The narrative proceeded to the remarks made on the Empress Josephine. “There, you see,” exclaimed Lady Hester, interrupting me, “was I right about Josephine? As soon as I saw that print of her, which you sent me, I saw at once she was artful beyond measure: I told you so, you know, some time ago. There are two or three lines about her face that make me think she was satanic: as for being handsome, that she never could have been. But Buonaparte, whatever Lady Charlotte may think, had naturally something vulgar in his composition. He took a little from Ossian, a little from Cæsar, a little from this book, a little from that, and made up a something that was a good imitation of a great man; but he was not in himself naturally great. As for killing the Duke d’Enghein, if he had killed all the Bourbons for the good of France, I should say nothing to that; but he had not much feeling. Whenever he laments anybody, it is always for his own sake that he does it. I don’t understand, either, a great man making complaints about the room he slept in not being good enough for him, or complaining of his champagne: I dare say he had slept in many a worse. Had I been in his place, you would have seen how differently I should have acted, and that such a man as Sir Hudson Lowe should never have seen that he could have the power of vexing me. He was not what I call a man of genius: a man of considerable talent he certainly was. A man of genius is like a fine diamond: what I understand by a fine diamond is one resembling a large drop of water—smooth and even on every side, so that, whichever way you look at it, there is a blaze of light that seems as if it would spread as you gaze on it. However, men of genius have seldom a look that would tell you they are so; for what a heavy-looking man Mr. Fox was! did you ever see him? Mr. Pitt, again, had nothing remarkable in his appearance; Mr. Pitt’s was not a face that gave one the idea of a clever man. As he walked through the park, you would have taken him for a poet, or some such person, thin, tall, and rather awkward; looking upwards as if his ideas were en air, and not remarking what was passing around him: there was no expression in him at such a moment. It was my grandfather who had the fine look. The best picture of him is that at Chevening: he is represented in his robes. The colour and fire in his eyes altogether is very fine. Georgio pleased me, when (on his return from England) he said, ‘Your face, my lady, is just like your grandpapa’s:’ for the forehead, and the upper part of the nose, and the contour of the countenance, I know are the same.”
As I read on about Mr. Fox’s illness and death, Lady Hester lay absorbed in her reflections almost as if in a trance. Her pipe fell from her hands, and the bowl of it, turning downwards, emptied its lighted contents on the blanket of her bed. I had not observed this at first, until the smell of burning made me look up, and I rose to knock off the tobacco on the floor. A great round hole had been burnt; but this was a common occurrence, and she never or seldom noticed such accidents: my rising, however, disturbed her from her reverie, and she spoke as follows:—[22]
“Mr. Fox, after Mr. Pitt’s death, sent two distinct messages to me, offering me the means of securing an independence for life. One was by Mr. Ward, who said plainly to me—‘You know, Lady Hester, you can never live, with your present income, as you have been accustomed to live; and, therefore, take my advice, and accept Mr. Fox’s civility.’ I told him that it was not from a personal disregard for Mr. Fox that I refused; because, when I asked Mr. Pitt, upon one occasion, who was the cleverest man in England, he answered, ‘Mr. Fox:’ but, as the world only knew Mr. Pitt and Mr. Fox as opposed to each other, I should be considered as receiving benefits from Mr. Pitt’s enemy. ‘You will live to repent your refusal,’ said Mr. Ward. I answered him that might be, but if he talked for a year, he never would alter my resolution.”
Lady Hester went on:—“Mr. Fox’s offer, doctor, was as good as ten thousand pounds a year to me. He was to make me ranger of some park, with a house; and then I was to have a house in town, and the rest was to be done in the way they shuffle those things through the public offices.
“By the other, I was offered apartments in” (I think she said) “Windsor Castle: but then, you know, I must have been a courtier; and I rather chose to live independent, on account of my two brothers. And why did I take that house in Mountague Square” (she always called it Mountague Square), “but on their account! When I furnished it, I had got some things which I had saved up, and which were of no use in Downing Street: these I made use of now; but there were people so mean as to come and spy about me, and to form unfair conjectures as to how I got them. —— was one, who even went to a large shop, and, from a kind of pencil drawing which he had made, inquired how much such a lamp as he had seen at my house would cost. They told him seventy-five guineas. This lamp had been given me by the Princess of Wales; but I never satisfied their malignity by telling them: I let them talk on. And, doctor, furnishing my house was no trifling expense to me. But I thought it best that my brothers should have somewhere to invite their friends to when in town; and I fitted up two bed-rooms and two breakfast-rooms for them with every luxury they could have. Neither were they furnished in a common way; for there were their libraries to each, and everything customary in fashionable life. Why, James used to have quite a levée; and breakfast was always on table from nine to twelve, with tea and coffee, and chicken, and tongue, and cold meat, and all that. Nash often used to say to me, ‘Lord, my lady, it is a great pity to make all this waste: I am sure many of those officers make their dinner off the colonel’s late breakfasts.’ But I used to answer, ‘Never mind;’ because I thought some of those men, although they were people I could not know, might be useful to him. He might want a second, or there might be some other case, where one of these persons might be sent when another could not, and so on. I do not say I could not know them, from pride; but it would have been very awkward for me to have had a red-faced captain coming up to me with, ‘My dear Lady Hester, how do you do?’ Why, I recollect a very respectable gentleman coming once into a box at the Opera, where I was seated with some duchess and some great folks, I forget who, and claiming acquaintance with me. I very civilly answered him with, ‘I hope you are well, Mr. T——, how are all your friends in Cheshire?’ But, doctor, to hear the tittering and the whispers of—‘Who is your dear friend, Lady Hester?—really, the cut of his breeches is particularly excellent!’ and another, in a simpering voice, asking, ‘What on earth did the man wear so many watches for?’ and then some one crying, ‘Oh! they are the buttons of his coat;’ and then a laugh, so that even I could hardly stand it.
“So, doctor, what I did for James and Charles was to let them have a place to see their acquaintances; and I every now and then gave a dinner, to keep together for them a certain number of Mr. Pitt’s particular friends. And then, in the summer, I would go down to some retired spot in Wales, or somewhere, where I saved as much as I could.[23]
“But,” she continued, “would you believe it? all the time I kept house in Mountague Square, not one of these people, not one of my relations, ever sent me a single thing to help me on. Ah! now and then a sea-captain would offer me a pipe of wine: but I always put him civilly off with a ‘Not now, but when you return from India,’ or some such answer. And, from that time to this, these same relations would, I believe, have let me starve, for aught they cared.
“You often wonder why I scold and scold, and try to make you bring up your children to be useful to themselves and others, and neglect all frivolous and empty appearances: but the reason is that the world is so heartless, that if you came to want a shilling, you would not find a friend to give you one. If I, who had thousands of friends and acquaintances, have been left to linger here, deserted and neglected, what would be the lot of a common person? Has any one of my relations, any one of my friends, any one of those whom Mr. Pitt, and perhaps I, enriched, come forward to help me?—not one.
“I have had a hard time for five-and-twenty years; but you will never see me now in some of those convulsions about it I once used to have: for, thank God, my spirits are as good, when my cough leaves me quiet, as ever they were. And what is the use of trusting in man? No; my reliance is in God; and, if it is his will to get me out of my difficulties, he will do it in spite of them all. My only trouble is sometimes about my debts: but I think all will be paid, and from England too. So here I am, and we will now talk of something else: but I must first tell you a little Eastern story.
“There was a man who lived in affluence at Damascus, surrounded by a happy and prosperous family, when some reverses in business ruined his fortune, and he was reduced to the necessity of exerting his talents and industry in order to try to maintain his station in life. As he wanted neither, he flattered himself that, from his numerous connexions, he should soon re-establish his affairs: but a fatality seemed to hang over him; for, just as he was about to begin business again, the plague broke out in the city, and his wife and daughters were among the victims.