MY DEAR FRIEND: Your ladies were so slow in giving their specific orders,
that the mohairs, of which you at last sent me the patterns, were all
sold. However, to prevent further delays (for ladies are apt to be very
impatient, when at last they know their own minds), I have taken the
quantities desired of three mohairs which come nearest to the description
you sent me some time ago, in Madame Monconseil’s own hand; and I will
send them to Calais by the first opportunity. In giving ‘la petite Blot’
her piece, you have a fine occasion of saying fine things, if so
inclined.
Lady Hervey, who is your puff and panegyrist, writes me word that she saw
you lately dance at a ball, and that you dance very genteelly. I am
extremely glad to hear it; for (by the maxim, that ‘omne majus continet
in se minus’), if you dance genteelly, I presume you walk, sit, and stand
genteelly too; things which are much more easy, though much more
necessary, than dancing well. I have known many very genteel people, who
could not dance well; but I never knew anybody dance very well, who was
not genteel in other things. You will probably often have occasion to
stand in circles, at the levees of princes and ministers, when it is very
necessary ‘de payer de sa personne, et d’etre bien plante’, with your
feet not too near nor too distant from each other. More people stand and
walk, than sit genteelly. Awkward, ill-bred people, being ashamed,
commonly sit bolt upright and stiff; others, too negligent and easy, ‘se
vautrent dans leur fauteuil’, which is ungraceful and ill-bred, unless
where the familiarity is extreme; but a man of fashion makes himself
easy, and appears so by leaning gracefully instead of lolling supinely;
and by varying those easy attitudes instead of that stiff immobility of a
bashful booby. You cannot conceive, nor can I express, how advantageous a
good air, genteel motions, and engaging address are, not only among
women, but among men, and even in the course of business; they fascinate
the affections, they steal a preference, they play about the heart till
they engage it. I know a man, and so do you, who, without a grain of
merit, knowledge, or talents, has raised himself millions of degrees
above his level, simply by a good air and engaging manners; insomuch that
the very Prince who raised him so high, calls him, ‘mon aimable
vaut-rien’;--[The Marichal de Richelieu.]--but of this do not open your
lips, ‘pour cause’. I give you this secret as the strongest proof
imaginable of the efficacy of air, address, ‘tournure, et tout ces Petits
riens’.
Your other puff and panegyrist, Mr. Harte, is gone to Windsor in his way
to Cornwall, in order to be back soon enough to meet you here: I really
believe he is as impatient for that moment as I am, ‘et c’est tout dire’:
but, however, notwithstanding my impatience, if by chance you should then
be in a situation, that leaving Paris would cost your heart too many
pangs, I allow you to put off your journey, and to tell me, as Festus did
Paul, AT A MORE CONVENIENT SEASON I WILL SPEAK TO THEE. You see by this
that I eventually sacrifice my sentiments to yours, and this in a very
uncommon object of paternal complaisance. Provided always, and be it
understood (as they say in acts of Parliament), that ‘quae te cumque
domat Venus, non erubescendis adurit ignibus’. If your heart will let you
come, bring with you only your valet de chambre, Christian, and your own
footman; not your valet de place, whom you may dismiss for the time, as
also your coach; but you had best keep on your lodgings, the intermediate
expense of which will be but inconsiderable, and you will want them to
leave your books and baggage in. Bring only the clothes you travel in,
one suit of black, for the mourning for the Prince will not be quite out
by that time, and one suit of your fine clothes, two or three of your
laced shirts, and the rest plain ones; of other things, as bags,
feathers, etc., as you think proper. Bring no books, unless two or three
for your’ amusement upon the road; for we must apply simply to English,
in which you are certainly no ‘puriste’; and I will supply you
sufficiently with the proper English authors. I shall probably keep you
here till about the middle of October, and certainly not longer; it being
absolutely necessary for you to pass the next winter at Paris; so that;
should any fine eyes shed tears for your departure, you may dry them by
the promise of your return in two months.
Have you got a master for geometry? If the weather is very hot, you may
leave your riding at the ‘manege’ till you return to Paris, unless you
think the exercise does you more good than the heat can do you harm; but
I desire you will not leave off Marcel for one moment; your fencing
likewise, if you have a mind, may subside for the summer; but you will do
well to resume it in the winter and to be adroit at it, but by no means
for offense, only for defense in case of necessity. Good night. Yours.
P. S. I forgot to give you one commission, when you come here; which is,
not to fail bringing the GRACES along with you.