He passed his days and the greater portion of his nights in reading or writing, living in a suite of rooms literally filled with books; the tables, chairs, sofas, and even the floors, being encumbered with them, going out only for a short time in a carriage to get a little air, or occasionally to dine out.
He seldom saw Lady Drummond, except at dinner, surrounded by a large party. She passed, as she still passes her time, in the duties of an elaborate toilette, paying or receiving visits, giving or going to fêtes, and playing with her lap-dog. A strange wife for one of the most intellectual men of his day! And yet this total dissimilarity produced no discord between them; for she was proud of his acquirements, and he was indulgent to her less spirituelle tastes.
Lady Drummond does much good at Naples; for, while the beau monde of that gay capital are entertained in a style of profuse hospitality at her house, the poor find her charity dispensed with a liberal hand in all their exigencies; so that her vast wealth is a source of comfort to others as well as to herself.
I have been reading Vivian Grey—a very wild, but very clever book, full of genius in its unpruned luxuriance; the writer revels in all the riches of a brilliant imagination, and expends them prodigally—dazzling, at one moment, by his passionate eloquence, and, at another, by his touching pathos.
A pleasant dinner-party, yesterday. The Duc de Mouchy, the Marquis de
Mornay, Count Flahault, the Count Maussion, Mons. de Montrond, and Mr.
Standish, were the guests. Count Flahault is so very agreeable and
gentlemanly a man, that no one can call in question the taste of the
Baroness Keith in selecting him for her husband.
Mr. Standish has married a French lady, accomplished, clever, and pretty. Intermarriages between French and English are now not unfrequent; and it is pleasant to observe the French politeness and bon ton ingrafted on English sincerity and good sense. Of this, Mr. Standish offers a very good example; for, while he has acquired all the Parisian ruse of manner, he has retained all the English good qualities for which he has always been esteemed.
CHAPTER VIII.
Charles Kemble dined here yesterday, and in the evening read to us his daughter Fanny's Tragedy of Francis the First—a very wonderful production for so young a girl. There is considerable vigour in many parts of this work, and several passages in it reminded me of the old dramatists. The character of "Louisa of Savoy" is forcibly drawn—wonderfully so, indeed, when considered as the production of so youthful a person. The constant association with minds deeply imbued with a love of the old writers, must have greatly influenced the taste of Miss Kemble.
Francis the First bears irrefragable evidence that her reading has lain much among the old poets, and that Shakspeare is one of her most favourite ones. "Triboulet," the king's jester, may be instanced as an example of this; and "Margaret of Valois" furnishes another. "Françoise de Foix" is a more original conception; timid, yet fond, sacrificing her honour to save her brother's life, but rendered wretched by remorse; and not able to endure the presence of her affianced husband, who, believing her pure and sinless as he left her, appeals to her, when "Gonzales" reveals her shame.
This same "Gonzales," urged on by vengeance, and ready to do aught—nay, more than "may become a man,"—to seek its gratification, is a boldly drawn character.