I had a very good pa.s.sage, and pleasant journey, and find myself surprisingly recovered for the time. Thank you for the good news you tell me of your coming: it gives me great joy.

To the end of this week I shall be in Lord Hertford's house; so have not yet got a lodging: but when I do, you will easily find me. I have no banker, but credit on a merchant who is a private friend of ]lord Hertford; consequently, I cannot give you credit on him: but you shall have the use of my credit, which will be the same thing; and we can settle our accounts together. I brought about a hundred pounds with me, as I would advise you to do. Guineas you may change into louis or French crowns at Calais and Boulogne; and even small bank-bills will be taken here. In any shape I will a.s.sist you. Be careful on the road. My portmanteau, with part of my linen, was stolen from before my chaise at noon, while I went to see Chantilly. If you stir out of your room, lock the door of it in the inn, or leave your man in it. If you arrive near the time you propose, you will find me here, and I hope much longer.

Letter 270 To George Montagu, Esq.

Paris, Sept. 22, 1765. (page 425)

The concern I felt at not seeing you before I left England, might make me express myself warmly, but I a.s.sure you it was nothing but concern, nor was mixed with a grain of pouting. I knew some of your reasons, and guessed others. The latter grieve me heartily; but I advise you to do as I do - when I meet with ingrat.i.tude, I take a short leave both of it and its host.

Formerly I used to look out for indemnification somewhere else; but having lived long enough to learn that the reparation generally proved a second evil of the same sort, I am content now to skin over such wounds with amus.e.m.e.nts, which at least have no scars. It is true, amus.e.m.e.nts do not always amuse when we bid them. I find it so here; nothing strikes me; every thing I do is indifferent to me. I like the people very well, and their way of life very well; but as neither were my object, I should not much care if they were any other people, or it was any other way of life. I am out of England and my purpose is answered.

Nothing can be more obliging than the reception I meet with every where. It may not be more sincere (and why should it?) than our cold and bare civility; but it is better dressed, and looks natural: one asks no more. I have begun to sup in French houses, and as Lady Hertford has left Paris to-day, shall increase my intimacies. There are swarms of English here, but most of them are going, to my great satisfaction. As the greatest part are very young, they can no more be entertaining to me than I to them, and it certainly was not my countrymen that I came to live with. Suppers please me extremely; I love to rise and breakfast late, and to trifle away the day as I like. there are sights enough to answer that end, and shops you know are an endless field for me The city appears much worse to me than I thought I remembered it. The French music as shocking as I knew it was.

The French stage is fallen off though in the only part I have seen Le Kain(870) I admire him extremely. He is very ugly and ill made,(871) and yet has an heroic dignity which Garrick wants, and great fire. The Dumenil I have not seen yet, but shall in a day or two. It is a mortification that I cannot compare her with the Clairon,(872) who has left the stage. Grandval I saw through a whole play without suspecting it was he. Alas! four-and-twenty years make strange havoc with us mortals! You cannot imagine how this struck me! The Italian comedy, now united with their Opera comique, is their most perfect diversion; but alas! Harlequin, my dear favourite harlequin, my pa.s.sion, makes me more melancholy than cheerful. Instead of laughing, I sit silently reflecting how every thing loses charms when one's own youth does not lend.

its gilding! When we are divested of that eagerness and illusion with which our youth presents objects to us, we are but the caput mortuum of pleasure.

Grave as these ideas are, they do not unfit me for French company. The present tone is serious enough in conscience.

unluckily, the subjects of their conversation are duller to me than my own thoughts, which may be tinged with melancholy reflections, but I doubt from my const.i.tution will never be insipid.

The French affect philosophy, literature, and freethinking: the first never did, and never will possess me; of the two others I have long been tired. Freethinking is for one's self, surely not for society; besides one has settled one's way of thinking, or knows it cannot be settled, and for others I do not see why there is not as much bigotry in attempting conversions from any religion as to it. I dined to-day with a dozen savans, and though all the servants were waiting, the conversation was much more unrestrained, even on the Old Testament, than I would suffer at my own table in England, if a single footman was present. For literature, it is very amusing when one has nothing else to do.

I think it rather pedantic in society; tiresome when displayed professedly; and, besides, in this country one is sure, it is only the fashion of the day. Their taste in it is worst of all: could one believe that when they read our authors, Richardson and Mr. Hume should be their favourites? The latter is treated here with perfect veneration. His history, so falsified in many points, so partial in as many, so very unequal in its parts, is thought the standard of writing.

In their dress and equipages they are grown very simple. We English are living upon their old G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses; I roll about in a chariot decorated with cupids, and look like the grandfather of Adonis.

Of their parliaments and clergy I hear a good deal, and attend very little - I cannot take up any history in the middle, and was too sick of politics at home to enter into them here. In short, I have done with the world, and live in it rather than in a desert, like you. Few men can bear absolute retirement, and we English worst of all. We grow so humoursome, so obstinate and capricious, and so prejudiced, that it requires a fund of good-nature like yours not to grow morose. Company keeps our rind from growing too coa.r.s.e and rough; and though at my return I design not to mix in public, I do not intend to be quite a recluse. My absence will put it in my power to take up or drop as much as I please. Adieu! I shall inquire about your commission of books, but having been arrived but ten days, have not yet had time. Need I say?--no I need not--that n.o.body can be more affectionately yours than, etc.

870) Le Kain was born at Paris in 1725, and died there in 1778.

He was originally brought up a surgical instrument maker; but his dramatic talents having been made known to Voltaire, he took him under his instructions, and secured him an engagement at the Fran'cais, where he performed for the first time in 1750.-E.

(871) "Cet acteur," says Baron de Grimm, "n'est presque jamais faux, mais malheureus.e.m.e.nt il a voix, figure, tout, contre lui.

Une sensibilit'e forte et profonde, qui faisait disparaitre la laideur de ses traits sous le charme de l'expression dont elle les rendait susceptible, et ne laissait aper'cevoir que lea caract'ere et la pa.s.sion dont son 'ame 'etait remplie, et lui donnait @ chaque instant de nouvelles formes et nouvel 'etre."-E.

(872) See ant'e, p. 383, letter 245. Mademoiselle Clairon was born in 1723, and made her first appearance at Paris in 1743, in the character of Ph'edre. She died at Paris in 1803. Several of her letters to the British Roscius will be found in the Garrick Correspondence. On her acting, when in the Zenith of her reputation, Dr. Grimm pa.s.ses the following judgment:--"Belle Clairon, vous avez beaucoup d'esprit: votre jeu est profond'ement raisonn'e; mais la pa.s.sion a-t-elle le temps de raisoner? Vous n'avez ni naturel ni entrailles; vous ne d'echirez jamais les miennes; vous ne faites jamais couler mes pleurs; vous mettez des silences 'a tout; vous voulez faire sentir chaque hemistiche; et lorsque tout fait effet dans votre jeu, je vois que la totalit'e de la sc'ene n'en fait plus aucun."-E.

Letter 271 To The Right Hon. Lady Hervey.

Paris, Oct. 3, 1765. (page 427)

Still, I have seen neither Madame d'Egmont nor the d.u.c.h.ess d'Aiguillon, who are in the country; but the latter comes to Paris to-morrow. Madame Chabot I called on last night. She Was not at home, but the H'otel de Carnavalet;(873) was; and I stopped on purpose to say an ave-maria before it. It is a very singular building, not at all in the French style, and looks like an ex voto raised to her honour by some of her foreign votaries.

I don't think her honoured half enough in her own country. I shall burn a little incense before your Cardinal's heart,(874) Madam, 'a votre intention.

I have been with Madame Geoffrin several times, and think she has one of the best understandings I ever met, and more knowledge of the world. I may be charmed with the French, but your ladyship must not expect that they will fall in love with me. Without affecting to lower myself, the disadvantage of speaking a language worse than any idiot one meets, is insurmountable: the silliest Frenchman is eloquent to me, and leaves me embarra.s.sed and obscure. I could name twenty other reasons, if this one was not sufficient. As it is, my own defects are the sole cause of my not liking Paris entirely: the constraint I am under from not being perfectly master of their language, and from being so much in the dark, as one necessarily must be, on half the subjects of their conversation, prevents me enjoying that ease for which their society is calculated. I am much amused, but not comfortable.

The Duc de Nivernois is extremely good to me; he inquired much after your ladyship. So does Colonel Drumgold.(875) The latter complains; but both of them, especially the Duc, seem better than when in England. I met the d.u.c.h.esse de COSS'e,(876) this evening at Madame Geoffrin's. She is pretty, with a great resemblance to her father; lively and good-humoured, not genteel.

Yesterday I went through all my presentations at Versailles.

'Tis very convenient to gobble up a whole royal family in an hour's time, instead of being sacrificed one week at Leicester-house, another in Grosvenor-street, a third in Cavendish-square, etc. etc. etc. La Reine is le plus grand roi du monde,(877) and talked much to me, and would have said more if I would have let her; but I was awkward and shrunk back into the crowd. None of the rest spoke to me. The King is still much handsomer than his pictures, and has great sweetness in his countenance, instead of that farouche look which they give him.

The Mesdames are not beauties, and yet have something Bourbon in their faces. The Dauphiness I approve the least of all: with nothing good-humoured in her countenance, she has a look and accent that made me dread lest I should be invited to a private party at loo with her.(878) The poor Dauphin is ghastly, and perishing before one's eyes.

Fortune bestowed on me a much more curious sight than a set of princes; the wild beast of the Govaudan,(879) which is killed, and actually is in the Queen's antechamber. It is a thought less than a leviathan, and the beast in the Revelations, and has not half so many wings, and yes, and talons, as I believe they have, or will have some time or other; this being possessed but of two eyes, four feet, and no wings at all. It is as fine a wolf' as a commissary in the late war, except, notwithstanding all the stories, that it has not devoured near so many persons. In short, Madam, now it is dead and come, a wolf it certainly was, and not more above the common size than Mrs. Cavendish is. It has left a dowager and four young princes.

Mr. Stanley, who I hope will trouble himself with this, has been most exceedingly kind and obliging to me. I wish that, instead of my being so much in your ladyship's debt, you were a little in Mine, and then I would beg you to thank him for me. Well, but as it is, why should not you, Madam? He will be charmed to be so paid, and you will not dislike to please him. In short, I would fain have him know my grat.i.tude; and it is hearing it in the most agreeable way, if expressed by your ladyship.

(873) Madame de S'evign'e's residence in Paris.-E.

(874) The Cardinal de Richelieu's heart at the Sorbonne.-E.

(875) Colonel Drumgold was born at Paris in 1730, and died there in 1786. Dr. Johnson, in giving Boswell an account of his visit to Paris in 1775, made the following mention of him: "I was just beginning to creep into acquaintance, by means of Colonel Drumgold, a very high man, Sir, head of l,'Ecole Militaire, and a most complete character, for he had first been a professor of rhetoric, and then became a soldier." He was The author of "La Gaiet'e," a poem, and several other pieces.-E.

(876) wife of the Duc de Coss'e Brisac, governor of Paris. She was a daughter of the Duc de Nivernois.-E.

(877) Madame de S'evign'e thus expresses herself of Louis XIV.

after his having taken much notice of her at Versailles.-E.

(878) He means, that the Dauphiness had a resemblance to the Princess Amelia.-E.

(879) This enormous wolf, for wolf it proved to be, gave rise to many extraordinary reports. The following account of it is from the Gentleman's Magazine for 1764: "A very strange description is given in the Paris Gazette of a wild beast that has appeared in the neighbourhood of Langagne and the forest of Mercoire, and has occasioned great consternation. It has already devoured twenty persons, chiefly Children, and particularly young, girls; and scarce a day pa.s.ses without some accidents. the terror it occasions prevents the woodcutters from working in the forest.

those who have seen him say he is much higher than a wolf, low before, and his feet are armed with talons. His hair is reddish, his head large, and the muzzle of it shaped like that of a greyhound; his ears are small and straight, his breast wide and of a gray colour; his back streaked with black; and his mouth which is large, is provided with a set of teeth so very sharp that they have taken off several heads as clean as a razor could have done. He is of amazing swiftness; but when he aims at his prey, he couches so close to the ground that he hardly appears to be bigger than a large fox, and at the distance of one or two fathoms he rises upon his hind legs and springs upon his prey, which he always seizes by the neck or throat. The consternation is universal throughout the districts where he commits his ravages, and public prayers are offered up upon this occasion.

The Marquis de Morangis has sent out four hundred peasants to destroy this fierce beast; but they have not been able to do it.

He has since been killed by a soldier, and appears to be a hyena." E.

Letter 272 To John Chute, Esq.

Paris, Oct. 3, 1765. (page 429)

I don't know where you are, nor when I am likely to hear of you.

I write it random, and, as I talk, the first thing that comes into my pen.

I am, as you certainly conclude, much more amused than pleased.

At a certain time of life, sights and new objects may entertain one, but new people cannot find any place in one's affection.

New faces with some name or other belonging to them, catch my attention for a minute--I cannot say many preserve it. Five or six of the women that I have seen already are very sensible. The men are in general much inferior, and not even agreeable. They sent us their best, I believe, at first, the Duc de Nivernois.

Their authors, who by the way are every where, are worse than their own writings, which I don't mean as a compliment to either.

In general, the style of conversation is solemn, pedantic, and seldom animated, but by a dispute. I was expressing my aversion to disputes Mr. Hume, who very gratefully admires the tone of Paris, having never known any other tone, said with great surprise, "Why, what do you like, if you hate both disputes and whisk?" What strikes me the most upon the whole is, the total difference of manners between them and us, from the greatest object to the least. There is not the smallest similitude in the twenty-four hours. It is, obvious in every trifle. Servants carry their lady's train, and put her into her coach with their hat on. They walk about the streets in the rain with umbrellas to avoid putting on their hats - driving themselves in open chaises in the country without hats, in the rain too, and yet often wear them in a chariot in Paris when it does not rain. The very footmen are powdered from the break of day, and yet wait behind their master, as I saw the Duc of Praslin's do, with a red pocket handkerchief about their necks. Versailles, like every thing else, is a mixture of parade and poverty, and in every instance exhibits something most dissonant from our manners. In the colonnades, upon the staircases, nay in the antechambers of the royal family, there are people selling all sorts of wares.

While we were waiting in the Dauphin's sumptuous bedchamber, till his dressing-room door should be opened, two fellows were sweeping it, and dancing about in sabots to rub the floor.

You perceive that I have been presented. The Queen took great notice of me; none of the rest said a syllable. You are let into the King's bedchamber just as he has put on his shirt; he dresses and talks good-humouredly to a few, glares at strangers, goes to ma.s.s--to dinner, and a-hunting. The good old Queen, who is like Lady Primrose in the face, and Queen Caroline in the immensity of her cap, is at her dressing-table, attended by two or three old ladies, who are languishing to be in Abraham's bosom, as the only man's bosom to whom they can hope for admittance. Thence you go to the Dauphin, for all is done in an hour. He scarce stays a minute; indeed, poor creature, he is a ghost, and cannot possibly last three months. The Dauphiness is in her bedchamber, but dressed and standing; looks cross, is not civil, and has the true Westphalian grace and accents. The four Mesdames, who are clumsy plump old wenches, with a bad likeness to their father, stand in a bedchamber in a row, with black cloaks and knotting-bags, looking good-humoured, not knowing what to say, and wriggling as if they wanted to make water. This ceremony too is very short: then you are carried to the Dauphin's three boys, who you may be sure only bow and stare. The Duke of Berry(880) looks weak, and weak-eyed: the Count de ProvenCe(881) is a fine boy; the Count d'Artois(882) well enough. The whole concludes with seeing the Dauphin's little girl dine, who is as round and as fat as a pudding.

the Queen's antechamber we foreigners and the foreign ministers were shown the famous beast of the Govaudan, just arrived, and covered with a cloth, which two cha.s.seurs lifted up. It is an absolute wolf, but uncommonly large, and the expression of agony and fierceness remains strongly imprinted on its dead jaws.

I dined at the Duc of Praslin's with four-and-twenty amba.s.sadors and envoys, who never go out but on Tuesdays to court. He does the honours sadly, and I believe nothing else well, looking important and empty. The Duc de Choiseul's face, which is quite the reverse of gravity, does not promise much more. His wife is gentle, pretty, and very agreeable. The d.u.c.h.ess of Praslin, jolly, red-faced, looking very vulgar, and being very attentive and civil. I saw the Duc de Richelieu in waiting, who is pale, except his nose, which is red, much wrinkled, and exactly a remnant of that age which produced General Churchill, Wilkes the player, the Duke of Argyle, etc. Adieu!

(880) Afterwards the unfortunate Louis XVI.-E.

(881) Afterwards Louis XVIII.-E.

(882) Afterwards Charles X.-E