There are moments in which Madame Grassini’s countenance becomes lighted up with such animation, that it seems to be invested with a considerable portion of the rare beauty for which she was so remarkable.

Her eyes are still glorious, and, like those only of the sunny South, can flash with intelligence, or melt with tenderness.  It is when conversing on the grand roles which she filled as prima donna, that her face lights up as I have noticed,—­as the war-horse, when hearing the sound of the trumpet, remembers the scene of his past glory.

When in Italy, some years since, Madame Grassini’s carriage was stopped by brigands, who, having compelled her to descend, ransacked it and took possession of her splendid theatrical wardrobe, and her magnificent diamonds.

She witnessed the robbery with calmness, until she saw the brigands seize the portrait of the Emperor Napoleon, presented to her by his own hand, and set round with large brilliants, when she appealed to them with tears streaming down her cheeks to take the settings and all the diamonds, but not to deprive her of the portrait of her “dear, dear Emperor!” When this circumstance was referred to she told me the story, and her eyes glistened with tears while relating it.

Went to Orsay yesterday, and passed a very agreeable day there.  It was a fortified chateau, and must have been a very fine place before the Revolution caused, not only its pillage, but nearly total destruction, for only one wing of it now remains.

Built in the reign of Charles VII, it was esteemed one of the best specimens of the feudal chateau fort of that epoch; and the subterranean portion of it still attests its former strength and magnitude.

It is surrounded by a moat, not of stagnant water, but supplied by the river Ivette, which flows at the base of the hill on which the chateau stands.  The water is clear and brisk and the chateau looks as if it stood in a pellucid river.  The view from the windows is very extensive, commanding a rich and well-wooded country.

The chapel escaped not the ravages of the sacrilegious band, who committed such havoc on the chateau; for the beautiful altar, and some very interesting monuments, were barbarously mutilated, and the tomb of the Princesse de Croy, the mother of General Count d’Orsay, on which a vast sum had been expended, was nearly razed to the ground.

If aught was required to increase my horror of revolutions, and of the baleful consequences to which they lead, the sight of this once splendid chateau, and, above all, of its half-ruined chapel, in which even the honoured dead were insulted, would have accomplished it.

An heiress of one of the most ancient houses in the Pays-Bas, the Princesse de Croy brought a noble dowry to her husband, himself a man of princely fortune.  Young and beautiful, her munificence soon rendered her an object of almost, adoration to the dependents of her lord; and when soon after having given birth to a son and heir, the present General Comte d’Orsay, she was called to another world, her remains were followed to her untimely grave by a long train of weeping poor, whose hearts her bounty had often cheered, and whose descendants were subsequently horror-struck to see the sanctity of her last earthly resting-place invaded.