This little episode in the review shewed me the French ladies in a very amiable point of view. Their sensibility and agitation during the uncertainty as to the person thrown, vouched for the liveliness of their conjugal affection; and their sympathy for Madame la Comtesse de Bourmont when it was ascertained that her husband was the sufferer, bore evidence to the kindness of their hearts, as well as to their facility in performing the little services so acceptable in moments like those I had just witnessed.

Charles X, the Dauphin and Dauphine, and the d.u.c.h.esse de Berri, were present--the two latter in landaus, attended by their ladies. The king looked well, his grey hair and tall thin figure giving him a very venerable aspect.

The Dauphine is much changed since I last saw her, and the care and sorrow of her childhood have left their traces on her countenance. I never saw so melancholy a face, and the strength of intellect which characterises it renders it still more so, by indicating that the marks of sorrow so visible were not indented on that brow without many an effort from the strong mind to resist the attacks of grief.

I remember reading years ago of the melancholy physiognomy of King Charles I, which when seen in his portrait by a Florentine sculptor, to whom it was sent in order that a bust should be made from it, drew forth the observation that the countenance indicated that its owner would come to a violent death.

I was reminded of this anecdote by the face of the d.u.c.h.esse d'Angouleme; for though I do not pretend to a prescience as to her future fate, I cannot help arguing from it that, even should a peaceful reign await her, the fearful trials of her youth have destroyed in her the power of enjoyment; and that on a throne she can never forget the father and mother she saw hurried from it, to meet every insult that malice could invent, or cruelty could devise, before a violent death freed them from their sufferings.

Who can look on this heroic woman without astonishment at the power of endurance that has enabled her to live on under such trials? Martyr is written in legible characters on that brow, and on those lips; and her attempt to smile made me more sad than the tears of a mourner would have done, because it revealed "a grief too deep for tears."

Must she not tremble for the future, if not for the present, among a people so versatile as those among whom she is now thrown? And can she look from the windows of the palace she has been recalled to inhabit, without seeing the spot where the fearful guillotine was reared that made her an orphan?

The very plaudits that now rend the skies for her uncle must remind her of the shouts that followed her father to the scaffold: no wonder, then, that she grows pale as she hears them; and that the memory of the terrible past, written in characters of blood, gives a sombre hue to the present and to the future.

The sight of her, too, must awaken disagreeable recollections in those over whom her husband may be soon called to reign, for the history of the crimes of the Revolution is stamped on her face, whose pallid lint and rigid muscles tell of the horror and affliction imprinted on her youth; the reminiscence of which cannot be pleasant to them.

The French not only love their country pa.s.sionately, but are inordinately proud of it; hence, aught that reminds them of its sins--and cruelty is one of a deep dye--must be humiliating to them; so that the presence of the d.u.c.h.esse d'Angouleme cannot be flattering to their _amor patriae_ or _amour propre_. I thought of all this to-day, as I looked on the face of Madame la Dauphine; and breathed a hope that the peace of her life's evening may console her for the misfortunes of its morning and its noon.

The d.u.c.h.esse de Berri has an animated and peculiarly good-natured expression of countenance. Her restored gaiety makes the French forget why it was long and cruelly overclouded, and aids the many good qualities which she possesses, in securing the popularity she has so generally acquired in the country of her adoption.

House-hunting again, and still unsuited. Dined yesterday at the d.u.c.h.esse de Guiche's; a very pleasant party, increased by some agreeable people in the evening. Our old acquaintance, William Lock, was among the guests at dinner, and is as good-looking and light-hearted as ever.

The Marquis l'Esperance de l'Aigle was also present, and is a perfect specimen of the fine gentleman of _la Vieille Cour_--a race now nearly extinct. Possessing all the gaiety and vivacity of youth, with that attention to the feelings of others peculiar only to maturity and high-breeding, the Count l'Esperance de l'Aigle is universally beloved.

He can talk over old times with the grand-mother with all the wit that we read of, oftener than we meet with; give his opinion of _la derniere mode_ to the youthful mother, with rare tact and good taste; dance with the young daughter as actively and gracefully as any _garcon de dix-huit ans_ in Paris; and gallop through the Bois de Boulogne with the young men who pride themselves on their riding, without being ever left behind. I had frequently heard his praises from the d.u.c.h.esse de Guiche, and found that her description of him was very accurate.

The house of the Duc de Guiche is a picture of English comfort and French elegance united; and that portion of it appropriated to its fair mistress is fitted up with exquisite taste. Her _salons_ and _boudoir_ are objects of _vertu, bijouterie_, and vases of old Sevre, enough to excite envy in those who can duly appreciate such treasures, and tempt to the violation of the tenth commandment. Order reigns in the whole arrangement of the establishment, which, possessing all the luxurious appliances of a _maison montee_, has all the scrupulous cleanliness of that of a Quaker.

Went to the Opera last night, where I saw the _debut_ of the new _danseuse_ Taglioni. Hers is a totally new style of dancing; graceful beyond all comparison, wonderful lightness, an absence of all violent effort, or at least of the appearance of it, and a modesty as new as it is delightful to witness in her art. She seems to float and bound like a sylph across the stage, never executing those _tours de force_ that we know to be difficult and wish were impossible, being always performed at the expense of decorum and grace, and requiring only activity for their achievement.

She excited the most rapturous applause, and received it with a "decent dignity," very unlike the leering smiles with which, in general, a _danseuse_ thinks it necessary to advance to the front of the proscenium, shewing all her teeth, as she lowly courtesies to the audience.

There is a sentiment in the dancing of this charming votary of Terpsich.o.r.e that elevates it far beyond the licentious style generally adopted by the ladies of her profession, and which bids fair to accomplish a reformation in it.

The Duc de Cazes, who came in to the d.u.c.h.esse de Guiche's box, was enthusiastic in his praises of Mademoiselle Taglioni, and said hers was the most poetical style of dancing he had ever seen. Another observed, that it was indeed the poetry of motion. I would describe it as being the epic of dancing.

The Duc de Cazes is a very distinguished looking man, with a fine and intelligent countenance, and very agreeable manners.

_a propos_ of manners, I am struck with the great difference between those of Frenchmen and Englishmen, of the same station in life. The latter treat women with a politeness that seems the result of habitual amenity; the former with a homage that appears to be inspired by the peculiar claims of the s.e.x, particularised in the individual woman, and is consequently more flattering.

An Englishman seldom lays himself out to act the agreeable to women; a Frenchman never omits an opportunity of so doing: hence, the attentions of the latter are less gratifying than those of the former, because a woman, however free from vanity, may suppose that when an Englishman takes the trouble--and it is evidently a trouble, more or less, to all our islanders to enact the agreeable--she had really inspired him with the desire to please.

In France, a woman may forget that she is neither young nor handsome; for the absence of these claims to attention does not expose her to be neglected by the male s.e.x. In England, the elderly and the ugly "could a tale unfold" of the _navete_ with which men evince their sense of the importance of youth and beauty, and their oblivion of the presence of those who have neither.

France is the paradise for old women, particularly if they are _spirituelle_; but England is the purgatory.

The Comtesses de Bellegarde called on me to-day, and two more warm-hearted or enthusiastic persons I never saw. Though no longer young, they possess all the gaiety of youth, without any of its thoughtlessness, and have an earnestness in their kindness that is very pleasant.

Dined yesterday at Madame Craufurd's--a very pleasant party. Met there the Duc de Gramont, Duc and d.u.c.h.esse de Guiche, Colonel and lady Barbara Craufurd, and Count Valeski.

The Duc de Gramont is a fine old man who has seen much of the world, without having been soured by its trials. Faithful to his sovereign during adversity, he is affectionately cherished by the whole of the present royal family, who respect and love him; and his old age is cheered by the unceasing devotion of his children, the Duc and d.u.c.h.esse de Guiche, who are fondly attached to him.

He gives up much of his time to the culture of flowers, and is more interested in the success of his dahlias than in those scenes of courtly circles in which he is called to fill so distinguished a part.

It pleased me to hear him telling his beautiful daughter-in-law of the perfection of a flower she had procured him with some trouble; and then adding: "_a propos_ of flowers, how is our sweet Ida, to-day? There is no flower in my garden like her!--Ay, she will soon be two years old."

There is something soothing to the mind in the contemplation of a man in the evening of life, whose youth was spent in all the splendour of a court, and whose manhood has been tried by adversity, turning to Nature for her innocent pleasures, when the discovery of the futility of all others has been made. This choice vouches for the purity of heart and goodness of him who has adopted it, and disposes me to give ample credit to all the commendation the d.u.c.h.esse de Guiche used to utter of him in Italy.

Lady Barbara Craufurd is an excellent specimen of an English woman.

Pretty, without vanity or affectation; gentle, without insipidity; and simple, yet highly polished, in mariners. She has, too, a low, "sweet voice, an excellent thing in woman," and, to me, whose ears offer even a more direct road to the heart than do the eyes, is a peculiar attraction.

Colonel Craufurd seems to be the quintessence of good nature and of good sense. Count Valeski is an intelligent young man, greatly _a la mode_ at Paris, and wholly unspoilt by this distinction. Handsome, well-bred, and agreeable, he is very popular, not only among the fine ladies but fine gentlemen here, and appears worthy of the favour he enjoys.

Several people of both s.e.xes came in the evening to Madame Craufurd's, and we had some excellent music. Madame C. does the honours of her _salon_ with peculiar grace. She has a bright smile and a kind word for every guest, without the slightest appearance of effort.

Still house-hunting; continually tempted by elegantly decorated _salons_, and as continually checked by the want of room and comfort of the rest of the apartments.

We have been compelled to abandon the project of taking the Marechal Lobau's house, or at least that portion of it which he wishes to dispose of, for we found it impossible to lodge so large an establishment as ours in it; and, though we communicated this fact with all possible courtesy to the Marechal, we have received a note in answer, written in a different style, as he is pleased to think that, having twice inspected his apartments, we ought to have taken them.

In England, a person of the Marechal's rank who had a house to let would not show it _in propria persona_, but would delegate that task, as also the terms and negotiations, to some agent; thus avoiding all personal interference, and, consequently, any chance of offence: but if people _will_ feel angry without any just cause, it cannot be helped; and so Monsieur le Marechal must recover his serenity and acquire a temper more in a.n.a.logy with his name; for, though a brave and distinguished officer, as well as a good man, which he is said to be, he certainly is _not Bon comme un mouton_, which is his cognomen.

Paris is now before us,--where to choose is the difficulty. We saw to-day a house in the Rue St.-Honore, _entre cour et jardin_, a few doors from the English emba.s.sy. The said garden is the most tempting part of the affair; for, though the _salons_ and sleeping-rooms are good, the only entrance, except by a _pa.s.sage derobe_ for servants, is through the _salle a manger_, which is a great objection.

Many of the houses I have seen here have this defect, which the Parisians do not seem to consider one, although the odour of dinner must enter the _salons_, and that in the evening visitors must find servants occupied in removing the dinner apparatus, should they, as generally happens, come for the _prima sera_.

French people, however, remain so short a time at table, and dine so much earlier than the English people do, that the employment of their _salle a manger_ as a pa.s.sage does not annoy them.

Went to the opera last night, and saw the _Muette de Portici_. It is admirably got up, and the costumes and scenery, as well as the _tarantulas_, transported me back to Naples--dear, joyous Naples--again. Nourrit enacted "Ma.s.saniello," and his rich and flexible voice gave pa.s.sion and feeling to the music. n.o.blet was the "Fenella,"

and her pantomime and dancing were good; but Taglioni spoils one for any other dancing.

The six years that have flown over n.o.blet since I last saw her have left little trace of their flight, which is to be marvelled at, when one considers the violent and constant exercise that the profession of a _danseuse_ demands.

When I saw the sylph-like Taglioni floating through the dance, I could not refrain from sighing at the thought that grace and elegance like hers should be doomed to know the withering effect of Time; and that those agile limbs should one day become as stiff and helpless as those of others. An _old danseuse_ is an anomaly. She is like an old rose, rendered more displeasing by the recollection of former attractions.

Then to see the figure bounding in air, habit and effort effecting something like that which the agility peculiar to youth formerly enabled her to execute almost _con amore_; while the haggard face, and distorted smile revealing yellow teeth, tell a sad tale of departed youth. Yes, an old _danseuse_ is a melancholy object; more so, because less cared for, than the broken-down racer, or worn-out hunter.

Went to Tivoli last night, and was amused by the scene of gaiety it presented. How unlike, and how superior to, our Vauxhall! People of all stations, of all ages, and of both s.e.xes, threading the mazy dance with a sprightliness that evinced the pleasure it gave them.

We paused to look at group after group, all equally enjoying themselves; and the d.u.c.h.esse de Guiche, from her perfect knowledge of Paris, was enabled, by a glance, to name the station in life occupied by each: a somewhat difficult task for a stranger, as the remarkably good taste of every cla.s.s of women in Paris in dress, precludes those striking contrasts between the appearance of a _modiste_ and a _marquise_, the wife of a _boutiquier_ and a _d.u.c.h.esse_, to be met with in all other countries.

But it is not in dress alone that a similarity exists in the exteriors of Parisian women. The air _comme il faut_, the perfect freedom from all _gaucherie_, the ease of demeanour, the mode of walking, and, above all, the decent dignity equally removed from _mauvaise honte_ and effrontery, appertain nearly alike to all. The cla.s.s denominated _grisettes_ alone offered an exception, as their demonstrations of gaiety, though free from boisterousness, betrayed stronger symptoms of hilarity than were evinced by women belonging to a more elevated cla.s.s in society.

The dancing, too, surprised as well as pleased me; and in this accomplishment the French still maintain their long-acknowledged superiority, for among the many groups I did not see a single bad dancer.

Around one quadrille party a more numerous audience was collected than around the others, and the _entrechats_ of one of the gentlemen were much applauded. Nods and smiles pa.s.sing between the dancers and the d.u.c.h.esse de Guiche, revealed to me that they were among the circle of her acquaintance; and, approaching nearer, I recognised in the gentleman whose _entrechats_ were so much admired, my new acquaintance the Marquis l'Esperance de l'Aigle, of whose excellence in the mazy dance I now had an opportunity of seeing that Fame had not said too much.

The ladies who formed the quadrille were la Marquise de Marmier, the Vicomtesse de Noailles, and Madame Standish; all excellent dancers, and attired in that most becoming of all styles of dress, the _demi-toilette_, which is peculiar to France, and admits of the after-dinner promenades or unceremonious visits in which French ladies indulge. A simple robe of _organdie_, with long sleeves, a _canezou_ of net, a light scarf, and a pretty _chapeau_ of _paille de riz_, form this becoming toilette, which is considered a suitable one for all theatres, except the Opera, where ladies go in a richer dress.

On our return from Tivoli, we had a small party to drink tea, and remained chatting till one o'clock--a late hour for Paris. Among the guests was our old friend Mr. T. Steuart, the nephew of Sir William Drummond, who continues to be as clever and original as ever. His lively remarks and brilliant sallies were very amusing.