[Footnote 1: He is here dating according to the French custom. In
England the calendar was not rectified by the disuse of the "Old Style"
till 1752.]
Dear West,--You figure us in a set of pleasures, which, believe me, we
do not find; cards and eating are so universal, that they absorb all
variation of pleasures. The operas, indeed, are much frequented three
times a week; but to me they would be a greater penance than eating
maigre: their music resembles a gooseberry tart as much as it does
harmony. We have not yet been at the Italian playhouse; scarce any one
goes there. Their best amusement, and which, in some parts, beats ours,
is the comedy; three or four of the actors excel any we have: but then
to this nobody goes, if it is not one of the fashionable nights; and
then they go, be the play good or bad--except on Molière's nights, whose
pieces they are quite weary of. Gray and I have been at the Avare
to-night: I cannot at all commend their performance of it. Last night I
was in the Place de Louis le Grand (a regular octagon, uniform, and the
houses handsome, though not so large as Golden Square), to see what they
reckoned one of the finest burials that ever was in France. It was the
Duke de Tresmes, governor of Paris and marshal of France. It began on
foot from his palace to his parish-church, and from thence in coaches to
the opposite end of Paris, to be interred in the church of the
Celestins, where is his family-vault. About a week ago we happened to
see the grave digging, as we went to see the church, which is old and
small, but fuller of fine ancient monuments than any, except St. Denis,
which we saw on the road, and excels Westminster; for the windows are
all painted in mosaic, and the tombs as fresh and well preserved as if
they were of yesterday. In the Celestins' church is a votive column to
Francis II., which says, that it is one assurance of his being
immortalized, to have had the martyr Mary Stuart for his wife. After
this long digression, I return to the burial, which was a most vile
thing. A long procession of flambeaux and friars; no plumes, trophies,
banners, led horses, scutcheons, or open chariots; nothing but
friars,
White, black, and grey, with all their trumpery.
This godly ceremony began at nine at night, and did not finish till
three this morning; for, each church they passed, they stopped for a
hymn and holy water. By the bye, some of these choice monks, who watched
the body while it lay in state, fell asleep one night, and let the
tapers catch fire of the rich velvet mantle lined with ermine and
powdered with gold flower-de-luces, which melted the lead coffin, and
burnt off the feet of the deceased before it wakened them. The French
love show; but there is a meanness reigns through it all. At the house
where I stood to see this procession, the room was hung with crimson
damask and gold, and the windows were mended in ten or a dozen places
with paper. At dinner they give you three courses; but a third of the
dishes is patched up with salads, butter, puff-paste, or some such
miscarriage of a dish. None, but Germans, wear fine clothes; but their
coaches are tawdry enough for the wedding of Cupid and Psyche. You would
laugh extremely at their signs: some live at the Y grec, some at Venus's
toilette, and some at the sucking cat. You would not easily guess their
notions of honour: I'll tell you one: it is very dishonourable for any
gentleman not to be in the army, or in the king's service as they call
it, and it is no dishonour to keep public gaming-houses: there are at
least a hundred and fifty people of the first quality in Paris who live
by it. You may go into their houses at all hours of the night, and find
hazard, pharaoh, &c. The men who keep the hazard-table at the Duke de
Gesvres' pay him twelve guineas each night for the privilege. Even the
princesses of the blood are dirty enough to have shares in the banks
kept at their houses. We have seen two or three of them; but they are
not young, nor remarkable but for wearing their red of a deeper dye than
other women, though all use it extravagantly.
The weather is still so bad, that we have not made any excursions to see
Versailles and the environs, not even walked in the Tuileries; but we
have seen almost everything else that is worth seeing in Paris, though
that is very considerable. They beat us vastly in buildings, both in
number and magnificence. The tombs of Richelieu and Mazarin at the
Sorbonne and the College de Quatre Nations are wonderfully fine,
especially the former. We have seen very little of the people
themselves, who are not inclined to be propitious to strangers,
especially if they do not play and speak the language readily. There are
many English here: Lord Holdernesse, Conway and Clinton, and Lord George
Bentinck; Mr. Brand, Offley, Frederic, Frampton, Bonfoy, &c. Sir John
Cotton's son and a Mr. Vernon of Cambridge passed through Paris last
week. We shall stay here about a fortnight longer, and then go to Rheims
with Mr. Conway for two or three months. When you have nothing else to
do, we shall be glad to hear from you; and any news. If we did not
remember there was such a place as England, we should know nothing of
it: the French never mention it, unless it happens to be in one of their
proverbs. Adieu!
Yours ever.
To-morrow we go to the Cid. They have no farces, but _petites pièces_
like our 'Devil to Pay.'
_MAGNIFICENCE OF VERSAILLES--THE CHARTREUX RELICS._