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———“Nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice.”
⁂ Our readers will recollect those letters in the second
volume of
Genoa, April 1st, 1823.—too
thick, it looks better in profile than in front-face: his mouth is the most
remarkable feature in his face, the upper lip of Grecian shortness, and the corners
descending; the lips full, and finely cut. In speaking, he shows his teeth very much, and
they are white and even; but I observed that even in his smile—and he smiles
frequently—there is something of a scornful expression in his mouth that is evidently
natural, and not, as many suppose, affected. This particularly struck me. His chin is large
and well shaped, and finishes well the oval of his face. He is extremely thin, indeed so
much so that his figure has almost a boyish air; his face is peculiarly pale, but not the
paleness of ill-health, as its character is that of fairness, the fairness of a dark-haired
person—and his hair (which is getting rapidly grey) is of a very dark brown, and
curls naturally: he uses a good deal of oil in it, which makes it look still darker. His
countenance is full of expression, and changes with the subject of conversation; it gains
on the beholder the more it is seen, and leaves an agreeable impression. I should say that
melancholy was its prevailing character, as I observed that when any ob- gaucherie in his movements, which evidently proceeds from
the perpetual consciousness of his lameness, that appears to haunt him; for he tries to
conceal his foot when seated, and when walking, has a nervous rapidity in his manner. He is
very slightly lame, and the deformity of his foot is so little remarkable that I am not now
aware which foot it is. His voice and accent are peculiarly agreeable, but
effeminate—clear, harmonious, and so distinct, that though his general tone in
speaking is rather low than high, not a word is lost. His manners are as unlike my
preconceived notions of them as is his appearance. I had expected to find him a dignified,
cold, reserved, and haughty person, resembling those mysterious personages he so loves to
paint in his works, and with whom he has been so often identified by the good-natured
world: but nothing can be more different; for were I to point out the prominent defect of
Albaro, the village in which the Casa Saluzzo, where he lives, is situated,
is about a mile and a half distant from Genoa; it is a fine old chateau, commanding an
extensive view, and with spacious apartments, the front looking into a court-yard and the
back into the garden. The room in which I am told she is clever—I hope not;
and, above all, I hope she is not poetical; the price paid for such advantages, if
advantages they be, is such as to make me pray that my child may escape
them.
”
The conversation, during our first interview was chiefly about our mutual
English friends, some of whom he spoke of with kind interest. But,
” added he, smiling, “they avenge
themselves, by attacking me in every sort of way, and there is no story too improbable
for the craving appetites of our slander-loving countrymen.
”
Before taking leave, he proposed paying us a visit next day; and he handed me into the carriage with many flattering expressions of the pleasure our visit had procured him.
April 2nd.—We had scarcely finished our
dejeuné à la fourchette this day
when
He talked of our mutual friend affected as on hearing But,
” added
he, with a look full of archness, “it was after I had drunk a certain portion of
very potent white brandy.
” As he laid a peculiar stress on the word affected, I smiled, and the sequel of the white brandy made me smile
again: he asked me the cause, and I answered that his observation reminded me of the story
of a lady offering her condolence to a poor Irishwoman on the death of her child, who
stated that she had never been more affected than on the event; the poor woman, knowing the
hollowness of the compliment, answered with all the quickness of her country,
“Sure, then, Ma’am, that is saying a great deal, for you were always
affected.
”
He offered to be our cicerone in pointing out all the pretty drives and rides about Genoa; recommended riding as the only means of seeing the country, many of the fine points of view being inaccessible, except on horseback; and he praised Genoa on account of the rare advantage it possessed of having so few English, either as inhabitants or birds of passage.
I was this day again struck by the flippancy of his manner of talking of persons for whom I know he expresses, nay, for whom I believe he feels a regard. Something of this must have shown itself in my manner, for he laughingly observed that he was afraid he should lose my good opinion by his frankness; but that when the fit was on him he could not help saying what he thought, though he often repented it when too late.
He talked of piquant and amusing, and that his imitations were
admirable. “
How can his mother do without him?” said
He said that he had formerly felt very partial to sex so devoted to gossip and scandal, is rather discouraging
to those who are interested in his welfare.
He talked of Indeed I do love
” said though
the pity I feel for his domestic thraldom has something in it akin to contempt. Poor
dear man! he is sadly bullied by
”
laughing with bitterness, “Milady en Reine; which, by the by, in her peculiar
position, shows tact, for she suspects that were she to quit the throne she might be
driven to the anti-chamber; however, with all her faults, she is not
vindictive—as a proof, she never extended her favour to me until after the little
episode respecting her in “
our first and last difference was caused by two very worthless women.”
Observing that we appeared surprised at the extraordinary frankness, to
call it by no harsher name, with which he talked of his ci-devant friends, he added:—“
Don’t think the worse of me for what I have said: the truth is, I have witnessed such gross egotism and want of feeling in”—I observed:—“Lady —— , that I cannot resist speaking my sentiments of her.
But are you not afraid she will hear what you say of her?”—He answered:—“
Were she to hear it, she would act the”as she always does to those who attack her; while to those who are attentive, and court her, she is insolent beyond bearing.aimable ,
Having sat with us above two hours, and expressed his wishes that we might prolong our stay at Genoa, he promised to dine with us on the following Thursday, and took his leave, laughingly apologizing for the length of his visit, adding, that he was such a recluse, and had lived so long out of the world, that he had quite forgotten the usages of it.
He on all occasions professes a detestation of what he calls cant; and says it will banish from England all that is pure and
good; and that while people are looking after the shadow, they lose the substance of
goodness; he says, that the best mode left for conquering it, is to expose it to ridicule, the only weapon, added he, that the
English climate cannot rust. He appears to know every thing that is going on in England;
takes a great interest in the London gossip; and while professing to read no new
publications, betrays, in various ways, a perfect knowledge of every new work.
“I send you to-day’s (the latest) Cupidon
dechainé
, and promises to have it for some time to come. I beg to present my
respects to
When à
l’Anglaise, made by one of our English servants; was helped
twice, and observed, that he hoped he should not shock us by eating so much:
“
But,” added he, “
the truth is, that for several months I have been following a most abstemious” He drank three glasses of champagne, saying, that as he considered it a, living almost entirely on vegetables, and now that I see a good dinner, I cannot resist temptation, though to-morrow I shall suffer for my gourmandise, as I always do when I indulge in luxuries.régime
He talked of
”
said he, “is a thorough good-natured and hospitable man, keeps an excellent table,
and is as fond of good things as I am, but has not my forbearance. I received, some
time ago, a
”
(turning to me) “ Pâté de Perigord, and
finding it excellent, I determined on sharing it with
carried the point?”—I answered, “
Generosity, of course.”—“
No, by” said he, “Jove !
no such thing; selfishness in this case, as in most others, triumphed; I sent the” Seeing us smile at this, he said:—“pâtéto my friendH—— , because I felt that another dinner off it would play the deuce with me; and so you see, after all, he owed themore to selfishness than generosity.pâté
When you know me better, you will find that I am the most selfish person in the world; I have, however, the merit, if it be one, of not only being perfectly conscious of my faults, but of never denying them; and this surely is something, in this age of cant and hypocrisy.”
The journal to which
“I was not in the way when your note came. I have only
time to thank you, and to send the scurvy aspect; but I expect it
to be well in a day or two. I will subscribe to the Improving Society.
I received your billet at dinner, which was a good
one—with a sprinkling of female foreigners, who, I dare say, were very
agreeable. As I have formed a sullen resolution about presentations, which I
never break, (above once a month), I begged —— to dispense me from
being introduced, and intrigued for myself a place as far remote as possible
from his fair guests, and very near a bottle of the best wine to confirm my
misogyny. After coffee, I had accomplished my retreat as far as the hall, on
full tilt towards your Thé, which I was very eager
to partake of, when I was arrested by —— requesting that I would
make my bow to the blue, and of course entitled to the homage of all
persons who have been printed. I returned, and it was then too late to detain
“I thank you for quizzing me and my ‘learned Thebans.’ I
assure you, my notions on that score are limited to getting away with a whole
skin, or sleeping quietly with a broken one, in some of my old Glens where I
used to dream in my former excursions. I should See
“What the éclat. I have seen enough of that in my
time, to rate it at its value. I wish
“I return the poesy, which will form a new light, to
lighten the Irish, and will, I hope, be duly appreciated by the public. I have
not returned Miledi’s verses, because I am not aware of the
error she mentions, and see no reason for the alteration; however, if she
insists, I must be conformable. I write in haste, having a visitor.
“I avize you that the Reading Association have received
numbers of English publications, which you may like to see, and as you are a
member, should avail yourself of early. I have just returned my share before
its time, having kept the books one day instead of five, which latter is the utmost allowance. The rules
obliged me to forward it to a
“P.S. I request you to present my compliments to
* His abridgement for
I thought that I had answered your
note. I ought, and beg you to excuse the omission. I should have called, but I
thought my chance of finding you at home in the
environs, greater than at the hotel. not dining with you again after so many dinners, ill;
but the truth is, that your banquets are too luxurious for my habits, and I
feel the effect of them in this warm weather, for some time after. I am sure
you will not be angry, since I have already more than sufficiently abused your
hospitality. Miledi and to
“I find that I was elected a Member of the Greek
Committee in March, but did not receive the
lira in clear but deep water,
I imbibed so much water through my ears, as gave me a
In all his conversations relative to A day will arrive when I shall be avenged. I feel that I shall not
live long, and when the grave has closed over me, what must she feel!
” All
who wish well to
When
tête-à-tête, and he becomes
sententious, abandoning himself to the subject, and seeming to think aloud, though his
language has the appearance of stiffness, and is quite opposed to the trifling chit-chat
that he enters into when in general society. I attribute this to his having lived so much
alone, as also to the desire he now professes of applying himself to prose writing. He
affects a sort of
A friend of ours,
Talking of literary women, * Here follow the letters in She declaimed
to you instead of conversing with you,
” said he, “never pausing
except to take breath; and if during that interval a rejoinder was put in, it was
evident that she did not attend to it, as she resumed the thread of her discourse as
though it had not been interrupted.
” This observation from
” continued
was very eloquent when her imagination warmed,
(and a very little excited it;) her powers of imagination were much stronger than her
reasoning ones, perhaps owing to their being much more frequently exercised; her
language was recondite, but redundant, and though always flowery, and often brilliant,
there was an obscurity that left the impression that she did not perfectly understand
what she endeavoured to render intelligible to others. She was always losing herself in
philosophical disquisition, and once she got entangled in the mazes of the labyrinth of
metaphysics; she had no clue by which she could guide her path—the imagination
that led her into her difficulties, could not get her out of them; the want of a
mathematical education, which might have served as a ballast to steady and help her
into the port of reason, was always visible, and though she had great tact in
concealing her defeat, and covering a retreat, a tolerable logician must have always
discovered the scrapes
la décence
Anglaise. Poor
She‘ Qui de son sexe n’a pas l’esprit, De son sexe è tout le malheur.’
SUR LA GROSSESSE DE MADAME DE STAËL .Quel esprit! quel talent! quel sublime génie! En elle tout aspire à l’immortalité; Et jusqu’à son hydropisie, Rien n’est perdu pour la posterité.”
PORTRAIT DE MADAME DE STAËL .Armande à pour esprit des momens de délire, Armande à pour vertu le mépris des appas: Elle craint le railleur que sans cesse elle inspire, Elle évite l’amant que ne la cherche pas: Puisqu’elle n’a point l’art de cacher son visage, Et qu’elle à la fureur de montrer son esprit, Il faut la défier de cesser d’être sage Et d’entendre ce qu’elle dit.”
“The giving the epigrams to me, a brother of the craft of authors, was worthy of a
friend, and was another proof, if proof were wanting, of the advantages of friends:
” continued
jetty locks at me:’ ten years hence, if we both live so
long, you will allow that I am right, though you now think me a cynic for saying all
this. had peculiar satisfaction in
impressing on her auditors the severity of the persecution she underwent from
”
I could not suppress the smile that Oh! I see what you are smiling at; you
think that I have described my own case, and proved myself guilty of vanity.
”
I allowed that I thought so, as he had a thousand times repeated to me, that he was feared
and detested in England, which I never would admit. He tried various arguments to prove to
me that it was not vanity, but a knowledge of the fact, that made him believe himself
detested: but I, continuing to smile, and look incredulous, he got really displeased, and
said:—“You have such a provoking memory, that you compare notes of all
one’s different opinions, so that one is sure to get into a
scrape.
” au contraire, the tendencies of both her novels
were supereminently moral. I begged that we might not enter on
“I told her that
” passions, by all young ladies with imaginations exalté, and that she had much to answer
for. Had you seen her! I now wonder how I had courage to go on; but I was in one of my
humours, and had heard of her commenting on me one day, so I determined to pay her off.
She told me that I, above
little (which he suspects) in his character, great that he does not give himself credit
for: his first impulses are always good, but his temper, which is impatient, prevents his
acting on the cool dictates of reason; and it appears to me, that in judging himself,
He affects to dislike hearing his works praised or referred to; I say
affects, because I am sure the dislike is not real or natural; as he who loves praise, as
au courant and any little scandal amuses him very much. I
observed this to him one day, and added, that I thought his mind had been too great to
descend to such trifles! he laughed, and said with mock gravity, “
Don’t you know that the trunk of an elephant, that can lift the most ponderous weights, disdains not to take up the most minute? This is the case with my” saidgreatmind, (laughing anew,) and you must allow the simile is worthy the subject. Jesting apart, I do like a little scandal—I believe all English people do. An Italian lady,Madame Benzoni , talking to me on the prevalence of this taste among my compatriots, observed, that when she first knew the English, she thought them the most spiteful and ill-natured people in the world, from hearing them constantly repeating evil of each other; but having seen various amiable traits in their characters, she hadarrived at the conclusion, that they were not naturally méchant; but that living in a country like England, where severity of morals punishes so heavily any dereliction from propriety, each individual, to prove personal correctness, was compelled to attack thesinsof his or her acquaintance, as it furnished an opportunity of expressing their abhorrence by words, instead of proving it by actions, which might cause some self-denial to themselves. This,
was an ingenious, as well as charitable supposition; and we must all allow that it is infinitely more easy to decry and expose the sins of others than to correct our own; and many find the first so agreeable an occupation, that it precludes the second—this at least, is my case.”
“The Italians do not understand the English,
” said indeed, how can they? for they (the Italians)
are frank, simple, and open in their natures, following the bent of their inclinations,
which they do not believe to be wicked; while the English, to conceal the indulgence of
theirs, daily practise hypocrisy, falsehood, and uncharitableness; so that to
” one error is added many
crimes.
About this period the gène of finding oneself
with people of totally different habits and feelings, was ill repaid by the respect their
civility indicated.
*
I have observed in vice versa, turning serious
events into ridicule; he is extremely superstitious, and seems offended with those who
cannot, or will not, partake this weakness. He has frequently touched on this subject, and
tauntingly observed to me, that I must believe myself wiser than him, because I was not
superstitious. I answered, that the vividness of his imagination, which was proved by his
works, furnished a sufficient excuse for his superstition, which was caused by an
over-excitement of that faculty; but that I not being blessed by the
camera lucida of imagination, could have no
excuse for the
” I replied, that as I had never talked to him of pictures, I hoped he would give me credit for being sincere in my admiration of them; but he was in no humour to give one credit for any thing on this occasion, as he felt that our giving a preference to seeing sights, when we might have passed the hours with him, was not flattering to his vanity. I should say thatAmatori senza Amore, and Conoscitori senza Cognizione.
Talking one day of his domestic misfortunes, as he always called his
separation from
And canst thou bare thy breast to vulgar eyes? And canst thou show the wounds that rankle there? Methought in noble hearts that sorrow lies Too deep to suffer coarser minds to share. The wounds inflicted by the hand we love, (The hand that should have warded off each blow,) Are never heal’d, as aching hearts can prove, But sacredshould the stream of sorrow flow.If friendship’spity quells not real grief,Can publicpity soothe thy woes to sleep?—No! Byron , spurn such vain, such weak relief,And if thy tears must fall—in secret weep.
He never appeared to so little advantage as when he talked sentiment: this did not at all strike me at first; on the contrary, it excited a powerful interest for him; but when he had vented his spleen in sarcasms, and pointed ridicule on sentiment, reducing all that is noblest in our natures to the level of common every-day life, the charm was broken, and it was impossible to sympathize with him again. He observed something of this, and seemed dissatisfied and restless when he perceived that he could no longer excite either strong sympathy or astonishment. Notwithstanding all these contradictions in this wayward, spoiled child of genius, the impression left on my mind was, that he had both sentiment and romance in his nature; but that, from the love of displaying his wit and astonishing his hearers, he affected to despise and ridicule them.