The Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth, Vol. 1

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> The Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth, Vol. 1

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I think it right to mention these facts, because I know that the lessons
of self-command which she inculcates in her works were really acted upon
in her own life, and that the resolution with which she devoted herself
to her father and her family, and the industry with which she laboured
at the writings which she thought were for the advantage of her
fellow-creatures, were from the exertion of the highest principle. Her
precepts were not the maxims of cold-hearted prudence, but the result of
her own experience in strong and romantic feeling. By what accident it
happened that she had, long before she ever saw the Chevalier
Edelcrantz, chosen Sweden for the scene of _The Knapsack_ I do not know,
but I remember his expressing his admiration of that beautiful little
piece, and his pleasure in the fine characters of the Swedish gentleman
and peasants.

CHARLOTTE EDGEWORTH _to_ MRS. CHARLOTTE SNEYD.

RUE DE LILLE, CHEZ LE CITOYEN VERBER,

_Dec. 8, 1802._

MY DEAR AUNT CHARLOTTE--One of the great objects of a visit to Paris
was, you know, to see Buonaparte; the review is, as you see by the
papers, over, and my father has not spoken to the great man--no, he did
not wish it. All of our distant friends will be I am afraid
disappointed, but some here think that my father's refusal to be
presented to him shows a proper pride. All the reasons for this mode of
conduct will serve perhaps for debate, certainly for conversation when
we return.

Madame Suard says that those societies are most agreeable where there
are fewest women: if there were not women superior to her I should not
hesitate to assent to her proposition, and I should with pleasure read
Madame de Stael's book called _Le Malheur d'etre femme._ If, on the
contrary, all women were Madame de Pastorets, or Madame Delesserts, or
Madame Gautiers, I think I should take up the book with the intention
not to be convinced.

Some of the most horrible revolutionists were the most skilled in the
sciences, and are held in the utmost detestation by numbers of sensible
men who admire their ingenuity and talents. We saw one of these, a
teacher at one of the chief Academies, and my father, who was standing
near him, heard him, after having been talking on several most amusing
and interesting subjects, give one of the deepest sighs he ever heard.

The Abbe de Lille reads poetry particularly well, his own verses in a
superior manner: we heard him, and were extremely pleased. He is very
old, and so blind that his wife, whom he calls "Mon Antigone," is
obliged to lead him.

As you may suppose, we go as often as we can to the Gallery. I thank my
dear Aunt Mary for thinking of the pleasure I should have in seeing the
Venus de Medicis; she has not yet arrived, but I have seen the Apollo,
who did surprise me! On our way here we had seen many casts of him, and
I have seen with you some prints: I could not have believed that there
could have been so much difference between a copy and the original.

_10th._ You see I am often interrupted. I will introduce you to our
company last night at the Delesserts'. All soirees here begin at nine
o'clock.

"Madame Edgeworth" is announced:--room full without being
crowded--enough light and warmth. M. Delessert _pere_ at a card-table
with a gentleman who is a partner in his bank, and an elderly lady.
There is a warm corner in the room, which is always large enough to
contain Madame Delessert and two or three ladies and gentlemen. Madame
Delessert advances to receive Madame Edgeworth, and invites her to sit
beside her with many kind words and looks. Madame Gautier expresses her
joy at seeing us. Now we are seated. M. Benjamin Delessert advances with
his bow to the ladies. Madame Gautier, my father, and Maria, get
together. M. Pictet, nephew to our dear Pictet, makes his bow and adds a
few words to each. "Mademoiselle Charlotte," says Madame Delessert to
me, "I was just speaking of you." I forget now what she had been saying,
I have only the agreeable idea. Madame Grivel enters, a clever,
good-natured little woman, wife to the partner who is at cards. Enter M.
Francois Delessert and another gentleman. How the company divides and
changes itself I am not at present supposed to know, for young M. Pictet
has seated himself between my mother and me, and has a long conversation
with me, in which Madame Grivel now and then joins: she is on the other
side of me. Mademoiselle Lullin, our friend Pictet's sister, and his and
her virtues are discussed. Physics and meta-physics ensue; harmony,
astonishing power of chords in music, glass broken by vibration, dreams,
Spain--its manners and government. Young M. Pictet has been there:
people there have little to do, because their wants are easily supplied.

Here come tea and cakes, sweetmeats, grapes, cream, and all the goods of
life. The lady who was playing at cards now came and sat beside me,
amusing me for a long time with a conversation on--what do you
think?--Politics and the state of France! M. Francois repeats some good
lines very well. Laughter and merriment. Now we are obliged to go, and
with much sorrow we part.

I see I never told you that we saw the Review, and we _saw_ a man on a
white horse ride down the ranks; we _saw_ that he was a little man with
a pale face, who seemed very attentive to what he was about, and this
was all we _saw_ of Buonaparte.

MARIA EDGEWORTH to MISS SOPHY RUXTON.

PARIS, _Dec. 1802._

I add to the list of remarkables and agreeables the Count and Countess
de Segur, father and mother to our well-bred translator; [Footnote: Of
_Belinda_] she a beautiful grandmother, he a nobleman of the old school,
who adds to agreeable manners a great deal of elegant literature.
Malouet, the amiable and able councillor of the King, must also be added
to your list: we met him yesterday, a fine countenance and simple
manners; he conversed freely with my father, not at all afraid of
_committing_ himself. In general I do not see that prodigious fear of
committing themselves, which makes the company of some English men of
letters and reputation irksome even to their admirers. Mr. Palmer, the
great man of taste, who has lived for many years in Italy, is here, and
is very much provoked that the French can now see all the pictures and
statues he has been admiring, without stirring out of Paris. The Louvre
is now so crowded with pictures, that many of them are seen to
disadvantage. The Domenichino, my Aunt Ruxton's favourite, is not at
present _visible._ Several of the finest pictures are, as they say,
_sick_, and the physicians are busy restoring them to health and beauty.
May they not mar instead of mending! A Raphael which has just come out
of their hospital has the eyes of a very odd sort of modern blue. The
Transfiguration is now in a state of convalescence; it has not yet made
its appearance in public, but we were admitted into the sick-room.

Half Paris is now stark mad about a picture by Guerin of Phedre and
Hippolyte, which they actually think equal to Raphael.

Of the public buildings Les Invalides appears to me the finest; here are
all the flags and standards used in battle, or won from foreign
nations,--a long-drawn aisle of glory that must create ambition in the
rising generation of military in France. We saw here a little boy of
nine years old with his tutor, looking at Turenne's monument, which has
been placed with great taste, alone, with the single word TURENNE upon
the sarcophagus. My father spoke to the little boy and his tutor, who
told him he had come to look at a picture in which the heroic action of
one of the boy's ancestors is portrayed. We went into the hospital
library, and found a circle of old soldiers, sitting round a stove all
reading most comfortably. It was a very pleasing and touching sight. One
who had lost both his hands, and who had iron hooks at the end of his
wrists, was sitting at a table reading _Telemaque_ with great attention;
he turned over the leaves with these hooks.

My aunt asks me what I think of French society? All I have seen of it I
like extremely, but we hear from all sides that we see only the best of
Paris,--the men of literature and the _ancienne noblesse._ _Les nouveaux
riches_ are quite a different set. My father has seen something of them
at Madame Tallien's (now Cabarus), and was disgusted. Madame Recamier is
of quite an opposite sort, though in the first fashion, a graceful and
_decent_ beauty of excellent character. Madame de Souza, the Portuguese
Ambassadress, is a pretty and pleasing woman, authoress of _Adele de
Senanges_, which she wrote in England. Her friends always proclaim her
title as author before her other titles, and I thought her a pleasing
woman before I was told that she had pronounced at Madame Lavoisier's an
eloquent eulogium on _Belinda._ I have never heard any person talk of
dress or fashions since we came to Paris, and very little scandal. A
scandalmonger would be starved here. The conversation frequently turns
on the new _petites pieces_ and little novels which come out every day,
and are talked of for a few days with as much eagerness as a new fashion
in other places. They also talk a vast deal about the little essays of
criticism. In yesterday's _Journal des Debats_, after a flaming
panegyric on Buonaparte, "Et apres avoir parle de l'univers de qui
peut-on parler? Des plus grandes des Poetes--de Racine": then follows a
criticism on _Phedre._

We saw the grand Review the day before yesterday from a window that
looked out on the court of the Louvre and Place de Carousal. Buonaparte
rode down the lines on a fine white Spanish horse. Took off his hat to
salute various generals, and gave us a full view of his pale, thin,
woebegone countenance. He is very little, but much at ease on horseback:
it is said he never appears to so much advantage as on horseback. There
were about six thousand troops, a fine show, well appointed, and some,
but not all, well mounted. On those who had distinguished themselves in
the battle of Marengo all eyes were fixed. While I was looking out of
the window a gentleman came in who had passed many years in Spain: he
began to talk to me about Madrid, and when he heard my name, he said a
Spanish lady is translating _Practical Education_ from the French. She
understands English, and he gave us her address that we may send a copy
of the book to her.

Mr. Knox, who was presented to Buonaparte, and who saw all the wonderful
presentations, says that it was a huddled business, all the world
received in a very small room. Buonaparte spoke more to officers than to
any one else, affected to be gracious to the English. He said,
"L'Angleterre est une grande nation, _aussi bien_ que la France, il faut
que nous soyons amis!" Great men's words, like little men's dreams, are
sometimes to be interpreted by the rule of contraries.

_To_ MRS. MARY SNEYD.

PARIS, _Jan. 10, 1803._

_Siecle reparateur,_ as Monge has christened this century.

I will give you a journal of yesterday: I know you love journals. Got up
and put on our shoes and stockings and cambric muslin gowns, which are
in high esteem here, fur-tippets and _fur-clogs_,--GOD bless Aunt Mary
and Aunt Charlotte for them,--and were in coach by nine o'clock, drove
to the excellent Abbe Morellet's, where we were invited to breakfast to
meet Madame d'Ouditot, the lady who inspired Rousseau with the idea of
Julie. Julie is now seventy-two years of age, a thin woman in a little
black bonnet: she appeared to me shockingly ugly; she squints so much
that it is impossible to tell which way she is looking; but no sooner
did I hear her speak, than I began to like her; and no sooner was I
seated beside her, than I began to find in her countenance a most
benevolent and agreeable expression. She entered into conversation
immediately: her manner invited and could not fail to obtain confidence.
She seems as gay and open-hearted as a girl of fifteen. It has been said
of her that she not only never did any harm, but never suspected any.
She is possessed of that art which Lord Kames said he would prefer to
the finest gift from the queen of the fairies,--the art of seizing the
best side of every object. She has had great misfortunes, but she has
still retained the power of making herself and her friends happy. Even
during the horrors of the Revolution, if she met with a flower, a
butterfly, an agreeable smell, a pretty colour, she would turn her
attention to these, and for the moment suspend her sense of misery, not
from frivolity, but from real philosophy. No one has exerted themselves
with more energy in the service of her friends. I felt in her company
the delightful influence of a cheerful temper, and soft attractive
manners,--enthusiasm which age cannot extinguish, and which spends but
does not waste itself on small but not trifling objects. I wish I could
at seventy-two be such a woman! She told me that Rousseau, whilst he was
writing so finely on education, and leaving his own children in the
Foundling Hospital, defended himself with so much eloquence that even
those who blamed him in their hearts, could not find tongues to answer
him. Once at dinner, at Madame d'Ouditot's, there was a fine pyramid of
fruit. Rousseau in helping himself took the peach which formed the base
of the pyramid, and the rest fell immediately. "Rousseau," said she,
"that is what you always do with all our systems; you pull down with a
single touch, but who will build up what you pull down?" I asked if he
was grateful for all the kindness shown to him? "No, he was ungrateful:
he had a thousand bad qualities, but I turned my attention from them to
his genius and the good he had done mankind."

After an excellent breakfast, including tea, chocolate, coffee, buttered
and unbuttered cakes, good conversation, and good humour, came M.
Cheron, husband of the Abbe Morellet's niece, who is translating _Early
Lessons_, French on one side and English on the other. Didot has
undertaken to publish the _Rational Primer_, which is much approved of
here for teaching the true English pronunciation.

Then we went to a lecture on Shorthand, or _Passigraphy_, and there we
met Mr. Chenevix, who came home to dine with us, and stayed till nine,
talking of Montgolfier's _belier_ for throwing water to a great height.
We have seen it and its inventor: something like Mr. Watt in manner, not
equal to him in genius. He had received from M. de la Poype a letter my
father wrote some years ago about the method of guiding balloons, and as
far as he could judge he thought it might succeed.

We went with Madame Recamier and the Russian Princess Dalgourski to La
Harpe's house, to hear him repeat some of his own verses. He lives in a
wretched house, and we went up dirty stairs, through dirty passages,
where I wondered how fine ladies' trains and noses could go, and were
received in a dark small den by the philosopher, or rather devot, for he
spurns the name of philosopher: he was in a dirty reddish night-gown,
and very dirty nightcap bound round the forehead with a superlatively
dirty chocolate-coloured ribbon. Madame Recamier, the beautiful, the
elegant, robed in white satin trimmed with white fur, seated herself on
the elbow of his armchair, and besought him to repeat his verses.
Charlotte has drawn a picture of this scene. We met at La Harpe's Lady
Elizabeth Foster and Lady Bessborough: very engaging manners.

We were a few days ago at a Bal d'Enfants; this you would translate a
children's ball, and so did we, till we were set right by the
learned:--not a single child was at this ball, and only half a dozen
unmarried ladies: it is a ball given by mothers to their grown-up
children. Charlotte appeared as usual to great advantage, and was much
admired for her ease and unaffected manners. She danced one English
country dance with M. de Crillon, son of the Gibraltar Duke: when she
stood up, a gentleman came to me and exclaimed, "Ah, Mademoiselle votre
soeur va danser, nous attendons le moment ou elle va _paraitre._" She
appeared extremely well from not being anxious to appear at all. To-day
we stayed at home to gain time for letters, etc., but thirteen visitors,
besides the washerwoman, prevented our accomplishing all our great and
good purposes. The visitors were all, except the washerwoman, so
agreeable, that even while they interrupted us, we did not know how to
wish them gone.

* * * * *

On the 27th January Mr. Edgeworth received a peremptory order from the
French Government to quit Paris immediately. He went with Maria to the
village of Passy. Their friend, Madame Gautier, generously offered to
them the use of her house there, but they would not compromise her. M.
de Pastoret and M. Delessert visited Mr. Edgeworth the next morning,
fearless of Buonaparte and his orders, and the day after M. Pictet and
M. Le Breton came to say that he could return to Paris. There had been
some misapprehension from Mr. Edgeworth having been supposed to be
brother to the Abbe Edgeworth. He wrote to Lord Whitworth that he would
never deny or give up the honour of being related to the Abbe. Lord
Whitworth advised him to state the exact degree of relationship, which
he did, and we heard no more of the matter. [Footnote: The Abbe
Edgeworth (who called himself M. de Firmont, from the estate possessed
by his branch of the family) was first cousin once removed to Mr.
Edgeworth, being the son of Essex, fifth son of Sir John Edgeworth, and
brother to Mr. Edgeworth's grandfather, Colonel Francis Edgeworth of
Edgeworthstown.]

MISS CHARLOTTE EDGEWORTH _to_ C.S. EDGEWORTH. PARIS, _Feb. 21, 1803._

We went yesterday to see the consecration of a Bishop at Notre Dame, and
here I endured with satisfaction most intense cold for three hours, and
saw a solemn ridiculous ceremony, and heard music that went through me:
I could not have believed that sounds could have been so fine: the
alternate sounds of voices and the organ, or both together, and then the
faint, distant murmur of prayers: each peal so much in harmony as to
appear like one note beginning softly, rising, rising, rising,--then
dying slowly off. There was one man whose voice was so loud, so full and
clear, that it was equal to the voices of three men. The church itself
is very fine: we were placed so as to see below us the whole ceremony.
The solemnity of the manner in which they walked, their all being
dressed alike, and differently from the rest of the people, rendered
these priests a new set of beings. The ceremony appeared particularly
ridiculous, as we could not hear a word that was said, because the
church is so large, and we were at too great a distance, and all we
could see was a Bishop dressing or undressing, or lying on the ground!
The Archbishop of Paris, who performed the chief part of the ceremony,
is a man about eighty years of age, yet he had the strength to go
through the fatigue which such a ceremony requires for three hours
together in very great cold, and every action was performed with as much
firmness as a man of fifty could do it, and there was but one part which
he left out,--the walking round along with the other bishops with the
cross borne before them. We were told that he has often gone through
similar fatigue, and in the evening, or an hour after, amused a company
at dinner with cheerful, witty conversation: he is not a man of letters,
but he has abilities and knowledge of the world. All these men were
remarkably tall and fine-looking, some very venerable: there were about
sixty assembled. It appears extraordinary that there should not be one
little or mean-looking among a set of people who are not like soldiers
chosen for their height, and as they must have come from different parts
of France. I think there is a greater variety of sizes among the French
than among us: if all the people who stand in the street of
Edgeworthstown every Sunday were Frenchmen, you would see ten remarkably
little for one that you see there, and ten remarkably tall. I think
there are more remarkably tall men in Ireland than in England. Maria is
writing a story, [Footnote: Miss Edgeworth made a sketch for the story
of _Madame de Fleury_ about this time, but did not finish it till long
afterwards. The incident of the locked-up children was told to her by
Madame de Pastoret, to whom it happened, and Maria took the name De
Fleury from M. de Pastoret's country house, the Chateau de Fleury.] and
has a little table by the fire, at which she sits as she used to do at
Edgeworthstown for half an hour together without stirring, with her pen
in her hand; then she scribbles on very fast. My father intends to
present his lock, with a paper giving some account of it, by way of
introduction to the society of which he is a member, _La Societe pour
encourager les arts et metiers._ I suppose you see in the newspapers
that the ancient Academy is again established under the name of the
Institute?

MRS. EDGEWORTH _to_ MRS. MARY SNEYD.

PARIS, _Feb. 22, 1803._

The cough you mention has been epidemic here. The thermometer as low as
9 deg. on the morning of the 15th; next day 40 deg., and the most charming
weather has succeeded: the streets have been so well washed by the rain
and scraped by the snow-cleaners, that they are actually dry and clean
for the first time since October, which is fortunate, as the streets are
crowded with people for the carnival, some in masks, some disguised as
apothecaries, old women, harlequins, and knights-errant, followed by
hundreds and thousands of men, women, and children, to whom they say
what they can, generally nonsense devoid of wit.

Last Thursday, _jeudi-gras_, we dined at two, and were at St. Germain at
six, at Madame Campan's, where we had been invited to see some plays
acted by her pupils. The little theatre appeared already full when we
entered. We stood a few seconds near the door, when Madame Campan cried
out from above, "Placez Madame Edgeworth, faites monter Madame et sa
compagnie." So we went up to the gallery, where we had very good places
next to a Polish Princess and half a dozen of her countrywomen, who are
all polite and well-bred. The crowd increased, many more than there was
room for. The famous Madame Visconti and Lady Yarmouth sat behind us.
Lady Elizabeth Foster and Lady Bessborough not far from us; and below
there were a number of English, the Duchess of Gordon and her beautiful
daughter, Lady Georgiana. Madame Louis Buonaparte, who had been one of
Madame Campan's _eleves_, was the principal Frenchwoman. The piece,
_Esther_, was performed admirably; the singing of the choir of young
girls charming, and the _petite piece, La Rosiere de Salency_, was
better still: you know it is a charming thing, and was made so touching
as to draw tears from every eye.

* * * * *

Mrs. Edgeworth writes:

At the time this letter was written rumours that war would break out
with England began to be prevalent in Paris. Mr. Edgeworth inquired
among his friends, who said they feared it was true. He decided to set
out immediately, and we began to pack up. Other friends contradicted
this fear. We were anxious on another account to leave Paris, from the
bad state of Henry Edgeworth's health, his friends at Edinburgh urging
us to go there to see him. Better news of him, and the hope that the
rumours of war were unfounded, made us suspend our packing. M. Le Breton
called, and said he was sure of knowing before that evening the truth as
to Buonaparte's warlike intentions, and that if Mr. Edgeworth met him at
a friend's that night, he would know by his suddenly putting on his hat
that war was imminent. He was unable to visit us again, and afraid if he
wrote that his letter might be intercepted, and still more was he afraid
of being overheard if he said anything at the party where they were to
meet. Mr. Edgeworth went, and saw M. Le Breton, who did suddenly put on
his hat, and on Mr. Edgeworth's return to us he said we must go.

The next day was spent in taking leave of our kind friends, from whom we
found it so painful to part, and who expressed so much regret at losing
us, and so much doubt as to the probability of war, that Mr. Edgeworth
promised that if on his arrival in London, his Paris friends wrote to
say Peace, he would return to them, and bring over the rest of his
family from Ireland for a year's residence.

MARIA EDGEWORTH _to_ MRS. MARY SNEYD.

CALAIS, _March 4, 1803._

At last, my dear Aunt Mary, we have actually left Paris. Perhaps we may
be detained here for some days, as the wind is directly against us; but
we have no reason to lament, as we are in Grandsire's excellent house,
and have books and thoughts enough to occupy us. Thoughts of friends
from whom we have parted, and of friends to whom we are going. How few
people in this world are so rich in friends! When I reflect upon the
kindness which has been shown to us abroad, and upon the affection that
awaits us at home, I feel afraid that I shall never be able to deserve
my share of all this happiness.

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