Volume Iii Part 68 (1/2)

It is excessively pleasant to me to get your letter, as it opens a perspective of theatrical and other lounging evenings, and also of articles in ”Household Words.” It will not be the first time that we shall have got on well in Paris, and I hope it will not be by many a time the last.

I purpose coming over, early in February (as soon, in fact, as I shall have knocked out No. 5 of ”Little D.”), and therefore we can return in a jovial manner together. As soon as I know my day of coming over, I will write to you again, and (as the merchants--say Charley--would add) ”communicate same” to you.

The lodging, _en garcon_, shall be duly looked up, and I shall of course make a point of finding it close here. There will be no difficulty in that. I will have concluded the treaty before starting for London, and will take it by the month, both because that is the cheapest way, and because desirable places don't let for shorter terms.

I have been sitting to Scheffer to-day--conceive this, if you please, with No. 5 upon my soul--four hours!! I am so addleheaded and bored, that if you were here, I should propose an instantaneous rush to the Trois Freres. Under existing circ.u.mstances I have no consolation.

I think THE portrait[23] is the most astounding thing ever beheld upon this globe. It has been shrieked over by the united family as ”Oh! the very image!” I went down to the _entresol_ the moment I opened it, and submitted it to the Plorn--then engaged, with a half-franc musket, in capturing a Malakhoff of chairs. He looked at it very hard, and gave it as his opinion that it was Misser Hegg. We suppose him to have confounded the Colonel with Jollins. I met Madame Georges Sand the other day at a dinner got up by Madame Viardot for that great purpose. The human mind cannot conceive any one more astonis.h.i.+ngly opposed to all my preconceptions. If I had been shown her in a state of repose, and asked what I thought her to be, I should have said: ”The Queen's monthly nurse.” _Au reste_, she has nothing of the _bas bleu_ about her, and is very quiet and agreeable.

The way in which mysterious Frenchmen call and want to embrace me, suggests to any one who knows me intimately, such infamous lurking, slinking, getting behind doors, evading, lying--so much mean resort to craven flights, dastard subterfuges, and miserable poltroonery--on my part, that I merely suggest the arrival of cards like this:

[Ill.u.s.tration: HW:

Horgues homme de lettres or Drouse membre de l'Inst.i.tut or Cregibus Patalanternois Ecole des Beaux arts

--every five minutes. Books also arrive with, on the flyleaf,

Jaubaud Hommage a l'ill.u.s.tre romancier d'Angleterre

Charles De Kean.]

--and I then write letters of terrific _empress.e.m.e.nt_, with a.s.surances of all sorts of profound considerations, and never by any chance become visible to the naked eye.

At the Porte St. Martin they are doing the ”Orestes,” put into French verse by Alexandre Dumas. Really one of the absurdest things I ever saw.

The scene of the tomb, with all manner of cla.s.sical females, in black, grouping themselves on the lid, and on the steps, and on each other, and in every conceivable aspect of obtrusive impossibility, is just like the window of one of those artists in hair, who address the friends of deceased persons. To-morrow week a fete is coming off at the Jardin d'Hiver, next door but one here, which I must certainly go to. The fete of the company of the Folies Nouvelles! The ladies of the company are to keep stalls, and are to sell to Messieurs the Amateurs orange-water and lemonade. Paul le Grand is to promenade among the company, dressed as Pierrot. Kalm, the big-faced comic singer, is to do the like, dressed as a Russian Cossack. The entertainments are to conclude with ”La Polka des Betes feroces, par la Troupe entiere des Folies Nouvelles.” I wish, without invasion of the rights of British subjects, or risk of war, ---- could be seized by French troops, brought over, and made to a.s.sist.

The _appartement_ has not grown any bigger since you last had the joy of beholding me, and upon my honour and word I live in terror of asking ---- to dinner, lest she should not be able to get in at the dining-room door. I _think_ (am not sure) the dining-room would hold her, if she could be once pa.s.sed in, but I don't see my way to that. Nevertheless, we manage our own family dinners very snugly there, and have good ones, as I think you will say, every day at half-past five.

I have a notion that we may knock out a _series_ of descriptions for H.

W. without much trouble. It is very difficult to get into the Catacombs, but my name is so well known here that I think I may succeed.

I find that the guillotine can be got set up in private, like Punch's show. What do you think of _that_ for an article? I find myself underlining words constantly. It is not my nature. It is mere imbecility after the four hours' sitting.

All unite in kindest remembrances to you, your mother and brother.

Ever cordially.

[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]

49, CHAMPS ELYSeES, PARIS, _Jan. 28th, 1856._

MY DEAR MARY,

I am afraid you will think me an abandoned ruffian for not having acknowledged your more than handsome warm-hearted letter before now.

But, as usual, I have been so occupied, and so glad to get up from my desk and wallow in the mud (at present about six feet deep here), that pleasure correspondence is just the last thing in the world I have had leisure to take to. Business correspondence with all sorts and conditions of men and women, O my Mary! is one of the dragons I am perpetually fighting; and the more I throw it, the more it stands upon its hind legs, rampant, and throws me.

Yes, on that bright cold morning when I left Peterboro', I felt that the best thing I could do was to say that word that I would do anything in an honest way to avoid saying, at one blow, and make off. I was so sorry to leave you all! You can scarcely imagine what a chill and blank I felt on that Monday evening at Rockingham. It was so sad to me, and engendered a constraint so melancholy and peculiar, that I doubt if I were ever much more out of sorts in my life. Next morning, when it was light and sparkling out of doors, I felt more at home again. But when I came in from seeing poor dear Watson's grave, Mrs. Watson asked me to go up in the gallery, which I had last seen in the days of our merry play.

We went up, and walked into the very part he had made and was so fond of, and she looked out of one window and I looked out of another, and for the life of me I could not decide in my own heart whether I should console or distress her by going and taking her hand, and saying something of what was naturally in my mind. So I said nothing, and we came out again, and on the whole perhaps it was best; for I have no doubt we understood each other very well without speaking a word.