I met several other gentlemen less remarkable at Doctor Marshall’s; many of them I never saw again: some were Italians, but mostly French. Only one lady appeared besides the mistress of the house. This was a plain, rational, sedate woman under forty. She was introduced to us by Mrs. Marshall as the wife of a relative of Fouché, and at that time (with her husband) on a visit to his excellency at his hotel, Rue Cerutti.
One day before dinner, at Dr. Marshall’s house, I observed this lady, just on our arrival, hurrying into Mrs. Marshall’s boudoir, and when dinner was announced she re-entered decked out with a set of remarkable coral ornaments, which I had seen Mrs. Marshall wear several times. This circumstance struck me at the moment, but was neither recollected nor accounted for till we paid an unlucky visit to that “relative of Fouché,” when the whole enigma became developed, and my suspicions fairly aroused.
Dr. Marshall meanwhile continued to gain much on my esteem. He saw that I was greedy of information as to the affairs of Italy; and he, as well as Col. Macirone, saturated me in consequence with anecdotes of the court of Naples, and of Murat himself, highly entertaining, and I believe authentic; for I do really think that Macirone was sincerely attached to that king, and attended his person with friendship and sincerity. On the contrary, Count Julien seemed to me incapable of much feeling, and perfectly indifferent as to any body’s fate but his own. This, however, I only give as my individual opinion: I soon lost sight of the man altogether. Once (I think the day of the abdication) I saw him at Fouché’s office, whither I strolled to make observations. He was lavishing the most boundless invectives against the ex-emperor.
In the midst of this society I passed my time during the greater part of the Hundred Days: and Doctor Marshall informing me, I believe truly, that he was on terms of confidence (though not immediately) with Fouché, and well knowing that he might with perfect security communicate any thing to me (I should be silent for my own sake), scarce a day passed but we had much conversation in his garden; and he certainly did give me very correct information as to the state of affairs and the condition of the emperor, together with much that was not equally correct, regarding himself. This I occasionally and partially perceived; but his address was imposing and particularly agreeable: he was good-natured and hospitable.
We had also cultivated our acquaintance (originated through the adventure of the shawls) with Colonel Gowen, of the national guards, whose hotel in Rue Clichy bore a most extraordinary castellated appearance, and was surrounded by very large gardens, where we were often nobly entertained: the leads of the hotel overlooked Tivoli, and indeed every place about Paris. The colonel lived extremely well; spoke English perfectly; and might, in fact, be mistaken for an hospitable colonel of British yeomanry.
Another gentleman, a Mr. Lewins, I also happened accidentally to meet, who was an Irishman, and whom I had known many years previously. We became intimate, and I derived utility and information from that acquaintance. This gentleman knew, and had long known, much more of past French affairs and individuals than any of my other acquaintances; and seeming at the same time replete with good-nature (with his politics, which I really believe were very undecided, I had nothing to do), I could not fail to be a gainer by our intercourse, which continued.
Another more remarkable and very clever person, Mr. Arthur O’Connor, was then a French general unemployed. I had known him thirty years before: he had married the daughter and sole heiress of the unfortunate and learned Marquis de Condorcet; and was prohibited from returning to his native country by act of parliament. General Arthur O’Connor was a remarkably strong-minded, clever man, with a fine face and manly air: he had besides a great deal of Irish national character, to some of the failings whereof he united several of its best qualities. I met him, and relished his company highly. For old acquaintance sake I professed and truly felt a friendship for him; and, differing as we did upon public subjects, we talked over all without arguing upon any, which is the only agreeable method of conversation among persons whose opinions do not coincide.
Lord and Lady Kinnaird were also in Paris at that period. I did not pay my respects to them for a very singular, though at such a time a very sufficient reason. Her ladyship was the daughter of one of my most respected friends, the late Duke of Leinster, to every member of whose family I owe all possible attention: but Lord Kinnaird, by over-acting his part, had drawn on himself an absurd degree of suspicion; and I had been informed by a friend, in confidence, that every person who was seen visiting him was immediately suspected likewise, and put secretly under surveillance, which would not have been particularly agreeable to me. In a little time this information was curiously illustrated. I was informed that Lord Kinnaird had been arrested by order of Fouché: but Fouché soon found he had fallen into a very ridiculous error; and I believe his lordship was immediately liberated with an ample apology. I heard also incidentally among the employés, (for I took care at all times to display no inordinate curiosity even though I might be literally bursting with that feeling,) that his lordship was accustomed to express himself so hyperbolically in favour of Napoleon, that the police (to whom every thing was made known by unsuspected domestics) could not give his lordship credit for sincerity, and therefore took for granted that he was playing some double game: in fact, they fancied he was a spy!—using ultra eulogiums on the emperor to cloke a secret design.
Messrs. Hobhouse and Bruce were both in Paris at the same period, and I have often regretted that I did not know them. I afterward knew the latter well, when in La Force with Sir R. Wilson and my friend Mr. J. Hutchinson, for assisting the escape of Lavalette. I found in Mr. Bruce an able man with some excellent qualities, and a thirst after information, which I admire in any body.
These, together with the family of Mr. Talbot, were the only English whom I met in Paris immediately after my arrival and during the most momentous crisis Europe ever witnessed.[[43]] That point of time formed it was then supposed the pivot whereon the future destiny of every nation in the fairest quarter of the globe was vibrating:—but I am here trenching on a subject in which the nature of this work does not permit me to indulge.