_Letter from a Frenchman to a Friend in Paris_
BATH, _August 20, 1663_.
We arrived here with the Court last week, the physician having decided
that the hot waters of this far-off and desolate spot would prove more
beneficial to the Queen’s health than the cold waters of beautiful
Tunbridge Wells. Bath has not the sunny elegance of the latter place,
but the Court are doing their best to enliven this otherwise dreary
spot. One of their chief occupations is to play at bowls, but you must
not think that this game is confined, as in France, to artisans and
lackeys. On the contrary, it is here a game of gentlefolk, and there
is both skill in it and a certain art, and the places where these
games are played are singularly charming and elegant. They are called
“boulingrins.” They consist of small meadows, of which the grass is
as smooth as a billiard table. As soon as the heat of the day is
over everybody meets here, and many heavy wagers are made. I confess
that I have lost considerable sums at this sport, but have been more
successful at cock-fighting.
There is dancing every night at the King’s. Often a comedy is played,
which is followed by a supper. As for music, it never ceases. The
English are above all things a musical nation; their skill both in the
art of singing and dancing far excelling that of our courtiers. For
instance, the Chevalier de Grammont, who is reckoned one of our most
accomplished dancers, is not sufficiently skilful to take part in the
Royal dance.
The fashionable instrument is now the guitar, which was introduced
here by an Italian, whose compositions so pleased the King that
everybody became mad about this instrument, so that you see no one at
the Court who does not play the guitar, whether or no they possess a
talent for so doing. Some, such as the Earl of Arran, play as well
as the Italian himself. Others extract but futile discord from this
difficult instrument. It is a curious thing that the English, who have
obtained an unexampled liberty in political matters, show themselves
curiously slavish and lacking in initiative and independence in
matters of thought, pleasure, and recreation. Their political liberty
is extraordinary; for instance, in their Parliament the members are
not only allowed to speak their minds freely, but also to do a number
of astonishing things, such as call the most important members of
the State to the Bar! The Earl of Bristol remained free in the town
after he had accused the Lord Chancellor of high treason! And even the
populace considers that it has the right to speak of public affairs.
Not long ago, at the Stock Exchange, I heard a political speech quoted
on every side, and even the boatmen in the barges discuss matters
of State with the noble Lords whom they convey to the Houses of
Parliament. On the other hand, in matters of pleasure and pastime the
English are slaves of convention; everybody wishes to do what every
one else is doing. The matter of the guitar-playing is an instance of
this. As soon as some high personage makes a sport, an occupation, or a
manner of dress fashionable, the crowd follow in abject obedience and
perfect uniformity like sheep.
Indeed, we not long ago had a narrow escape from having a peculiarly
tedious occupation forced upon us: the Duke of York fell in love
with a Scotch game called _goff_, which is played, so they say, in
the more sterile regions of the extreme north of Scotland, where the
inhabitants still feed on oats and wear scarcely any clothes. This game
consists in hitting a hard ball about the size of a turkey’s egg into
the dense heath with a kind of stick. Several hours are then spent in
looking for the ball, and when, after much difficulty and discomfort,
it has been found, the player immediately hits it as hard as he can
into the distance and resumes the laborious search. This game would no
doubt have become the fashion had not the King, who has a horror of
introducing an element of seriousness into pastimes which are designed
exclusively for recreation, remarked that such a game was fit only for
very small children or for men who were so old that they had reached
their second childhood. After that we heard no more of this intolerable
sport.
Again, Prince Rupert, who is distinguished by his studious habits,
his love of chemistry and mathematics and his awkward manners,
attempted to introduce a game of cards called “Trump” or “Whist.”
The most notable feature of this game is that it must be played in
complete silence. It is not surprising, therefore, that it failed to
find favour at Court, for the English love conversation above all
things, and excel in repartee, apt quotation, and madrigal-making.
But it is curious that although the Court is highly cultivated, and
although the courtiers speak elegantly both in English and Latin, and
make verses and madrigals in these languages, there appears at the
present time to be no English literature at all. Our Ambassador tells
me that among learned circles in London, although there are certain
philosophers of merit, such as Hobbes, there remain but few traces of
the art of letters for which England was once famous. The only writers
whose memory still subsists to a certain degree are Bacon, Morus,
Buchanan, and in the last century a certain Miltonius who acquired
an evil notoriety by his scurrilous and seditious pamphlets. Letters
have deserted England and given way to music and painting. The art
of madrigal-making, which is cultivated at Court with assiduity and
exquisite skill, belongs, of course, to music.
What has struck me most since I have been here is the beauty of the
English women; they are all being painted at this moment by a painter
called Lely; he is an accomplished artist, but he does not succeed in
rendering the personality of the people he paints, and his pictures are
all alike. Most of these ladies speak French not only with correctness
but with elegance; some of them, such as Miss Stewart, for instance,
speak French better than their own language. Others, on the other
hand, are so unfamiliar with our manners and customs that they seem to
imagine that a Frenchman must necessarily be half-witted, and address
him in a kind of broken language such as nurses and mothers use to
their babies.
Lady Hyde is remarkable, even in England, for her grace and her wit.
Her hands are delicate and her feet astonishing. She is surrounded by
the wits of the Court, and one evening after supper she organized a
kind of tournament of wit. It was thus: we all sat round the gaming
table, but instead of playing we had set before us counters made of
mother-of-pearl, on each one of which a letter of the alphabet was
worked in gold. These were placed face downwards and turned up in turn;
each player who turned up a letter was obliged to compose a line of
a sonnet beginning with the letter in question. The game would have
proved highly successful had not Lord Rochester caused some annoyance
by ending the sonnet, which had up till then been delicate and tender,
with an unexpectedly crude and uncourtly expression, which, while
it tickled the mirth of some of the company, offended our sensitive
hostess.
Miss Stewart is childish and frivolous. She laughs at everything and
everybody. She has a passion for those games which are usually played
only by children of twelve and thirteen; such as, for instance, Blind
Man’s Buff, and even when at cards the play is at its highest, she
builds houses and castles with the cards, and forces everybody to join
in the pastime. She is encouraged in her gaiety and her frivolity by
the Duke of Buckingham, who sings agreeably, and has a wonderful talent
for mimicking, not without a certain spice of malice, the voices and
the tricks of his friends.
Play is everywhere high, and at every “boulingrin” there is a pavilion
where refreshments are sold--liquors such as cyder, hydromel, sparkling
ale, and Spanish wine. There is a race of men called “Rooks” who meet
together to smoke and to drink. They are what we should call grooms in
France, and they always have about them enough money to lend to those
who have lost at play; they are themselves so skilful at games of
hazard, especially at one particular game which is played with three
cards, that no one who plays with them wins. The Chevalier de Grammont
once tried his luck with them at dice, and, strange to say, the first
time he played he won. They begged him to continue the game. This he
refused to do, in spite of the many well-turned compliments they paid
to his prowess.
The English are somewhat concerned at this moment at the state of
their Navy, which they say leaves much to be desired. There are many
politicians who are in favour of building an increased number of ships,
but it appears that this cannot be done without grievously taxing
the rich, who are already overtaxed. The Duke of Buckingham told me
yesterday that if the taxes were to be in any way increased he would be
obliged to dismiss his gardener and his Groom of the Chambers. Besides
which, he assured me that this agitation in favour of an increased Navy
was entirely due to a foolish fear of the Dutch, a fear which he said
was utterly groundless, for it was inconceivable that the Dutch could
wish to invade England; moreover, if they did so they would be defeated
by the English Navy, such as it was.