Mrs. Evans has given me your welcome letter; I cannot express to you how much I was delighted at hearing that you had not forgotten me. I passed only a few months in Italy, where I saw the most beautiful woman in the world, who since died in her husband’s palace at Florence, surrounded by friends, and conjugally regretted by Prince Borghese! He buried her in the handsomest chapel in Europe. She left a legacy to my son of twenty thousand francs. Voila en peu de mots ci que j’ai a dire de la Princesse Pauline. I have been pour mes péchés, a great deal in Geneva—that centre of prudery, heartlessness, and illiberal feelings. I left it with pleasure, and hope that I never shall return to it. I have paid a short visit to America. “Aux cœurs bien nés la patrie est chère” which does not mean that one should not prefer the séjour of Paris to that of the dullest place on earth. Lafayette was caressed, adored, and substantially rewarded. I saw him in Baltimore, and talked to him of you, whom he loves and admires, malgré le temps et l’absence; Miss Wright was with him, or near him, all the time he was in America. She intends writing something of which he is to be the hero. Why did Moore destroy Lord Byron’s memoirs? It was a breach of confidence—they were intended for publication.
| 222 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
You are very kind in inquiring after my father and my son. The former is living, the latter has grown up handsome—a classical profile, and un esprit juste. He is in America. My health is, as usual, neither good nor bad—nerves very tormenting, mind, as formerly, discontented, although I flatter myself that I am growing more patient of injustice and egotism. What do you say of De Genlis? Her memoirs are said to be peu véridiques. People seem to be disappointed that she does not relate her gallantries; but of course she thinks, que cela va sans dire. One of her truisms is, that Madame de Villette was convinced of the truth of the Christian religion—a conviction that our poor dear friend certainly imparted to none of those who lived with her. Genlis has pleased no one by the publication of this work of imagination—the drippings and last squeezings of her brain. She lives at Mantes, with Casimir, the boy whom elle avait ramassé en Allemagne. He is infected with her devotion, or her hypocrisy, or both.
Poor Dénon
is dead; Madame D’Houchin is, I hear, dreadfully
grieved at her deplorable veuvage du
cœur. Nothing can, I think, console for the loss of a
person whom one has loved and been loved by. Madame
Capodoce is here, regretting poor M. de
Brito, who died some time since; she looks dreadfully
ill—her husband now lives with her after an absence of thirty years.
“Un mari suffit rarement pour remplir le
cœur” was said to you by Madame Suard—this agreeable person is still living, and
folle comme autrefois. Do you
know a dull writer called Julien, who publishes
| THE YEAR 1825. | 223 |
PS.—Warden is as usual; he never leaves the Faubourg St. Germain. I have no doubt that he has un sentiment—nothing else could keep any one there. What do you think of Miss Harriet Wilson’s life, written by herself? Every one reads it. She is living in Paris, which seems to be the favourite residence of all naughty English women. Miss Harriet is married to a very handsome man, who was willing to make an honest woman of her. I have fifty scandalous things to tell you; but I write in haste that I may send my letter to England by a friend. I have been in Paris only a few days; I have seen no one. All the people whom I knew are dead or absent.
