Chapter 24

For what should I cross the streight which divides us, though it were but _half_ seven leagues? we should only meet to part again, and purchase pleasure, as most pleasures are purchased, too dearly; I have dropt some heavy tears, (ideally at least) over poor BUCKLE'S[J] grave, and it is all one to a man, now with GOD! on what King's soil such a _tribute as that_ is paid: had some men of all nations known the goodness of his heart as we did, some men of all nations would grieve as we do. When I frequented _Morgan's_[K] I used him as a touch-stone, to try the hearts of other men upon; for, as he was not rich, he was out of the walk of knaves and flatterers, and such men, who were moot prejudiced in his favour at first sight, and coveted not his company after a little acquaintance, I always avoided as beings made of base metal. It was for this reason I despised that ****** ****, (you know who I mean) for you too have seen him _snarl_, _and bite_, _and play the dog_, even to BUCKLE!

[J] WILLIAM BUCKLE, Esq.

[K] MORGAN'S Coffee-House, Grove, BATH.

Our Sunday night's tea club, round his chearful hearth, is now for ever dissolved, and SHARPE and RYE have administered their last friendly offices with a potion of sorrow.

Were I the hermit of _St. Catharine_, I would chissel his name as deeply into one of my pine-heads, as his virtues are impressed on my memory. Though I have lost _his guinea_, I will not lose his name; he looked down with pity upon me when here; who can say he may not do so still? I should be an infidel, did not a few such men as he _keep me back_.

And now, my dear Sir, after the many trifling subjects in this very long correspondence with you, I will avail myself of this good one, to close it, on the noblest work of GOD, AN HONEST MAN. The loss of such a friend, is sufficient to induce one to lay aside all pursuits, but that of following his example, and to prepare to follow him.

If you should ever follow me _here_, I flatter myself you will find, that I have, to the best of my poor abilities, made such a sketch of _men and things_ on this side of the water, that you will be able to discover some likeness to the originals. A bad painter often hits the general features, though he fall ever so short of the graces of _Titian_, or the _Morbidezza_ of _Guido_. I am sure, therefore, you and every man of candour, will make allowances for the many inaccuracies, defects, &c. which I am sensible these letters abound with, tho' I am incapable of correcting them. My journey, you know was not made, as most travellers' are, to indulge in luxury, or in pursuit of pleasures, but to soften sorrow, and to recover from a blow, which came from a mighty hand indeed; but a HAND still MORE MIGHTY, has enabled me to resist it, and to return in health, spirits, and with that peace of mind which no _earthly power_ can despoil me of, and with that friendship and regard for you, which will only cease, when I cease to be

PHILIP THICKNESSE.

_Calais, Nov. 4, 1776._

P.S. I found _Berwick's_ regiment on duty in this town: it is commanded by _Mons. le Duc de Fitz-James_, and a number of Irish gentlemen, my countrymen, (for so I will call them.) You may easily imagine, that men who possess the natural hospitality of their own country, with the politeness and good-breeding of this, must be very agreeable acquaintance in general: But I am bound to go farther, and to say, that I am endeared to them by marks of true friendship. The King of France, nor any Prince in Europe, cannot boast of troops better disciplined; nor is the King insensible of their merit, for I have lately seen a letter written by the King's command from _Comte de St. Germain_, addressed to the officers of one of these corps, whereby it appears, that the King is truly sensible of their distinguished merit; for braver men there are not in any service:--What an acquisition to France! what a loss to Britain!

As the _Marquis_ of _Grimaldi_ is retired from his public character, I am tempted to send you a specimen of his private one, which flattering as it is to me, and honourable to himself, I should have withheld, had his Excellency continued first minister of Spain; by which you will see, that while my own countrymen united to set me in a suspicious light, (though they thought otherwise) the ministers politeness and humanity made them tremble at the duplicity of their conduct; and had I been disposed to have acted the same sinister part they did, some of them might have been reminded of an old Spanish proverb,

"_A las màlas lénguas tigéras_"

"Muy S^or. mio. Por la carta de I^o del corr^te. veo su feliz llegada a esta ciudad, en donde habia tomado una casa, y por las cartas que me incluye, y debuelbo, reconosco los terminos honrados y recomendables con que ha efectuado su salida de Inglaterra, cosa que yo nunca podria dudar.

"Deseo que a V.S. le va' ya muy bien en este Reyno, y espero que me avifara el tiempo que se propusiere detener en Barcelona, y tambien quando se verificara su yda a Valencia: cuyo Pais se ha creydo el mas propio para su residencia estable, por la suavidad del clima y demas circunstantias.--V.S. me hallara pronto a complacerle y sevirle en lo que se le ofrezca: que es quendo en el dia puedo decirle, referiendome ademas a mis cartas precedentes communicadas por medio de ... Dios quiere a V.S. M^o c^o d^o S^r el 14 Nov^re. de 1775.

"B L.M. en. S. Su mayor fer^or. El Marq^s de GRIMALDI, _A Don Felipe Thickness_."

_A Madame_ THICKNESSE.

Voila, Madame, quelques amusemens de ma plume, vous avez paru les desirer, mon empressement a vous obeir sera le merite de ces legeres productions; la premiere a eu assez de succes en France, je doute qu'elle puisse en avoir un pareil en Angleterre, parce que le mot n'a peut-etre pas la meme signification ce que nous appellons Grelot est une petite cochette fermee que l'on attache aux hochets des enfans pour les amuser; dans le sens metaphysique on en fait un des attributs de la folie: Ice je l'employe comme embleme de gaiete et d'enfance. Le Pritems est une Epitre ecrite de la campagne a un de mes amis; j'etois sous le charme de la creation, pour ainsi dire; les vers en font d'une mesuretres difficile.

La description de Courcelles est celle d'une terre qu'avoit ma mere, et ou j'ai passe toute ma jeunesse; enchantee de son paysage, et de la vie champetre que j'aime passion, je l'adressois a un honnete homme de Rheims que j'appellois par plaisanterie mon Papa: ce que j'ai de meilleur dans mon porte-feuille, ce sont des chansons pour mon mari; comme je l'aime parfaitement mon coeur m'a servi de muse: mais cette tendresse toujours si delicieuse aux interesses ne peut plaire a ceux qui ne le sont pas. Quand j'auri l'honneur de vous revoir, Madame, je vous communiquerai mon recueil, et vous jugerez. Recevez les hommages respectueux de mon mari, et daignezfaire agreér nos voeux a Mons. Tiennerse; je n'ai point encore reçu les jolies poches, je pars demain pour la campagne, et j'y resterai quinze jours; nous avons des chaleurs cruelles, Messrs. les Anglois qui sont ici en souffrent beaucoup, j'ai l'honneur d'etre avec le plus inviolable attachement,

Madame, Votre tres humble et tres obeissante servante, _De Courcelles Desjardins._ 28 Juillet, 1776.

_Epitre au Grelot._

De la folie aimable lot Don plus brillant que la richesse, Et que je nommerai sagesse Si je ne craignois le fagot, C'est toi que je chante ô Grelot! Hochet heureux de tous les ages L'homme est à toi dès le maillot, Mais dans tes nombreux appanages Jamais tu ne comptas le sot: De tes sons mitigés le sage En tapinois se rejouït Tandis que l'insensé jouït Du plaisir de faire tapage. Plus envié que dédaigné Par cette espece atrabilaire Qui pense qu'un air refrogné La met au dessus du vulgaire, La privation de tes bienfaits Seule fait naître sa satyre; Charmante idole du François Chez lui réside ton empire: Tes détracteurs font les pedans, Les avares et les amans De cette gloire destructive Qui peuple l'infernale rive, Et remplit l'univers d'excès. L'ambitieux dans son délire N'eprouve que de noirs accès, Le genre-humain seroit en paix, Si les conquérans savoient rire. Contre ce principe évident C'est en vain qu'un censeur declame, Le mal ne se fait en riant. Si de toi provient l'epigrame, Son tour heureux ne'est que plaisant Et ne nuit jamais qu'au méchant Que sa conscience décèle. Nomme t-on la rose cruelle Lorsqu'un mal-adroit la cueillant Se blesse lui-même au tranchant De l'epine qu'avec prudence Nature fit pour sa défense. Tes simples et faciles jeux Prolongent dit-on notre enfance Censeur, que te faut-il de mieux! Des abus, le plus dangereux, Le plus voisin de la démence Est de donner trop d'importance A ces chiméres dont les cieux Ont composé notre existence Notre devoir est d'être heureux A moins de frais, à moins de voeux De l'homme est toute la science. Par tes sons toujours enchanteurs Tu fais fuir la froide vieillesse Ou plutôt la couvrant de fleurs Tu lui rends l'air de la jeunesse. Du temps tu trompes la lenteur, Par toi chaque heure est une fête _Démocrite_ fut ton Docteur _Anacréon_ fut ton Prophête; Tous deux pour sages reconnus, L'un riant des humains abus Te fit sonner dans sa retraite L'autre chantant à la guingette Te donna pour pomme à _Venus_ Après eux ma simple musette T'offre ses accens ingénus Charmant Grelot, sur ta clochette Je veux moduler tous mes vers, Sois toujours la douce amusette Source de mes plaisirs divers Heureux qui te garde en cachette Et se passe l'univers.

_Le Printems._

Epitre à Mons. D----

Déjà dans la plaine On ressent l'haleine Du léger Zephir; Déja la nature Sourit au plaisir, La jeune verdure A l'eclat du jour Oppose la teinte Que cherit l'amour Fuyant la contrainte, Au pied des ormeaux; Ma muse naïve Reprend ses pipeaux; Sur la verte rive Aux tendres echos Elle dit ces mots.

Volupté sure Bien sans pareil! O doux réveil De la nature! Que l'ame pure Dans nos guérets Avec yvresse Voit tes attraits; De la tendresse Et de la paix Les doux bienfaits Sur toute espéce Vont s'epandant, Et sont l'aimant Dont la magie Enchaîne et lie Tout l'univers L'homme pervers Dans sa malice Ferme son coeur A ces delices, Et de l'erreur Des goûts factices Fait son bonheur La noire envie Fille d'orgueil, Chaque furie Jusqu'au circueil, Tisse sa vie. Les vains désirs Les vrais plaisirs Sont antipodes; A ces pagodes Culte se rend, L'oeil s'y méprend Et perd de vuë Felicité, La Déité La plus couruë La moins connuë Simple réduit Et solitaire Jadis construit Par le mystére Est aujourd'hui Sa residencei La bienveillance. Au front serein De la déesse Est la Prêtresse; Les ris badins Sont sacristains, Joyeux fidelles, De fleurs nouvelles Offrent les dons. Tendres chansons Tribut du Zele, Jointes au sons De Philoméle, De son autel Sont le rituel Dans son empire Telle est la loi, "Aimer et rire De bonne foy." Cet Evangile Peu difficile Du vrai bonheur Seroit auteur Si pour apôtre Il vous avoit; En vain tout autre Le prêcheroit. La colonie Du double mont Du vraie génie Vous a fait don, Sans nul caprice Entrez en lice, Et de Passif Venant actif Pour la Déesse Enchanteresse Qui dans ces lieux Nous rend heureux Donnez moi rose Nouvelle éclose: Du doux Printems Hâtez le tems Il etincelle En vos écrits, Qu'il renouvelle Mes Esprits. Adieu beau Sire, Pour ce délire Le sentiment Est mon excuse. S'il vous amuse Un seul moment, Et vous rapelle Un coeur fidelle Depuis cent ans, Comme le vôtre En tous les tems N'ai désir autre.

FABLE

_Les Aquilons et l'Oranger._

De fougeux Aquilons une troupe emportée Contre un noble Oranger éxhaloit ses fureurs Ils soufflerent en vain, leur rage mutinée De l'arbre aux fruits dorés n'ôta que quelques fleurs.

MADRIGAL

Du tumulte, du bruit, des vaines passions Fuyons l'eclat trompeur: à leurs impressions Préférons les douceurs de ce sejour paisible, Disoit un jour _Ariste_ à la tendre _Délos_. Soit, repart celle-ci; mais las! ce doux repos N'est que le pis-aller d'une ame trop sensible.

QUATRAIN

Telle que ce ruisseau qui promene son onde Dans des lieux ecartés loin du bruit et du monde Je veux pour peu d'amis éxister desormais C'est loin des faux plaisirs que l'on trouve les vrais.

REVERIE SUR UNE LECTURE.

Aux froids climats de l'ourse, et dans ceux du midi, L'homme toujours le même est vain, foible, et crédule, Sa devise est partout _Sottise et Ridicule_. Le célébre Chinois, le François étourdi De la raison encore n'ont que le crepuscule Jadis au seul hazard donnant tout jugement, Par les effets cuisans du fer rougi qui brule On croyoit discerner le foible et l'innocent; A Siam aujourd'hui pareille erreur circule, Et l'on voit même esprit sous une autre formule: Quand quelque fait obscur tient le juge en suspens On fait aux yeux de tous à chaque contendant D'Esculape avaler purgative pillule, Celui dont l'estomac répugne à pareil mets Est réputé coupable et paye tous les frais. Du pauvre genre-humain telles sont les annales: Rome porta le deuil de l'honneur des vestales, Du Saint Pere à présent, elle baise l'ergot: Plus gais, non plus sensés dans ce siécle falot Nous choisissons au moins l'erreur la plus jolie: De l'inquisition, le bal, la comédie Remplacent parmi nous le terrible fagot; Notre légéreté détruit la barbarie Mais nous n'avons encore que changé de folie.

ENVOI A MON MARI.

Tandis, mon cher, que tes travaux Me procurent ce doux repos. Et cette heureuse insouciance But incertain de l'opulence; Mon ame l'abeille imitant Aux pays d'esprit élancée Cueille les fleurs de la pensée Et les remet aux sentiment. Mais helas! dans ce vaste champ En vain je cherche la sagesse, Près de moi certain Dieu fripon Me fait quitter l'école de _Zenon_ Pour le charme de la tendresse; "L'homme est crée pour être bon Et non savant, dit il, qu'il aime, Du bonheur c'est le vrai systême" Je sens, ma foi, qu'il a raison.

DESCRIPTION

_De la terre dans laquelle j'habitois, adressée à un homme très respectable que j'appellois mon Papa._

Que vous êtes aimable, mon cher Papa, de me demander une description de ma solitude. Votre imagination est gênée de ne pouvoir se la peindre. Vous voulez faire de _Courcelles_ une seconde étoile du matin, et y lier avec moi un de ces commerces d'ames réservés aux favoris de Brama. Votre idée ne me perdra plus de vue, j'en ferai mon génie tutélaire. Je croirai à chaque instant sentir sa présence, ah! elle ne peut trop tôt arriver, montrons lui donc le chemin.

Quittant votre cité Rhémoise, Ville si fertil en bons Vins, En gras moutons, en bons humains, Après huit fois trois mille toises Toujours suivant le grand chemin, On découvre enfin le village Où se trouve notre hermitage. Là rien aux yeux du voyageur Ne presente objet de surprise, Petit ruisseau, des maisons, une Eglise Tout à côté la hutte du Pasteur; Car ces Messieurs pour quelques Patenôtres. Pour un surplis, pour un vêtement noir En ce monde un peu plus qu'en l'autre Ont droit près du bon dieu d'établir leur manoir.

Ce début n'est pas fort seduisant; aussi ne vous ai-je rien promis de merveilleux. Je pourrois cependant pour embellir ma narration me perdre dans de brillantes descriptions, et commencer par celle de notre clocher; mais malheureusement nous n'en avons point; car je ne crois pas que l'on puisse appeller de ce nom l'endroit presque souterrain où logent trois mauvaises cloches. Elles m'étourdissent par fois au point que sans leur baptême, je les enverrois aux enfers sonner les diners de _Pluton_ et de _Proserpine_.

On apperçoit près de l'Eglise, entre elle et le curé, une petite fenêtre grillée, ceci est une vraie curiosité; c'est un sépulcre bâti par _Saladin d'Anglure_, ancien Seigneur de _Courcelles_ il vivoit du tems des croisades, et donna comme les autres dans la manie du siécle. Il ne fut pas plus heureux que ses confreres. Son sort fut d'être prisonnier du vaillant Saladin dont il conserva le surnom. Sa captivité l'ennuyant, il fit voeu, si elle finissoit bientôt, de bàtir dans sa Seigneurie un sépulcre, et un calvaire à même distance l'un de l'autre qu'ils le sont à Jérusalum. C'est aussi ce qu'il fit.

Quand par une aventure heureuse, Des fers du Vaillant _Saladin_ Il revint chez lui sauf et sain; Mais la chronique scandaleuse Qui daube toujours le prochain, Et ne se repâit que de blame Pretend que trop tôt pour Madame, Et trop tard pour le Pelerin Dans son Châtel il s'en revint. Ce fut, dit on, le lendemain, La veille, ou le jour que la Dame, Croyant son mari très benin Parti pour la gloire éternelle Venoit de contracter une hymenée nouvelle.

La tradition étoit en balance sur ces trois dates; mais la malignité humaine a donné la préférence à la derniére, ensorte qu'il paroit trés sur que l'Epoux n'arriva que le lendemain.

Quel affront pour un chef couronné de lauriers! Tel est pourtant le sort des plus fameux guerriers; Ceux d'aujourd'hui n'en font que rire Mais ceux du tems passé mettoient la chose au pis, Ils n'avoient pas l'esprit de dire Nous sommes quitte, et bons amis.

Pendant que vous êtes en train de visiter nos antiquités courcelloises, il me prend envie de vous faire entrer dans notre réduit.

Quoique du titre de château, Pompeusement on le decore, Ne vous figurez pas qu'il soit vaste ni beau. Tel que ces Grands que l'on honore Pour les vertus de leurs ayeux Pour tout mérite il n'a comme eux Qu'un nom qui se conserve encore.

Ainsi pour vous en former une juste idée, ne cherchez votre modéle ni dans les romans, ni dans les miracles de féerie. Ce n'est pas même un vieux château fort, comme il en éxiste encore quelques uns dàns nos entours.

Point, on n'y voit fossé ni bastion Ni demi-lune ni Dongeon, Ni beaux dehors de structure nouvelle, Mais bien une antique Tourelle Flanquant d'assez, vieux bâtimens Dont elle est l'unique ornement.

Un Poëte de nos cantons a dit assez plaisamment en parlant de ceci.

Sur les bords de la Vesle est un château charmant N'allez pas chicaner, Lecteur impertinent) (Le bâtiment à part, la Dame qui l'habite Par ses rares vertus en fait tout le mérite. Vous verrez tout-à l'heure s'il avoit raison.

Je ne m'arrêterai point à vous peindre la ferme quoi qu'elle tienne au château, ni l'attirail des animaux de toute espèce qu'elle renferme.

Ces spectacles vraiment rustiques Offrent pourtant plus de plaisirs A des regards philosophiques, Que ce que l'art et les desirs De notre insatiable espèce Inventent tous les jours aidés par la mollesse.

Je vous ferai entrer tout de suite dans une grande cour de gazon où effectivement je voudrois bien vous voir. Deux manieses de Perrons y conduisent, l'un aux appartemens, l'autre à la cuisine. Commençons par ce dernier quoique ce ne soit pas trop la coutume.

Là chaque jour, tant bien que mal, On apprete deux fois un repas très frugal, Mais que l'appétit assaisonne. Loin, bien loin, ces bruyans festins, Toujours suivis des médecins Où le poison dans cent ragoûts foisonne Nous aimons mieux peu de mets bien choisis De la Santé, moins de plats, plus de ris.

Voilà notre devise, mon cher Papa, je crois qu'elle est aussi la vôtre; notre réz de chaussée consiste en cuisine, office, salle à manger, chambre et cabinets, rien de tout cela n'est ni élegant ni commode.

Nos devanciers fort bonnes gens N'entendoient rien aux ornemens Et leurs désirs ne passoient guére Les bornes du seul necessaire.

Ils étoient plus heureux et plus sages que nous, car la vraie sagesse n'est autre chose que la modération des desirs. D'après cette definition on pourroit, je crois, loger tout notre siécle aux petites maisons. Ce qu'il y a de plus agréable dans la notre est la vuë du grand chemin.

De ce chemin où chacun trotte Où nous voyons soirs et matins Passer toute espece d'humains; Tantôt la gent portant calote, Et tantôt de jeunes plumets, Les rusés disciples d'Ignace Puis ceux de la grace efficace, Des piétons, des cabriolets Tant d'Etres à deux pieds, sots, et colifichets, Enfin cent sortes d'équipages Et mille sortes de visages.

Ce tableau mouvant est par fois fort récréatif, il me paroit assez plaisant d'y juger les gens sur la mine, et de deviner leur motif, et le sujet de leurs courses.

Mais, Papa, qu'il est consolant Voyant leurs soins et leur inquiétude De jouir du repos constant Qu'on goute dans la solitude.

A dire vrai, le spectacle du grand chemin, est celui qui m'occupe le moins; j'aime mille fois mieux nos promenades champêtres; avant de yous y conduire, il faut en historien fidelle vous rendre compte de notre chaumiére.

Vous croyez peut-être trouver un premier étage au dessus de la façade dont je vous ai parlé? Point du tout. Ne vous ai-je pas dit que nos péres préferoient l'utile à l'agréable: aussi ont ils mieux aimé construire de grands greniers que de jolis appartemens; mais en revanche ils out jetté quantité de petites mansardes sur un autre côté du logis. Ce dernier donne sur un verger qui fait mes délices, il est précédé d'un petit parterre, et finit par un bois charmant.

Une onde toujours claire et pure Y vient accorder souo murmure Au son mélodieux de mille et mille oiseaux Que cachent en tous tems nos jeunes arbrisseaux.

C'est là que votre fille se plait à rêver à vous, mon cher Papa, c'est dans ce réduit agréable qu'elle s'occupe tour à tour de morale et de tendresse.

_Epictete, Pope, Zénon._

Et _Socrate_, et surtout l'ingenieux _Platon_, Viennent dans ces lieux solitaires Me prêter le secours de leurs doctes lumiéres: Mais plus souvent la soeur de l'enfant de Cypris Ecartant sans respect cette foule de sages

Occupe seule mes esprits En y gravant de mes amis Les trop séduisantes images.

Je n'entreprendrai pas de vous peindre nos autres promenades, elles sont toutes charmantes; un paysage coupé, quantité de petits bosquets, mille jolis chemins, nous procurent naturellement des beautés auxquelles l'art ne sauroit atteindre.

La Vesle borde nos prairies Sur sa rive toujours fleurie Regne un doux air de bergerie Dangereux pour les tendres coeurs. Là, qui se sent l'ame attendrie S'il craint de l'amour les erreurs Doit vite quitter la partie.

Quittons la donc, mon cher Papa; aussi bien ai-je seulement oublié de vous montrer la plus piéce de l'hermitage. C'est un canal superbe. Il a cent vingt toises de long sur douze de large, une eau courante et crystalline en rend la surface toujours brillante, cest la digne embléme d'un coeur ami, jugez si cette vuë me fait penser à vous.

De grands potagers terminent l'enclos de la maison. Si j'étois méchante je continuerois ma description, et ne vous ferois pas grace d'une laitue, mais je me contenteraide vous dire que le ciel fit sans doute ce canton pour des Etres broutans. Si les Israëlites en eussent mangé jadis, ils n'auroient ni regretté l'Egypte ni desiré la terre promise.

Voilà mon cher Papa une assez mauvaize esquisse du pays Courcellois.

L'air m'en seroit plus doux et le ciel plus serein Si quelque jour, moins intraitable Et se laissant flechir, le farouche Destin Y conduisoit ce _trio_ tant aimable Que j'aime, et chérirai sans fin Mais las! j'y perds tout mon latin, Et ce que de mieux je puis faire Est d'espérer et de me taire

* * * * *

I should have stopt here, and finished my present correspondence with you by leaving your mind harmonized with the above sweet stanzas of _Madame des Jardins_, but that it may seem strange, to give a specimen of one French Lady's literary talents, without acknowledging, that this kingdom abounds with many, of infinite merit.--While England can boast only of about half a dozen women, who will immortalize their names by their works, France can produce half an hundred, admired throughout Europe, for their wit, genius, and elegant compositions.--Were I to recite the names and writings only of female authors of eminence, which France has produced, since the time of the first, and most unfortunate _Heloise_, who died in 1079, down to _Madame Riccoboni_, now living, it would fill a volume. We have, however, a CARTER, and a BARBAULD, not less celebrated for their learning and genius than for their private virtues; and I think it may, with more truth be said of women, than of men, that the more knowledge, the more virtue; the more understanding, the less courage. Why then is the _plume elevated to the head_? and what must the present mode of female education and manners end in, but in more ignorance, dissipation, debauchery and luxury? and, at length, in national ruin. Thus it was at ROME, the mistress of the world; they became fond of the most vicious men, and such as meant to enslave them, who corrupted their hearts, by humouring and gratifying their follies, and encouraging, on all sides, idleness and dissolute manners, blinded by CÆSAR's complaisance; from his _almsmen_, they became his _bondmen_; he charmed them in order to enslave them. When the tragedy of _Tereus_ was acted at ROME, _Cicero_ observed, what plaudits the audience gave with their hands at some severe strokes in it against tyranny; but he very justly lamented, that they employed their hands, _only in the Theatre_, not in defending that liberty which they seemed so fond of.

And now, as BAYES says, "let's have a Dance." ----

GENERAL HINTS

TO

STRANGERS

WHO

TRAVEL IN FRANCE.

GENERAL HINTS, &c.

I.

If you travel post, when you approach the town, or bourg where you intend to lie, ask the post-boy, which house he recommends as the best? and never go to that, if there is any other.--Be previously informed what other inns there are in the same place. If you go according to the post-boy's recommendation, the aubergiste gives him two or three livres, which he makes you pay the next morning. I know but one auberge between _Marseilles_ and _Paris_, where this is not a constant practice, and that is at _Vermanton_, five leagues from _Auxerre_, where every English traveller will find a decent landlord, _Monsieur Brunier_, _a St. Nicolas_; good entertainment, and no imposition, and consequently an inn where no post-boy will drive, if he can avoid it.

II.

If you take your own horses, they must be provided with head-pieces, and halters; the French stables never furnish any such things; and your servant must take care that the _Garçon d'Ecurie_ does not buckle them so tight, that the horses cannot take a full bite, this being a common practice, to save hay.

III.

If the _Garçon d'Ecurie_ does not bring the halters properly rolled up, when he puts your horses to, he ought to have nothing given him, because they are so constantly accustomed to do it, that they cannot forget it, _but in hopes you may too_.

IV.

Direct your servant, not only to see your horses watered, and corn given them, but to _stand by_ while they eat it: this is often necessary in England, and always in France.

V.

If you eat at the _table d'Hote_, the price is fixed, and you cannot be imposed upon. If you eat in your own chamber, and order your own dinner or supper, it is as necessary to make a previous bargain with your host for it, as it would be to bargain with an itinerant Jew for a gold watch; the _conscience_ and _honour_ of a _French Aubergiste_, and a travelling Jew, are always to be considered alike; and it is very remarkable, that the publicans in France, are the only people who receive strangers with a cool indifference! and where this indifference is most shewn, there is most reason to be cautious.

VI.

Be careful that your sheets are well aired, otherwise you will find them often, not only damp, but perfectly wet.--Frenchmen in general do not consider wet or damp sheets dangerous, I am sure French _Aubergistes_ do not.

VII.

Young men who travel into France with a view of gaining the language, should always eat at the _table d'Hote_.--There is generally at these tables, an officer, or a priest, and though there may be none but people of a middling degree, they will shew every kind of attention and preference to a stranger.

VIII.

It is necessary to carry your own pillows with you; in some inns they have them; but in villages, _bourgs_, &c. none are to be had.

IX.

In the wine provinces, at all the _table d'Hotes_, they always provide the common wine, as we do small beer; wine is never paid for separately, unless it is of a quality above the _vin du Pays_; and when you call for better, know the price _before_ you drink it.

X.

When fine cambrick handkerchiefs, &c. are given to be washed, take care they are not trimmed round two inches narrower, to make borders to _Madame la Blanchisseuse's_ night caps: this is a little _douceur_ which they think themselves entitled to, from my Lord _Anglois_, whom they are sure is _tres riche_, and consequently ought to be plundered by the poor.

XI.

Whenever you want honest information, get it from a French officer, or a priest, provided they are on the _wrong_ side of forty; but in general, avoid all acquaintance with either, on the _right_ side of thirty.

XII.

Where you propose to stay any time, be very cautious with whom you make an acquaintance, as there are always a number of officious forward Frenchmen, and English adventurers, ready to offer you their services, from whom you will find it very difficult to disengage yourself, after you have found more agreeable company.--Frenchmen of real fashion, are very circumspect, and will not _fall in love with you_ at first sight; but a designing knave will exercise every species of flattery, in order to fix himself upon you for his dinner, or what else he can get, and will be with you before you are up, and after you are in bed.

XIII.

Wherever there is any cabinet of curiosities, medals, pictures, &c. to be seen, never make any scruple to send a card, desiring permission to view them; the request is flattering to a Frenchman, and you will never be refused; and besides this you will in all probability thereby gain a valuable acquaintance.--It is generally men of sense and philosophy, who make such collections, and you will find the collector of them, perhaps, the most pleasing part of the cabinet.

XIV.

Take it as a maxim, unalterable as the laws of the Medes and Persians, that whenever you are invited to a supper at _Paris_, _Lyons_, or any of the great cities, where a _little_ trifling play commences before supper, that GREAT PLAY is intended after supper; and that you are the marked pigeon to be plucked. Always remember _Lord Chesterfield's_ advice to his son: "If you play with men, know with _whom_ you play; if with women, for _what_:" and don't think yourself the more secure, because you see at the same table some of your own countrymen, though they are Lords or Ladies; a _London_ gambler would have no chance in a _Parisian_ party.

XV.

Dress is an essential and most important consideration with every body in France. A Frenchman never appears till his hair is well combed and powdered, however slovenly he may be in other respects.--Not being able to submit every day to this ceremony, the servant to a gentleman of fashion at whose house I visited in _Marseilles_, having forgot my name described me to his master, as the gentleman whose hair was _toujours mal frise_.--Dress is a foolish thing, says _Lord Chesterfield_; yet it is a foolish thing not to be well dressed.

XVI.

You cannot dine, or visit after dinner, in an undress frock, or without a bag to your hair; the hair _en queue_, or a little cape to your coat, would be considered an unpardonable liberty. Military men have an advantage above all others in point of dress, in France; a regimental or military coat carries a man with a _bonne grace_ into all companies, with or without a bag to his hair; it is of all others the properest dress for a stranger in France, on many accounts.

XVII.

In France it is not customary to drink to persons at table, nor to drink wine after dinner: when the dessert is taken away, so is the wine;--an excellent custom, and worthy of being observed by all nations.

XVIII.

It is wrong to be led into any kind of conversation, but what is absolutely necessary, with the common, or indeed the middling class of people in France. They never fail availing themselves of the least condescension in a stranger, to ask a number of impertinent questions, and to conclude, you answer them civilly, that they are your equals.--Sentiment and bashfulness are not to be met with, but among people of rank in France: to be free and easy, is the etiquette of the country; and some kinds of that free and easy manner, are highly offensive to strangers, and particularly to a shy Englishman.

XIX.

When well-bred people flatter strangers, they seldom direct their flattery to the object they mean to compliment, but to one of their own country:--As, what a _bonne grace_ the English have, says one to the other, in a whisper loud enough to be heard by the whole company, who all give a nod of consent; yet in their hearts they do not love the English of all other nations, and therefore conclude, that the English in their hearts do not love them.

XX.

No gentleman, priest, or servant, male or female, ever gives any notice by knocking before they enter the bed-chamber, or apartment of ladies or gentlemen.--The post-man opens it, to bring your letters; the capuchin, to ask alms; and the gentleman to make his visit. There is no privacy, but by securing your door by a key or a bolt; and when any of the middling class of people have got possession of your apartment, particularly of a stranger, it is very difficult to get them out.

XXI.

There is not on earth, perhaps, so curious and inquisitive a people as the lower class of French: noise seems to be one of their greatest delights. If a ragged boy does but beat a drum or sound a trumpet, he brings all who hear it about him, with the utmost speed, and most impatient curiosity.--As my monkey rode postillion, in a red jacket laced with silver, I was obliged to make him dismount, when I passed thro' a town of any size: the people gathered so rapidly about me at _Moret_, three leagues from _Fontainbleau_, while I stopped only to buy a loaf, that I verily believe every man, woman, and child, except the sick and aged, were paying their respects to my little groom; all infinitely delighted; for none offered the least degree of rudeness.

XXII.

The French never give coffee, tea, or any refreshment, except upon particular occasions, to their morning or evening visitors.

XXIII.

When the weather is cold, the fire small, and a large company, some young Frenchman shuts the whole circle from receiving any benefit from it, by placing himself just before it, laying his sword genteely over his left knee, and flattering himself, while all the company wish him at the devil, that the ladies are admiring his legs: when he has gratified his vanity, or is thoroughly warm, he sits down, or goes, and another takes his place. I have seen this abominable ill-breeding kept up by a set of _accomplished_ young fops for two hours together, in exceeding cold weather. This custom has been transplanted lately into England.

XXIV.

Jealousy is scarce known in France; by the time the first child is born, an indifference generally takes place: the husband and wife have their separate acquaintance, and pursue their separate _amusements_, undisturbed by domestic squabbles: when they meet in the evening, it is with perfect good humour, and in general, perfect good breeding.--When an English wife plays truant, she soon becomes abandoned: it is not so with the French; they preserve appearances and proper decorum, because they are seldom attached to any particular man. While they are at their toilet, they receive the visits of their male acquaintance, and he must be a man of uncommon discernment, who finds out whom it is she prefers at that time.--In the southern parts of France, the women are in general very _free_ and _easy_ indeed.

XXV.

It is seldom that virgins are seduced in France; the married women are the objects of the men of gallantry. The seduction of a young girl is punished with death; and when they fall, it is generally into the arms of their confessor,--and that is seldom disclosed. Auricular confession is big with many mischiefs, as well as much good. Where the penitent and the confessor happen both to be young, he makes her confess not only all her sins, but sinful thoughts, and then, I fear he knows more than his prudence can absolve _decently_, and even when the confessor is old, the penitent may not be out of danger.

XXVI.

Never ask a Frenchman his age; no question whatever can be more offensive to him, nor will he ever give you a direct, though he may a civil answer.--_Lewis_ the XVth was always asking every man about him, his age. A King may take that liberty, and even then, it always gives pain.--_Lewis_ the XIVth said to _Comte de Grammont_, "_Je sais votre age, l'Eveque de Senlis qui a 84 ans, m'a donne pour epoque, que vous avez etudie ensemble dans la meme classe_." _Cet Eveque, Sire_, (replied the _Comte,) n'accuse pas juste, car ni lui, ni moi n'avons jamais Etudie_.--Before I knew how offensive this question was to a Frenchman, I have had many equivocal answers,--such as, _O! mon dieu_, as old as the town, or, I thank God, I am in good health, &c.

XXVII.

A modern French author says, that the French language is not capable of the _jeux de mots_. _Les jeux de mots_, are not, says he, in the genius _de notre langue, qui est grave, de serieuse_. Perhaps it maybe so; but the language, and the men, are then so different, that I thought quite otherwise,--though the following beautiful specimen of the seriousness of the language ought, in some measure; to justify his remark:

Un seul est frappé, & tous sont delivrés, Dieu frappe sons fils innocent, pour l'amour Des hommes coupables, & pardonne aux hommes Coupables, pour l'amour de son fils innocent.

XXVIII.

All English women, as well as women of other nations, prefer France to their own country; because in France there is much less restraint on their actions, than there is, (should I not say, than there _was_?) in England. All Englishmen, however, who have young and beautiful wives, should, if they are not indifferent about their conduct, avoid a trip to _Paris_, &c. tho' it be but for "_a six weeks tour_." She must be good and wise too, if six weeks does not corrupt her mind and debauch her morals, and that too by her own sex, which is infinitely the most dangerous company. A French woman is as great an adept at laughing an English-woman into all contempt of fidelity to her husband, as married English-women are in general, in preparing them during their first pregnancy, for the touch of a man-midwife,--and both from the same motive; _i.e._ to do, as they have done, and bring all the sex upon a level.

XXIX.

The French will not allow their language to be so difficult to speak properly, as the English language; and perhaps they are in the right; for how often do we meet with Englishmen who speak French perfectly? how seldom do we hear a Frenchman speak English without betraying his country by his pronunciation? It is not so with the Spaniards; I conversed with two Spaniards who were never twenty miles from _Barcelona_, that spoke English perfectly well.--How, for instance, shall a Frenchman who cannot pronounce the English, be able to understand, (great as the difference is) what I mean when I say _the sun is an hour high_? May he not equally suppose that I said _the sun is in our eye_?

XXX.

When you make an agreement with an _aubergiste_ where you intend to lie, take care to include beds, rooms, &c. or he will charge separately for these articles.

XXXI.

After all, it must be confessed, that _Mons. Dessein's a l'Hotel d'Angleterre_ at _Calais_, is not only the first inn strangers of fashion generally go to, but that it is also the first and best inn in France. _Dessein_ is the decoy-duck, and ought to have a salary from the French government: he is always sure of a good one from the English.

XXXII.

In frontier or garrison towns, where they have a right to examine your baggage, a twenty-four _sols_ piece, and assuring the officer that you are a gentleman, and not a merchant, will carry you through without delay.

XXXIII.

Those who travel post should, before they set out, put up in parcels the money for the number of horses they use for one post, two posts, and a post _et demi_, adding to each parcel, that which is intended to be given to the driver, or drivers, who are intitled by the King's ordinance to five _sols_ a post; and if they behave ill, they should be given no more; when they are civil, ten or twelve _sols_ a post is sufficient. If these packets are not prepared, and properly marked, the traveller, especially if he is not well acquainted with the money, cannot count it out while the horses are changing, from the number of beggars which surround the carriage and who will take no denial.

XXXIV.

People of rank and condition, either going to, or coming from the continent, by writing to PETER FECTOR, Esq; at _Dover_, will find him a man of property and character, on whom they may depend.

LASTLY,

Valetudinarians, or men of a certain age, who travel into the southern parts of France, Spain, or Italy, should never omit to wear either a callico or fine flannel waistcoat under their shirts: strange as it may seem to say so, this precaution is more necessary in the south of France, than in England. In May last it was so hot at _Lyons_, on the side of the streets the sun shone on, and so cold on the shady side, that both were intolerable. The air is much more _vif_ and penetrating in hot climates, than in cold. A dead dog, thrown into the streets of Madrid at night, will not have a bit of flesh upon his bones after it has been exposed to that keen air twenty-four hours.

FINIS.

[List of possible typos or transcriber changes:]

Ltr. 34 para. 2: monnments [monuments?]

Several inscriptions were blurred or missing in this source. Educated guesses were made in a few cases.

Ltr. 36: This is what was visible to the transcriber:

L DOMIT. DOMITIANI EX TRIERARCHI CLASS. GERM. D PECCO****A VALENTINA M CO*****ENTISSIMA.

Some characters blurred or missing. The full transcription was entered from other sources.

Some of this looks wrong--e.g. the third line should probably begin P F, rather than PE--but it matches the text as printed.

Ltr. 52 para. 2: Typo: that [than?]

Ltr. 54 para. 3: Typo: hundry [hungry?]