Читать книгу The Idler in France - Countess of Marguerite Blessington - Страница 18

June, 1828.—A fatiguing journey, over dusty roads, and in intensely hot weather, has brought us to Paris, with no accident save the failure of one of the wheels of our large landau—a circumstance that caused the last day's travelling to be any thing but agreeable; for though our courier declared the temporary repair it received rendered it perfectly safe, I was by no means satisfied on the point.

We have taken up our abode in the Hôtel de la Terrasse, Rue de Rivoli, are well-lodged, but somewhat incommoded by the loud reverberation of the pavement, as the various vehicles roll rapidly over it. We were told that "it would be nothing when we got used to it"—an assertion, the truth of which, I trust, we shall not remain sufficiently long to test; for I have a peculiar objection to noise of every kind, and a long residence in Italy has not conquered it.

So here we are, once more, at Paris, after six years' absence from it; and I find all that has hitherto met my eyes in it in statu quo. How many places have I seen during that period; how many associations formed; how many and what various impressions received; and here is every thing around looking so precisely as I left them, that I can hardly bring myself to believe that I have indeed been so many years absent!

When we bring back with us the objects most dear, and find those we left unchanged, we are tempted to doubt the lapse of time; but one link in the chain of affection broken, and every thing seems altered.

On entering Paris, I felt my impatience to see our dear friends there redouble; and, before we had despatched the dinner awaiting our arrival, the Duc and Duchesse de Guiche, came to us. How warm was our greeting; how many questions to be asked and answered; how many congratulations and pleasant plans for the future to be formed; how many reminiscences of our mutual séjour in dear Italy to be talked over!

The Duchesse was radiant in health and beauty, and the Duc looking, as he always does, more distingué, than any one else—the perfect beau idéal of a nobleman.

We soon quitted the salle à manger; for who could eat during the joy of a first meeting with those so valued?—Not I, certainly; and all the rest of our party were as little disposed to do honour to the repast commanded for us.

It was a happy evening. Seated in the salon, and looking out on the pleasant gardens of the Tuileries, the perfume of whose orange-trees was wafted to us by the air as we talked over old times, and indulged in cheerful anticipations of new ones, and the tones of voices familiar to the ears thus again restored, were heard with emotion.

Yes, the meeting of dear friends atones for the regret of separation; and like it so much enhances affection, that after absence one wonders how one has been able to stay away from them so long.

Too excited to sleep, although fatigued, I am writing down my impressions; yet how tame and colourless they seem on paper when compared with the emotions that dictate them! How often have I experienced the impossibility of painting strong feelings during their reign!

[Mem.—We should be cautious in giving implicit credit to descriptions written with great power, as I am persuaded they indicate a too perfect command of the faculties of the head to admit the possibility of those of the heart having been much excited when they were written.

This belief of mine controverts the assertion of the poet—

"He best can paint them who has felt them most."

Except that the poet says who has felt; yes, it is after, and not when most felt that sentiments can be most powerfully expressed. But to bed! to bed!]

I have had a busy day; engaged during the greater portion of it in the momentous occupation of shopping. Every thing belonging to my toilette is to be changed, for I have discovered—"tell it not in Gath"—that my hats, bonnets, robes, mantles, and pelisses, are totally passée de mode, and what the modistes of Italy declared to be la dernière mode de Paris is so old as to be forgotten here.

The woman who wishes to be a philosopher must avoid Paris! Yesterday I entered it, caring or thinking as little of la mode as if there were no such tyrant; and lo! to-day, I found myself ashamed, as I looked from the Duchess de Guiche, attired in her becoming and pretty peignoir à la neige and chapeau du dernier goût, to my own dress and bonnet, which previously I had considered very wearable, if not very tasteful.

Our first visit was to Herbault's, the high-priest of the Temple of Fashion at Paris; and I confess, the look of astonishment which he bestowed on my bonnet did not help to reassure my confidence as to my appearance.

The Duchesse, too quick-sighted not to observe his surprise, explained that I had been six years absent from Paris, and only arrived the night before from Italy. I saw the words à la bonne heure hovering on the lips of Herbault, he was too well-bred to give utterance to them, and immediately ordered to be brought forth the choicest of his hats, caps, and turbans.

Oh, the misery of trying on a new mode for the first time, and before a stranger! The eye accustomed to see the face to which it appertains enveloped in a chapeau more or less large or small, is shocked at the first attempt to wear one of a different size; and turns from the contemplation of the image presented in the glass with any thing but self-complacency, listening incredulously to the flattering encomiums of the not disinterested marchand de modes, who avers that "Ce chapeau sied parfaitement à Madame la Comtesse, et ce bonnet lui va à ravir."

I must, however, render M. Herbault the justice to say, that he evinced no ordinary tact in suggesting certain alterations in his chapeaux and caps, in order to suit my face; and, aided by the inimitable good taste of the Duchesse, who passes for an oracle in affaires de modes à Paris, a selection was made that enabled me to leave M. Herbault's, looking a little more like other people.

From his Temple of Fashion we proceeded to the lingère à la mode, Mdlle. La Touche, where canezous and robes de matin were to be chosen and ordered; and we returned to the Hôtel de la Terrasse, my head filled with notions of the importance of dressing à la mode, to which yesterday it was a stranger, and my purse considerably lightened by the two visits I had paid.

Englishwomen who have not made their purchases at the houses of the marchandes de modes considered the most recherché at Paris, have no idea of the extravagance of the charges. Prices are demanded that really make a prudent person start; nevertheless, she who wishes to attain the distinction so generally sought, of being perfectly well dressed, which means being in the newest fashion, must submit to pay largely for it.

Three hundred and twenty francs for a crape hat and feathers, two hundred for a chapeau à fleurs, one hundred for a chapeau négligé de matin, and eighty-five francs for an evening-cap composed of tulle trimmed with blonde and flowers, are among the prices asked, and, to my shame be it said, given.

It is true, hats, caps, and bonnets may be had for very reasonable prices in the shops in the Rue Vivienne and elsewhere at Paris, as I and many of my female compatriots found out when I was formerly in this gay capital; but the bare notion of wearing such would positively shock a lady of fashion at Paris, as much as it would an English one, to appear in a hat manufactured in Cranbourn Alley.

Here Fashion is a despot, and no one dreams of evading its dictates.

Having noticed the extravagance of the prices, it is but fair to remark the elegance and good taste of the millinery to be found at Monsieur Herbault's. His chapeaux look as if made by fairy fingers, so fresh, so light, do they appear; and his caps seem as if the gentlest sigh of a summer's zephyr would bear them from sight, so aerial is their texture, and so delicate are the flowers that adorn them, fresh from the ateliers of Natier, or Baton.

Beware, O ye uxorious husbands! how ye bring your youthful brides to the dangerous atmosphere of Paris, while yet in that paradise of fools ycleped the honey-moon, ere you have learned to curve your brows into a frown, or to lengthen your visages at the sight of a long bill.

In that joyful season, when having pleased your eyes and secured your hearts, your fair brides, with that amiability which is one of the peculiar characteristics of their sex, are anxious to please all the world, and from no other motive than that your choice should be admired, beware of entering Paris, except en passant. Wait until you have recovered that firmness of character which generally comes back to a Benedict after the first year of his nuptials, before you let your wives wander through the tempting mazes of the magasins de modes of this intoxicating city.

And you, fair dames, "with stinted sums assigned," in the shape of pin-money, beware how you indulge that taste for pretty bonnets, hats, caps, and turbans, with which all bountiful Nature has so liberally gifted you; for, alas! "beneath the roses fierce Repentance rears her snaky crest" in form of a bill, the payment of which will "leave you poor indeed" for many a long day after, unless your liege lord, melted by the long-drawn sighs heaved when you remark on the wonderfully high prices of things at Paris, opens his purse-strings, and, with something between a pshaw and a grunt, makes you an advance of your next quarter's pin-money; or, better still, a present of one of the hundred pounds with which he had intended to try his good luck at the club.

Went yesterday to the Rue d'Anjou, to visit Madame Craufurd. Her hôtel is a charming one, entre cour et jardin; and she is the most extraordinary person of her age I have ever seen. In her eightieth year, she does not look to be more than fifty-five; and possesses all the vivacity and good humour peculiar only to youth.

Scrupulously exact in her person, and dressed with the utmost care, as well as good taste, she gives me a notion of the appearance which the celebrated Ninon de l'Enclos must have presented at the same age, and has much of the charm of manner said to have belonged to that remarkable woman.

It was an interesting sight to see her surrounded by her grand-children and great-grand-children, all remarkable for their good looks, and affectionately attached to her, while she appears not a little proud of them. The children of the Duc de Guiche have lost nothing of their beauty since their séjour at Pisa, and are as ingenuous and amusing as formerly.

I never saw such handsome children before, nor so well brought up. No trouble or expense is spared in their education; and the Duc and Duchesse devote a great portion of their time to them.

All our friends are occupied in looking out for a house for us; and I have this day been over, at least, ten—only one of which seems likely to suit.

I highly approve the mode at Paris of letting unfurnished houses, or apartments, with mirrors and decorations, as well as all fixtures (with us, in England, always charged separately) free of any extra expense. The good taste evinced in the ornaments is in general remarkable, and far superior to what is to be met with in England; where, if one engages a new house lately papered or painted, one is compelled to recolour the rooms before they can be occupied, owing to the gaudy and ill-assorted patterns originally selected.

The house of the Maréchal Lobau, forming the corner of the Rue de Bourbon, is the one I prefer of all those I have yet seen, although it has many désagrémens for so large an establishment as ours. But I am called to go to the review in the Champ-de-Mars, so allons for a spectacle militaire, which, I am told, is to be very fine.

The review was well worth seeing; and the troops performed their evolutions with great precision. The crowd of spectators was immense; so much so, that those only who formed part of the royal cortège could reach the Champ-de-Mars in time to see its commencement. No carriages, save those of the court, were allowed to enter the file.

The dust was insupportable; and the pretty dresses of the ladies suffered from it nearly as much as did the smart uniforms of the officers.

The coup d'oeil from the pavilion (where we had, thanks to our chaperon, the Duchesse de Guiche, front seats) was very fine. The various and splendid uniforms, floating standards, waving plumes, glittering arms, and prancing steeds, gave to the vast plain over which the troops were moving a most animated aspect, while the sounds of martial music exhilarated the spirits.

Nor was the view presented by the interior of the pavilion without its charms. A number of ladies, some of them young and handsome, and all remarkably well-dressed, gave to the benches ranged along it the appearance of a rich parterre, among the flowers of which the beautiful Duchesse de Guiche shone pre-eminent.

I was seated next to a lady, with large lustrous eyes and a pale olive complexion, whose countenance, from its extreme mobility, attracted my attention; at one moment, lighting up with intelligence, and the next, softening into pensiveness.

A remarkably handsome young man stood behind her, holding her shawl, and lavishing on her those attentions peculiar to young Benedicts. The lady proved to be the Marchioness de Loulé, sister to the King of Portugal; and the gentleman turned out to be her husband, for whose beaux yeux she contracted what is considered a mésalliance.

The simplicity of her dress, and unaffectedness of her manner, invested her with new attractions in my eyes; which increased when I reflected on the elevated position she had resigned, to follow the more humble fortunes of her handsome husband.

How strange, yet how agreeable too, must the change be, from the most formal court, over which Etiquette holds a despotic sway, to the freedom from such disagreeable constraint permitted to those in private life, and now enjoyed by this Spanish princess!

She appears to enjoy this newly acquired liberty with a zest in proportion to her past enthralment, and has proved that the daughter of a King of Portugal has a heart, though the queens of its neighbour, Spain, were in former days not supposed to have legs.