There appears to be something rotten in the state of this country; the system stands on unstable foundations, the people are demoralised, in vain we look for fixed principles or deep convictions. Some are indifferent to the fate of the monarchy because they hate the monarch, others rejoice at attempts on the monarch from aversion to monarchy, and as far as my cursory observation and casual observation instruct me, I see only a confusion and caprice of passions, prejudices, and opinions, which are only reduced to anything like order by the strong sober sense and the firmness of the King, who is by far the ablest man among them.

January 25th, 1836

On the 24th I walked about Paris, dined at the Embassy, and went to Court at night; about fifty English, forty Americans, and several other foreigners were presented. The Palace is very magnificent; the present King has built a new staircase, which makes the suite of rooms continuous, and the whole has been regilt and painted. We were arranged in the throne-room by nations, the English first, and at a quarter before nine the doors of the royal apartments were opened, and the Royal Family came forth. We all stood in a long line (single file) reaching through the RECEPTION AND BALL AT THE TUILERIES. two rooms, beginning and ending again at the door of the King’s apartment. The King walked down the line attended by Lord Granville, then the Queen with the eldest Princess under her arm, then Madame Adélaïde with the other, and then the Duke of Orleans. Aston[4] attended the Queen, and the attachés the others. They all speak to each individual, and by some strange stretch of invention find something to say. The King is too civil; he has a fine head, and closely resembles the pictures of Louis XIV. The Queen is very gracious and dignified, Adélaïde very good-humoured, and the Duke of Orleans extremely princely in his manners. This morning I went to the Tuileries by appointment, when he received me, kept me for a quarter of an hour talking about race-horses, and invited me to breakfast on Saturday, and to go with him to Meudon to see his stud.

[4] [The British Secretary of Embassy, afterwards Sir Arthur Aston.]

Then I went sight-seeing; to the Invalides, the Pantheon, and the Madeleine. The former is very well worth seeing, and nothing is more remarkable than the kitchen, which is the sweetest and the cleanest I ever saw. The Chapel is fine, with no remarkable tombs except those of Turenne and Vauban. The Pantheon is under repair; there are the tombs of Voltaire and Rousseau. The interior of the Madeleine is very rich, but it is inferior to the outside; the simple grandeur of the latter is somewhat frittered away in the minute ornaments and the numerous patches of coloured marble of the Church. However, it will be with all its faults a magnificent building.

I ended my day (the 25th) by going to a ball at the Tuileries, one of the great balls, and a magnificent spectacle indeed. The long line of light gleaming through the whole length of the palace is striking as it is approached, and the interior, with the whole suite of apartments brilliantly illuminated, and glittering from one end to the other with diamonds and feathers and uniforms, and dancing in all the several rooms, made a splendid display. The supper in the theatre was the finest thing I ever saw of the kind; all the women sup first, and afterwards the men, the tables being renewed over and over again. There was an array of servants in gorgeous liveries, and the apartment was lit by thousands of candles (no lamps) and as light as day. The company amounted to between 3,000 and 4,000, from all the great people down to national guards, and even private soldiers. None of the Carlists were there, as they none of them choose to go to Court. The King retired before eleven; it was said that he had received anonymous letters warning him of some intended attempt on his person, and extraordinary precautions were taken to guard against the entrance of any improper people.

January 26th, 1837

Having seen all the high society the night before, I resolved to see all the low to-night, and went to Musard’s ball—a most curious scene; two large rooms in the rue St. Honoré almost thrown into one, a numerous and excellent orchestra, a prodigious crowd of people, most of them in costume, and all the women masked. There was every description of costume, but that which was the most general was the dress of a French post-boy, in which both males and females seemed to delight. It was well-regulated uproar and orderly confusion. When the music struck up they began dancing all over the rooms; the whole mass was in motion, but though with gestures the most vehement and grotesque, and a licence almost unbounded, the figure of the dance never seemed to be confused, and the dancers were both expert in their capers and perfect in their evolutions. Nothing could be more licentious than the movements of the dancers, and they only seemed to be restrained within limits of common decency by the cocked hats and burnished helmets of the police and gendarmes which towered in the midst of them. After quadrilling and waltzing away, at a signal given they began galloping round the room; then they rushed pellmell, couple after couple, like Bedlamites broke loose, but not the slightest accident occurred. I amused myself with this strange and grotesque sight for an hour or more, and then came home.

January 27th, 1837

Called on Talleyrand and sat with him RELATIONS OF FRANCE AND ENGLAND. for an hour. He talked of England in a very Conservative strain. I called on the Duc de Broglie, Mesdames de Marescalchi and Durazzo, dined at the Embassy, then to Madame de Lieven’s and Pembroke’s concert. Not a profitable life, but not dull, and the day glides away.