DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.61284#0117
A BUSYBODY
47
striking contrast than Castlereagh was to offer when he attended the Con-
gress of Vienna in a plain suit, without wearing his orders. Any one more
out of place, one might think, in the Paris society of that time, could hardly
have been found than Dr. Franklin, and at the house of her friends the
Brions, where Vigee-Lebrun often met him, he would sit without saying
a word, so that she was “tempted to believe that he had made a vow of
silence.” But, however dull might be his conversation and his costume,
“No man was more the fashion in Paris, or more sought after. The crowd
ran after him on the promenades and in other public places ; hats, walking-
sticks, snuff-boxes, everything was d la Franklin.”
One of Madame Lebrun’s acquaintances, whose name is not among
the famous in history, but who was a highly remarkable specimen of a
type which still exists, was the Comte d’Espinchal. His whole pleasure
and business was to find out everything that was going to happen in Paris
before the rest of the world could know. An engagement to marry, a
love intrigue, a death, the acceptance or refusal of a new play or picture—■
such incidents were generally old news to him when they were still fresh
to others. He knew an enormous number of people of every class, from
the great nobles to the call-boys at theatres, from duchesses to grisettes.
He knew to whom every box at the Opera or the Comedie Francaise
belonged, and, most astonishing fact of all, he knew the identity of almost
every woman at the masked balls of the Opera, however closely their faces
might be covered; and though at that time these balls were much more
“select” than they were afterwards to become, this was a marvellous
gift. Naturally enough, he was not popular on these occasions. But once
he was able, by not knowing one woman at such a ball, to relieve the great
anxiety of a stranger. He noticed a man whom he had never seen before,
rushing hither and thither, with every sign of distress, going up to every
woman who wore a blue domino, and running off again with an air of
desperation. “'You seem to be in trouble, sir,” said the Count. “ If
I can be of any good, I shall be delighted to serve you.” “ Ah ! sir,”
replied the stranger, “ I am the most unhappy of men. Imagine that
this morning I arrived from Orleans with my wife, who gave me no rest
until I would bring her to a ball at the Opera. In this crowd I have lost
her, and the poor little woman doesn’t know the name of the hotel, or
even the name of the street where we have put up.” “ Don’t worry your-
self,” said the Count,—“I will take you to her. Your wife is sitting at
the second window in the foyer.” There, indeed, she was. Her husband,
47
striking contrast than Castlereagh was to offer when he attended the Con-
gress of Vienna in a plain suit, without wearing his orders. Any one more
out of place, one might think, in the Paris society of that time, could hardly
have been found than Dr. Franklin, and at the house of her friends the
Brions, where Vigee-Lebrun often met him, he would sit without saying
a word, so that she was “tempted to believe that he had made a vow of
silence.” But, however dull might be his conversation and his costume,
“No man was more the fashion in Paris, or more sought after. The crowd
ran after him on the promenades and in other public places ; hats, walking-
sticks, snuff-boxes, everything was d la Franklin.”
One of Madame Lebrun’s acquaintances, whose name is not among
the famous in history, but who was a highly remarkable specimen of a
type which still exists, was the Comte d’Espinchal. His whole pleasure
and business was to find out everything that was going to happen in Paris
before the rest of the world could know. An engagement to marry, a
love intrigue, a death, the acceptance or refusal of a new play or picture—■
such incidents were generally old news to him when they were still fresh
to others. He knew an enormous number of people of every class, from
the great nobles to the call-boys at theatres, from duchesses to grisettes.
He knew to whom every box at the Opera or the Comedie Francaise
belonged, and, most astonishing fact of all, he knew the identity of almost
every woman at the masked balls of the Opera, however closely their faces
might be covered; and though at that time these balls were much more
“select” than they were afterwards to become, this was a marvellous
gift. Naturally enough, he was not popular on these occasions. But once
he was able, by not knowing one woman at such a ball, to relieve the great
anxiety of a stranger. He noticed a man whom he had never seen before,
rushing hither and thither, with every sign of distress, going up to every
woman who wore a blue domino, and running off again with an air of
desperation. “'You seem to be in trouble, sir,” said the Count. “ If
I can be of any good, I shall be delighted to serve you.” “ Ah ! sir,”
replied the stranger, “ I am the most unhappy of men. Imagine that
this morning I arrived from Orleans with my wife, who gave me no rest
until I would bring her to a ball at the Opera. In this crowd I have lost
her, and the poor little woman doesn’t know the name of the hotel, or
even the name of the street where we have put up.” “ Don’t worry your-
self,” said the Count,—“I will take you to her. Your wife is sitting at
the second window in the foyer.” There, indeed, she was. Her husband,