Erard has, in the simplest manner possible, without saying one phrase, lent me a pianoforte, which is to come home to-morrow. This is very German; no people are so silently obliging.
TO THE SAME.
Paris, July, 1805.
Isabey[42] cannot give me a séance for a fortnight. After having had painters begging one to sit without their having any emolument by it, but merely to put one’s picture in their atelier, it seems odd not to be able to get one for money. I will write a poem called ‘The Progress of Woman;’ a fine occasion to show one’s skill in the degradation of the tints. I look, however, to living my vanities over again in my daughters.
I told you I had met Mr. Don at dinner at F——’s; but I did not tell you he was dans un transport de bourgeois at having accidentally spoken to the Emperor in a retired part of the Bois de Boulogne, at a hunt, and informed him which way the stag went. The Emperor did not perhaps like to find himself tête-à-tête there with a tall young Englishman, and was still less pleased, I suppose, at finding the person was one who remained here contrary to his last orders, and had escaped the vigilance of his police and surveillance about two months. In short, poor Mr. Don’s civility cost him two nights’ lodging in prison and a removal to Verdun.
TO THE SAME.
Paris, July, 1805.
The Emperor has adopted an idea which I admire very much, of having a small garden under his windows, into which no creature ever enters, except himself and the Empress. I think the idea of having a little sacred spot, very beautiful; and I wonder it has never been thought of, as it is almost as practicable as it is refined.