Passy, 21 February, 1779.
Yours by Mr. Williams I have received. The little bill must be paid, but
I confess it alarms me a little. The expense of my son here is greater
than I ever imagined. Although his company is almost all the pleasure I
have in life, yet I should not have brought him if I had known the
expense. His expenses, together with what you have drawn for, and a
little collection of books I have bought, will amount to more than will
ever be allowed me. My accounts must not be drawn into intricacy or
obscurity. I must not be involved in suspicions of meddling in trade or
anything else but my proper business.
You complain that I don't write often enough; and that when I do, my
letters are too short. If I were to tell you all the tenderness of my
heart, I should do nothing but write to you. I beg of you not to be
uneasy. I write you as often and as much as I ought. If I had a heart at
ease, and leisure enough, I could write you several sheets a day, of the
curiosities of this country. But it is as much impossible for me to
think of such subjects as to work miracles. Let me entreat you to
consider, if some of your letters had by any accident been taken, what a
figure would they have made in a newspaper, to be read by the whole
world? Some of them, it is true, would have done honor to the most
virtuous and most accomplished Roman matron; but others of them would
have made you and me very ridiculous. In one of yours you hint that I am
to go to Holland. But I think you must be misinformed. By all that I can
learn, some gentlemen intend to vote for me to Holland _vs._ Mr. Deane;
others to Spain _vs._ Mr. Lee. Neither, I think, will succeed; and
therefore I think I have but one course to steer, and that is,
homewards. But I can determine nothing absolutely. I must govern myself
according to the intelligence which may hereafter arise, the orders of
Congress, and the best judgment I can form of my own duty and the public
good.
I am advised to take a ride to Geneva, or to Amsterdam; and I have been
so confined from exercise, having never been farther from Paris than
Versailles since my arrival here, that some such excursion seems
necessary for my health; yet I cannot well bear the thought of putting
the public to an expense merely for the sake of my pleasure, health, or
convenience. Yet my situation here is painful. I never was in such a
situation before as I am now, and my present feelings are new to me. If
I should return, and in my absence any orders should arrive here for me
to execute, in that case nobody would be here to execute them, and they
might possibly fail of success for want of somebody with power to
perform them; at least, this may be suspected and said and believed.
However, upon the whole, as Congress have said nothing to me, good or
bad, I have no right to presume that they mean to say anything, and
therefore, on the whole, it is my duty to return by the first
opportunity, unless I should receive counter orders before that occurs.
If ever the time should arrive when I could have a little leisure and a
quiet mind, I could entertain you with accounts of things which would
amuse you and your children. There are an infinity of curiosities here,
but so far from having leisure to describe them, I have found none even
to see them, except a very few.
The climate here is charming. The weather is every day pleasant as the
month of May; soft, mild air; some foggy days, and about ten or twelve
days in January were cold and icy. But we have had scarce three inches
of snow the whole winter. The climate is more favorable to my
constitution than ours. The cookery and manner of living here, which you
know Americans were taught by their former absurd masters to dislike, is
more agreeable to me than you can imagine. The manners of the people
have an affection in them that is very amiable. There is such a choice
of elegant entertainments in the theatric way, of good company, and
excellent books, that nothing would be wanting to me in this country but
my family and peace to my country, to make me one of the happiest of
men. John Bull would growl and bellow at this description. Let him
bellow if he will, for he is but a brute.