Still house-hunting; continually tempted by elegantly decorated salons, and as continually checked by the want of room and comfort of the rest of the apartments.
We have been compelled to abandon the project of taking the Maréchal Lobau's house, or at least that portion of it which he wishes to dispose of, for we found it impossible to lodge so large an establishment as ours in it; and, though we communicated this fact with all possible courtesy to the Maréchal, we have received a note in answer, written in a different style, as he is pleased to think that, having twice inspected his apartments, we ought to have taken them.
In England, a person of the Maréchal's rank who had a house to let would not show it in propriâ personâ, but would delegate that task, as also the terms and negotiations, to some agent; thus avoiding all personal interference, and, consequently, any chance of offence: but if people will feel angry without any just cause, it cannot be helped; and so Monsieur le Maréchal must recover his serenity and acquire a temper more in analogy with his name; for, though a brave and distinguished officer, as well as a good man, which he is said to be, he certainly is not Bon comme un mouton, which is his cognomen.
Paris is now before us,—where to choose is the difficulty. We saw to-day a house in the Rue St.-Honoré, entre cour et jardin, a few doors from the English embassy. The said garden is the most tempting part of the affair; for, though the salons and sleeping-rooms are good, the only entrance, except by a passage dérobé for servants, is through the salle à manger, which is a great objection.
Many of the houses I have seen here have this defect, which the Parisians do not seem to consider one, although the odour of dinner must enter the salons, and that in the evening visitors must find servants occupied in removing the dinner apparatus, should they, as generally happens, come for the prima sera.
French people, however, remain so short a time at table, and dine so much earlier than the English people do, that the employment of their salle à manger as a passage does not annoy them.
Went to the opera last night, and saw the Muette de Portici. It is admirably got up, and the costumes and scenery, as well as the tarantulas, transported me back to Naples—dear, joyous Naples—again. Nourrit enacted "Massaniello," and his rich and flexible voice gave passion and feeling to the music. Noblet was the "Fenella," and her pantomime and dancing were good; but Taglioni spoils one for any other dancing.
The six years that have flown over Noblet since I last saw her have left little trace of their flight, which is to be marvelled at, when one considers the violent and constant exercise that the profession of a danseuse demands.
When I saw the sylph-like Taglioni floating through the dance, I could not refrain from sighing at the thought that grace and elegance like hers should be doomed to know the withering effect of Time; and that those agile limbs should one day become as stiff and helpless as those of others. An old danseuse is an anomaly. She is like an old rose, rendered more displeasing by the recollection of former attractions. Then to see the figure bounding in air, habit and effort effecting something like that which the agility peculiar to youth formerly enabled her to execute almost con amore; while the haggard face, and distorted smile revealing yellow teeth, tell a sad tale of departed youth. Yes, an old danseuse is a melancholy object; more so, because less cared for, than the broken-down racer, or worn-out hunter.
Went to Tivoli last night, and was amused by the scene of gaiety it presented. How unlike, and how superior to, our Vauxhall! People of all stations, of all ages, and of both sexes, threading the mazy dance with a sprightliness that evinced the pleasure it gave them.