t 
 
 
 L I & RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF ILLI NOIS 
 
 yi<734
 
 WINTER 
 
 PARIS; 
 
 OR 
 
 MEMOIRS of MADAME de C**** 
 
 WRITTEN BY HERSELF* 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED FOR HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 LISH AND FOREIGN PUBLIC LIBR.1 
 • QNDCIT-STREET, NEW BONO-STREET.
 
 B. CfcAUKi, Printer, Well-Street, Lond»m.
 
 s 
 
 v.l 
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 -j Con cor tremante, et con tremante piede. 
 
 x Fuggela tapindla, e non sa dove : 
 
 In cid ch'intorno ascolta, in ci6 che vede, 
 Vede di nuovo horror, sembianze nove. 
 ^. Lieve arbossel, cui debil aura fide, 
 
 g Lieve Augullin che geme, 6 che si move, 
 
 Lieve foglia che cade, 6 che si scote, 
 Di terror doppio, il dubbio cor percote. 
 
 Auiosto. 
 
 The first years of my lrfe present no- 
 thing to my recollection but scenes of 
 hardship and misery. I was born a- 
 midst the bleak mountains of St. Ber- 
 nard ine, in Switzerland; and my father, 
 Paul Hartz, was by birth and occupa- 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 tion a shepherd : his habitation was an 
 ill-built disunited cottage, and stood 
 at the foot of one of the highest hills. 
 Stnpendousprccipices, foaming torrents, 
 and eternal storms, distinguished this 
 dreary a.b:>de, and the toilsome mouo- 
 tony of a shepherd's life early became 
 my dislike and aversion: their occupa- 
 tions, uniform and unvaried as the re- 
 turning s"a?ous, admit of little descrip- 
 tion. In summer tiioy lead their flocks 
 to crop the fragrant herbage, which 
 hangs upon the brow of the mountain; 
 and in winter the} descend to seek pas- 
 turage in. the plain beneath, while the 
 feuiaLes of the family repair the c loath- 
 ing and prepare l heir homely fare, to 
 which they frequently return accom- 
 pany d by the way-faring stranger- and 
 when the frugal repa-t is ended, eagerly 
 crowd around him, and listen to his re- 
 cital of difficulties eucouutered, and 
 dangers overcome.
 
 A WINTER IK PARIS. £ 
 
 As the Swiss peasantry arc early 
 taught to read and write, histories, 
 plays, and similar books of amusement, 
 are selected and read aloud during the 
 winter evenings; but the uproar of* 
 contending elements, and the rude blast 
 driving the sleet and snow through 
 each aperture of their creaking, feeble 
 sheds, rendered the voice of the reader 
 indistinct and tremulous, while the 
 fluttering flame is nearly extinguished 
 in the lamp. On Sundays and festi- 
 vals they assemble, clad in their best 
 attire, and rudely dance to the sound 
 of the flagelet and tabor; but to rne their 
 amusements or labours were equally 
 irksome, and I received the coarse 
 courtship of the peasant youths with a 
 disgust and sense of superiority, which 
 I endeavoured without success to con- 
 ceal. 
 
 Though my father's family consisted 
 of two sons and another daughter, yet 
 b2
 
 4 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 I appeared destined to undergo all 
 those miseries of servitude which the 
 harshness and ill-humour of the woman 
 who called herself my mother could 
 possibly inflict. My sister, who had 
 always been the object of her prefer- 
 ence, was as remarkable for the home- 
 liness of her appearance as I was said 
 to be for the beauty of mine; but no 
 one ever, in her hearing, commended 
 the form or features of Giovanna; with- 
 out exciting her indignation, and in- 
 curring her displeasure: any of those 
 transient, yet powerful attractions which 
 attend ihe bloom of opening yonth, and 
 expand or wither, according to the 
 smiles or frowns of fortune, my mother 
 took pains to diminish as much as pos- 
 sible, by sending me, at day break, to 
 follow a few ragged, ill favoured goats 
 to pasture up the rugged cliffs, my 
 cloathing too scanty >o resist the cold, 
 and without any other provision to ai-
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. J* 
 
 lay my hunger, rendered sharper by 
 the keen air of the mountain., than a 
 bag of coarse oatmeal and a jug of 
 water, either shivering with cold, or 
 scorched by the rays of the sun, my 
 feet wounded and bleeding; and by the 
 point of the rock I was forced to pursue 
 my flocks in ail their wanderings, and 
 bring them in safety home at ''night; 
 but my return was never greeted by 
 the smile of endearment, or the soft 
 accents of maternal love. This mode 
 of life would have been utterly insup- 
 portable, had I not been able to read ; 
 therefore, while the goats were brous- 
 ing on the summits of the cliffs, I 
 seated myself below, and beguiling the 
 tediousness of the day, indulged my 
 imagination with the charms of poetry, 
 and the splendid imagery of romance. 
 My fifteenth year was completed, 
 when I had the misfortune to lose one 
 b3
 
 6 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 of the goats as I was returning 
 home : this circumstance exaspe- 
 rated my mother, and excited an 
 unusual degree of ferocity; she flow 
 at me with the rage of a tigress, and, 
 laying hold of a log of wood, would 
 probahly have killed me, had not one 
 of her sons, who happened to be in 
 the house at the time, interfered : he 
 could not, however, stop the torrent of 
 invective: she loaded me with every 
 epithet of abuse which language could 
 supply, and among other things, de* 
 dared her detestatiort of beggars and 
 strangers, and execrated that folly 
 which had induced her to waste her 
 children's bread upon others, and 
 threatened vengeance, which, though 
 delayed, should fall heavy at last : she 
 added a great deal more, which was 
 beyond my comprehension, but I un- 
 derstood enough to resolve on making
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 7 
 
 my escape, and leaving forever a mode 
 of life which appeared to me intolera- 
 ble. But it was at the hazard of 
 bewildering myself among the moun- 
 tains, and of becoming a prey to wild 
 beasts, that I set out on the following 
 morning with my flock, determined to 
 bid them adieu for ever; and having 
 provided myself with an additional 
 quantity of oatmeal, a tinder-box, my 
 Sunday clothes, and leaving the goats 
 to return home, or not, just as they 
 pleased, I quickened my pace consi- 
 derably, and reached the valley of 
 Mesox as the sun had nearly finished 
 its course. I paused to draw my breath, 
 uncertain which path to choose : ob- 
 serving a lake at some distance, I 
 approached the banks, in hope of dis- 
 covering some person who might direct 
 me to a neighbouring town or village; 
 but the only objects which I could 
 discern were inanimate: all was still 
 b 4
 
 8 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 and silenf, except the breeze sighing 
 among the reeds which skirted the 
 waters of the lake. I pursued my 
 journey; the evening was closing fast, 
 and the mist began to gather upon the 
 mountain, and roll along the valley, 
 without my having been able to distin- 
 guish any habitation whatever: weary, 
 anxious, and uneasy, I reluctantly be- 
 held the sun sink in the horizon, and 
 withdraw from me his friendly beams. 
 Exhausted with fatigue, I threw myself 
 on the ground, and remained there for 
 some time in a state of listless languor: 
 my mind, harassed and bewildered, was 
 incapable of farther exertion, and I 
 viewed with apprehension and alarm 
 the circumstance of remaining all night 
 exposed to the changes of the atmos- 
 phere, or the attacks of savages, either 
 of the human or brute kind. The moon, 
 however, suddenly rising, discovered 
 to me, on the right, a spacious cavern,
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. V 
 
 partly concealed by hanging wood, 
 which appeared to offer a place of 
 security and repose : I arose, and draw- 
 ing near, determined to take shelter 
 there for the night; and gathering a few 
 dried sticks and herbs, 1 kindled a fire 
 at the mouth of the cave, and kneading 
 some oatmeal, made my usual evening 
 repast. It was not long, however, 
 before I felt a curiosity to examine the 
 interior of my asylum, and seizing a 
 brand, began to advance cautiously, 
 treading upon loose stones and decayed 
 leaves: — but I had not proceeded far., 
 when the light flashed upon an object 
 which froze the blood in my veins, and, 
 for a few moments, rooted* my feet to 
 the ground. I beheld an enormous 
 she-wolf extended on the ground, suck- 
 ling her whelps : she fixed her glaring 
 eyes on the torch, and snarling gnashed 
 her white teeth, but dazzled by the 
 rays of light remained motionless. I 
 
 b 5
 
 10 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 gazed for a few moments in speechless 
 dread, and then uttering a crj of ter- 
 ror, hastily dropt the light, and fled to 
 the mouth of the cave: but a storm 
 which had long- been gathering began 
 to rage violently, and though accus- 
 tomed from" my infancy to hear the 
 thunder roar among the mountains, and 
 echo from overhanging cliffs, yet I 
 seemed to hear it for the first time : I 
 knelt down behind some loose frag- 
 ments of *«tone, and concealing my face 
 with my hands, remained long in this 
 position, fearful lest the flushes of 
 lightning should discover the she-wolf 
 in pursuit of me. The ram soon be- 
 aan to fall in torrents, and before it 
 ceased, and ere day-light returned, I 
 issued forth, fearful and trembling, and 
 pursued the winding path which led 
 amotg the hills, often starting at the 
 rustling of the wind, and pelting of the 
 rain, fancying I heard the footsteps
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 11 
 
 of the savage tenants of the shade in 
 every breeze. 
 
 I had quitted the cavern, and travel- 
 led most of the following day, at ha- 
 zard, and without seeing any habita- 
 tion or descrying a human form, when 
 towards evening I joyfully distinguish- 
 ed the tinkling of the shepherd's bell, 
 and advancing, towards the spot from 
 whence it proceeded, soon perceived an 
 elderly man sitting in the clef: of a 
 rock, with a book in his hand : he 
 raised his head at my approach, and 
 listened kindly and attentively to my 
 complaints of destitution, and entrea- 
 ties that he would direct me to some 
 neighbouring village, where I might 
 find refreshment and repose: laying 
 his book aside, and smiling benevo- 
 lently as he spoke — 
 
 " You seem fatigued, my child, " 
 said he, " and the nearest town, Beliin- 
 zone, is five leagues distant; but in
 
 12 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 liat direction (pointing to the setting 
 sun) stands a house, formerly the mo- 
 nastery of St. Zuric ; and though the 
 order has, like others, been lately abo- 
 lished, yet the community still exists, 
 and I am told continues to exercise the 
 sacrod duties of hospitality and bene- 
 volence : it is two leagues distant, and 
 I fear you will lose your way : I can- 
 not escort you thither myself, but my 
 dog shall accompany you ; he is a 
 brave fellow, and was never known to 
 lead a stranger astray, and formerly 
 belonged to the monks of St. Gothard ; 
 many a man has he saved from perish- 
 ing in the snow ; he will return to 
 me when you have reached the con- 
 vent. So saying, he called his dog, 
 and pointing to me, the dog imme- 
 diately placed himself at my side: — 
 " Now, my child," said the old man, 
 c * begin your march, and may God 
 bless you!" Having thanked him a
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 13 
 
 thousand times, I followed my faithful 
 companion, and in about two hours 
 reached the end of my journey, and 
 applied for admittance at the gate of 
 the convent.
 
 14 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 . 
 
 Like as a ship -with dreadful storm long toss'd, 
 Having spent all her masts aiul her ground-hold, 
 Now far from harbour, likely to be lost; 
 At last some Ash'r-bai k doth near behold, 
 That gi'veth comfort to her courage cold. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 The monastery of St. Zuric is situa- 
 ted atthe to ft ot Mount Cenere, one of 
 that chain of mountains formerly called 
 Retian Alps; the buildings are spa- 
 cious,, and form three sides of a square, 
 commanding a superb and extensive 
 view over the Lake Ma^gi ore, as far as 
 Locarno, and you can easily distin- 
 guish the lofty mountains which sepa- 
 rate La Vallais from Italy. During 
 those disturbances which convulsed the
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 15 
 
 continent of Europe, at the conclusion 
 of the last and beginning of the pre- 
 sent century, this monastery fared like 
 all institutions of a similar Rescript ion— 
 the gates were throw open, the chapel 
 pillaged of every valuable ornament, 
 and prohibitions issued against any 
 future vows of everlasting poverty and 
 seclusion. The revenues of the con- 
 vent were for a while suspended ; but 
 the prioress, who was related to one of 
 the Emperor's generals (St. Hilaire), 
 possessed sufficient interest to recover 
 them in part, and she remained in the 
 monastery, together with several indi- 
 viduals of her community, some of 
 whom had returned thither after hav- 
 ing in vain endeavoured to revive, by 
 their presence, the kindness of their 
 relatives, and having, as is usually the 
 case, on this occasion been disappointed, 
 they had resumeutheir usual avocations, 
 with the same, or even greater alacrity
 
 16 A WINTER IN FARIS. 
 
 than when secured by iron bars, and 
 shackled by irremediable vows. The 
 monastic dress was still worn, though 
 with some trifling alteration: in lieu of 
 the tight bandage over the forehead, 
 and stiff hood, insupportable in hot 
 weather, their hair was confined un- 
 der a round-eared cap, and over this 
 they threw a loose veil whenever they 
 went to chapel : instead of the flowing 
 robe, leathern belt, and rosary, their 
 dress was made to fit tight to the shape, 
 and their beads were suspended in their 
 cells. The church-service and religious 
 duties were performed with zeal and 
 regularity ; and although they had li- 
 berty to adopt any form of worship 
 they pleased, they nevertheless adhered 
 to their original tenets, and continued 
 to perform the duties of piety and cha- 
 rity with unabated devotion and con- 
 stancy. 
 It was late when I applied for ad-r
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 17 
 
 ttiittance : the prioress and most of the 
 community had retired to rest, and the 
 porteress was preparing to close the 
 gates for the night, when the barking 
 of the dog gave notice of my approach. 
 After having answered several ques- 
 tions satisfactorily, I was permitted to 
 enter the Monastery of St. Zuric, and 
 an old nun was ordered to conduct me 
 to ft cell on the ground-floor, usually 
 occupied on similar occasions : she ac- 
 cordingly led the way, and throwing 
 open the door, I hastily entered, while 
 she placed the light on the table and 
 left me: presently returning with some 
 bread, fruit, and country wine, she was 
 extremely loquacious, and entertained 
 me with an account of the number of 
 strangers and pilgrims relieved by the 
 community, and concluded by inform- 
 ing me that she would return early on 
 the following morning to present me to 
 the prioress.
 
 18 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 Notwithstanding the fatigue of two 
 preceding* days, I arose the next morn- 
 ing at my usual hour, and began to 
 examine my apartment : opposite the 
 bed stood a table with a crucifix and 
 hour glass, and the window,^ which 
 opened into the garden, appeared to be 
 secured by iron bars; but these were 
 almost, concealed by the leaves of a 
 vine, whose tendrils crept round them, 
 and on opening the casement the notes of 
 the thrush and nightingale echoed 
 sweetly in the distance, and the breeze 
 wafted the odours of the plants. I con- 
 tinued enjoying their fragrance for a 
 considerable time, and my thoughts 
 naturally bent towards my precarious 
 situation ; the retrospection was disas- 
 trous and alarming: the future, though 
 veiled in obscurity, seemed to offer few 
 motives of consolation, and to take its 
 colour from the past. I determined 
 however to revealto the prioress every
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 19 
 
 circumstance respecting my flight from 
 St. Bernard ine, and my motives for 
 doing so, and relying on her humanity, 
 claim protection, and solicit a perma- 
 nent asylum under her roof. In order 
 to prepare myself for this interview, I 
 selected my Sunday clothes, and put 
 them on. The dress of a female Swiss 
 peasant is eminently calculated to dis- 
 play with advantage any beauty of 
 form or grace of deportment : it con- 
 sists of a short petticoat of coloured 
 cloth, decorated with rows of ribbon, 
 disposed according to the fancy of the 
 wearer J a jacket with slashed sleeves 
 considerably above the elbow; a short 
 mantle and broad brimed hat is also 
 worn ; sandals and coloured stockings 
 complete the costume ;\ the hair is 
 twisted in braids, and fastened with a 
 bodkin : nature had given me a profu- 
 sion of auburn tresses, which, as they 
 curled naturally, did not require
 
 20 A WINTER IN PAKIS. 
 
 much art to arrange in a becoming 
 manner; and my shape, which was full 
 and well rounded, made the coarse ma- 
 terials of my dress less discernible. 
 
 I followed the old nun silently into 
 the presence of the prioress, who was 
 sitting working at the farther end 
 of a long apartment, with several 
 females standing behind her, attentive 
 to her commands. Madame De St. 
 Zuric was a pleasing good looking 
 woman, about forty-five years of age, 
 who had assumed the monastic dress at 
 a time of life when it might fairly be 
 concluded she had sufficiently experi- 
 enced what the world affords; and how 
 little she was likely to lose when she 
 quitted it: her figure, which was on a 
 large scale, might yet be called hand- 
 some; and her countenance, placid and 
 smiling, did not bear a single trace of 
 disappointed affection, or corroding re- 
 gret: always in good humour with her-
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 21 
 
 self, and inclined to be friendly and 
 good-natured to others, she was much 
 beloved by her community; and the 
 neighbouring peasantry, whose dis- 
 tresses she relieved., were loud in her 
 praises: indeed, she was seldom known 
 to withhold relief or consolation from 
 the destitute and oppressed, and any 
 apprehensions which I might be sup- 
 posed to . feel on my entrance were 
 quickly dispelled by the kindness and 
 condescension with which she interro- 
 gated me, and listened to my replies: 
 perceiving that at first I Imitated and 
 appeared abashed, she dismissed her 
 attendants, mildly desiring that I 
 would recommence my narrative. I im- 
 mediately complied, and after expatia- 
 ting on the hardships which I had 
 undergone on my native mountains, and 
 recounting the difficulties attending my 
 escape, requested she would become 
 the disposer of my future destiny; and
 
 23 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 ward off further disasters from- my head. 
 Madame De St. Zuric paused a con- 
 siderable time, and looking attentively 
 at me, said : — 
 
 €C I cannot believe but that from the 
 midst of so many perils the hand of 
 St. Zuric guided you hither, I there- 
 fore receive you as such, and shall extend 
 to you my protection accordingly ." 
 
 Saying this she clapped her hands, 
 and several nuns entering, " St. Ig- 
 natia," said she to one of them, 
 n take this child under your imme- 
 diate care : our holy patron has bestow- 
 ed her upon us, therefore let her be 
 educated as becomes our child ; conduct 
 her ftp the refectory, and let her occupy 
 a cell adjoining your own at night " 
 
 Ignatia smiled, and replied, that 
 she joyfully accepted the trust, and 
 gently led me from the apartment we 
 were in into a spacious saloon, where 
 the community, consisting of seventy or
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 23 
 
 eighty nuns, were seated at breakfast, 
 listeuingtoone who was reading aloud: 
 in about half an hour they all arose, and 
 several of them formed a circle round 
 me, asking a variety of quest ions : one ad- 
 mired my dress, another, lightly touch- 
 ing a few loose curls, declared that my 
 hair resembled the gold silks which 
 they used in their embroidery; others, 
 commended the beauty of my face, and 
 extolled the shape of my hands and 
 arras, and all expressed their pleasure 
 on hearing that I was to remain among 
 them, and invited me to their respec- 
 tive cells.' My guardian and friend 
 Ignatia, to whose care and instructions 
 I am indebted for most of those ad" 
 vantages which education procures, 
 and which I at present possess, ap- 
 peared about thirty years of age : her 
 person, abovethe middle height, seemed 
 to have lost much of its former pro- 
 portion and beauty : eaough of this re-
 
 24 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 maincd however to make her highly 
 interesting : an inexpressible grace and 
 softness was diffused over every look 
 and motion ; long black eye- brows and 
 eye-lashes gave some degree of animation 
 to her expressive countenance., notwith- 
 standing the habitual languor and de- 
 jection so visibly marked in every well- 
 turned feature, and when she smiled, 
 seemed to give additional charms to 
 one of the most interesting countenan- 
 ces I ever beheld. The events of her 
 life (which I shall shortly have occasion 
 to relate) connected with several cir- 
 cumstances mentioned in the following 
 memoirs, appeared to have had a con- 
 siderable effect in undermining her 
 health; and that awful event which 
 must inevitably happen to all seemed 
 suspended over her by a single thread ; 
 but the piety of her life gave her every 
 rational hope of happiness in another, 
 and she viewed death as the end
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 23 
 
 of suffering, not the termination of 
 existence. So numerous are the occur- 
 rences which press upon my recol- 
 lection, so many are the events 
 which I have to relate; my pen must 
 glide swiftly over those which took 
 place during the early period of my 
 residence at the monastery of St. Zuric: 
 suffice it to say that I was completely 
 instructed in the different accomplish- 
 ments of female education, while my 
 mind was enlightened and improved by 
 the conversation of Ignatia, who 
 caused me also to excel in various 
 curious pieces of work, and soon 
 taught me to blend my voice with the 
 soft tones of the harp, and to unite 
 with the sacred choir in hymns of 
 praise. In the seclusion of a monastic 
 life, the history of a day is that of a 
 week, month, or year. I attended divine 
 service at sun-rise in the chapel, anfl 
 afier breakfast received instructions in 
 YOh. i. c
 
 26 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 df awing and reading; while the ex- 
 tensive and fragrant gardens which sur- 
 rounded us often attracted our steps, 
 which, together with conversation, wri- 
 ting, and working, engaged the re- 
 mainder of the day. 
 
 The lady prioress frequently re- 
 quired my attendance in her apart- 
 ment, examined me as to the progress 
 which I had made in my studies, and. 
 commended or disapproved as she 
 thought proper; but her indulgence 
 seldom permitted her to find fault, and 
 her daughter Giovanna, as she was 
 pleased to call me, was more frequently 
 dismissed with rewards than afflicted 
 by reprimands.
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 27 
 
 . CHAP. III. 
 
 li "What is our "bliss, that changeth with the moon, 
 <c And day of life, that darkens ere 'tis noon." 
 
 Time moves rapidly away when it 
 finds us engaged in the acquirement of 
 knowledge, or in the pursuit of interest- 
 ing and elegant accomplishments; and I 
 had unperceived completed*the twelfth 
 month of my residence in the monastery 
 of St. Zuric, when I had the anguish 
 of perceiving my friend and companion, 
 my instructress, my dear Ignatia, daily 
 more indisposed, and less able to attend 
 to her usual employments : perfectly 
 aware as to the nature of her complaint, 
 and thoroughly sensible how little aid 
 she could derive from medicine, she 
 c 2
 
 28 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 refused the attendance of the physician, 
 and contenting herself with pleading 
 exemption from the church service 
 during the night, she passed most of 
 her time in reading and writing in her 
 cell : I never left her during the day, 
 and frequently arose in the night to 
 watch the progress of her illness, my 
 anxiety not permitting me to enjoy re- 
 pose. It was now the middle of the 
 summer season, and the weather 
 had been for several preceding 
 days intensely hot : not a breath of 
 air cooled the glowing atmosphere : 
 nature seemed fading and expiring 
 beneath the fervid heat: and Ignatia, 
 alas ! was drooping and withering ne- 
 ver to revive again. One evening how- 
 ever, feeling herself better than usual, 
 she expressed to me a wish of once more 
 viewing the setting sun. I accompa- 
 nied and supported her with mournful 
 tenderness and anxious solicitude to an
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 29 
 
 eminence, from whence the eye wander- 
 ed at pleasure over an extensive pros- 
 pect of hanging wood, broken rocks, 
 and- all that wild magnificent scenery 
 peculiar to Switzerland. The shining 
 glacier rose at a distance tinged with 
 .1 thousand colours by the setting sun, 
 whose departure appeared to restore life 
 and animation to the birds, plants, and 
 insects around : soft dews began to 
 ascend, and the moon, rising its silver 
 crescent from behind a forest of pine 
 trees to the left, completed the beauty., 
 freshness, and tranquillity of the scene : 
 we soon reached a seat, and after ad- 
 miring the serenity of the evening, and 
 enjoying the exhilirating charms of 
 tv\ilight, I insensibly began to dis- 
 course, on the occurrences of my life in 
 the mountains of St. Bernardine ; and 
 contrasted the harshness of my mater- 
 nal relatives to the soft and tender 
 attentions of that friend who listened 
 c 3
 
 SO a winter in paris; 
 
 to me with all (he indulgence of 
 friendship. 
 
 sult'1 My dear Giovanna," replied she, 
 K your appearance forcibly recals to 
 my recollection that of a friend long 
 since numbered among the dead: the 
 same blue eyes, the same auburn curly 
 hair: in disposition alone you differ : 
 she was gentle and timid ; you are 
 fearless and undaunted. In relating to 
 you lier history, you will have my own 
 also ; of a melancholy nature indeed, 
 but which may serve as a caution 
 against the emotions of rage and re- 
 sentment, which, if indulged, frequent- 
 ly plunge us into an abyss of crime 
 and misery : I am strongly persuaded 
 that you will yet act a busy part in the 
 field of life; listen therefore attentively 
 to what I shall relate. 
 
 tf My father, Major James Monro, 
 and Colonel Charles Montgomery, na- 
 tives of Scotland, had long been united
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 31 
 
 hy the strongest ties of friendship ; they 
 had served together in the 42d on the 
 continent, and braved the heat of the 
 torrid zone in Jamaica. While the pes- 
 tilential fever raged there, spreading 
 death and destruction around, each 
 bad in turn set its fury at defiance, and 
 remained day* and nights suspended over 
 the couch of contagion and pestilence, 
 admiokfering relief and consolation to 
 lm friend, struggling with disease and 
 death. At the end of five years the 
 regiment was ordered home, but in the 
 meantime Cecilia Biars, the only daugh- 
 ter of an opulent planter in Port- Royal, 
 had attracted Colonel Montgomery's 
 -attention; the marriage accordingly 
 took place, and soon afterwards they 
 returned to England. Cecilia, like 
 most Creoles, had sparkling black eyes, 
 good teeth, pallid complexion, and 
 black hair; her figure, below the mid- 
 dle size, was slight and elastic; her 
 c 1
 
 32 A WIKTER IN PARIS. 
 
 disposition; on most occasions, denoted 
 tranquillity and good-nature: not easily 
 irritated, she appeared indifferent about 
 the events of life ; but her passions of 
 resentment, if once excited, knew no 
 control ; they raged with the violence 
 of the tornado, and she would with her 
 own hands have sacrificed any object 
 which stood in the way of her revenge. 
 This violence of temper, seldom or ever 
 called forth, did not prevent her from 
 being beloved by her family and ac- 
 quaintance: she idolized her husband, 
 who deserved and returned her love in 
 a rational manner; but if he had any 
 enthusiasm in his composition, it leaned 
 to the side of friendship. Colonel 
 Montgomery was universally congra- 
 tulated on his marringe with so opulent 
 and lovely a woman ; he soon after- 
 wards sold out : his wife's fortune, al- 
 ready considerable, had lately been 
 much increased bv the death of her
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 33 
 
 father, he therefore purchased an estate 
 near Inverness in Scotland, and went to 
 reside there. 
 
 ' r My father, Major Monro, also mar- 
 ried : he had long been attached to a 
 lady named Duff, but want of fortune 
 on his side had hitherto forbid their 
 union ; however; on his return from 
 abroad, his constancy and assiduity, 
 together with my mother's predilec- 
 tion, so softened the heart of my grand- 
 father, that he consented to the mar- 
 riage, bestowing on them, together 
 with his blessing, what in his circum- 
 stances was extremely desirable — five 
 thousand pounds. My father after- 
 wards purchased a farm, within three 
 miles of his friend's estate, retiring 
 upon half-pay. Few domestic circles 
 could boast of so muclrhappiness; en- 
 joying all the ease and some of the ele- 
 gancies of life ; respected by a select 
 number of estimable friends, with the 
 c 5
 
 34 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 assistance of books and rural sports, 
 they despoiled old Time of his wrin- 
 kles, and made him dance joyous and 
 jocund along. 
 
 " My brother Arthur was born a 
 twelvemonth after my father's mar- 
 riage, and three years afterwards, Ve- 
 ronica Montgomery and I saw the light 
 on the same day, and shared all the 
 lively joys and transient griefs of child- 
 hood: the same masters instructed us; 
 the same table fed us ; wc equally en- 
 joyed the tenderness of my father and 
 mother, and Mr. andMrs. Montgomery's 
 house was like theirs, common to us all. 
 Arthur, Veronica, and Cecilia were sel- 
 dom seen asunder, and if one of the 
 three was absent, the others refused to 
 join in any sport or partake of any 
 pastime. 
 
 " I shall not undertake to trace to you, 
 my dear Gipvanna, the progress of that 
 affection between my brother and Miss
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 35 
 
 Montgomery, so lively in childhood, 
 so ardent in youth, and so lasting, that 
 I firmly believe he is as much attached 
 at this moment as ever, though years 
 have rolled on since they parted to 
 meet no more. Veronica was com- 
 pletely beautiful ; large blue eyes, fair 
 complexion, good teeth, auburn hair, 
 her graceful step, and well-turned 
 shape, procured her the appellation of 
 the Northern Star : her disposition was 
 gentle and engaging; her deportment, 
 mild and obliging, completed the con- 
 quests which her beauty, attracted. 
 My brother, now eighteen, was seat to 
 study at Edinburgh, with Professor 
 Stewart, a man eminent for talents and 
 learning; and during one of the vaca- 
 tions returned home to Inverness-shire, 
 accompanied by Mr. George Pelham, 
 eldest son of a gentleman in Norfolk. 
 He was past twenty, his person well- 
 made, and his manners graceful and
 
 36 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 pleasing: heir to a considerable landed 
 property, most houses were open for his 
 reception ; he was, however, unassum- 
 ing and modest; and though an excel- 
 lent education had given him every 
 opportunity of doing so, he never press- 
 ed his information upon others, or 
 sought to instruct those who merely 
 desired to be amused. On leaving 
 the university, he had made the tour 
 of France, Italy, and Spain, and re- 
 turned to England fraught with mate- 
 rials for compiling an interesting pub- 
 lication ; when passing through Edin- 
 burgh, on his road to the Highlands, 
 he was introduced to the acquaintance 
 of Professor Stewart, and then became 
 familiar with my brother, who pre- 
 vailed upon Mr. Pelham to make our 
 house his own, during his continuance 
 in the North of Scotland. 
 
 " Soon after their arrival inlnverness- 
 shire, my father and Colonel Montgo-
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 37 
 
 mery bad dined at a; neighbouring meet- 
 ing of country gentlemen, anrj heated by 
 wine,, which had circulated freely, 
 unfortunately differed in opinion re- 
 specting some late military transaction; 
 and some severe retorts having been 
 made, those friends, who had fought 
 side by side, and defended each other's 
 life at the hazard of his own, retired 
 to an adjoining room, with pistols, to 
 settle the dispute. My father fired first, 
 and the ball entering Colonel Montgo- 
 mery's right shoulder, passed through 
 his lungs; he fell, and in an instant 
 was covered with blood. The door was 
 forced open, and a surgeon called, who 
 pronounced the wound to be mortal. 
 Colonel Montgomery beckoned to the 
 attendants, to prevent their acquaint- 
 ing his family, as was proposed, with 
 what had happened ; and seizing my 
 father's hand with a cold convulsive 
 grasp, faintly said — f Dear James, we
 
 38 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 have been equally to blame; let us ex- 
 change forgiveness ; and may the Al- 
 mighty as freely pardon us both as I 
 forgive you!' He was proceeding to 
 mention his wife and child, when a 
 violent fit of coughing came on, at- 
 tended with an effusion of blood, and 
 he fainted away in my father's arms, 
 and went off without a struggle. Alas ! 
 we were as yet ignorant of this dread- 
 ful event. The sun had risen as bright 
 as usual on the morning of that fatal 
 day, nor had any presentiment of mis- 
 fortune distinguished it: we were on 
 the point of conducting Mrs. Montgo- 
 mery and Veronica home, when a ser- 
 vant entered, with hurried step and 
 pallid Jooks, saying that a horrible ac- 
 cident had happened to his master and 
 Colonel Montgomery. Arthur, followed 
 by George Pelham, instantly darted out 
 of the house to give and procure assist- 
 ance, while we remained for some mo-
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 39 
 
 ments motionless,, dreading to discover 
 the truth : at last, Mrs. Montgomery 
 ran hastily down the road leading to 
 her own house ; and meeting those who 
 were bearing the dead body of her 
 husband, she lost for a moment all 
 consciousness of her misery; but when 
 she recovered her recollection, and found 
 that he had fallen by my father's hand, 
 rage and indignation drove away the 
 apathy of despair : she uttered the 
 wildest threats and execrations; tru 
 violence of her natural disposition ap- 
 pearing in full force; and, exhausted 
 at length by the power of her passion, 
 she suffered Veronica to conduct her 
 to her own apartment. My father also 
 returned home ; but how haggard, 
 how altered his appearance ! — His 
 dress was disordered, his clothes stain- 
 ed with blood ; he seemed unconscious 
 of surrounding objects, and regardless 
 of his wife and children, who were
 
 40 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 kneeling and weeping before him: sud- 
 denly tearing himself from our em- 
 braces; he retreated to his study, and 
 remained there, inaccessible to our 
 prayers and entreaties for admittance, 
 while we passed the whole of that 
 dreadful night alternately lamenting 
 with tears and anguish the deplorable 
 death of my father's friend, and with 
 horror anticipating yet greater woes to 
 come. 
 
 " My mother, one of the most ex- 
 cellent of women, deeply impressed by 
 a sense of religion, received the events 
 of life with dignified composure, as 
 proceeding from the dictates of uner- 
 ring wisdom. She had fulfilled the 
 duties of a wife in an exemplary man- 
 ner, and on the present trying occasion 
 retained all her wonted fortitude and 
 resignation. She had soon the misery 
 of beholding the partner of her life, 
 the object of her earliest affection,
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 4 1 
 
 tried by a court-martial for the murder 
 of liis friend and benefactor, and she 
 remained long in dreadful suspense as 
 to the event. He Was, however, ac- 
 quitted ; but no jury could acquit him 
 to his own conscience, or blot out the 
 remembrance of his friend and bene- 
 factor, expiring in consequence of 
 wounds inflicted by his hand. Mrs. 
 Montgomery and Veronica remained 
 inaccessible to us, nor could my bro- 
 ther, with all the ingenuity of love, 
 effect an interview. One night, having 
 sat up later than usual, I was prepar- 
 ing to retire, when approaching a win- 
 dow which opened into the shrubbery, 
 I discovered a female figure standing 
 at a distance. I threw up the sash— it 
 beckoned me. I ran down stairs, and 
 crossing a short gravel walk, advanced 
 hastily, and in an instant my darling 
 Veronica was in my arms : it was long 1 
 ere the weeping girl could tell me that
 
 42 A WINTER IN PARIS* 
 
 she had escaped unknown to her mo* 
 ther to bid me farewel ; that Mrs. 
 Montgomery remained inflexible in 
 her resentment, and had forbade her 
 ever seeing us more ; that she under- 
 stood they were soon to leave Scotland, 
 and to go abroad, but she knew not 
 whither; that Arthur would always 
 continue lo be the object of her af- 
 fection. f And if/ continued she, 8 I 
 am never to see him more, bid him 
 keep this for my sake/ 
 
 ¥ So saying*, she unbound the ribbon 
 which confined her curly glossy hair, 
 and was hastening away : I entreated 
 her to return again, if possible, which 
 she promised ; but this short interview, 
 alas ! was the last : I never again saw 
 the companion of my childhood, the 
 sister of my heart. Mrs. Montgomery, 
 Veronica, and a few attendants, left 
 Scotland the following week, nor could 
 \ve ever succeed in discovering the
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS* 
 
 place of their retreat, but I always re- 
 mained in doubt whether ray brother 
 was equally unsuccessful, or whether 
 lie had not found means of seeing hi* 
 beloved before she went away. When 
 I gave him the ribbon worn by Vero- 
 nica, repeating to him her injunction 
 that he would keep it for her sake, he 
 rapturously pressed it to his lips, and 
 placing it in his bosom, retired with- 
 out speaking, nor did I ever afterwards 
 hear him mention her name. George 
 Pelham, whose attentions to us were 
 unremitted, prevailed upon his friend 
 to return with him to England, with 
 the view of engaging his father, Mr. 
 Pelham's patronage, in procuring for 
 Arthur some civil employment abroad. 
 Before they left us, I had the hap- 
 piness of exchanging vows of affection 
 with Mr. Pelham, and of seeing them 
 authorized by my dear mother, who.
 
 44" A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 had long viewed him with the partia- 
 lity of a parent, 
 
 " Soon after their departure front 
 Inverness-shire, my father's health evi- 
 dently declined ; a deep-rooted melan- 
 choly absorbed every faculty of his 
 soul, and his senses often appeared 
 disordered : he would speak incohe- 
 rently, and mention former scenes of 
 domestic bliss, as if they still existed, 
 and frequently in conversation suddenly 
 referred to his friend, as if he were yet 
 among us. One evening, when the 
 family were assembled in the supper 
 room, and the table spread, he rose 
 hastily, and going to the sideboard, 
 took up a knife, and before we were 
 in the least aware of his fatal design, 
 plunged it into his throat. I am una- 
 ble to describe the cruel scone whirh 
 followed. My mother's usual fortitude 
 and presence of mind forsook her :
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 43 
 
 distracted and bewildered, she disap- 
 peared, and it was a considerable time 
 before the servants discovered her in a 
 field near the house, concealed under 
 a hedge. My father only survived 
 four and twenty hours, remaining 
 speechless to the last. Immediately 
 after the funeral, we removed to my 
 grandfather Duff's house, in Stirling- 
 shire, and my attentions were all en- 
 grossed in attendance on my mother, 
 whose recovery remained long doubt- 
 ful. Mr. Pelham procured for his 
 son the situation of private secretary 
 to Lord Malmsbury, then ambassador 
 at the court of France, and at the 
 same time promised to sanction our 
 union with his presence, immediately 
 after his son's return from the continent. 
 My brother was to accompany George 
 Pelham in the same capa< >ity, and pre- 
 vious to their departure tor Paris 
 they came to us at Balmoie. The ar-
 
 46 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 ■ 
 
 rival of Mr. Pelharn and of my brother 
 excited the first emotions of pleasure 
 which had arisen in my heart since 
 Colonel Montgomery's death, and this 
 was the first time I could enjoy or take 
 any % interest in surrounding objects. 
 My grandfather Duff, at a very ad- 
 vanced age, rarely left the house; and 
 my mother, now a confirmed invalid, 
 seldom quitted her apartment, but she 
 promoted as much as possible every 
 innocent pastime, and, accompanied 
 by the two friends, I enjeyed all the 
 delights which the country affords, 
 blest with their, society, and forming 
 schemes of future happiness, never, alas! 
 to be realized. Time stole away un- 
 perceived, and they received orders to 
 join the embassy. I have often taken 
 a melancholy pleasure in retracing 
 former scenes when I was in the midst 
 of beloved connexions and surrounding 
 friends, lost to me now for ever.
 
 A winter in parish 47 
 
 Standing as I do, on the brink of the 
 grave, may 1 not hope again shortly 
 to behold them ? Will they not attend 
 my dying moments, and be the first to 
 welcome me to the regions of.peacc? 
 And my dear father, and his friend, I 
 may surely indulge the belief that you 
 have ratified in heaven the exchange 
 of forgiveness made upon earth, and 
 are united in bonds of friendship, 
 where no misunderstanding can ever, 
 take place. 
 
 " It was with difficulty/' continued 
 Ignatia, "'that 'I summoned resolution 
 to meet George Pelham with compo- 
 sure on the evening previous to their 
 departure. We had already made 
 every arrangement as to our future 
 correspondence, and he promised him- 
 self that his absence should not exceed 
 two years at the farthest. On entering 
 the supper- room, my mother and Ar- 
 thur were discoursing earnestly at one
 
 48 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 of the windows. Mr. Pelham advanced 
 hastily to meet me, and I spoke to him 
 of his intended journey and departure 
 with as much firmness as I could com- 
 mand, but declined making one at the 
 supper table ; for if it is difficult, un- 
 der such circumstances, to speak with- 
 out weeping, it is still more so to join 
 the social board, when those whose 
 presence form all the charm of it are 
 about to be seen there for the last time. 
 44 At one o'clock, my brother, looking 
 at his watch, arose, and approaching 
 my mother's chair, embraced her, and 
 knelt to receive her blessing : she gave 
 it impressively; and George Pelham 
 bowed likewise at her feet, and in 
 broken accents recommended us both 
 to the care of heaven. My mother 
 folded her arms round him, called him 
 her son, and offered up prayers, min- 
 gled with tears, for our mutual hap- 
 piness. She suddenly appeared faint
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 49 
 
 and overcome, I therefore imme- 
 diately conducted her to her apart- 
 ment, and in a few moments returned 
 below, in hopes of finding George 
 Pelham there; but they had purposely 
 left the house immediately after we. 
 retired from the supper room, and 
 were already on their journey. All 
 our wishes now centered in the arrival 
 of letters. My brother wrote fre- 
 quently — Mr. Pelham more so: they 
 reached Paris in safety ; and every 
 moment which I could command, in- 
 dependent of my attendance on my 
 mother, was devoted to writing letters, 
 and reading those which came from 
 abroad. 
 
 " In a few .months, however, my at- 
 tention was wholly engaged by my dear 
 and excellent parent, who was fast 
 sinking under the weight of disease 
 and languor. She had never reco- 
 vered the death of my father, and the 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 absence of my brother heigh tenid her 
 dejection : her constitution, entirely de- 
 bilitated, and incapable of resisting 
 the attacks of disease, fatally gave way 
 to an inflammation of the lungs, and 
 she expired after a fortnight's severe 
 suffering, eight months after she took 
 leave of her son. My tears were .still 
 flowing over her grave, when I had to 
 lament the loss of one, if possible, still 
 dearer to me. >nj* ioI sm novljsaiol 
 
 " I was sitting reading to my grand- 
 father, whose increasing infirmities re- 
 quired my utmost attention, when a 
 small packet was put into my hands, 
 directed to my mother. I observed 
 that it came from my brother, and 
 eagerly opened it, but started on seeing 
 the letters which I had written at dif- 
 ferent times to George Pclham : they 
 fell from my trembling hands, and had 
 death at that instant, with his icy fin- 
 gers, grasped my heart, I should not
 
 A WINTER IN *ARIS. 51 A 
 
 have felt a sharper pang. It was long 
 ere I could see to read -my brother's 
 letter: a dimness shaded my eyes, and 
 sickness oppressed my liearfr; ^ftnittvhoili 
 I had recovered myself sufficiently to 
 read it, you would scarcely believe mey 
 Giovanna, were I to tell you, that I felt 
 comparative joy at finding thai it was 
 not inconstancy which had robbed mc 
 of Mr. Pelham's affection, neither had 
 he forsaken me for another woman, 
 but had remained constant to the very 
 last, repeatedly calling upon my name 
 in the delirium of a fever, which ter- 
 minated his existence on the fifth day. 
 Arthur, who had never left him from 
 the commencement of his illness, re- 
 ceived his last sigh, and closed his 
 eyes at five o'clock in the morning of 
 the day in which he wrote to my mo- 
 ther. Ignorant of her death, he had 
 requested she would prepare me for 
 the discLo6itre!of my misfortune. I ios' 
 
 0. OF 5LL
 
 52 A WINTER IK PARIS. 
 
 for a time all sense of my misery — a 
 long and dangerous illness commenced 
 as the harvest was beginning to ripen; 
 and when at last I again became sen- 
 sible of surrounding objects, the snow 
 was on the ground, and icicles hanging 
 in every direction. Though time and 
 religion in some degree succeeded in 
 healing the wounds and assuaging the 
 disease of my mind, yet the world was 
 a dreary blank, which appeared every 
 day more irksome. My grandfather, 
 a decripit old man, was my only re- 
 maining tie in England, and this frail 
 existence was snapped asunder the fol- 
 lowing autumn. A will, made on the 
 birth of Arthur, gave him possession 
 of the Balraore estate, and my mo- 
 ther's fortune devolving upon me, no- 
 thing remained to retain me in Scot- 
 land ; and joining a gentleman and his 
 daughter who were going abroad to 
 make the tour of the continent, I was
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 5S 
 
 attracted by the beauty of this country, 
 and at length became one of the mem- 
 bers of the monastery of St. Zurie, and 
 taking the veil, assumed the name of 
 Igttatia, one of the patron saints, as is 
 usual on such occasions ; nor was the 
 difference of religion any obstacle on 
 my side, early taught that all religions 
 are good, if practised with piety and 
 purity of heart. My brother, after 
 remaining some years abroad, returned 
 to his paternal estate. I frequently 
 hear, from him, and if accident should 
 ever conduct you to England, rest as- 
 sured he will feel equal alacrity with 
 myself, in affording you every pro- 
 tection, and assistance if necessary ; 
 and I will leave you a ittter for this 
 purpose, t > be delivered or not, as 
 circumstances may require." 
 
 Having thanked my friend, and ex- 
 pressed all the interest her history ex- 
 cited, and observing the lights in the 
 d3
 
 64 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 convent windows begin to fade, and 
 the bell toll ten, we retired to our 
 respective cells^ w^b increased affection 
 on my side ; and on her's, repeated 
 assurances of tenderness and regard. 
 ,ia a A 
 
 )1B iiaTTicl 
 
 Ji bnuoiu bwoio 
 
 mm* bflB 
 
 :iOli \£V)U IHIJi 
 
 Ufi'JiiiU :)uiini rl 
 
 81 9ViJ»;o . tVO 
 
 bflStenoi nciono 
 
 . 
 
 -01 b^il £it£in$J i uIg €'( A bn«*if 
 
 -ai iari ,'iiil isdlo aJfms aril am ol b$tei 
 
 & a
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 55 
 
 gwobniw insvnoa 
 too t Hot ijtad srfi 
 
 PTTAP TV *f 8d<1 
 
 b9ta> no Dffj? ; sbis yen no 
 
 fewpi briJB 889ni9brid) 1o &$onBv 
 
 Anima bella da quel nodo sciolta, 
 Che piu bel mai non seppe ordir natura ; 
 Pon dan cicl menti alia mia vita ascura ; 
 Da si lieti ptinsier a piangcr volta. 
 
 Petrarca, 
 
 Bitter are the sensations which 
 crowd around the heart, as we fearfully 
 behold the daily diminishing strength, 
 and trace the increasing suffering of 
 those we love : we turn away from the 
 conviction which intrudes itself, that all 
 our cares are vain, and that the grave is 
 about to close upon our expectations, and 
 we indulge the vicissitudes of hope and 
 fear, scarcely less agonizing to the mind 
 than the catastrophe which we appre- 
 hend. A few days after Ignatia had re- 
 lated to me the events of her life, her in- 
 d 4
 
 v 56 a winter- in paris. 
 
 disposition seemed rapidly to increase, 
 and symptoms of approaching dissolu- 
 tion began to take place : unable to rise 
 from her couch without assistance, she 
 was with difficulty supported to an ad- 
 joining ^apartment, in order to enjoy 
 better air and less confinement than in 
 hcrcell: extreme difficulty of breathing, 
 and an incessant cough, rendered con- 
 versation impracticable; and I usually 
 sat by her side watching in silent anx- 
 iety the progress of her fatal disease. 
 
 One evening she beckoned me to her, 
 and gasping for breath as she spoke, 
 whilst the fever sparkled in her eyes, 
 and crimsoned her cheeks:" 
 
 " Giovanna," said she, " I am dy- 
 ing, I ft el that all will soon be over; the 
 holy priest must immediately adminis- 
 ter the last sacraments. tc And, alas I" 
 continued she, "pressing my hand, 
 and gazing eagerly in my face 
 with all that anxiety and anguish
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 57 
 
 tyjiicli wrings the soul at the approach 
 of death, "I am unable to draw my 
 breath, or utter a prayer/* I instantly 
 dispatched a nun tothe prioress, and in- 
 formed her of Ignatia's request, who 
 soon afterwards entered the apartment* 
 followed by the Confessor Lomaria and 
 several nuns, who surrounded in 
 mournful silence the dying Ignatia. 
 Prayers were read, and the faultering 
 voice of the priest, and more audible 
 grief of the nuns, gave testimony how 
 much the object before us was loved, 
 and lamented. Ignatia appeared wholly 
 absorbed in mental devotion; and 
 with clasped hands and uplifted eyes 
 received the holy sacrament. 
 
 Dismissing the attendants, I re- 
 mained alone with her during the night: 
 she occasionally spoke, and thanked 
 me for my affectionate care; conjured 
 me to do my duty to God, and bid^me 
 d 5
 
 §8 . A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 remember that life was very short; and 
 enjoin d me <> think often of hetivjrii 
 A las ! how needless was this lastinj unc- 
 tion : towards 'morning she appeared 
 i»el ihed to sleep : I smoothed her pil- 
 low, closed the curtains, andooearly 
 overcome by grief, fatigue, and 
 atixiety, lay down at the foot of the 
 bed, and slept for a few moments ; 
 when suddenly recollecting myself, and 
 half rising, I observed she was lying 
 perfectly still ; and I was again com- 
 posing myself to sleep, when listening 
 a few moments, expecting to hear her 
 cough as usual, all was silent : I hasti- 
 ly arose* and drawing aside the curtain, 
 perceived; that she was gone for ever. 
 XDnejofjthc-fattendant nuns came in soon 
 aifteuw^nds, and found me lying near 
 the bed in a state of insensibility; and 
 it waslongere she succeeded in bring- 
 ing me to myself, Those who have like 
 oiiupm oi y
 
 A WINTER IS PARIS. 59 
 
 me attended the last moments of a 
 friend can alone understand the sensa- 
 tions I experienced, when returning 
 recollection brought with it a retro- 
 spetcive veiw of the loss which I had 
 sustained. The last trembling accents 
 of Ignatia's voice still lingered in my 
 ear : I beheld her struggling in the 
 arms of death, while anguish had 
 usurped the expression of a tenderness 
 which was wont to beam in her expres- 
 sive eyes ; and when 1 heard the door of 
 the cell open or close, the remembrance 
 that she was no more struck upon my 
 heart with additional pangs ; and it 
 was some days before the prioress, who 
 condescended to visit and console mo, 
 could prevail upon me to join the 
 community or leave my cell ; in the 
 interim, alas ! they had performed the 
 last sacred duties to my companion aod 
 friend: Ignatia was la d in th&garth ; 
 but I never had resolution to inquire
 
 60 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 on what particular day she was com- 
 mitted to the grave : and it was long 
 before they pointed out to me the place 
 where she reposed, distinguished by a 
 cross and the initials of her name alone : 
 many a melancholy day and watchful 
 night succeeded the death of Ignatia ; 
 and the leaves of autumn were 
 beginning to fall, ere I could re-assume 
 my former avocations, my beloved in- 
 structress was silent : every pursuit ap- 
 peared uninteresting and insipid. It 
 was impossible to tune my harp ; each 
 note was discord to my ear: and the 
 embroidery which we had began toge- 
 ther remained unfinished, and the co- 
 lours faded before I could prevail upon 
 myself to add another leaf or shade, 
 another flower : her favourite books 
 became my only resource ; and while I 
 listened to their excellent precepts, or 
 perused their pleasing narratives, I 
 again met my friend in every line, and
 
 a winter in Paris. Gi- 
 
 ber spirit hovered near me. It was al- 
 most two months after the death of 
 Iguatia, when the lady prioress one 
 morning informed me as I entered her 
 apartment, that the arrival of Madame 
 de St. Hilaire at the convent of St. Zu- 
 ric was daily expected, to whose hus- 
 band she was nearly related, and for 
 whose acceptance she wished to prepare 
 some of the choicest, trinkets and pieces 
 of work which our ingenuity and skill 
 could supply : and selecting me as the 
 principal artist on this occasion,|recom- 
 mended care and dispatch in the exe- 
 cution. In this occupation I was en- 
 gaged the three following days. I was 
 adding the last bead to a rosary when the 
 prioress sent to require my attendance, 
 and on entering the apartment I per- 
 ceived a stranger, whom I immediately 
 discovered to be Madam de St. Hilaire: 
 she had lost the bloom of youth, but 
 ibis was in some measure supplyed by
 
 6% A; WINTER JfFT JPBflUS. 
 
 ^#ilgagipg ; p<>lished*iitaiHier, fine fea- 
 tures, and good teeth : sire was "eight 
 and thirty, fair compleaiqp, light 
 l^ir, fciwki&resaed with, elegance and 
 shit)» Madame de St. Hikaire was a 
 woman of extreme delicacy of mind, 
 and more suscepitble of painful im- 
 pressions than accessible to those of 
 a contrary description : ever active in 
 discovering the unfavourable traits of 
 character in those with whom she 
 conversed, she frequently overlooked 
 dispositions of a different nature ; and 
 as the soft Mimosa recoils from the 
 touch of the passing stranger, so she 
 retreated at the first indication of vice, 
 folly, or rudeness ; and formed by na- 
 ture to charm and adorn society, she 
 frequently passed days and months in 
 seclusion, retiring disgusted from 
 others, and two fastidious to be long 
 pleased with her friends : her temper 
 was mild and gentle, and, asl afterwards
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 6$ 
 
 experienced, it wa& impossible to reside 
 under the same roof without being 
 devotedly attached to her." u44 &W 
 bnA'alihe prioress introduced me 
 as her protege, and after a few obli- 
 ging commendations as to my person 
 and skill in embroidery, Madame deSt; 
 Hi lair e inquired how I liked the con- 
 vent of St. Zuric, and smiling, added 
 that she concluded I was sorry that 
 monastic vows were abolished." 
 
 I replied in the negative, at the same 
 time doing every justice to the merits 
 of the community in general, and to 
 the kindness of the prioress in parti- 
 cular. She questioned me as to the 
 extent of my knowledge in music, 
 books, and drawing, and appeared 
 pleased with what I said in reply, and 
 henceforth I constantly attended 
 her, sometimes with pieces of fancy 
 work, at others with my music books.
 
 6& A^fWINTER fNfPAHlS4 
 
 and each day appeared to increase the 
 interest which she had expressed in 
 my favour at our first interview. She 
 frequently mentioned her daughters, 
 and wished they had a companion of 
 their own age, who could promote 
 their improvements in music and draw- 
 ing, and concluded hy asking me 
 whether I should like to return, to 
 France with her. 
 
 No proposal could have been more 
 agreeable to my wishes : change of 
 scene might be supposed to remove 
 the melancholy, and dispel the affiic* 
 tion which I felt for the death of Ig- 
 natia, and which the surrounding ob- 
 jects conspired, to nourish and indulge. 
 These sentiments I ventured jto express 
 to Madame de St Kilaire, and. soon 
 afterwards I had a short conversatipn 
 with the prioress, who signified to me 
 her entire acquiescence with this wish
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 03 
 
 of her relation, that I should quit the 
 convent of St. Zuric, and accompany 
 her to France. 
 
 When this intelligence was commu- 
 nicated to me, my heart again ex- 
 panded to the influence of joy, and 
 fancy dipping her pencil in bright 
 colours, sketched a fairy prospect of 
 generous friends, faithful lovers, and a 
 prosperous fate. Madame de St. Hi- 
 laire having signified her intention of 
 proceeding on her journey the follow- 
 ing day, preparations were made for 
 my departure also, but I determined 
 previously to revisit the grave of Ig- 
 natia, and bid a last farewel to my 
 friend. Accordingly I proceeded 
 along the cloisters, and entered the 
 burial ground as the last rays of light 
 streamed through the parting clouds, 
 and partially illumined the objects be- 
 frre me. I soon discovered the grave 
 I sought, aod kneeling down on the
 
 66 ^jLHwiwemauwraiiis. 
 sacredearth, remained long in prayer 
 
 tanftimcnmifiil^ meditation. The even- 
 ing breeze fluttered the branches of 
 the cvpre9sanc^ Judas tree*> whieb rose 
 amidst theUombR, aridlHirewed autum- 
 nal leaves over the lowly grave ; the 
 rustling of approaching footsteps with- 
 drew my attention from -the turf be- 
 neath which lgnatia reposed, and I 
 beheld the confessor of the convent, 
 Father Loraaria, standing near me. /^ 
 
 n* f* I judged rightly, my child/' said 
 he, " in concluding I should find you 
 here, and came purposely to take leave 
 of you, to bestow my blessing, and 
 to wish you every prosperity. The lady 
 who has taken you under her protec- 
 tion is worthy of the trust; but be- 
 ware of her husband ; I know liim 
 well ; he is one of those men who 
 scruple not to yiolate the? most sacred 
 duties, when they happen to interfere 
 with the gratification of their pas-
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 67 
 
 sions. His family formerly patronized 
 this community, but the man who at 
 present possesses the wealth and ho- 
 nours of the feraily is rarely found to 
 encourage laudable pursuits, or bestow 
 any benefits upon the virtuous and de- 
 serving; but be not discouraged, my 
 child ; though dangers and diffi- 
 culties may intercept your path, let 
 it only make you tread more cautiously. 
 Place your reliance on the protection 
 of heaven, together with your own 
 foresight, and may our patron St. 
 Zuric be your guide. 
 
 The following morning at break of 
 day Madame de St. Hilaire's atten- 
 dants were in motion, and I met the 
 prioress at the door of her own apart- 
 ment ; kindly taking me by the hand, 
 she led me in, and presented me with 
 a box, containing her own picture on 
 the lid. " Accept of this, as a re- 
 -£fi(j liarii Jo iioDsaHiJin; ii^
 
 68 a -Winter in par,,.' 
 
 n.jmbranee, my dear Giovanna," said 
 she, tC and' as a memento of my af- 
 fection; your nttentive duty and gra- 
 tittifle has ensured to you my regard. 
 T doubt not but that Madame de St. 
 Hilairc will find you equally deserving 
 of her affection. Faiewel : ido not for- 
 get your friends in the inorfasfery *df 
 St. Citric, and rest assured that we 
 shall remember you in ourpravers." 
 
 It was in vain that I endeavoured to 
 dispel the tears which rose to my eyes, 
 or express the sensation which the un 
 exampled goodness of the prioress- had 
 excited. I could only utter some in- 
 articulate thanks for thekindness with 
 which she hsul received me, and for 
 the unremitting tenderness' and benevo- 
 lence she had displayed. Advancing 
 towards the gate I was surrounded by 
 nuns, each pressing upon me, together 
 with their adieus, some trifling pTe-
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 69 
 
 sent, when one of Madame de St. Hi- 
 laire's attendants came to accelerate my 
 movement?, by informing me that all 
 
 AC A 4 T 4" 1 
 
 was ready for our departure. 1 fol- 
 lowed her, and seating myself in the 
 carriage which waited at the gate, the 
 muleteers drove off, and 1 lost sight of 
 the convent of, St. Zuric.
 
 fO A WIHTER I* FAHIS. 
 
 f>fioi j.ii baa 4 ^iib gniwo^ 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 . rfoufa yjio silt btoibd 
 
 Oh! Happiness, our being V^f^^ 
 Good, pleasure, case, content, whate'er thy 
 
 name, 
 That something still which prompt! tlrHtetfWf *> 
 sigh, laiBao M lo forms *>rfj ii£wx 
 
 For which we bear to live, or dare to die ; 
 Which, still so near us, yet beyond us, jiejy g£VV 
 O'erlook'd, seen double, by the fool and wise: q- 
 Plant of celestial seed if dropt below, 
 
 Say in what mortal soil thou deign'st to grow ? 
 
 _ 
 
 >bin 
 
 Hieres, on the coast of Provence, 
 was the place of our destination. We 
 continued travelling through the Mi- 
 lanese territory, and on the evening of 
 the first day reached the town of Co- 
 sal, seated on the banks of the river 
 Po. The mountains and fruitful v al- 
 lies of Piedmont opened to our view
 
 A WINTEE IN PARIS. 71 
 
 on the following day, and the road 
 
 frequently lay through plantations of 
 
 tbe orange and pomegranate trees. At 
 
 length, after traversing a vast plain, 
 
 we beheld the city of Turin, which 
 
 stands at the foot of a mountain on 
 
 the confluence of the river Po. We 
 
 drove to. one of the hotels, there to 
 
 await the arrival of Monsieur de St. 
 
 Hilaire, who on his return from Paris 
 
 was to acccmpany us to his villa in 
 
 Provence/ 
 
 On the following morning we viewed 
 
 the ramparts, which are of considerable 
 
 extent, and enjoyed the beauties of 
 
 some delicious gardens on the edge of 
 
 the water. Having loitered there a 
 
 considerable time, reposing in the 
 
 shade, and selecting some flowers and 
 
 fruit, we were proposing to regain the 
 
 hotel, when a servant came to inform 
 
 us that his master was arrived ; we 
 
 quickened our pace, and on our return 
 wo ot T)sn<»go jaorabdiH
 
 72 A WINTER IN. PARIS. 
 
 I retired to my apartment, till Madame 
 deSt. Hilaire should require my attend- 
 ance. This was soon the case, and a 
 gentleman in the military uniform 
 rose at my entrance into the saloon, 
 while Madame, in a graceful 
 charming manner, endeavoured to en- 
 gage his protection and esteem, by re- 
 presenting me as worthy of tbem. 
 Ademar de St. Hilaire was about the 
 middle height, rather thin than other- 
 wise, distinguished by his sallow com- 
 plexion, long face, and dark blue pro- 
 minent eyes; his upper lip remarkably 
 short, was rendered more so by an ha- 
 bitual smile, while the general expres- 
 sion of his countenance indicated cold- 
 ness and pride ; his manners were im- 
 perious, aud often rude. Ardent aud 
 undaunted in the pursuit of interest, 
 or of pleasure, all perception as to the 
 distinguishing characteristics of virtue 
 and of vice was nearJy extinguished in
 
 A WIMSR IN PARIS. 73 
 
 his bosom ; and as far as was consistent 
 with his own immediate personal safety, 
 his passions were his only guide. Strange 
 are the inconsistencies of the human 
 mind ; ever varying are the sentiments 
 of the heart, and vain for the most 
 part, and imperfect must be the endea- 
 vours of the biographer, to depict that 
 which changes its colour as the clouds 
 of the sky, and is unsteady as the sands 
 on the sea shore. De St. Hilaire was 
 a negligent unfaithful husband ; his 
 heart cold and depraved, yet his tem- 
 per, without exception, the best I ever 
 met with, and he was an affectionate 
 father and indulgent master. Of noble 
 origin, and a native of Languedoc, in 
 the south of France ; before the re- 
 volution he held the rank of lieutenant 
 in the Legion of Honour, and in 1789 
 took the oaths, and was advanced to the 
 rank of colonel : he was generally 
 esteemed artful and intriguing, and at 
 VOL. i. ■
 
 74 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 A 
 
 the t'.me I saw him was forty years of 
 
 age. He commanded a division in the 
 
 Emperor Napoleon's arm}-, and when 
 
 absent from his military duties resided 
 
 at Albinga, his favourite villa on the 
 
 coast of the Mediterranean, five miles 
 
 to the south of Toulon. The presence 
 
 of a stranger usually occasions a de- 
 cs ~ t) j\) 
 
 gree of restraint in domestic circles, 
 but I had soon occasion to observe 
 that my entrance had not interrupted 
 any overflowings of tenderness, or ex- 
 change of confidence and endearment. 
 After giving some directions about our 
 journey, ordering his attendants to be 
 ready at an early hour, and inquiring 
 in a careless manner respecting those 
 domestic transactions which had taken 
 place during his absence, he left us, 
 and I saw him no more that night. 
 As we were to continue our journey on 
 the following morning, we retired early 
 to rest, and at day-break, leaving Turin
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 79 
 
 ... >dJ" 
 
 to the right, after travelling several 
 
 hours, crossed the Alps, and entered 
 ™ q rad. 
 
 Provence. 
 
 The beauties of Languedoc are so 
 
 justly celebrated, and have been so 
 
 frequently described, that it appears 
 
 n I i J loniH J n 
 
 needless to remark how majestically 
 
 the mountains rise, and how Juxun- - 
 antly tlie vallies extend, adorned with 
 trees of every foliage, and plants of 
 every description. 1 lie scarlet blos- 
 soms of the pomegranate were intermin- 
 gled with the white flowers of the 
 orange and citron plant, and their light- 
 green leaves, of a spiral form, were 
 contrasted with the dusky tufts of the 
 olive, and grotesque form of the cork- 
 
 tree : the wild vine mixed its slender 
 
 i 
 
 tendrils with those of the scarlet fuscia, 
 and we frequently paused to enjoy the 
 fragrance of the honeysuckle, and to 
 catch the last beams of light quivering 
 on tne 1 Foliage of the trees, or trem- 
 e2
 
 76 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 bling on the surface of the stream ; and 
 "we listened to the simple *song of the 
 shepherd watching his flock, and guard- 
 ing them from the depredations of the 
 wolves, tenants SP ffe*tieighbouring 
 forest : the pastures were spotted with 
 herds, and the corn, beginning to ripen, 
 waved its golden he*ta , ; mi *™ r l iJ DfJ * °* 
 
 The road now lay along the short?, 
 and we soon discerned the clear surfVc* 
 of the Mediterranean; and continuing 
 our route, on the evening of the third 
 day we discovered the town of Hieres ; 
 and de St. Hilaire pointed out to me 
 his villa, seated on a rising ground, at 
 the foot of which the ever toiling ocean 
 rolled. The building fronted the sea, 
 and the fairy islands of Hieres, clothed 
 with eternal verdure, appeared in the 
 distance raising their green heads above 
 the waves : a spacious antichamber, 
 adorned with statues of exquisite work- 
 manship, -led to a dining-room, the
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. T? 
 
 painted walls of which represented in 
 a lively manner scenes taken from the 
 popular romances of the day : on the 
 opposite side stood the library, contain- 
 ing a multitude of books enclosed in 
 cases of inlaid wood, and covered with 
 gold uet-work : a marble staircase led 
 to the apartments above, consisting of 
 a magnificent saloon, ...with several 
 smaller rooms branching from it : the 
 walls were covered with, silk hangings 
 edged with gold and mirrors, placed 
 opposite the windows, reflected the light 
 barks and pleasure-boats, which glided 
 on the surface of the waters; whjle 
 the surges, as they rose and retreated, 
 could be distinctly heard in every part 
 of the building: cages of gold wire 
 detained a variety of curious birds, and 
 baskets of flowering shrubs were placed 
 near them: the pleasure-grounds spread 
 along the sea side, and the myrtles and 
 gerraneumstook root among the rqpks : 
 e3
 
 78 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 a pavilion, placed at the extremity of 
 the garden, contained several musical 
 instruments, and the breeze fluttered 
 the strings of its own harp, and drew 
 forth such sweet, such sad, such solemn 
 airs divine—" Ah me I what hand can 
 touch the strings so fine." . n arifr 
 
 The villa of Alhinga appeared to be 
 the work of some Genii, who had at 
 his command the beauties of nature 
 and of art. Immediately after our ar- 
 rival three lovely girls ran to meet 
 their parents, who alternately pressed 
 them to their hearts with all the warmth 
 of paternal love. Angelica, Pamela, 
 and Victoire de St. Hilairehad reach- 
 ed that interesting age, when the inno- 
 cent attractions of childhood begin to 
 give way to the more decided charms 
 of youth — equally gifted by nature 
 with beauty of form and feature, their 
 dispositions appeared similar, and indi- 
 cated good-humour and frankness ; fu-
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 79 
 
 ture events will develope this fully,and 
 also display those shades which some- 
 times obscured their characters^ 
 shall only remark at present, that An- 
 gelica the eldest, engaged my atten- 
 tion, tH preference to her sisters, from 
 the moment in which I first saw her, 
 and long retained a pre-eminence in 
 my affections. She was almost fifteen ; 
 her person small and well turned; her 
 face round, and nose of the Grecian 
 cast; and she had large dark eyes, 
 which brightened her whole counter 
 nance, and almost dazzled the beholder. 
 I never saw any so beautiful or so ex- 
 pressive ; and whether they melted with 
 tenderness, or sparkled with resent- 
 ment, they were equally objects of 
 admiration : long silken, jet-black hair 
 was fastened in folds round her pretty 
 head, and the shape and attitude of he* 
 hands and arms, raised to adjust it, 
 displayed the beauty of the G races ; a 
 e4
 
 SO A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 white muslin robe without spot or 
 blemish, resembling her own innocence, 
 heightened those attractions it appear- 
 ed to conceal; and I never beheld so 
 interesting a creature as Angelica deSt. 
 Hilaire at the age of fifteen. Her sis- 
 ters, Pamela and Yictoire, fair bloom- 
 ing girls, with light hair and blue eyes,, 
 had not as yet any decided character 
 of countenance or turn of feature ; their 
 ages thirteen and fourteen. Wc soon 
 became acquainted, and the morning 
 after my arrival Angelica lightly rap- 
 ped at my room- door, to invite me to 
 walk ; and putting into my hand a 
 few flowers, which she had that mo- 
 ment gathered, we took our way, arm 
 in arm, towards the sea side ; but had 
 not proceeded far when a person met 
 us, whose appearance attracted ray at- 
 tention in a remarkable manner : it 
 was one of those figures wliich.qxe.itc 
 disagreeable sensations, and recal to
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 81 
 
 the mind un pleasing* images, without a 
 possibility of tracing them to their 
 source: tall, thin, and athletic, his 
 features were rugged and ill-shaped, 
 his eye-brows black and bushy, half 
 concealed an eye restless and disturb- 
 ed, usually withdrawing itself from 
 observation; but when fixed on any 
 object, it was stern and sure, and the 
 eye shrunk from its gaze: his step was 
 firm, but he bent lowly as we ap- 
 proached, and Angelica having made 
 some slight notice of him, he passed 
 onwards to the house. I immediately 
 inquired who this person was; and 
 found that he was M. de St. Hilaire's 
 favourite attendant, La Souche; but 
 the unaccountable aversion which arose 
 in my mind, while I surveyed the. form 
 and features of this man, can no other- 
 wise be accounted for, than by sup- 
 posing the soul endowed with a degree 
 e 5
 
 82 A WI1VTER IN PARIS. . 
 
 of prescience, which would give u§ 
 intimation of approaching danger. 
 
 Invited by the beauty of the morn- 
 ing, we continued our walk farther 
 than we at first intended ; and on 
 our return, Madame expressed some 
 displeasure against her daughter, for 
 having walked so far without an at- 
 tendant, desiring us in future to avoid 
 it ; when our attention was suddenly 
 directed to a small bark cutting its 
 way through the transparent surface 
 of the sea: the sun glittered upon the 
 oars, and spangled the light foam of 
 the wave as it turned its rudder, and 
 made for land at the foot of the lawn 
 on which the villa stood, and a young 
 man leaping on shore advanced towards 
 us : de St. Hilaire hastily rising, ex- 
 claimed — " Ah ! that is our friend 
 Henry de Verneuil. I was igno- 
 raut of his arrival in Provence/' and
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 83 
 
 immediately went to embrace him ; and 
 they soon afterwards returned toge- 
 ther, nl 
 
 DeVernetiil was tall and thin, slight- 
 ly marked with the small-pox; his eyes 
 dark, and expressive of sense and in- 
 telligence, teeth good, and face a per- 
 fect oval ; his manners were soft and 
 easy, without being careless, and his 
 conversation agreeable and well ex- 
 pressed : his family was one of those 
 few among the ancient nobility u£ 
 France who early joined the republi- 
 can armies; and his father, the Vis- 
 count de Verneuil, fell at the siege of 
 Acre, fighting by the Emperor Napo- 
 leon's side, who graciously extended 
 his patronage to the son, and confirmed 
 to him his father's possessions, and ad- 
 mitted him into the 17th demi brigade. 
 His mother, Madame de Verneuil, was 
 a woman of distinguished merit, and 
 had for many years U^en united in
 
 84 A WINTER Of PARIS.' 
 
 ties of friendship with Madame de St* 
 Hilaiie. She usually resided at Belie* 
 Isle, within a few miles of Albinga, 
 but at the period I mention was 
 absent* either at Paris or Lyons,, I for- 
 get which. I attended Madame ami 
 her daughters while they pursued their 
 usual morniug occupations. Angelica 
 shewed a decided talent for painting, 
 and excelled in taking views and co- 
 louring landscapes ; while Pamela 
 made music her study, and touched 
 the harp with delicacy and skill ; but 
 Victoire, the youngest, delighted in 
 reading plays, poetry, and romances; 
 and frequently succeeded in expressing 
 -her thoughts in verse. When our stu- 
 dies were ended, we dispersed with 
 joyous alacrity, and with light step 
 traversed the gardens and pleasure- 
 grounds, till the dinner bell summoned 
 us to the saloon ; and at our entrance, 
 M. de St. Hilaire smiled, and making
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS* 85 
 
 room for Angelica near himself, placed 
 me on the other side, and desiring de 
 Verneuil to sit by me, we seated ourselves 
 at table. We soon entered into 
 conversation, and I found that he had 
 travelled a great deal, and had resided 
 several months at Florence. He spoke 
 of music and painting scientifically, 
 but without, affectation, and observed 
 that the Italian ladies, who commonly 
 excel in these accomplishments, 
 were nevertheless formed to captivate 
 the eye, without interesting the heart ; 
 their want of information rendering 
 them deficient in those qualities requi- 
 site for rendering them agreeable com- 
 panions or estimable friends; nor was 
 he more inclined to favour his fair 
 countrywomen. " The attractions of wit 
 and talent," continued he, " become 
 powerless, if intruded upon our ob- 
 servation ; and when the restraints of 
 modesty are disregarded, personal ad-
 
 86 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 vantages lose all their charms." It 
 was not difficult to prevail upon de 
 Verneuil to remain several days at 
 Albinga. Angelica consented to dis- 
 play the contents of her port-folio ; he 
 was permitted to accompany us in our 
 excursions, and to carry her pencils and 
 drawing implements when we went to 
 take views : we sometimes wandered 
 a considerable way, traversing the 
 orange-groves, and when fatigued, we 
 reclined, at our ease, on the soft turf. 
 Angelica sketched the passing objects, 
 while de Verneuil read aloud some 
 entertaining romance. 
 
 The season of autumn was pass- 
 ing away, when it was proposed that 
 we should visit the island of Hi- 
 eres, and accordingly a pleasure-boat 
 was prepared, and on the following 
 morning M. and Madame de St. Hi- 
 laire, their three daughters, de Ver- 
 neuil, and I, attended by servants, em>>
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 87 
 
 barked at break of day. The sun rising 
 in mild grandeur, threw a path of ra- 
 dience across the waves; and the 
 balmy fragrance of the morning air, 
 scented with the orange blossom, hail- 
 ed our approach to the Island of Hieres : 
 we landed, and entering a wilderness of 
 sweets and shade, pitched our tent 
 among the blooming trees, which near- 
 ly overspread the gently rising surface 
 of these lovely islands. The freshness 
 of the air had exhilirated our spirits, 
 and excited mirth and hilarity. De 
 St. Hilaire echoed the innocent jest and 
 artless merriment of his daughters ; and 
 de Verneuil, mild, gentle and pleasing, 
 thought only how he could promote 
 the happiness of those around him, while 
 Madame gazed at her daughters with 
 rapture, and beheld her husband with 
 complacency. We remained in the shade 
 till towards evening ; when the attend- 
 ants, stationed at a distance, played seve-
 
 8^ A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 ral favourite airs. After having heark- 
 ened to the soft cadenees of the flute 
 and hautboy, and admired the simple 
 note of the French horn returning in 
 the breeze, walking was proposed. 
 Accompanied by Angelica, followed by 
 her father and de Vcmeuil, we reached 
 some fields of pasture near a mile dis- 
 tant from the tent. Pamela had remain- 
 ed behind, attentive to the music, and 
 Victoire sat reading to her mother in 
 the tent : in the mean time we were 
 crossing a field, when we perceived a 
 bull breaking its way through a hedge, 
 and advancing rapidly towards us in no 
 very favourable disposition: regardless 
 of her father's entreaties to the con- 
 trary, Angelica flew along the ground, 
 and in her fright directly crossed be- 
 fore the enraged animal, who instantly 
 made at her : her father and de Ver- 
 ncuil ran to her assistance, endeavour- 
 ing with loud cries, and by throwing
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 89 
 
 stones,, to drive him off; oue of them 
 hitting him between his eyes, he turned 
 round and ran towards me. I was not far 
 from the hedge, and desperately forcing 
 my steps through it, plunged into 
 the thickest part of the wood, pursuing 
 my way in defiance of every obsta- 
 cle, till overcome by fatigue, my clothes 
 torn, my hands and arms bleeding, I 
 threw myself down among some brush- 
 wood, and it was long ere I could reco- 
 ver my breath. The shades of evening 
 began to fall when I heard de St. Hi- 
 1 aire's voice, who soon reached the piacc 
 where I was sitting : he was breathy 
 
 less, and agitated, and expressed In* 
 joy at my safety in a vehement incohe-t 
 rent manner, without attending to. my 
 inquiries about his daughter; gra^p^ 
 ing one of my hands in both his : 
 
 Ci You know not how cruelly I have 
 suffered," contiuued he, " on your 
 account, dearest Gioyanna. , /The
 
 90 A WINTER IN -PARIS. 
 
 furious animal pursued your steps 
 through the wood, and some pea- 
 sants at length securing hi in in 
 an adjoining field, his horns were ob- 
 served to be covered with blood. Ima- 
 gine if possible my agony when all 
 endeavours to discover you proved 
 fruitless ; but your lovely arms are 
 torn, and bleeding : rest upon me, dear- 
 est creature, and let me conduct you to 
 your friends." Annoyed and displeased 
 at the vehemence of his looks and 
 warmth of his'expressions, I declined 
 accepting his arm, and reluctantly ad- 
 mitted his assistance in pushing back 
 the spreading branches, and disentan- 
 gling my robe from the briars and 
 thorns which obstructed my path, as 
 I endeavoured hastily to retreat from 
 the shade and solitude of the wood, 
 de Verneuil saw us emerging from the 
 trees, and starting for ward joyfully con- 
 gratulated me on my safety, and passing
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 91 
 
 my arm through his, I suffered him to 
 conduct me, and soon afterwards enter- 
 ed the tent with a disordered dress, 
 garments torn, and spirits agitated. 
 The girls flew to meet me, and 
 Angelica throwing her arms round my 
 neck, almost wept for joy at my safety : 
 and I listened with vexation and con- 
 fusion, while de Verneuil rallied 
 his friend on having left him behind, 
 and gone alone in pursuit of me. 
 de St Hilaire on his side appeared 
 pre-occupied, and we soon afterwards 
 embarked, and like most gratifications 
 of a similar nature, the hilarity of the 
 morning was exchanged for lassitude, 
 weariness and dejection : we reached 
 
 Albinga at a late hour. 
 
 i baiuo 
 
 i)&:U aifjr
 
 92 A* Wkmi'tto *ai*i§, 
 
 fcrf sfirlw nwfiil 
 
 CHAP VI 
 
 " II n'y a point de dcguisemcnt qui puissa 
 Jong tcnis cacher l'amour on il est; ni lefeindre 
 on il n'est pas." 
 
 - 
 
 De Verneuil seldom permitted a day 
 to glide by unmarked by some testimony 
 of his attention, or expression of his re- 
 gard : he was foremost to greet ray ap- 
 pearance in the morning, and the last to 
 wish me agreeable repose at night ; as we 
 traversed the fields together he selected 
 for me the fairest flowers, and when we 
 entered the orange and citron groves he 
 presented me w,ith the most delicious 
 fruits. Sometimes I was entertained 
 with an account of the manners and 
 customs pf foreign nations, and hegav.c 
 jme a collection x>f %b%m»i$WWk*£}*
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 93 
 
 views which he had drawn while he 
 traversed them. I received his attentions 
 with the sincerest gratitude, hut my 
 heart remained insensible to a warmer 
 passion: my thoughts were pain- 
 fully occupied by the assiduity of de 
 St. Hilaire, who took every opportunity 
 of disclosirig sentiments, which on my 
 Fide both duty and inclination sternly 
 Opposed. I was one day crossing the 
 antichambrr, when bis attendaut JLa 
 Souche hastily advancing put a letter 
 intomy hand, and instantly disappeared. 
 Ignorant as to the hand-writing of the 
 superscription, I opened it, and found it 
 contained violent professions of love, 
 and splendid offers of protection, but 
 without any signature : I was at no loss 
 however to guess from whence it came. 
 Irritated and confused, I was in the 
 act of destroying it, when de Verneuil 
 advanced to meet me. Hastily conceal- 
 ing the fragments in my robe, I acceded
 
 94 A WINTER IN PARTS. 
 
 to his request, that I would walk with 
 him a few moments on the sea shore, 
 and enjoy the beauties of the evening : 
 we accordingly descended upon the 
 beach. Those who have visited the 
 southern parts of Europe will recollect 
 the charms of the evening hour, when 
 the clearness of the atmosphere dis- 
 closes every aperture in the rocks, marks 
 each swell of the mountain, and dis- 
 plays the variegated foliage of the forest; 
 and when the sun, setting in a flood 
 of glory, gives place to the fair planet 
 of the night, the landscape is again 
 reflected withsoftened tints from the 
 still lake and peaceful ocean. We walk- 
 ed silently on ; no sound broke the still- 
 ness of the scene, except the rippling of 
 the tide : soft sweet swelling sounds 
 marked its rise and fall over the loose 
 pebbles of the shore. My thoughts 
 were painfully occupied by the contents 
 of the letter which I had received, and
 
 A WINTER IN PATHS. 95 
 
 the recollection of the forlorn situation 
 in which I stood ; not a friend to whom 
 I could confide my uneasiness, or from 
 whose experience I might receive ad- 
 vice., and I thought of Ignatia without 
 being able to suppress a deep sigh : de 
 Verneuil paused, and looking atten- 
 tively at me, said : — 
 
 " I have long wished for an oppor- 
 tunity of inquiring into the cause of 
 that dejection so vissible in every look 
 and motion : confide your sorrow to my 
 bosom Giovanna, most beloved of 
 women, and you will find that I possess 
 a heart glowing with ardent affection. 
 Frjom the first moment I became ac- 
 quainted with your character I disco- 
 vered the object of my wishes, which I 
 had despaired of ever finding ; educa- 
 ted by a parent, herself the model of 
 excellence, she early raised my ideas of 
 the female character to a standard ex- 
 alted as her own, free from the slight-
 
 96 i. WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 est predilection towards any individual 
 of her sex, and possessed of a splendid 
 fortune. I early sought to fix my choice 
 among the gayest of the Parisian and 
 fairest of the Italian ladies, but dis- 
 gusted with the artifice and forward 
 attractions of the one, and fatigued by 
 the insipidity and ignorance of the 
 others, my affections have hitherto re- 
 mained disengaged ; your tenderness 
 of heart, frankness of disposition, and 
 excellence of understanding, have won 
 my heart, which would have remained 
 cold and insensible to the mere attrac- 
 tions of beauty, or the fascinations of 
 wit. The happiness of my future days 
 rests with yourself, and is at your dis- 
 posal; speek then, lovely woman, tell 
 me whether I may hope ever to be blest 1 . 
 or do you, my Giovanna, mourn some 
 absent and beloved friend, who ha s 
 engaged those affections which I would 
 risk my life to obtain ? "
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 97 
 
 How could I reply to a declaration 
 of love so full of delicacy and tender- 
 ness, without" wounding the feelings 
 of this generous man,, or encouraging 
 hopes which my heart did not sanction ? 
 I thanked him warmly for his expres- 
 sions of regard, and endeavoured to be 
 equally sincere. I said, that though 
 impressed with the deepest sense of his 
 excellent qualities, my sentiments were 
 merely those of friendship, nor could 
 I possibly promise that these would 
 ever change their character in con- 
 formity to his wishes; that he was, 
 however, mistaken in supposing that I 
 mourned any absent object, or had 
 even yet felt a more lively eeteem than 
 what I experienced in his favour, but 
 at the 9ame time {sincerely wished him 
 every happiness with some more for- 
 tunate woman, adorned with those qua- 
 lities which his partiality had bestowed 
 upon me, and gifted with rank and 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 fortune suitable to his own, and from 
 whom I should rejoice to receive the 
 name of friend. I added, that desti- 
 tute of parents and connexions, per- 
 haps I might shortly be obliged to 
 quit that family which at present pro- 
 tected me, and wander alone disre- 
 garded and forlorn. 
 
 As I spoke these words, my voice 
 failed me, and tears fell from my 
 eyes, while de Vcrneuil entreated, in 
 broken accents, that I would relate 
 some of the occurrences of my early 
 life : he had vaguely heard that Ma- 
 dame de St. Hilaire had discovered me 
 in a convent in Switzerland, but was 
 entirely ignorant of every other circum- 
 stance respecting me. I was proceed- 
 ing to comply with his request, when 
 •we were interrupted by de St. Hi- 
 laire, who approached us in a formal 
 manner, and smiling : " I must apo- 
 logize for my intrusion/' said he : " I
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 99 
 
 have no doubt put to flight some very 
 sentimental interesting con', ersaiioo, 
 but may I be permitted to remark that 
 the night air is very prejudicial to la- 
 dies, and that the family are assembled 
 in the supper room ; but apropos," 
 continued be, addressing hiu self to 
 de Verneuil, " I have this moment 
 received orders to join, but am entirely 
 at a loss to account for this sudden 
 recal. My family are to follow me 
 to Paris the beginning of winter, and 
 I suppose you will be soon upon the 
 move as well as myself, in which case 
 we can travel together." 
 
 They continued discoursing on mi- 
 litary affairs till we reached Albinga, 
 and entering the supper room, found 
 the family already seated at table, when 
 Angelica, taking a letter from a small 
 bag which hung across her arm, handed 
 it over to me, saying, ;e Here is some- 
 f ;-,
 
 100 A WINTER IN PARIS, 
 
 thing for you, ray dear Giovanna; I 
 found it this evening on the gravel 
 Walk, as I crossed it in search of you 
 and de Verneuil." 
 
 I blushed deeply, and still more 
 so, when I met the eye of de Verneuil 
 as he rose his from the superscription 
 of the letter, which was de St. Hi- 
 laire's, who immediately turned the 
 conversation, and talked of his intended 
 departure. The recollection that he, 
 at least, was going away, gave me so 
 much satisfaction, that I was enabled 
 to rally and display some degree of 
 ease and composure : de St. Ililaire 
 -was to set out for Paris the end of the 
 following week, accompanied by de 
 Verneuil, who had also received or- 
 ders to join his regiment. 
 
 On the evening previous to their 
 departure I was alone in the music 
 room, looking over some books of rnu«y 
 sic, when La Chanson dc$ Vaches, so
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 101 
 
 frequently heard in the mountains of 
 Switzerland^ caught my view. I touch- 
 ed a few chords, and the simple me- 
 lody of the air recalled a thousand re- 
 collections connected with my dear 
 Ignatia, who was seldom ahsent from 
 my thought?. I paused, and with- 
 drawing my fingers from the trembling 
 strings of the harp, reclined against it. 
 Memory recalled td my recollection 
 her tender affection., and fancy painted 
 atVesh the hour of her death. I wept, 
 and absorbed m my own painful re- 
 flections, remained for a few moments 
 unconscious of the presence of de Ver- 
 iicuil, who was at my feet in an instant. 
 " Can you pardon me, Giovanna," said 
 he, <s for intruding myself upon your 
 retirement, when you appear studiously 
 to avoid me ; but accident brought 
 me to this spot, and I was on the point 
 of retiring, when, seeing your tears, I 
 
 was no longer able to resist the emo- 
 f3
 
 102 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 lion, which conducted me to your 
 feet; but/' continued he, rising, "I 
 will no longer annoy you by my pre- 
 sence. Farewel, and may every hap.- 
 piuess attend you." 
 
 i" You ace mistaken, de Verneuil/' 
 replied I, <f when you think I shunned 
 you : on the contrary, I am pleased at 
 this opportunity of wishing you every 
 happiness, and an agreeable journey to 
 Paris.'' 
 
 " Happiness can never attend me, 
 independent of you, my Giovanna," 
 added he, with emotion ; <c and oh ! 
 that I could but flatter myself with the 
 delightful hope that your thoughts 
 will sometimes follow me, and that my 
 affection and devotedness may ever 
 meet with a return/ i 
 
 Finding that I would neither pro- 
 mise this, nor consent to receive his 
 letters, nor write to him during his 
 absence, he left me in displeasure;
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS, 10S 
 
 but quickly returning, with gentle 
 warmth bade me farewel. " And may 
 the man/' continued he, c< for whom 
 you reserve your affections^ receive the 
 invaluable gift With unbounded ten- 
 derness and gratitude !■" So saying, he 
 turned away, and as I declined appear- 
 ing again that evening, I saw him no 
 more tor the present. Though I was 
 insensible to a warmer sentiment to- 
 wards de Verneuil than friendship, 
 ytt for some days after his departure 
 every thing went on heavily. Madame 
 remained almost entirely in her own 
 apartment, and we rarely saw her, ex- 
 cept at the hour of repast. Angelica 
 and her sisters engaged all ray atten- 
 tion, and each hour encreased the af- 
 fection I felt for these charming young 
 women. 
 
 The month of December rapidly 
 approached, and that season, so cheer- 
 less iu a northern climate, had not as 
 f 4
 
 104 A WINTER IN FARIS. 
 
 yet disrobed the garden of a flower, or 
 changed the colour of a single leaf, 
 and apples of gold appeared among the 
 blossoms of the orange trees; Towards 
 the latter end of the month the rain 
 falling copiously, accompanied by 
 cquinoxial gales, prevented our walk- 
 ing out of doors; we therefore paced 
 with jocund step the spacious anti- 
 chamber which fronted the sea, amus- 
 ing ourselves in tracing the progress 
 of the billows, which chased each 
 other boisterously io the shore; and 
 we frequently paused awhile to catch 
 the distant sound of Neptune's white 
 flocks, which low'd above the waves. 
 The evenings were chilly, and we usual- 
 ly assembled in the library, where the 
 cheerful faggot blazed on the hearth. 
 
 The fifteenth of December, 1808, 
 ten days previous to our departure for 
 Paris, wai more tempestuous than I 
 ever remember. The dark surface of
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 105 
 
 the sea was covered with foam ; the 
 howling wind furiously drove the surges 
 high in air,, and flights of sea birds 
 fluttered" at the windows, and with 
 screams seemed to demand admittance 
 and shelter. The fishermen were em- 
 ployed, some in drawing up their barks 
 far upon the beach, while others stood 
 looking at the sea, and prognosticating 
 a continuance of the gale. The wind, 
 however, was hushed on the following 
 morning, but the sea continued agi- 
 tated and noisy, tumbling its foaming 
 waves in wild disorder on the shore. 
 
 Desirous of taking a nearer view of 
 it, we descended upon the beach, and 
 found it strewed with branches of trees, 
 pieces of timber, and fragments of va- 
 rious descriptions, half covered with 
 sand. Madame expressed her anxiety 
 as to the fate of those mariners who 
 were exposed the preceding night to 
 the fury of the gale, and remarked her 
 f5
 
 106 A WINTER IN PARIS, 
 
 satisfaction that Madame de Liancourt, 
 her particular friend, who usually re- 
 sided at Hieres, was atToulouse, adding 
 that she had an only child, a midship- 
 man, on board Admiral de Berthier's 
 iquadron, cruising in the Mediter- 
 ranean; " And/' continued she, ff when- 
 ever my friend hears the tempest howl, 
 and sees the sea in motion, she finds it 
 impossible to sleep, and continues all 
 night in fearful agitation, thinking of 
 her son, and fancying, as the wind 
 sweeps by, that it is mingled with the 
 tries of sinking mariners." 
 
 Madame had scarcely done speak- 
 ing, when we perceived a group of 
 sailors advancing towards us. We 
 stopped to inquire how they had fared 
 in the late gale. A fine youth, about 
 fifteen, in a bluejacket and short trow- 
 sers, smiled archly, and said, ff Ah f 
 inadame, I see you have forgotten your 
 friend, Etienne de Liancourt."
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 107 
 
 r * Mon dieu," exclaimed she, em- 
 bracing him, " where do you come 
 from ? Your father and mother are at 
 Toulouse— you have not been ship- 
 wrecked, I hone." 
 
 c< Indeed, but I have," replied the 
 boy: " our ship foundered last night 
 — our crew is safe — we all contrived 
 some way or another to get to land, 
 and I was making the best of my way 
 home. 
 
 f{ You shall stay with me at Albin- 
 ga/' replied madame, <e while I write 
 to your father and mother;" and we 
 returned there together. 
 
 The young midshipman was one of 
 the finest boys lever knew, and possessed 
 an excellent heart : he was passionaiely 
 fond of his mother, and the next thing 
 he liked best in the world was his pro- 
 fession. Madame de Liancourt left 
 ■ 
 
 Toulouse, and travelled to Albinga 
 without stopping, when she heard of
 
 108 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 her son's disaster. The maternal ten- 
 derness which she shewed on meeting 
 him, who flew into his mother's arms 
 with rapture., immediately interested 
 me in her favour, and when I became 
 better acquainted with her character, 
 I found all this favourable impression 
 confirmed. She was a lively little 
 woman, always cheerful and good- 
 humoured; her mind perfectly sound, 
 and not in the least assailed by ima- 
 ginary evils, more ciiiiiciilt to bear 
 than real grievances : her benrvolence 
 was the result of constitutional suavity, 
 not the effect of sentiment, and there- 
 fore it was uniformly and judiciously 
 exhibited. Nature never intended her 
 for an heroine, but formed her for what 
 is much more valuable — a steady ju- 
 dicious friend, and a careful and af- 
 fectionate wife and mother. Her hus- 
 band held a lucrative place in the civil 
 department at Hieres, and was i.
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 109 
 
 older than herself. After a few days 
 Madame de Liancourt and her son 
 took leave of us, and many affectionate 
 expressions of regard on both sides at- 
 tended our adieus. She engaged me 
 to correspond with her ; and the young 
 midshipman declared that when he got 
 a ship, it should be called La Belle 
 Giovanna. 
 
 In a few days after their departure, 
 letters arrived from Paris, signifying 
 that every thing was ready for our re- 
 ception there, and that La Souche was 
 to set off the following day to meet us 
 half way, and escort us to Paris. Ac- 
 cordingly we left Provence on the second 
 of January, 1809, and proceeded by 
 easy journeys, which were not distin- 
 guished by any remarkable incident, 
 and on the sixth day reached St. Den- 
 nis, and entered the lofty avenues of 
 Elm, which di tin<ruis'i the approach, 
 and reach as far as the suburbs of Paris,
 
 110 A WINTER IN P/Ull$, 
 
 3d bms i 
 
 ItsdJ bnu 
 
 CHAP. VII 
 
 u bsJjiluJjn^no 
 
 * On n'aiine bicn qu'une seule fais : c'est In 
 premiere." >b bnfi 
 
 bnn ;.♦ 
 We drove to an hotel in the Faux- 
 bourgh St. Antoine, where a nume- 
 rous retinue of servants waited our 
 arrival ; and ushered us into a magnifi- 
 cent suit of apartments, consisting of 
 antichambers, with drawing-rooms, &c. 
 where every object denoted taste and 
 splendor: the saloon was hung with 
 crimsond arnask, and lamps, placed un- 
 der globes of coloured glass, gave a 
 soft and pleasing light. After taking 
 coffee we retired to adjust our dress, 
 and having talked overtbe occurrences 
 of the day, expatiated on the happiness 
 of being in Paris, and anticipated a
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. HI 
 
 -variety of amusements. I returned with 
 Angelica and her sisters into the saloon, 
 and there we found two genteel look- 
 ing young men, who, rising at our en- 
 trance, congratulated us on our arrival 
 in Paris. The door soon afterwards 
 opened, and de St. Hilaire came for- 
 ward and embraced his daughters ; 
 saluted me with cordiality, and intro- 
 duced his two friends, Rimini and de 
 Linois. 
 
 The character of Rimini, and truth 
 bending over me, guides my hand while 
 I sketch it, and pourtray his demean- 
 or ; was mild and gentle with the 
 timid, haughty and reserved with the 
 arrogant and proud ; frank and good 
 humoured with the well bred ; he could 
 admirably adapt his behaviour on all 
 occasions to existing circumstances, and 
 possessed an intuitive sei^e of what 
 was most eligibleto be done and said on 
 every occasion ; and generosity, tender-
 
 112 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 ness,and truth, directed every emotionof 
 his heart : possessed of j udgment to com- 
 bine and taste to select images appa- 
 rently the most dissimilar : his conversa- 
 tion was brilliant,, and his thoughts were 
 expressed with elegance and refinement : 
 it was impossible to listen to him with- 
 out feeling an unusual flow of ideas rise 
 in the mind, while engourdissement and 
 lassitude fled before him : his person, 
 rather below the middle size, was emi- 
 nently graceful and well turned ; while 
 every trait of countenance and line of 
 feature indicated ssnse and intelli- 
 gence, and when he spoke, the tones of 
 his voice fell fC soft as the fleeces of de- 
 scending snows ; melting they fall and 
 sink into the heart." 
 
 Francois Paul De Rimini, three and 
 thirty years of age, was the young- 
 est of three brothers, descended from 
 the ancient sovereigns of that name in 
 Romagna, in Italy: his eldest brother,
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 113 
 
 the late Marquis, perished prema- 
 turely in Switzerland several years ago, 
 and his infant daughter shared the same 
 fate; the present marquis, a very eccen- 
 tric character, had retired from all 
 public affairs, and resided at his anci- 
 ent Castle of Marino, seated on the 
 Adriatic shore. The Rimini family 
 were among those who joined the vic- 
 torious army of the emperor Napoleon, 
 and consequently retained their wealth 
 and honours.- Rimini was distinguished 
 by royal favour, and promoted to the 
 rank of commander of a division in 
 the second regiment of guards, at that 
 time stationed at Paris. 
 
 It is not very easy to express precise- 
 ly the character of de Linois, which 
 nature had traced with a feeble unstea- 
 dy hand : presenting few strong'traits of 
 feature to mark the resemblance : the 
 only sentiment which appeared very 
 decided was a sincere admiration of his
 
 114 A WINTER IN PARIS, 
 
 own person, which, to say the truth, was 
 extremely pretty : meek 1)1 ue eyes and 
 beautiful shining brown hair, uicely 
 arranged in curls, shaded a forehead of 
 alabaster, added to the attractions of 
 a fine set of features, and a form, which 
 though small, was very good: his man- 
 ners were polished, but his deportment 
 and conversation for the most part silly, 
 empty, and vain ; he was seldom observ* 
 ed to distinguish any of the fair sex 
 by a marked preference, except with a 
 view of mortifying a rival or wound- 
 ing the feelings of some woman pre- 
 sent, who really liked him, or whom hia 
 vanity had represented as a conquest to 
 his charms : and this trait of disposition, 
 insignificant as it may appear, gave 
 rise as will be seen presentlyto some cir- 
 cumstances of a very disastrous nature. 
 De Linois, however, was not illna- 
 tured; but restless wishes, wavering re- 
 solves, and erroneous judgment, the
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 115 
 
 natural result of a weak mind, are as 
 frequently detrimental to the welfare of 
 others ; while his attentive duty to his 
 relatives, and invariable silence, when- 
 ever the ill nature of his companions 
 gave him an opportunity of retailing 
 scandalous anecdotes or echoing the 
 sarcastic jest, evidently shewed him by 
 no means a stranger to the more estima- 
 ble qualities of the heart ; but each 
 trait of disposition was faint, and eter- 
 nally subject to variation, excepting 
 one, vanity. 
 
 The de Linois family was of ancient 
 date, in the south of France : and he had 
 long been patronized by Monsieur 
 Talleyrand, and was advanced to the 
 command of a detachment in the Legi- 
 on of Honour : he was nine and twenty 
 years of age. Several succeeding 
 mornings after our arrival in Paris 
 were engaged in viewing the public 
 buildings; we admired the various and
 
 116 A WINTER IN PARIS, 
 
 exquisite pieces of sculpture and paint* 
 ings in the Hotel de la Louvre, and 
 the four supurb bronze horses in La 
 Place de Carousal : we traversed the 
 walks of the Thuilleries, admired its 
 extent and breadth, and returned to 
 the hotel at a late hour. At nine 
 o'clock in the evening- the carriages 
 again drew up to take us to the Thea- 
 tre de la Republic, and escorted by 
 Rimini and de Liuois I followed 
 Madame, accompanied by her daugh- 
 ters, and we entered the house a short 
 time after the opera was begun. My 
 attention was for some moments wholly 
 occupied by the magnificence of the 
 decorations and beauty of the sce- 
 nery : the sparkling diamond, the rud- 
 dy ruby, the green emerald, shone on 
 all sides in brilliant profusion, adorning 
 the graceful bead and shevvy form 
 of the Parisian ladies : the dark coats 
 and rough undressed appearance of the
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. UT 
 
 gentlemen formed an admirable con- 
 trast to them, and heightened the inter- 
 est of the coup d'oeil; and when the 
 dancing commenced my eyes were rivit- 
 ted to the step ; the grace displayed in 
 the ballet and machinery., moving as if 
 inspired by magic, resembled the 
 fleeting imagery of a dream, rather 
 than any substantial representation. De 
 St. Hilaire joined us, and soon after- 
 wards drew our attention to the 
 opposite side of the house, where the 
 Emperor Napoleon sat in a balcony 
 box, surrounded by several general 
 officers ;" and he occasionally spoke to 
 those who were accustomed to receive 
 that honour : the distance was too great 
 for me clearly to distinguish his coun- 
 tenance or deportment : I had that ad- 
 vantage a few evening3 afterwards on 
 another occasion, therefore I turned my 
 eyes to a lady who sat near us : a half 
 helmet of precions stones adorned her
 
 118 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 head, and s£*eral shining ringlets 
 of black hair shaded part of her fore- 
 head, and fell in loose curls over her left 
 ear : her dress displayed to advantage 
 every beauty of form : superb diamond 
 bracelets confined the full sleeve 
 considerably above the elbow, and 
 chains of diamonds sparkled on her 
 bosom : everj art had been called in 
 aid to heighten her attractions, which 
 it was impossible to view without 
 admiration : a gentleman in the mili- 
 tary uniform, apparently about fifty, 
 sat near her. 
 
 « That lady's history/' said Ri- 
 mini, who sat at my right hand, il is 
 rather singular : origiuallyanun, in one 
 of the monasteries at Genoa ; when our 
 armies lay there in the year 1800, some 
 soldiers set fire to her convent : she 
 with difficulty escaped the flames,which 
 singed her garments, and scorched her 
 hands and arms. Distracted and bewil-
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 119 
 
 dered, she fled, not knowing whither : a 
 Serjeant met her, and she was conducted 
 to the general's quarters, under whose 
 protection she long remained : he after- 
 wards married her, and she contrives to 
 unite the sentiments of religion and 
 gallantry in an eminent degree: she 
 intermingles the hair of her lovers 
 with the relics of her patron saint; 
 kneels at the Holy Virgin's shrine, and 
 turning, smiles to her favourite friend, 
 whom she has appointed to meet her 
 there : her letters, which excite the ad- 
 miration of the fair, and frequently 
 extort a smile from the men, are 
 distinguished by the most extraordi- 
 nary medley of love and devotion. In 
 regard to the general whom you sk% 
 sitting by her side, ambition is merely 
 a secondary passion in his breast : love 
 of money and devotion to the beautiful 
 sex claims the percedence. In landed 
 property he has expended several mil-
 
 120 ' A WINTER IN PARIS*. 
 
 lions of livrcs, and his lady 'a diamonds 
 are valued at eight millio « Turn 
 jour eves to the opposite side or the 
 bouse, and you will see a man in a dark 
 coloured coat, who has (his moment 
 entered the next box but one to that 
 in which the emperor is seated, and 
 who fixes his eyes intently on the 
 stage, penetration and genius appear- 
 ing through the lowering clouds of a 
 very forbidding aspect : he is a cele- 
 brated painter, whose ardent pursuit 
 of science or sanguinary disposition, 
 induces him eagerly to court scenes of 
 blood ; and view with steady eye, and 
 trace with untrembling hand, the last 
 agonies of expiring nature, or still 
 more distracting sight, a wretched fe- 
 male embracing for the last time an 
 only child, or idolized husband, Whom 
 the executioner is preparing to drag 
 away from her arms for ever. Some of 
 his paintings certainly do him consi-
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 121 
 
 derable honour, and his talents are 
 such as to place his name among those 
 of Titien and Apelles ; but speaking 
 of him as a man it cannot be otherwise 
 than with sentiments of detestation and 
 abhorrence. 
 
 " The lady who sits in the stage box 
 is the widow of General Lasncs, who 
 was slain some months ago in an 
 engagement with the Russians. When 
 ambassador at the court of Portu- 
 gal; the Prince Regent stood sponsor 
 for the child whom you see sitting on 
 her lap,, and whose innocent expressions 
 of joy, and eager attention to the move- 
 ments of the dancers, appear to engage 
 all the mother's thoughts. 
 
 if Madame de Lasnes is an amiable 
 v accomplished woman, lovely in her 
 person, and pleasing in her manner ; 
 naturally of a compassionate, gentle 
 disposition : prosperity does not harden 
 her heart, or render her insensible to 
 
 VOL. I. g
 
 122 A .WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 the miseries of the poor. She educates 
 and maintains several orphan children 
 and indigent widows, and has restored 
 to the divorced wife and deserted child 
 of her husband, most of the property of 
 which they had been unjustly deprived. 
 She leads a retired life, seldom- appear- 
 ing in public. 
 
 ff The gentleman to whom his Ma- 
 jesty the Emperor is at present speak- 
 ing, is General Massena. During the 
 campaign in 1795, he commanded the 
 right wing of lhe army in Italy, where 
 he distinguished himself by activity 
 and valour : he afterwards defeated a 
 division of the imperial troops, and 
 seized the artillery and baggage be- 
 longing to the Austrian army : he was 
 next sent to negociate a peace at Vi- 
 enna, and was received in the capital 
 with every demonstration of joy, pomp, 
 and magnificence. The command of 
 the Roman territory was afterwards'
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 123 
 
 assigned to him, and he levied nume- 
 rous contributions on the clergy, the 
 Pope, and his two nephews, the Cardi- 
 nals York and Albani. Soon after his 
 return to Paris, from some unknown 
 cause, he incurred the displeasure of 
 the Emperor, and therefore seldom ap- 
 peared at court: this did not, however, 
 prevent him from purchasing an estate 
 within a mile of Malmasion, on which 
 he chiefly resided : however, lately, he 
 has been distinguished by royal favour, 
 and it is said will shortly set out again 
 upon some military expedition : lie is 
 forty- seven years of age, remarkablefor 
 strength of constitution and capability 
 of enduring much bodily fatigue, and 
 possesses a strong, active, and intelligent 
 mind, and is endued with great per- 
 sonal courage ; but want of feeling, and 
 extreme covetousness, obscure and tar- 
 nish all his better qualities. liaise 
 your eyes to the second tier over the 
 g 2
 
 124 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 Emperor's box; the beautiful girl, who 
 is selecting some oranges from a bas 
 ket presented to her by a gentleman in 
 black, is the senator Garat's natural 
 daughter ; he idolizes her, and has la- 
 vished treasures upon her education 
 and establishment : her mother, for- 
 merly mistress to the Duke dc Polig- 
 nac, became, at the Revolution, the 
 property of Garat ; whose protection, 
 however, she left after the birth of her 
 daughter, and endeavoured to excuse 
 her inconstancy and profligacy, by ut- 
 tering the most false and infamous ac- 
 cusations against him who had rescued 
 her from extreme indigence, and at the 
 general massacre in 1793, saved her life. 
 The senator Garat did not desert his 
 infant daughter, but placed her under 
 the care of a female relation, who hap- 
 pened to be a worthy, sensible woman. 
 To fhe beauty of her person were added 
 . other more valuable acquisitions; and
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 125 
 
 the father, proud of the charms, and 
 gratified by the affection of his daugh- 
 ter, openly acknowledges his intention 
 of making her his heir, and of giving 
 her a portion of twenty thousand livres 
 sterling : a day is said to be fixed for 
 her marriage with her cousin, the young 
 man who is sitting near her. 
 
 " The person whom you see stand- 
 ing under the chandelier, in the box 
 frontingthe stage, is Monsieufde Vol- 
 ney, author of the e Ruins, or Medi- 
 tations on the Ruins of Empires/ in 
 which he attacks so freely the Chris 
 tian religion. In 1S02, he incurred 
 the displeasure of the Emperor, by op- 
 posing his majesty's concordat for the 
 restoration of the true worship ; since 
 which period his influence has been on 
 the. decline, and little is heard or said 
 about him ; he still, sometimes, how- 
 ever, writes bitter philippics against 
 religion in general, and the clergy in 
 g3
 
 126 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 particular, which nobody thinks if 
 worth their while to contradict, or to 
 attend to. Few have experienced vi- 
 cissitudes of a more extraordinary na- 
 ture than the lady to whom he is at 
 this instant speaking, and offering his 
 snuff-box. '11**1 
 
 " Marian deClery, born of reputable 
 parents, in Dauphine, was early placed 
 in the service of the late Queen of 
 France : her brother attended the king* 
 to the scaffold, and gave to the public 
 an artless, interesting account of the 
 royal sufferers. Marian, when young, 
 was extremely beautiful, and the gen-* 
 tleness and attentive obedience of her 
 disposition so* endeared her to her 
 royal mistress, that she al ways accom~ 
 panied her in those frequent and im- 
 prudent walks, and private parties, at 
 Trainon, in which the unhappy Afltoi- 
 nette too freely indulged ; Marian, 
 consequently, attracted the attention of
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 127 
 
 the mob, and in August, 1792, when 
 the royal family at Versailles was sur- 
 rounded by a frantic populace, threat- 
 ening death and destruction to them 
 and their adherents, Marian was sepa- 
 rated from her mistress, dragged to 
 Paris by a troop of furious half- 
 intoxicated poissards, who insulted her 
 with every abuse and violence which 
 their ferocious souls could suggest : 
 wounded, covered with mud, and half 
 dead with terror, she was thrown into 
 a common prison, and condemned to 
 hear the groans of the unfortunate, in- 
 terrupted only by the oaths and exe- 
 crations of their brutal jailors; one of 
 them, however, a native of Dauphine, 
 recognized Marian; he remembered 
 her as a girl in his native village ; pity 
 revived in his savage bosom, at the re- 
 collection of former scenes, and he \tt 
 her go. She wandered day and night 
 in the suburbs of Paris, desolate and 
 
 <J 4
 
 128 A WINTER IK PAHIS. 
 
 forlorn, without food or shelter, and 
 was on the point of throwing herself 
 into the river Seine, which she ap- 
 proached for the purpose, when a boat- 
 man hailed her; and offered to conduct 
 her, gratis, wherever she pleased. She 
 was set down at a mill by the river 
 side, some distance from Paris, where 
 she willingly undertook to serve in the 
 capacity of a menial servant. It was 
 some months before she could obtain 
 any information respecting her relations. 
 Some were wanderers, like herself; 
 others had fallen by Ihe sword, in de- 
 fending their property : her paternal 
 dwelling was pillaged and burnt; the 
 land had passed into other hands ; she 
 remained, therefore, with the miller's 
 wife, whose sons had joined the re- 
 publican party. Three years after this 
 period, Monsieur Raderer, Chancellor 
 of the Parliament at Nantz, chanced 
 to see and to be struck with her beau-
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 129 
 
 ty ; he married her, and now she enjoys 
 the affluence and happiness she so well 
 deserves." n fJ1 !t 
 
 Soon after Rimini had ended his 
 account of the interesting Marian de 
 Clery, the opera was concluded, and 
 the emperor's intention of retiring signi- 
 fied to his guards, he advanced grace- 
 fully to the front of the box, and bowing 
 three times to the audience, retired 
 amidst a thunder of applause. 
 
 bun I 
 
 t>J3ff 
 
 
 
 „ 
 
 G 
 
 5
 
 130 A, WI^TfcR IN PARIS. 
 
 hbI .3 (ft Ot «Ol)OY9b ', 
 
 rhiri// lo CHAP. VIII. , 
 
 Felice eta dell oro, 
 W Bella innoccnza antica 
 ?XJV Quando ai pFacer neraica ^b f 
 
 -91't Non era la Virtu ! bioo ylfiiolinu 
 
 Dal Fasto, e dal decoro . lfn y | ); 
 
 ' Noi ci troviamo op P ressi noil 
 
 N E ci formiam noi Stessi 
 
 La nostra scr.itu. 
 
 Metastasio. 
 
 j 
 The conversation of my friend and 
 
 companion Ignatia, in the Monastery 
 of St. Zuric, added to the perusal of 
 those authors,, whose interesting narra- 
 tives so frequently charmed my soli- 
 tude in the mountains of St., Bernar- 
 dine, had essentially contributed to 
 mislead my judgment, and by exalting 
 my imagination, exposed me to the pain 
 of disappointment. I expected to re- 
 cognize those sentiments of tenderness,
 
 , A WINTER IN PATHS. 131 
 
 and exclusive devotion to the fair sex, 
 which had been so frequently described 
 to me; not a single vestige of Which 
 could be discerned in the Parisian 
 scenes which were opening to my view. 
 The demeanor of the gentlemen was 
 uniformly cold, indifferent, and fre- 
 quently rude ; while extreme inatten- 
 tion to their dress, indicated how little 
 solicitous they were to please; and the 
 entrance of beauty or elegance could 
 scarcely for an instant withdraw their 
 attention from the usual topics of con- 
 versation, which turned exclusively on 
 military manoeuvres, discussed with a 
 spirit of ferocity and fierce contradic- 
 tion, which seemed above control ; and 
 when rising from table, the gentlemen 
 dispersed, they met us again ii\ the 
 evening with equal inattention, and 
 quickly retiring from our attractions, 
 fur the most part, sat down to play ; 
 and it is inconceivable with what per-
 
 132 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 severance and eagerness they pursued 
 games of chance, and how many hours 
 their attention remained rivetted to the 
 rattling dice-box, or absorbed in watch- 
 ing the probable success of a single 
 card, while all those modes of courtesy 
 and politeness, which necessarily form 
 the basis of civilized societies, were 
 wholly disregarded as unworthy of at- 
 tention. Rimini, to whom I communi- 
 cated these observations, replied, That 
 a change of manners, gradually ap- 
 proaching for the last half century, 
 together with the inevitable influence 
 of those horrors attendant upon the late 
 revolution in France, had nearly effaced 
 all remembrance of ancient fashions, 
 and completely obliterated every for- 
 mer characteristic of the Frenchman. 
 H La belle passion, for instance," 
 continued he, tf once the invigorating 
 principle of every action, the animating 
 charm which distinguished each pass-
 
 A. WINTER IN PARIS. 133 
 
 ing moment, is at present regarded with 
 nearly the same indifference which 
 prevails among the Esquimaux of 
 North America; and their minds ap- 
 pear as frequently involved in sullen- 
 ness and gloom : the whiffling activity 
 of the Parisian petit maitre has given 
 way to the rough uncouth demeanour 
 which is supposed to denote the man 
 of arms, while that civility and urba- 
 nity which formerly prevailed among 
 every description of persons in this 
 country, has yielded to coarseness and 
 presumption, together with an affected 
 frankness of behaviour, which displays 
 sentiments which had better be con- 
 cealed." 
 
 Notwithstanding her decided taste 
 for solitude and domestic enjoyments., 
 Madame de St. Hilaire prepared once 
 more to enter Le Beau Monde, as her 
 daughters, particularly the two- eldest, 
 were of an age to be introduced into
 
 134 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 thai society in which their rank and 
 fortune entitled them to a pre-emi- 
 nence. A n g e lica could seldom be 
 prevailed upon to accept any invitation 
 in which I was not included. I there- 
 fore frequently went into public, when 
 my own inclinations, if consulted, would 
 have detained me at home. The morn- 
 ings were still engaged in receiving the 
 instructions of different masters, whose 
 lessons, however, were frequently in- 
 terrupted by complaints of head-ache 
 and lassitude, and the thoughts of my 
 young companion often wandered to 
 the more important subject of dress, 
 and in debating what would be most 
 becoming in the evening: the landscape 
 in the morning was negligently shaded, 
 and the sonata hurried over with a 
 careless hand. 
 
 On entering the saloon at dinner- 
 time, we usually found a numerous 
 party assembled there ; and those fa-
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 135 
 
 milies with whom I became better ac- 
 quainted, shall be mentioned accord- 
 ingly, as I proceed in my narrative. 
 Immediately on rising from table, the 
 company dispersed, and the evening 
 was engaged in receiving 1 or returning* 
 visits, or attending places of public or 
 private amusement, to which we were 
 usually escorted by Rimini and de 
 Linois. About a week after our ar- 
 rival at Paris, we prepared to attend 
 a ball given by Madame de Camba- 
 ceres, whose husband was arch-chan- 
 cellor of the emperor, and an unusual 
 display of elegance was expected on 
 the occasion. All the people in power 
 and foreign ambassadors received a 
 summons accordingly, which few 
 could be supposed to resist from so fa- 
 shionable a lady. I exerted my skill 
 to the utmost in adorning Angelica de 
 St. Hilaire, and ornamented her silken 
 black hair with small rows of pearl,
 
 136 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 and fastened her white crape robe with 
 diamond Hasps. The short sleeve left 
 her beautiful arras perfectly uncovered, 
 and the dress retreating from her neck 
 and shoulders, displayed the fine con- 
 tour of her form ; white satin sandals 
 in part covered her pretty foot ; joy 
 and expectation sparkled in her dark 
 eyes, and tinged her face with- the glow 
 of the half-blown rose : she resembled 
 the youngest of the graces. 
 
 Attended by de Linois and Rimini, 
 I accompanied Madame and Angelica 
 to the superb mansion of Madame de 
 Cambaceres, in the Fauxbourg St. 
 Honore. After crossing an anti-cham- 
 ber, we entered an apartment, at the 
 entrance of which she stood to receive 
 her guests, dressed in black velvet, 
 without any ornament whatever, except 
 a superb cross of brilliants suspended 
 from her bosom. nhnr* 
 
 Madame de Cambaceres appeared
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 137 
 
 about thirty years of age, her features 
 fine and expressive, complexion rather 
 pale, and manners natural and elegant. 
 She received and returned our compli- 
 ments with polished ease and vivacity, 
 but her attention was quickly with- 
 drawn by the entrance of another 
 party ; we therefore advanced into 
 the ball-room. Wreaths of artificial 
 flowers were twined round light pillars 
 of painted wood, placed at equal dis- 
 tances from the wall, and formed into 
 arches over several magnificent paint- 
 ings, representing figures as large as 
 life, dancing with gay accuracy the 
 characteristic dance of each country. 
 The negroes of South America, whose 
 ebony skin was ornamented with rows 
 of the jambo bead, forgetful of the 
 bonds of slavery, danced in sportful 
 attitude beneath the spreading palm 
 tree, the fandango which calls forth 
 every grace of form, and expression of
 
 138 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 feature. The bolero, sometimes verg- 
 ing beyond the bounds' of delicacy, 
 and the hornpipe, expressive of firm- 
 ness and intrepidity, were all in turn 
 presented to the view. 
 
 At the head of the room was pour- 
 trayed a group of dancing girls on the 
 coast of Malabar : their light gar- 
 ments, fastened round the waist witli a 
 narrow belt of twisted silk, seemed to 
 flutter in the breeze; a graceful wreath 
 of wrought satin twined in many folds 
 round the head, and each well turned 
 wrist and ancle was adorned with gold 
 bracelets. 
 
 The gilded spires of a Mosque glit- 
 tered at a distance, and some old men 
 sat near them smoking the betel root. 
 Our eyes rested with pleasure on lamps 
 placed under globes of glass, which 
 shed a soft light on the floor," which 
 wa3 coloured with shades of green 
 chalk, and resembled a mossy turf.
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 139 
 
 A band of music placed in the or- 
 chestra played a variety of popular 
 tunes,, and the dancing commenced 
 goon after we entered. 
 
 We stood for some moments admir- 
 ing the graceful cotillion, when de 
 Linois claiming the hand of Angelica, 
 joined them, and as Madame wished 
 to form a card party, and I declined 
 dancing, we retired to another room, 
 from whence we could observe the com- 
 pany, without being incommoded by 
 the crowd. 
 
 Rimini directed my attention to the 
 Turkish ambassador, Suliman Musta- 
 pha, who passed before us. He was 
 tall and dignified in his deportment, 
 sun-burnt completion, long features, 
 black eyes, bushy beard. His turban 
 displayed an aigretta, valued at twelve 
 millions of livres ; he wore a close 
 crimson vest, and loose robe of green 
 silk with a full short sleeve, wide yel-
 
 140 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 low pintaloons, and pointed slippers of 
 the same colour; a broad crimson silk 
 sash partly confined his robe, from 
 which bung a short scimitar ; the 
 hilt and sheath entirely covered with 
 precious stones. He was followed by 
 his interpreter and another attendant. 
 
 A mulatto lady, fatigued by danc- 
 ing, had seated herself near me : she 
 was extremely beautiful, and tb e cha- 
 racteristic features of her country so 
 much softened as to leave only a de- 
 gree of expression piquante, extremely 
 interesting ; this was further heigh- 
 tened by the style of her dress : a short 
 robe of spotted silk, resembling the 
 leopard's skin, was worn over a scarlet 
 petticoat, ornamented with wreaths of 
 small shells and beads ; a silk hand- 
 kerchief of various hues was twisted 
 round her head in a fanciful becoming 
 manner, and her diamond necklace and 
 ear-rings were extremely splendid , : —
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 141 
 
 " That ladv." continued Rimini, " is 
 a native of St. Domingo, and accom- 
 panied the Princess Borghese on her 
 return to France. Her beauty, and 
 the singularity of her appearance, 
 created general notice, and engaged 
 the attention of M de la Fouch. He 
 married her : she speaks broken 
 French, and there is as much caprice 
 and inconsistency in her character as 
 variety in the colours of her dress, 
 She is one of those women whose sole 
 happiness consists in inspiring la belle 
 passion ; which pursuit engages all 
 her thoughts, and when accomplished 
 the lover is immediately discarded 
 with the same indifference as an old 
 glove or a fan. This lady's insatiable 
 wish of exciting admiration and of 
 rivetting attention, necessarily gives 
 rise to various r.diculous anecdotes, 
 A short time ago she wrote three let-
 
 142 A WINTER IN PARIS, 
 
 ters, expressive of great tenderness, to 
 three of her admirers ; one of whom 
 was a German and the other an Ita- 
 lian, very little acquainted with each 
 other, and not at all with the third, 
 who is a native of Paris. 
 
 The foreigners met accidentally at a 
 coffee-house, and in the course of a 
 conversation, which happened to turn 
 upon the beauty and fidelity of their 
 respective mistresses, Madame de St. 
 Fonche's letters were exhibited, much 
 to the dismay of the rivals, who each 
 in turn pronounced the words forgery, 
 perfidy, &c. &c. The altercation 
 continued with increased vehemence. 
 The German brandished his sabre^, 
 while his antagonist, the Italian, 
 flourished his stiletto; at that mo- 
 ment a gentleman by accident walked 
 into tlu apartment, and interfered in so 
 sensible and judicious a manner, that
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 143 
 
 the combatants submitted the affair to 
 his decision, and shewed him the let- 
 ters which had given rise to this ex- 
 uberance of wrath, and which the 
 stranger surveyed for an instant with 
 infinite indifference, and throwing the 
 letters on the table, exclaimed with a 
 sarcastic smile : — t{ II vaut bien la 
 peine de s'egorger pour cela, attendez 
 un peu;' J saying thi~ he opened his 
 pocket-book and exhibited a third, 
 similar iu every respect to the former 
 two. The foreigners, darting a look 
 of chagrin and rage at each other, 
 and at the Frenchman, disappeared, 
 while the Utter very quietly adjourn- 
 ed to the Thuilleries, and very deli- 
 berately detailed this anecdote to those 
 who -happened to be acquainted with 
 the parties concerned. 
 
 " That tail woman in white/' con- 
 tinued Rimini, e< who. moves with
 
 144 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 the majesty of a Juno, is an Italian by 
 birth ; and the lady who sits opposite 
 to Madame de St. Uilaire at the 
 card table, is her sister. They were 
 originally placed in a convent at Rome 
 by Pope Pius the Fifth, and educated 
 as his nieces, but report gives them a 
 nearer claim to his protection. 
 
 " They received a brilliant education, 
 and equally exrei in the science of 
 music and painting. The picture 
 which you admired so much this 
 morning in the Palais de Louvre, re- 
 presenting St. John the Baptist preach- 
 ing in the Wilderness, is her perform- 
 ance ; and in singing her voice is ex- 
 quisitely beautiful and soft. At fif- 
 teen she married the Marquis de Cas- 
 telalla, who fell at Geneva, 1802, in 
 an engagement with a detachment of 
 our guards. She afterwards experi- 
 enced a train of disasters, and in order
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 145 
 
 fo avoid those horrors inseparable from 
 war,, was forced to take shelter with her 
 infant son in the Appenine mountains, 
 subsisting upon the wild fruits and herbs 
 which accident threw in her way ; re- 
 tiring at sun- set to some lonely cave, 
 continuing watchful till day-break, 
 trembling and terrified by the howling 
 of the wolves round the entrance of it. 
 In the midst of all her dangers and 
 alarms her infant son reposed on her 
 bosom, and his presence pointed every 
 misery with unerring* aim to her heart* 
 She beheld herself on the eve of being 
 deprived of an existence which she 
 eagerly cherished on his account, and 
 was sinking under the weight of her 
 woes, v, hen a detachment of our troops 
 under the command of General Loison 
 fortunately fell in her way, who imme- 
 diately convened her to a place of 
 safety j and she afterwards married 
 
 I. H
 
 146 WWiVTER IN FA*I$. 
 
 Monsieur de Real, brother toWi^ di- 
 rector of the police. The boy who 
 shared her dangers amidst the dreary 
 Appenines is a fine youth, and an en- 
 sign in the first Legion of Honoiir^ani 
 U The lady in black, whom you 
 see pressing through the company, and 
 speaking with so much animatifitt t6 
 those around her, is the cidevant 
 countess De Villeroy, a zealous adhe- 
 rent to the late nobility of France, and 
 to all appearance an indefatigable par- 
 tizan of the present. At (he com- 
 mencement of the revolution her pro- 
 perty, was seized, and she experienced 
 a variety of disasters, while her son, 
 the present viscount, zealously devoted 
 to the house of Bourbon, pursued the 
 fortunes of the Count d'Artois, who, 
 retiring from the storms of anarxby 
 and rebellion, sought refuge on the 
 peaceful British shores. Notw&hfr 
 standing the persecutions which M^
 
 A WIlfEEK tfJTTJPAttlS; 147 
 
 dame de Villeroy had suffered, she 
 could not resolve to- quit her native 
 country, or break those local attach- 
 ments, which fold round tho hear^by 
 insensible ^radatious, but adhere to it 
 with resistless persistency ; and other 
 ties of a softer nature remaining un- 
 broken, she employed every energy of 
 her mind in the pursuit of those mea- 
 sures most adequate to the purpose of 
 regaining some degree of- her former 
 influence among persons in power; 
 and nature having endowed her with 
 those irresistible attractions which sur- 
 vive the decay of beauty, and extend 
 their influence even to the season of 
 decrepitude ; Madame de Villeroy 
 succeeded in securing the interest she 
 sought to obtain, and the restoration 
 of her wealth and honours followed in 
 course; but all endeavours to attract 
 her soiHo France have proved fruitless. 
 He views with sentiments of disappro- 
 u2
 
 J 48 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 bation andaversion every raeasu4&$^bich 
 has been pursued by the p*esen4 go- 
 vernment, and cherishes in his bosom 
 the most unfeigned detested .against 
 those who have eouspupfrj) to exile his 
 master's house from the throne, and 
 condemned the Bourbon fhH»ilj*t^etei> 
 nal reprobation and banishment, !r<»'> 
 The Countess' de Villeroy is said to 
 possess an ardent intriguing Spirit ; and 
 it is to be feared that this disposition, 
 so fruitful in engendering woo, wilii* 
 the end prove destructive to those ait- 
 vantages which they have been ikk 
 means of procuring, and detrimetrtairib 
 the interests of those with whom »he *s 
 connected. Madame de VilUr^oflii 
 well known in the literary work*: she 
 writes with elegance and spirit, but 
 her writingshave a dangerous tendency : 
 they exalt the imagination ioo mueto, 
 and- by that oaeans frequently corrupt 
 the heart. 

 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 149 
 
 I observed a gentleman at some dis- 
 tance, whose vest was decorated with 
 a brilliant solitaire: he was a tall 
 graceful man, with a fair complexion, 
 fegbt reddish hair and musiachos, and 
 "wore >a dark green coat, lined and 
 trimmed with sable, and fastened wi(h 
 diamond buttons. 
 
 -,d gentl I Rimini, 
 
 Lissian buxhi , Prince 
 
 Kuskiui ; v>n& those diamonds which 
 have attracted vonj? eyes are a 
 mark of royal favour be^owed upon 
 1m father by the Empress Catherine 
 the Second. The late Emperor Paul 
 equally distinguished the son, who is 
 modest and unassuming, liberal and 
 unaspiring : he has commanded armies, 
 and served his country, without any 
 ambition for rank or intrigues to ob- 
 tain pre«-emiuence. — But turn your eyes 
 to the lady who is conversing with the 
 Turkish ambassador.'* 
 u3
 
 150 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 I did so, and saw one of the most 
 beautiful women I ever beheld, dressed 
 in the usual Turkish, costume, yellow 
 turban, loose robe, broad belt, and 
 aigrette of .precious stones; tall, and 
 elegantly formed : her features were 
 loveliness and regularity itself; a Gre- 
 cian face, and fine pointed eye-brows, 
 and long black cye-lashes shaded her 
 sparkling black eyes: she appeared 
 about six and twenty. 
 
 " That lady," continued Rimini, 
 " is a Mahometan. When General 
 Menou commanded our troops during 
 the siege of Alexandria, a few weeks 
 before the capitulation took place, he 
 was one day followed by an old woman, 
 who accosted him in Arabic in these 
 words: "Follow me, and you will 
 have no cause for repentance/ at the 
 same time putting into his hand a smal} 
 basket of flowers, ornamented with 
 threads of gold, Menou, sufficient^
 
 A WINTER I* PAR ft. 151 
 
 acquainted with the manners of the 
 country, understood her perfectly '; 
 and, curious to see the female, whose 
 attention he had excited, silently made 
 signs for her to lead on ; and following 
 her a considerable way, she at length 
 stopped at the door of a building- in 
 ubmbs of the city, oT considerable 
 nt. The old woman clapped her 
 hands, and a negro appeared, who 
 opened the gale; and shutting it care- 
 fully after them, the general was con-* 
 ducted through many a winding pas- 
 sage into an apartment strewed with 
 flowers, and shaded from the sun- 
 beams, in the centre of which, Zclume, 
 whom you now behold at Paris, was 
 seated, surrounded by her female at- 
 tendants, reposing upon an embroidered 
 cushion. She looked up at bis en- 
 trance, and smiling, said that curiosity 
 to see a Christian warrior had induced 
 her to send for him ; that she was sa* 
 h 4
 
 153 A WINTUI IN PARIS. 
 
 tmed, and lie might retire as soon a* 
 he pleased. 
 
 -However, they afterwards made a 
 different arrangement : one Visit suc- 
 ceed^ another, and Z chime at ft 
 consented to share his fortunes, and to 
 become his wife. I sec she still retains 
 the custom of blackening the edge of 
 her eye-lids, and staining the palms 
 her hands with a yellow dye; but no- 
 thing can tarnish her matchless beauty, 
 or obscure her native char,n9. 
 
 " That gentleman," continued Ri- 
 mini, m who is standing a little to the 
 left of Zdume, and who fixes his eyes 
 upon you with so much obtrusive at- 
 tention, is one of the descendants of 
 Abraham, whose wealth and moderate 
 share of abilities have introduced into 
 the gay circles of Paris, particularly 
 since the Emperor Napoleon has ex- 
 tended his protection to that discarded
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 153 
 
 I directed my eyes accordingly, and 
 beheld a man, tall in stature, and com- 
 manding in aspect ; his high open fore- 
 head indicating genius, his eyes dark 
 and penetrating, distinguished by an 
 equivocal expression/ difficult to de- 
 fine, while the loss of his front teeth 
 gave him an appearance of antiquity, 
 which might possibly be fallacious : he 
 could not, however, be less than fifty 
 years of age. 
 
 <f That personage/' said Rimini, 
 " indulges the perverseness of his hu- 
 mour in a strain of acrimonious lan- 
 guage, and cavalier deportment, when- 
 ever circumstances present him with an 
 opportunity of doing so with impunity. 
 He is ambitious of being thought a 
 man of the wo* Id, and lays claim to 
 the character of benevolence, vainly 
 supposing that an impertinent and trou- 
 blesome attention to your sex, together 
 with that unmeaning jargon, affected 
 H 5
 
 154 A *>I*1lEfc IN PARIS. 
 
 by the fashionable fop, entitles him to 
 the one, and that an ostentatious dis- 
 play of charitable donations gives him 
 full claim to the other, while he does 
 not hesitate to wound the feelings of 
 the gentle, the unassuming, and the 
 unprotected, by severe retorts and bit- 
 ter reprehension, and renders himself a 
 just subject of ridicule, by his assumed 
 airs of courtly levity, which are worn 
 so awkwardly as to disclose to view 
 the homely garb beneath. " 
 
 Madame now rose from the card- 
 table, and joining us, we went into the 
 ball-room, and after remaining there 
 half an hour, the company entered the 
 supper- room, and found the tables 
 spread with every delicacy which art 
 or nature could supply. Small gold 
 baskets filled with flowers were placed 
 among the dishes, and the sweet hy- 
 acinths and tender lily of the valley 
 bloomed defiance to the stern frowns of
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 155 
 
 winter. The dancing was reassumed 
 after supper, but madame refused to 
 let her daughter return to the ball- 
 room; therefore, when the carriage 
 drew up, we returned to the hotel* j 0fI 
 in orf) <o[Jfi9% adt 
 
 i bus <noieu9rfoiqen loi 
 j lo Joajdu- 
 iOOO 1o 
 >bsib o) a£ 
 
 £t .di£3fl3d (llGQ \hi 
 01 WO I 
 
 - 

 
 156 A. WINTER lit PARIS. 
 
 , nirft bns afcq fc 
 
 D1 9ffi r^HAP, IX. 
 
 ,9nol45 
 L'amour commence par l'amour c Ton ne 
 seauroit passer de la plus forte amitic qu'a un 
 
 amour faible. 
 
 Bruyere. 
 
 I was writing in my apartment one 
 morning, when Angelica hastily opened- 
 the door, exclaiming — " I have got 
 some beautiful drawings in the saloon 
 to shew you : come away directly, or 
 perhaps they will be gone/' There 
 was a smiling archness in her manner 
 which I could by no means account 
 for; but when she threw open the 
 door of the saloon, I there perceived 
 de Verneuil, and immediately ad- 
 vanced to meet him, expressing in a 
 lively manner the pleasure I felt at see- 
 ing him, after an absence of some
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 157 
 
 months. He looked pale and thin, and 
 continued standing by the window with 
 a pre-occnpied air, during the time 
 that Angelica remained in the room. 
 As soon as we were alone, he ap- 
 proached me, and fixing his eyes stea- 
 dily on mine, addressed me in a slow 
 hesitating manner, as follows : 
 
 {C My heart trembles, and my voice 
 falters, Giovanna, while I conjure 
 you to explain the meaning of those 
 smiles which animated your lovely- 
 face, and of that joy which sparkled 
 in your expressive eyes a few moments 
 ago, when you advanced to receive 
 me. Am I so supremely blest as to 
 have excited an interest in your bosom, 
 or is your countenance an unfaithful 
 mirror of your heart ?'* 
 
 Painful were the sentiments which 
 arose in my mind, while I reluctantly 
 undeceived him. <s I should despise 
 myself, de Verneuil, were I incapable
 
 15$ A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 of appreciating* your worth, and every 
 sentiment of esteem and friendship is 
 freely your's ; but you must erert your 
 resolution to conquer a passion which 
 £ do not — cannot return. Withdraw 
 your thoughts from me, and bestow 
 your attentions on some woman more 
 deserving of them, and may you enjoy 
 with her that felicity which I ara not 
 destined to bestow." 
 
 " How can you coolly stab me to 
 the heart, cruel Giovanna ! or bid me 
 seek elsewhere those attractions which 
 you alone possess ? Permit me, at least, 
 to persevere in my assiduities, and to 
 hope that my unremitting tenderness, 
 and ardent demonstration of affection, 
 may at last meet with some return." 
 
 " On the contrary, de Verneuil, 
 resolve to relinquish so ill-requited an 
 attachment : I will not flatter you with 
 hopes which must inevitably end i» 
 disappointment."
 
 A WINTER IN PARI?. 159 
 
 " Then, by heaven, Giovanna V ex- 
 claimed he, " you love another. Who 
 is this happy rival ? By what magic 
 has he succeeded in interesting your 
 frozen heart? Would he follow your 
 steps to the desert, and hail the wilds 
 of Siberia as the garden of Eden, if 
 blessed with your presence? Ah, no * 
 this devoted tenderness, this ardent 
 love, is reserved for me alone; and 
 your imagination adorns him with per- 
 fection and devotedness he does not 
 possess/' 
 
 \\ He turned io conceal his emotion : 
 confused and distressed by his vehe- 
 mence, and less inclined than ever to 
 return his afiection, I could only re- 
 peat in broken accents what I had al- 
 ready said, which I endeavoured to 
 soften as much as possible. He lis- 
 tened to me for some moments atten- 
 tively, and at last starting up, ex- 
 claimed — " Farewell and may you
 
 160 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 never feel the anguish of seeing the 
 happiness you most desire crueljy with- 
 drawn from your wishes." 
 
 Alas! iu a few months I fully un- 
 derstood the force of his last words; 
 hut I must not interrupt my narrative.. 
 Though Madame de St. llilaire inva- 
 riably conducted herself towards me 
 with gentleness and kindness, yet there 
 was an habitual reserve in her manner 
 which checked all communication on 
 my side, as to what particularly con- 
 cerned myself; but if I was debarred 
 the advantage of counsel and advice, 
 I was also relieved from every species 
 of persecution. Ourconversajtiflfl^jj^flipj 
 alone, incessantly turned on her daugh- 
 ter's improvement ; and she beheld with 
 rapture their beauty and talent. She 
 either did not perceive, or attended not 
 to de VerneuilV assiduities, never on 
 any occasion either approving them, or 
 discommending me for repressing hi*
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 161 
 
 hopes. Usually reserved and distant 
 in society, unless her attention was 
 particularly required, she was, how- 
 ever, always disposed to he pleased, 
 though she seldom made any efforts to 
 please others, and had frequent op- 
 portunities of seeing her husband's 
 marked attention to other women, with- 
 out even expressing or seeming to feel 
 the slightest displeasure. Perfectly 
 indifferent to all his movements, his 
 absence or prcsencoj departure or re* 
 turn, were events of equal unconcern ; 
 and any uneasiness I might be sup- 
 posed to feel, in regard to his attention 
 respecting myself, vanished, as he had 
 never, since my arrival in Paris, in 
 the least distinguished me from the 
 rest of the family : his behaviour was 
 civil and friendly, but nothing more. 
 
 The Princess Boughese's birth-day 
 approached, and splendid preparations 
 were making to celebrate it. Princo
 
 1W a WiWr&L in Paris, 
 Kuskfto'gatecrdeTs for the efecfionof 
 a temporary building near his palace, 
 for the purpose of giving a masked 
 ball on the occasion. The public 
 buildings were littered with scaffold- 
 ing, workmen, &c. some of whom 
 were fixing transparencies, and others 
 suspend mg coloured lamps in cvrry 
 form v, hieh imagination could suggest. 
 A* the evening advanced, wc began 
 the entertaining employment of putting 
 on our masquerade dresses ; and it was 
 after a thousand alterations, that we 
 agreed to let the ornaments remain as 
 they were, for the remainder of the 
 evening. slqu 
 
 Angelica and her sisters, as flower- 
 girls, wore transparent gauze dresses, 
 with small bunches of flowers lightly 
 strewed over them. Their hair was 
 wreathed with leaves of myrtle, and 
 bunches of the winter cherry ; and each 
 carried au elegant basket, filled with
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. l()3 
 
 the choicest fruits and flowers which 
 the Paris hot-houses could furnish. 
 Madame, as a Scotch chieftain's wife, 
 wore a plaid and bonnet blue ; and my 
 dress consisted of a black crape mantle, 
 spangled with silver stars, over a robe 
 of light grey : a brilliant crescent 
 sparkled in my hair, which was partly 
 shaded by a long black veil, edged 
 with stars, and appearing to form part 
 of the mantle ; a bunch of poppies in 
 my hand denoted the goddess of night. 
 I)e Linois followed Angelica as a 
 shepherd of the Alps: his light vest, 
 slashed sleeves, and hat adorned with 
 a plume of feathers, conveyed an idea 
 of picturesque beauty, not easily ex- 
 pressed : a flageolet, which he occa- 
 sionally blew with taste and skill, com- 
 pleted the interest of the costume. De 
 St. Hilaire looked martial and well as 
 a Moorish chief. Rimini wore a black 
 domino.
 
 Ict4 a JMUlii— rr pahi*. 
 
 On our v.av to ihc. embassador's 
 hotel; we paused frequently isy admire 
 the illuminations, which were entirely 
 confined to the public buildings. La 
 Place dc'yencLomS'was a blaze of light* 
 and coloured lamps, intermingled- with, 
 flowering shrubs, \mcre placed before 
 the half circular buridings in endless 
 variety. The walks in the.Tliuilteries 
 were lighted in tlio same m turner, <wik 
 the statues appeared of a dazzling 
 white among the evergreen tree*. A 
 flight of lockets rose suddenly from 
 the Champs ELisecs, and for a moment 
 restored to the firmament the splendour 
 of day. Stars of lamps decorated the 
 spire of Notre , Dame ; and the ether 
 churches shone with a thousand- rays ; 
 and the arched windows reflected the 
 light of the iii e- works, as they tra- 
 versed the air, in every form-- and io 
 every direction. 
 
 When we arrived at Prince Kuski-
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 163 
 
 ni's, it was some moments before I 
 could usfficiently collect my thoughts, 
 so as to make any observation ou the 
 gay assemblage before roe : an immense 
 saloon was hung witb painted canvas 
 representing scenes taken from- Ovid's 
 Metamorphoses and Ariostos romances. 
 Festoons o f coloured silks., and crape, 
 fancifully arranged, formed a drapery 
 liatHidthrenii and a magnifieient chande- 
 liers placed with symmetry and skill, 
 heightened the brilliant effect: several 
 additional rooms were thrown open, and 
 music, cards, and refreshment disposed 
 accordingly. I seon> discovered that a 
 masquerade possesses few attractions be- 
 yond the first moments of entrance : when 
 ve becomes familiar with the deco- 
 rations, the motley group affords little 
 amusement: all conversation is necessa- 
 rily suspended, and each distinguishing 
 trait of countenance and manners, 
 iost in the display of the fictitious
 
 166 AnWfSTER IN VkTtm 
 
 character, few of which are sufficiently 
 
 well suppoftedyto make amende for the 
 
 folly and insipidity of the others* 
 
 Among the few whom I tho ugh* worthy 
 
 of notictfjjwere some , Eoglish sailors 
 
 dressed in blue jackets, eheokrtrowserd/ 
 
 round black hats, and silk toandker* 
 
 chiefs: they sung a catch song^i and; 
 
 joining in choi mis, wished thtotiih&kQva* 
 
 reigas of the land and rulers of the sea, 
 
 might soon driuk grqgj itbgetiidr^ and 
 
 boughs of their honesiiijoak foo'twined 
 
 with the Fleur de kyaayjjfe vfcry>^«od 
 
 mask represented their ra&brated .tiuft 
 
 gedian JohnKeiuble^ihe wom tf)bkdk 
 
 vest, richly ornamented witb<galdv a bel*i 
 
 met and feather of the same colour and 
 
 grasping a dagger repeated isoracblwie* 
 
 from one of their favourite: trag£&fov.oq 
 
 A group, representing Alexander of 
 
 Macedon, followed by the RoyaLcap* 
 
 tives of Persia, excited much attention^
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 167 
 
 The invincible ensigns of the hero were 
 borne before him, and his armour 
 appeared resplendent as burnished goldj: 
 his helmet was crowned by that form U 
 dable black plume, which had struck 
 terror into the heart of multitudes, 
 numberless as the stars of heaven : the 
 flowing robes of the captives were 
 purple, and their chains of gold, while 
 those which hung suspended from the 
 arms of the Princess Statira, appeared 
 supported by the hero of Macedon. 
 
 Several satyrs surrounded the god 
 Pan, dancing fantastic aliy, striking the 
 ground with their golden hoofs, in 
 just measure to the tune which he 
 blew upon his reeds. Their shape was 
 entirely displayed, and completely 
 powdered with a light greyish down, 
 pointed -ears stood erect ; their brows 
 were encircled with ivy leaves, festoons 
 of which they, extended, and formed
 
 168 A WINTER IN PAltU. 
 
 into various shapes, and bowing in 
 obedience to their deity. 
 
 At twelve o'clock the Emperor's 
 chamberlain, Count du Manoir, an* 
 nouuced the arrival of their majesties, 
 the company immediately unmasked 
 and the ambassador hastened to receive 
 his Royal guests, who entered followed 
 by the Prince and Princess Borghese, 
 Prince and Princess l)e Lyons, Count 
 Raymond Baron Touserd, &c. &c. &c. 
 His majesty was dressed in regimentals 
 and the empress attired in purple and 
 gold. I stood withiu a few paces of 
 Napoleon the first, and raising my eyes, 
 fixed them attentively on the man who 
 seems destined by the supreme powers 
 to promote eventually the good of the 
 human race, by the extension of know- 
 ledge, and the destruction of supersti- 
 tion and idolatory. When viewing per- 
 sons of no very uncommon cast, the 
 mind is sufficiently at leisure to trace
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 189 
 
 the form of each feature, and to mark 
 the colour of the complexion, and 
 shade of the hair ; but on the present 
 occasion those emanations which so 
 eminently distinguish the emperor's 
 countenance alone engaged my atten- 
 tion : a peculiar degree of calmness 
 spread over his features, indicates a 
 mind self balanced, self possessed, ex- 
 empt from those frivolous passions, 
 those insignificant pursuits which too 
 frequently distract the minds of 
 unhappy mortals : penetration and 
 judgment are seated on his brow, arid 
 announce the mind prompt in discrimi- 
 nating, active in seizing those opportu- 
 nities of aggrandizement, which indul- 
 gent fortune so liberally presents to his 
 wishes : and may the dark vapours of 
 faction and rebellion retire at his ap- 
 proach into their native obscurity ! and 
 may his course be continued through 
 an unclouded sky I and may he complete 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 the glory of liis career by extending 
 the olive branch to surrounding nations, 
 and causing thetemple of peace to arise 
 from the ruins of superstition and 
 corrupt administration ! 
 
 After receiving the homage of the 
 nobility, and speaking to several of their 
 subjects with condescension and affa- 
 bility, their majesties paused, to 
 observe a reel danced by some per- 
 formers from the opera-house : they 
 wore blue jackets and short skirts of 
 different coloured cloths, and nankeen 
 pantaloons ; a broad silk sash was tied 
 across the shoulders, ornamented with 
 coloured tassels, a plume of feathers 
 wavered gracefully over the side of 
 the head, and appeared confined by 
 a check band : their movements in the 
 dance were rapid and martial, but I 
 thought then, deficient in grace. Their 
 majesties retired about one o'clock^ and 
 soon afterwards the amusements were
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 171 
 
 re-assumed,andatroop of gypsies a4„ 
 immediately engaged my attention : I 
 were dressed in a fantastic manner, their 
 garments marked with magic figures-: 
 one of these females flourished a tam- 
 barine,and gingled the bells with incon- 
 ceivable vivacity, while another sounded 
 the pipe and tabour ; a third displayed a 
 scarlet flag, whereon were painted the 
 signs of the zodiac, and other grotesque 
 shapes, and she lightly touched those 
 with the end of it, to whom half sing- 
 ing and half saying she delivered her 
 oracles. I stood attentively viewing 
 their movements, when she who carried 
 the flag stopt suddenly, touched me 
 with the end of it, singing as follows. — 
 
 u Fair girl beware, 
 
 " Or ill betide you; 
 
 :i Evil wakes and walks beside you ; 
 
 (i Still abide by virtue fair, 
 
 " Who ever makes the good her care : 
 
 mi Call upon each guardian sprite, 
 
 *' You'll think of me e'er morning light." 
 
 i %
 
 172 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 On. eayingthis she whirled round with 
 astonishing rapidity ; the tambarine 
 was flourished, the bells gingled, and 
 the group retiring mixed with the 
 crowd. I turned to make some obser- 
 vations to my friends, but found they 
 were all dispersed except Rimini, who 
 stood near me in his black domino. X 
 immediately requested he would assist 
 me in regaining my party, but we tra- 
 versed the room for this purpose in 
 vain. Fatigued with the heat, and 
 oppressed by the numerous company, I 
 stood irresolute, not knowing how to 
 proceed, and very apprehensive est 
 madame should have quitted the hotel 
 without me. I was confused and uneasy 
 at finding myself alone with Rimini; 
 and though the few words he spoke 
 were in an undertone of voice, yet there 
 was a freedom in his manner which 
 I had never observed before, and could 
 by no means account for. I conti-
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. Pfi 
 
 nued searching for my friends in a hur- 
 ried anxious manner till I was literally 
 unable to stand, when my companion 
 drew me to a seat a little apart from 
 the company, and I repulsed him with 
 indignation, as he threw his arms 
 round my waist, and endeavoured to 
 draw me towards him. <( Gome, come, 
 Giovanna, be not so angry:'' and I 
 started at recognizing de St. Hilaire'a 
 voice : V Stay," continued he, forcibly 
 detaining me as I endeavoured to get 
 away; "don't be ridiculous and draw the 
 eyes of the company upon us, but 
 listen to what I have to say: I adore 
 you ; return my passion, and I will 
 pledge myself to any amount you 
 please to marry you when ever 
 I am free. In the mean time 
 every advantage which wealth caii 
 procure shall be your's, and you shall 
 enjoy with it the undivided possession 
 of my heart ; be but discreet, and all 
 i 3
 
 174 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 will be well." Indignation and con- 
 tempt for a while checked my utter- 
 ance; at length, recovering myself, 
 " You have forced me, sir, to listen ; 
 will you in return attend to my reply ? I 
 solemnly declare that were you free 
 to-morrow, and an empire your own, I 
 would refuse it ; your principles and 
 your person arc equally my aversion, 
 and if you do not desist from your un- 
 warrantable pursuit, I will instantly 
 quit your family, and seek elsewhere 
 that asylum which you so inhospitably 
 deny me." raift moil fo>f 
 
 " Romantic stuff !" replied he: "silly 
 girl ! who do you suppose will receive 
 you, unless you mean to take pity 
 upon de Verneuil, and after refusing 
 him follow his steps? — I disdained to 
 make any reply to this last observation ; 
 apd observing madame enter at a dis- 
 tant part of the room, almost flew to 
 meet her, out of the reach of her hus-
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 175 
 
 band, who now no longer detained 
 me. I found that Rimini had been in 
 search of me every where, and ap- 
 proached to hand me to the carriage 
 which waited to convey us home,, ex- 
 pressing himself in very flattering 
 terms as to the uneasiness my absence 
 from our party had occasioned him,, I 
 retired for the night with a mind full of 
 vexation and anxiety : at the same time 
 much as I was hurt at St. Hilaire's un- 
 justifiable conduct, I felt that I should 
 have been wounded tenfold had it pro- 
 ceeded from Rimini* 
 
 
 ii
 
 176 A WINTER IN PARIS, 
 
 mod ns lip iaH 
 
 .eubaa OcttAP. X. 
 
 hoq- 08 8CW 3m oJ -moiyfidao 
 
 a iid loo 
 i< Chi vuol Jar leggc a P amoroso nodo ; 
 
 Non sa ben qual sia sua natura ; 
 
 Lnn d'una cosa, ed io dc Paltro godo, 
 
 Chi Io spirito amo, chi sol la figura: 
 
 Chi diletta la vijta chi Pudire, 
 
 Chi sfogo ogni desir solo in scrurc.'' 
 
 If I was surprised at St. Helaire's 
 conversation at the masquerade, I was 
 little less so at the perfect ease and 
 unconcern with which he met me on 
 the following day, not alluding in the 
 sliglitest manner to any thing that had 
 passed, and accounting in the most easy 
 and natural manner for having left our 
 party the evening before : he had met 
 a general officer at Prince Kuskini's, 
 who had prevailed upon hiui to with*
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. I?7 
 
 draw for a quarter of an hour, to dis- 
 course over affairs relative to the 
 inspection of regiments, and on his 
 return had been unable to find us ; and 
 his behaviour to me was so perfectly 
 frank, unconstrained, and good humour- 
 ed, that I began to suspect my imagi- 
 nation had played me false; and that 
 I had mistaken him for some other per- 
 son. After wearying myself with con- 
 jectures to no purpose, I determined to 
 dismiss the subject from my thoughts, 
 as I could make nothing of it. I had 
 soon occasion to remark that those 
 personal attractions which de Linois 
 so eminently possessed had made some 
 impression on the lively imagination 
 of Angelica de St. Hilaire, and I 
 always suspected that, like most girls of 
 her age, whatever pleased her eye 
 would captivate her heart. De Linois's 
 character was not of that description 
 which could reasonably be expected to 
 i5
 
 178 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 promote domestic -happiness, and I 
 frequently expressed myself to her 
 accordingly whenever we were alone, 
 for on whatever subject the conversa- 
 tion began it always ended in discuss- 
 ing the merits of him who now con- 
 stantly occupied her thoughts. All my 
 objections were overruled, and argu- 
 ments answered by a detail of perfec- 
 tions, not one of which he possessed, 
 that I could only smile at her artless 
 expressions of affection, and innocent 
 credulity, and endeavour to change 
 the conversation. St. Hilaire adored his 
 daughter, and had always distinguished 
 deLinois ; and as a considerable fortune 
 would attend her hand, any defi- 
 ciency in that, respect on the other side 
 would be obviated, he therefore observed 
 his assiduities, and Angelica's predi- 
 lection, without displeasure. Madame 
 took every opportunity of declaring 
 with energy that her approbation
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS, 179 
 
 would always follow her daughter's 
 choice. 
 
 <e I have selected an anecdote from 
 among the multitude of a similar na- 
 ture with which Parisabounds, express- 
 ly for your amusement, v. Giovanna," 
 said de St. Hilaire, ff smiling as 
 he crossed the apartment, and 
 seated himself on an ottoman at 
 my feet. te Your favourite friend, 
 the amiable and interesting Adeline de 
 Seze, has taken possession in due form 
 of Madame de St. Cyr's husband : they 
 set off together yesterday morning, and 
 it is supposed are gone to Rheims. 
 Thewifeenduresitvery philosophically 
 I assure you ; and having pursuits of a 
 similar nature herself, is au fond die 
 exur rejoiced at the triumph which 
 this evnement gives her over your 
 sentimental friend, who has hitherto 
 maintained an irreproachable character. 
 My countenance betrayed my feelings
 
 180 A WINTER IN PARIS, 
 
 I believe while I expressed the concern 
 which this intelligence gave me. Ri- 
 mini approached to hear farther par- 
 ticulars, and Angelica, who was listen- 
 ing to some trifling remarks of her 
 lover de Linois, expressed the greatest 
 astonishment. 
 
 " It is no doubt very surprising/' 
 continued de St. Hilaire, smiling 
 ironically, " and perfectly unnatural 
 too, that a young woman who fancied 
 it mighty meritorious to hold our sex 
 at defiance, should at last take a fancy 
 to a man precisely, when she had better 
 have let it alone, mais on ne trompe 
 jamais la nature impunement. 
 
 " However, in the present instance/' 
 continued he, ' c there is no harm done : 
 after a few weeks absence, she will 
 return to Paris with a lover, in addition 
 to her other valuable possessions ; she 
 is immensely rich, and will soon find 
 her account in it. For though her 
 
 f >ilJS7 8*J
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 181 
 
 Majesty the Empress Josephine has 
 certainly effected some degree of reform 
 among our Parisian ladies, yet they are 
 still tremblingly alive to the influence 
 of that universal panacea which heals 
 all wounds and scars in the chastity of 
 females. " sc We certainly must admit 
 theomnipotence of rank and splendour/' 
 observed Rimini, et and those who move 
 in an exalted sphere of life are often 
 justly censured for an undue liberality 
 of sentiment, which leads to the tolera- 
 tion of immorality : but I do not see 
 how it can be otherwise ; the nobles of 
 a kingdom form a distinct community, 
 comparatively small in number, and 
 with usages and opinions in some de- 
 gree peculiar to themselves; that leisure, 
 which is the inseparable companion of 
 affluence, fosters dissipation, and 
 induces a carelessness and openness of 
 demeanor, which displays unveiled the 
 recesses of the human heart ; vice, in 
 all its variety of forms, passes in review
 
 182 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 before their eyes,, and they soon learn 
 to behold it without displeasure or 
 surprise., and their indulgence is more 
 particularly extended to those frailties 
 incident to the female sex ; their daily 
 observation has shewn them how diffi- 
 cult it is to withstand the blandish- 
 ments of the lover., when contrasted 
 with the morose frowns of the conju- 
 gal character. 
 
 c( I will suppose a case in point/' con- 
 tinued Rimini, " and, alas ! it is not a 
 fabulous one." 
 
 " A young person, possessed of refine- 
 ment and delicacy of sentiment, alive 
 to all the feelings of benevolence and 
 tenderness of love ; educated by care- 
 ful and afFectionate parents, her soul 
 the abode of purity, her portion beauty 
 and virtue alone ; loses her natural 
 guardians, marries a man of some rank 
 and fortune, but whose habits of life 
 and pursuits are in direct opposition to 
 her cwu. Her feelings of benevolence..
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 183 
 
 and sentiments of piety, are wounded 
 and ridiculed ; ber native modesty 
 insulted, her happiness thwarted or 
 disregarded; bitter sarcasm and re- 
 proach suppress ber tears, and drive 
 them back upon her heart with unut- 
 terable pangs : no gleam of consola 
 tion strikes athwart the gloom of ties- 
 pair : disgust, unqualified disgust has 
 choaked every avenue of ber soul, and 
 closed it for ever against the possibility 
 of domestic re- union : neglected by 
 casual acquaintances or mercenary 
 relatives, none will be found to hold 
 intercourse with the mourner : yes, 
 there is an eye which expresses com- 
 passion and tenderness ; there is a 
 friend that participates in all her woes; 
 and this, alas ! is the man who has 
 long adored her beauty, and hitherto 
 sighed in vain : he now approaches her 
 in^all the captivating charms of sympa- 
 thy and love, and in the delusive lan- 
 guage of sophistry, points out to her a
 
 184 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 path leading to happiness and not in- 
 consistent with that of virtue. Acci- 
 dent may break the galling chain 
 ■which weighs her to the grave : with 
 what joy will she then bestow her hand 
 upon the man who has shared her 
 woes ! Thus iqsensibly she listens to the 
 voice of unhallowed love; unawares 
 she enters the downward paths of vice, 
 and perhaps it would require that forti- 
 tude which supported the martyr at the 
 stake, under such circumstances to 
 secure integrity: 
 
 Those attractions which Rimini so 
 eminently possessed were of that de- 
 scription which captivate the senses 
 through the medium of the heart. It 
 was not therefore during the earliest 
 period of our acquaintance that his 
 perfections excited any particular de- 
 gree of interest in my heart, or that his 
 presence gave rise to any agitations 
 in my soul; but when I gradually 
 perceived that his conversation
 
 A VTINTER IN PARIS. 185 
 
 had power to chace away every sense of 
 weariness, and to dispel the attacks of 
 anxiety and of pain ; when his ele- 
 gant and refined mind was disclosed to 
 view by the inimitable grace and dig- 
 nity which distinguished each look 
 and motion, all competition vanished 
 before him, and my happiness was 
 quickly centered in Rimini's presence 
 alone : the accents of his voice in con- 
 versation, though addressed to another, 
 charmed my ear, while his manly and 
 graceful attentions excited my admi- 
 ration, though these held me not for 
 their particular object; and it appeared 
 altogether so remote and improbable a 
 circumstance that Rimini should in any 
 particular manner distinguish me by 
 his assiduities, that my wishes for the 
 present were limited to the satisfaction 
 of beholding him, tracing with ever 
 new delight the varying expression 
 of his animated countenance, and view-
 
 186 A WINTER IN PARIS: 
 
 ing with silent approbation the grace 
 of his demeanor and the elegance of his 
 form. 
 
 How seductive are the charms of a 
 rising passion, which creates a magic 
 world around us, abounding in images 
 of joy, where each object receives its 
 tone and colour from that harmony 
 which pervades our bosom ! The most 
 insignificant actions, the most trifling 
 occurrences, give rise to felicity, when 
 viewed through the divine medium of 
 that fascination excited by the presence 
 of those we love: adventitious circum- 
 stances fade into insignificance ; conver- 
 sation or silence, thoughts abstracted 
 or concentrated: individual assiduity or 
 general attentions, are of no moment 
 whatever ; the charm remains un- 
 broken, secured by thepresence of those 
 we love : but delightful as are the ap- 
 proaches of tenderness they quickly 
 jield to anxiety and suspense, which
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 187 
 
 mingles a fitter apprehension with its 
 joys : each interview is expected to 
 dissolve our doubts, and confirm the 
 delicious expectation of having excited 
 a corresponding attachment, while 
 those fears which incessantly sur- 
 pass our hopes, and flutter round the 
 object we are most anxious to attain, 
 painfully check our ardour, and we 
 equally desire and avoid an eclaircisse- 
 ment. 
 
 I was no longer free and unembar- 
 rassed in the presence of Rimini, and 
 when accident gave rise to a private 
 interview, inquietude and embarrass- 
 ment closed my lips, while solitude 
 and apprehension accelerated the throb- 
 bing of my heart to a painful degree. 
 I hastily withdrew from his presence, 
 and was thus condemned to the torment 
 of appearing assiduously to avoid a 
 declaration of love from the lips of Ri- 
 mini, which I joyfully would have re- 
 ceived at the sacrifice of my existence.
 
 J 88 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 ■ 
 
 ii Nc nous cmportons point contre les horn, 
 tnes en voyantleur durete lour ingratitude, leurf 
 intrigues, leur fierte l'amour d'eux mSmes et 
 l'oubli des autres ; ils sont ainsi faits, e'est leur 
 nature : e'est nc pouvoir supporter que la pierr* 
 toinbe on que le feu 6'elcve." 
 
 Towards the latter end of January 
 the weather was uncommonly fine, the 
 sun shone with unusual warmth, and 
 accompanied by Rimini, Angelica, and 
 her sisters, we returned to admire the 
 paintings in the Palais du Louvre, and 
 to walk in the garden of the Thuille- 
 ries. After having viewed the statues 
 and paintings, we prepared to give 
 place to others who were crowding in, 
 when a lady passed us, followed by
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 189 
 
 two gentlemen in plain clothes. We 
 beheld her with surprise, not having 
 seen among the Parisian ladies so much 
 beauty. She appeared about twenty, 
 regular features, large blue eyes ; her 
 dress was white, without any ornament, 
 and a slight veil was fastened to her. 
 hair, w hich was divided over the fore- 
 head, and folded up in braids behind. 
 Her charms were heightened by an^ 
 angelic sweetness spread over every 
 feature of her faee, and a shade of 
 melancholy and interesting paleness 
 indicated that she had not always 
 been a stranger to affliction and woe. 
 
 Rimini addressed them with the 
 cordiality of friendship, and after con- 
 versing together a few moments, he 
 followed us, and we left the Louvre. 
 
 (t The history of that lady/' con- 
 tinued he, iC is very remarkable. — You 
 have no doubt heard of the Amatory 
 Society of France ; she was one of
 
 190 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 their eleves, and three years ago was 
 sent into Spain, when she underwent a 
 variety of adventures, which I will 
 relate to you presently, and that we 
 may be free from interruption, let us 
 proceed to one' of the alcoves in the 
 garden fronting the river; the sun I see 
 shines into them. We accordingly 
 seated ourselves, and prepared to listen 
 attentively to Rimini, who spoke as 
 follows. 
 
 HISTORY OF ALPIIONSO D'ARVIDA 
 
 AND 
 
 ISABELLA DE POLIGNAC. 
 
 " In order to promote "le aggran- 
 dizement of empires, and the benefits 
 of civilized societies, it is necessary to 
 have recourse to secret agency for the 
 purpose of discovering and defeating 
 any private cabals and intrigues against 
 the state. These plans, so beneficial
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 191 
 
 in design, are too frequently made sub- 
 servient to the views of individuals, 
 and the public good is sacrificed at the 
 shrine of the passions. The Amatory 
 Society of France is composed of 
 thousands, held together by an invi- 
 sible chain, known to each other, but 
 undistinguishable to the rest of the 
 community; whose deliberations are 
 covered by the most impenetrable ob- 
 scurity, whose decrees are arbitrary 
 and despotic, executed by assassins, 
 whose steel seldom fails to reach the 
 heart of its unfortunate victim. Their 
 chief agents are beautiful girls, se- 
 lected for this purpose, and placed in 
 seminaries, where every possible care 
 is employed in adorning them witb the 
 most shewy and fascinating accom- 
 plishments, and •- aiating them into 
 every species of art most likely to suc- 
 ceed in defeating the caution of age, 
 and stealing the confidence of unwary
 
 192 A .. WINTER IN PARIS 
 
 youth. Implicit obedience, and invi- 
 olable secresy is enjoined, together 
 with activity in discoveringevery pos- 
 sible secret of state by every possible 
 means. 
 
 ¥* Isabella de Polignac was born at 
 Paris, of noble parents, who perubed 
 at the beginning of the revolution by 
 the guillotine; when >he was only ei^hi 
 years of age. Friendless and destitute 
 she was kii -Jl received by bur nurse, 
 who inhabited a hut in the suburbs of 
 Paris, and sold fruit. The coarse at- 
 tire, the homely garb of the lovely 
 orphan could not obscure her charms, 
 and the expressive softness of her dark 
 blue eyes, the curly auburn hair, and 
 skin of purest white, attracted the 
 notice of an emissary belonging to the 
 Amatory Society. Isabella was with- 
 drawn from the care of her nuise, and 
 every beauty of form, and energy of 
 mind, called forth by a most brilliant
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 193 
 
 education ; and at sixteen she was 
 judged adequate to fulfil her intended 
 avocation at the court of Madrid, 
 where she arrived in the French am- 
 bassador's suite in 1S05. 
 
 " It was not probable that the ex- 
 quisite beauty and accomplishments of 
 Isabella de Polignac would long re- 
 main undistinguished at the court of 
 Ferdinand. The first time she ap- 
 peared at the bull- fight, a murmur 
 of applause ran round the circle and 
 the eyes of the young cavaliers were 
 directed to the lovely stranger, who 
 remained with modest and downcast 
 eyes, apparently heedless of their ap- 
 probation, and intent only on the com- 
 batants before her. 
 
 " The attention of the royal Mari- 
 anna, consort to the prince of the 
 Asturias, was attracted ; she inquired 
 her name, and the following morning 
 Isabella was ordered to attend her. 
 
 vol. i, k
 
 194 Winter in pa'ris. 
 
 If the princess was charmed at the 
 first interview,, she was yet more so at 
 the second, and Isabella was soon ap- 
 pointed to attend her as maid of ho- 
 nour; each day advanced her in the 
 good graces of her royal mistress, and 
 whenever the demon of languor and 
 ennui hovered over the couch 'of 'the 
 princess, Isabella touched her harp: 
 the melting tone of her voice, the 
 finished execution of her song rivetted 
 attention, and the vanquished demon 
 fled. Day after day her royal mistress 
 would listen with mournful pleasure to 
 the favourite modinas of her native 
 country, and the sweet sounds of Isa- 
 bella's harp still lingered in her ear 
 after the chords had ceased to vibrate: 
 another heart also owned her gentle 
 sway. 
 
 " Had Lavater wished to depict 
 manly beauty, he would have chosen 
 for his model Alphonso d'Arvida; tall,
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 195 
 
 and finely formed, .bis. open forehead 
 and expressive eyes were shaded by 
 shining dark hair, hanging in soft curls 
 over his well-shaped eyebrows, and Hiq 
 motion of his lips when he smiled de- 
 noted frankness and sweetness of dis 
 position: noble, generous, and sincere, 
 his actions on every occasion denoted a 
 soul within worthy of animating so 
 matchless a. form. Though feelingly 
 alive to the attractions of the beautiful 
 sex, be was susceptible to but one spe- 
 cies of love, that of the noblest kind, 
 and shrunk from every incitement to 
 passion, the gratification of which was 
 inconsistent with the strictest rules of 
 virtue ; and he could seldom conceal hU 
 detestation of licentiousness in all its 
 forms. Early placed at court in the 
 capacity of a page, he retired from his 
 companions whenever he could not 
 check by his presence indecency or 
 profaneness. 
 
 r2
 
 196 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 '* He beheld the charms of Isabella 
 with the warmest admiration, and pas- 
 sionately fond of music, the melody of 
 her voice completed the enchantment. 
 She was one day crossing an anti- 
 chamber/ leading to the apartment of 
 her royal mistress, when one of tbfc 
 directing agents of the Amatory Society, 
 named de la Croix, stood before her, 
 and fixing his eyes stedfastly on her 
 face, pronounced these laconic 
 words: — c Fascinate' Alphonso d'Arvi- 
 da.* — Words too much in unison with 
 the dictates of her own heart not to 
 be obi Returning to the palace 
 
 lat( e\'- ing, Alphonso perceived 
 
 the easts ! part of the atmosphere 
 blazing like a flood of fire, and flames 
 and sparks ascending from that parrilf 
 the building occupied bj the attendants 
 iu waiting on (he princess. The re- 
 collection of Isabella rushed into his 
 mind ; he endeaYoured by incredible
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. ]9T 
 
 exertions to force his way through the 
 crowd which obstructed his path ; he 
 succeeded, and beheld a hideous and 
 wide spreading ruin, and meeting se- 
 veral who escaped through the lire, 
 .without being able to gain any intelli- 
 gence of Isabella, with frantic grasp he 
 seized a ladder, and the wind for an 
 instant blowing away the flames, he 
 mounted on burning beams, and tread- 
 ing upon heated stones, reached the 
 chamber of his mistress. A femalemshed 
 through the smoke, and throwing her- 
 self into his arms, exclaimed, ( Oh ! 
 save me, Alphonso.' It was Isabella. 
 Raising the woman he loved in his 
 arms, he seemed endowed with super- 
 natural strength, and with resistless 
 intrepidity he bore her to the ladder, 
 and cautiously descending, had reached 
 the ground, when the roof of the 
 building fell with a hideous crash. 
 The receding flames gave way for a 
 
 K 3
 
 1«8 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 moment, but instantly rose again with 
 tenfold fu'r : v, flinging their spiry co- 
 lumns to the skies. r)R 
 
 << Isabella revived at the accents of 
 her lover's voice, who, hanging over 
 her, watched for returning life with 
 suspense and agonizing dread. Gra- 
 titude ri vetted every tender sentiment, 
 and from that hour she watched over 
 the safety of Alphonso with a guardian 
 angel's care. Isabella, though' ini- 
 tiated into the paths of intrigue, pos- 
 sessed, nevertheless a mind full of na- 
 tive modesty and candour ; every par- 
 ticle of these dispositions was called 
 forth, and excited by the exalted mind 
 of her lover : each succeeding day in- 
 creased their mutual affection, and 
 gave her those additional charms at- 
 tendant upon a virtuous attachment. 
 The precepts of the Amatory Society 
 began to retire far away from her re- 
 collection ; when she was reminded of
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 199 
 
 them in the following manner: — At a 
 short distance from the palace she v^as 
 one morning accosted by de la. Croix. 
 He addressed her thus, in a severe tone 
 of voice and gesture: — 
 
 " Have you, Isabella, been faithful 
 to your trust ? Have you succeeded in 
 gaining Alphonso's confidence and af- 
 fection, without cherishing any corres- 
 ponding emotions of love ? Prove it, 
 then, by appointing him a rendezvous 
 this very night at twelve o'clock, in 
 the right-hand walk leading from the 
 chapel of Santa Maria. — Silence, and 
 beware!' He disappeared. Isabella's 
 consternation cannot be described : too 
 well she knew the purport of the fatal 
 rendezvous, and fear for her lover's life 
 deprived her limbs of motion, and 
 drove the blood tumultuousiy to her 
 heart. She continued a considerable 
 time fast to the spot on which she stood 
 when La Croix left her ; and, at last,
 
 ^WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 starting, as the horrible image crossed 
 her soul of Alphonso wounded and 
 bleeding by the hand of an assassin, 
 she fled to her apartment. ' Some 
 measures must be instantly resolved 
 
 dlPQ^rjd^dsfhfcn/ or mj Alphonso, 
 my benefactor, my friend, will never 
 again behold the rising of the sun 1' 
 Seizing a pen, she traced with trem- 
 bling fingers an injunction that he 
 would instantly fly from Madrid; and 
 bidding him adieu for ever, folded the 
 scroll, and scaling it, ff tempered the 
 pliant wax with falling tears." She 
 concealed the letter in her bosom, and 
 hurrying to the place where the pages 
 usually sat, she beckoned to him who 
 waited upon Alphonso, gave it into 
 bis hand, and enjoined biro, with 
 breathless agitation, to deliver it in- 
 stantly to his master. The smiling boy 
 took the. letter, and went in search of 
 Alphonso, who was at the bull- fights
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 201 
 
 and who no sooner recovered from the 
 perturbation it occasioned him, than he 
 hastened to find Don Juan de Tortoso, 
 and shewed him Isabella's letter. Al- 
 phonso, though a favourite with his 
 sovereign, was fortunate enough to 
 have a friend ; and it was finally, re- 
 served between them, that he should 
 retire to the frontiers of Spain for ftfe 
 present, there to wait for further infor- 
 mation, and act accordingly as cir- 
 circumstances should require. Al- 
 phonso returned to the palace in search 
 of Isabella, to make her, if possible, 
 the companion of his flight: after 
 searching for her long in vain, he dis- 
 covered her at some distance, walking 
 in a garden, and followed her into a 
 shady path, secured from observation. 
 by a thick hedge of myrtle on either 
 side: he took courage to throw his 
 arms round her lovely waist, and un- 
 consciously she pressed him to her heart, 
 *5
 
 202 A WINTER IN FARIS. 
 
 and bade him leave her, yet detained 
 him still : ' I swear by every thing that 
 is sacred/ cried he, ' that I will not 
 leave Madrid unless you consent to ac- 
 company my flight ; it rests with your- 
 self, whether to see me fall by the hand 
 of treachery, or, uniting your fate with 
 mine, seek security in a distant coun- 
 try, out of the reach of our enemies/ 
 Distracting were the sensations which 
 rose in the mind of Isabella, and cruel 
 were the contending emotions. De- 
 cency forbade her folio wing the fortunes 
 of Alphonso., unsanctioned by sacred 
 ties; while fears for her lover's Iffe 
 withdrew the blood from her quiver- 
 ing* lips, as she intreated him to hasten 
 away. Seeing him determined not to 
 leave her behind, love vanquished her 
 scruples ; she silently and reluctantly 
 acquiesced. He proposed that they 
 should leave Madrid in the evening, 
 followed only by their trusty page ; and
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 203 
 
 making the best of their way through 
 old Castile, wait upon the frontiers for 
 that information, which their friend 
 Don Juan would not fail to give. 
 
 fC Alphonso and Isabella left Madrid 
 as soon as the shade of evening began 
 to descend, and travelled by the light 
 of the stars along the plains of II Pardo, 
 and at sun-rise found themselves inve- 
 loped in the mountains of Gradeliare. 
 They alighted from their mules, and re- 
 posing on the grass, made a slight repast 
 on the provisions the) brought with them, 
 and they formed projects for their future 
 lives, forgetting the danger which might 
 frustrate them. Alphonso was at no 
 loss to decide why the Amatory Soci- 
 ety took aim at his bosom — a descend- 
 ant of the ancient house of Arvida, 
 every member of which had been un- 
 daunted and zealous adherents of the 
 monarchy, Alphonso strenuously re- 
 sisted the encroachments of the Prince
 
 204 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 of Peace, who was supposed to second 
 the politics of the court of France:— 
 / But, rny Isabella/ exclaimed he, 
 pressing her to his breast, " behold 
 how joy arises from danger, and har- 
 mony out of discord ! Blessed with 
 tjiy presence, charmed by 'thy smiles, 
 impotent are the frowns of fortune; and 
 the arrows of adversity, ere they reach 
 ray bosom, fall blunted to the ground/ 
 " They continued their route along the 
 valliesof Terracania,and sometimes were 
 bewildered among the forests which 
 skirted the hills; it was near sun-set, 
 when they beheld a ruined castle sur- 
 rounded by mountains, covered with 
 thick forests of gloomy pinertrees. The 
 deep and narrow valley from which the 
 turrets arose, precluded all extent of 
 view, and sterility and silence reigned 
 around. In this habitation, such as it 
 was, Isabella requested her lover to 
 conduct her; and exhausted by fa-
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 205 
 
 tigue and agitation, determined to take 
 Test. They entered a hall, and tra- 
 versed most part of it without tracing 
 a footstep, or hearing the sound of a 
 human voice, though it seemed to have 
 been recently inhabited : a circle of 
 stones had been formed on the pave- 
 ment, and some half- extinguished em- 
 bers lay on the ground, while coarse 
 implements of kitchen-fare lay scattered 
 here and there in rude disorder. They 
 bad recourse to the remainder of their 
 provision, and prepared to wait pa- 
 tiently till repose should enable them 
 to pursue their journey. The shadows 
 of evening began to extend from the 
 trees of the forest, and the tops of the 
 mountains were gilded by the beams of 
 the setthig sun; no sound met the ear 
 but the rustling of the wind as it swept 
 by in sullen murmurs. Night was ap- 
 proaching, when Alphooso, who stood 
 looking from a broken casement, be-
 
 306 A WUSTTER IN PARIS. 
 
 held a troop of horsemen opening from 
 the gloom of the forest, and advancing 
 full-speed towards the castle. Pertur- 
 bation was visible in their motions, and 
 the words they uttered as they alighted 
 at the gate were rather confused mur- 
 murs than articulate words : — ' But 
 what have we got here ?' said one of 
 them, seeing Alphonso, who with one 
 arm supported the trembling Isabella, 
 and with the other hand grasped his 
 dagger — A tall and manly figure, with 
 a fierce eye and rugged countenance 
 entered, and the others gave way be- 
 fore him ; he wore a short vest and 
 cloak of dark blue, a helmet, or furred 
 cap on his head, a leather belt was 
 buckled round his waist, and in it was 
 stuck a pistol and a sword : advancing 
 towards Alphonso, with a steady step 
 and commanding air, he thus addressed 
 him : — 
 
 " Noble oavalier, dismiss every ap-
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 207 
 
 prehension, as to your own safety and 
 that of the lady, whom I see trembling 
 by your side : I command a troop of 
 gallant fellows, and though we subsist 
 upon plunder, yet we also know how 
 to respect the laws of hospitality : you 
 are under the shadow of our roof, re- 
 pose here in peace this night, partake 
 of our cheer, and to-morrow I will 
 send two of my men, who shall escort 
 you to the bounds of the forest, 
 and protect you from any of our 
 stragglers/ 
 
 "So saying he unbuckled his leather 
 belt, took off his helmet, and placed 
 them on a stone bench near the door, 
 and ordered his attendants to prepare 
 the supper. 
 
 The troop consisted of near fifty 
 rough looking men, coarsely clad, 
 some of whom were seated on the 
 ground cleaning their fire arms, while 
 others re kindled the fir.e, and began
 
 208 K WINTER IN PARIS* 
 
 dressing the wild venison which ihey 
 had that morning caught in their toils, 
 and quickly placed upon the table, 
 while the company riotously took their 
 places, and set down to supper. The 
 chief of the band placed Alphonso 
 and Isabella to the right and left, but 
 all was for some moments a scene of 
 scrambling and confusion. When the 
 repast was ended, he commanded 
 silence, and spoke to them as fol-- 
 lows -.sfo-'io moo 1^3 sd) ni om zsinjsqmoa 
 srff Far different fiwifcjtfiese moulder- 
 ing turrets, and dismantled chambers, 
 was my paternal abode, and unlike 
 these rude eompanious were those of 
 my early years. Don Pedro, of Tu* 
 della, chief seneschal of Madrid, was 
 my father, and he inhabited the mag- 
 nificent palace of Losdones, near the 
 city. I was educated at the university 
 of Segovia, with every distinction 
 which affluence and parental affection
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 209 
 
 could devise, and having finished my 
 studies, returned to Madrid, and ea- 
 gerly pursued those amusements and 
 dissipations so seductive to the minds 
 of youth and inexperience. I had com- 
 pleted my twenty- first year, when I 
 beheld at the festival of the Annuncia- 
 tion the young Ildefonsa, whose father, 
 the old Count de Molina, had lately 
 brought to court for the first time. 
 Her image, as I then beheld her, ac- 
 companies me in the gloom of the fo- 
 rest ; neither can the howling of the 
 tempest, or the clash of our swords, 
 drive it from before my eyes ; lovely 
 woman, bright mischief, innocent cause 
 of all my woes! You taught me to 
 feel the raptures of virtuous love, and 
 you drove my parents into exile, and 
 condemned me to become an outcast 
 and a plunderer thus. On that me- 
 morable day, the service in the chapel 
 of the Escurial was begun ; the 6wel-
 
 210 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 ling notes of the organ bad yielded 'o 
 the exquisite melody of a human v< 
 chaunting a hymn to the Holy Vir 
 when Ildcfousa entered, arrayed in 
 black ; a transparent veil shaded her 
 angelic face, and fell in light folds 
 over her neck and shoulders ; advance 
 ing with downcast eyes,, she threw her- 
 self at the foot of the altar, and cross^ 
 ing her lovely arms on her bosom, 
 adored the Mother of her redeemer. 
 Ildefoosa became from, that day the 
 arbitress of my fate. I frequently passed 
 hours ia endeavouring to catch a 
 glimpse of her figure, as she ap-t 
 proached the balcony to catch the 
 evening breeze, and endeavoured to 
 engage her attention to the harmony 
 of the lute and guitar. My assidui- 
 ties at length met with success; she 
 condescended to behold me witli some 
 degree of approbation, nor turned dis- 
 dainfully away when I presented the
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 211 
 
 consecrated (lowers for her acceptance, 
 and she smiling dipped her rosy finger 
 in the holy water, which I took care 
 to offer whenever she entered the cha- 
 pel. I was at length suffered to breath 
 my tows of everlasting adoration at 
 her feet. 
 
 (C Ildefonsa was gentle and timid, 
 inclined to melancholy, which disposi- 
 tion the events of her life had contri- 
 buted to establish. She lost her mo- 
 ther at an early age, and the old count, 
 her father, possessed one of those cold 
 and insensible minds, which receive 
 from the dispositions of those around 
 them but slight and fugitive impres- 
 sions ; one might have been tortured 
 before his eyes without his betraying 
 any emotion, and have died without his 
 expressing any concern ; and the few 
 emotions which age and natural stupi- 
 dity had spared, were under the di- 
 rection of the grossest superstition.
 
 21 8 A WINTER IN PARlf. 
 
 With him the gentle Ildefoosa .cfluld 
 hold no communion, and debarred by 
 the absurd system of pride and seclu- 
 sion, from associating with others of 
 her own age, herself an only child, 
 lldefonsa was alone in the world; in 
 my sentiments she met with a refuge 
 from this mental destitution, and in th« 
 continuance of my love all her happi- 
 ness centered. 
 
 f The Count de Molina, whose in- 
 creasing age and infirmities rarely 
 permitted to appear in public, re- 
 ceived my father's overtures on behalf 
 of his son with apparent satisfaction, 
 and a day was fixed for our nuptials, 
 when the machinations of a villain 
 blasted our hope?, and laid our happi- 
 ness in the dust for ever. Going into 
 her apartment one day suddenly, I 
 found her in tears, and it was long be- 
 fore her emotions would permit her to 
 explain to me the cause.
 
 A WINTER IN *ARIS. 213 
 
 el Alas ! Don Pedro/ said she, sob- 
 bing violently, ' I fear I shall never 
 be your's: it breaks my heart to tell 
 you that my father's confessor, Sebas- 
 tian, has prevailed upon him to con* 
 sign his unhappy child to the miseries 
 of everlasting seclusion. I am shortly 
 to enter the convent of St. Augusta, 
 and alas ! the gates will close on me 
 then for ever/ 
 
 " Tears and" sobs choaked her ut- 
 terance. f May everlasting torments 
 seize the villain/ Teplied I, ' and the 
 vulture for ever gnaw his avaricious 
 soul ! You are too rich a prize to 
 escape those cursed harpies, but he 
 shall shortly receive his punishment 
 from my hand/ 
 
 " Oh ! forbear for mercy's sake/ 
 exclaimed she, ■* you terrify me to 
 distraction : he is one of the holy inqui- 
 sition, and at his disposal are the is- 
 sues of life and death.''* *« *) » J
 
 214 ?Afl*ratff£R IN PARIS. 
 
 " We were interrupted by the en- 
 trance of the old Count de Molina, 
 who listened coldly to my frantic ex- 
 postulations, and beheld with indif- 
 ference his daughter's tears. / ^rjraul 
 
 " Don Pedro/ said he, ' your vio- 
 lence is of no use ; my daughter cannot 
 be your's ; the holy church lias inter- 
 posed to prevent it, and T desire that 
 you will not henceforth interrupt by 
 your presence the peace of my family/ 
 
 " All attempts on my side to see II- 
 defonsa, or gain admittance into her 
 father's house, were frustrated, and I 
 beheld the fatal day approach in which 
 Ildefonsa was to enter the convent of 
 St. Augusta, and disappear for ever 
 from my view. Frantic and distract- 
 ed I rushed one evening along the 
 streets, and mechanically bent ray steps 
 towards the church of St. Augusta, 
 and met the crowd returning from 
 evening vespers. I entered the hoty
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 215 
 
 sanctuary, and for some moments con- 
 tinued leaning against a marble pil- 
 lar, my eyes fixed upon the altar, in a 
 species of indistinct reverie. The 
 lamps were burning at the sacred 
 shrine, and the odour of the frankin- 
 cense yet breathing from the golden 
 censors, spread a soft and delicious 
 perfume. My imagination suddenly 
 represented to me the unhappy Ilde- 
 fonsa at the foot of the altar, not as 
 wneti I first beheld her, glowing with 
 health and beauty, but receiving from 
 the hands of the priest the accursed 
 veil. I beheld her pale and trem- 
 bling, while anguish marked each fea- 
 ture of her lovely face. My sensations 
 becoming too powerful, I was hurry- 
 ing from the spot, when, at that mo- 
 ment, the Confessor Sebastian stood 
 before me. ' Base wretch ! is it yen/ 
 cried I, c who are commissioned by 
 the infernal powers to rob me of Ilde-
 
 216 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 fonsa ? Be gone, or dread my ven- 
 geance. Be gone, I say/ stamping 
 furiously on the groun<j, * or, by 
 heaven, I will annihilate you.' 
 
 " Young man,' said he, 'forbear; 
 one word more, and I summon you to 
 appear at our holy tribunal, there to 
 receive the punishment which, your 
 unjustifiable violence merits/ 
 
 ( Go yourself, and impeach me to 
 your infernal master, Satan/ cried I, 
 drawing my dagger, and plunging it 
 into the heart of the wretch, who fell 
 on the pavement writhing in the ago- 
 nies of death. 
 
 " The church was instantly filled 
 with a furious multitude ; I was drag- 
 ged to the dungeons of the Inquisi- 
 tion, and after two years of suffering 
 and imprisonment, condemned to the 
 flames at the next Auto da Fe. I pre- 
 pared to meet my doom, with gloomy 
 tranquillity, the natural consequence
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 217 
 
 of despair, and on the day appointed, 
 decorated with San Benito, with se- 
 veral others was fixed to the stake. 
 The eager flames began to seize their 
 victims., when a deluge of rain, such 
 as I never again beheld, descended in 
 torrents ; the forked lightning flashed 
 terror to the exulting crowd, and the 
 rolling thunder completely dispersed 
 them ; I fell senseless from the stake 
 among the "extinguished embers. On 
 recovering my recollection, I saw that 
 I was in a low apartment, lying on the 
 ground, and several chirurgical instru- 
 ments near me; a lamp was burning 
 on the floor, and the door of the apart- 
 ment open. I gazed stupidly for some 
 moments, when suddenly recollecting 
 myself I roused every energy of my soul 
 to exertion, and extinguishing the light, 
 darted out at the door, and wandered 
 in the suburbs of the city by star light, 
 half famished, and unknowing where to 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 seek shelter, Towards morning I was 
 accosted by a stranger, who after a few 
 moments conversation made signs for 
 ine to follow him ; I did so : we turned 
 down a narrow lane, and my conductor 
 taking out a key, opened the door of 
 an apartment, and when we had en- 
 tered closed it carefully after us. He 
 set bread and wine upon the tahle, and 
 some broiled fish, which I almost de- 
 voured, and when satisfied, he ad- 
 dressed me thus : — ioHJo 9dt I 
 ~rit> Wounded, famished, and destitute, 
 you seem suited for my purpose ; I 
 command a gallant troop of free- 
 booters, in the forests of Guadclaire, 
 we lead jolly, careless lives, and levy 
 contributions on our fellow citizens 
 without remorse, for they have driven 
 us by their cruelty and intrigues to 
 Toam like beasts of prey; depriving 
 as of those means necessary for pro- 
 curing an honest subsistence, they have
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 219 
 
 forced us to become plunderers and as* 
 sassins ; unite with us/ continued be, 
 * in waging war upon mankind, and in 
 revenging those injuries which your 
 appearance denotes you to have suf- 
 fered.' 
 
 " Tell me, I beseech you,' said I, 
 ' what is become of Don Pedro de 
 Tudella, two years ago chief seneschal 
 of Madrid.' 
 
 tc His goods were confiscated/ re- 
 plied the other, ' his palace razed to 
 the ground, himself and his wife dri- 
 ven into banishment, where it seems 
 they died in extreme poverty; their 
 history is well known, and excited pity 
 even in our bosoms, though he had 
 frequently, in the discharge of his of- 
 fice, persecuted us ; the old Count de 
 Molina is yet alive, but his daughter 
 Ildefonsa, who was said to be the cause 
 of all their disasters, died of a broken 
 heart before she took the veil, I be-
 
 320 A 5 WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 lieve Don Pedro perished at the last 
 Auto di Fe, unless he died in the 
 prisons of the Inquisition.' to jIjj^ 
 
 " No, by heavens,' exclaimed J+ 
 starting up io a frenzy, gnashing my 
 teeth, and tearing my hair, f no, he yet 
 lives to revenge their death, by waging 
 eternal war with mankind, and being* 
 familiarised to deeds of blood : I am 
 your's ; lead me to the desert; the 
 roaring of wild beasts, the clash of 
 swords, the blasts of the lightning, and 
 terrors of the storm, are congenial to 
 the feelings of my breast. My aged 
 father, my mother, dragged from their 
 peaceful homes, to perish in exile; 
 Ildefonsa too, all, all perished by 
 the machinations of a villain ; but he 
 paid the forfeit of his crime ; I beheld 
 him, writhing in torrents of bipod at 
 my feet, and hark ! I hear his black 
 soul howl in the midnight tempest.* 1 ^ 
 
 " Exhausted by the violence of my
 
 A WINTER IN PARI!. 231 
 
 feeling's, I sunk into apathy, from 
 which I was roused by ray conductor 
 at break of day ; he entered with a 
 parcel in his hand, containing a dress, 
 similar to the one he wore, which, 
 when I had put on, we mounted on 
 mules, took the road leading to these 
 mountains, and I became one of this 
 troop of daring fellows, fearless of 
 danger, and undaunted in the pursuit 
 of prey. A few years ago, Pelos, 
 their chief, fell in a skirmish with some 
 merchants, on the road between Catal ♦ 
 herd and this place, upon which they 
 elected me in his stead, and these, my 
 brave fellows, serve me with fidelity 
 and zeal, and I share their dangers and 
 fatigues." 
 
 '6 Aye, that he does," echoed through 
 the hall, and a health to their noble 
 chief, Don Pedro de Tudella, was' 
 drank with wild uproar and tumul-: 
 tuous alacrity. Turning to his guests,
 
 222 A WINTER IN PARI*. 
 
 Tudella offered to conduct Isabella to 
 his own couch, as the night was far 
 advanced, and having left her to re- 
 pose, he returned with Alphonso to 
 thehall, where they continued in con- 
 versation till the ruddy streaks' of light 
 immersed the horizon. 
 
 Isabella and Alphonso prepared to 
 take leave of the unfortunate Tudella, 
 who dismissed them with mournful so- 
 lemnity : — <( Happy may ye remain, 
 blest in each other's love, and may your 
 destiny be unlike that of mine and the 
 hapless Ildefonsa !" His stern counte- 
 nance relaxed, and a gleam of tender- 
 ness shone for a moment in his eyes. 
 Turning from them, he called two of 
 his comrades, "Guard them, my friends, 
 through the forest; at your hands I 
 shall require their safety/' So saying, 
 lie embraced Alphonso, and dismissed 
 them, lingering at the gate of the castle 
 till the windings of the forest hid him
 
 A WINTER IN PARIS. 223 
 
 from their view. They pursued their 
 road, and towards evening reached the 
 skirts of the forest, and their guides 
 pointed out to 'them the distant spires 
 of Saragossa, at the foot of a moun- 
 tain. Their first care on arriving there 
 was to receive the nuptial benediction, 
 and Alphonso.had soon to alleviate the 
 sufferings, and watch by the couch of 
 Isabella, whose fatigues and agita- 
 tion of mind had occasioned a dange- 
 rous illness. As soon as she was suffi- 
 ciently recovered, they set out, and 
 crossing the Pyrennees, reached Bay- 
 onne, at which.place/' continued Ri- 
 mini, *' I became acquainted with Al- 
 phonso ; a detachment of the guards 
 which I commanded was stationed in 
 that part of the town which they inha- , 
 bited. I was charmed with each, and 
 prevailed npon them to accompany me 
 on my return to Paris. Their faithful 
 friend Don Juan of Tortosa has pro-
 
 224 A WINTER IN PARIS. 
 
 cured for his friend a diplomatic 
 employment in South America : they 
 are soon to repair thither. The gen- 
 tleman in black with themaHhe Louvre 
 is Don Juan, who is come to Paris to 
 negociate some civil transactions. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 B. Clarke, Friater, Well-Street, Londo*.
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 OFILUHOW4JBBANA 
 
 3 0112056547448