The English in Paris. General Arthur O'Connor. Mr. Hobhouse.

Chapter LV. **

The English In Paris.** **

Dr. and Mrs. Marshall - Colonel Macirone, aid-de-camp to Joachim Murat whilst King of Naples - General Arthur O’Connor - Lord and Lady Kinnaird

• His Lordship tinder the *surveillance *of the police - Suspected of *espionage *and arrested, but set at liberty immediately after - Messrs. Hobhouse and Bruce - Dr. Marshall’s correct information as to passing events - Real character of the coterie at his house - Madame la parente du Ministre Fouché - Misconception of the Minister’s Swiss porter - Henry Thevenot.

Shortly after this period I became particularly intimate with Dr. Marshall, a circumstance which, in the paucity of English who had remained in Paris, was productive to me of great satisfaction. He was a man of prepossessing appearance and address; had travelled much; had acted, he informed me, as physician to the army in Egypt, &c.;** **and had gone on some confidential mission to Murat whilst King of Naples. His wife was a pretty woman, rather *embonpoint, *about 30, and with the complete appearance and address of a gentlewoman. The doctor kept a very handsome establishment, and entertained small companies splendidly.

The society I generally met there consisted, in the first place, of Colonel Macirone, who passed for an Italian, and had been aid-de-camp to Murat, but was, I believe, in fact the son of a respectable manufacturer in London, or on Blackheath. He has published an account of the romantic circumstances attendant on the death of the ill-fated Murat. Another member of the society was Count Julien, formerly, I believe, some secretary or civil officer of Murat, a huge, boisterous, overbearing, fat man, consequential without being dignified, dressy without being neat, and with a showy politeness that wanted even the elements of civility. Count Julien was the only person I met at Dr. Marshall’s whose character or occupation I had any suspicions about.

Fouché was then the emperor’s minister of police, and they all appeared to be more or less acquainted with him; but I had not at first the slightest idea that they were every one of them either spies or *employés *of the police minister, and but hollow friends, if not absolute traitors to Napoleon.

I met several other gentlemen less remarkable at Dr.** **Marshall’s, but only one lady appeared besides the mistress of the house. This was a plain, rational, sedate woman under 40. 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, 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 Colonel Macirone, saturated me in consequence with anecdotes of the court of Naples, and of Murat himself; highly entertaining, and, I believe, *tolerably *true; 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 incapable of possessing much feeling, and perfectly indifferent as to anybody’s fate but his own. This, however, I only give as my individual opinion. I soon lost sight of the man altogether.

In the midst of this agreeable and *respectable *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 anything to me, seeing that I should be silent for my own sake, scarcely 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.

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 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 officer of a British yeomanry corps.

Another gentleman I also happened accidently to meet, who was an English subject, and whom I had known many years previously. We became intimate, and I derived both utility and information from that intimacy. This gentleman knew, and had long known, much more of French affairs and individuals than any of my other acquaintances, and being at the same time replete with good nature and good sense (with his politics I had nothing to do), I could not fail to be a gainer by our intercourse, which has continued undiminished to this day.

Another and more remarkable personage, Mr. Arthur O’Connor, was then a French general unemployed. I had known him 30 years before. He had married the daughter and sole heiress of the unfortunate and learned Marquess de Condorcet; had been plundered of his Irish property by his brother Roger, 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 a 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 frequently, and relished his company highly. For old acquaintance sake I professed and felt a friendship for the man; and differing as we did wholly upon public subjects, we talked over all without arguing upon any, which is the only agreeable method of conversation amongst 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 overacting 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 amongst 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 everything was made known by unsuspected domestics, could not give his lordship credit for sincerity, and therefore took for granted that he was playing some game or other; in fact, they fancied he was a spy! - using ultra eulogiums on the emperor to cloak a secret design.

Messrs. Hobbouse and Bruce were both in Paris at the same period, and I have often regretted that I did not know them. I afterwards 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 some excellent qualities, and a thirst after information, which I admire in anybody.

These, together with the family of Mr. Talbot, were the only English persons whom I met in Paris immediately after my arrival, and during the most momentous crisis Europe ever witnessed. That point of time formed 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.

The successive occurrences at Paris after Napoleon’s return were daily published, and are known to everybody. The press was free from restraint, and every public act recorded. It was therefore to the private acts and characters of men I applied my observation, as forming the best ground for speculative opinions (which that portentous interval necessarily tended to stimulate), and likewise as calculated to yield the best materials for future entertainment.

Dr. Marshall was, as I have already stated, on some occasions confidentially employed by Fouchd; and placing confidence in me, perhaps not duly estimating the extent of my curiosity, he was very communicative. In fact, not a day passed, particularly after Napoleon’s return from Waterloo, that I did not make some discovery through the doctor (as much from his air of mystery as from his direct admissions) of Fouché’s flagitious character, and of the ductility and total absence of principle exhibited by several of his employés.

The intelligence I daily acquired did not surprise but greatly disgusted me. I hate treachery in all its ramifications it is not, generally speaking, a French characteristic, but Fouché certainly displayed a complete personification of that vice. Spies and traitors generally do each other *strict justice *by the operation and exercise of mutual hatred, contempt, and invective. I never heard one such person say a kind word of another *behind his back; *and when a man is necessitated by policy to puff a brother villain, it is not difficult for a stander-by to decipher the sneer of jealousy and mental reservation distorting the muscles of the speaker’s countenance, and involuntarily disclosing the very feeling which he was perhaps desirous to conceal.

Thus was it with the various tools of the treacherous minister; and in his own countenance were engraven distinctly the characteristics of cunning and insincerity. From the first moment I saw Fouché, and more particularly when I heard him falsely swear fidelity to his imperial master, I involuntarily imbibed a strong sensation of dislike. His features held out no inducement to you to place confidence in their owner; on the contrary, they could not but tend to beget distrust and disesteem. The suspicions which they generated in me I never could overcome, and the sequel proved how just they were.

After awhile I began slightly to suspect the species of society I was associating with, and it occurred to me to request that Lady Barrington should pay a visit to the lady we had met at Doctor Marshall’s, and whom we had understood from Mrs. Marshall to be on a visit to Fouché, her relative. I proposed to go also, and leave my card for her husband, whom we had not yet seen. We accordingly waited on them at Fouché’s hotel, and asked the Swiss if *Madame *was at home. *“Madame!” *said the porter; *“Madame! quelle Madame?” *as if he had heard us imperfectly. We had forgotten her name, and could therefore only reply, “Madame la parent le Monsieur le Ministre.”

“There is no such person here, Monsieur,” replied the Swiss with a half-saucy shrug.

“Oh, yes,” exclaimed I, “she is on a visit to the Duc D’Otrante.”

*“Non, non, Monsieur et Madame,” *repeated the pertinacious Swiss; *“point de tout!” *and he seemed impatient to send us away; but after a moment’s pause the fellow burst out into a violent fit of laughter. “I beg your pardon, Monsieur et Madame,” said he, “I begin to understand whom you mean. Your friend undoubtedly resides in the hotel, but she is just now from home.”

I handed him our cards for her and her husband. On reading *“le Chevalier et milady,” *the man looked more respectful, but apparently could not control his laughter. When, however, he at length recovered himself; he bowed very low, begged pardon again, and said he thought we had been inquiring for some *vraie *madame. The word stimulated my curiosity, and I hastily demanded its meaning; when it turned out that *monsieur *was the maitre d’hotel, and *madame *his wife looked to the linen, china, &c., in quality of confidential housekeeper!

We waited to hear no more. I took up our cards and away we went, and my suspicions as to that lady’s rank were thus set at rest. I did not say one word of the matter at Dr. Marshal’s, but I suppose the porter told the *lady, *as we never saw her afterward, nor her husband at all.

I now began to perceive my way more clearly, and redoubled my assiduity to decipher the events which passed around me. In this I was aided by an increased intimacy with Colonel Macirone, whom closer acquaintance confirmed as an agreeable and gentlemanly man, and, who in my opinion, was very badly selected as an *espion: *I believe his heart was above his degrading occupation.

I perceived that there was some plot going forward, the circumstances of which it was beyond my power to develop. The manner of the persons I lived amongst was perpetually undergoing some shade of variation: the mystery thickened, and my curiosity increased with it.

In the end this curiosity was most completely gratified; but all I could determine on at the moment was that there existed an extensive organised system of deception and treachery, at the bottom of which was undoubtedly Fouché himself: whether, however, my *employé *acquaintances would ultimately betray the emperor or his minister seemed, from their evidently loose political principles, quite problematical. I meanwhile dreaded everybody, yet affected to fear none, and listened with an air of unconcern to the stories of my valet, Henry Thevenot, though at that time I gave them no credit. Subsequent occurrences however, rendered it manifest that this man procured, somehow or other, sure information.

Amongst other matters, Thevenot said he knew well that there was an intention, if opportunity occurred, of assassinating Napoleon on his road to join the army in Belgium. [I have often thought that the ultimate desertion of the Mameluke who had always been retained by Napoleon about his person had some very deep reason for it, and to this moment that circumstance appears to require clearing up.] I did not much relish being made the depository of such dangerous secrets, and ordered my servant never to mention before me again “any such ridiculous stories,” otherwise I should discharge him as an unsafe person. Yet I could not keep his tongue from wagging, and I really dreaded dismissing him, He said “that Fouché was a traitor to his master, that several of the cannon at Montmartre were rendered unserviceable, and that mines had been charged with gunpowder under various parts of the city preparatory to some attempt at counter-revolution.”

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