcation between _uttering_ and _writing_ satirical 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 a.s.sociates 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 who _speak_ as much evil of their _soi-disant_ friends, 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 pa.s.sion 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 the _powers that be_ as 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 a.s.sociated 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 Musee, 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 Musee 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 it _con 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 the _chefs-d'oeuvre_ of 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 the _savoir_ of 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 pa.s.sed 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 ma.s.s with which they herd to their own level, they are apt to sink to theirs; and persons with talents that might have served for n.o.bler purposes are suffered to degenerate into _diseurs de bons mots_ and _raconteurs de societe_, 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 celebrated _restaurateurs_, mix enough in the _beau monde_ to be enabled to observe the difference between the Parisian and London one, and will, at the expiration of the term a.s.signed to their _sejour_ here, return to England well satisfied with their trip and with themselves.

Lord A---- has tasted all the _nouveaux plats a 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 const.i.tutes the _agremens_ of life, or more _au fait_ of 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.

CHAPTER XXI.

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.