I was much exhausted to-day. I had written six hours to her dictation the preceding day, and now sat talking until midnight; but, from the late hour at which I left her, it was as usual impossible for me to note down even a hundredth part of what she said. For example, it is now nearly one o’clock in the morning; and much as I could wish, whilst my recollection is fresh, to make a few memorandums of the many things she has been saying, my eyelids droop, and I am forced to lay down my pen: yet one anecdote I must try to commit to paper. In reading over the letter to Sir Edward Sugden, she made the following remark: “The peers in England may be compared to doctors who have made their fortunes: if they continue to practise, they do it out of regard to some particular families, or from humane motives. They know better than those who are sick what is good for them, because they have had long practice; and, if their sons are no doctors, they have heard so much talk about the matter, that they sit in a corner, and watch the effect of the medicine.”
I was struck with the resemblance of Lady Hester’s style to Junius’s in her letter to Sir Edward. This led me to reflect, as I had observed on many occasions, that Lady Hester’s language was the counterpart of her grandfather’s, whether Lord Chatham might not have been the author of Junius’s Letters; but it has since been suggested to me that there would be an absurdity in such a supposition (for I had no opportunity of consulting books where I was), because some of the most eloquent passages of Junius are his panegyrics on Lord Chatham, and it is not likely that he would have been guilty of writing a eulogium on himself; however, I mentioned it to her. She answered, “My grandfather was perfectly capable and likely to write and do things which no human being would dream came from his hands. I once met with one of his spies,” continued she, “a woman of the common class, who had passed her life dressed in man’s clothes: in this way she went, as a sailor, to America, and used to write him letters as if to a sweetheart, giving an account of the enemy’s ships and plans in a most masterly way, in the description of a box of tools, or in something so unlike the thing in question that no suspicion could be had of the meaning of the contents. This woman by accident passed me at a watering-place, whilst I was sitting near the sea-side talking to my brother, and stopped short on hearing the sound of my voice, which was so much like my grandfather’s that it struck her—and there is nothing extraordinary in this: I have known a horse do the same thing. My father had two piebald horses: they were very vicious, and hated one of the grooms so, that, one day, whilst he was taking them out for exercise, one threw him, and the other flew at him, and attempted to strike him with his fore-feet; but, as he could not succeed, the other, that had run off, turned back, seized the groom with his teeth, and bit him and shook him: that very horse went blind, and got into an innkeeper’s hands, who made a post-horse of him. One day, on the high road, I saw him, and made an exclamation to somebody who was with me. The horse, although blind, knew my voice, and stopped short, just like the woman. I too was struck with the woman’s manner; and, without saying anything, went next morning at daylight, before anybody was about, to the same spot, and, finding the woman there again, inquired who and what she was. A conversation ensued, and the woman was delighted, she said, to behold once again something that reminded her of her old employer. As for the ministers of the present day, she observed, they are good for nothing: when I went to prefer my claim for a pension, one called me Goody-two-shoes, and told me to go about my business.
“A government should never employ spies of the description generally chosen—men of a certain appearance and information, who may be enabled to mix in genteel society: they are always known or suspected. My grandfather pursued quite a different plan. His spies were among such people as Logmagi* *—a hardy sailor, who would get at any risk into a port, to see how many ships there were, and how many effective men—or a pedlar, to enter a camp—and the like. This was the way he got information as to the state of the armament at Toulon: and such a one was the woman I have just told you about, who knew me by the sound of my voice.
“There were two hairdressers in London, the best spies Buonaparte had. A hairdresser, generally speaking, must be a man of talent—so must a cook; for a cook must know such a variety of things, about which no settled rules can be laid down, and he must have great judgment.
“Do you think I did not immediately perceive that those four Germans we met at —— were spies?—directly. I never told B**** and Lord S**** because they would have let it out again: François was the only one who knew it besides myself. He took an opportunity one day of saying to me, when nobody was by, ‘My lady, one of those Germans....’—‘Yes, yes, François, I understand you,’ answered I, before he had said three words: ‘you need not put me on my guard, but I am much obliged to you.’—‘Why, my lady,’ said François, ‘when I was one day standing sentry at Buonaparte’s tent, there was one of those very gentlemen I have seen go in and out: I recollect his face perfectly.’ François was right, doctor: there they were—there was the sick one, and the learned one, and the musician, and the officer—for all sorts of persons.
“You recollect, when we were at Constantinople, one day I went to meet the Count de la Tour Maubourg on the banks of the Bosphorus, and he intimated to me that I had kept him waiting. ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘there was a spy following my boat: I knew him directly, and wanted to prevent his dogging me.’ ‘Pooh! nonsense,’ replied Mr. de la T. M.: but we had not talked for half an hour, when, lo! there he was, taking a look at us. Next day, when I saw Mr. Canning, ‘Oh! Lady Hester,’ said he, ‘how did you spend your day yesterday?’—‘Why,’ answered I, ‘your spy did not spoil it.’—‘Ah!’ rejoined he, laughing—for he perceived at once it was of no use to make a mystery of what he had done—‘you should not do such things—I must write it home to government.’—‘Yes,’ said I, ‘I’ll write a letter, too, in this way:—My lord, your excellent young minister, to show his gallantry, has begun his diplomatic career by watching ladies in their assignations, &c., &c.’ and then I laughed at him, and then I talked seriously with him, till I worked on his feelings in a way you can’t think!
“Spies, as I said before, should never be what are called gentlemen, or have the appearance of such; for, however well they may be paid, somebody else will always pay them better;—unless fortune should throw in your way a man of integrity, who, from loyalty or a love of his country, will adventure everything for the cause he is engaged in: such a man is another sort of a thing!”
February 14.—Being Wednesday, I was, as usual, deprived of the honour of seeing Lady Hester until night; I therefore remained with my family, and, having recovered the lost spoon, which my servant produced out of fear of Hamâady’s examination, pretending to have found it, I took the opportunity of settling his wages and turned him away.
After sunset I waited on her. She was in low spirits. “I am very weak,” said she. “Look at my veins—they did not use to be so: look at my arms, too—mere skin and bone.” She pointed to the state of her room: “See how filthy it is again already,” she observed; “and if I say a word, those wretches seem not to mind me—they snub me, doctor.”
She attempted to dictate the letter she proposed writing to the Duke of Wellington, but was unable. We drank tea. “Do you know,” she said, “when old Malti” (this was the name Mr. Abella, the English agent, was generally designated by) “came in such a hurry, the other day, with Colonel Campbell’s letter, and made such a fuss about delivering it with his own hand, people fancied I was going to die, and that he was come up to seal my effects the moment the breath should be out of my body. But, if I do die, they sha’n’t seal anything of mine, I’ll take care of that; for I am no longer an English subject, and therefore they have nothing to do with me.”