In our last easy chat with our readers, we sketched in an off-hand way the current of the Kossuth talk; and we hinted that our enthusiasm had its fevers and chills; so far as the talk goes, a chilliness has come over the town since the date of our writing—an unworthy and ungracious chill—but yet the natural result of a little over-idolatry. As for Congressional action, no apology can be found, either in moderation or good sense, for the doubtful and halting welcome which has been shown the great Hungarian.
The question of Government interference in his national quarrel was one thing; but the question of a welcome to a distinguished and suffering stranger was quite another. The two, however, have been unfortunately mingled; and a rude and vulgar effort has been made to prejudge his mission, by affronting him as a guest. We may be strong enough to brave Russia, and its hordes of Cossacks; but no country is strong enough to trample on the laws of hospitality [pg 419] We see the hint thrown out in some paper of the day, that the slackened sympathy for Kossuth, in Washington, is attributable mainly to the influence of the diplomatic circles of that city. We fear there may be a great deal of truth in this hint: our enthusiasm finds volume in every-day chit-chat, and dinner-table talk; it lives by such fat feeding as gossip supplies; and gossip finds its direction in the salons of the most popular of entertainers.
Washington has a peculiar and shifting social character—made up in its winter elements of every variety of manner and of opinion. This manner and these opinions, however, are very apt to revolve agreeably to what is fixed at the metropolis; and since the diplomatic circles of the capital are almost the only permanent social foci of habit and gossip, it is but natural there should be a convergence toward their action. The fact is by no means flattering; but we greatly fear that it is pointed with a great deal of truth.
Our readers will observe, however, that we account in this way only for the slackened tone of talk, and of salon enthusiasm; nor do we imagine that any parlor influences whatever of the capital can modify to any considerable degree, either legislative, or moral action.
Of Paris, now that she has fallen again into one, of her political paroxysms, there is little gayety to be noted. And yet it is most surprising how that swift-blooded people will play the fiddle on the barricades! Never—the papers tell us—were the receptions at the Elysée more numerously attended, and never were the dresses richer, or the jewels more ostentatiously displayed.
Some half dozen brilliant soirées were, it seems, on the tapis at the date of Louis Napoleon's manœuvre; the invitations had been sent, and upon the evenings appointed—a week or more subsequent to the turn of the magic lantern—the guests presented themselves before closed doors. The occupants and intended hosts were, it seems, of that timid class living along the Faubourg St. Honoré and the Faubourg St. Germain, who imagined themselves, their titles, and their wealth, safer under the wing of King Leopold of Belgium, than under the shadow of the new-feathered eagle. A thriving romance or two, they say, belonged to the quiet movements of the Republic. Thus, the papers make us a pleasant story out of Cavaignac and his prospective bride, Mademoiselle Odier. And if we furbish up for the reading of our country clients, we venture to say that we shall keep as near the truth as one half of the letter-writers.
For two or three years, it seems that General Cavaignac has been a constant visitor at the house of the rich banker, M. Odier, He was regarded as a friend of the family, and wore the honors of a friend; that is to say, he had such opportunities of conversation, and for attention in respect to the daughter of the house, as is rarely accorded to Paris ladies in their teens. The General looks a man of fifty—he may be less; but he has a noble carriage, a fine face, and a manner full of dignity and gentleness. The pretty blonde (for Mlle. Odier is so described), was not slow to appreciate the captivating qualities of the General. Moreover, there belonged to her character a romantic tinge, which was lighted up by the story of the General's bravery, and of the dauntless way in which he bore himself through the murderous days of June. In short, she liked him better than she thought.
The General, on the other hand, somewhat fixed in his bachelor habitude, and counting himself only a fatherly friend, who could not hope, if he dared, to quicken any livelier interest—wore imperturbably the dignity and familiarity of his first manner.