The Diary of an Ennuyée | Page 6

clouds rolled in prodigious masses along the dark sides of the
mountains, frequently hiding them from our view, and substituting for
their graceful outlines and ever-varying contrast of tint and shade, an
impenetrable veil of dark gray vapour.
3rd.--We took a boat and rowed on the lake for about two hours. Our
boatman, a fine handsome athletic figure, was very talkative and
intelligent. He had been in the service of Lord Byron, and was with him
in that storm between La Meillerie and St. Gingough, which is
described in the third canto of Childe Harold. He pointed out among
the beautiful villas, which adorn the banks on either side, that in which
the empress Josephine had resided for six months, not long before her

death. When he spoke of her, he rested upon his oars to descant upon
her virtues, her generosity, her affability, her goodness to the poor, and
his countenance became quite animated with enthusiasm. Here, in
France, wherever the name of Josephine is mentioned, there seems to
exist but one feeling, one opinion of her beneficence and amabilité of
character. Our boatman had also rowed Marie Louise across the lake,
on her way to Paris: he gave us no very captivating picture of her. He
described her as "_grande, blonde, bien faite et extrêmement fière_:"
and told us how she tormented her ladies in waiting; "comme elle
tracassait ses dames d'honneur." The day being rainy and gloomy, her
attendants begged of her to defer the passage for a short time, till the
fogs had cleared away, and discovered all the beauty of the surrounding
shores. She replied haughtily and angrily, "Je veux faire ce que je
veux--allez toujours."
M. le Baron M----n, whom we knew at Paris, told me several delightful
anecdotes of Josephine: he was attached to her household, and high in
her confidence. Napoleon sent him on the very morning of his second
nuptials, with a message and billet to the ex-empress. On hearing that
the ceremony was performed which had passed her sceptre into the
hands of the proud, cold-hearted Austrian, the feelings of the woman
overcame every other. She burst into tears, and wringing her hands,
exclaimed "Ah! au moins, qu'il soit heureux!" Napoleon resigned this
estimable and amiable creature to narrow views of selfish policy, and
with her his good genius fled: he deserved it, and verily he hath had his
reward.
We drove after dinner to Copet; and the Duchesse de Broglie being
absent, had an opportunity of seeing the chateau. All things "were there
of her"--of her, whose genuine worth excused, whose all-commanding
talents threw into shade, those failings which belonged to the weakness
of her sex, and her warm feelings and imagination. The servant girl
who showed us the apartments, had been fifteen years in Madame de
Staël's service. All the servants had remained long in the family, "elle
était si bonne et si charmante maîtresse!" A picture of Madame de Staël
when young, gave me the idea of a fine countenance and figure, though
the features were irregular. In the bust, the expression is not so

prepossessing:--there the colour and brilliance of her splendid dark
eyes, the finest feature of her face, are of course quite lost. The bust of
M. Rocca[C] was standing in the Baron de Staël's dressing-room: I was
more struck with it than any thing I saw, not only as a chef-d'oeuvre,
but from the perfect and regular beauty of the head, and the charm of
the expression. It was just such a mouth as we might suppose to have
uttered his well-known reply--"_Je l'aimerai tellement qu'elle finira par
m'aimer._" Madame de Staël had a son by this marriage, who had just
been brought home by his brother, the Baron, from a school in the
neighbourhood. He is about seven years old. If we may believe the
servant, Madame de Staël did not acknowledge this son till just before
her death; and she described the wonder of the boy on being brought
home to the chateau, and desired to call Monsieur le Baron "Mon frère"
and "Auguste." This part of Madame de Staël's conduct seems
incomprehensible; but her death is recent, the circumstances little
known, and it is difficult to judge her motives. As a woman, as a wife,
she might not have been able to brave "the world's dread laugh"--but as
a mother?----
We have also seen Ferney--a place which did not interest me much, for
I have no sympathies with Voltaire:--and some other beautiful scenes in
the neighbourhood.
The Panorama exhibited in London just before I left it, is wonderfully
correct, with one pardonable exception: the artist did not venture to
make the waters of the lake of the intense ultramarine tinged with violet
as I now see them before me;
"So darkly, deeply,