Until her marriage, in 1859, Mademoiselle Ida used to make tea in the smaller room, and there was often dancing for the young people in the dining-room. Madame Mohl's salon did not resemble the salons of former days, where only a chosen few were admitted. She was careful as to the residents in Paris, for, as she said, it was not like an evening by special invitation. Once invited to her Fridays, you might always go, and it was almost impossible to dislodge a bore; and she felt the duties of hospitality so acutely that she tried to amuse even bores, but the effort fatigued her. She writes of some lady in Paris whom she did not care to know "I avoid increasing my lady acquaintances, unless they particularly take my fancy. I know more than I want to know. They take up so much room in my small apartment; and I have an oldfashioned principle that, when a lady does come to my house, she must and ought to be paid attention to; therefore I try to have her amused if I can, and sometimes talk to stupid people that she may have the clever ones. It's all very well to do that for favourites, but it's a hard case to do it for those I don't care about. I think it but justice to my own dear self to tell you all this, that you may understand why I am backward in making acquaintance with ladies. In London no one comes unless invited; here you are at their mercy on public nights. I have known ladies change their nights with infinite trouble to get rid of some of these, whom they had nothing to say against. Society to me is a real pleasure, not a mere habit, and for that reason those that give me none bore me." But, unless she took up one of these aversions, she was general in her tastes. She liked variety, and she constantly told us to send our English friends to her (she wrote, "Pray, if you have any niceies-a new substantive-send them to me"), for she was anxious to show her gratitude for the kindness she received in London. Her evening circle was large, usually much too large for any one man to stand by the mantelpiece and harangue the company. When this was possible it was extremely delightful; but general conversation seldom took Conse place, except after a small dinner or a breakfast. quently these small meetings by invitation were far more interesting than the ordinary Friday evenings; and when she wanted us to meet any one in particular, it was always by invitation at breakfast or dinner. Nothing could be more agreeable than these little parties. I never saw anything to complain of in the food, although there was no pretence at delicacies. Madame Mohl had an excellent old servant, Julie, who was a very fair cook, and who tyrannized over her. I remember she on one occasion wanted to have two dinnerparties in a week, and she ran out of the room to ask Julie's leave, and returned in triumph, saying, "Julie says I may have them." The company was always carefully chosennever too many for the table; nor did she ever, as is said in the Journal des Débats, put husband and wife side by side. Sometimes there was an empty place with Ivan Tourguénieff's name upon it, for he had an Eastern habit of breaking engagements (when he came, however, he was so delightful that one forgave his eccentricities); but none of her other guests ever failed her, as far as I can remember. Nor can I ever recollect her appearing at her own house in the evening in the gown she had worn all day. She always dressed herself to receive her guests as she did when she went out to dine or to tea. When she was on the borders of ninety she became more negligent; but she gave up her Friday evenings after M. Mohl's death, and never had the heart to resume them, and those who called on her in the evening were unexpected, and received without ceremony, but with kindly welcome. Before 1870 foreigners of all nations-English, Italians, Hungarians, Germans, Swedes, Dutch, Japanese, and other Orientals-brought by M. Mohl, who also contributed the scientific element, met on the same easy terms; and although she hated so bitterly Louis Napoleon ("cet homme," or "le monsieur," she called him; never "celui-ci," as most people did, and never "the emperor"), she admitted some who had gone over partially to the enemy, such as Kergorlay and Prosper Mérimée. The latter was, however, one of her oldest friends, and a témoin at her marriage. He had a studio alongside of hers in early days, and used to drop in and chat for hours with her. At that time M. de Tocqueville told me Mérimée was exceedingly handsome, with long fair hair curling over his shoulders. One day he appeared in the studio with his arm in a sling, and he told Miss Clarke that he had had a fall. The truth came out, however, that he had fought a duel. A letter of his had been intercepted to some fair lady, whose natural protector, as Mérimée said, “n'aimait pas ma prose." In later years he affected a "phlegme Anglais," and was always delighted if one told him that he looked English. He was a great admirer of Mademoiselle Ida's cleverness and simplicity, and used often to invite the Mohls and ourselves to drink yellow Russian tea in his apartment in the Rue de Sèvres. He was charming on these occasions : he laid aside his cold, cynical manner, and amused us by showing us his drawings and discoursing on the places and people he had seen. There were never any other guests. In 1871 his house was burnt down by the Commune on account of his relations with the empress. The most delightful of all the celebrated men who were to be met at Madame Mohl's was Alexis de Tocqueville. As Mrs. Grote said of him, he was made of porcelain throughout. In spite of his great ability and distinction, and his incomparable talent for conversation, he never sought to usurp the first place. His inexhaustible mind (says Ampère) touched without undue haste or too rapid transition, but with even flow and infinite variety, one subject after another. They succeeded each other without effort, from the most important and logical discussions down to the most piquant anecdotes. Though always perfectly simple, he preserved, in the most intimate and familiar conversations, the purity of expression and admirable choice of words which was a part of his very nature. His voice, sweet, low, and varied in its tones, added greatly to the charm of his conversation. He was an equally sympathetic listener, and there was no one to whom he listened more willingly than to another habitué of Madame Mohl's, for whom she had the highest respect-M. Guizot. Tocqueville said of him Guizot is always charming. He has an aplomb, an ease, a verve, arising from his security that whatever he says will interest and amuse. He is a perfect specimen of an ex-statesman, homme de lettres, and père de famille, falling back on literature and the domestic affections. As for me, I have intervals of sauvagerie; or, rather, the times when I am not sauvage are the intervals. I easily tire of Paris and long to fly to the fields and woods of my native Normandy. It is difficult to resist sketching some of the other characters in this remarkable circle-Horace Say, with his charming countenance and delicate wit; Cousin, always brilliant, and enthusiastically in love with Madame de Longueville; Mignet, with his remarkable beauty-he never seemed to listen to a word, yet one felt one's vanity satisfied, for he took so much pains to please the person he selected to listen to him ; -and many others, but space forbids, and it is necessary to allow Madame Mohl to speak again for herself. CHAPTER V. FROM THE COUP D'ÉTAT TO THE CRIMEAN WAR Opinions-Receptions at the Institut-Pertz on Stein-Restriction of the pressThe Empire coming-Visit to Austria and Hungary-Schloss HainfeldTyrolese travelling-Dinner-party-Madame Ranke's sonnet-Death of Mrs. Martin-Life in London-Life at Cold Overton-Travelling acquaintanceInvalids-Pleasures of convalescence-Indignation at imperial luxury. THE Duc de Broglie has been quoted as saying that Madame Mohl had no decided opinions. I think the reason of her having produced this impression on him was her great respect for the duke and his family (for his father* she had a perfect veneration), and she probably passed lightly over every subject on which they disagreed. But to most people she was not so reticent, and the vehemence with which her opinions burst out was sometimes a source of great annoyance to herself. She wrote to Miss Bonham Carter One's opinions are the most troublesome, noisy, snarling dogs I know. It is like having a pack of hounds in a handsome bedroom when one is visiting, and striving to keep them down, shutting doors and windows that they may not be heard, and now and then an awful "bow-wow" bursts out! She found it impossible to conceal her disgust at the progress of despotism under Louis Napoleon from those who were favourable to him. She writes to the Miss Haughtons * See chap. x. |