Part 28

With respect to the future address of your letters, I thought immediately of my little Anet, as the safest; but if this young woman be inferior in rank to my cousin, is that a reason we should less regard her virtue? have I not reason, on the contrary, to fear my example may be more dangerous to one of less elevated sentiments; that what was only an effort of the sublimest friendship in one, may be the first step to corruption in the other; and that, in abusing her gratitude, I may make virtue itself subservient to the promotion of vice? is it not enough, alas! for me to be culpable, without seducing accomplices, and aggravating my own crime, by involving others in my guilt? of this, therefore, no more: I have hit on another expedient, less safe indeed, but less exceptionable, as it lays nobody open to censure, nor requires a confident. It is for you to write to me under a fictitious name; as for example, that of Mr. Bosquet, and to send your letters under cover addressed to Regianino, whom I shall take care to instruct. Thus Regianino himself may know nothing of our correspondence, or at most can only form suspicions, which he dares not confirm; for Lord B----, on whose favour he depends, has answered for his fidelity. In the mean time, while our correspondence is maintained by this means, I will try if it be possible to resume the method we made use of in your voyage to the Valois, or some other that may be durable and safe.

There is something in the turn and stile of your letters, that would convince me, were I even unacquainted with the state of your heart, that the life you lead at Paris is in no wise agreeable to your inclinations. The letters of Muralt, of which they so loudly complain in France, are even less satirical and severe than yours. Like a child that is angry with its tutors, you revenge the disagreeable necessity you are under of studying the world, upon your first teachers.

What I am surprized at the most, however, is, that the very circumstance, which usually prejudices foreigners in favour of the French, should give you disgust. I mean their polite reception of strangers, and their general turn of conversation; tho’ by your own confession, you have met with great civility. I have not forgot your distinction between Paris in particular, and great cities in general; but I see plainly, that, without knowing precisely what belongs to either, you censure without considering whether it be truth or slander. But, however, this be, the French are my favourites, and you don’t at all oblige me in reviling them. It is to the many excellent writings France has produced, that I am indebted for most of those lessons, by which we have together profited. If Switzerland is emerged from its ancient barbarity, to whom is it obliged? the two greatest and most virtuous men in modern story, Catinat and Fenelon, were both Frenchmen. Henry the fourth, the good king, whose character I admire, was a Frenchman. If France be not the country of liberty, it is properly that of men; a superior advantage in the eyes of a philosopher to that of licentious freedom. Hospitable, protectors of the stranger, the French overlook real insult, and a man would be pelted in London for saying half so much against the English, as the French will bear at Paris. My father, who hath spent the greatest part of his life in France, never speaks but with rapture of this agreeable people. If he has spilt his blood in the service of its king, he has not been forgotten in his retirement, but is still honoured by royal beneficence. Hence, I think myself in some degree interested in the glory of a nation, to which that of my father is indebted. If the people of all nations, my friend, have their good and ill qualities, you ought surely to pay the same regard to that impartiality which praises, as to that which blames them.

To be more particular with you, I will ask you why you throw away in idle visits the time you are to spend at Paris? Is not Paris a theatre, wherein great talents may be displayed, as well as London? and do strangers find more difficulties in their way to reputation in the former, than they do in the latter? believe me, all the English are not like Lord B----, nor do all the French resemble those fine talkers that give you so much disgust. Try, put them to the proof, tho’ it be only to acquire a more intimate acquaintance with their manners; and judge of people, that you own speak so well, by their deeds. My cousin’s father says, you know the constitution of the empire, and the interests of princes. My Lord B---- acknowledges also, that you are well versed in the principles of politics, and the various systems of government: and I have got it into my head that of all countries in the world you will succeed best in that where merit is most esteemed, and that you want only to be known, to be honourably employed. As to your religion’s being an obstacle, why should yours be more so than another’s? is not good sense a security against fanaticism and persecution? does bigotry prevail more in France, than in Germany? and is there any thing that should hinder your succeeding at Paris, as Mr. St. Saphorin has done at Vienna? if you consider the end, the more speedy your attempts the sooner may you promise yourself success. If you balance the means, it is certainly more reputable for a man to advance himself by his own abilities, than to be obliged for preferment to his friends. But, if you purpose a longer voyage---- ah! that _sea!_----I should like England better if it lay on this side Paris.----But, a-propos, now I talk of Paris, may I venture to take notice of another piece of affection, I have remarked in your letters? how comes it that you, who spoke to me so freely of the women of this country, say nothing about the Parisian ladies? can those celebrated and polite females be less worth your description, than the simple and unpolished inhabitants of the mountains? or are you apprehensive of giving me uneasiness by a picture of the most charming and seductive creatures in the universe? If this be the case, my friend, undeceive your-self, and rest assured, that the worst thing you can do for my repose is to say nothing about them and that, however, you might praise them, your silence in that respect is more suspicious than would be your highest encomiums. I shall be glad also to have some little account of the opera at Paris, of which we hear such wonders; [27] for, after all, the music may be bad, and yet the representation have its beauties; but if not, it will at least, afford a subject for your criticism, which will offend no body.

I know not whether it be worth while to tell you, that my cousin’s wedding produced me two suitors; they met here a few days ago; one of them from Yverdon, hunting all the way from castle to castle, and the other from Germany, in the stage-coach from Berne. The first is a kind of smart, that speaks loud and peremptory enough to make his repartees pass for wit, among those who attend only to his manner. The other is a great bashful simpleton, whose timidity, however, is not of that amiable kind which arises from the fear of displeasing; but is owing to the embarrassment of a blockhead, that knows not what to say, and the awkwardness of a libertine who is at a loss how to behave himself in the company of modest women. As I well know the intentions of my father in regard to these two gentlemen, I took, with pleasure, the freedom he gave me, of treating them agreeable to my own humour, which, I believe, is such as will soon get the better of that which brought them hither. I hate them for their presumption, in pretending to a heart which is yours, without the least merit to dispute it with you; yet if they had ever so much, I should hate them the more; but where could they acquire it? they or any other man in the universe? no, my dear friend, rest satisfied, it is impossible. Nay, were it possible that another should be possessed of equal merit, or even that another _you_ should attack my heart, I should never listen to any but the first. Be not uneasy, therefore, at these two animals, which I have with regret condescended to mention. What pleasure should I have in being able to give them both such equal portions of disgust, as that they should resolve to depart both together as they came.

M. de Crouzas has lately given us a refutation of the ethic epistles of Mr. Pope, which I have read, but it did not please me. I will not take upon me to say which of these two authors is in the right, but I am conscious that M. de Crouza’s book will never excite the reader to do any one virtuous action, while our zeal for every thing great and good is awakened by that of Pope. For my own part, I have no other rule by which to judge of what I read, than that of consulting the dispositions in which I rise up from my book, nor can I well conceive what sort of merit any piece has to boast, the reading of which leaves no benevolent impression behind it, nor stimulates the reader to any thing that is good. [28]

Adieu, my dear friend, I would not finish my letter so soon, but am called away. I leave you with regret, for I am at present in a chearful disposition, and I love you should partake of my happiness. The cause which now inspires it is, that my dear mother is much better within these few days; she has indeed found herself so well as to be present at the wedding, and to give away her niece, or rather her other daughter. Poor Clara wept for joy to see her; and I----but you may judge of my sensations, who, deserving her so little, hourly tremble at the thoughts of losing her. In fact, she did the honours of the table, and acquitted herself on the occasion with as good a grace as if she had been in perfect health. Nay, it seemed to me that some remains of languor in her disposition rendered her elegant complacencies still more affecting. Never did this incomparable parent appear so good, so charming, so worthy to be revered!----Do you know that she asked Mr. Orbe concerning you several times? Although she never speaks of you to me, I am not ignorant of her esteem for you; and that if ever she were consulted, your happiness and mine would be her first concern. Ah! my friend, if your heart can be truly grateful, you owe many, many obligations!

Letter LXXIV. To Eloisa.

There, my Eloisa, scold me, quarrel with me, beat me; I will endure every thing, but I will not cease to acquaint you with my thoughts. Who should be the depositary of those sentiments you have enlightened, and with whom should my heart hold converse, if you refuse to hear me? I give you an account of the observations I have made, and of my own opinions, not so much for your approbation, as correction; and the more liable I am to fall into error, the more punctual I should be in my applications to your judgment. If I censure the manners of the people in this great city, I do not seek to be justified for taking this liberty, because I write to you in confidence; for I never say any thing of a third person, which I would not aver to his face; and all I write to you concerning the Parisians, is no more than a repetition of what I daily advance in conversation with themselves: however, they are not displeased with me, and they even join with me in many particulars. They complain of our _Muralt_; I am persuaded, they see, and are convinced, how much he hated them, even in his panegyricks; but, I am much mistaken, if, in my criticism they do not perceive the contrary. The esteem and gratitude their generosity inspires, but increases my freedom; it may be serviceable to some of them, and, if I may judge from their manner of receiving truth from my lips, they do not think me below their regard. When this is the case, my Eloisa, true censure is more laudable than even true praise; for that only serves to corrupt the heart of those on whom it is bestowed, and there are none so eager to obtain it as the most worthless; on the contrary, censure may be useful, and can only be endured by the most deserving. I sincerely own, I honour the French as the only people in the world who really love their fellow creatures, and who are naturally benevolent; but, for this very reason, I am less inclined to grant them that general admiration they seem to expect, even for the faults they acknowledge. If the French had no virtues, I should not mention them; if they had no vices they would not be men: they have too many excellent qualities for indiscriminate praise.

As to the attempts you mention, they are impracticable, because I should be obliged to use means which are not only inconvenient, but which you have also interdicted. Republican austerity is not in vogue here; they need more flexible virtues, which are more easily adapted to the interest of their friends or patrons. They respect merit, I confess, but the talents that acquire reputation are very different from those which lead to fortune; and, if I am so unfortunate as to possess the latter only, will Eloisa consent to become the wife of an adventurer? In England it is quite the contrary, and though their manners are perhaps less refined than in France, yet they rise to fortune by more honourable steps, because the people having more share in the government, public esteem is of more consequence. You are not ignorant of what Lord B---- proposed to do for me, and of my intention to justify his zeal. I can have no objection to any spot on the globe except its distance from you. O Eloisa! if it is difficult to procure your hand, it is still more difficult to deserve so great a blessing, and yet, methinks, ’tis a noble task.

The good account you give of your mother’s health, relieved me from the greatest anxiety. I perceived your distress, even before my departure, and therefore I durst not express my fears; but I thought her so changed, that I was apprehensive she would fall into some dangerous illness, Be careful of her, because she is dear to me, be cause my heart reveres her, because all my hopes are centered in her goodness, and because she is the mother of my Eloisa.

As for the two suitors, I own, I do not like to hear of them, even in jest; but the manner in which you mention them expels my fears, and I will no longer hate these unfortunate pretenders, since you imagine they are hated by you: yet I admire your simplicity in believing yourself capable of hatred. Don’t you perceive that what you take for hatred, is nothing more than the impatience of insulted love? thus anxious mourns the amorous turtle when its beloved mate is in danger of being caught. No, Eloisa, no, incomparable maid! when you are capable of hatred, I may cease to love you.

P. S. Beset by two importunate rivals! how I pity you! for your own sake, hasten their dismission.

Letter LXXXV. From Eloisa.

I have delivered into Mr. Orbe’s hands a packet which he has engaged to forward to M. Sylvester, from whom you will receive it; but I caution you, my dear friend, not to open it, till you retire into your own chamber, and are quite alone. You will find in this packet a small trinket for your particular use.

’Tis a kind of charm which lovers gladly wear. The manner of using it is very whimsical. It must be contemplated for a quarter of an hour every morning, or until it softens the spectator into a certain degree of tenderness. It is then applied to the eyes, the mouth, and next to the heart: and it is generally esteemed the best preservative against the noxious air of a country infected with gallantry. They even attribute an electrical quality, to these talismans, which is very singular, but which acts only upon faithful lovers. They say it communicates the impression of kisses from one to the other, though at the distance of a hundred leagues. I do not pretend to warrant the success of this charm from experience; only, this I know, it is your own fault if you do not put it to the proof.

Calm your fears with regard to my two gallants, or pretenders, call them which you please. They are gone: let them depart in peace; I shall no longer hate them, since they are out of my sight.

Letter LXXXVI. To Eloisa.

And so, my Eloisa, you insist on a description of these Parisian ladies? vain girl! but it is a homage due to your charms. Notwithstanding all your affected jealousy, your modesty, and your love, I have discovered more vanity than fear disguised under this curiosity. Be it as it will, I shall be just; I may safely speak the truth; but I should undertake the taste with better spirits if I had more to praise. Why are they not a hundred times more lovely! would they had sufficient charms, to reflect new excellence upon yours by the comparison!

You complain of my silence: good heaven! what could I have written? when you have read this letter, you will perceive why I take pleasure in speaking of your neighbours, the Valesian ladies, and why I have hitherto neglected to mention those of this country: the first continually remind me of you, my Eloisa, but the others----read, and you will know. Few people think of the French ladies as I do, if indeed, I am not quite singular in my opinion. Equity obliges me therefore to give you this hint, that you may suppose I delineate them, perhaps, not as they are in reality, but as they appear to me. Nevertheless, if I am not just in my description, I know you will censure me; and then will your injustice be greater than mine, because the fault is entirely your own.

Let us begin with their exterior qualities; the greatest number of observers proceed no farther should I follow their example, the women in this country would have great cause to be dissatisfied: they have an _exterior_ character as well as an _exterior_ face, and as neither one or the other is much to their advantage, it would be unjust to form our opinions of them from either. Their figure, for the most part, is only tolerable, and in the general rather indifferent than perfect; yet there are exceptions. They are slender rather than well- made, and therefore they gladly embrace the fashions which disguise them most; but, I find that in other countries, the women are foolish enough to imitate there fashions, tho’ contrived merely to hide defects which they have not.

Their air is easy and natural, their manner free and unaffected, because they hate all restraint; but they have a certain _disinvoltura_, [29] which, though it is not entirely destitute of grace, they frequently carry, even to a degree of absurdity. Their complexion is moderately fair, and they are commonly pale, which does not in the least add to their beauty. With regard to their necks, they are in the opposite extreme to the Valesians. Conscious of this defect, they endeavour to supply it by art; nor are they less scrupulous in borrowing an artificial whiteness. Though I have never seen these objects but at a distance, they expose so much of themselves, that they leave the spectators very little room for conjecture. In this case, these ladies seem not to understand their own interest; for if the face is but moderately handsome, the imagination heightens every concealed charm, and according to the gascon philosopher, there is no appetite so strong as that which was never satisfied, especially in this sense.

Their features are not very regular, but they have something in their countenance which supplies the place of beauty, and which is sometimes much more agreeable. Their eyes are quick and sparkling, yet they are neither penetrating nor sweet: they strive to animate them by the help of rouge, but the expression they acquire by this means, has more of anger in it than love; nature has given them sprightliness only, and though they sometimes seem to solicit tenderness, they never promise a return. [30]

They have acquired so great a reputation for their judgment in dress, that they are patterns to all Europe. Indeed, it is impossible to adapt such absurd fashions with more taste. They are, of all women, the least under subjection to their own modes. Fashion governs in the provinces, but the Parisians govern fashion, and every one of them is skilled in suiting it to her own advantage: the first are ignorant and servile plagiarists, who copy even orthographical errors; the latter are like authors, who imitate with judgment, and have abilities to correct the mistakes of their original.

Their apparel is more uncommon than magnificent, more elegant than rich. The rapid succession of their fashions renders them old and obsolete even from one year to another; that neatness which induces them to change their dress so frequently, preserves them from much ridiculous magnificence; they do not however spend less money on that account, but their expenses are, by this means, better conducted. They differ greatly in this particular from the Italians; instead of superb trimmings and embroidery, their cloaths are always plain and new. Both sexes observe the same moderation and delicacy, which is extremely pleasing: for my part I like to see a coat neither laced nor foiled. There is no nation in the world, except our own, where the people, especially the women, wear less gold and silver. The same kind of stuffs are wore by people of all ranks, so that it would be difficult to distinguish a duchess from a citizen, if the first had not some marks of distinction which the other dares not imitate. But this seems to have its inconveniences, for whatever is the fashion at court, is immediately followed in the city, and you never see in Paris, as in other countries, a beau or belle of the last age. Nevertheless, it is not here as in most other places, where the people of the highest rank, being also the richest, the women of fashion distinguish themselves by a degree of luxury which cannot be equalled. Had the ladies of the court of France attempted this kind of distinction, they would very soon have been eclipsed by the wives of the citizens.