All the rest, too, looked as if they were just
unpacked, like salmon from an ice-basket, and set down to table for that
day only. When she retired, I watched their looks as I dismissed the
screen, and every cheek thawed, and every nose reddened with the
anticipated glow.
Saturday, I went with Harry Fox to _Nourjahad_; and, I believe,
convinced him, by incessant yawning, that it was not mine. I wish the
precious author would own it, and release me from his fame. The dresses
are pretty, but not in costume;--Mrs. Horn's, all but the turban, and
the want of a small dagger (if she is a sultana), _perfect_. I never saw
a Turkish woman with a turban in my life--nor did any one else. The
sultanas have a small poniard at the waist. The dialogue is drowsy--the
action heavy--the scenery fine--the actors tolerable. I can't say much
for their seraglio--Teresa, Phannio, or----, were worth them all.
Sunday, a very handsome note from Mackintosh, who is a rare instance of
the union of very transcendent talent and great good nature. To-day
(Tuesday) a very pretty billet from M. la Baronne de Stael Holstein. [5]
She is pleased to be much pleased with my mention of her and her last
work in my notes. I spoke as I thought. Her works are my delight, and so
is she herself, for--half an hour. I don't like her politics--at least,
her _having changed_ them; had she been _qualis ab incepto_, it were
nothing. But she is a woman by herself, and has done more than all the
rest of them together, intellectually;--she ought to have been a man.
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