ne 
1828.) 
you would do it the first trial, and so I re- 
solyed to escape the mortification.’? This 
quaint confession of inferiority was made in 
the presence of thirty persons. 
At Hamburgh she saw Lady Edward 
Fitzgerald—Madame _ Genlis’s protégée, 
who was there the object of general admi- 
ration. The Duke of Richmond, she says, 
had offered to marry her, as soon as the 
period of mourning was past, but she re- 
fused, because she did not like him, and 
was afterwards married to M. Pitcairn, the 
Dutch Consul, at Hamburgh. We did not 
know what beeame of Pamela. 
At Paris, Madame Montesson is the 
leading figure. Bonaparte, in his Consu- 
‘late, trusted to her influence for the re- 
introduction and maintenance of better 
manners, after the rough style of the revolu- 
tion. She was the widow, by a sort of left- 
handed marriage, of the Duke of Orleans, 
the father of Egalité, and known, also; as 
the aunt of Madame Genlis. She kept up 
a sort of state, and in a period of returning 
ceremonial, as a person of royal connection, 
asserted a species of supremacy, to which 
every body submitted. She was the centre 
of the élite of existing society—collected 
around her the literati and artists, and was 
inflexible in exacting the observance of pro- 
priety. She gave the grand‘ball on the 
marriage of Louis Buonaparte with Hor- 
tense. This, it seems, proved but a miser- 
able match ; Louis was a quiet, retiring 
person, and fond of books, and made no 
great figure in society, and Hortense wanted 
to see him another Napoleon. Two letters 
of advice from Josephine, to her daughter, 
are given, in one of which she alludes to the 
supposed fondness of Napoleon for her. 
“ How,” says she, “can it have entered 
into your imagination, that I share in cer- 
tain ridiculous, and, probably, interested 
“epinions? Do not think I consider you as 
“my rival: we have both a hold upon the 
“same heart, but by different ties, though 
~ equally sacred ; and those who can see, in the 
Emperor’s affection for you, anything but 
the feelings of a friend and a father, will 
never understand him. He rises too much 
above the vulgar to be the slave of his pas- 
sions. His glory absorbs him too much, 
perhaps, for our repose ; but glory, at least, 
inspires no low desires. This is my pro- 
fession of faith in him.” 
The Emperor insisted on Talleyrand’s 
marrying Madame Grandt—a very beau- 
tiful woman, but a mere fool, and perfectly 
incapable of estimating her husband’s supe- 
riority. Somebody asking Talleyrand how he 
could tolerate her conversation—“ She does 
not fatigue me”’—was his reply. ‘* What 
beautiful diamonds you have got,” said she, 
to a Russian princess. “If you admire 
them, no doubt M. de Taileyrand would 
be delighted to present you with some 
equally beautiful.” “‘ What nonsense,” 
cried Madame Talleyrand, “ do you think 
I married the Pope 2?” Somebody, who 
Domestic and Foreign. 
635 
squinted excessively, addressing Talleyrand, 
at a critical period, asked him how affairs 
were going on—“‘as you see,’’ was his la- 
conic answer. 
The day on which were appointed the 
archi-chancelier, and archi-tresorier—‘ I 
prefer,” said Brogniart, a celebrated architect 
—‘ being archi-tete—he is not so easily 
made as either of the others.”’ 
An amusing account is given of the aris- 
tocratic feelings of the Genevese—of the 
vulgarity of the lower, and the fashion of 
the upper part of the town. The author's 
family had taken a very handsome residence, 
and cheap, in the lower part, but were 
obliged to migrate to the upper, to avoid 
being altogether cut by the inflexible fa- 
shionables of the town. A miserable place 
was with difficulty procured in the favoured 
spot. To console them, however, they were 
told they were occupying Calvin’s apart- 
ments. The drawing-room is frightful— 
but it was Calvin’s. There’s no seeing. 
Calvin, however, found light enough to 
write all his books. The noise of the prison 
is intolerable—the singing of the miserable 
wretches—the barking of the dogs—the 
swearing of the keepers—we shall get no 
sleep. Nonsense, Calvin slept very well. 
The argument was irrefragable and uni- 
versal. 
At-Geneva, Madame de Stael was, of 
course, the great lioness. Though no great 
beauty, her hands were good, and she con- 
trived to make them conspicuous, by con- 
stantly twisting a sprig of poplar round her 
fingers, while talking. She spoke of it, as 
an indispensible accompaniment, and in the 
winter substituted a slip of paper. Wherever 
she visited, she was presented with some- 
thing of this kind to twiddle with, which 
served her for the evening. The writer 
very correctly adds, she never talked, but 
harangued, or pleaded, and then, only, 
when there were present a good body of 
male listeners. Though she knew, or be- 
lieved herself constantly under surveillance, 
she was perpetually criticising public mea- 
sures, and was delighted with the thonght 
of exciting the fears of Robespierre on horse-~ 
back, as she called Buonaparte. At Copet, 
she gathered round her a society of men of 
letters, and seems to have treated the cus- 
tomary proprieties of society with great con- 
tempt. She married Rocca, an officer, who 
had seen a good deal of service—a very fine 
looking fellow—with a large scar from a 
sabre wound, on his face, but not otherwise 
remarkable. 
At Geneva, the writer’s family visited 
Huber. He had been blind from his seven- 
teenth year, at which early age had . been 
formed a passionate attachment to a young 
lady, whose friends opposed the union. 
But when he lost his sight, and all hopes of 
recovering it were abandoned, the noble 
girl determined nothing should separate 
them ; and, resisting the opposition of her 
family, as soon as she was of age, she mar- 
4M 2 
