We visited the hermitage where Rousseau wrote so many of his works, but in which this strange and unhappy man found not that peace so long sought by him in vain, and to which his own wayward temper and suspicious nature offered an insurmountable obstacle.
As I sat in this humble abode, and looked around on the objects once familiar to his eyes, I could not resist the sentiment of pity that filled my breast, at the recollection that even in this tranquil asylum, provided by friendship [2], and removed from the turmoil of the busy world, so repugnant to his taste, the jealousies, the heart-burnings, and the suspicions, that empoisoned his existence followed him, rendering his life not only a source of misery to himself, but of pain to others; for no one ever conferred kindness on him without becoming the object of his suspicion, if not of his aversion.
The life of Rousseau is one of the most humiliating episodes in the whole history of literary men, and the most calculated to bring genius into disrepute: yet the misery he endured more than avenged the wrongs he inflicted; and, while admiring the productions of a genius, of which even his enemies could not deny him the possession, we are more than ever compelled to avow how unavailing is this glorious gift to confer happiness on its owner, or to secure him respect or esteem, if unaccompanied by goodness.
Who can reflect on the life of this man without a sense of the danger to which Genius exposes its children, and a pity for their sufferings, though too often self-inflicted? Alas! the sensibility which is one of the most invariable characteristics of Genius, and by which its most glorious efforts are achieved, if excited into unhealthy action by over-exercise, not unseldom renders its possessor unreasonable and wretched, while his works are benefiting or delighting others, and while the very persons who most highly appreciate them are often the least disposed to pardon the errors of their author.
As the dancer, by the constant practice of her art, soon loses that roundness of _contour_ which is one of the most beautiful peculiarities of her s.e.x, the muscles of the legs becoming unnaturally developed at the expense of the rest of the figure, so does the man of genius, by the undue exercise of this gift, acquire an irritability that soon impairs the temper, and renders his excess of sensibility a torment to himself and to others.
The solitude necessary to the exercise of Genius is another fruitful source of evil to its children. Abstracted from the world, they are apt to form a false estimate of themselves and of it, and to entertain exaggerated expectations from it. Their morbid feelings are little able to support the disappointment certain to ensue, and they either rush into a reprisal of imaginary wrongs, by satire on others, or inflict torture on themselves by the belief, often erroneous, of the injuries they have sustained.
I remembered in this abode a pa.s.sage in one of the best letters ever written by Rousseau, and addressed to Voltaire, on the subject of his poem, ent.i.tled _Sur la Loi Naturelle, et sur le Desastre de Lisbonne_; in which, referring to an a.s.sertion of Voltaire"s that few persons would wish to live over again on the condition of enduring the same trials, and which Rousseau combats by urging that it is only the rich, fatigued by their pleasures, or literary men, of whom he writes--"_Des gens de lettres, de tous les ordres d"hommes le plus sedentaire, le plus malsain, le plus reflechissant, et, par consequent, le plus malheureux_," who would decline to live over again, had they the power.
This description of men of letters, written by one of themselves, is a melancholy, but, alas! a true one, and should console the enviers of genius for the want of a gift that but too often entails such misery on its possessors.
The church of Montmorency is a good specimen of Gothic architecture, and greatly embellishes the little town, which is built on the side of a hill, and commands a delicious view of the chestnut forest and valley, clothed with pretty villas, that render it so much and so justly admired.
It was amusing to listen to the diversity of opinions entertained by our party relative to Rousseau, as we wandered through the scenes which he so often frequented; each individual censuring or defending him, according to the bias of his or her disposition. On one point all agreed; which was, that, if judged by his actions, little could be said in mitigation of the conduct of him who, while writing sentiments fraught with pa.s.sion and tenderness, could consign his offspring to a foundling hospital!
Having visited every object worthy of attention at Montmorency, we proceeded to Enghien, to examine the baths established there. The building is of vast extent, containing no less than forty chambers, comfortably furnished for the accommodation of bathers; and a good _restaurateur_ furnishes the repasts. The apartments command a beautiful view, and the park of St.-Gratien offers a delightful promenade to the visitors of Enghien.
Our route back to Paris was rendered very agreeable by the lively and clever conversation of the Comtesse de Gand. I have rarely met with a more amusing person.
With a most retentive memory, she possesses the tact that does not always accompany this precious gift--that of only repeating what is perfectly _a propos_ and interesting, with a fund of anecdotes that might form an inexhaustible capital for a professional diner-out to set up with; an ill-natured one never escapes her lips, and yet--hear it all ye who believe, or act as if ye believe, that malice and wit are inseparable allies!--it would be difficult to find a more entertaining and lively companion.
Our old friend, Col. E. Lygon, came to see us to-day, and is as amiable as ever. He is a specimen of a military man of which England may well be proud.
The Ducs de Talleyrand and Dino, the Marquis de Mornay, the Marquis de Dreux-Breze, and Count Charles de Mornay, dined here yesterday. The Marquis de Breze is a clever man, and his conversation is highly interesting. Well-informed and sensible, he has directed much of his attention to politics without being, as is too often the case with politicians, wholly engrossed by them. He appears to me to be a man likely to distinguish himself in public life.
There could not be found two individuals more dissimilar, or more formed for furnishing specimens of the n.o.blemen of _la Vieille Cour_ and the present time, than the Duc de Talleyrand and the Marquis de Dreux-Breze. The Duc, well-dressed and well-bred, but offering in his toilette and in his manners irrefragable evidence that both have been studied, and his conversation bearing that high polish and urbanity which, if not always characteristics of talent, conceal the absence of it, represents _l"ancien regime_, when _les grands seigneurs_ were more desirous to serve _les belles dames_ than their country, and more anxious to be distinguished in the _salons_ of the Faubourg St.-Germain than in the _Chambre de Parlement_.
The Marquis de Dreux-Breze, well-dressed and well-bred, too, appears not to have studied either his toilette or his manners; and, though by no means deficient in polite attention to women, seems to believe that there are higher and more praiseworthy pursuits than that of thinking only how to please them, and bestows more thought on the _Chambre des Pairs_ than on the _salons a la mode_.
One is a pa.s.sive and ornamental member of society, the other a useful and active politician, I have remarked that the Frenchmen of high birth of the present time all seem disposed to take pains in fitting themselves for the duties of their station. They read much and with profit, travel much more than formerly, and are free from the narrow prejudices against other countries, which, while they prove not a man"s attachment to his own, offer one of the most insurmountable of all barriers to that good understanding so necessary to be maintained between nations.
Dined yesterday at St.-Cloud with the Baron and Baroness de Ruysch; a very agreeable and intellectual pair, who have made a little paradise around them in the shape of an English pleasure ground, blooming with rare shrubs and flowers.
Our old friend, Mr. Douglas Kinnaird--"the honourable Dug," as poor Lord Byron used to call him--paid me a visit to-day. I had not seen him for seven years, and these same years have left their traces on his brow. He is in delicate health, and is only come over to Paris for a very few days.
He has lived in the same scenes and in the same routine that we left him, wholly engrossed by them, while
"I"ve taught me other tongues, and in strange eyes Have made me not a stranger;"
and wonder how people can be content to dwell whole years in so circ.u.mscribed, however useful, a circle.
Those who live much in London seem to me to have tasted the lotus which, according to the fable of old, induced forgetfulness of the past, so wholly are they engrossed by the present, and by the vortex in which they find themselves plunged.
Much as I like England, and few love it more dearly, I should not like to pa.s.s all the rest of my life in it. _All, all_: it is thus we ever count on futurity, reckoning as if our lives were certain of being prolonged, when we know not that the _all_ on which we so boldly calculate may not be terminated in a day, nay, even in an hour. Who is there that can boast an English birth, that would not wish to die at home and rest in an English grave?
Sir Francis Burdett has arrived, and means to stay some time here. He called on us yesterday with Colonel Leicester Stanhope, and is as agreeable and good-natured as ever. He is much _feted_ at Paris, and receives great attention from the Duc d"Orleans, who has offered him his boxes at the theatres, and shews him all manner of civilities.
Colonel Leicester Stanhope gave me some interesting details of poor Byron"s last days in Greece, and seems to have duly appreciated his many fine qualities, in spite of the errors that shrouded but could not eclipse them. The fine temper and good breeding that seem to be characteristic of the Stanhope family, have not degenerated in this branch of it; and his manner, as well as his voice and accent, remind me very forcibly of my dear old friend his father, who is one of the most amiable, as well as agreeable men I ever knew, and who I look forward with pleasure to meeting on my return home.
The Marquise Palavicini from Genoa, her daughter-in-law the Princesse Doria, sir Francis Burdett, and Colonel Leicester Stanhope, dined with us yesterday. The marquise Palavicini is a very sensible and agreeable woman, and the Princesse Doria is very pretty and amiable. Like most of her countrywomen, this young and attractive person is wholly free from that affectation which deteriorates from so many of the women of other countries; and the simplicity of her manner, which is as remote from _gaucherie_ as it is from affectation, invests her with a peculiar charm.
We talked over Genoa, where we have spent so many pleasant days, and the beautiful gardens of the villa Palavicini, the possession of which has always tempted me to envy its owner. I have never pa.s.sed an hour in the society of Italian women without feeling the peculiar charm of their manner, and wishing that its ease and simplicity were more generally adopted.
The absence of any effort to shine, the gentleness without insipidity, the liveliness without levity, and above all, the perfect good nature that precludes aught that could be disagreeable to others, form the distinguishing characteristics of the manner of Italian women from the princess to the peasant, and are alike practised by both towards all with whom they converse.
Lord Darnley and Lord Charlemont dined here yesterday. It is pleasant to see old and familiar faces again, even though the traces of Time on their brows recall to mind the marks which the ruthless tyrant must have inflicted on our own. We all declared that we saw no change in each other, but the looks of surprise and disappointment exchanged at meeting contradicted the a.s.sertion.
Mr. Charles Young, the tragedian, dined here to-day. We were very glad to see him again, for he is a very estimable as well as agreeable member of society, and reflects honour on his profession.
Lord Lansdowne came here with Count Flahault this evening. It is now seven years since I last saw him, but time has dealt kindly with him during that period, as it ever does to those who possess equanimity of mind and health of body. Lord Lansdowne has always appeared to me to be peculiarly formed for a statesman.
With a fortune that exempts him from incurring even the suspicion of mercenary motives for holding office, and a rank which precludes that of entertaining the ambition of seeking a higher, he is free from the angry pa.s.sions that more or loss influence the generality of other men.
To an unprejudiced mind, he joins self-respect without arrogance, self-possession without effrontery, solid and general information, considerable power of application to business, a calm and gentlemanly demeanour, and an urbanity of manner which, while it conciliates good will, never descends to, or encourages, familiarity.
A lover and liberal patron of the fine arts, he is an encourager of literature, and partial to the society of literary men; irreproachable in private life, and respected in public, what is there wanting to render him faultless?
I, who used to enjoy a good deal of his society in England, am of opinion, that the sole thing wanting is the warmth and cordiality of manner which beget friends and retain partisans, and without which no minister can count on constant supporters.
It is a curious circ.u.mstance, that the political party to which Lord Lansdowne is opposed can boast a man among those most likely to hold the reins of government, to whom all that I have said of Lord Lansdowne might, with little modification, be applied. I refer to Sir Robert Peel, whose acquaintance I enjoyed in England; and who is much younger, and perhaps bolder, than Lord Lansdowne.
Happy, in my opinion, is the country which possesses such men; though the friends and admirers of each would probably feel little disposed to admit any comparison to be inst.i.tuted between them, and would deride, if not a.s.sail, any one for making it.
Sir Francis Burdell dined here yesterday, and we had the Count Alexandra de Laborde and Count Charles de Mornay, to meet him. Several people came in the evening. I have lent a pile of books to Sir F. B., who continues to read as much as formerly, and forgets nothing that he peruses. His information is, consequently, very extensive, and renders his conversation very interesting. His thirst for knowledge is insatiable, and leads him to every scientific resort where it may be gratified.
Spent last evening at Madame Craufurd"s. Met there, the Princesse Castelcicala and her daughter, Lady Drummond, Mr. T. Steuart, and various others--among them, a daughter of the Marquess of Ailesbury, who has married a French n.o.bleman, and resides in Paris.
Lady Drummond talked to me a good deal of Sir William, and evinced much respect for his memory. She is proud, and she may well be so, of having been the wife of such a man; though there was but little sympathy between their tastes and pursuits, and his death can produce so little change in her habits of life, that she can scarcely be said to miss him.
He pa.s.sed his days and the greater portion of his nights in reading or writing, living in a suite of rooms literally filled with books; the tables, chairs, sofas, and even the floors, being enc.u.mbered with them, going out only for a short time in a carriage to get a little air, or occasionally to dine out.
He seldom saw Lady Drummond, except at dinner, surrounded by a large party. She pa.s.sed, as she still pa.s.ses her time, in the duties of an elaborate toilette, paying or receiving visits, giving or going to _fetes_, and playing with her lap-dog. A strange wife for one of the most intellectual men of his day! And yet this total dissimilarity produced no discord between them; for she was proud of his acquirements, and he was indulgent to her less _spirituelle_ tastes.
Lady Drummond does much good at Naples; for, while the _beau monde_ of that gay capital are entertained in a style of profuse hospitality at her house, the poor find her charity dispensed with a liberal hand in all their exigencies; so that her vast wealth is a source of comfort to others as well as to herself.
I have been reading _Vivian Grey_--a very wild, but very clever book, full of genius in its unpruned luxuriance; the writer revels in all the riches of a brilliant imagination, and expends them prodigally--dazzling, at one moment, by his pa.s.sionate eloquence, and, at another, by his touching pathos.
A pleasant dinner-party, yesterday. The Duc de Mouchy, the Marquis de Mornay, Count Flahault, the Count Maussion, Mons. de Montrond, and Mr.
Standish, were the guests. Count Flahault is so very agreeable and gentlemanly a man, that no one can call in question the taste of the Baroness Keith in selecting him for her husband.
Mr. Standish has married a French lady, accomplished, clever, and pretty. Intermarriages between French and English are now not unfrequent; and it is pleasant to observe the French politeness and _bon ton_ ingrafted on English sincerity and good sense. Of this, Mr.
Standish offers a very good example; for, while he has acquired all the Parisian ruse of manner, he has retained all the English good qualities for which he has always been esteemed.