PARIS, February 7, 1787.
I know, Madam, that the twelve month is not yet expired; but it will
be, nearly, before this will have the honor of being put into your
hands. You are then engaged to tell me, truly and honestly, whether you
do not find the tranquil pleasures of America, preferable to the empty
bustle of Paris. For, to what does that bustle tend? At eleven o'clock,
it is day, _chez madame_. The curtains are drawn. Propped on bolsters
and pillows, and her head scratched into a little order, the bulletins
of the sick are read, and the billets of the well. She writes to some
of her acquaintance, and receives the visits of others. If the morning
is not very thronged, she is able to get out and hobble round the cage
of the Palais Royal; but she must hobble quickly, for the _coiffeur's_
turn is come; and a tremendous turn it is! Happy, if he does not make
her arrive when dinner is half over! The torpitude of digestion a
little passed, she flutters half an hour through the streets, by way of
paying visits, and then to the spectacles. These finished, another half
hour is devoted to dodging in and out of the doors of her very sincere
friends, and away to supper. After supper, cards; and after cards, bed;
to rise at noon the next day, and to tread, like a mill horse, the same
trodden circle over again. Thus the days of life are consumed, one by
one, without an object beyond the present moment; ever flying from the
ennui of that, yet carrying it with us; eternally in pursuit of
happiness, which keeps eternally before us. If death or bankruptcy
happen to trip us out of the circle, it is matter for the buzz of the
evening, and is completely forgotten by the next morning. In America,
on the other hand, the society of your husband, the fond cares for the
children, the arrangements of the house, the improvements of the
grounds, fill every moment with a healthy and an useful activity. Every
exertion is encouraging, because, to present amusement, it joins the
promise of some future good. The intervals of leisure are filled by the
society of real friends, whose affections are not thinned to cob-web,
by being spread over a thousand objects. This is the picture, in the
light it is presented to my mind; now let me have it in yours. If we do
not concur this year, we shall the next; or if not then, in a year or
two more. You see I am determined not to suppose myself mistaken.
To let you see that Paris is not changed in its pursuits, since it was
honored with your presence, I send you its monthly history. But this
relating only to the embellishments of their persons, I must add, that
those of the city go on well also. A new bridge, for example, is begun
at the Place Louis Quinze; the old ones are clearing off the rubbish
which encumbered them in the form of houses; new hospitals erecting;
magnificent walls of inclosure, and Custom-houses at their entrances,
&c., &c., &c. I know of no interesting change among those whom you
honored with your acquaintance, unless Monsieur de Saint James was of
that number. His bankruptcy, and taking asylum in the Bastile, have
furnished matter of astonishment. His garden, at the Pont de Neuilly,
where, on seventeen acres of ground, he had laid out fifty thousand
louis, will probably sell for somewhat less money. The workmen of Paris
are making rapid strides towards English perfection. Would you believe,
that in the course of the last two years, they have learned even to
surpass their London rivals in some articles? Commission me to have you
a phaeton made, and, if it is not as much handsomer than a London one,
as that is than a _Fiacre_, send it back to me. Shall I fill the box
with caps, bonnets, &c.? Not of my own choosing, but--I was going to
say, of Mademoiselle Bertin's, forgetting, for the moment, that she too
is a bankrupt. They shall be chosen then by whom you please; or, if you
are altogether nonplused by her eclipse, we will call an _Assemblée des
Notables_ to help you out of the difficulty, as is now the fashion. In
short, honor me with your commands of any kind, and they shall be
faithfully executed. The packets now established from Havre to New
York, furnish good opportunities of sending whatever you wish.
I shall end where I began, like a Paris day, reminding you of your
engagement to write me a letter of respectable length, an engagement
the more precious to me, as it has furnished the occasion, after
presenting my respects to Mr. Bingham, of assuring you of the sincerity
of those sentiments of esteem and respect with which I have the honor
to be, dear Madam, your most obedient, and most humble servant.