Poor Mr. Palmer looks very ill. Indeed, my eyes are grown difficile, for it appears to me that people in general, whom I had known of old, look much worse than they are entitled to do by the lapse of time. Mad. Visconti, who has been detected by her Italian friends as having a grand-daughter of fifteen, and being fifty-six, and Vestris the younger, who is said to be fifty-four, both of whom I saw last night, are the only persons who persuade me of the truth of Hufeland’s doctrine, that those who do not live to two hundred are carried off prematurely, and that sixty is the flower of one’s youth.
TO THE SAME.
Paris, Aug., 1805.
Isabey is a fine exact likeness-taker; but if he had read Winckelmann, he would know that as a painter cannot give the advantage of life and variety, he is bound to advance to the boundaries of the beau ideal, as far as he can consistently with resemblance, in order to endeavour to make some compensation. I saw a likeness of Mad. Cabarrus, beautifully done, but with a cruel truth of resemblance in the nose, which to those who do not carry her idea in their heads from having seen her, makes it a very disagreeable negro-ish picture. Mine is growing formal and frightful, and just me when I am tired of my company. I showed him your picture. As he has no pretensions to looks, he praised your beauty much; but he praised the painting just as one pretty woman, one actor, one musician, praises another, c’est-à-dire, d’une manière froide, triste et contrainte. Any person that applauds warmly a person going, and still more following, in the same road, is deceitful;—I mean if they have ever brought their wares to market, and sought for admiration. Those who have not, can praise with sincerity. I am sure he admired it much, so you may safely tell Bertrand all he would like to hear. He begged leave to keep it to show to his élèves, pour leur donner de l’émulation. I am sure he thinks Bertrand too good to come to Paris, and Madame desired me to advise him to go to Russia, where he would soon make his fortune.
TO THE SAME.
Fontainebleau, Aug., 1805.
I arrived last night at eleven—much frightened (without reason) at passing the forest so late. To-day I went out before breakfast, not to lose any opportunity; waited from ten till three in the roads, courts, and porter’s-lodge—Antoine a millstone, a damper, and an épouvantail, frightened at his shadow, and equally endeavouring to frighten me. At three every one said the Emperor would not go out to-day, and I found myself too weak to wait longer, from not having eaten a morsel. The Empress was walking in the garden, and I went to her, requesting she would appuyer the placet, of which I gave her a copy. She received it graciously, and asked if I had presented the placet itself. Upon my saying not, she desired me to give it to her, and she would. This I did, but consider it unlucky, as he is reputed to attend more to those immediately given to himself, than to those given in any indirect way. To-morrow I shall go again, and try for an opportunity to tell the Emperor I am the person who presented a placet through the Empress to him. The Empress seems to me, as I at first thought her on my presentation, exceedingly attractive. The face was entirely covered by a fine lace veil and large rich bonnet; but her figure and maintien are highly graceful and beautiful. She recollected my having been presented to her three years ago. A poor woman gave her a petition on her knees immediately after; and her distress and anxiety to make the woman get up was very interesting. Every one more than civil. I penetrated everywhere, in spite of the supposed difficulties.