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Mrs. Drummond, formerly the beautiful Cecilia Telfer, has lost her looks, but kept her kind heart. On our return, went to the Italian opera, and saw Figaro. Anne liked the music; to me it was all caviare. A Mr. dined with us; sensible, liberal in his politics, but well informed and candid. November 3. Sat to Mad. Mirbel Spencer at breakfast.
Cooper's appreciation of his illustrious rival, Sir Walter Scott, occurred while he was sitting for the portrait that accompanied the New Monthly Magazine for last month. The artist, Madame Mirbel, requested of a distinguished statesman. "No," said Cooper, "if I must look at any, it shall be at my master," directing his glance a little higher, to a portrait of Sir Walter Scott.
Miniature painting in France I should decidedly say was much inferior to that of England, they are very fond of thick muddy back-grounds, their colouring partakes of the same dirty hue, there is generally a stiffness in the position, and much high finish without effect; there are certainly some exceptions to this rule, at the head of which is Madame Lezinska de Mirbel, whose miniatures are broad, bold, and natural, but always plainer than the originals; there are a few others who have come forward latterly, whose performances are above mediocrity.
In connection with this discovery some discussion has arisen concerning the question whether it was probable that the Orleans strain was a new mutation, or derived in some way from the trees cited by Mirbel.
He drew out two portraits, masterpieces of Madame Mirbel, richly set with pearls. "Oh, how beautiful! Is it the lady to whom you wrote that " "No," he said, smiling; "this is my mother, and here is my father, your aunt and uncle. Eugenie, I beg you on my knees, keep my treasure safely. If I die and your little fortune is lost, this gold and these pearls will repay you.
You see, I am frank enough with you. What restrains me? Where is the mysterious power which prevents me from telling Felipe, dear fellow, how supremely happy he has made me by the outpouring of his love so pure, so absolute, so boundless, so unobtrusive, and so overflowing? Mme. de Mirbel is painting my portrait, and I intend to give it to him, my dear.
The French are literally outrageous in their civilities bounce in at all hours, and drive one half mad with compliments. I am ungracious not to be so entirely thankful as I ought to this kind and merry people. We breakfasted with Mad. Mirbel, where were the Dukes of Fitz-James, and, I think, Duras, goodly company but all's one for that.
On her chimney-piece was a fine miniature portrait of Charles X., by Madame Mirbel, beneath which were engraved the words, "Given by the King"; and, as a pendant, the portrait of "Madame", who was always her kind friend. On a table lay an album of costliest price, such as none of the bourgeoises who now lord it in our industrial and fault-finding society would have dared to exhibit.
After this we sat again for our portraits. Mad. Mirbel took care not to have any one to divert my attention, but I contrived to amuse myself with some masons finishing a façade opposite to me, who placed their stones, not like Inigo Jones, but in the most lubberly way in the world, with the help of a large wheel, and the application of strength of hand.
"But enough of all this maudlin; for you I want to be your Esther to the last moment, not to bore you with my death, or the future, or God, who is good, and who would not be good if He were to torture me in the next world when I have endured so much misery in this. "I have before me your beautiful portrait, painted by Madame de Mirbel.