The Idler in France Part 9

CHAPTER VIII.

Charles Kemble dined here yesterday, and in the evening read to us his daughter f.a.n.n.y's Tragedy of _Francis the First_--a very wonderful production for so young a girl. There is considerable vigour in many parts of this work, and several pa.s.sages in it reminded me of the old dramatists. The character of "Louisa of Savoy" is forcibly drawn--wonderfully so, indeed, when considered as the production of so youthful a person. The constant a.s.sociation with minds deeply imbued with a love of the old writers, must have greatly influenced the taste of Miss Kemble.

_Francis the First_ bears irrefragable evidence that her reading has lain much among the old poets, and that Shakspeare is one of her most favourite ones. "Triboulet," the king's jester, may be instanced as an example of this; and "Margaret of Valois" furnishes another. "Francoise de Foix" is a more original conception; timid, yet fond, sacrificing her honour to save her brother's life, but rendered wretched by remorse; and not able to endure the presence of her affianced husband, who, believing her pure and sinless as he left her, appeals to her, when "Gonzales" reveals her shame.

This same "Gonzales," urged on by vengeance, and ready to do aught--nay, more than "may become a man,"--to seek its gratification, is a boldly drawn character.

The introduction of the poet "Clement Marot" is no less happy than judicious; and Miss Kemble gives him a very beautiful speech, addressed to his master "Francis the First," in which the charm that reigns about the presence of a pure woman is so eloquently described, as to have reminded me of the exquisite pa.s.sage in _Comus_, although there is not any plagiary in Miss Kemble's speech.

A poetess herself, she has rendered justice to the character of Clement Marot, whose honest indignation at being employed to bear a letter from the amorous "Francis" to the sister of "Lautrec," she has very gracefully painted.

The "Constable Bourbon" is well drawn, and has some fine speeches a.s.signed to him; and "Gonzales" gives a spirited description of the difference between encountering death in the battle-field, surrounded by all the spirit-stirring "pomp and circ.u.mstance of glorious war," and meeting the grisly tyrant on the scaffold, attended by all the ignominious accessories of a traitor's doom.

This Tragedy, when given to the public, will establish Miss Kemble's claims to distinction in the literary world, and add another laurel to those acquired by her family.

There are certain pa.s.sages in the speeches of "Gonzales," that, in my opinion, require to be revised, lest they should provoke censures from the fastidious critics of the present time, who are p.r.o.ne to detect evil of which the authors, whose works they a.n.a.lyse, are quite unconscious. Innocence sometimes leads young writers to a freedom of expression from which experienced ones would shrink back in alarm; and the perusal of the old dramatists gives a knowledge of pa.s.sions, and of sins, known only through their medium, but the skilful developement of which, subjects a female writer, and more particularly a youthful one, to ungenerous animadversion. It is to be hoped, that the friends of this gifted girl will so prune the luxuriance of her pen, as to leave nothing to detract from a work so creditable to her genius.

Charles Kemble rendered ample justice to his daughter's Tragedy by his mode of reading it; and we counted not the hours devoted to the task.

How many reminiscences of the olden time were called up by hearing him!

I remembered those pleasant evenings when he used to read to us in London, hour after hour, until the timepiece warned us to give over. I remembered, too, John Kemble--"the great John Kemble," as Lord Guildford used to call him--twice or thrice reading to us with Sir T.

Lawrence; and the tones of Charles Kemble's voice, and the expression of his face, forcibly reminded me of our departed friend.

I have scarcely met with a more high-bred man, or a more agreeable companion, than Charles Kemble. Indeed, were I called on to name the professional men I have known most distinguished for good breeding and manners, I should name our four tragedians,--the two Kembles, Young, and Macready.

Sir Francis Burdett dined here yesterday _en famille_, and we pa.s.sed two very pleasant hours. He related to us many amusing and interesting anecdotes connected with his political life.

Went to the Opera in the evening, whither he accompanied us. I like my box very much. It is in the centre of the house, is draped with pale blue silk, and has very comfortable chairs. The Parisians are, I find, as addicted to staring as the English; for many were the gla.s.ses levelled last night at Sir Francis Burdett who, totally unconscious of the attention he excited, was wholly engrossed by the "Count Ory," some of the choruses in which pleased me very much.

A visit to-day from our excellent and valued friend, Sir A. Barnard, who has promised to dine with us to-morrow. Paris is now filling very fast, which I regret, as I dislike crowds and having my time broken in upon.

I become more convinced every day I live, that quiet and repose are the secrets of happiness, for I never feel so near an approach to this blessing as when in the possession of them. General society is a heavy tax on time and patience, and one that I feel every year less inclination to pay, as I witness the bad effect it produces not only on the habits but on the mind.

Oh! the weariness of listening for hours to the repet.i.tion of past gaieties, or the antic.i.p.ation of future ones, to the commonplace remarks or stupid conversation of persons whose whole thoughts are engrossed by the frivolous amus.e.m.e.nts of Paris, which are all and every thing to them!

How delicious is it to shut out all this weariness, and with a book, or a few rationally minded friends, indulge in an interchange of ideas!

But the too frequent indulgence of this sensible mode of existence exposes one to the sarcasms of the frivolous who are avoided.

One is deemed a pedant--a terrible charge at Paris!--or a _bas bleu_, which is still worse, however free the individual may be from any pretensions to merit such charges.

Paid a visit to the justly celebrated Mademoiselle Mars yesterday, at her beautiful hotel in the Rue de la Tour des Dames. I have entertained a wish ever since my return from Italy, to become acquainted with this remarkable woman; and Mr. Young was the medium of accomplis.h.i.+ng it.

Mademoiselle Mars is even more attractive off the stage than on; for her countenance beams with intelligence, and her manners are at once so animated, yet gentle; so kind, yet dignified; and there is such an inexpressible charm in the tones of her voice, that no one can approach without being delighted with her.

Her conversation is highly interesting, marked by a good sense and good taste that render her knowledge always available, but never obtrusive.

Her features are regular and delicate; her figure, though inclined to _embonpoint_, is very graceful, and her smile, like the tones of her voice, is irresistibly sweet, and reveals teeth of rare beauty.

Mademoiselle Mars, off the stage, owes none of her attractions to the artful aid of ornament; wearing her own dark hair simply arranged, and her clear brown complexion free from any artificial tinge. In her air and manner is the rare and happy mixture of _la grande dame et la femme aimable_, without the slightest shade of affectation.

Mademoiselle Mars' hotel is the prettiest imaginable. It stands in a court yard, wholly shut in from the street; and, though not vast, it has all the elegance, if not the splendour, of a fine house. Nothing can evince a purer taste than this dwelling, with its decorations and furniture. It contains all that elegance and comfort can require, without any thing meretricious or gaudy, and is a temple worthy of the G.o.ddess to whom it is dedicated.

It has been well observed, that a just notion of the character of a person can always be formed by the style of his or her dwelling. Who can be deceived in the house of a _nouveau riche_? Every piece of furniture in it vouches, not only for the wealth of its owner, but that he has not yet got sufficiently habituated to the possession of it, to be as indifferent to its attributes as are those to whom custom has rendered splendour no longer a pleasure.

Every thing in the house of Mademoiselle Mars bespeaks its mistress to be a woman of highly cultivated mind and of refined habits.

The boudoir is in the style of Louis XIV, and owes its tasteful decorations to the pencil of Ciceri. The pictures that ornament it are by Gerard, and are highly creditable to his reputation. The library serves also as a picture-gallery; and in it may be seen beautiful specimens of the talents of the most esteemed French artists, offered by them as a homage to this celebrated woman. Gerard, Delacroix, Isabey, Lany, Grevedon, and other distinguished artists, have contributed to this valuable collection. A fine portrait of Madame Pasta, and another of Talma, with two exquisite pictures of the mother of Mademoiselle Mars, not less remarkable for the rare beauty of the subject than for the merit of the artists, complete it.

One book-case in the library contains only the presentation copies of the pieces in which Mademoiselle Mars has performed, magnificently bound by the authors.

On a white marble _console_ in this gallery is placed an interesting memorial of her brilliant theatrical career, presented to her by the most enthusiastic of its numerous admirers. It consists of a laurel crown, executed in pure gold; on the leaves of which are engraved on one side, the name of each piece in which she appeared, and, on the other, the _role_ which she acted in it. A very fine statue of Moliere is placed in this apartment.

Never did two hours glide more rapidly away than those pa.s.sed in the society of this fascinating woman, whose presence I left penetrated with the conviction that no one can know without admiring her; and that when she retires from the stage, "we shall not look upon her like again."

Pa.s.sed a very agreeable evening, at Madame Craufurd's, Met there la d.u.c.h.esse de la Force, and the usual circle of _habitues_. Talking of theatres, some of _la Vieille Cour_, who happened to be present, remarked on the distinction always made between the female performers of the different ones. Those of the Theatre Francais were styled "_Les Dames de la Comedie Francaise_"; "those of the Theatre Italien," "_Les Demoiselles du Theatre Italien_;" and the dancers, "_Les Filles de l'Opera_." This last mode of naming _les danseuses_, though in later times considered as a reproach, was, originally, meant as an honourable distinction; the king, on establis.h.i.+ng the _Academie Royale de Musique_, having obtained the privilege that the performers attached to it should be exempt from excommunication. Hence they were named, "_Les Filles de l'Opera_," as persons sometimes said "_Les Filles de la Reine_."

_a propos_ of the Opera, Madame Gra.s.sini, once no less celebrated for her beauty than for her voice, was of the party last night. She is, and deservedly, a general favourite in Parisian society, in which her vivacity, good-nature, and amiability, are duly appreciated. Her lively sallies and _nave_ remarks are very amusing; and the frankness and simplicity she has preserved in a profession and position so calculated to induce the reverse, add to her attractions and give piquancy to her conversation.

There are moments in which Madame Gra.s.sini's countenance becomes lighted up with such animation, that it seems to be invested with a considerable portion of the rare beauty for which she was so remarkable.

Her eyes are still glorious, and, like those only of the sunny South, can flash with intelligence, or melt with tenderness. It is when conversing on the grand _roles_ which she filled as _prima donna_, that her face lights up as I have noticed,--as the war-horse, when hearing the sound of the trumpet, remembers the scene of his past glory.

When in Italy, some years since, Madame Gra.s.sini's carriage was stopped by brigands, who, having compelled her to descend, ransacked it and took possession of her splendid theatrical wardrobe, and her magnificent diamonds.

She witnessed the robbery with calmness, until she saw the brigands seize the portrait of the Emperor Napoleon, presented to her by his own hand, and set round with large brilliants, when she appealed to them with tears streaming down her cheeks to take the settings and all the diamonds, but not to deprive her of the portrait of her "dear, dear Emperor!" When this circ.u.mstance was referred to she told me the story, and her eyes glistened with tears while relating it.

Went to Orsay yesterday, and pa.s.sed a very agreeable day there. It was a fortified chateau, and must have been a very fine place before the Revolution caused, not only its pillage, but nearly total destruction, for only one wing of it now remains.

Built in the reign of Charles VII, it was esteemed one of the best specimens of the feudal _chateau fort_ of that epoch; and the subterranean portion of it still attests its former strength and magnitude.

It is surrounded by a moat, not of stagnant water, but supplied by the river Ivette, which flows at the base of the hill on which the chateau stands. The water is clear and brisk and the chateau looks as if it stood in a pellucid river. The view from the windows is very extensive, commanding a rich and well-wooded country.

The chapel escaped not the ravages of the sacrilegious band, who committed such havoc on the chateau; for the beautiful altar, and some very interesting monuments, were barbarously mutilated, and the tomb of the Princesse de Croy, the mother of General Count d'Orsay, on which a vast sum had been expended, was nearly razed to the ground.

If aught was required to increase my horror of revolutions, and of the baleful consequences to which they lead, the sight of this once splendid chateau, and, above all, of its half-ruined chapel, in which even the honoured dead were insulted, would have accomplished it.

An heiress of one of the most ancient houses in the _Pays-Bas_, the Princesse de Croy brought a n.o.ble dowry to her husband, himself a man of princely fortune. Young and beautiful, her munificence soon rendered her an object of almost, adoration to the dependents of her lord; and when soon after having given birth to a son and heir, the present General Comte d'Orsay, she was called to another world, her remains were followed to her untimely grave by a long train of weeping poor, whose hearts her bounty had often cheered, and whose descendants were subsequently horror-struck to see the sanct.i.ty of her last earthly resting-place invaded.

We pa.s.sed through the hamlet of Palaiseau, on our return to Paris; and saw in it the steeple where the magpie concealed the silver spoons he had stolen, and which occasioned the event from which the drama of _La Pie Voleuse_, known in so many languages, has had its origin.

The real story ended not so happily as the opera, for the poor girl was executed--the spoons not having been discovered until after her death.

This tragedy in humble life has attached great interest to the steeple at Palaiseau, and has drawn many persons to the secluded hamlet in which it stands.

The Duc and d.u.c.h.esse de Quiche returned from Luneville yesterday; and we spent last evening with them. The good Duke de Gramont was there, and was in great joy at their return. They all dine with us to-morrow; and Madame Craufurd comes to meet them.

Never have I seen such children as the Duc de Quiche's. Uniting to the most remarkable personal beauty an intelligence and docility as rare as they are delightful; and never did I witness any thing like the unceasing care and attention bestowed on their education by their parents.

Those who only know the Duc and d.u.c.h.esse in the gay circles, in which they are universally esteemed among the brightest ornaments, can form little idea of them in the privacy of their domestic one--emulating each other in their devotion to their children, and giving only the most judicious proofs of their attachment to them. No wonder that the worthy Duc de Gramont doats on his grandchildren, and never seems so happy as with his excellent son and daughter-in-law.