| 352 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
On the 12th of October, Sir
Walter left Abbotsford for London, where he had been promised access to the
papers in the Government offices; and thence he proceeded to Paris, in the hope of
gathering from various eminent persons authentic views and anecdotes concerning the career
of Napoleon. His Diary shows that he was successful in
obtaining many valuable materials for the completion of his historical work; and reflects,
with sufficient distinctness, the very brilliant reception he, on this occasion,
experienced both in London and Paris. The range of his society is strikingly (and
unconsciously) exemplified in the record of one day, when we find him
| DIARY—OCTOBER, 1826. | 353 |
“Rokeby Park, October 13.—We
left Carlisle before seven, and, visiting Appleby Castle by the way (a most
interesting and curious place), we got to Morritt’s about half-past four, where we had as warm a
welcome as one of the warmest hearts in the world could give an old friend. It
was great pleasure to me to see Morritt happy in the
middle of his family circle, undisturbed, as heretofore, by the sickness of any
one dear to him. I may note that I found much pleasure in my companion’s conversation, as well as in
her mode of managing all her little concerns on the road. I am apt to judge of
character by good-humour and alacrity in these petty concerns. I think the
inconveniences of a journey seem greater to me than formerly; while, on the
other hand, the pleasures it affords are rather less. The ascent of Stainmore
seemed duller and longer than usual, and, on the other hand, Bowes, which used
to strike me as a distinguished feature, seemed an ill-formed mass of rub-
| 354 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“Grantham, October 15.—Old England is no changeling. It is long since I travelled this road, having come up to town chiefly by sea of late years. One race of red-nosed innkeepers are gone, and their widows, eldest sons, or head-waiters exercise hospitality in their room with the same bustle and importance. But other things seem, externally at least, much the same. The land is better ploughed; straight ridges every where adopted in place of the old circumflex of twenty years ago. Three horses, however, or even four, are still often seen in a plough yoked one before the other. Ill habits do not go out at once.
“Biggleswade, October 16.—Visited Burleigh this morning; the first time I ever saw that grand place, where there are so many objects of interest and curiosity. The house is magnificent, in the style of James I.’s reign, and consequently in mixed Gothic. Of paintings I know nothing; so shall attempt to say nothing. But whether to connoisseurs, or to an ignorant admirer like
* This precious miniature, executed by Cooper for Milton’s favourite daughter, was long in the possession of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and bequeathed by him to the poet Mason, who was an intimate friend of Mr Morritt’s father. |
| DIARY—OCTOBER, 1826. | 355 |
“25, Pall-Mall, October 17.—Here am I in this capital once more, after an April-weather meeting with my daughter and Lockhart. Too much grief in our first meeting to be joyful; too much pleasure to be distressing; a giddy sensation between the painful and the pleasurable. I will call another subject.
“I read with interest, during my journey, Sir John Chiverton and Brambletye House—novels, in what I may surely claim as the style
‘Which I was born to introduce— Refined it first, and show’d its use.’*
|
“I believe, were I to publish the Canongate Chronicles without my name
(nomme de guerre, I mean),
the event might be a corollary to the fable of the peasant who made the real
pig squeak against the imitator, when the sapient audience killed the poor
grunter as if inferior to the biped in his own language. The peasant could,
indeed, confute the long-eared multitude by showing piggy; but were I to fail
as a knight with a white and maiden shield, and then vindicate my claim to
attention by putting ‘By the Author of Waverley’ in the title, my
good friend Publicum would defend itself by stating
| 356 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
| Expense of journey, | L.41 0 0 |
| Anne, pocket-money, | 5 0 0 |
| Servants on journey, | 20 0 |
| Cash in purse (silver not reckoned), | 2 0 0 |
| ————— | |
| L.50 0 0 |
“October 18.—I take up again
my remarks on imitators. I am sure I mean the gentlemen no wrong by calling
them so, and heartily wish they had followed a better model. But it serves to
show me veluti in speculo my own
errors, or, if you will, those of the style. One advantage, I think, I still
have over all of them. They may do their fooling with better grace; but I, like
Sir Andrew Aguecheek, do it more
natural. They have to read old books, and consult antiquarian collections, to
get their knowledge; I write because I have long since read such works, and
possess, thanks to a strong memory, the information which they have to seek
for. This leads to a dragging-in historical details by head and shoulders, so
that the interest of the main piece is lost in minute descriptions of events
which do
| DIARY—OCTOBER, 1826. | 357 |
“Another thing in my favour is, that my contemporaries steal too openly. Mr Smith has inserted in Brambletye House whole pages from De Foe’s ‘Fire and Plague of London.’
‘Steal! fob! a fico for the phrase— Convey, the wise it call!’ |
| 358 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
‘Liberty’s in every blow; Let us do or die!’ |
‘Ma’am, will you walk in, and fal de ral diddle? And, sir, will you stalk in, and fal de ral diddle? And, miss, will you pop in, and fal de ral diddle? And, master, pray hop in, and fal de ral diddle.’ |
“Sallied forth in the morning; bought a hat. Met Sir William Knighton,* from whose discourse I guess that Malachi has done me no prejudice in a certain quarter; with more indications of the times, which I need not set down. Sallied again after breakfast, and visited the Piccadilly ladies. Saw also the Duchess of Buckingham, and Lady Charlotte Bury, with a most beautiful little girl. Owen Rees breakfasted, and agreed I should have what the Frenchman has offered for the advantage of
* Sir William was Private Secretary to King George IV. Sir Walter made his acquaintance in August, 1822, and ever afterwards they corresponded with each other—sometimes very confidentially. |
| DIARY—OCTOBER, 1826. | 359 |
“October 19.—I rose at my usual time, but could not write; so read Southey’s History of the Peninsular War. It is very good, indeed—honest English principle in every line; but there are many prejudices, and there is a tendency to augment a work already too long by saying all that can be said of the history of ancient times appertaining to every place mentioned. What care we whether Saragossa be derived from Cæsaria Augusta? Could he have proved it to be Numantium, there would have been a concatenation accordingly.*
“Breakfasted at Sam Rogers’s with Sir Thomas Lawrence; Luttrel, the great London wit; Richard Sharp, &c. One of them made merry with some part of Rose’s Ariosto; proposed that the Italian should be printed on the other side, for the sake of assisting the indolent reader to understand the English; and complained of his using more than once the phrase of a lady having ‘voided her saddle,’ which would certainly sound extraordinary at Apothecaries’ Hall. Well, well, Rose carries a dirk too. The morning was too dark for Westminster Abbey, which we had projected.
“I then went to Downing Street, and am put by Mr Wilmot Horton into the hands of a confidential clerk, Mr Smith, who promises access to every thing. Then saw Croker, who gave me a bundle of documents. Sir George Cockburn promises his despatches and journal. In short, I have ample prospect of materials. Dined with Mrs Coutts. Tragi-comic distress of my good
* It is amusing to compare this criticism with Sir Walter’s own anxiety to identify his daughter-in-law’s place, Lochore, with the Urbs Orrea of the Roman writers. See the first chapter of this volume, p. 7. |
| 360 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“October 20.—Commanded down
to pass a day at Windsor. This is very kind of his
Majesty.—At breakfast, Crofton
Croker, author of the Irish Fairy Tales—little as a dwarf, keen-eyed as a hawk, and of
easy, prepossessing manners. Something like Tom
Moore. Here were also Terry, Allan Cunningham,
Newton, others. Now I must go to
work.—Went down to Windsor, or rather to the Lodge in the Forest, which, though
ridiculed by connoisseurs, seems to be no bad specimen of a royal retirement,
and is delightfully situated. A kind of cottage, too large perhaps for the
style, but yet so managed, that in the walks you only see parts of it at once,
and these well composed and grouping with the immense trees. His Majesty
received me with the same mixture of kindness and courtesy which has always
distinguished his conduct towards me. There was no company besides the royal
retinue—Lady Conyngham—her daughter and
two or three other ladies. After we left table, there was excellent music by
the yal band, who lay ambushed in a green-house adjoining the apartment. The
King made me sit beside him, and talk a great deal—too much perhaps—for he has
the art of raising one’s spirits, and making you forget the retenue which is prudent every where,
especially at court. But he converses himself with so much ease and elegance,
that you lose thoughts of the prince in admiring the well-bred and accomplished
gentleman. He is in many respects the model of a British monarch—has little
inclination to try experiments on government otherwise than through his
Ministers—sincerely, I believe, desires the good of his subjects—is kind
towards the distressed, and moves and speaks ‘every inch a
king.’
| DIARY—LONDON, OCTOBER, 1826. | 361 |
“October ’21.—Walked
in the morning with Sir William
Knighton, and had much confidential chat, not fit to be here set
down, in case of accidents. He undertook most kindly to recommend Charles, when he has taken his degree, to be
attached to some of the diplomatic missions, which I think is best for the lad,
after all. After breakfast went to Windsor Castle, and examined the
improvements going on there under Mr
Wyattville, who appears to possess a great deal of taste and
feeling for Gothic architecture. The old apartments, splendid enough in extent
and proportion, are paltry in finishing. Instead of being lined with heart of
oak, the palace of the British King is hung with paper, painted wainscot
colour. There are some fine paintings, and some droll ones: Among the last are
those of divers princes of the House of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, of which
Queen Charlotte was descended. They
are ill-coloured, orang-outang-looking figures, with black eyes and hook-noses,
in old-fashioned uniforms. Returned to a hasty dinner in Pall-Mall, and then
hurried away to see honest Dan
Terry’s theatre, called the Adelphi, where we saw the Pilot, from an American
novel of that name. It is extremely popular, the dramatist having seized on the
whole story, and turned the odious and ridiculous
| 362 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“October 22.—This morning Mr Wilmot Horton, Under Secretary of State, breakfasted. He is full of some new plan of relieving the poor’s-rates, by encouraging emigration. But John Bull will think this savours of Botany-Bay. The attempt to look the poor’s-rates in the face is certainly meritorious. Laboured in writing and marking extracts to be copied, from breakfast to dinner with the exception of an hour spent in telling Johnnie the history of his name-sake, Gilpin. Tom Moore and Sir Thomas Lawrence came in the evening, which made a pleasant soirée. Smoked my French—Egad it is time to air some of my vocabulary. It is, I find, cursedly musty.
| DIARY—LONDON, OCTOBER, 1826. | 363 |
“October 23.—Sam Rogers and Moore breakfasted here, and we were very merry fellows. Moore seemed disposed to go to France with us. I foresee I shall be embarrassed with more communications than can use or trust to, coloured as they must be by the passions of those who make them. Thus I have a statement from the Duchess d’Escars, to which the Buonapartists would, I dare say, give no credit. If Talleyrand, for example, could be communicative, he must have ten thousand reasons for perverting the truth, and yet a person receiving: a direct communication from him would be almost barred from disputing it.
‘Sing, tantarara, rogues all.’ |
“We dined at the Residentiary-house with good Dr Hughes—Allan Cunningham, Sir Thomas Lawrence, and young Mr Hughes. Thomas Pringle* is returned from the Cape. He might have done well there, could he have scoured his brains of politics, but he must needs publish a Whig journal at the Cape of Good Hope!! He is a worthy creature, but conceited withal—hinc illæ lachrymæ. He brought me some antlers and a skin, in addition to others he had sent to Abbotsford four years since.
|
* Mr Pringle was a Roxburghshire farmer’s son (lame in both legs) who, in youth, attracted Sir Walter’s notice by his poem called, “Scenes of Teviotdale.” He was for a time Editor of Blackwood’s Magazine, but the publisher and he had different politics, quarrelled, and parted. Sir Walter then gave Pringle strong recommendations to the late Lord Charles Somerset, Governor of the Cape of Good Hope, in which colony he settled, and for some years throve under the Governor’s protection; but the newspaper alluded to in the text ruined his prospects at the Cape—he returned to England—became Secretary to an anti-slavery association—published a charming little volume entitled “African Sketches,”—and died, I fear in very distressed circumstances, in December 1834. He was a man of amiable feelings and elegant genius. The reader may see a fuller account of him in the Quarterly Review for December 1835. |
| 364 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“October 24.—Laboured in the morning. At breakfast, Dr Holland, and Cohen, whom they now call Palgrave, a mutation of names which confused my recollections. Item, Moore. I worked at the Colonial Office pretty hard. Dined with Mr Wilmot Horton, and his beautiful wife, the original of the ‘She walks in beauty,’ &c. of poor Byron. N.B. The conversation is seldom excellent among official people. So many topics are what Otaheitians call taboo. We hunted down a pun or too, which were turned out, like the stag at the Epping Hunt, for the pursuit of all and sundry. Came home early, and was in bed by eleven.
“October 25.—Kind Mr Wilson* and his wife at breakfast; also Sir Thomas Lawrence. Locker† came in afterwards, and made a proposal to me to give up his intended life of George III. in my favour on cause shown. I declined the proposal, not being of opinion that my genius lies that way, and not relishing hunting in couples. Afterwards went to the Colonial Office, and had Robert Hay’s assistance in my enquiries—then to the French Ambassador’s for my passports. Picked up Sotheby, who endeavoured to saddle me for a review of his polyglott Virgil. I fear I shall scarce convince him that I know nothing of the Latin lingo. Sir R. H. Inglis, Richard Sharp, and other friends called. We dine at Miss Dumergue’s, and spend a part of our soirée at Lydia White’s. To-morrow,
‘For France, for France, for it is more than need.’
|
“Calais, October 26.—Up at five, and in the packet
* William Wilson, Esq. of Wandsworth Common, formerly of Wilsontown, in Lanarkshire. † E. H. Locker, Esq. then Secretary, now one of the Commissioners, of Greenwich Hospital an old and dear friend of Scott’s. |
| DIARY—LONDON, OCTOBER, 1826. | 365 |
“October 27.—Custom-house, &c. detained us till near ten o’clock, so we had time to walk on the Boulevards, and to see the fortifications, which must be very strong, all the country round being flat and marshy. Lost, as all know, by the bloody papist bitch (one must be vernacular when on French ground) Queen Mary, of red-hot memory. I would rather she had burned a score more of bishops. If she had kept it, her sister Bess would sooner have parted with her virginity. Charles I. had no temptation to part with it—it might, indeed, have been shuffled out of our hands during the Civil Wars, but Noll would have as soon let Monsieur draw one of his grinders—then Charles II. would hardly have dared to sell such an old possession, as he did Dunkirk; and after that the French had little chance till the Revolution. Even then, I think, we could have held a place that could be supplied from our own element the sea. Cui bono? None, I think, but to plague the rogues. We dined at Cormont, and being stopped by Mr Canning having taken up all the post-horses, could only reach Montreuil that night. I should have liked to have seen some more of this place, which is fortified; and as it stands on an elevated and rocky site, must present some fine points. But as we came in late, and left early, I can only bear witness to good treatment, good supper, good vin de Barsac, and excellent beds.
| 366 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“October 28.—Breakfasted at Abbeville, and saw a very handsome Gothic church, and reached Grandvilliers at night. The house is but second-rate, though lauded by several English travellers for the moderation of its charges, as was recorded in a book presented to us by the landlady. There is no great patriotism in publishing that a traveller thinks the bills moderate—it serves usually as an intimation to mine host or hostess that John Bull will bear a little more squeezing. I gave my attestation, too, however, for the charges of the good lady resembled those elsewhere; and her anxiety to please was extreme. Folks must be harder hearted than I am to resist the empressement, which may, indeed, be venal, yet has in its expression a touch of cordiality.
“Paris, October
29.—Breakfasted at Beauvais, and saw its magnificent cathedral—unfinished it
has been left, and unfinished it will remain, of course,—the fashion of
cathedral’s being passed away. But even what exists is inimitable, the
choir particularly, and the grand front. Beauvais is called the Pucelle, yet, so far as I can see, she wears no stays—I
mean, has no fortifications. On we run, however. Vogue la galère; et voila nous à Paris, Hotel de
Windsor (Rue Rivoli), where we are well lodged. France,
so far as I can see, which is very little, has not undergone many changes. The
image of war has, indeed, passed away, and we no longer see troops crossing the
country in every direction—villages either ruined or hastily
fortified—inhabitants sheltered in the woods and caves to escape the rapacity
of the soldiers,—all this has passed away. The inns, too, much amended. There
is no occasion for that rascally practice of making a bargain—or combien-ing your landlady, before you unharness your
horses, which formerly was matter of neces-
| DIARY—PARIS, 1826. | 367 |
“October 30.—Finding
ourselves snugly settled in our Hotel, we determined to remain here at fifteen
francs
| 368 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“We went in the evening to the Comedie Francaise;
Rosamonde the piece. It is the composition of a young man
with a promising name—Emile de
Bonnechose; the story that of Fair
Rosamond. There were some good situations, and the actors in the
French taste seemed to me admirable, particularly Mademoiselle Bourgoin. It would be absurd to criticise what I
only half understood; but the piece was well received, and produced a very
strong effect. Two or three ladies were carried out in hysterics; one next to
our box was fright-
| DIARY—PARIS, 1826. | 369 |
“Some of our friends in London had pretended that
at Paris I might stand some chance of being encountered by the same sort of
tumultuary reception which I met in Ireland; but for this I see no ground. It
is a point on which I am totally indifferent. As a literary man I cannot affect
to despise public applause; as a private gentleman, I have always been
embarrassed and displeased with popular clamours, even when in my favour. I
know very well the breath of which such shouts are composed, and am sensible
those who applaud me to-day would be as ready to toss me to-morrow; and I would
not have them think that I put such a value on their favour as would make me
for an instant fear their displeasure. Now all this disclamation is sincere,
and yet it sounds affected. It puts me in mind of an old woman, who, when
Carlisle was taken by the Highlanders in 1745, chose to be particularly
apprehensive of personal violence, and shut herself up in a closet, in order
that she might escape ravishment. But no one came to disturb her solitude, and
she began to be sensible that poor Donald
was looking out for victuals, or seeking some small plunder, without bestowing
a thought on the fair sex; by and by she popped her head out of her place of
refuge with the pretty question, ‘Good folks, can you tell when the
ravishing is going to begin?’ I am sure I shall neither hide
myself to avoid applause, which probably no one
| 370 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“October 31.—At breakfast
visited by M. Gallois, an elderly
Frenchman (always the most agreeable class), full of information, courteous,
and communicative. He had seen nearly, and remarked deeply, and spoke frankly,
though with due caution. He went with us to the Museum, where I think the Hall
of Sculpture continues to be a fine thing—that of Pictures but tolerable, when
we reflect upon 1815. A number of great French daubs (comparatively), by
David and Gerard, cover the walls once occupied by the
Italian chefs-d’œuvre.
Fiat justitia, ruat
cœlum. We then visited Notre Dame and the Palace of
Justice. The latter is accounted the oldest building in Paris, being the work
of St Louis. It is, however, in the interior,
adapted to the taste of Louis XIV. We drove
over the Pont Neuf, and visited the fine quays, which was all we could make out
to-day, as I was afraid to fatigue Anne.
When we returned home, I found Count Pozzo di
Borgo waiting for me, a personable man, inclined to be rather
corpulent handsome features, with all the Corsican fire in his eyes. He was
quite kind and communicative. Lord
Granville had also called, and sent his Secretary to invite us
to dinner to-morrow. In the evening at the Odeon, where we saw Ivanhoe. It was superbly got up,
the Norman soldiers wearing pointed helmets and what resembled much hauberks of
mail, which looked very well. The number of the attendants, and the skill with
which they were moved and grouped on the stage, were well worthy of notice. It
| DIARY—PARIS, 1826. | 371 |
“November 1.—I suppose the ravishing is going to begin, for we have had the Dames des Halles, with a bouquet like a maypole, and a speech full of honey and oil, which cost me ten francs; also a small worshipper, who would not leave his name, but came seulement pour avoir le plaisir, la felicité, &c. &c. All this jargon I answer with corresponding blarney of my own, for have I not licked the black stone of that ancient castle? As to French, I speak it as it comes, and like Doeg in Absalom and Achitophel—
‘——dash on through thick and thin, Through sense and nonsense, never out nor in.’ |
| 372 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“We dined at the Ambassador, Lord Granville’s. He inhabits the same
splendid house which Lord Castlereagh had
in 1815, namely, Numero 30, Rue de Fauxbourg St Honore. It once belonged to
Pauline Borghese, and, if its walls
could speak, they might tell us mighty curious stories. Without their having
any tongue, they speak to my feelings ‘with most miraculous
organ.’ In these halls I had often seen and conversed familiarly with
many of the great and powerful, who won the world by their swords, and divided
it by their counsel. There I saw very much of poor Lord
Castlereagh a man of sense, presence of mind, and fortitude,
which carried him through many an affair of critical moment, when finer talents
would have stuck in the mire. He had been, I think, indifferently educated, and
his mode of speaking being far from logical or correct, he was sometimes in
danger of becoming almost ridiculous, in despite of his lofty presence, which
had all the grace of the Seymours, and his determined
courage. But then he was always up to the occasion, and upon important matters
was an orator to convince, if not to delight his hearers. He is gone, and my
friend ******** also, whose kindness
this town so strongly recalls. It
| DIARY—PARIS, 1826. | 373 |
“November 2.—Another gloomy day—a pize upon it!—and we have settled to go to St Cloud, and dine, if possible, with the Drummonds at Auteuil. Besides, I expect poor Spencer* to breakfast. There is another thought which depresses me. Well—but let us jot
* The late Honourable William Robert Spencer, the best writer of vers de societé in our time, and one of the most charming of companions, was exactly Sir Walter’s contemporary, and like him first |
| 374 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
‘Lend the crowd his arm to shake the tree.’* |
attracted notice by a version of Burger’s Lenore. Like him, too, this remarkable man fell into pecuniary distress in the disastrous year 1825, and he was now an involuntary resident in Paris, where he died in October, 1834, ann. ætat 65. * Dryden’s Absalom and Achitophel—Character of Shaftesbury. |
| DIARY—PARIS, 1826. | 375 |
“We have enough of ravishment. M. Meurice writes me that he is ready to hang himself that we did not find accommodation at his hotel; and Madame Mirbel came almost on her knees to have permission to take my portrait. I was cruel; but, seeing her weeping ripe, consented she should come to-morrow and work while I wrote. A Russian Princess Galitzin, too, demands to see me, in the heroic vein; “Elle vouloit traverser les mers pour aller voir S. W. S.,”* &c. and offers me a rendezvous at my hotel. This is precious tom-foolery; however, it is better than being neglected like a fallen sky-rocket, which seemed like to be my fate last year.
“We went to St Cloud with my old friend Mr Drummond, now living at a pretty maison de campagne at Auteuil. St Cloud, besides its unequalled views, is rich in remembrances. I did not fail to visit the Orangerie, out of which Boney expelled the Council of Five Hun-
* S. W. S. stands very often in this Diary for Sir Walter Scott. This is done in sportive allusion to the following trait of Tom Purdie:—The morning after the news of Scott’s baronetcy reached Abbotsford, Tom was not to be found in any of his usual haunts: he remained absent the whole day and when he returned at night the mystery was thus explained. He and the head shepherd (who, by the by, was also butcher in ordinary), Robert Hogg (a brother of the Bard of Ettrick), had been spending the day on the hill busily employed in prefixing a large S. for Sir to the W. S. which previously appeared on the backs of the sheep. It was afterwards found that honest Tom had taken it upon him to order a mason to carve a similar honourable augmentation on the stones which marked the line of division between his master’s moor and that of the Laird of Kippilaw. |
| 376 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“November 3.—Sat to
Mad. Mirbel—Spencer at breakfast. Went out and had a long
interview with Marshal Macdonald, the
purport of which I have put down elsewhere. Visited Princess
Galitzin, and also Cooper, the American novelist. This man, who has shown so much
genius, has a good deal of the manners, or want of manners, peculiar to his
countrymen. He proposed to me a mode of publishing in America, by entering the
book as the property of a citizen. I will think of this. Every little helps, as
the tod says, when, &c. At night, at the Theatre de Madame, where we saw
two petit pieces, Le Marriage de Raison, and Le plus beau jour de Ma
Vie—both excellently played. Afterwards at Lady Granville’s rout, which was as
splendid
| DIARY—NOVEMBER, 1826. | 377 |
“November 4.—After ten I went with Anne to the Tuileries, where we saw the royal family pass through the Glass Gallery as they went to chapel. We were very much looked at in our turn, and the King, on passing out, did me the honour to say a few civil words, which produced a great sensation. Mad. la Dauphine and Mad. de Berri curtsied, smiled, and looked extremely gracious; and smiles, bows, and curtsies rained on us like odours, from all the courtiers and ladies of the train. We were conducted by an officer of the Royal Gardes du Corps to a convenient place in the chapel, where we had the pleasure of hearing the mass performed with excellent music.
“I had a perfect view of the royal family. The
King is the same in age as I knew him
in youth at Holyroodhouse,—debonair and courteous in the highest degree.
Mad. Dauphine resembles very much
the prints of Marie Antoinette, in the
profile especially. She is not, however, beautiful, her features being too
strong, but they announce a great deal of character, and the princess whom
Buonaparte used to call the man of the family. She seemed very attentive to her
devotions. The Duchess of Berri seemed less
immersed in the ceremony, and yawned once or twice. She is a lively-looking
blonde—looks as if she were good-humoured and happy, by no means pretty, and
has a cast with her eyes; splendidly adorned with diamonds, however. After this
gave Mad. Mirbel a sitting, where I
encountered a
| 378 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“November 5.—I believe I
must give up my journal till I leave Paris. The French are literally outrageous
in their civilities—bounce in at all hours, and drive one half mad with
compliments. I am ungracious not to be so entirely thankful as I ought to this
kind and merry people. We breakfasted with Mad.
Mirbel, where were the Dukes of Fitz-James
and Duras, &c. &c. goodly company; but all’s
one for that. I made rather an impatient sitter, wishing to talk much more than
was agreeable to Madame. Afterwards we went to the Champs Elysées, where a
balloon was let off, and all sorts of frolics performed for the benefit of the
bons gens de Paris—besides
stuffing them with victuals. I wonder how such a civic festival would go off in
London or Edinburgh, or especially in Dublin. To be sure, they would not
introduce their shilelahs! But, in the classic taste of the French, there were
no such gladiatorial doings. To be sure, they have a natural good-humour and
gaiety which inclines them to be pleased with themselves, and every thing about
them. We dined at the Ambassador’s, where was a large party, Lord Morpeth, the Duke
of Devonshire,
| DIARY—PARIS, NOVEMBER, 1826. | 379 |
“November 6.—Cooper came to breakfast, but we were obsedés partout. Such a number of Frenchmen bounced in successively and exploded (I mean discharged) their compliments, that I could hardly find an opportunity to speak a word, or entertain Mr Cooper at all. After this we sat again for our portraits. Mad. Mirbel took care not to have any one to divert my attention, but I contrived to amuse myself with some masons finishing a façade opposite to me, who placed their stones, not like Inigo Jones, but in the most lubberly way in the world, with the help of a large wheel, and the application of strength of hand. John Smith of Darnick, and two of his men, would have done more with a block and pulley than the whole score of them. The French seem far behind in machinery. We are almost eaten up with kindness, but that will have its end. I have had to parry several presents of busts, and so forth. The funny thing was the airs of my little friend. We had a most affectionate parting wet, wet cheeks on the lady’s side. Pebble-hearted, and shed as few tears as Crab of doggish memory.*
“Went to Galignani’s, where the brothers, after some palaver, offered L.105 for the sheets of Napoleon, to be reprinted at Paris in English. I told them I would think of it. I suppose Treuttel and Würtz had apprehended something of this kind, for they write me that they had made a bargain with my publisher (Cadell, I suppose) for the publishing of my book in all sorts of ways. I must look into this.
“Dined with Marshal Macdonald† and a splendid
* See the Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act II. Scene 3. † The Marshal had visited Scotland in 1825—and the Diarist |
| 380 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“In the evening to Princess Galitzin, where were a whole covey of Princesses of Russia arrayed in tartan, with music and singing to boot. The person in whom I was most interested was Mad. de Boufflers, upwards of eighty, very polite, very pleasant, and with all the acquirements of a French court lady of the time of Mad. Sevigné, or of the correspondent rather of Horace Walpole. Cooper was there, so the Scotch and American lions took the field together. Home, and settled our affairs to depart.
November 7.—Off at seven breakfasted at Beauvais, and pushed on to Amiens. This being a forced march, we had bad lodgings, wet wood, uncomfortable
then saw a good deal of him under the roof of his kinsman, Mr Macdonald Buchanan. * Lauriston, the ancient seat of the Laws, so famous in French history, is very near Edinburgh, and the estate was in their possession at the time of the Revolution. Two or three cadets of the family were of the first emigration, and one of them (M. Louis Law) was a frequent guest of the poet’s father, and afterwards corresponded during many years with himself. I am not sure whether it was M. Louis Law whose French designation so much amused the people of Edinburgh. One brother of the Marquis de Lauriston, however, was styled Le Chevalier de Mutton-hole—this being the name of a village on the Scotch property. |
| DIARY—NOVEMBER, 1826. | 381 |
“November 8.—We started at six in the morning, having no need to be called twice, so heartily was I weary of my comfortless couch. Breakfasted at Abbeville—then pushed on to Boulogne, expecting to find the packet ready to start next morning, and so to have had the advantage of the easterly tide. But, lo ye! the packet was not to sail till next day. So, after shrugging our shoulders—being the solace à la mode de France—and recruiting ourselves with a pullet and a bottle of Chablis à la mode d’ Angleterre, we set off for Calais after supper, and it was betwixt three and four in the morning before we got to Dessein’s, when the house was full or reported to be so. We could only get two wretched brick-paved garrets, as cold and moist as those of Amiens, instead of the comforts which we were received with at our arrival.* But I was better prepared. Stripped off the sheets, and lay down in my dressing-gown, and so roughed it out—tant bien que mal.
“November 9.—At four in the morning we were called—at six we got on board the packet, where I found a sensible and conversible man, a very pleasant circumstance. At Dover Mr Ward came with the lieutenant-governor of the castle, and wished us to visit that ancient fortress. I regretted much that our time was short, and the weather did not admit of our seeing views, so we could only thank the gentlemen in declining their civility. The castle, partly ruinous, seems to have been very fine. The Cliff, to which Shakspeare gave his im-
* A room in Dessein’s hotel is now inscribed “Chambre de Walter Scott”—another has long been marked “Chambre de Sterne.” |
| 382 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“Pall-Mail, November 10.—Ere I leave la belle France, however, it is fit I should express my gratitude for the unwontedly kind reception which I met with at all hands. It would be an unworthy piece of affectation did I not allow that I have been pleased—highly pleased—to find a species of literature intended only for my own country, has met such an extensive and favourable reception in a foreign land, where there was so much a priori to oppose its progress. For my work I think I have done a good deal; but, above all, I have been confirmed strongly in the impressions I had previously formed of the character of Nap., and may attempt to draw him with a firmer hand.
“The succession of new people and unusual incidents
has had a favourable effect on my mind, which was becoming rutted like an ill
kept high-way. My thoughts have for some time flowed in another and pleasanter
channel than through the melancholy course into which my solitary and deprived
state had long driven them,
| DIARY—NOVEMBER, 1826. | 383 |
“To-day I visited the public offices, and prosecuted my researches. Left enquiries for the Duke of York, who has recovered from a most desperate state. His legs had been threatened with mortification; but he was saved by a critical discharge;—also visited the Duke of Wellington, Lord Melville, and others, besides the ladies in Piccadilly. Dined and spent the evening quietly in Pall-Mall.
“November 11.—Croker came to breakfast, and we were soon after joined by Theodore Hook, alias (on dit) John Bull—he has got as fat as the actual monarch of the herd. Lockhart sat still with us, and we had, as Gil Blas says, a delicious morning, spent in abusing our neighbours, at which my three neighbours are no novices any more than I am myself, though (like Puss in Boots, who only caught mice for his amusement), I am only a chamber counsel in matters of scandal. The fact is, I have refrained, as much as human frailty will permit, from all satirical composition. Here is an ample subject for a little black-balling in the case of Joseph Hume, the great accountant, who has managed the Greek loan so egregiously. I do not lack personal provocation (see 13th March last), yet I won’t attack him—at present at least—but qu’il se garde de moi:
‘I’m not a king, nor nae sic thing, My word it may not stand; But Joseph
may a buffet bide, Come he beneath my brand.’ |
“At dinner we had a little blow-out on Sophia’s part. Lord Dudley, Mr Hay, Under
Secretary of State, Sir Thomas Lawrence,
&c. Mistress, as she now calls her-
| 384 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“November 12.—Went to sit to Sir T. L. to finish the picture for his Majesty, which every one says is a very fine one. I think so myself; and wonder how Sir Thomas has made so much out of an old weather-beaten block. But I believe the hard features of old Dons like myself are more within the compass of the artist’s skill than the lovely face and delicate complexion of females. Came home after a heavy shower. I had a long conversation about * * with * * * *—all that was whispered is true a sign how much better our domestics are acquainted with the private affairs of our neighbours than we are. A dreadful tale of incest and seduction, and nearly of blood also—horrible beyond expression in its complications and events—‘And yet the end is not;’—and this man was amiable, and seemed the soul of honour—laughed, too, and was the soul of society. It is a mercy our own thoughts are concealed from each other. Oh! if, at our social table, we could see what passes in each bosom around, we would seek dens and caverns to shun human society! To see the projector trembling for his falling speculations; the voluptuary rueing the event of his debauchery; the miser wearing out his soul for the loss of a guinea—all—all bent upon vain hopes and vainer regrets—we should not need to go to the hall of the Caliph Vathek to see men’s hearts broiling under their black veils. Lord keep us from all temptation, for we cannot be our own shepherd!
“We dined to-day at Lady
Stafford’s at West-hill. Lord
S. looks very poorly, but better than I expected. No company,
excepting Sam Rogers and Mr Thomas
Grenville, a very amiable and accomplished man whom I knew
better about twenty years since. Age has touched him, as it has doubtless
affected me. The great lady
| DIARY—LONDON, NOVEMBER, 1826. | 385 |
“November 13.—I consider Charles’s business as settled by a private intimation which I had to that effect from Sir W. K., so I need negotiate no farther, but wait the event. Breakfasted at home, and somebody with us, but the whirl of visits so great that I have already forgot the party. Lockhart and I dined at an official person’s, where there was a little too much of that sort of flippant wit, or rather smartness, which becomes the parochial Joe Miller of boards and offices. You must not be grave, because it might lead to improper discussions; and to laugh without a joke is a hard task. Your professed wags are treasures to this species of company. Gil Blas was right in eschewing the literary society of his friend Fabricio; but nevertheless one or two of the mess could greatly have improved the conversation of his Commis. Went to poor Lydia White’s, and found her extended on a couch, frightfully swelled, unable to stir, rouged, jesting, and dying. She has a good heart, and is really a clever creature, but unhappily, or rather happily, she has set up the whole staff of her rest in keeping literary society about her. The world has not neglected her. It is not always so bad as it is called. She can always make up her circle, and generally has some people of real talent and distinction. She is wealthy, to be sure, and gives petit dinners, but not in a style to carry the point à force d’ argent. In her case the world is good-natured, and, perhaps it is more frequently so than is generally supposed.
“November 14.—We breakfasted
at honest Allan
Cunningham’s—honest Allan—a leal and true
Scots-
| 386 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“Dined at Croker’s, at Kensington, with his family, the Speaker, and the facetious Theodore Hook.
“We came away rather early, that Anne and I might visit Mrs Arbuthnot to meet the Duke of Wellington. In all my life I never saw him better. He has a dozen of campaigns in his body—and tough ones. Anne was delighted with the frank manners of this unequalled pride of British war, and me he received with all his usual kindness. He talked away about Buonaparte, Russia, and France.
“November 15.—I went to the
Colonial Office, where I laboured hard. Dined with the Duke of Wellington. Anne could not look
enough at the vainqeur du vainqeur de la
terre. The party were Mr and Mrs Peel and
Mr and Mrs Arbuthnot, Vesey
Fitzgerald, Banks, and
Croker, with Lady Bathurst and Lady Georgina. One gentleman took much of the conversation, and
gave us, with unnecessary emphasis, and at superfluous length, his opinion of a
late gambling transaction. This spoiled the evening. I am sorry for the
occurrence though, for Lord * * * is
fetlock deep in it, and it looks like a vile bog. This misfortune, with the
foolish incident at * * *, will not be suffered to fall to the ground, but will
be used as a counterpoise to the Greek loan. Peel asked
me, in private, my opinion of three candidates for the
| DIARY—LONDON, NOVEMBER, 1826. | 387 |
“November 16.—Breakfasted with Rogers, with my daughters and Lockhart. R. was exceedingly entertaining, in his dry, quiet, sarcastic manner. At eleven to the Duke of Wellington, who gave me a bundle of remarks on Buonaparte’s Russian campaign, written in his carriage during his late mission to St Petersburgh. It is furiously scrawled, and the Russian names hard to distinguish, but it shall do me yeoman’s service. Thence I passed to the Colonial Office, where I concluded my extracts. Lockhart and I dined with Croker at the Admiralty au grand couvert. No less than five Cabinet Ministers were present—Canning, Huskisson, Melville, Peel, and Wellington, with sub-secretaries by the bushel. The cheer was excellent, but the presence of too many men of distinguished rank and power always freezes the conversation. Each lamp shines brightest when placed by itself; when too close, they neutralize each other.*
“November 17.—Sir John Malcolm at breakfast. Saw the Duke of York. The change on H. R. H. is most wonderful. From a big, burly, stout man, with a thick and sometimes an inarticulate mode of speaking, he has
* In returning from this dinner Sir Walter said, “I have seen some of these great men at the same table for the last time.” |
| 388 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“November 18.—Was introduced by Rogers to Mad. D’Arblay, the celebrated authoress of Evelina and Cecilia,—an elderly lady, with no remains of personal beauty, but with a simple and gentle manner, a pleasing expression of countenance, and apparently quick feelings. She told me she had wished to see two persons—myself, of course, being one, the other George Canning. This was really a compliment to be pleased with—a nice little handsome pat of butter made up by a neat-handed Phillis of a dairymaid, instead of the grease, fit only for cart-wheels, which one is dosed with by the pound.
“Mad. D’
Arblay told us that the common story of Dr Burney, her father, having brought home her
own first work, and recommended it to her perusal, was erroneous. Her father
was in the secret of Evelina being printed. But the following circumstances may have
given rise to the story:—Dr Burney was at Streatham soon
after the publication, where he found Mrs
Thrale recovering from her confinement, low at the moment, and
out of spirits. While they were talking together, Johnson, who sat beside in a kind of reverie, suddenly broke
out—‘You should read this new work, madam—you should read Evelina; every one says it is excellent, and they
are right.’ The delighted father obtained a commission
| DIARY—NOVEMBER, 1826. | 389 |
“Dined at Mr Peel’s with Lord Liverpool, Duke of Wellington, Croker, &c. The conversation Very good, Peel taking the lead in his own house, which he will not do elsewhere. * * * Should have been at the play, but sat too long at Peel’s. So ends my campaign amongst these magnificoes and potent seigniors, with whom I have found, as usual, the warmest acceptation.
“November 20.—I ended this morning my sittings to Lawrence, and am heartily sorry there should be another picture of me except that which he has finished. The person is remarkably like, and conveys the idea of the stout blunt carle that cares for few things and fears nothing. He has represented the author as in the act of composition, yet has effectually discharged all affectation, from the manner and attitude. He dined with us at Peel’s yesterday, where, by the way, we saw the celebrated Chapeau de Paille, which is not a Chapeau de Paille at all. I also saw this morning the Duke of Wellington and the Duke of York; the former so communicative, that I regretted extremely the length of time,* but have agreed on a correspondence with him. Trop d’honneur pour moi. The Duke of York seems still mending, and spoke of state affairs as a high Tory. Were his health good, his spirit is as strong as ever. H. R. H. has a devout horror of the Liberals. Having the Duke
* Sir Walter no doubt means that he regretted not having seen the Duke at an earlier period of his historical labours. |
| 390 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“We visited our friends Peel, Lord Gwydir, Mr Arbuthnot, &c. and left our tickets of adieu. In no instance, during my former visits to London, did I ever meet with such general attention and respect on all sides.
“Lady Louisa Stuart dined—also Wright and Mr and Mrs Christie. Dr and Mrs Hughes came in the evening; so ended pleasantly our last night in London.
“Oxford, November 20.—Left London after a comfortable breakfast, and an adieu to the Lockhart family. If I had had but comfortable hopes of their poor, pale, prostrate child, so clever and so interesting, I should have parted easily on this occasion, but these misgivings overcloud the prospect. We reached Oxford by six o’clock, and found Charles and his friend young Surtees waiting for us, with a good fire in the chimney, and a good dinner ready to be placed on the table. We had struggled through a cold, sulky, drizzly day, which deprived of all charms even the beautiful country near Henley. So we came from cold and darkness into light, and warmth, and society. N. B.—We had neither daylight nor moonlight to see the view of Oxford from the Maudlin bridge, which I used to think one of the most beautiful in the world.
“The expense of travelling has mounted high. I am
too eld to rough it, and scrub it, nor could I have saved
| DIARY—NOVEMBER, 1826. | 391 |
“Cheltenham, November 21.—Breakfasted with Charles in his chambers at Brazen-nose, where he had every thing very neat. How pleasant it is for a father to sit at his child’s board! It is like the aged man reclining under the shadow of the oak which he has planted. My poor plant has some storms to undergo, but were this expedition conducive to no more than his entrance into life under suitable auspices, I should consider the toil and the expense well bestowed. We then sallied out to see the lions. Remembering the ecstatic feelings with which I visited Oxford more than twenty-five years since, I was surprised at the comparative indifference with which I revisited the same scenes. Reginald Heber, then composing his Prize Poem, and imping his wings for a long flight of honourable distinction, is now dead in a foreign land—Hodgson* and other able men all entombed. The towers and halls remain, but the voices which fill them are of modern days. Besides, the eye becomes saturated with sights, as the full soul loathes the honeycomb. I admired indeed, but my admiration was void of the enthusiasm which I formerly felt. I remember particularly having felt, while in the Bodleian, like the Persian magician who visited the enchanted library in the bowels of the mountain, and willingly suffered himself to be enclosed in its recesses, while less eager sages retired in
* Dr Frodsham Hodgson, the late excellent Master of Brazennose College. |
| 392 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“Nov. 22.—Breakfasted and dined with Mrs Scott, and leaving Cheltenham at seven, pushed on to Worcester to sleep. Nov. 23.—Breakfasted at Birmingham and slept at Macclesfield. As we came in between ten and eleven, the people of the inn expressed surprise at our travelling so late, as the general distress of the manufacturers has rendered many of the lower classes desperately outrageous. Nov. 24.—Breakfasted at Manchester—pressed on—and by dint of exertion reached Kendal to sleep; thus getting out of the region of the stern, sullen, unwashed artificers, whom you see lounging sulkily along the streets in Lancashire. God’s justice is requiting, and will yet farther requite, those who have blown up this country into a state of unsubstantial opulence, at the expense of the health and morals of the lower classes.
“Abbotsford, November 26.—Consulting my purse, found my good L.60 diminished to Quarter less Ten. In purse, L.8. Naturally reflected how much expense has increased since I first travelled. My uncle’s servant, during the jaunts we made together while I was a boy, used
* Dr Richard Jenkyns, Master of Baliol College. |
| NOVEMBER—DECEMBER, 1826. | 393 |
On proceeding to Edinburgh to resume his official duties, Sir Walter established himself in a furnished house in Walker Street, it being impossible for him to leave his daughter alone in the country, and the aspect of his affairs being so much ameliorated that he did not think it necessary to carry the young lady to such a place as Mrs Brown’s lodgings. During the six ensuing months, however, he led much the same life of toil and seclusion from company which that of Abbotsford had been during the preceding autumn—very rarely dining abroad, except with one or two intimate friends, en famille—still more rarely receiving even a single guest at home; and, when there was no such interruption, giving his night as well as his morning to the desk.
| ≪ PREV |
