Feign not an ignorance of what I speak;
You could not miss my meaning were it Greek:
'Tis the same language Belgium utter'd first,
The same which from admiring Gallia burst.
True sentiment a like expression pours;
Each country says the same to eyes like yours.
[Footnote 1: Boswell records Mr. Beauclerk's account of his introduction
of this lady to Johnson: "When Mme. de Boufflers was first in England
she was desirous to see Johnson. I accordingly went with her to his
chambers in the Temple, where she was entertained with his conversation
for some time. When our visit was over, she and I left him, and were got
into Inner Temple Lane, when, all at once, I heard a noise like thunder.
This was occasioned by Johnson, who, it seems, upon a little
recollection, had taken it into his head that he ought to have done the
honours of his literary residence to a foreign lady of quality, and,
eager to show himself a man of gallantry, was hurrying down the
staircase in evident agitation. He overtook us before we reached the
Temple Gate, and brushing in between me and Mme. de Boufflers, seized
her hand and conducted her to her coach. His dress was a rusty brown
morning suit, a pair of old shoes by way of slippers, a little
shrivelled wig sticking on the top of his head, and the sleeves of his
shirt and the knees of his breeches hanging loose. A considerable crowd
of people gathered round, and were not a little struck by this singular
appearance" (vol. ii., ann. 1775.)]
[Footnote 2: This gentleman was at this time secretary to the Duc de
Nivernois. For many years he dressed in woman's clothes, and the
question of his sex was made the subject of many wagers and trials both
in England and France.]
[Footnote 3: M. Duclos was an author of good repute as a novelist, and
one of the contributors to the "Dictionnaire de l'Academie."]
You will comprehend that the first speaks English, and that the second
does not; that the second is handsome, and the first not; and that the
second was born in Holland. This little gentilesse pleased, and atoned
for the popery of my house, which was not serious enough for Madame de
Boufflers, who is Montmorency, _et du sang du premier Chrétien_; and too
serious for Madame Dusson, who is a Dutch Calvinist. The latter's
husband was not here, nor Drumgold, who have both got fevers, nor the
Duc de Nivernois, who dined at Claremont. The Gallery is not advanced
enough to give them any idea at all, as they are not apt to go out of
their way for one; but the Cabinet, and the glory of yellow glass at
top, which had a charming sun for a foil, did surmount their
indifference, especially as they were animated by the Duchess of
Grafton, who had never happened to be here before, and who perfectly
entered into the air of enchantment and fairyism, which is the tone of
the place, and was peculiarly so to-day--_apropos_, when do you design
to come hither? Let me know, that I may have no measures to interfere
with receiving you and your grandsons.
Before Lord Bute ran away, he made Mr. Bentley[1] a Commissioner of the
Lottery; I don't know whether a single or a double one: the latter,
which I hope it is, is two hundred a-year.
[Footnote 1: Mr. Bentley, who was an occasional correspondent of
Walpole, was a son of the great Master of Trinity College, Cambridge.]
_Thursday 19th_.
I am ashamed of myself to have nothing but a journal of pleasures to
send you; I never passed a more agreeable day than yesterday. Miss
Pelham gave the French an entertainment at Esher;[1] but they have been
so feasted and amused, that none of them were well enough, or reposed
enough, to come, but Nivernois and Madame Dusson. The rest of the
company were, the Graftons, Lady Rockingham, Lord and Lady Pembroke,
Lord and Lady Holdernesse, Lord Villiers, Count Woronzow the Russian
minister, Lady Sondes, Mr. and Miss Mary Pelham, Lady Mary Coke, Mrs.
Anne Pitt, and Mr. Shelley. The day was delightful, the scene
transporting; the trees, lawns, concaves, all in the perfection in which
the ghost of Kent[2] would joy to see them. At twelve we made the tour
of the farm in eight chaises and calashes, horsemen, and footmen,
setting out like a picture of Wouverman's. My lot fell in the lap of
Mrs. Anne Pitt, which I could have excused, as she was not at all in
the style of the day, romantic, but political. We had a magnificent
dinner, cloaked in the modesty of earthenware; French horns and hautboys
on the lawn. We walked to the Belvidere on the summit of the hill, where
a theatrical storm only served to heighten the beauty of the landscape,
a rainbow on a dark cloud falling precisely behind the tower of a
neighbouring church, between another tower and the building at
Claremont. Monsieur de Nivernois, who had been absorbed all day, and
lagging behind, translating my verses, was delivered of his version, and
of some more lines which he wrote on Miss Pelham in the Belvidere, while
we drank tea and coffee. From thence we passed into the wood, and the
ladies formed a circle on chairs before the mouth of the cave, which was
overhung to a vast height with woodbines, lilacs, and laburnums, and
dignified by the tall shapely cypresses. On the descent of the hill were
placed the French horns; the abigails, servants, and neighbours
wandering below by the river; in short, it was Parnassus, as Watteau
would have painted it. Here we had a rural syllabub, and part of the
company returned to town; but were replaced by Giardini and Onofrio, who
with Nivernois on the violin, and Lord Pembroke on the bass, accompanied
Miss Pelham, Lady Rockingham, and the Duchess of Grafton, who sang. This
little concert lasted till past ten; then there were minuets, and as we
had seven couple left, it concluded with a country dance. I blush again,
for I danced, but was kept in countenance by Nivernois, who has one
wrinkle more than I have. A quarter after twelve they sat down to
supper, and I came home by a charming moonlight. I am going to dine in
town, and to a great ball with fireworks at Miss Chudleigh's, but I
return hither on Sunday, to bid adieu to this abominable Arcadian life;
for really when one is not young, one ought to do nothing but
_s'ennuyer_; I will try, but I always go about it awkwardly. Adieu!
[Footnote 1: "_Esher._" Claremont, at Esher, now the property of the
Queen, and residence of the Duchess of Albany, at this time belonged to
the Duke of Newcastle, Miss Pelham's uncle.]
[Footnote 2: Kent was the great landscape gardener of the last
generation.]
P.S.--I enclose a copy of both the English and French verses.