The Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth, Vol. 1 by Maria Edgeworth

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Everybody, of every degree of rank or talent, who has read the
_Memoirs_, speaks of them in the most gratifying and delightful manner.
Those who have fixed on individual circumstances have always fixed on
those which we should have considered as most curious. Mr. Malthus this
morning spoke most highly of it, and of its useful tendency both in a
public and private light. Much as I dreaded hearing it spoken of, all I
have yet heard has been what best compensates for all the anxiety I have
felt.

_To_ MRS. MARY AND MRS. CHARLOTTE SNEYD.

PARIS, _July 7, 1820._

It is a greater refreshment to me, my dearest Aunt Mary and Charlotte,
to have a quiet half hour in which to write to you, while Fanny and
Harriet are practising with M. Deschamp, their dancing-master, in the
next room.

We had a delightful breakfast at Degerando's, in a room hung round with
some very valuable pictures: one in particular, which was sent to
Degerando by the town of Pescia, as a proof of gratitude for his conduct
at the time when he was in Italy under Buonaparte--sent to him after he
was no longer in power. There was an Italian gentleman, Marchese
Ridolfi, of large fortune and benevolent mind, intent on improving his
people. We also met Madame de Villette, Voltaire's "_belle et bonne_:"
she has still some remains of beauty, and great appearance of
good-humour. It was delightful to hear her speak of Voltaire with the
enthusiasm of affection, and with tears in her eyes beseeching us not to
believe the hundred misrepresentations we may have heard, but to trust
her, the person who had lived with him long, and who knew him best and
last. After breakfast she took us to her house, where Voltaire had
lived, and where we saw his chair and his writing desk turning on a
pivot on the arm of the chair: his statue smiling, keen-eyed, and
emaciated, said to be a perfect resemblance. In one of the hands hung
the brown and withered crown of bays, placed on his head when he
appeared the last time at the Théâtre Français. Madame de Villette
showed us some of his letters--one to his steward, about sheep, etc.,
ending with, "Let there be no drinking, no rioting, no beating of your
wife." The most precious relic in this room of Voltaire's is a little
piece carved in wood by an untaught genius, and sent to Voltaire by some
peasants, as a proof of gratitude. It represents him sitting, listening
to a family of poor peasants, who are pleading their cause: it is
excellent.

Two of the Miss Lawrences are at Paris. They are very sensible,
excellent women. They brought a letter from Miss Carr, begging me to see
them; and I hope I have had some little opportunity of obliging them,
for which they are a thousand times more greatful than I deserve.
Indeed, next to the delight of seeing my sisters so justly appreciated
and so happy at Paris, my greatest pleasure has been in the power of
introducing to each other people who longed to meet, but could not
contrive it before. We took Miss Lawrence to one of the great schools
established here on the Lancasterian principles, and we also took her to
hear a man lecture upon the mode of teaching arithmetic and geometry
which my father has recommended in _Practical Education_: the sight of
the little cubes was at once gratifying and painful.

I have just heard from Hunter that he is printing _Rosamond_, and that
my friends at home will correct the proofs for me: GOD bless them! We
spent a very pleasant day at dear Madame de Roquefeuille's, at
Versailles; and, returning, we paid a _latish_ visit to the Princess
Potemkin. What a contrast the tone of conversation and the whole of the
society from that at Versailles!

Certainly, no people can have seen more of the world than we have done
in the last three months. By seeing the world I mean seeing varieties of
characters and manners, and being behind the scenes of life in many
different societies and families. The constant chorus of our moral as we
drive home together at night is, "How happy we are to be so fond of each
other! How happy we are to be independent of all we see here! How happy
that we have our dear home to return to at last!"

But to return to the Princess Potemkin: she is Russian, but she has all
the grace, softness, and winning manners of the Polish ladies, and an
oval face, pale, with the finest, softest, most expressive _chestnut_
dark eyes. She has a sort of politeness which pleases peculiarly--a
mixture of the ease of high rank and early habit with something that is
sentimental without affectation. Madame Le Brun is painting her picture:
Madame Le Brun is sixty-six, with great vivacity as well as genius, and
better worth seeing than her pictures; for though they are speaking, she
speaks, and speaks uncommonly well.

Madame de Noisville, _dame d'honneur_ to the Princess Potemkin, educated
her and her sisters: the friendship of the pupil and the preceptress
does honour to both. Madame de Noisville is a very well-bred woman, of
superior understanding and decided character, very entertaining and
agreeable. She told us that Rostopchin, speaking of the Russians, said
he would represent their civilisation by a naked man looking at himself
in a gilt-framed mirror.

The Governor of Siberia lived at Petersburgh, and never went near his
government. One day the Emperor, in presence of this governor and
Rostopchin, was boasting of his farsightedness. "Commend me," said
Rostopchin, "to M. le Gouverneur, who sees so well from Petersburgh to
Siberia." Good-bye.

* * * * *

An evening which Miss Edgeworth spent at Neuilly _en famille_ impressed
her with the unaffected happiness of the Orleans family. The Duke showed
her the picture of himself teaching a school in America: Mademoiselle
d'Orleans pointed to her harp, and said she superintended the lessons of
her nieces; both she and her brother acknowledging how admirably Madame
de Genlis had instructed them. The Duchess sat at a round table working,
and in the course of the evening the two eldest little boys ran in from
an École d'enseignement mutuel which they attended in the neighbourhood,
with their schoolbooks in their hands, and some prizes they had gained,
eager to display them to their mother. It was a happy, simple family
party.

* * * * *

MARIA _to_ MRS. RUXTON.

PARIS, _July 1820._

From what I have seen of the Parisians, I am convinced that they
require, if not a despot, at least an absolute monarch to reign over
them; but, leaving national character to shift for itself, I will go on
with what will interest you more--our own history. We have been much
pleased, interested, and instructed at Paris by all that we have seen of
the arts, have heard of science, and have enjoyed of society. The most
beautiful work of art I have seen at Paris, next to the façade of the
Louvre, is Canova's "Magdalene." The _prettiest_ things I have seen are
Madame Jacotot's miniatures, enamelled on porcelain--La Valliere, Madame
de Maintenon, Molière, all the celebrated people of that time; and next
to these, which are exquisite, I should name a porcelain table, with
medallions all round of the marshals of France, by Isabey, surrounding a
full-length of Napoleon in the centre. This table is generally supposed
to have been broken to pieces, but by the favour of a friend we saw it
in its place of concealment.

We have twice dined at the Duchesse Douairière d'Orleans' [Footnote:
Louise Marie Adelaide de Bourbon Condé, widow of Louis Philippe Joseph,
Duc d'Orléans, daughter of the Duc de Penthièvre. Born March 13, 1783.
Died June 23, 1821.] little Court at Ivry, and we shall bring Mr.
William Everard there, as you may recollect he knew her at Port Mahon.
She has a benevolent countenance, and good-natured, dignified manners,
and moves with the air of a princess. Her striking likeness to Louis
XIV. _favours_ this impression. One of her _dames d'honneur_, la
Marquise de Castoras, a Spaniard, is one of the most interesting persons
I have conversed with.

Yesterday William Everard went with us to the Chapelle Royale, where we
saw Monsieur, the Duchesse d'Angoulême and all the court. In the evening
we were at a _fete de village_ at La Celle, to which Madame de Vindé had
invited us, as like an Irish _pattern_ as possible, allowing for the
difference of dress and manner. The scene was in a beautiful grove on
each side of a romantic road leading through a valley. High wooded
banks: groups of gaily-dressed village belles and beaux seen through the
trees, in a quarry, in the sand-holes, everywhere where there was space
enough to form a quadrille. This grove was planted by Gabrielle
d'Estrées, for whom Henry IV. built a lodge near it. Fanny and Harriet
danced with two gentlemen who were of our party, and they all danced on
till dewfall, when the lamps--little glasses full of oil and a wick
suspended to the branches of the trees--were lighted, and we returned to
La Celle, where we ate ice and sat in a circle, playing _trouvez mon
ami_--mighty like "why, when, and where"--and then played loto till
twelve. Rose at six, had coffee, and drove back to Paris in the cool of
the delicious morning. To-day we are going to dine again at Neuilly with
the other Duchess of Orleans, daughter-in-law of the good old Duchess,
who by the bye spoke of Madame de Genlis in a true Christian spirit of
forgiveness, but in a whisper, and with a shake of her head, allowed
_qu'elle m'avait causée bien des chagrins._

Among some of the most agreeable people we have met are some Russians
and Poles. Madame Swetchine, a Russian, is one of the cleverest women I
ever heard converse. At a dinner at the young and pretty Princess
Potemkin's, on entering the dining-room, we saw only a round table
covered with fruit and sweetmeats, as if we had come in at the dessert;
and so it remained while, first, soup, then cutlets, then fish, one dish
at a time, ten or twelve one after another, were handed round, ending
with game, sweet things, and ice.

A few days ago I saw, at the Duchesse d'Escar's, Prince Rostopchin, the
man who burned Moscow, first setting fire to his own house. I never saw
a more striking Calmuck countenance. From his conversation as well as
from his actions, I should think him a man of great strength of
character. This _soirée_ at Madame d'Escar's was not on a public night,
when she _receives_ for the King, but one of those _petits comités_, as
they call their private parties, which I am told the English seldom see.
The conversation turned, of course, first on the Queen of England, then
on Lady Hester Stanhope, then on English _dandies._ It was excessively
entertaining to hear half a dozen Parisians all speaking at once, giving
their opinions of the English _dandies_ who have appeared at Paris,
describing their manners and imitating their gestures, and sometimes by
a single gesture giving an idea of the whole man; then discussing the
difference between the _petit marquis_ of the old French comedy and the
present dandy. After many attempts at definition, and calling in Madame
d'Arblay's Meadows, with whom they are perfectly acquainted, they came
to "d'ailleurs c'est inconcevable ça." And Madame d'Escar, herself the
cleverest person in the room, summed it up: "L'essentiel c'est que notre
dandy il veut plaire aux femmes s'il le peut; mais votre dandy Anglais
ne le voudrait, même s'il le pourrait!"

Pray tell Mrs. General Dillon I thank her for making us acquainted with
the amiable family of the Creeds, who have been exceedingly kind, and
who, I hope, like us as much as we like them. The Princess de Craon,
too, I like in another way, and Mademoiselle d'Alpy: they have
introduced us to the Mortemars--Madame de Sevigné's _Esprit de
Mortemar._

_To_ MISS RUXTON.

PASSY, _July 19._

Most comfortably, most happily seated at a little table in dear Madame
Gautier's cabinet, with a view of soft acacias seen through half-open
Venetian blinds, with a cool breeze waving the trees of this hanging
garden, and the song of birds and the cheerful voices of little Caroline
Delessert and her brother playing with bricks in the next room to me, I
write to you, my beloved friend. I must give you a history of one of our
last days at Paris--

Here entered Madame Gautier with a sweet rose and a sprig of verbena and
mignonette--so like one of the nose-gays I have so often received from
dear Aunt Ruxton, and bringing gales of Black Castle to my heart. But to
go on with my last days at Paris.

_Friday, July_ 14.--Dancing-master nine to ten; and while Fanny and
Harriet were dancing, I paid bills, saw tradespeople, and cleared away
some of that necessary business of life which must be done behind the
scenes. Breakfasted at Camille Jordan's: it was half-past twelve before
the company assembled, and we had an hour's delightful conversation with
Camille Jordan and his wife in her spotless white muslin and little cap,
sitting at her husband's feet as he lay on the sofa, as clean, as nice,
as fresh, and as thoughtless of herself as my mother. At this breakfast
we saw three of the most distinguished of that party who call themselves
_Les Doctrinaires_--and say they are more attached to measures than to
men. Camille Jordan himself has just been deprived of his place of
Conseiller d'État and one thousand five hundred francs per annum,
because he opposed government in the law of elections. These three
Doctrinaires were Casimir Périer, Royer Collard, and Benjamin Constant,
who is, I believe, of a more violent party. I do not like him at all:
his countenance, voice, manner, and conversation are all disagreeable to
me. He is a fair, _whithky_-looking man, very near-sighted, with
spectacles which seem to pinch his nose. He pokes out his chin to keep
the spectacles on, and yet looks over the top of his spectacles,
_squinching_ up his eyes so that you cannot see your way into his mind.
Then he speaks through his nose, and with a lisp, strangely contrasting
with the vehemence of his emphasis. He does not give me any confidence
in the sincerity of his patriotism, nor any high idea of his talents,
though he seems to have a mighty high idea of them himself. He has been
well called _Le hero des brochures._ We sat beside one another, and I
think felt a mutual antipathy. On the other side of me was Royer
Collard, suffering with toothache and swelled face; but, notwithstanding
the distortion of the swelling, the natural expression of his
countenance and the strength and sincerity of his soul made their way,
and the frankness of his character and plain superiority of his talents
were manifest in five minutes' conversation. Excellent Degerando
[Footnote: A friend whom the Edgeworths had constantly met in Mme. de
Pastoret's _salon_ in 1802.] gave me an account of all he had done in
one district in Spain, where he succeeded in employing the poor and
inspiring them with a desire to receive the wages of industry, instead
of alms from hospitals, etc. At Rome he employed the poor in clearing
away many feet of earth withinside the Colosseum, and discovered beneath
a beautiful pavement; but when the Pope returned the superstition of the
people took a sudden turn, and conceiving that this earth had been
consecrated, and ought not to have been removed, they set to work and
filled in all the rubbish again over the pavement!

After this breakfast we went to the Duchesse d'Uzès--a little,
shrivelled, thin, high-born, high-bred old lady, who knew and admired
the Abbé Edgeworth, and received us with distinction as his relations.
Her great-grandfather was the Duc de Chatillon, and she is
great-granddaughter, or something that way, of Madame de Montespan, and
her husband grand-nephew straight to Madame de la Valliere: their superb
hotel is filled with pictures of all sizes, from miniatures by Petitôt
to full-lengths by Mignard, of illustrious and interesting family
pictures--in particular, Mignard's "La Valliere en Madeleine;" we
returned to it again and again, as though we could never see it enough.
A full-length of Madame de Montespan was prettier than I wished. After a
view of these pictures and of the garden, in which there was a catalpa
in splendid flower, we departed.

This day we dined with Lord Carrington and his daughter, Lady Stanhope:
[Footnote: Catherine Lucy, wife of the fourth Earl Stanhope.] the Count
de Noé, beside whom I sat, was an agreeable talker. In the evening we
received a note from Madame Lavoisier--Madame de Rumford, I
mean--telling us that she had just arrived at Paris, and warmly begging
to see us. Rejoiced was I that my sisters should have this glimpse of
her, and off we drove to her; but I must own that we were disappointed
in this visit, for there was a sort of _chuffiness_, and a sawdust kind
of unconnected cutshortness in her manner, which we could not like. She
was almost in the dark with one ballooned lamp, and a semicircle of
black men round her sofa, on which she sat cushioned up, giving the word
for conversation--and a very odd course she gave to it--on some wife's
separation from her husband; and she took the wife's part, and went on
for a long time in a shrill voice, proving that, where a husband and
wife detested each other, they should separate, and asserting that it
must always be the man's fault when it comes to this pass! She ordered
another lamp, that the gentlemen might, as she said, see my sisters'
pretty faces; and the light came in time to see the smiles of the
gentlemen at her matrimonial maxims. Several of the gentlemen were
unknown to me. Old Gallois sat next to her, dried, and in good
preservation, tell my mother; M. Gamier (_Richesses des Nations_) was
present, and Cuvier, with whom I had a comfortable dose of good
conversation. Just as we left the room Humboldt and the Prince de
Beauveau arrived, but we were engaged to Madame Recamier.

_15th._--We breakfasted with Madame de l'Aigle, sister to the Due de
Broglie. (Now Madame Gautier is putting on her bonnet, to take us to La
Bagatelle.) I forgot to tell you that Prince Potemkin is nephew to _the_
famous Potemkin. He has just returned from England, particularly pleased
with Mr. Coke, of Norfolk, and struck by the noble and useful manner in
which he spends his large fortune. This young Russian appears very
desirous to apply all he has seen in foreign countries to the advantage
of his own.

After our breakfast at Madame de l'Aigle's, we went home, and met Prince
Edmond de Beauveau by appointment, and went with him to the Invalides;
saw the library, and plans and models of fortifications, for which the
Duc de Coigny, unasked, had sent us tickets, and there we met his
secretary, a warm Buonapartist, whom we honoured for his gratitude and
attachment to his old master.

We dined at Passy, and met Mrs. Malthus, M. Garnier, and M. Chaptal--the
great Chaptal--a very interesting man. In the evening we were at the
Princesse de Beauveau's and Lady Granard's.

Sunday with the Miss Byrnes to Notre Dame, and went with them to
introduce them to Lady (Sidney) Smith; charming house, gardens, and
pictures. To Madame de Rumford's, and she was very agreeable this
morning. Dined at Mr. Creed's under the trees in their garden, with Mr.
and Mrs. Malthus, and Mrs. and Miss Eyre, fresh from Italy--very
agreeable.

Now we have returned from a very pleasant visit to La Bagatelle. What
struck me most there was the bust of the Duc d'Angoulême, with an
inscription from his own letter during the Cent Jours, when he was
detained by the enemy: _J'espère--j'exige même--que le Roi ne fera point
de sacrifice pour me revoir; je crains ni la prison ni la mort._

Yesterday we went to Sevres--beautiful manufacture of china, especially
a table, with views of all the royal palaces, and a vase six feet and a
half high, painted with natural flowers.

Louis XV. was told that there was a man who had never been out of Paris;
he gave him a pension, provided he never went out of town; he quitted
Paris the year after! I have not time to make either prefaces or moral.
We breakfast at Mr. Chenevix's on Monday, and propose to be at Geneva on
Saturday.

_To_ MISS LUCY EDGEWORTH.

PASSY, _July 23, 1820._

I hope this will find you under the tree in my garden, with Sophy Ruxton
near you, and my mother and Sophy and Pakenham, who will run and call my
aunts, for whom Honora will set chairs; and Lovell will, I hope, be at
home too; so I picture you to myself all happily assembled, and you have
had a good night, and all is right, and Honora has placed my Aunt Mary
with her back to the light--AND Maria is very like Mr. Fitzherbert, who
always tells his friends at home what _they_ are doing, instead of what
he is doing, which is what they want to know.

Yesterday we dined--for the last time, alas! this season--with excellent
Benjamin Delessert. The red book which you will receive with this letter
was among the many other pretty books lying on the table before dinner,
and I was so much delighted with it, and wished so much that Pakenham
was looking at it with me, that dear François Delessert procured a copy
of _Les Animaux savants_ for me the next morning. We never saw Les Cerfs
at Tivoli, but we saw a woman walk down a rope in the midst of the
fireworks, and I could not help shutting my eyes. As I was looking at
the picture of the stag rope-dancer in this book, and talking of the
wonderful intelligence and feeling of animals, an old lady who was
beside me told me that some Spanish horses she had seen were uncommonly
proud-spirited, always resenting an insult more than an injury. One of
these, who had been used to be much caressed by his master, saw him in a
field one day talking to a friend, and came up, according to his custom,
to be caressed. The horse put his head in between the master and his
friend, to whom he was talking; the master, eager in conversation, gave
him a box on the ear; the horse withdrew his head instantly, took it for
an affront, and never more would he permit his master to caress or mount
him again.

The little _dessert_ directed for Pakenham [Footnote: Her youngest
brother.] was picked out for him from a dish of bonbons at the last
dessert at Benjamin's. It is impossible to tell you all the little
exquisite instances of kindness and attention we have received from this
excellent family. The respect, affection, and admiration with which, _à
propos_ to everything great and small, they remember my father and
mother, is most touching and gratifying.

Yesterday morning we had been talking of Mrs. Hofland's _Son of a
Genius_, which is very well translated under the name of _Ludovico._ I
told Madame Gautier the history of Mrs. Hofland, and then went to look
for the lines which she wrote on my father's birthday. Madame Gautier
followed me into this cabinet to read them. I then showed to her Sophy's
lines, which I love so much.

Sophy! I see your colour rising; but trust to me! I will never do you
any harm.

Madame Gautier was exceedingly touched with them. She pointed to the
line,

Those days are past which never can return,

and said in English, "This is the day on which we all used to celebrate
my dear mother's birthday, but I never _keep_ days now, except that,
according to our Swiss custom, we carry flowers early in the morning to
the grave. She and my father are buried in this garden, in a place you
have not seen; I have been there at six o'clock this morning. You will
not wonder, then, my dear friend, at my being touched by your sister
Sophy's verses. I wish to know her; I am sure I shall love her. Is she
most like Fanny or Harriet?" This led to a conversation on the
difference between our different sisters and brothers; and Madame
Gautier, in a most eloquent manner, described the character of each of
her brothers, ending with speaking of Benjamin. "Men have often two
kinds of consideration in society; one derived from their public
conduct, the other enjoyed in their private capacity. My brother
Benjamin has equal influence in both. We all look up to him; we all
apply to him as to our guardian friend. Besides the advantage of having
such a friend, it gives us a pleasure which no money can purchase--the
pleasure of feeling the mind elevated by looking up to a character we
perfectly esteem, and that repose which results from perfect
confidence."

I find always, when I come to the end of my paper, that I have not told
you several entertaining things I had treasured up for you. I had a
history of a man and woman from Cochin China, which must now be squeezed
almost to death. Just before the French Revolution a French military man
went out to India, was wrecked, and with two or three companions made
his way, LORD knows how, to Cochin China. It happened that the King of
Cochin China was at war, and was glad of some hints from the French
officer, who was encouraged to settle in Cochin China, married a Cochin
Chinese lady, rose to power and credit, became a mandarin of the first
class, and within the last month has arrived in France with his
daughter. When his relations offered to embrace her, she drew back with
horror. She is completely Chinese, and her idea of happiness is to sit
still and do nothing, not even to blow her nose. I hope she will not
half change her views and opinions while she is in France, or she would
become wholly unhappy on her return to China. Her father is on his word
of honour to return in two years.

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