The Life and Letters of Maria Edgeworth, vol 2 | Page 8

article in the
_Quarterly_--a subject which makes my blood boil with indignation,
and which rouses every feeling of contempt and abhorrence. I might
indeed refrain from the expression of these sentiments, but how could I
restrain all those feelings of the warmest interest, the tenderest
sympathy, and the softest pity for your wounded feelings? I well
remember the wish you one day so piously expressed to me that your
father could look down from heaven and see the purity and zeal of your
intentions in writing his _Memoirs_; I am sure your HEAVENLY
FATHER does see them. And I feel that this unjust, unchristian,
inquisitorial attack will not only develop fresh sentiments of the
tenderest nature in your friends, but also rally every human being of
sound sense around you.
MARIA EDGEWORTH to MRS. EDGEWORTH.
PARIS, _Nov. 15, 1820_.
You would scarcely believe, my dear friends, the calm of mind and the
sort of satisfied resignation I feel as to my father's Life. I suppose the
two years of doubt and extreme anxiety that I felt, exhausted all my
power of doubting. I know that I have done my very best, I know that I
have done my duty, and I firmly believe that if my dear father could see
the whole he would be satisfied with what I have done.
We have seen Mademoiselle Mars twice, or thrice rather, in the
Mariage de Figaro and in the little pieces of Le Jaloux sans amour, and
La jeunesse de Henri Cinq, and admire her exceedingly. _En petit
comité_ the other night at the Duchesse d'Escars, a discussion took
place between the Duchesse de la Force, Marmont, and Pozzo di Borgo,
on the bon et mauvais ton of different expressions--_bonne société_ is
an _expression bourgeoise_--you may say bonne compagnie or _la
haute société_. "Voilà des nuances," as Madame d'Escars said. Such a
wonderful jabbering as these grandees made about these small matters.
It put me in mind of a conversation in the World on good company
which we all used to admire.

We have seen a great deal of our dear Delesserts, and of Madame de
Rumford, [Footnote: First married to Lavoisier, the celebrated chemist,
then to Count Rumford, the scientist, from whom she was separated for
many years. She was now again a widow.] who gave us a splendid and
most agreeable dinner. And one evening with the Princess Potemkin,
who is--take notice--only a Princess by courtesy, as she has married a
Potemkin, who is not a Prince, and though she was born Princess
Galitzin, she loses her rank by marrying an inferior, according to
Russian and French custom, and they are, with reason, surprised at our
superior gallantry, once a lady always a lady. But whether Princess or
not Princess, our Madame Potemkin is most charming, and you may
bless your stars that you are not obliged to read a page of panegyric
upon her. She was as much delighted to see us again, as we were to see
her; she was alone with Madame de Noisville, that happy mixture of
my Aunt Fox [Footnote: Mary, wife of Francis Fox, elder sister of Mr.
Edgeworth and Mrs. Ruxton.] and Mrs. Lataffiere. We went from
Madame Potemkin to Madame d'Haussonville's, with her we found
Madame de Bouillé playing at billiards, just in the attitude in which we
had left her three months ago. Saturday I had a bad headache, but
recovered in the evening; and Monday we dined at Madame Potemkin's,
where we met her aunt, a Princess Galitzin, a thin, tall, odd, very clever
woman, daughter to that Prince Shuvaloff, to whom Voltaire wrote
eternally, and she is imbued with anecdotes of that period, very well
bred, and quick in conversation. She is always afraid of catching cold,
and always wears a velvet cap, and is always wrapped up in shawls and
pelisses in going from house to house--_à cela près_, a reasonable
woman.
After leaving Madame Potemkin's we went to see--whom do you think?
Guess all round the breakfast-table before you turn over the leaf; if
anybody guesses right, I guess it will be Aunt Mary.
Madame de la Rochejacquelin [Footnote: Widow of the Vendean
hero.]--She had just arrived from the country, and we found ourselves
in a large hotel, in which all the winds of heaven were blowing, and in
which, as we went upstairs and crossed the ante-chambers, all was
darkness, except one candle which the servant carried before us. In a

small bedroom, well furnished, with a fire just lighted, we found
Madame de la Rochejacquelin lying on a sofa--her two daughters at
work--one spinning with a distaff, and the other embroidering muslin.
Madame is a large fat woman, with a broad round fair face, with a most
open benevolent expression, as benevolent as Molly Bristow's or