Chapter XVII

REVOLUTION OF “THE THREE DAYS;” MRS. OPIE GOES TO PARIS AGAIN;
HER JOURNAL THERE.

The fearful events which transpired at Paris, in the summer of the year 1830, deeply and painfully interested Mrs. Opie. She wrote to her friends at Northrepps in the month of August, and an extract from her letter will best shew her feelings under the excitement of the time.

Norwich, 8th mo., 2nd, 1830.

Dr. Ash shall not go to Northrepps without a letter. I think you
will like to know how I am, under existing circumstances. I went
to Wroxham on the election day, and should have enjoyed, even
more than usual, the exquisite, and even increased stillness of
that place, (as it appeared to me,) had not my calm been
interrupted by the inquietude of mind, induced by the alarming
news from Paris. The Chamber of Deputies dissolved for ever, and
the liberty of the press abolished!! We saw the results of this
news in the fearful perspective; and yesterday came the
affecting tidings, that the National Guard had re-organized
themselves; that Lafayette was at their head; that the Chamber
had assembled, and voted their sitting _perpetual_, and had
declared the throne _vacant_; that the king, ministers, court,
and ambassadors, had left Paris, and were at Vincennes, or
Brussels; that cannon was planted against the city; that it had
fired, and killed 5000 persons, and the beautiful Rue de Rivoli
was running with blood; and that they are to be _starved_ into
submission.

I humbly hope I shall be enabled to pray for my friends there,
which is all I _can_ do. “Whom the Gods mean to destroy they
first make mad,” says some Latin proverb, and this seems
illustrated now.

You will readily believe how anxious, interested, and excited I
feel. I was, and am, writing on the scenes of the Revolution in
1802, little dreaming that another was so near, in which some I
love and reverence must be actors! * * *

I am reading “Lafayette en Amerique!” Such a book! it fills me
with untellable wonder and admiration of him, that such
_worship_ should not have turned his head, and that he is still
simple and seemingly humble-minded; and secondly, because his
_youth_ in America was evidently marked, not only by courage and
talent, but by kind, generous actions, privately performed; and
because it was his nature to do them. He gave them his money, I
find by another work, as well as his time and exertions;
therefore the gift of money and land to him, in his
(comparative) poverty, was only a debt, repaid with interest.
And how they honoured him! He was passed on from one State to
another, almost through an unbroken chain of triumphal arches!
But he always, amidst all his career, kept the Sabbath day holy.
And this man, as it were miraculously preserved through two
revolutions, and in chains, and in a dungeon, is now again the
leading mind in another conflict, and lifting, I trust, not only
an armed, but a restraining hand in a third revolution! May He
who alone can save and direct, watch over and direct _him_! How
many other now familiar faces, and I may add, dear also, do I
see engaged in this awful struggle, and on different sides!
Well, I must turn away from it as much as I can! Farewell my
dear friends.

Unable, probably, to keep the prudential resolve, with which she concludes this letter, Mrs. Opie, full of irrepressible anxiety to be on the scene of action, very shortly came to the resolution to repair to Paris. She seems to have allowed very few of her friends to know of her determination, perhaps anticipating their remonstrances and objections. Her anxiety, however, was so great as to affect her health and spirits; and after a few weeks’ irresolution, her determination was made, and she was on her way to Paris. Her stay proved, in the event, longer than she had perhaps intended or anticipated. During the former part of the time she kept a Journal, from which selections are given in the following pages:—

Hôtel de Breteuil, Rue de Rivoli,
5th of 11th mo.

I arrived at this charming residence on fourth day last, and the
trees had nearly lost their leaves, and the gardens their
flowers. I gazed on the prospect around me with still increasing
delight. On the side near me was the palace of the Tuilleries,
with the tricolor flag hanging on its centre dome; and, to the
right, the fine dome of the Invalides. But oh! the people—the
busy people—of all ranks probably, and of various costumes,
passing to and fro, and soldiers, omnibuses, cabriolets,
citadines, carts, horsemen, hurrying along the Rue de Rivoli,
while foot passengers were crossing the gardens, or loungers
were sitting on its benches, to enjoy the beauty of this
May-November! But what was become of the Revolution? Paris
seemed as bright and peaceful as I had left it thirteen months
ago! And the towns too, through which we had passed on our road,
bore no marks of change. We did not see the tricolor till we
reached a village on the morning of our second day’s journey,
(it was the _fête_ of Le Toussaint,) when I remarked, not only
the tricolor flag, on a pump in the middle of the small _place_
opposite the inn, but the colours, exhibited with no little
grace and coquetry, on a very handsome youth, probably the
_beau_ or _coq_ of the village.

As to the country, it appeared to me even less populous than
ever; and I almost wondered where there could ever be found
hands enough to cultivate the wide spreading hills and vales.
“Well, but to be sure we shall see some obvious changes in
Paris,” my travelling companion and I observed to each other;
but alas! we did not reach Paris till two in the morning, when
even its lowest and fiercest inhabitants might be expected to be
asleep; and, without any let or hindrance, we arrived at the
Messagerie; and, at three in the morning, a commissioner
conducted us on foot to the Hôtel de Lisle, Palais Royal, the
only one open. “And we are going to the Palais Royal! the very
focus of everything!” observed my companion (who was a Royalist)
bidding me at the same time remark the tricolor floating behind
us on the Palais d’Orléans. I did so, but my attention was soon
directed to another quarter; I saw two men advancing, as we
crossed the Place Royale, who were singing the new national
song, by Casimir de la Vigne, called the “Parisienne;” and just
as they drew near, they sung the most interesting line in the
whole song to me.

“Pour briser leurs masses profondes,
Qui conduit nos drapeaux sanglants?
C’est la liberté des deux mondes,
C’est Lafayette, en cheveux blancs!”

What a thrill of emotions those words excited in me! how many
recollections of former days and former friends those few words
recalled! recollections of those dear ones, who had first taught
me to love the name, and admire the character, of Lafayette; and
who would have enjoyed, like me, the brightness of that setting
sun, which they had hailed at its dawning! And how long was the
course of time which those little words marked out! “_Lafayette
en cheveux blancs!_” And what a number of years did I,
unconsciously to my companion, retrace in a moment! But why, as
I thought on the man of two worlds, and recollected what and
where he now was; why was my pleasure overclouded with sadness?
because, though still in the splendour of his fame, that of his
days was past; and though still Lafayette, it was Lafayette “_en
cheveux blancs_.” I cannot describe the feelings with which I
have always read those words; but now that I heard them, I felt
them still more; and then, by a very natural process, I began to
imagine the feelings of the General himself, when he hears them:
but he, I dare say, hears them with less emotion than I do—his
well poised mind, satisfied with being at what he believes to be
the post of duty, looks back on the past with thankfulness, and
to the future with hope.

But how I have wandered from the Hôtel de Breteuil! As I stood
on the balcony, gazing with admiring eyes, my obliging landlady
told me that many ladies, English and others, having first
closed the _croisées_, had stood there to see the battle of the
three days. As the balcony is _au troisième_, they could do so
no doubt without danger, except from the _mitraille_; still I
did not envy them their post, and earnestly desired, in my time,
no such awful scenes might pass beneath the windows.

“Well,” (said I to myself when I was left alone,) “here I am,
actually at Paris! and alone at Paris: few of my friends in
England knew I was coming, and none in France know that I am
here! A new and strange position; but the _incognito_ is not
without its charms!” And, though excessively fatigued, for two
nights, I felt an extraordinary elevation of spirit, as well as
a sense of deep thankfulness; not only because I was in the most
interesting of all cities, at the present moment, but because I
was capable of feeling enjoyment in being alone, and alone in a
strange land, _alone in Paris_! But I was conscious that my
trust was placed in Him, whose protecting eye is everywhere; and
though my thoughts might recur affectionately and frequently to
the dear relatives and friends whom I had quitted, the
uneasiness of mind, and indisposition of body, which had
attended my irresolution whether to stay at home, or depart, had
entirely vanished; and the future seemed arrayed in smiles.

Having dined early, I sallied forth to the Boulevards, just as
the sun was beginning to sink behind the trees of the gardens;
and, though I was walking towards the east, when I reached that
pleasant spot, the western rays were so beautifully reflected on
the upper part of the white buildings before me, that, for a
little while, I was unconscious of the loss of the trees on the
Boulevards; but, suddenly recollecting myself, I stopped to look
round in painful astonishment, till I remembered it was for _la
patrie_, and to save lives;—then I could regret no longer! I
was on my way to M.’s to subscribe to his library; and on my
expressing to his wife my regret at missing the fine trees, I
found that her patriotism was strong enough to console her; and
I believe that I shall not pay my court well, to the residents
on the Boulevards, by expressing any regret for the sacrifice
which was required for the cause of liberty and the country. I
next bent my steps to the gardens of the Tuilleries, in hopes to
overtake the setting sun. The seats were many of them still
occupied by well dressed men and women, three of whom I observed
reading by the red and sinking light. I do not remember to have
seen such a sight in my own country; and I should have stopped
and lingered to observe the group, had I not been impatient to
renew my acquaintance with the statues on the Pont Louis quinze;
but I arrived too late to distinguish their countenances, though
the grand outlines were clearly to be seen. I was disappointed
also to observe, that thirteen months of exposure to the air,
had deprived them of that striking whiteness, in complete
contrast to the dingy hue of the surrounding stone, which had
formerly given them in my eyes (at the hour of twilight) the
appearance of unearthly beings—the ghosts of the departed
great, standing there to watch over the destinies of that
country for which they have laboured both in arts and arms!

I looked on the _Condé_ of my friend David with added pleasure,
from having recently heard its merits so eloquently described by
Lady Morgan; and lingered long on the bridge, watching the last
beams of the setting sun, till I saw I was alone, and remembered
I had some way to walk. I found the gardens nearly deserted on
my return, except by a few soldiers on duty; and therefore
hastened to my new home, refreshed by my walk, pleased with my
new position, and saying to myself, “How difficult should I find
it, to make some of my friends in England believe that I could
be walking alone in Paris, at twilight, in perfect peace and
security.”

The next day, after _fifteen_ hours’ repose, I awoke refreshed,
(as I well might,) and resolved that I would still keep my
arrival in Paris unknown to my friends.

I proceeded to walk out, accompanied by Manuel, _a
valet-de-place de l’hôtel_. My first visit was to the Louvre,
not to see the pictures, but to inquire concerning _le Suisse_,
or porter, who was so civil and attentive to me last year. I had
thought it only too likely that he had been amongst the killed,
when the Louvre was assailed; and could hardly speak, from
strong emotion, when I saw him alive and well, and looking as if
nothing had happened! I expressed, as calmly as I was able, my
fears for his life, and my joy to see him as I had left him. He
seemed gratified; and thanked me in a manner very creditable to
himself.

I have always observed a civility in the lower orders in France,
as remote from coarseness as from servility, which did not, I
suspect, distinguish them previous to the revolution of 1789.
“If our revolution has done nothing else for us,” said General
Lafayette last year, “it has, at least, done this; it has taught
men to look their fellow-men in the face, and feel their own
dignity.”

I next went to see the ravages which civil war had made, and
which are now nearly repaired; but my valet pointed out the
mark, yet remaining, of a bullet, fired by one of the Swiss,
from a window of the Louvre, which hit one of the columns of the
Palais des quatre Colonnes, across the water. We were, at that
moment, standing on the _nameless_, _unhonoured_ graves of the
Swiss who had fallen in the action, and by the ornamented and
hallowed graves of their victims. “Take your hats off,” was the
cry, as the latter were approached; and there stood men of all
ages, with their heads uncovered, (besides rows of women and
children,) all gazing, with mournful interest, on the place
where lay the ashes of those _morts pour la patrie_, on the
memorable three days!

My next course was to the Palais Royal, which seemed as when I
last saw it; its beautiful fountain was still playing, its shops
looked as tempting as ever; but the Tricolor floated on the
Palace of the King, and the National Guard (a large detachment)
were on duty there. I must confess to looking on these men with
great complacency; they had so recently shewn their forbearance
in the midst of great provocation; they really reasoned, and
joked, and wheedled the agitators in the late tumult, into quiet
and dispersion. The citizen was not forgotten in the
soldier;—theirs was the victory of good sense and self
government, over the excitement of ignorance and passion; and be
their country’s confidence and gratitude their well-earned
reward!

* * * This morning I have received a note of welcome, like
herself, from Sophie de V. She will not invite me to the
Saturday _soirée_, at the Jardin des Plantes, (Baron Cuvier’s)
which takes place every week, because she says, “_vous êtes
invitée née_”—a compliment prettily expressed.

(7th day, 6th of November.) A bright day; the statues in the
Tuilleries gardens looking _so_ white, and what remains of the
foliage on the trees so richly tinted! The right side of the
prospect (that is, the Invalides and other lofty buildings) is
clothed in sunshine; the palace is in shade—but even while I
write the scene is changing, and all behind the palace is
becoming a sheet of silver! May this be emblematical of the
future prospects of its present owner, and of all to whom he
belongs! * * * *

The light has now passed entirely away from the _côté droit_ to
the _côté gauche_; a little breeze is getting up, and the
gorgeous autumnal leaves are waving in it to and fro.

Then * * * * * but I will not indulge my fancy—a truce to
metaphors and types; my object is matter of fact. I have just
read the speeches of our Parliament, in the _Journal des
Débats_. How entirely I agree with Lord Grey; but the bare
_possibility_ of war with France is insupportable! I cannot hate
and condemn war more than I do, else this fear would make me.
Brougham does not mention such a possibility, and I think his
opinion nearly as good as Lord Grey’s.

I have engaged lodgings for a month, at the Hôtel de Douvres; my
apartment looks on the Rue de la Paix, and I can also see the
Boulevard des Capucins! an excellent situation, but the rooms so
small!—Well! a month is soon gone, and at the end of it I may
be gone too; who knows?

I dine at five, and at eight shall go to M. Cuvier’s * * *
Though I went early, the room was full enough to make me feel a
wish I had come earlier; most of the faces were unknown to me.
By half-past nine the room was almost full, of, I believe,
persons all distinguished in some way or another. “Who is that
gentleman?” said I, “Oh! nothing particularly distinguished, he
is only _un homme d’esprit_,” “only _un homme d’esprit_!”
replied another, what a compliment! when wit is so scarce. * * *
*

Soon, Baron de Humboldt was announced, and I was looking eagerly
round for my old and valued acquaintance, when M. Cuvier led him
to me. I was very glad to see him, but sorry to hear he was
going to England. We had not met for sixteen years. “You find
him then grown grey,” (said la Baronne.) True, but he was
embellished, for he was grown fat, and really is now good
looking.

Another pleasure awaited me, in the entrance of my friend David,
who did not know of my arrival; he was indeed surprised, but
hurt, (and perhaps with justice,) that I had not let him know I
was come or coming.

David speaks highly of the king, and says, while mounting guard
the other morning, he saw him in his night-cap, walking on the
terrace. Poor man! I dare say he cannot sleep much!

“Happy low, lie down,
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”

David has sent me the bust of Lafayette,[31] and some other
things to England! Well! they will be there, I trust, to cheer
me when I return, (if in mercy permitted to do so,) and have
bidden to Paris a probably eternal adieu!

“By all means go to Lafayette’s on Tuesday,” (said two or three
gentlemen to me.) _Nous verrons_,—he does not receive at his
own house now, but in his staff house, in the Montblanc.

* * * I certainly much enjoyed la Baronne’s party, and her tea,
and her cakes. I came home a little past midnight.

(1st day, 7th.) A night of wind! a day of rain! went to the
Champs Elisées. Our sitting was still, and, I trust, favoured.

I expect to be alone all to-day—what a great privilege it is,
not to feel solitude a trial, but a pleasure! The first thing I
heard on waking this morning was _la Parisienne_, sung, I
concluded, by passing soldiers. I checked the internal reproof
rising to my lips, on remembering that the military band plays,
as it returns with the soldiers from church, in my own city, and
in all others; and most probably these soldiers were returning
from early mass.

(2nd day, 8th.) I cannot but wonder at my own stillness, and
the stillness of all that surrounds me in this busy city; the
depository at this moment probably of all the springs and
agencies, which, set in motion, must act upon, and decide, the
destinies of Europe! At this moment (10 o’clock) even the
Tuilleries are deserted; the fountain played yesterday, but it
is quiet to-day; it only works on a Sabbath day! The morning is
dark, and the view therefore is not as lovely as usual; I can
sit by my fireside, instead of going to my balcony; so much the
better, as I must leave it to-morrow, for a less lovely
prospect. * * * * A sense of my inability to do the subject
justice has alone kept me from committing to paper what passes
in my mind, and is always uppermost in it, on the subject of
politics, but I must relieve my mind by doing so very soon. The
_Journal des Débats_ has, to-day, some admirable remarks (in my
opinion) on the liberty of the press. * * *

How impossible it is to know what is usually going on in any
country without being in it, and even then how difficult! I see
and feel, even from my short and limited experience, more of the
real state of Paris at this moment, than I could have taken in,
for months, at home!

I thought while I was observing, the other day, the mark of the
bullet on the column of the Palais des quatres Nations, and saw
the eagerness with which my _valet-de-place_ pointed it out to
me, how wise it would be to efface that striking provocation to
a continuance of popular resentment; and rejoiced to see the
other traces of civil war disappearing so fast.

I spoke and felt like a lover of peace, and a hater of all
discord and all war; and I was painfully convinced how right I
was in my ideas on the subject, by hearing a reputed Jacobin
say, at M. Cuvier’s, “how sorry I am to see the traces of our
three days so quickly disappearing! I wish them to remain for
ever, to keep up the _spirit of just indignation in the
people_!” I heard, sighed, and shuddered, and then, as well as I
could, combated the frightful and fearful observation. The
speaker was one of the National Guard, and in that Guard how
many may there not be whose desire is for war, rather than
peace; and republicanism, before royalty, even though the king
be a citizen king! And there are pictures of Napoleon, at all
ages of his life, exhibiting at the Luxembourg, with other
pictures, for the benefit of the widows of the wounded: and
Napoleon brought on the stage at the minor theatres, and
applauded, and extolled, and mourned and wept over, on his bed
of death and in his grave! If I were a royalist, and an
intriguist, I would bring forward and support this Napoleon
drama, which will, no doubt, end by bringing the young Napoleon
before the minds of the people.

(3rd day, 9th.) I and my baggage arrived, this morning, at my
new apartments, at the Hôtel de Douvres. * * * I have bought an
orange tree full of flowers! how it embellishes and perfumes my
little room! it is quite an acquisition! At eight I shall go to
the General’s, to catch him before he is _entouré_, if possible;
but alas! he receives at the État Major of the _Garde Nationale_
now; I shall feel as if going to court! * * * * * * Dressed all
in my best, and going off! the house is only across the
Boulevards—my valet seems rather pleased, I think, to be going
to Lafayette’s; he is a most pleasing servant, and it is as
cheap, and certainly better, for me to have a valet than a
maid-servant. * * * Well;—the _fiàcre_ is here—not a word more
till to-morrow.

(4th day, 10th.) * * Though, at one period of my life, I was
accustomed to follow my name into rooms filled with lords and
ladies, and perhaps princes,—the confidence which custom gives
was so annihilated in me by long disuse, that, as I ascended the
wide staircase of the splendid hotel of the État Major, I
desired that my name might not be announced; and I was the more
satisfied that it was not, when I found the general was not
arrived, and there were many gentlemen whom I did not know,
assembled in both the apartments, or (as the French call them)
_les salons de reception_. I know not when I have felt more ill
at ease; and, feeling myself in a sort of Court, and waiting the
appearance, if not of a king, of a much greater man, and one
whose influence was nearly supreme over France—I sighed, as I
looked at my simple Quaker dress, and considered whether I had
any business there; and shrunk into a corner,—for the first
time in my life wishing the apartment I was in less brilliantly
lighted. The ladies of the family, as the General dined out, did
not think it necessary to come as early as usual, and thus was
my painful solitude, in the midst of a crowd, unusually
lengthened; at length a small door, at one corner of the room
opened, and the Commander-in-chief appeared; a sort of circle
instantly formed around him, he shook each individual of it by
the hand, and then made his way up to where I stood, and
welcomed me most kindly to Paris; but he could not tarry with
me, and was soon again surrounded. A young man, (name unknown)
feeling for the awkwardness of my position, then entered into
conversation with me, and I was contentedly chatting with him,
when Madame G. Lafayette, and the rest of the General’s amiable
and lovely family came in, and I went forward to meet them. Soon
after, the room was filled; the officers of the National Guard,
Americans of both sexes, deputies, ladies, men of letters,
artists—the distinguished and the non-distinguished, thronged
both the saloons; while the General passed from room to room,
with a smile and a profferred hand to each in turn. I felt the
scene a royal one, as it were, but there was one marked
difference to those at which I have been present, when I met the
late king, (then Prince of Wales and Regent,) in the London
assemblies. The prince never went to the company, _they_ came to
him; Lafayette, on the contrary, assumed no state, but was as
simple-mannered as usual, and apparently as unconscious of his
increased consequence, as he was in his assemblies of last year;
and I believe that there was scarcely an eye present, that did
not follow him with love, nor a heart that did not rejoice in
the seeming perfection of his strength, and the enduring
freshness of that cheek, which a life of temperance and
usefulness has preserved in lasting freshness.

I know not when I have seen so much beauty in the youth of both
sexes, as I saw last night. The young men, particularly those in
the National Guard, looked so very animated, so very happy! and
their uniform was so simple, and so becoming therefore; but,
plain as it generally was, that of the Commander-in-chief was
plainer still. The evening was only too short and pleasing. I
felt elated, but at the same time overwhelmed, with the kind
attentions and flatteries, which, as a woman of letters, I
received; and again queried whether I ought to be there; but I
knew I had a duty to fulfil, a sort of commission to execute,
and I resolved not to leave the house till I had done it.

Accordingly, when it was past midnight, I watched the General to
a seat, and begged an audience of him, putting into his hand a
little paper, containing an extract from a letter, (from a dear
friend of mine, a member of our society,) wishing Lafayette to
request the abolition of slavery and the slave-trade, and also
an expression in writing, of my valued friend Fowell Buxton’s
wishes, that he would lend all his powerful aid to this great
cause.

He took my paper and assured me he had already talked with the
minister _de la marine_ on the subject; and that they were going
to declare the trade _piracy_, as we had done in England, and as
the Americans had done also. Alas! how little is this! and we
know how the law is evaded! I took my leave, saying, that while
liberty was in so many places the order of the day, and would
probably be over all Europe, I did hope that the cause of Africa
would at length triumph also—but when?

I feel, and own, that France has yet much work to do at home,
and interests nearer and dearer to attend to; but I, for one,
shall be sadly disappointed if she does not ultimately take up
this long-neglected cause, and set a great example to other
nations.

Amongst the crowd I saw, for a moment, Benjamin Constant; and
saw, with pain, that his truly valuable health has suffered
since last year, but his noble mind seems as vigorous as ever!
how just are his views, and how eloquent his expressions of
them!

Among those also present were the Baron de Humboldt, General
Carbonnel, David the sculptor, Le Brun the dramatic poet, &c.,
&c.

Having executed my commission to the General, and also given him
the purse, I had felt such pleasure in netting for him, I
withdrew; his son attending me to my coach.

(4th day, 10th.) Soon after I had breakfasted, General de B.
called to ask me to go with him to the Luxembourg, to see the
exhibition of pictures there, for the benefit of the wounded. I
gladly complied, and we set off in a _fiàcre_ the driver of
which told us the _ex-ministers_ were expected: we did not
believe it, but it gave me a queer sensation.

How fine the day was! how bright the sun! how blue the sky! It
was curious to see a large square place in the gardens, just
before the front of the palace, absolutely filled with men,
women, and children, of all ranks, sitting on benches and
chairs, and on the ground, crowded together, enjoying the winter
sunshine!

The exhibition was a curious one also. The walls of the long
vaulted gallery were covered chiefly with pictures of Napoleon;
Napoleon in situations the most interesting and recommendatory
to the nation; conquering at Aboukir, Marengo, and Austerlitz;
saving the life of a whole family at Cairo; visiting the sick in
the hospital of Jaffa; in short, there he was, usually as large
as life, surviving in his military glory, on the animated
canvass, and recalling to the Parisians the splendour of their
arms under their victorious leader; but the most interesting
picture was Napoleon on his death-bed, or rather, Napoleon dead;
the different expressions of the grief of the bystanders was
well expressed. The likeness of Antommarchi (the only one I
could judge of) was striking, and I daresay so were the others:
above it hung the picture of his tomb, from the hand of Gérard.

Coming home I heard, with pain, the news from England! Our
monarch and his queen, so justly popular, to be kept from going
to the city feast, to receive the respect due to them, by the
unpopularity of a minister! Oh! shame! * * * Again alone, but
busy, and happy therefore.

(6th day, 12th.) My birthday! I dare not be guilty of the
egotism of committing to paper my feelings, when I recollect
that on this day, so many years ago, I saw the light; and that
the recollection comes over me that I heard my dearest father
say, on his death-bed, it was the happiest day he had ever
known! To _one_ being, then, it had been an important day; but
_he_ is gone, and what is it now become? of consequence to no
one; and I shall spend it alone in a foreign land! unwelcomed
and unheeded, save by myself. But these feelings have been
succeeded by wiser and more beneficial ones! Oh! that the
resolutions I have this day formed, may make my next birthday,
if I am permitted to see one, a day of less condemnatory
feelings! * * * Went out to the Jardin des Plantes, and found
only la Baronne at home. She made an observation, the result of
experience. Speaking of the new animals which had lately been
sent, as a present, to the menagerie, and mentioning the
excessive tameness of one of the tigers, she said that it would
allow her brother-in-law to play with it, and even would court
his caresses. “I should, notwithstanding, be much afraid of a
_coup de patte_,” said I. “Not with as much reason,” she
replied, “as if you were caressing a ruminating animal; they are
much more dangerous and difficult to tame; besides, when a wild
animal grows tired of you, he lets you know it, by a certain
restlessness and little cry that he makes, therefore you are on
your guard; but with the others there is no preparation, and one
of the stag species did a very serious injury the other day.”

(7th day, 13th.) At eight I went to the Jardin des Plantes, in
my muff and tippet, and most winterly gown. Found Sophie in
muslin, and wondering at my Siberian appearance. “Come,” said
she, speaking in my ear, “I must name to you all the celebrated
persons present.” De Humboldt I knew, but I should vainly tax my
memory to name the rest; one of them, a handsome
delicate-looking young man, with brown and curling hair, was, I
found, Mignet, author of the “History of the French Revolution,”
in 2 vols., which I have bought, and which made the delight of
my last winter’s solitude. Another of the circle was Salmady,
one of the Chamber of Deputies, and whose conversation was so
eloquent and animated, that Baron Cuvier said, with his meaning
and intelligent smile, _voilà la jeune France_.”

(1st day, 14th.) A wet Sabbath day, but I contrived to walk to
the Champs Elysées; to bed _not_ satisfied with myself, but in
peace with all the world, I trust.

(6th day, 19th.) Quatrefuges had procured tickets for the
Chamber of Deputies, and as the business between Ch. de Lameth
and the Procureur du Roi was to come on this day, I was very
glad to go, and he was to call me.

When ready expecting him, I heard a ring at the door, and
concluded it was he, but was most agreeably surprised to see, on
entering the _salon_, David and _Cooper_, he whom I so much
wished to see! I was very glad, but sorry I was going out
directly. C. had only time to promise me that he would come and
see me whenever I liked, and would introduce me to his wife. * *
* Went to the Chamber, too late for choice places, but heard and
saw well. Much pleased with the change in the new Chamber, in
the situation of the Tribune des Dames; it is now near the
Tribune. The debates were very interesting; the first was on the
liberty of the press. Count de T. charmed me, both by his
delivery and sentiments. The next debate, relative to the
Procureur du Roi, was opened by a paper, read by Benjamin
Constant, with whose opinions I have usually much unity; the
question seemed to me to lie in a small compass, but it
occasioned long discussion. The result was that Ch. de L. was
_right_ in not obeying the summons of the Procureur du Roi, and
the latter, not meaning to attack the privileges of the Chamber,
was _not wrong_ in summoning him!!! We got away at a little past
five.

(7th day.) Prepared for my company; the room looked neat and
comfortable. Dr. Bowring and his wife came first, followed by
other friends. In the evening to B. Cuvier’s.

(1st day, 20th.) A very comforting Meeting; called on the
Bowrings again; saw where a bullet on the 29th of July had
broken a pane in the window, just after he had shut it!
Description of the dying and wounded beneath them, most
affecting! At six some friends came, with whom I had a sitting
after tea; to _me_, a favoured one. Read to them afterwards some
lines of mine, serious enough to end the evening satisfactorily;
to bed with a thankful heart for all the favours of the day.

(2nd day, 22nd.) Had engaged to go to David’s _atelier_, and
to Antommarchi’s, to see the mask of Napoleon, when C. Moreau
called early to say he had intended to take me to call on Madame
de Genlis, who had promised, if it was fine, to dine with him,
but as it rained, he feared she would not come; however, we
could call on her. I told him I was engaged till four, but
would then call at his house, to go or not as he pleased. Went
to D.’s and was delighted with all I saw. Goethe, General Foy,
and a brilliant, &c., &c. Went to A.’s _au quatrième_—very high
and fatiguing; but remembered the reward of my toil—the cast,
and the fine view from his windows, the cast was there, the view
gone, walled up! poor man! I would not, _could_ not stay there;
the cast more than ever recalled to me Napoleon when First
Consul! There was also there a fine print from the picture of
Napoleon on his death-bed. Antommarchi so like! I then drove to
Moreau’s; the weather was become fine, and we went to la
Comtesse de Genlis’; she received me kindly, and I, throwing
myself on my feelings, and remembering how much I owed her in
the days of my childhood, became enthusiastically drawn towards
her, very soon. She is a really pretty old woman of
eighty-seven, very unaffected, with nothing of smartness, or
affected state or style, about her. We passed through her
bed-room (in which hung a crucifix) to her _salon_, where she
sat, much muffled up, over her wood fire; she had dined at three
o’clock, not expecting to be able to go out; but as the weather
was fine, she soon consented to accompany us, but she laughing
said, she must now go without “_sa belle robe_.” We said in
_any_ gown she would be welcome; she then put on a very pretty
white silk bonnet and a clean frill, and we set off. I set them
down at C. Moreau’s, and came home to dress, but long before the
dinner hour, I was at C. M.’s again, and took my post at the
side of Madame de Genlis. A party of distinguished men came to
dinner. The table was spread with a mixture of excellent English
as well as French dishes; roast beef, boiled turkey, plum
puddings, and _mince pies_! the latter the very best of the
sort! Madame M. is an Englishwoman. As usual, St. Simon, and
his preaching and doctrines were discussed, and at my end of the
table, laughed at. Madame de G. did not talk much at dinner, but
by her attention to what passed, and an occasional remark, it
was evident nothing was lost upon her. After C. Moreau had given
her health, with a most appropriate and flattering speech,
wishing her to live many, many years, Julien, l’Encyclopèdiste,
gave the health of the King.

I thought Madame de G. conducted herself on this occasion with
much simple dignity; yet it was a proud moment for her. She
murmured something (and looked at me) about wishing the health
of Madame Opie to be drunk; but no one heard her but myself, and
I was really glad. When we rose from table, most of the
gentlemen accompanied us. The room now filled with French,
English, and Americans; many were presented to the venerable
Countess, next to whom I sat, and then to me; she seemed to
enjoy a scene, to which for some time she had been a stranger. I
found, while I was conversing on some interesting subjects, she
had been observing me. Afterwards she said, “_Je vous aime!_”
she then added with an archness of countenance and vivacity of
manner, the remnant of her best days, “_je vous sême_,”
(imitating the bad pronunciation of some foreigner.) At
half-past ten I saw C. Moreau lead Madame de G. out, and I
followed them, and paid her every attention in my power, for
which she was grateful; when I had wrapt her up, and put on her
bonnet for her, my servant got a coach, and C. M., another
gentleman, and myself, conducted her home.

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[31] This Bust she left in her will to T. Brightwell.