The Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth, Vol. 1

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Watt is at this moment himself the best encyclopedia extant; I dare not
attempt to tell you half he said: it would be a volume. Chantrey has
made a beautiful, mean an admirable, bust of him. Chantrey and Canova
are now making rival busts of Washington.

I must hop, skip, and jump as I can from subject to subject. Mr. and
Mrs. Moilliet took us in the evening to a lecture on poetry, by
Campbell, who has been invited by a Philosophical Society of Birmingham
gentlemen to give lectures; they give tickets to their friends. Mr.
Corrie, one of the heads of this society, was _proud_ to introduce us.
Excellent room, with gas spouting from tubes below the gallery. Lecture
good enough. Mr. Campbell introduced to me after lecture; asked very
kindly for Sneyd; many compliments. Mr. Corrie drank tea, after the
lecture, at Mr. Moilliet's--very agreeable benevolent countenance, most
agreeable voice. We liked particularly his enthusiasm for Mr. Watt; he
gave a history of his inventions, and instances of Watt's superiority
both in invention and magnanimity when in competition with others.

Mr. and Mrs. Moilliet have pressed us to come again. Mr. and Mrs. Watt,
ditto, ditto. Mr. Watt almost with tears in his eyes; and I was ashamed
to see that venerable man standing bareheaded at his door to do us the
last [Footnote: It was the last. Mr. Watt died a few months afterwards.]
honour, till the carriage drove away.

I beg your pardon for going backward and forward in this way in my
hurry-skurry. I leave the Stratford-upon-Avon, and Blenheim, and
Woodstock adventures, and Oxford to Honora and Fanny, whose pens have
been going _a l'envie l'une de l'autre_; we are writing so comfortably.
I at my desk with a table to myself, and the most comfortable little
black stuffed arm-chair. Fanny and Ho. at their desks and table near the
fire.

"We must have two pairs of snuffers."

"Yes, my lady, directly."

So now, my lady, good-night; for I am tired, a little, just enough to
pity the civilest and prettiest of Swiss-looking housemaids, who says in
answer to my "We shall come to bed very soon," "Oh dear, my lady, we
bees no ways particular in this house about times o' going to bed."

_To_ MRS. RUXTON.

GROVE HOUSE, KENSINGTON GORE,

_March 1819._

We arrived here on Saturday last; found Lady Elizabeth Whitbread more
kind and more agreeable than ever. Her kindness to us is indeed
unbounded, and would quite overwhelm me but for the delicate and polite
manner in which she confers favours, more as if she received than
conferred them. Her house, her servants, her carriage, her horses, are
not only entirely at my disposal, but she had the good-natured
politeness to go down to the door to desire the coachman to have George
Bristow always on the box with him, as the shaking would be too much for
him behind.

Yesterday we spent two hours at Lady Stafford's. I had most agreeable
conversation with her and Lord Stafford, while Lady Elizabeth Gower
showed the pictures to Honora and Fanny.

Mr. Talbot [Footnote: Son of Lady Talbot de Malahide, a lawyer] is often
here, _l'ami de la maison_ and very much ours. Lady Grey, Lady
Elizabeth's mother, is a fine amiable old lady. Mr. Ellice, the
brother-in-law, very good-humoured and agreeable. Mr. and Mrs. Lefevre,
the son-in-law and daughter, very agreeable, good, and happy. I am more
and more convinced that happiness depends upon what is in the head and
heart more than on what is in the purse or the bank, or on the back or
in the stomach. There must be enough in the stomach, but the sauce is of
little consequence. _By the bye_, Lady Elizabeth's cook is said to be
the best in England; lived with her in the days of her prosperity, as
she says, and has followed her here.

KENSINGTON CORE, _March 24, 1819._

I have a moment to write to you, and I will use it. We are going on just
as when I last wrote to you. We began by steadily settling that we would
not go out to any dinner or evening parties, because we could not do so
without giving up Lady Elizabeth's society; she never goes out but to
her relations. The mornings she spends in her own apartments, and when
we had refused all invitations to dinner our friends were so kind as to
contrive to see us at our own hours: to breakfast or luncheon. Twice
with Lady Lansdowne--luncheon; found her with her children just the same
as at Bowood. Miss Fanshawe's--breakfast; Lord Glenbervie there, very
agreeable; much French and Italian literature--beautiful drawings, full
of genius--if there be such a thing allowed by practical education?

Three breakfasts at dear Mrs. Marcet's; the first quite private; the
second literary, very agreeable; Dr. Holland, Mr. Wishaw, Captain
Beaufort, Mr. Mallet, Lady Yonge; third, Mr. Mill--British India--was
the chief _figurante_; not the least of a _figurante_ though, excellent
in sense and benevolence.

Twice at Mr. Wilberforce's; he lives next door to Lady Elizabeth
Whitbread; there we met Mr. Buxton--admirable facts from him about
Newgate and Spitalfields weavers. One fact I was very sorry to learn,
that Mrs. Fry, that angel woman, was very ill.

Breakfast with Mr. and Mrs. Hope--quite alone--he showed the house to
Honora and Fanny while I sat with Mrs. Hope.

On St. Patrick's Day, by appointment to the Duchess of Wellington,
nothing could be more like Kitty Pakenham; a plate of shamrocks on the
table, and as she came forward to meet me, she gave a bunch to me,
pressing my hand and saying in a low voice with her sweet smile, _Vous
en etes digne._ She asked individually for all her Irish friends. I
showed to her what was said in my father's life, and by me, of Lord
Longford, and the drawing of his likeness, and asked if his family would
be pleased; she spoke very kindly: "would do her father's memory honour;
could not but please every Pakenham." She was obliging in directing her
conversation easily to my sisters as well as to myself. She said she had
purposely avoided being acquainted with Madame de Stael in England, not
knowing how she might be received by the Bourbons, to whom the Duchess
was to be Ambassadress. She found that Madame de Stael was well received
at the Bourbon Court, and consequently she must be received at the Duke
of Wellington's. She arrived, and walking up in full assembly to the
Duchess, with the fire of indignation flashing in her eyes.

"Eh! Madame la Duchesse, vous ne voulez pas donc faire ma connaissance
en Angleterre?"

"Non, Madame, je ne le voulais pas."

"Eh! comment, Madame? Pourquoi donc?"

"C'est que je vous _craignais_, Madame."

"Vous me _craignez_, Madame la Duchesse?"

"Non, Madame, je ne vous crains plus."

Madame de Stael threw her arms round her, "Ah! je vous adore!"

I must end abruptly. No; I have one minute more. While we were at the
Duchess of Wellington's a jeweller's man came in with some bracelets,
one was a shell like your Roman shell cameo, of the Duke's head, of
which she was correcting the profile. She showed us pictures of her
sons, and Fanny sketched from them while we sat with her. We saw in the
hall, or rather in the corner of the staircase, Canova's gigantic
"Apollo-Buonaparte," which was sent from France to the Regent who gave
it to the Duke. It is ten feet high, but I could not judge of it where
it is cooped up--shockingly ill-placed.

Sunday--Lady Harrowby's by invitation, as it is Lord Harrowby's only
holiday. Mr. Ellis, a young man, just entered Parliament, from whom
great things are expected. Mr. Wilmot, and Mr. Frere--Lady Ebrington and
Lady Mary Ryder--Lord Harrowby, most agreeable conversation. Folding
doors thrown open. The Duke of----. Post--letter must go.

_To_ MISS RUXTON.

DUCHESS STREET, MRS. HOPE'S,

_April 2, 1819._

I left off abruptly just as the folding doors were thrown open, and the
Duke of Wellington was announced in such an unintelligible manner that I
did not know what Duke it was, nor did I know till we got into the
carriage who it was--he looks so old and wrinkled. I never should have
known him from likeness to bust or picture. His manner is very
agreeable, perfectly simple and dignified. He said only a few words, but
listened to some literary conversation that was going on, as if he was
amused, laughing once very heartily. Remind me to tell you some
circumstances about Adele de Senange which Lord Harrowby told me, and
two expressions of Madame de Stael's--"On depose fleur a fleur la
couronne de la vie," [Footnote: Miss Edgeworth had quoted this
expression with admiration to Lord Harrowby, objecting to a criticism of
it by M. Dumont, "d'abord la vie n'a pas de couronne." To which Lord
Harrowby replied by quoting Johnson's

Year follows year, decay pursues decay,
Still drops from life some withering joy away.

It was to this conversation that the Duke of Wellington listened with
smiling attention.] and "Le silence est l'antichambre de la mort."

Mr. Hope is altered, and he has in his whole appearance the marks of
having suffered much. The contrast between his and Mrs. Hope's
depression of spirits and the magnificence of everything about them
speaks volumes of moral philosophy.

They were even more kind than I expected in their manner of receiving
us. One large drawing-room Mr. Hope gave us for the reception of our
friends. Mrs. Hope had not since her coming to town had a dinner party,
but she assembled all the people she thought we might like to see. One
day Miss Fanshawe; another day the Duke and Duchess of Bedford, Lord
Palmerston, Lord and Lady Darnley, and Mr. Ellis; Lady Darnley was very
kind, just what she was when I saw her before. Lady Jersey is
particularly agreeable, and was particularly obliging to us, and gave us
tickets for the French play, now one of the London objects of curiosity.
The Duchess of Bedford talked much to me, and very agreeably of her
travels.

Mrs. Hope was so exhausted by the effort of seeing all these people that
she could not sleep, and looked wretchedly the next day, when nobody was
at dinner but her own sister and Captain Beaufort. Next day, Lady
Tankerville and her daughter, Lady Mary Bennet, came and sat half an
hour.

_To_ MRS. RUXTON.

KENSINGTON GORE, _April 28, 1819._

We spent ten days delightfully with the kind Hopes at Deepdene, and a
most beautiful place it is. The valley of Dorking is so beautiful that
even Rasselas would not have desired to escape from that happy valley.
Fanny was well enough to enjoy everything, especially some rides on a
stumbling pony with Henry Hope, a fine boy of eleven, well informed, and
very good-natured. We went to see Norbury Park, Mr. Locke's place, and
Wotton, Mr. Evelyn's, and a beautiful cottage of Mrs. Hibbert's, of all
which I shall have much to say to you on my own little stool at your
feet.

We were received on our return here with affectionate kindness by Lady
Elizabeth Whitbread.

Remember that I don't forget to tell you of Lady Bredalbane's having
been left in her carriage fast asleep, and rolled into the coach-house
of an hotel at Florence and nobody missing her for some time, and how
they went to look for her, and how ever so many carriages had been
rolled in after hers, and how she wakened, and--I must sign and seal.

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _July 7, 1819._

At Longford last Sunday we heard an excellent sermon by a Mr. M'Lelland,
the first he ever preached; a terrible brogue, but full of sense and
spirit. Some odd faults--quoting the _Quarterly Review_--citing
"Hogarth's Idle Apprentice"--"the Roman poet tells us," etc.; but it was
altogether new and striking, and contained such a fine address to the
soldiers present on the virtues of peace, after the triumphs of war, as
touched every heart. The soldiers all with one accord looked up to the
preacher at the best passages.

_To_ MRS. SNEYD EDGEWORTH, AT PARIS.

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Sept. 15, 1819._

I rejoice that you and Sneyd are well enough to enjoy the pleasures of
Paris. I do not know what Sneyd can have done to make Madame Recamier
laugh; in my time she never went beyond the smile prescribed by Lord
Chesterfield as graceful in beauty.

This last week we have had the pleasure of having our kind friends Mrs.
and Miss Carr. Except the first day, which was Irish rainy, every day
has been sunshiny, and my mother has taken advantage of the shrievalty
four horses and two yellow jackets to drive about. They went to
Baronston, where there is a link of connection with the Carrs through an
English friend, Mrs. Benyon. Lady Sunderlin and Miss Catherine Malone
did the joint honours of their house most amiably, and gave as fine a
collation of grapes, nectarines, and peaches as France could supply.

Another morning we took a tour of the tenants. Hugh Kelly's house and
parlour and gates and garden, and all that should accompany a
farm-house, as nice as any England could afford. James Allen, though
grown very old, and in a forlorn black shag wig, looked like a
respectable yeoman, "the country's pride," and at my instance brought
out as fine a group of grandchildren as ever graced a cottage lawn.

In driving home at the cross-roads by Corbey we had the good fortune to
come in for an Irish dance, the audience or spectators seated on each
side of the road on opposite benches; all picturesque in the sunshine of
youth and age, with every variety of attitude and expression of
enjoyment. The dancers, in all the vivacity and graces of an Irish jig,
delighted our English friends; and we stood up in the landau for nearly
twenty minutes looking at them.

_To_ MISS RUXTON.

_Oct. 14._

We have been much interested in the life and letters of that most
excellent, amiable, and unpretending Lady Russell. [Footnote: Lady
Rachel Wriothesley, second daughter of Thomas Earl of Southampton, who
married (1) Francis Lord Vaughan; (2) William Lord Russell, the patriot,
beheaded July 21, 1683.] There are touches in these letters which paint
domestic happiness, and the character of a mother and a wife with
beautiful simplicity. I even like Miss Berry much the better for the
manner in which she has edited this book.

_Nov 5._

Have you the fourth number of _Modern Voyages and Travels_ which
contains Chateauvieux's travels in Italy? I have been so much delighted
with it, and feel so sure of its _transporting_ my aunt, that I had
hardly read the last words before I was going to pack it off post-haste
to Black Castle, but Prudence, in the shape of Honora, in a lilac
tabinet gown, whispered, "Better wait till you hear whether they have
read it."

Have I mentioned to you Bassompierre's _Memoirs_? a new edition, with
notes by Croker, which make the pegs on which they hang gay and
valuable. What an extraordinary collection of strange facts and strange
thoughts are dragged together in the _Quarterly Review_ of the
Cemeteries and Catacombs of Paris; the Jewish _House of the Living_; the
excommunicated skeletons coming into the church to parley with the
Bishop; and the Parisian sentimentalist in the country who sent for
barrels of ink from Paris to put his trees in mourning for the death of
his mother; and the fountain, called the _weeping eye_, for the death of
his wife, by the Dane. I hope, my dear friends, that you have been
reading these things, and that they have struck you as they did me;
there are few things pleasanter than these "jumping thoughts."

Now that I have a little time, and eyes to read again, I find it
delightful, and I have a voracious appetite, and a relish for food,
good, bad, and indifferent, I am afraid, like a half-famished,
shipwrecked wretch.

_28th._

Such a scene of lying and counter-lying as we have had with the cook and
her accuser, the kitchen-maid! The cook was dismissed on the spot. One
expression of Peggy Tuite's I must tell you--with her indignant figure
of truth defending herself against falsehood--when Rose, the vile public
accuser, said, in part of her speech, recollecting from Peggy Tuite's
dress, who came clean from chapel, that it was Sunday, "And it's two
masses I have lost by you already!" to which Peggy replied, "Oh, Rose,
the mass is in the heart, not in the chapel! only speak the truth."

* * * * *

Miss Edgeworth's steadiness in resting her eyes, neither reading nor
writing for nearly two years, was rewarded by their complete recovery;
and she was able to read, write, and work with ease and comfort all the
rest of her life.

This autumn of 1819 she was made happy by the return of the two Miss
Sneyds [Footnote: Sisters of her two former stepmothers, the second and
third wives of Mr. R. L. Edgeworth.] from England to Edgeworthstown,
where with short intervals, they continued to reside as long as they
lived.

* * * * *

MARIA _to_ MISS RUXTON.

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Jan. 1, 1820._

Have you seen a life of Madame de Stael by that Madame Neckar de
Saussure, of whom Madame de Stael said, when some one asked, "What sort
of woman is she?" "Elle a tous les talents qu'on me suppose, et toutes
les vertus qui me manquent." Is not that touching and beautiful?

_Jan. 14._

Poor Kitty Billamore breathed her last this morning at one o'clock. A
more faithful, warm-hearted, excellent creature never existed. How many
successions of children of this family she has nursed, and how many she
has attended in illness and death, regardless of her own health! I am
glad that sweet, dear little feeling Francis, her darling, was spared
being here at her death. Harriet, who, next to him, [Footnote: Francis
and Harriet, children of the fourth Mrs. Edgeworth.] had always been a
great favourite, was with her to the last. All the poor people loved
her, and will long feel her loss. Lovell [Footnote: Lovell, only
surviving child of the second Mrs. Edgeworth (Honora Sneyd), who had
succeeded to the property.] intends that she should be buried in the
family vault, as she deserves, for she was more a friend than a servant,
and he will attend her funeral himself.

* * * * *

Having finished the memoirs of her father's life, and settled that they
should be published at Easter, Maria determined to indulge herself in
what she had long projected--a visit to Paris with two of her young
sisters, Fanny and Harriet. They set out on the 3rd of April.

* * * * *

MARIA _to_ MISS LUCY EDGEWORTH.

DUBLIN, _April 10, 1820._

In my letter to my mother of the 8th I forgot--no, I had not time to say
that we had a restive mare at Dunshaughlin, who paid me for all I ever
wrote about Irish posting, and put me in the most horrible and
reasonable apprehension that she would have broken my aunt's carriage to
pieces against the corner of a wall. The crowd of people that assembled,
the shouts, the "never fears," the scolding of the landlord and
postillions, and the group surveying the scene, was beyond anything I
could or can paint. The stage coach drove to the door in the midst of
it, and ladies and bandboxes stopped, and all stood to gaze.

There was also a professional fool in his ass cart with two dogs, one a
white little curly dog, who sat upon the ass's head behind his ears, and
another a black shaggy mongrel, with longish ears, who sat up in a
begging attitude on the hinder part of the ass, and whom the fool-knave
had been tutoring with a broken crutch, as he sat in his covered cart.
Fanny made a drawing of him, and he and his dogs _sat_ for a fivepenny,
which I honestly gave him for his and his dogs' tricks.

* * * * *

Steamboats had only begun to ply between Dublin and Holyhead in 1819,
and Maria Edgeworth's first experience of a steamboat was in crossing
now to Holyhead. She disliked the _jigging_ motion, which she said was
like the shake felt in a carriage when a pig is scratching himself
against the hind wheel while waiting at an Irish inn door.

* * * * *

MARIA _to_ MISS HONORA EDGEWORTH.

MRS. WATT'S, HEATHFIELD,

_April 1820._

I was much surprised at finding that the postillion who drove us from
Wolverhampton could neither tell himself, nor learn from any one up the
road, along the heath, at the turnpike, or even in the very suburbs of
Birmingham, the way to Mr. Watt's! I was as much surprised as we were at
Paris in searching for Madame de Genlis; so we went to Mr. Moilliet's,
and stowed ourselves next day into their travelling landau, as large as
our own old, old delightful coach, and came here.

Oh, my dear Honora, how melancholy to see places the same--persons, and
such persons gone! Mrs. Watt, in deep mourning, coming forward to meet
us alone in that gay trellice, the same books on his table, his picture,
his bust, his image everywhere, _himself_ nowhere upon this earth. Mrs.
Watt has, in that poor little shattered frame, a prodigiously strong
mind; indeed she could not have been so loved by such a man for such a
length of time if she had not superior qualities. She was more kind than
I can express, receiving Fanny and Harriet as if they had been of her
own family.

In the morning I fell to penning this letter, as we were engaged to
breakfast at Mr. James Watt's, at Aston Hall. You remember the fine old
brick palace? Mr. Watt has fitted up half of it so as to make it
superbly comfortable: fine hall, breakfast room, Flemish pictures,
Boulton and Watt at either end. After breakfast, at which was Mr.
Priestly, an American, son of Dr. Priestly, we went over all the
habitable and uninhabitable parts of the house: the banqueting room,
with a most costly, frightful ceiling, and a chimneypiece carved up to
the cornice with monsters, one with a nose covered with scales, one with
human face on a tarantula's body. Varieties of little staircases, and a
garret gallery called Dick's haunted gallery; a blocked-up room called
the King's room; then a modern dressing-room, with fine tables of
Bullock's making, one of wood from Brazil--Zebra wood--and no more to be
had of it for love or money.

But come on to the great gallery, longer than that at Sudbury,--about
one hundred and thirty-six feet long,--and at the farthest end we came
to a sort of oriel, separated from the gallery only by an arch, and
there the white marble bust of the great Mr. Watt struck me almost
breathless. What everybody went on saying I do not know, but my own
thoughts, as I looked down the closing lines of this superb gallery, now
in a half-ruined state, were very melancholy, on life and death, family
pride, and the pride of wealth, and the pride of genius, all so
perishable.

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH.

CANTERBURY, _April 21._

I wrote to your dear father the history of our visit to Mr. Wren's at
Wroxall Abbey, and Kenilworth, and Warwick, and Stratford-upon-Avon, and
our pleasant three hours at Oxford. When we were looking at the theatre,
Mr. Biddulph told us, that when all the Emperors and Kings came with the
Regent, the theatre was filled in every part; but such was the hush you
could have heard a pin drop till the Prince put his foot upon the
threshold, when the whole assembly rose with a tremendous shout of
applause. The Prince was supremely gratified, and said to the Emperor of
Russia, "You heard the London mob hoot me, but you see how I am received
by the young gentlemen of England!"

When Lord Grenville was installed as chancellor, he was, the instant he
look his seat, assailed with loud hisses and groans. Mr. Biddulph said
he admired the dignity with which Lord Grenville behaved, and the
presence of mind of the Bishop of Peterborough (Parsons), who said in
Latin, "Either this disturbance must instantly cease, or I dismiss you
from this assembly!" Dead silence ensued.

PARIS, PLACE DU PALAIS BOURBON,

_April 29._

One moment of reward for two days of indescribable hurry I have at this
quiet interval after breakfast, and I seize it to tell you that Fanny is
quite well: so far for health. For beauty, I have only to say that I am
told by everybody that my sisters are _lovely_ in English, and
_charmantes_ in French. Last night was their _debut_ at Lady
Granard's--a large assembly of all manner of lords, ladies, counts,
countesses, princes, and princesses, French, Polish, and Italian:
Marmont and Humboldt were there. I was told by several persons of rank
and taste--Lady Rancliffe, the Countess de Salis, Lady Granard, Mrs.
Sneyd Edgeworth, _and_ a Polish Countess, that my sister's dress, the
grand affair at Paris, was _perfection_, and I believed it! Humboldt is
excessively agreeable, but I was twice taken from him to be introduced
to grandeurs, just as we had reached the most interesting point of
conversation.

_May 3rd._

On Sunday we went with the Comtesse de Salis and the Baronne de Salis,
who is also Chanoinesse, but goes into the world in roses and pink
ribbons nevertheless, and is very agreeable, moreover, and with M. Le
Baron, an officer in the Swiss Guards, an old bachelor, to St. Sulpice,
to hear M. Fressenus. He preached in the Kirwan style, but with
intolerable monotony of thumping eloquence, against _les Liberaux_,
Rousseau, etc.; it seemed to me old stuff, ill embroidered, but it was
much applauded. _Mem._: the _audience_ were not half so attentive or
silent at St. Sulpice as they were at the Theatre Francais the night
before.

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