THE EUROPEAN JOURNALS 



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on the edge of a deep lake, the bottom of which the bird 

 cannot find, nor even know whether it may turn out to 

 be good fishing. Many had their turns before me, but I 

 had my interview. The Baron, a fine young man about 

 twenty-eight, promised me to do all he could, but that his 

 master was allowed so much (how much I do not know), 

 and his expenses swallowed all. 



October 14. Accompanied Parker while he was paint- 

 ing Redout^'s portrait, and during the outlining of that 

 fine head I was looking over the original drawings of the 

 great man; never have I seen drawings more beautifully 

 wrought up, and so true to nature. The washy, slack, 

 imperfect messes of the British artists are nothing in 

 comparison. I remained here three hours, which I en- 

 joyed much. 



October 15. Not a word from the minister, and the 

 time goes faster than I like, I assure thee. Could the 

 minister know how painful it is for an individual like me 

 to wait nearly a month for a decision that might just as 

 well have been concluded in one minute, I am sure things 

 would be different. 



October 18. I have seen two ministers this day, but 

 from both had only promises. But this day has consider- 

 ably altered my ideas of ministers. I have had a fair 

 opportunity of seeing how much trouble they have, and 

 how necessary it is to be patient with them. I arrived at 

 Baron de la Brouillerie's at half-past eleven. A soldier 

 took my portfolio, that weighs nearly a hundred pounds, 

 and showed me the entrance to a magnificent antecham- 

 ber. Four gentlemen and a lady were there, and after 

 they had been admitted and dismissed, my name was 

 called. The Baron is about sixty years old; tall, thin, 

 not handsome, red in the face, and stiff in his manners. 

 I opened my book, of which he said he had read much in 

 the papers, and asked me why I had not applied to him 

 before. I told him I had written some weeks ago. This 



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