1764-1765. Æt. 53-54.
The French and English Society of Hume's day--Reasons of his
warm reception in France--Society in which he moved--Mixture
of lettered men with the Aristocracy--Madame Geoffrin--Madame
Du Page de Boccage--Madame Du Deffand--Mademoiselle De
L'Espinasse--D'Alembert--Turgot--The Prince of Conti--Notices
of Hume among the Parisians--Walpole in Paris--Resumption of
the Correspondence--Hume undertakes the management of Elliot's
sons--Reminiscences of home--Mrs. Cockburn--Adam Smith--Madame
De Boufflers and the Prince of Conti--Correspondence with Lord
Elibank.
There were many things to make the social position he obtained in France
infinitely gratifying to Hume. Even his good birth was no claim to
admission on a position of liberal familiarity with the higher
aristocracy of England. His descent from a line of Scottish lairds would
be insufficient in the eyes of the Walpoles, Russels, and Seymours, to
distinguish him from the common herd of men who could put on a laced
waistcoat and powdered wig, and command decent treatment from the
lackeys in their ante-chambers. His claims rested on his Literary rank;
and the extent to which such claims might be admitted was fixed by
Hereditary rank at its own discretion. It might cordially receive them
one day, and repel them with cold disdain on another. In this doubtful
and partial recognition, Hume would find himself in the motley crowd of
those who force themselves, or are partly welcomed, into these high
places--dissipated men of genius, underbred men of riches, hardworking,
pertinacious politicians; persons with whom his finely trained mind, his
reserve, and his habit of mixing in a refined though small society of
Scotsmen, would not easily harmonize.
In France matters were widely different; there he was at once warmly and
affectionately received into the bosom of a society to which many of the
supercilious English aristocracy would have sought for admission in
vain. In England no distinct palpable barrier surrounded the
distinguished group. The multitude clamorously asserted an equality. In
default of other qualities, impudence and perseverance were sometimes
sufficient to force admission. In these circumstances, each member of
the privileged classes guarded his own portion of the arena as well as
he might, and the intruder had to fight battle after battle, and contest
every inch of ground he gained.
It seems as if in France the very rigidness with which the select circle
was fortified was the reason why those admitted within it were placed so
thoroughly at their ease. The aristocracy could open the door, look
about them, and invite an individual to enter, without fearing to
encounter a general rush for admission. There was much evil of every
kind in that circle; we have not to deal here with its inward morality,
but its outward form, and it certainly deserves to be remembered as one
of the most memorable instances in which, on any large scale, the
aristocracy of rank and wealth has met the aristocracy of letters
without restraint. The quality of shining in conversation was not to be
despised by the greatest in wealth, or the highest in the peerage; and
their efforts were measured with those of the first wits of the time. To
an aristocracy which could thus amuse itself, it was a great luxury to
be surrounded by men of thought and learning. The courtier who could
open his salon to the wits and philosophers of Paris, was far more
dependant on their presence than they were on the privilege of
admission. If a Barthélemi, a Marmontel, a Condillac, saw cause to
desert the suppers of D'Holbach, they would be received at those of the
Duc de Praslin or de Choiseul, the Prince of Conti, and Madame du
Deffand; but how were such departed stars to be replaced?[209:1]
There is perhaps no more striking type of the character and condition
of the Parisian coteries than one of Hume's most intimate friends,
Madame Geoffrin. In this country, were an uneducated woman to frame and
lead a social party, including the first in rank and in talent of the
day, to which no one under royalty was too great not to deem admission a
privilege; were she to be absolute in her admissions and exclusions,
bold in her sarcasms, free and blunt often to rudeness in her
observations and opinions, and severe or kind to all by turns as her own
choice or caprice suggested, it would be at once pronounced that the
reddest blood and the highest rank could alone produce such an anomaly.
A very small number of eminent duchesses have perhaps occupied such a
position in this country. Yet Madame Geoffrin, who acted this part to
the full among the fastidious aristocracy of France before the
revolution, was the daughter of a valet-de-chambre and the widow of a
glass manufacturer. The foundation of her influence was her success in
making herself the centre of a circle of artists and men of letters. She
was much in the confidence of Madame De Tencin, and on that lady's death
succeeded in transferring to herself what remained of her distinguished
society, dimmed as it was by the departure of Montesquieu and
Fontenelle. Madame Geoffrin by activity and energy widened the circle.
She never made visits herself, and those who had the privilege of
entering her dining-room on her public days, found there assembled
D'Alembert, Helvétius, Raynal, Marmontel, Caraccioli, Holbach, Galliani,
and the artist Vanloo. During the British embassy, David Hume, the great
philosopher from the far North, might there be met; and when all other
attempts had perhaps failed, some chance of encountering such an erratic
meteor as Rousseau still remained in attending Madame Geoffrin's
Wednesday dinner. Having once, by her signal wit and wisdom, gained her
position, no obtrusive rivals from her own deserted class could push
near enough to drive her from it. It is not the least admirable feature
of this remarkable woman, that far from assuming the subdued and
cautious tone of one of her own rank, who must be more wary than a
denizen of committing breaches of the social rules of her new cast, a
simplicity and freedom seems to have accompanied all her actions and
ideas; a courageous adoption of what seemed good to her in place of what
might be fit. Her letters, in their severe diction, give some notion of
the writer's character, but cannot convey so full an impression as when
they are presented in the bold, irregular, and most "unlady-like" hand
in which they are scribbled.[211:1]
The pleasant retailers of the literary chit-chat of that time,
Marmontel, Grimm, Bauchemont, and others, are full of details of Madame
Geoffrin, who, if she was not quite as formally approached as Boufflers,
or Deffand, was as much respected, loved, and feared. The author of the
"Contes Moraux," tells us some of the weaknesses of this gifted lady;
and, according to his account, she had been actually convicted, living
as she was outwardly in the freest society in the world, of a turn for
secret devotion! "Elle avait un apartement dans un couvent de
religieuses et une tribune à l'Eglise des Capucins,--mais avec autant de
mystère que les femmes galantes de ce temps-là avaient des petites
maisons." The picture would be sufficiently ludicrous, were it not for
the darker features presented by a state of society, where no one should
venture to be pious except under pain of being exterminated with
ridicule.
There was one matter as to which Madame Geoffrin was timid and cautious;
she never meddled with matters of state or unsafe political opinions,
and was induced to discountenance those who did so. Surrounded by
restless and inquiring spirits, she often dreaded being compromised by
their conduct; and was especially uneasy at any time when the Bastille
sheltered a more than usual number of those whose wit was wont to flash
round her board. But her guests have recorded, that if there was a
little saddened and earnest gravity in her deportment, when she received
them after such naughty affairs, she abated nothing of her old kindness.
Her good heart indeed was after all her noblest quality. She was one of
those who held the simple notion, that were it not for the judicious
distribution of favours by the rich, the poor, including artisans and
producers of all kinds, must necessarily die of starvation. She was thus
in the midst of an extensive distribution of charities, actively
occupied in the _encouragement_ of those who lived by the sweat of their
brow; and if she believed that she accomplished much more than she
actually did, it was a satisfaction not to be grudged to one who
occupied herself with the fortunes of the poor, in the midst of the
stony indifference of the French aristocracy of that day.
Another lady, a friend and correspondent of Hume, Madame le Page du
Boccage, endeavoured to rival Madame Geoffrin as a centre of attraction;
but though she possessed, along with wealth, both rank and beauty, she
was unsuccessful, on account of the presence of a third
quality--authorship. The wits must praise her bad poetry if they
frequented her house, and where so many other doors were open without
such a condition, they abandoned it. "Elle était d'une figure aimable,"
says Grimm, "elle est bonne femme; elle est riche; elle pouvait fixer
chez elle les gens d'esprit et de bonne compagnie, sans les mettre dans
l'embarras de lui parler avec peu de sincérité de sa _Colombiade_ ou de
ses _Amazones_."[213:1]
Perhaps of all these eminent women, while Madame de Boufflers had the
greatest amount of elegance and accomplishment, Madame du Deffand had
the sharpest and most searching wit. She was the author of that
proverbial _bon mot_ about St. Denis carrying his head under his arm,
_il n'y a que le premier pas qui coûte_; a saying sufficient to make a
reputation in France. Madame du Deffand does not appear to have been a
correspondent of Hume, nor, though they occasionally met, does much
cordiality seem to have subsisted between them.[214:1] The aveugle
clairvoyante, as Voltaire aptly called her, in allusion to her blindness
and her wit, thought that she discovered in Hume a worshipper at another
shrine. She wrote to Walpole expressing her disgust of those who paid
court to Madame de Boufflers, at the same time, only just not stating,
in express terms, how much they were mistaken in not transferring their
obsequiousness to herself.[214:2] She, certainly an object of pity from
her blindness, was still more so in her own discontented spirit. The
days which tranquil ease and the attentions of kind friends might have
soothed, were disturbed by restless vanity, an intense desire to
interfere with the doings of that world which she could not see,
dissipation, and literary wrangles.
One remarkable person, an offshoot of Madame du Deffand's circle, and
driven forth from it to raise an empire of her own, was Mademoiselle de
L'Espinasse. Hume and she met frequently in Paris, and they subsequently
corresponded together. She was an illegitimate child, who, having been
well educated, had been adopted by Madame du Deffand as her companion,
and the minister for supplying, as far as possible, her lost sense of
sight. Mademoiselle had to be present at those displays of intellect
which illuminated the table of her mistress. It soon began to transpire
that the humble drudge possessed a soul of fire; and taking part in the
conversation, her remarks rose as she acquired confidence and ease, into
an originality of thought, fulness of judgment, and rich eloquence of
language, which fascinated the senses of those veteran champions in the
arena of intellect. Thus many of those who went to offer their incense
to a woman old and blind, were constrained to bestow some of it on one
"young in years, but in sage counsel old," who had little more outward
claim on their admiration; for Mademoiselle de L'Espinasse was naturally
plain, and was deeply marked with smallpox. The patroness did not
present herself till six o'clock in the evening; to her who knew no
difference between light and darkness it was morning. She often found
that her protégée had been entertaining the guests for an hour, and that
they had come early to enjoy her conversation. This was treason--an
overt tampering with the allegiance of the followers; and the
subordinate was driven forth with contumely.
It is not easy to decide which party, if either, was in the right;
though the memoir writers in general take the part of Mademoiselle de
L'Espinasse. Far from being made a homeless wanderer by the dismissal,
she was immediately supplied with a house and furniture by her friends,
who obtained for her a pension from the crown. On these means she
founded a rival establishment of her own; and surrounded herself with an
intellectual circle, which seems to have more than rivalled in
brilliancy that from which she was dismissed. D'Alembert was told that
if he countenanced the new idol, he must bid farewell to his former
patroness. He at once joined the party of the young aspirant. He became
dangerously ill, and Mademoiselle de L'Espinasse nursed him with the
untiring affection of a wife or a daughter. The philosopher, whose
humble dwelling was found to be on too sordid a scale to be consistent
with health, thenceforth took up his abode with his young friend. Hume
must have witnessed the rise of this new connexion, for it was during
his residence in Paris that D'Alembert's illness took place, and it is
the object of occasional anxious allusion by his Parisian
acquaintance.[216:1]
Though the circumstances in which he passed his earlier days were not
likely to nourish such a taste, no man seems to have been more dependant
on the presence of an educated and intellectual female than the
secretary of the Academy. There is little doubt that the new attachment
was of a Platonic character; but it boded evil to both parties. The
lady, if she had some portion of the purer affections of the soul to
bestow upon the sage, had warmer feelings for likelier objects; and her
frame sunk before the consuming fires of more than one passion.[218:1]
She was carried to an early grave, and the mortifications, caused by her
alienation, followed by grief for her death, broke the spirit, and
imbittered and enfeebled the latter days of the philosopher. Hume seems
to have established a closer friendship with D'Alembert than with any of
his other contemporaries in France; and he left a memorial of his regard
for the encyclopediast in his will. Unlike, in many respects, they had
some features in common. D'Alembert's personal character, and the habits
of his life, had, like his philosophy, the dignity of simplicity. His
figure, and still more his voice, were the objects of much malicious
sarcasm; but cruel jests could not make his fragile body less the
tenement of a noble spirit; or his shrill puny voice less the instrument
of great and bold thoughts. His mind stands forth in strong relief from
the frippery of that age; while his writings contain no marks of that
reckless infidelity which distinguishes the productions of his fellow
labourers. In some of those follies, so prevalent that a man utterly
free of them, must have courted the charge of eccentricity, if not of
insanity, he partook; but moderately and reluctantly, as one suited for
a better time and a nobler sphere of exertion. In the quarrel with
Rousseau, he adopted the cause of Hume with honest zeal. He wrote many
letters to Hume, which are still preserved. They perhaps, in some
measure, exhibit the least amiable feature of his character--his
bitterness, it might be almost termed hatred, towards Madame du Deffand,
on account of her conduct to his own friend.
It is unnecessary to discourse, at any length, on the distinguished
men--including the names of Buffon, Malesherbes, Diderot, Crébillon,
Morellet, Helvétius, Holbach, Hénault, Raynal, Suard, La Condamine, and
De Brosses, who courted Hume's company in France. Next to D'Alembert,
his closest friendship seems to have been with the honest and thoughtful
statesman, Turgot; who, in the midst of that reckless whirl of vanity,
was already looking far into the future, and predicting, from the
disorganized and menacing condition of the elements of French society,
the storm that was to come. He wrote many letters to Hume, containing
remarks on matters of statesmanship and political economy, which are of
great interest in a historical and economical view, especially in one
instance, where he notices the want of any common principle of
sympathies and interests connecting the aristocracy with the people, and
reflects on the dangerous consequences of such a state of matters to the
peace of Europe.
There are many circumstances showing that much as he loved the social
ease, combined with learning and wit, for which his Parisian circle was
conspicuous, he disliked one prominent feature of that social
system--the scornful infidelity, the almost intolerance of any thing
like earnest belief, so often exhibited, both in speech and conduct. Sir
Samuel Romilly has preserved the following curious statement by
Diderot:--"He spoke of his acquaintance with Hume. 'Je vous dirai un
trait de lui, mais il vous sera un peu scandaleux peut-être, car vous
Anglais vous croyez _un peu_ en Dieu; pour nous autres nous n'y croyons
guères. Hume dîna avec une grande compagnie chez le Baron D'Holbach. Il
était assis à côté du Baron; on parla de la religion naturelle: 'Pour
les Athées,' disait Hume, 'je ne crois pas qu'il en existe; je n'en ai
jamais vu.' 'Vous avez été un peu malheureux,' répondit l'autre, 'vous
voici à table avec dix-sept pour la première fois.'"[220:1]
The secretary's residence in the metropolis was occasionally varied by
official sojourns to Fontainbleau, or Compiègne, a visit to the Duchesse
de Barbantane at Villers Cotterets, or an excursion with Madame de
Boufflers and the Prince of Conti to L'Ile-Adam. That rural seat of
princely magnificence and hospitality is a familiar name in the memoirs
of the times; and particularly in those of Madame de Genlis. It is
singular, indeed, that this lady never mentions Hume, though she appears
to have been living in the castle at the time when he visited it. The
Prince of Conti was in every way possessed of the external
qualifications which, in the eyes of his countrymen, were then the
proper ornaments of his high station. He was brave, a distinguished
military leader, generous, extravagant, gallant, and a lover of
literature and the arts.[221:1] There was probably little in such a
character to rival a Turgot, or a D'Alembert in Hume's esteem; but
his intercourse with this prince, as with De Rohan, De Choiseul, and
others, would be of a more limited and formal character.[221:2] His
influence with courtiers and statesmen, however, appears to have been
considerable. In the letters addressed to him there are several
instances where French people solicit his interposition with the great:
thus, Madame Helvétius desires his good offices to procure an abbaye for
her friend and neighbour the Abbé "Macdonalt," of an illustrious Irish
family.[222:1] One lady, seeking ecclesiastical patronage, tells him
that the clergy will have more pleasure in doing him a favour than in
performing the functions of their office!
Hume has thus recorded in his "own life" the impression left on him by
his reception in Paris:--"Those who have not seen the strange effects of
modes, will never imagine the reception I met with at Paris, from men
and women of all ranks and stations. The more I resiled from their
excessive civilities, the more I was loaded with them. There is,
however, a real satisfaction in living at Paris; from the great number
of sensible, knowing, and polite company with which that city abounds
above all places in the universe. I thought once of settling there for
life." If he thought that he could have taken up his residence in Paris,
and preserved for the remainder of his days the fresh bloom of his
reputation, he was undoubtedly mistaken; but, dazzled as he in some
measure was, we can see in his correspondence that he estimated the
sensation he made pretty nearly at its just value. In the circle of
toys, seized and discarded, by a giddy fashionable crowd, philosophy
will have its turn, as well as poodles, parrots, tulips, monkeys, cafés,
and black pages. It had been so a century earlier, when the most
abstruse works of Des Cartes had been the ornament of every fashionable
lady's toilette; and now the wheel had revolved and philosophy was again
in vogue.
A second time we have Lord Charlemont affording us a passing sketch of
Hume. Having had an opportunity of witnessing the philosopher's
reception in France, he says:--
"From what has been already said of him, it is apparent that
his conversation to strangers, and particularly to Frenchmen,
could be little delightful, and still more particularly, one
would suppose, to French women: and yet no lady's toilette was
complete without Hume's attendance. At the opera his broad
unmeaning face was usually seen _entre deux jolis minois_. The
ladies in France gave the ton, and the ton was deism: a
species of philosophy ill suited to the softer sex, in whose
delicate frame weakness is interesting, and timidity a
charm. . . . . How my friend Hume was able to endure the
encounter of these French female Titans, I know not. In
England, either his philosophic pride or his conviction that
infidelity was ill suited to women, made him perfectly averse
from the initiation of ladies into the mysteries of his
doctrine."[223:1]
The same characteristics are recorded by Grimm.[223:2] We have his
position still more vividly painted by Madame d'Epinay, according to
whom he must have undergone not a small portion of the martyrdom of
lionism. One of the "rages" of the day was the holding of cafés, or
giving entertainments in private houses, according to the arrangements
and etiquette of a public café. Among the amusements of the evening were
pantomimes, and acted tableaux. In these it was necessary that Hume
should take a _rôle_, and as he was always willing to conform to
established regulations, we find him seated as a sultan between two
obdurate beauties, intending to strike his bosom, but aiming the blows
at _le ventre_, and accompanying his acting with characteristic
exclamations.[224:1]
Hume's popularity in Paris appears to have somewhat disturbed Horace
Walpole's equanimity. He was too good an artist to be very angry, or to
express himself in terms of aggravated bitterness; but it is clear from
occasional notices, that, notwithstanding his professed admiration of
Scotsmen, it displeased him to find Hume the Scotsman sitting at the
king's gate. Writing to Lady Hervey on 14th Sept. 1765, he says, "Mr.
Hume, that is _the mode_, asked much about your ladyship."[225:1] Then
to Montague, on the 22d of the same month, and in allusion to the
conversation of the dinner-table in Paris:
For literature, it is very amusing when one has nothing else
to do. I think it rather pedantic in society: tiresome when
displayed professedly; and, besides, in this country, one is
sure it is only the fashion of the day. Their taste in it is
the worst of all; could one believe, that when they read our
authors, Richardson and Mr. Hume should be their favourites?
The latter is treated here with perfect veneration. His
History, so falsified in many points, so partial in as many,
so very unequal in its parts, is thought the standard of
writing.[225:2]
Thus, and in the like strain, do the French suffer in his good opinion,
for their offence in making an idol of Hume. So, on the 3d October, when
writing to Mr. Chute,--
Their authors, who by the way are every where, are worse than
their own writings, which I don't mean as a compliment to
either. In general, the style of conversation is solemn,
pedantic, and seldom animated, but by a dispute. I was
expressing my aversion to disputes: Mr. Hume, who very
gratefully admires the tone of Paris, having never known any
other tone, said with great surprise, "Why, what do you like,
if you hate both disputes and whisk?"[225:3]
Then, on the 19th of the same month, to Mr. Brand:
I assure you, you may come hither very safely, and be in no
danger from mirth. Laughing is as much out of fashion as
pantins and bilboquets. Good folks, they have no time to
laugh. There is God and the king to be pulled down first; and
men and women, one and all, are devoutly employed in the
demolition. They think me quite profane for having any belief
left. But this is not my only crime; I have told them, and am
undone by it, that they have taken from us to admire the two
dullest things we had--Whisk and Richardson. It is very true
that they want nothing but George Grenville to make their
conversations, or rather dissertations, the most tiresome upon
earth. For Lord Lyttelton, if he would come hither, and turn
freethinker once more, he would be reckoned the most agreeable
man in France,--next to Mr. Hume, who is the only thing in the
world that they believe implicitly, which they must do, for I
defy them to understand any language that he speaks.[226:1]
At this time Adam Smith was travelling in France, with his pupil, the
young Duke of Buccleuch. On 5th July, 1764, he writes from Toulouse,
requesting Hume to give him and his pupil introductions to distinguished
Frenchmen, the Duc de Richelieu, the Marquis de Lorges, &c. He says,
that Mr. Townsend had assured him of these and other introductions, from
the Duc de Choiseul, but that none had made their appearance in that
quarter. Smith seems to have been heartily tired of the glittering
bondage of his tutorship, and to have sighed for the academic
conviviality he had left behind him at Glasgow. He says:--
"The Duke is acquainted with no Frenchman whatever. I cannot cultivate
the acquaintance of the few with whom I am acquainted, as I cannot bring
them to our house, and am not always at liberty to go to theirs. The
life which I led at Glasgow, was a pleasureable dissipated life in
comparison of that which I lead here at present. I have begun to write a
book, in order to pass away the time. You may believe I have very little
to do. If Sir James would come and spend a month with us in his travels,
it would not only be a great satisfaction to me, but he might, by his
influence and example, be of great service to the Duke."[228:1]
There is little doubt that the book he had begun to write, was the
"Wealth of Nations:" and we have here probably the earliest announcement
of his employing himself in that work. On the 21st of October, he writes
from Toulouse, stating that the letters of introduction had reached
him, and that his noble pupil was well received. He says, "Our
expedition to Bourdeaux, and another we have made since to Bagneres, has
made a great change upon the Duke. He begins now to familiarize himself
to French company; and I flatter myself I shall spend the rest of the
time we are to live together, not only in peace and contentment, but in
great amusement."
Amidst the multiplied attractions of Paris, Hume's thoughts were often
turned to his native city, and the circle of kind friends and admirers
he had there left behind him. Such reminiscences of home doings as are
contained in the following letters, would doubtless ensure his warm
attention. On 1st July, Blair writes:
Robertson has, of late, had worse health than usual, which has
somewhat interrupted his studies. He talked once of a trip to
France this season; but his want of the language is so
discouraging, as seems to have made him lay aside thoughts of
it for the present. It will be a twelvemonth more, I suppose,
before his Charles V. shall see the light.
I dined this day with Sir James Macdonald, on whose praises I
need not expatiate to you. Much conversation we had about you;
and a great deal I heard of your flourishing state. You write
concerning it yourself, like a philosopher and a man of sense.
The first splendour and eclat of such situations soon loses
its lustre, and often, as you found it, is burdensome. Ease
and agreeable society are the only things that last and
remain; and these, now that you are quite naturalized, and
have formed habits of life, I imagine you enjoy in a very
comfortable degree. The society at Paris, to one who has all
your advantages for enjoying it in its perfection, is, I am
fully convinced, from all that I have heard, the most
agreeable in the whole world.
Our education here is at present in high reputation. The
Englishes are crowding down upon us every season, and I wish
may not come to hurt us at the last.[229:1]
Jardine writes, on 1st August:--
I have attempted, four or five times, to write to you but this
poor church has, for some time past, been in such danger, that
I could never find time for it. She has employed all my
thoughts and care for these twelve months past. The enemy had
kindled such a flame, that the old burning bush was like to
have been consumed altogether. I know it will give you
pleasure to hear that my endeavours to preserve her have been
crowned with success. She begins to shine forth with her
ancient lustre; and will very soon be, not only fair as the
sun, but, to all her enemies, terrible as an army with
banners.[230:1]
It is pleasing to find one whose name has been so much associated with
the later school of our national literature, as Mrs. Cockburn, the early
friend of Scott, enjoying the intimacy of the sages of the philosophical
age of Scottish letters. This accomplished lady, well known as the
authoress of one of the versions of "The Flowers of the Forest," was a
correspondent of Hume. A few of her letters have been preserved; and the
following are her free and animated remarks on Hume's flattering
reception in France,--remarks written in the full assurance that neither
adulation nor prosperity would diminish the regard of that simple manly
heart, for the chosen friends he had left in his native soil.
From the bleak hills of the north, from the uncultured
daughter of Caledon, will the adored sage of France deign to
receive a few lines: they come from the _heart_ of a friend,
and will be delivered by the _hand_ of an enemy. Which, O man
of mode, is most indifferent to thee? Insensible thou art
alike to gratitude or resentment; fit for the country that
worships thee. Thou art equally insensible to love or hate. A
momentary applause, ill begot, and worse brought up,--an
abortion, a fame not founded on truth,--have bewitched thee,
and thou hast forgot those who, overlooking thy errors, saved
thy worth. Idol of Gaul, I worship thee not. The very cloven
foot, for which thou art worshipped, I despise: yet I remember
_thee_ with affection. I remember that, in spite of vain
philosophy, of dark doubts, of toilsome learning, God had
stamped his image of benignity so strong upon thy _heart_,
that not all the labours of thy head could efface it. Idol of
a foolish people, be not puffed up; it is easy to overturn the
faith of a multitude that is ready to do evil: an apostle of
less sense might bring to that giddy nation--libertinism;
liberty they are not born to. This will be sent to you by your
good friend, Mr. Burnet; who goes much such an errand as you
have given yourself through life, viz., in search of truth;
and I believe both are equally impartial in the search;
though, indeed, he has more visible interests for darkening it
than ever you had.
_Castlehill, Baird's Close, Aug. 20th, 1764._[231:1]
HUME _to_ ANDREW MILLAR.
"_Paris, 3d September, 1764._
"It is certain that nothing could be a greater inducement to me to
continue my History, than your desiring so earnestly I should do so. I
have so great reason to be satisfied with your conduct towards me, that
I wish very much to gratify you in every thing that is practicable; and
there want not other motives to make me embrace that resolution. For,
though I think I have reason to complain of the blindness of party,
which has made the public do justice to me very slowly, and with great
reluctance, yet I find that I obtain support from many impartial people;
and hope that I shall every day have more reason to be satisfied in that
particular. But, in my present situation, it is impossible for me to
undertake such a work; and I cannot break off from Lord Hertford, as
long as he is pleased to think me useful to him. I shall not, however,
lose sight of this object; and any materials that cast up, in this
country, shall be carefully collected by me.
"I am glad you are satisfied with the publication of the new edition of
my Essays. I shall be obliged to you if you will inform yourself exactly
how many copies are now sold, both of that edition and of the octavo
edition of my History. I think both these editions very correct. I did
little more than see your friends, Mr. Buchanan and Mr. Wilson, at
Paris, and present them to Lord Hertford. We returned not from Compiegne
till a few days before they left Paris. . . . . . I think the Duchess of
Douglas has chosen well in making Mallet one of her commissioners. I
have no good opinion of that cause. Mrs. Mallet has retired into the
forest of Fontainbleau with a Macgregor. I fancy she is angry with me,
and thought herself neglected by me while in Paris. I heard of her
thrusting herself every where into companies, who endeavoured to avoid
her; and I was afraid she would have laid hold of me to enlarge her
acquaintance among the French. I have not yet executed your commission
with Mons{r}. le Roy, but shall not forget it. I am very glad that Mrs.
Millar is so good as to remember me. I shall regard it as one agreeable
circumstance attending my return to England, that you and she will have
leisure to give more of your company to your friends; and I shall always
be proud to be ranked in the number.
"The lowness of stocks surely proceeds not from any apprehension of war:
never was a general peace established in Europe with more likelihood of
its continuance; but I fancy your stocks are become at last too
weighty, to the conviction of all the world. What must happen, if we go
on at the same rate during another war? I am, with great sincerity, dear
sir, your most obedient humble servant."[233:1]
The course of correspondence with Elliot, which commences with the next
following letter, relates, in a great measure, to the disposal of his
two sons at Paris, and to their future training and education.[233:2]
There could be no better evidence of the reliance placed in Hume's
honourable principles and knowledge of the world, by those friends who
were sufficiently intimate with him, fully to appreciate his character;
while his whole conduct in the transaction shows kindness of heart, with
a warm attachment to friends, and an earnest disposition to serve them.
GILBERT ELLIOT _of Minto to_ HUME.
MY DEAR SIR,--My departure from Paris was so very sudden, that
I was obliged to leave many of my little schemes uncompleted;
and, what was still more mortifying, to see the progress of
all my growing attachments cruelly interrupted. I reached this
place just in time, though not a little retarded by the
Russian chancellor and his forty horses. Had I but foreseen
this obstruction, I might as well have set out on Wednesday
morning at two o'clock; and in that case, my dear
philosopher, what a delicious evening should I have passed in
your company.
Upon full deliberation I am determined to send you my boys, if
a tolerable place can be found for their reception. I did not
much like that talking professor, who undertakes so largely:
if nothing better can be done, pray take the trouble to renew
my negotiation with Madame Anson. Her house, though not just
what I could wish, is, however, not much amiss. I must not
lose this occasion of sending my children to France. I shall
never find any other so favourable. It will be no small
consolation to their mother, from whom they are now to be
separated for the first time, to know that we are not without
a friend in Paris, who will sometimes have an eye to their
conduct. If I am not too partial, I think you will find in
their character much native simplicity, and perhaps some
little elevation of mind. Send them back to me, my dear sir,
with the same qualities, tempered, if you will, but not
impaired by the acquisition of some few of those graces which
spread such an inexpressible charm through those societies
where even you are not ashamed to pass so many precious hours.
If you should find no leisure to give them a moment's
instruction, tell them at least to look up to the conduct and
character of a young friend of ours at Paris.[234:1] There
they will find a model, which, without hoping to equal, it
will, however, become them to copy. But, after all, what am I
about? At Paris, to have children at all, is _de plus mauvais
ton de monde_, and I forgot to inform myself, when one happens
to have them, whether it be _permitted_ to take any thought
about them. I am impatient to hear from you at London. I shall
not be long there. I desire you would take this important
business into your hands and settle it for me entirely. I will
send them over the moment you desire me, and consigned to whom
you direct,--the sooner the better: you will settle all other
particulars as you find proper. Before I conclude, allow me in
friendship also to tell you, I think I see you at present upon
the very brink of a precipice. One cannot too much clear
their mind of all little prejudices, but partiality to one's
country is not a prejudice. Love the French as much as you
will. Many of the individuals are surely the proper objects of
affection; but, above all, continue still an Englishman. You
know, better than any body, that the active powers of our mind
are much too limited to be usefully employed in any pursuit
more general than the service of that portion of mankind which
we call our country. General benevolence and private
friendship will attend a generous mind and a feeling heart,
into every country; but political attachment confines itself
to one.
Mon _fils_, sur les humains que ton ame attendrie,
Habite l'univers, mais aime sa patrie.
I have not now leisure to trouble you with the few
observations my too short stay at Paris had but imperfectly
furnished me with. Irreconcileable to the principles of their
government, I am delighted with the amenity and gentleness of
their manners. I was even pleased to find that the severity
and rigour of our English climate had not rendered me
altogether insensible to the kind impressions of a milder sky.
May I trouble you with my most cordial and sincere respects to
Lord and Lady Hertford. Some French names, too, I could
mention, but I am not vain enough to imagine that I can, upon
so short an acquaintance, have a place in their remembrance.
Believe me, very dear sir, yours very sincerely, and most
affectionately,
GILBERT ELLIOT.[235:1]
(I set out this moment.)
_Brussels, 15th September, 1764._
HUME _to_ GILBERT ELLIOT _of Minto_.
"_Paris, 22d Sept. 1764._
"As soon as I received yours from Brussels, I set on foot my inquiries.
I spoke to Abbé Hooke, to Père Gordon, to Clairaut, to Madame de Pri,
and to others, with a view of finding some proper settlement for your
young gentlemen. Every body told me, as _they_ did, of the difficulty of
succeeding in my scheme; and nothing yet has been offered me, that I
would advise you to accept of. I went to Madame Anson's, and found that
family a very decent, sensible kind of people. I came in upon them about
seven o'clock, and found a company of eight or nine persons assembled,
whose aspects pleased me very much. The only objection that occurred to
me with regard to this family, is the quarter of the town, which is not
only so unfashionable, that my coachman was astonished when I ordered
him to drive thither, but, what is worse, it is far from all walks and
places of exercise. However, it is near the university; and,
consequently, it is in that quarter where all the youth of France are
educated. If nothing better present itself, I shall conclude a bargain
with this family for a thousand crowns a-year, without firing or
washing, according to the terms proposed to you, which they said they
could not depart from. The misfortune is, that I must go to Fontainbleau
in about a fortnight, and, consequently, am straitened in my time of
inquiry; but, in all cases, I shall certainly conclude with somebody
before my departure. We stay six weeks at Fontainbleau, during which
time, if you send your sons to Paris, I shall take a journey thither to
receive them. In all cases, they must come immediately to the Hotel de
Brancas, where they will not want friends.
"I do not like the talking man more than you do; and a flattering letter
I have since received from him, does not augment my good opinion. I went
to Monsieur Bastide, he who proposed the scheme for ten thousand livres
a-year. He seems to be a genteel, well-bred man; lives in a very good
house in an excellent quarter of the town; is well spoke of by
D'Alembert and others; and has with him two very agreeable boys, Russian
princes, who speak French very well. I should have given him the
preference, had it not been the price. He asks ten thousand livres
a-year for your two sons and their governor, without supplying them
either with clothes or masters. You know his ten thousand a-piece
included all expenses. If you can resolve to go so far in point of
expense, it is the best place that occurs, or is likely to occur.
"Since I wrote the above, I went to see Mademoiselle L'Espinasse,
D'Alembert's mistress, who is really one of the most sensible women in
Paris. She told me that there could not be a worthier, honester, better
man, than Bastide. I told her that I had entertained the same opinion,
but was afraid his head-piece was none of the best. She owned that he
did not excel on that side; and a proof of it was, that he had wrote
several books, all of which were below middling. On my return home, I
found the enclosed letter from him.[237:1] I have promised him an answer
by the return of the post from England. On the whole, the chief
advantage, as it appears to me, which his house will have above Anson's,
consists in the air and situation. It lies on the skirts of the town, in
an open street near the rampart; but five thousand livres a-year is
paying too dear for the advantage.
"I cannot imagine what you mean by saying I am on a precipice. I shall
foretell to you the result of my present situation almost with as great
certainty as it is possible to employ with regard to any future event.
As soon as Lord Hertford's embassy ends, which probably may not
continue long, some zealot, whom I never saw, and never could offend,
finding me without protection, will instanter fly, with alacrity, to
strike off that pension which the king and the ministry, before I would
consent to accept of my present situation, promised should be for life.
I shall be obliged to leave Paris, which I confess I shall turn my back
to with regret. I shall go to Thoulouse or Montauban, or some provincial
town in the south of France, where I shall spend, contented, the rest of
my life, with more money, under a finer sky, and in better company than
I was born to enjoy.
"From what human motive or consideration can I prefer living in England
than in foreign countries? I believe, taking the continent of Europe,
from Petersburg to Lisbon, and from Bergen to Naples, there is not one
who ever heard of my name, who has not heard of it with advantage, both
in point of morals and genius. I do not believe there is one Englishman
in fifty, who, if he heard I had broke my neck to-night, would be sorry.
Some, because I am not a Whig; some because I am not a Christian; and
all because I am a Scotsman. Can you seriously talk of my continuing an
Englishman? Am I, or are you, an Englishman? Do they not treat with
derision our pretensions to that name, and with hatred our just
pretensions to surpass and govern them? I am a citizen of the world; but
if I were to adopt any country, it would be that in which I live at
present, and from which I am determined never to depart, unless a war
drives me into Switzerland or Italy.
"I must now inform you what passed with regard to my affair at
L'ile-Adam.[238:1] My friend showed me a letter, which she had lately
received from Lord Tavistock, by which it appears he had fallen into
great friendship, and bore a great regard to Lady Sarah Bunbury. I
instantly forbade her to write to England a line about my affair. I bear
too great a respect to her, to expose her to ask a favour, where there
was so little probability of success: thus have vanished my best hopes
of obtaining justice in this point. Here is surely no new ground of
attachment to England."[239:1]
HUME _to_ GILBERT ELLIOT _of Minto_.
"_Hotel de Brancas, 30th Sept. 1764._
"After acknowledging that I received both your letters, that from
Brussels, and that from Calais, I should be ashamed to appear before you
with so late a letter. This day fortnight, Lord March and Selwin
appointed to go off. I sent March a very long letter for you, and
enjoined him, as he lived next door to you, to deliver it the moment he
arrived; and having thus done my duty, I went very contentedly to
L'ile-Adam, where I remained for four days. On my return to Paris, I was
much surprised to hear that March, after his post-chaise was yoked, had
changed his mind, and was still in Paris. When I appeared alarmed at
this intelligence, I was told that he had sent off an express to London
with letters, which composed my mind. Next day I saw him, and he fairly
confessed, that from forgetfulness, he had not sent off my letter. I
begged him to send it to me; he promised it, delayed it, promised again,
and at last owns that he has lost it; which gives me great vexation,
both on your account, and my own, for I spoke to you with great freedom,
and am infinitely uneasy lest my letter should fall into bad
hands.[241:1] When I rail at March, I get no other reply than, 'God damn
you! if your letter was of consequence, why the devil did you trust it
to such a foolish fellow as me?' I am therefore obliged, in a great
hurry, to give you some imperfect account of what I have done. I went to
Ansons', who seem a discreet, sober set of people. I came in upon a
mixed company, whose looks pleased me: the only objection is the quarter
of the town, which is straitened; but it is near the University, and
consequently where all the youth of France are educated. I do not like
the talking man more than you; and a very flattering letter he wrote me,
helped further to disgust me. La Bastide, the 10,000 livres man, I went
to see: he seems an agreeable man, and is well spoke of; he lives in an
agreeable house, and in a good air, and has two young Russian princes
with him, who speak very good French; he offers to take your two boys
and preceptor for 8000 livres on the whole, but without paying either
clothes or master. I suppose you would not choose to pay 5000 livres
a-year, merely for the advantage of better air. I have heard a very good
character of one Eriot, professor of rhetoric in the Collège de
Beauvais, who offers to take them: they would live in the house with
him alone; but he proposes that they should go to all the classes of the
university, where they would make acquaintance with French boys, and
nobody would ever ask questions about their religion: But as I heard you
declare against their going to the university, (which yet I should
highly approve of,) I cannot make any bargain with Eriot. The misfortune
is, I go to Fontainbleau to-morrow se'ennight, and must conclude a
bargain without hearing from you, by this fine trick Lord March has
played me. It is probable, therefore, it will be with Anson, because you
yourself did not disapprove of that plan; and I should be afraid to
depart from it considerably, without your authority. If you give me
information in time, I shall come from Fontainbleau to settle your boys.
In any case make them come immediately to the Hotel de Brancas, where
they will not want friends if any of the family be in town.
"Since I wrote the above, one of my numerous scouts came to me, and told
me, that within gunshot of the Hotel de Brancas, there was to be found
all I could wish, and more than I could have imagined. It is called La
Pension Militaire. I immediately went to see it. I found there an
excellent airy house, with an open garden belonging to it. It is the
best house but one in Paris; has a prospect and access into the large
open space of the Invalids, and from thence into the fields. The number
of boys is limited to thirty-five, whom I saw in the court, in a blue
uniform with a narrow silver lace. They left off their play, and made me
a bow with the best grace in the world, as I passed. I was carried to
their master the Abbé Choquart, who appeared to me a sensible, sedate,
judicious man, agreeable to the character I had received of him. He
carried me through the boys' apartments, which were cleanly, light,
spacious, and each lay in a small bed apart. I saw a large collection of
instruments for experimental philosophy. I saw an ingenious machine for
teaching chronology. There were plans of fortification. While I was
considering these, I heard a drum beat in the court. It was the hour for
assembling the boys for their military exercises. I went down. They had
now all got on their belts, and had their muskets in their hands. They
went through all the Prussian exercises with the best air and greatest
regularity imaginable. Almost all were about your son's age, a year or
two more or less. They are the youth of the best quality in France;
their air and manners seemed to bespeak it. The master asked only about
thirteen hundred livres a-year for each of your boys, five hundred for
the preceptor. He supplies them with all masters, except those of
dancing, music, and designing; for these they have masters that come in,
who take only eight livres a-month, though they require from others
three louis-d'ors. There is a riding master belonging to the house. Your
sons need never go to mass unless they please, and nobody shall ever
talk to them about religion; the master only requires, that you should
write him a letter, which he will read to every body, by which you
desire . . . ."[243:1]
The following short letter was addressed to Mr. Elliot on the same day
with the preceding one, for the reason which the letter itself states.
The anxious care with which Hume endeavoured not only to be punctual and
exact himself in the performance of the business he had undertaken, but
to remedy the consequences of the absence of these qualities in others,
may afford a useful reproof to those who demean themselves as above the
exercise of these homely virtues; and shows that the practice of them
has been, in one instance at least, considered not incompatible with the
design and achievement of intellectual greatness.
HUME _to_ GILBERT ELLIOT _of Minto_.
"_Hotel de Brancas, 30th September, 1764._
"I have wrote you a long letter to London, a short one to Harrowgate,
and now I write to you to Minto. Not to lose time, you must have a
little implicit faith; without making further questions, give instantly
orders that your sons be sent to me, and that they come instantly to the
Hotel de Brancas. Within less than a gunshot of this, I have found a
place which has all advantages beyond what your imagination could
suggest; it is almost directly opposite to my friend the Marechale de
Mirepoix's, by whose advice I act. I tell you this, lest your opinion of
my discretion be not the highest in the world. There are there about
thirty boys of the best families in France. The house is spacious, airy,
clean, has a garden, opens into the fields; the board costs only
thirteen hundred livres a-year for each boy, five hundred for the tutor;
the boys have almost all masters for this sum. I have concluded the
bargain for a quarter; the payment runs on from the first of October,
because the course of studies begins then; there will be no question
about religion or the mass. I have been more particular in my letter to
London. Nothing was ever so fortunate for your purpose."
"_Hotel de Brancas, 9th October, 1764._
"I go to Fontainbleau to-day; my Lady and Lord Beauchamp go also. Mr.
Trail, the chaplain, and Mr. Larpent, my lord's secretary, follow in a
few days. All these arrangements are unexpected; but the consequence is,
that there will be nobody in the Hotel de Brancas for some weeks; but
this need not retard a moment your sending the young gentlemen. I have
spoke to the master of the academy, who says that the moment they arrive
they shall be settled as well as if all their kindred were there. I have
sent the enclosed letter to him, which the gentleman who attends them
may deliver immediately on his arrival in Paris. Vive valeque."[245:1]
In 1764, the Comte de Boufflers died, and his widow expected to be made
Princess of Conti. Hume seems to have seen from the first that this
expectation was likely to lead to manifold mortifications, and that it
was the duty of a true friend to prepare her mind for disappointment.
In this spirit he wrote her the following long and carefully considered
letters, in answer to some communications from her, full of hopes and
fears, and all a Frenchwoman's nervous agitations.
HUME _to the_ COMTESSE DE BOUFFLERS.
_Wednesday, 28th of November, 1764._
You may believe that, ever since my return to Paris, I have
kept my eyes and ears open with regard to every thing that
concerns your affair. I find it is the general opinion of all
those who think themselves the best informed, that a
resolution is taken in your favour; and that the resolution
will probably have place. But you do not expect surely, that
so great an event will pass without censure. It would ill
become my friendship to flatter you on this head. The envy and
jealousy of the world would alone account for a repugnance in
many. Nobody has been more generally known than you; both of
late and in your early youth. Will so numerous an acquaintance
be pleased to see you pass, from being their equal, to be so
much their superior? Will they bear your uniting the decisive
elevation of rank to the elevation of genius, which they feel,
and which they would in vain contest? Be assured, that she is
really and sincerely your friend, who can willingly yield you
so great advantages.
But though I hear some murmurs of this kind, I have likewise
the consolation to meet with several who entertain opposite
sentiments. I was told of a man of superior sense, nowise
connected with you, who maintained in a public company, that,
if the report was true, nothing could give him a higher idea
of the laudable and noble principles of your friend. The
execution of his purpose, he said, could not only be
justified, but seemed a justice due to you. The capital point
is to interpose as few delays as possible. Time must create
obstacles, and can remove none. While the matter seems in
suspense, many will declare themselves with violence against
you, and will render themselves irreconcilable enemies by such
declarations. They might be the first to pay court to you,
had no leisure been allowed them to display their envy and
malignity.
On the whole, I am fully persuaded, from what I hear and see,
that the matter will end as we wish. But in all cases, I
foresee, that, let the event be what it will, you will reap
from it much honour and much vexation. Alas! dear madam, the
former is never a compensation for the latter: especially to
you, whose delicate frame, already shaken by an incident of
much less importance surely, is ill calculated to bear such
violent agitations. Pardon these sentiments if you think them
mean. They are dictated by my friendship for you. I am indeed
so mean as to wish you alive and healthy and gay in any
fortune. A fine consolation for us truly, to see the epithet
of princess inscribed on your grave, while we reflect that it
contains what was the most amiable in the world? I propose to
pay my respects to you the beginning of next week.
_10th December, 1764._
It is needless to inform you, how much you employed my
thoughts in this great crisis of your fortune, of your health,
of your life itself. You could perceive, by undoubted signs,
that I partook sincerely of the violent anxieties, by which I
found you agitated; and that, after having endeavoured in vain
to appease the tumult of your passions, I was at last
necessitated myself to take part in your distress. My sympathy
is not abated by absence. I find myself incapable almost of
other occupation or amusement.
You still recur to my memory. The chief relief I have is in
writing to you, and throwing together some thoughts, which
occur to me, on your subject.
They are mostly the same which occurred in conversation, and
which I have already suggested to you. They will acquire no
additional authority at present in writing, except by
convincing you that they are the result of my most mature
reflections.
Of all your friends, I, as a foreigner, am perhaps the least
capable of giving you advice on so delicate a subject: I only
challenge the preference, in the warmth of my affection and
esteem towards you; and I am, as a foreigner, the farther
removed from all suspicion of separate interests and regards.
I cannot too often repeat, what I inculcated on you with great
earnestness, that, even if your friend should fix his
resolution on the side least favourable to you, you ought to
receive his determination without the least resentment. You
know that princes, more than other men, are born slaves to
prejudices, and that this tax is imposed on them, as a species
of retaliation by the public. This prince in particular is in
every view so eminent, that he owes some account of his
conduct to Europe in general, to France, and to his family,
the most illustrious in the world. It is expected, that men,
in his station, shall not be actuated by private regards. It
is expected, that with them friendship, affection, sympathy,
shall be absorbed in ambition, and in the desire of supporting
their rank in the world; and, if they fail in this duty, they
will meet with blame from a great part of the public. Can you
be surprised, that a person covetous of honour, should be
moved by these considerations? If he neglected them, would not
your grateful heart suggest to you, that he had taken an
extraordinary step in your favour? And can you, with any
grace, complain, that an extraordinary event has not happened,
merely because you wished for it, and found it desirable?
I am fully sensible, madam, of the force of those arguments
which you urged, not to justify your resentment, [from] which
you declared you would ever be exempted, but to maintain the
reasonableness of your expectations. I am fully sensible of
the regard, the sacred regard, due to a long and sincere
attachment, which, passing from love to friendship, lost
nothing of its warmth, and acquired only the additional merit
of reason and constancy. This regard, I own, is really
honourable and virtuous; and may safely be opposed to the
maxims of an imaginary honour, which, depending upon modes and
prejudices, will always be regarded, by great minds, as a
secondary consideration. I shall add, what your modesty would
not allow you to surmise, or even, perhaps, to think, that an
extraordinary step, taken in favour of extraordinary merit,
will always justify itself; and will appear but an ordinary
tribute. Allow me to do you this justice in your present
melancholy situation. I know I am exempt from flattery: I
believe I am exempt from partiality. The zeal and fervour
which move me, are the effects, not the causes of my judgment.
But, my dear friend, the consideration, which is the most
interesting, the most affecting, the most alarming, is the
immediate danger of your health and life, from the violent
situation into which fortune has now thrown you. You continued
long to live, with tolerable tranquillity, though exposed to
many vexations, in a state little befitting your worth and
merit; and you still comforted yourself by reflecting that you
could not change it, without withdrawing from a friendship
dearer to you than life itself. You still could flatter
yourself, that the person, for whose sake you made this
sacrifice, if he had it in his power, would, at any price,
repair your honour, and fortify his connexions with you. The
unexpected death of M. de Boufflers has put an end to these
illusions. It has at once brought you within reach of honour
and felicity: and has thrown a poison on your former state, by
rendering it still less honourable than before.
You cannot say, madam, that I do not feel, and with the most
pungent sensation, the cruelty of your situation. I am
sensible too, that time will scarcely bring any remedy to this
evil.
The loss of a friend, of a dignity, of fortune, admits of
consolation, if not from reason, at least from oblivion; and
these sorrows are not eternal. But while you maintain your
present connexions, your hopes, still kept alive, will still
enliven your natural desire of that state to which you aspire,
and your disgust towards that state in which you will find
yourself. I foresee that your lively passions, continually
agitated, will tear in pieces your tender frame: melancholy
and a broken constitution may then prove your lot, and the
remedy which could now preserve your health and peace of mind,
may come too late to restore them.
What advice, then, can I give you, in a situation so
interesting? The measure which I recommend to you requires
courage, but I dread that nothing else will be able to prevent
the consequences, so justly apprehended. It is, in a word,
that after employing every gentle art to prevent a rupture,
you should gradually diminish your connexion with the Prince,
should be less assiduous in your visits, should make fewer and
shorter journeys to his country seats, and should betake
yourself to a private, and sociable, and independent life at
Paris. By this change in your plan of living, you cut off at
once the expectations of that dignity to which you aspire; you
are no longer agitated with hopes and fears; your temper
insensibly recovers its former tone; your health returns; your
relish for a simple and private life gains ground every day,
and you become sensible, at last, that you have made a good
exchange of tranquillity for grandeur. Even the dignity of
your character, in the eyes of the world, recovers its lustre,
while men see the just price you set upon your liberty; and
that, however the passions of youth may have seduced you, you
will not now sacrifice all your time, where you are not deemed
worthy of every honour.
And why should you think with reluctance on a private life at
Paris? It is the situation for which I thought you best
fitted, ever since I had the happiness of your acquaintance.
The inexpressible and delicate graces of your character and
conversation, like the soft notes of a lute, are lost amid the
tumult of company, in which I commonly saw you engaged. A more
select society would know to set a juster value upon your
merit. Men of sense, and taste, and letters, would accustom
themselves to frequent your house. Every elegant society would
court your company. And though all great alterations in the
habits of living may, at first, appear disagreeable, the mind
is soon reconciled to its new situation, especially if more
congenial and natural to it. I should not dare to mention my
own resolutions on this occasion, if I did not flatter myself
that your friendship gives them some small importance in your
eyes. Being a foreigner, I dare less answer for my plans of
life, which may lead me far from this country; but if I could
dispose of my fate, nothing could be so much my choice as to
live where I might cultivate your friendship. Your taste for
travelling might also afford you a plausible pretence for
putting this plan in execution: a journey to Italy would
loosen your connexions here; and, if it were delayed some
time, I could, with some probability, expect to have the
felicity of attending you thither.[251:1]
Hume had the happiness of Madame de Boufflers sincerely at heart; and we
find him, on 24th June, 1765, thus writing to his brother:--
"I had great hopes, all the winter, of seeing the Countess in a station
suitable to her merit, and of paying my respects to her as part of the
royal family. Several accidents have disappointed us; and the various
turns of this affair have more agitated me than almost any event in
which I was ever engaged."
The following correspondence exhibits a feature in Hume's character,
which to many readers will be new, and perhaps unpleasing. It shows that
he was by no means exempt from the passion of anger, and that when under
its influence he was liable to be harsh and unreasonable. The general
notion formed of his character is, that he passed through life unmoved
and immovable, a placid mass of breathing flesh, on which the ordinary
impulses which rouse the human passions into life might expend
themselves in vain. We have seen that very early in life he had
undertaken the task of bringing his passions and propensities under the
yoke, and directing all his physical and mental energies to the
accomplishment of his early and never fading vision of literary renown.
From many indications which petty incidents in his life afford, it would
appear that the ardour of his nature, if thus regulated, was not
eradicated; and one cannot, in a general survey of his course and
character, reject the conclusion, that his early resolution not to enter
the lists as a controversial writer, mentioned in the following letter,
was suggested by a profound self-knowledge, and a consciousness of his
inability to preserve his temper as a controversialist.
The person against whom all the wrath of the following letter is
directed, is the respectable author of the "Historical and Critical
Inquiry into the Evidence produced by the Earls Murray and Morton
against Mary Queen of Scots." That, assailed as he often was by attacks
so much more vehement and unscrupulous, Hume should have taken so deep
umbrage at this piece of free historical criticism, is a problem not
easily to be explained. It is not a little remarkable that the bitterest
remark on any contemporary contained in his published works, is a note
to his History, in which he has abbreviated the purport of the
letter.[252:1]
HUME _to_ LORD ELIBANK.[252:2]
"MY LORD,--As I am told that Dr. Robertson has wrote a few remarks,
which he communicated to your lordship, as our common answer about the
affair of Queen Mary, and has endeavoured to show you that it was
contempt and not inability, which kept him from making a public reply; I
thought it would not be amiss for me to imitate his example; and I did
not indeed know a properer person, nor a more equal judge than your
lordship, to whom I could submit the cause. For if, on the one hand,
your lordship's regard to the memory of that princess might give you a
bias to that side, I know, that the ancient and constant friendship,
with which your lordship has always honoured me, both in public and
private, would give you a strong bias on my side; and there was a good
chance for your remaining neutral and impartial between these motives.
"I shall confine my apology to the account which I have given of the
conference at Hampton court, as this is indeed the chief point, in which
the answerer has thought proper to find fault with me.
"There are several places, in which I mention Mary's refusal to give any
reply to Murray's charge, and have commonly said, that she annexed as a
condition, her being admitted to Queen Elizabeth's presence; as in page
496, line 20; page 501, line 12, line 21.[253:1] I have not said that
this condition was an unreasonable one, (the words which the answerer
puts in my mouth,) but only that it was such a one as she did not expect
to be granted; and that because Queen Elizabeth had formerly refused it,
before any positive proofs of Mary's guilt were produced, merely from
the general rumour and opinion, which were unfavourable to her. Having
thus clearly expressed myself on this head, when I have occasion
afterwards, in the course of the narration, to mention the matter, I say
once or twice simply, that Mary refused to give any answer, without
expressing the condition annexed by her. My reasons were, that the
position was sufficiently qualified by the preceding narration; and
because a refusal, grounded on a condition which the person does not
expect to be gratified, and which is accordingly denied, is certainly
equivalent to a simple and absolute refusal.
"That your lordship may judge of the unfairness of the answerer, he
picks out this simple and unqualified expression of mine, and omits the
others, which explain it to the readers of the meanest capacity; and he
opposes it by a passage cited with equal unfairness from Mr. Goodall's
appendix. He quotes a long passage from Goodall, p. 308, in which Queen
Mary demands copies of her letters, and offers positively to give an
answer without mentioning any conditions; and this detached passage he
opposes to the detached passage from me, in which I assert that she
absolutely refused to answer. He desires that this express contradiction
between my narration and the records may be remarked. But, in the first
place, the condition of being admitted to Queen Elizabeth, though not
mentioned in that paper, is not relinquished, and it is even clearly
implied; because Mary there refers to a former letter, which we find in
Goodall, p. 283, line 2, from the bottom, page 289, line 13, and where
it is positively insisted on. Secondly, we have in Goodall, page 184,
Queen Mary's commission to break up the conference, if that condition be
not granted. Thirdly, Queen Elizabeth understands her meaning very well,
as indeed it was very plain, and offers to her copies of the letters, if
she will promise to answer without any condition; see Goodall, page 311,
line 3, and this offer is not accepted of. Fourthly, in the very last
paper of all, which closes the whole, the Bishop of Ross still insists
on that condition; Goodall, page 390 about the middle.
"You see, therefore, my lord, the double trick practised. A mangled
passage of my History is confronted with a mangled passage of Mr.
Goodall's papers, and by this gross fraud a contradiction is pretended
to be found between them. A single forgery would not do the business.
"I believe it will divert your lordship to observe, that when the
answerer is employing these base artifices, this is the very moment he
chooses to call me liar and rascal. But that trick is so frequently
practised by thieves, pick-pockets, and controversial writers,
(gentlemen whose morality are pretty much upon a footing,) that all the
world has ceased to wonder, and wise men are tired of complaining of it.
"I do not find that even this gentleman has ventured to assert, that
Queen Mary offered to answer Murray's accusation, though she should be
refused access to Queen Elizabeth. Where then is the difference between
us? He asserts, that she offered to answer, if admitted to that queen. I
say that she refused to answer unless she was admitted, which are
positive and negative propositions of the same import.
"For a proof that Queen Mary's commission was finally revoked, I beg
your lordship to consult Goodall, p. 184, 311, 387, where it is plainly
asserted. The last quotation is from the concluding paper of the whole
collection.
"I hope your lordship, as my friend, will congratulate me on the
resolution I took in the beginning of my life, that is, of my literary
life, never to reply to any body. Otherwise this gentleman, I mean this
author, might have insulted me on my silence. I am sure your lordship
would have disowned me for ever as a friend, if I had entered the lists
with such an antagonist. Mr. Goodall is no very calm or indifferent
advocate in this cause; yet he disowns him as an associate, and
confesses to me and all the world, that I am here right in my facts, and
am only wrong in my inferences.
"There appear to me two infallible marks of our opposite parties, and as
we may say proof charges, which, if a man can stand, there is no fear
that any charge will ever burst him. A Whig who believes the popish
plot, and a Tory who asserts Queen Mary's innocence, are certainly
fitted to go all lengths with their party. I am happy to think that such
people are both equally my enemies; and still more happy, that I have no
animosity at either.
"It is an old proverb, _Love me, love my dog_; but certainly it admits
of many exceptions. I am sure, at least, that I have a great respect for
your lordship, yet have none at all for this dog of yours. On the
contrary, I declare him to be a very mangy cur; entreat your lordship to
rid your hands of him as soon as possible, and think a sound beating, or
even a rope too good for him."[256:1]
Lord Elibank's answer does not appear to have been preserved. It can
scarcely be supposed that the foregoing letter, or any one written in a
like spirit, is the communication which Hume characterizes in the
following letter as written "in a spirit of cordiality and amity," and
containing "every pathetic, every engaging sentiment and expression;"
yet we afterwards find Lord Elibank sarcastically alluding to his
having been so stupid as to mistake the spirit thus described, for one
of a totally opposite tendency.
HUME _to_ LORD ELIBANK.
"_Fontainbleau, 3d Nov. 1764._
"MY LORD,--In reply to the letter with which your lordship has honoured
me, I shall endeavour to be as clear and as concise as possible. Your
lordship should never have heard of the short and slight disgust between
your brother and me, had he not told Sir James Macdonald that you was in
such a passion against me, on account of my conduct towards him, that
you intended instantly to compose a pamphlet against me, on the subject
of Queen Mary, and to publish it as a full revenge upon me. You see that
he insinuates the same thing in his letter, and he says that you was
_formerly my friend_. But the whole story, I have now reason to see, was
without foundation, both from the tenor of your lordship's present
letter, and from a letter of yours delivered to me by Mons. Calvet, and
which is wrote in the usual friendly strain that had so long subsisted
between us. But not doubting at that time of Mr. Murray's story, I
dreaded the consequence of a pamphlet composed and published by one of
your lordship's temper in a fit of rage, on a subject where you are
naturally heated. I knew that it would be full of expressions of the
utmost acrimony, which you yourself could not forgive, even were I
disposed to do so; and I may now add, that this last letter proves you
to be an excellent proficient in that style. I wrote my letter in a
spirit of cordiality and amity, that I might prevent a rupture most
disagreeable to me. I have no objection to the publishing any thing in
opposition to my opinions. On the contrary, there is nothing I desire
more than these discussions. I was far from threatening your lordship
with the loss of my friendship, which I was sensible could never be of
any consequence to you: I only foretold with infinite regret, that if
you wrote against me in a heat, without allowing your temper to compose
itself, it would be impossible for us to be any longer friends. I
employed every pathetic, every engaging sentiment and expression to
induce your lordship to embrace this way of thinking. I shall venture to
say, that you have never in your life received a more friendly and more
obliging letter. I leave your lordship to judge of the return it has met
with.
"I composed my letter with great care, because I set a value on your
lordship's friendship. I was so much satisfied with it myself, that I
read it to a friend, who told me, that it would be impossible for your
lordship to resist so many mollifying expressions, and that they would
certainly bring you back to our usual state of friendship. Under what
power of fascination have your eyes lain, when you could see every thing
in a light so directly opposite?
"I come now to the other ground of your complaint, my indifference in
the case of Mr. Murray. When I arrived in Paris, the first question he
asked me was, whether Lord Bute or Mr. Stuart Mackenzie had recommended
him to Lord Hertford, that he might be received in the ambassador's
house like other British subjects. I asked my lord, who told me that
neither of these persons had ever mentioned Mr. Murray to him; he wished
they had; he desired to show all manner of civilities to Mr. Murray. But
he was afraid, that a person against whom a public proclamation had
been issued, and who had openly lived so many years with the Pretender,
could not be received in his house, unless he had previously received
some assurances, that the matter would give no offence. I told this to
Mr Murray. He was entirely satisfied. He only said that he would write
again to Mr. Stuart Mackenzie, who never wrote to Lord Hertford. In this
affair, then, Mr. Murray received all the favour which he either desired
or expected.
"But perhaps your lordship means, that I ought to have befriended him in
his law-suit with Mrs. Blake,--I suppose, by taking his part in company.
But who told you that I did not? I have frequently desired people in
general to suspend their judgment; for as to any particular
justification of him, I was not capable of it, because I was and still
am ignorant of all particulars of his story. Whence could I learn them?
From himself, or from his antagonist, or from both? I assure your
lordship that I was otherwise employed, and more to my satisfaction,
than in unravelling an intricate story, which the Parliament of Paris
could not clear up in much less than two years, and which, it is
pretended, they have not cleared up at last.
"But I need say no more on this head, since your brother a few days
after I wrote you sent me a letter, in which he asked pardon for his
former letter, acknowledged his error, and desired a return of my
friendship. His only ground of quarrel, indeed, was a small negligence
in returning his visits: an offence which, operating on a man of his
vanity, has engaged him to do all this mischief.
"I have said that your lordship never received a letter more friendly
and obliging than my former letter: I hope you will also acknowledge
that this is wrote with sufficient temper and moderation. Adieu.
"I have the honour to be, with the greatest regard and consideration, my
lord, your lordship's most obedient, and most humble servant."[260:1]
LORD ELIBANK _to_ HUME.
_Balancrief, July 9th, 1765._
DEAR SIR,--I have the pleasure to understand, by yours of the
----, that I have never been altogether in disgrace with you;
I choose rather to pass for dull as mad, and it would have
been the highest proof of the latter, if I had taken any thing
ill of you, that I had not thought ill meant.
I own the compliment you say you intended me in your former
letter, was too refined for my genius. I really mistook it for
an intention to break with me; and as there is hardly any
thing I set a greater value on than your friendship, and I was
not conscious of having ever entertained a single idea
inconsistent with it, I could not resign it without pain and
resentment. Diffident of myself, I showed your letter to
several of our common friends, who all understood it as I did.
Had my affection for you been more moderate, my answer to
yours would have been cool in proportion. I am still mortified
to think you could suspect me of siding with my brother
against you. I know the distinction between relationship and
friendship. I have ever thought those connexions incompatible;
and if I was dull enough to mistake the meaning of your
letter, I have not more reason to blush, than you have for
suspecting, that any thing my brother could say, was capable
of influencing my sincere regard for a friend of thirty years'
standing, or that my zeal for the reputation of any prince,
dead or alive, could draw any sentiment or expression from me,
inconsistent with that admiration of your talents, as an
author, and merit as a man, I have constantly felt in myself,
and endeavoured to excite in others. I am, dear sir, your
sincerely obedient humble servant,
ELIBANK.[260:2]
In fear lest the two letters to Elliot, printed above,[261:1] might not
have reached their destination, Hume wrote to him again on 17th
November, repeating the substance of his engagement with the Abbé
Choquart. The remainder of the letter follows:
HUME _to_ GILBERT ELLIOT _of Minto_.
"As soon as I came from Fontainbleau, I went to the Pension Militaire,
so it is called, where I had first a conversation with the Abbé. I found
him exceedingly pleased with your boys: he told me that whenever his two
young pupils arrived, he called together all the French gentlemen, who
are to the number of thirty or thirty-two, and he made them a harangue;
he then said to them, that they were all men of quality, to be educated
to the honourable profession of arms; that all their wars would probably
be with England; that France and that kingdom, were Rome and Carthage,
whose rivality more properly than animosity never allowed long intervals
of peace; that the chance of arms might make them prisoners of arms to
Messrs Elliot, in which case it would be a happiness to them to meet a
private friend in a public enemy; that he knew many instances of people
whose lives were saved by such fortunate events, and it therefore became
them, from views of prudence, and from the generosity for which the
French nation was so renowned, to give the best treatment to the young
strangers, whose friendship might probably endure, and be serviceable to
them through life: he added, that the effect of this harangue was such,
that, as soon as he presented your boys to their companions, they all
flew to them and embraced them, and have ever since continued to pay
them all courtship and regard, and to show them every mark of
preference. Every one is ambitious to acquire the friendship of the two
young Englishmen, who have already formed connexions more intimate than
ever I observed among his other pupils. '_Ce que j'admire_,' added he,
'_dans vos jeunes amis est qu'ils ont non seulement de l'esprit, mais de
l'âme. Ils sont véritablement attendris des témoinages d'amitié qu'on
leur rend. Ils méritent d'être aimés, parce qu'ils savent aimer._'
"When I came next to converse with your boys, I found all this
representation exactly just: I believe they never passed fourteen days
in their life so happily as they did the last. What I find strikes them
much is the high titles of their companions: there is not one, says
Hugh, that is not a marquis, or count, or chevalier at least. They are
indeed all of them of the best families in France, a nephew of M. de
Choiseul, two nephews of M. de Beninghen, &c. &c. They are frequently
drawn out, and displayed after the Prussian manner. I saw them go
through their exercises with the greatest exactness and best air. The
Abbé remarked to me, that the marching, and wheeling, and moving under
arms, is better than all the dancing schools in the world to give a
noble carriage to youth. Gilbert is such a proficient, that the master
is thinking already of advancing him to the first rank, if not of making
him a corporal: all this is excellent for Hugh, and if Gilbert's head be
a little too full with military ideas, this inconvenience will easily be
corrected, as far as it ought to be corrected.
"The Abbé tells me, that in the short time they have been with him,
their accent is sensibly corrected, and he is persuaded that, in three
months' time, it will not be possible to distinguish them from
Frenchmen. They are never to hear mass, but to attend at the
ambassador's chapel every Sunday. Such is the general account I have to
give you; their preceptor will be more particular, and I shall visit
them from time to time."[263:1]
FOOTNOTES:
[209:1] The confidence with which the great aristocracy of birth mingled
with whatever elements it thought fit, is perhaps the best evidence of
the security it felt in the haughty and arbitrary exercise of its
established privileges. With all this free equality of social
intercourse, however, there must have been something yet left to which
the mere guest was not admitted, and to which he never aspired. Without
this, it seems impossible that Actors,--menials by the etiquette of the
court, anathematized by the church, held incapable of giving evidence in
some courts of law as persons of infamous profession,--should have been
so much sought after and caressed. Thus the Le Kains, Fleurys, and
Prévilles, among the men; the Sophy Arnoulds, Dumesnils, Clairons, among
the women, many of them thorough profligates, are to be found haunting
places surrounded by the highest lustre of adventitious rank, busying
themselves with state secrets, mingling in family disputes, and always
with the easy assurance of their profession. This state of matters could
not have existed unless the aristocracy, notwithstanding the ease with
which they permitted themselves to be approached, were able effectually
to mark precisely the point where the advance was to stop, and could
feel themselves among persons, who, like old family servants, never
presume upon familiarity. In admitting to social intercourse, however, a
person of Hume's dignity of character and position in literature, there
could be no such reserves, and the intercourse must have been as really
on terms of familiarity as it appeared to be.
[211:1] The following is a specimen, of a letter to Hume:--
[Illustration]
Among other like distinctions, an author had offered to dedicate to her
his Italian Grammar. She answered, "A moi, Monsieur; la dédicace d'une
grammaire! à moi qui ne sais pas seulement l'orthographe." "C'était la
pure vérité," subjoins Marmontel.
[213:1] This active lady visited Voltaire, and succeeded in getting
access to him. It is said that the patriarch laboured hard to compose a
quatrain in her praise, but that the muse would not attend for such a
purpose. He solved the difficulty very ingeniously, by twisting some
laurel twigs into a wreath, and placing it on her brow.
She writes to Hume, on 27th September, 1764, "Je vous présente monsieur
un receuil de mes ouvrages nouvellement imprimé à Lyon, pour avoir
l'honneur d'être dans la bibliothèque d'un homme qui fait l'honneur de
notre siècle. Je vous supplie d'accepter ce faible don, et de vouloir
bien faire passer le paquet que vous trouverez c'y joint au Marquis
Caraccioli Ministre de Naples à Londres."--MS. R.S.E.
[214:1] The following note shows that there was some intercourse between
them, though it was probably not very extensive.
"Madame la D. de Choiseul a très bien reçu les compliments de Mr. Hume.
Elle se reproche de ne lui avoir point écrit. Elle m'a chargée de lui
dire que s'il vouloit la venir voir aujourd'hui sur le midi et demy une
heure[214:A] qu'il lui feroit beaucoup de plaisir. Madame du Deffand
l'exhorte de ne pas manquer à y aller, et elle le prie de faire souvenir
Madame de Choiseul de la promesse qu'elle lui a faite de la venir voir
avant la visite qu'elle veut rendre à Madame L'Ambassadrice."--MS.
R.S.E.
[214:A] Sic in MS.
[214:2] "Vous me faites un grand plaisir de m'apprendre que David Hume
va en Ecosse; je suis bien aise que vous ne soyez plus à portée de le
voir, et moi ravie de l'assurance de ne le revoir jamais. Vous me
demanderez ce qu'il m'a fait? Il m'a déplu. Haïssant les idoles je
déteste leurs prêtres et leurs adorateurs. Pour d'idoles, vous n'en
verrez pas chez moi: vous y pourrez voir quelquefois de leurs
adorateurs, mais qui sont plus hypocrites que dévots; leur culte est
extérieur; les pratiques, les cérémonies de cette religion sont des
soupers, des musiques, des opéras, des comédies, etc." Letters of the
Marquise du Deffand, vol. i. p. 331.
[216:1]
"C'est avec la plus grande joie que M. D'Angiviller a
l'honneur d'informer Monsr. Hume que la philosophie n'a plus
de larmes à répandre. D'Alembert est comme hors d'affaire. Il
a été transporté chez Watelet. Il s'en trouve fort bien: il
plaisante, il dit de bons mots et s'impatiente. Tout cela est
de bon augure. Duclos a dit assez plaisamment le jour que l'on
a transporté le malade chez Watelet. Voicy un jour
remarquable, c'est aujourd'huy que l'on a sevré D'Alembert;
nous sommes surs au moins qu'il n'y a pas de miracle à cette
guérison; les prêtres n'ont pas prié pour lui. Mr.
D'Angiviller a l'honneur d'assurer Monsieur Hume de
l'attachement profond et de la vénération dont il est pénétré
pour lui."
"_Ce Mardi 30._"
The Earl Marischal writes thus:--
"_Potsdam, 11th September, 1764._
"Le plaisir de votre lettre, et l'assurance d'amitié de Madame
Geoffrin et de Monsieur D'Alembert a été bien rabattu par ce
que vous me dites de l'état de la santé de M. D'Alembert.
Sobre comme il est à table--comment peut-il avoir des maux
d'estomac? Il faut qu'il travaille trop de la tête à des
calculs, ou qu'il allume sa chandelle par les deux bouts.
C'est cela sans doute. Renvoyez-le ici à mon hermitage. Je le
rendrai à sa, ou ses belles, frais, reposé, se portant à
merveille.
"Apropos de mon hermitage dont M. de Malsan vous a fait la
description, il a voyagé avec Panurge, et a été chez _oui-dire
tenant école de temorgnerie_. Primo, ma petite maison ne
subsiste pas--par conséquence mon grand hôte ne pouvoit m'y
honorer de sa présence. 2do, Elle ne sera pas si petite, ayant
89 pieds de façade avec deux ailes de 45 pieds de long. Le
jardin est petit, assez grand cependant pour moi, et j'ai une
clef pour entrer aux jardins de Sans-Souci. Il y aura une
belle salle avec un vestibule, et un cabinet assez grand pour
y mettre un lit, tout apart des autres apartements. Si
D'Alembert venoit, il pouroit y loger, et prendre les eaux;
mais il est peu-que probable, que le grand hôte me
disputeroit, et emporteroit cet avantage. En attendant son
arrivée, j'y logerai mon ancien ami Michel de Montaigne,
Ariosto, Voltaire, Swift, et quelques autres.
"Dites à D'Alembert que j'ai une vache pour lui donner de bon
lait. Cela le contentera plus que les cent mille roubles qu'on
lui a offert. N'a pas bon lait qui veut, et vir sapiens non
abhorrebit eam, comme disoit Maître Janotus de ses chausses."
[218:1] If we are to trust the story told by Marmontel, and repeated by
others who should be equally well informed, her conduct, put in plain
language, comes to this. That she had made up her mind to raise her
position by a distinguished marriage. That in this view, looking to one
object after another, she finally determined boldly to experiment on M.
Mora, the son of the Spanish ambassador. That as this young gentleman
had been recalled by his family to Spain, she fraudulently procured a
certificate from an eminent physician, to the effect that a return to
the climate of France was essential to his safety; and that he died on
his journey back. But not less singular than the tale itself, is the
good-humoured simplicity with which it is told, as something rather
commendable than otherwise. Marmontel tells it, not omitting to state
how he used to run to the post-office for M. Mora's letters, in the
midst of that amusing series of sketches, the leading charm of which is
their amiable author's utter unconsciousness that his narrative is ever
likely to be scrutinized by people so educated and trained, as to look
upon his pleasant frailties as detestable vices, and the whole system of
society, so loveable and interesting in his eyes, as hideous. These
things indeed are mysteries; and read and ponder as we may, we cannot
enter into their spirit, but must view them as strange, distant, and
unnatural objects.
There is reason, however, to believe, that Marmontel's account of
L'Espinasse is far from being accurate. See the article on Deffand's and
L'Espinasse's letters, in _The Edinburgh Review_, vol. xv. p. 459,
where, as also in the article, vol. xvii. p. 290, a fuller view of the
character of the French literary circles of that day will be found than
any where else in the English language. The doubts of Marmontel's
accuracy in the former of these articles, are singularly confirmed by
the Memoires of Marmontel's uncle-in-law, Morellet, published in 1832,
see vol. ii. p. 276.
[220:1] Memoirs of Romilly, i. 179. I have seen this anecdote in some
French book, but do not remember where.
[221:1] Madame de Genlis has preserved an instance of the magnificent
gallantry of the prince. Madame Blot, the same lady probably who
occupies so curious a place in the Chesterfield correspondence,
expressed a wish to have a picture of her canary-bird set in a ring. The
prince desired to have the felicity of accomplishing her wish, and she
consented, provided the ring were of plain gold without ornament. The
ring when it made its appearance was plain indeed, but the portrait was
covered by a large diamond cut flat like glass. Madame Blot preserved
the ring and the picture, but returned the diamond. The prince pounded
the diamond to powder, and wrote the lady a letter strewed with the
diamond dust as drying sand.
[221:2] The following specimen of the invitations which poured in upon
Hume during his sojourn in Paris, is a slight departure from the usual
received form of such documents, the functionary who had charge of the
despatches of the august entertainer having chosen to make it the
vehicle of his own good taste in literature, and knowledge of the
English language.
"M. Le Prince Louis de Rohan prie M. Hume de lui faire l'honneur de
venir dîner chez lui. Mardi, 17 Janvier--"
"M. L'Abbé Georgel fait un million de complimens à M. Hume. _He makes
great account of his works, admires her wit, and loves her person._"
"Samedy, 14."--MS. R.S.E.
[222:1] MS. R.S.E.
[223:1] Hardy's Memoirs of Charlemont, p. 122.
[223:2] "Ce qu'il y a encore de plaisant, c'est que toutes les jolies
femmes se le sont arraché, et que le gros philosophe Ecossais s'est plu
dans leur société. C'est un excellent homme, que David Hume; il est
naturellement serein, il entend finement, il dit quelquefois avec sel,
quoiqu'il parle peu; mais il est lourd, il n'a ni chaleur, ni grâce, ni
agrément dans l'esprit, ni rien qui soit propre à s'allier au ramage de
ces charmantes petites machines qu'on appelle jolies femmes. O que nous
sommes un drôle de peuple!"--Correspondance Littéraire, 1ière P. vol. v.
p. 125.
[224:1] "Le célèbre David Hume, grand et gros historiographe
d'Angleterre, connu et estimé par ses écrits, n'a pas autant de talens
pour ce genre d'amusemens auquel toutes nos jolies femmes l'avoient
décidé propre. Il fit son début chez Madame de T----; on lui avoit
destiné le rôle d'un Sultan assis entre deux esclaves, employant toute
son éloquence pour s'en faire aimer; les trouvant inexorables, il devoit
chercher le sujet de leurs peines, et de leur résistance: on le place
sur un sopha entre les deux plus jolies femmes de Paris, il les regarde
attentivement, il se frappe le ventre et les genoux à plusieurs
reprises, et ne trouve jamais autre chose à leur dire que: '_Eh bien!
mes demoiselles...Eh bien! vous voilà donc...Eh bien! vous voilà...vous
voilà ici?_' Cette phrase dura un quart d'heure, sans qu'il pût en
sortir. Une d'elles se leva d'impatience: Ah! dit elle, je m'en étois
bien doutée, cet homme n'est bon qu'à manger du veau! Depuis ce temps il
est relégué au rôle de spectateur, et n'en est pas moins fêté et cajolé.
C'est en vérité une chose plaisante que le rôle qu'il joue ici;
malheureusement pour lui ou plutôt pour la dignité philosophique, car,
pour lui, il paroît s'accommoder fort de ce train de vie; il n'y avoit
aucune manie dominante dans ce pays lorsqu'il y est arrivé; on l'a
regardé comme une trouvaille dans cette circonstance, et l'effervescence
de nos jeunes têtes s'est tourné de son côté. Toutes les jolies femmes
s'en sont emparées; il est de tous les soupers fins, et il n'est point
de bonne fête sans lui; en un mot, il est pour nos agréables ce que les
Génevois sont pour moi."--Mémoires et Correspondance de Madame d'Epinay,
vol. iii. p. 284.
[225:1] Letters, collected edition, v. 69.
[225:2] Ib. 73.
[225:3] Ib. 77.
[226:1] Ib. 90-91. He was not then aware that Hume's presence was
destined to afford him an opportunity of becoming "the mode" himself.
This he tells us was the effect of his jeu d'esprit on Rousseau, with
which we shall hereafter have concern; and he tells it in a manner which
shows that, however contemptible when set in the brow of David Hume, the
chaplet of fashionable renown was not felt to be unbecoming on his own.
Thus, he says to Mr. Conway, on 12th January, 1766, "I almost repent
having come hither, for I like the way of life and many of the people so
well, that I doubt I shall feel more regret at leaving Paris than I
expected. It would sound vain to tell you the honours and distinctions I
receive, and how much I am in fashion. Yet when they come from the
handsomest women in France, and the most respectable in point of
character, can one help being a little proud? If I was twenty years
younger, I should wish they were not quite so respectable. Madame de
Brionne, whom I have never seen, and who was to have met me at supper
last night, at the charming Madame D'Egmont's, sent me an invitation by
the latter for Wednesday next. I was engaged and hesitated: I was told,
'Comment! savez-vous que c'est qu'elle ne feroit pas pour toute La
France.' However, lest you should dread my returning a perfect old
swain, I study my wrinkles, compare myself and my limbs to every plate
of larks I see, and treat my understanding with at least as little
mercy. Yet, do you know, my present fame is owing to a very trifling
composition, but which has made incredible noise. I was one evening at
Madame Geoffrin's, joking on Rousseau's affectations and contradictions,
and said some things that diverted them. When I came home I put them
into a letter, and showed it next day to Helvetius, and the Duke de
Nivernois, who were so pleased with it, that, after telling me some
faults in the language, which you may be sure there were, they
encouraged me to let it be seen. As you know I willingly laugh at
mountebanks, political or literary, let their talents be ever so great,
I was not averse. The copies have spread like wildfire, _et me voici à
la mode_. I expect the end of my reign, at the end of the week, with
great composure." (Ib. 118-119.)
One is tempted to give, as part of the whole picture of the visit of the
two Englishmen, a few of Walpole's notices of his own intense modesty.
Thus: "I had had my share of distresses in the morning, by going through
the operation of being presented to the royal family, down to the little
madame's pap dinner, and had behaved as sillily as you will easily
believe, hiding myself behind every mortal. The queen called me up to
her dressing-table, and seemed mightily disposed to gossip with me; but
instead of enjoying my glory like Madame de Sévigné, I slunk back into
the crowd after a few questions. She told Monsieur de Guerchy of it
afterwards, and that I had run away from her, but said she would have
her revenge at Fontainbleau; so I must go thither, which I did not
intend." Ib. 81-82. So when writing to Gray, after giving a description
of the effect which his wicked wit had produced on Madame de Boufflers
and the Prince of Conti, how she "with a tone of sentiment, and the
accents of lamenting humanity, abused me heartily, and then complained
to myself with the utmost softness," and how he "acted contrition, but
had like to have spoiled all, by growing dreadfully tired of a second
lecture from the Prince of Conti, who had taken up the tale;" he
concludes, "but when I left a triumphant party in England, I did not
come hither to be at the head of a fashion. However, I have been sent
for about like an African prince or a learned canary bird; and was, in
particular, carried by force to the Princess of Talmond, the queen's
cousin, who lives in a charitable apartment in the Luxembourg, and was
sitting on a small bed hung with saints and Sobieskis, in a corner of
one of those vast chambers, by two blinking tapers." (Ib. 130-131.)
Hume's simple and self-satisfied account of the distinctions conferred
on him, and the gratification they afforded him, has met with
considerable ridicule. But the reader may judge for himself which is the
more honest, manly, and dignified: the plain acknowledgment of
distinctions conferred and appreciated, or this hollow profession of
contempt for unsolicited, unexpected, unenjoyed honours.
[228:1] MS. R.S.E. The Sir James alludes to Sir James Macdonald.
[229:1] MS. R.S.E.
[230:1] MS. R.S.E.
[231:1] MS. R.S.E.
[233:1] MS. R.S.E.
[233:2] The elder of the youths here mentioned, who became afterwards an
eminent statesman, was born in 1751. He was for some time attached to
the Fox party, and after the dissolution of the Fox and North coalition
ministry, he was twice unsuccessfully proposed as Speaker. In 1793, he
was selected for the delicate duty of negotiating with the French
Royalists. During the British sovereignty of Corsica, in 1794, he was
appointed viceroy or governor of the island. But the most brilliant and
the best known chapter in his political career, is his policy as
Governor-general of India, from 1807 to 1814. He was created Baron Minto
in 1797, and Earl of Minto in 1813. He died in 1814.
[234:1] Probably either the young Comte de Boufflers, the son of the
lady who was Hume's correspondent, or Sir James Macdonald.
[235:1] MS. R.S.E.
[237:1] Among Hume's papers there is a letter signed "De Bastide, auteur
d'un Maison d'Éducation," thanking him for the favourable disposition
shown towards him, and desiring an interview.
[238:1] In allusion to the interest taken by the Comtesse de Boufflers
in his being appointed secretary of legation. See _postea_.
[239:1] Minto MSS. The tone of this letter extracted the following
criticism from Elliot.
"So you did not permit your friend to write the long intended letter.
Your reason for this, I must own, is not to me a satisfactory one. If
the secretaryship were now actually vacant, it would of course devolve
upon you; nor would the interposition of your friends be necessary. It
is Mr. Bunbury's provision then, and not yours, which constitutes the
difficulty: he happens to be in possession; his alliance and his
connexions are considerable; and the difficulty of his re-election makes
it less easy than it would otherwise be to find an equivalent for him.
Yet if it could be found, it is impossible to conceive that he would not
willingly exchange a situation, the functions of which are performed by
another, and which he holds contrary to the inclination of his
principal. In such a state of things, I cannot help thinking, that a
lively representation of your case, from the warm and persuasive pen of
your friend, is the most likely circumstance to engage the active genius
of the D. of B. to rouse government from their indolence about finding
or creating some proper arrangement for Mr. Bunbury. Lord Holland will
probably join his influence, and Lord Tavistock, even on his new
friend's account, will most certainly concur. This joint operation,
supported by the justice of your claims, and the application of your
friends, seems to me the most infallible method to surmount the real
difficulty, which you have candour enough to admit stands in the way of
administration, though disposed to do you justice. If to all this you
object certain delicacies in your own mind, and a disdain to solicit
what ought to be bestowed, I can only answer, a British minister is at
all times so much the slave of those who are not his friends, that his
best friends are almost always obliged to extort justice to themselves
by methods often hostile, always indelicate. I write to you popularly,
not as a philosopher. I desire, therefore, that your objections to my
doctrine may be in the same tone; and, after all, why should you, like
the plaintive author of 'Emile,' indulge yourself in a pleasing kind of
indignation, as if your countrymen had some unaccountable satisfaction
in mortifying a man, who feels so very different treatment even from
strangers. Notwithstanding all you say, we are both Englishmen; that is,
true British subjects, entitled to every emolument and advantage that
our happy constitution can bestow. Do not you speak and write and
publish what you please? and though attacking favourite and popular
opinions, are you not in the confidential friendship of Lord Hertford,
and intrusted with the most important national concerns? Am not I, a
member of Parliament, as much at liberty to abuse ministers and
administration, as if I had been born in Wapping, or to support them if
I think proper? Had it not been for the clamour of _a Scott_, perhaps
indeed I might have been in some more active, but not more honourable or
lucrative situation. This clamour we all know is merely artificial and
occasional. It will in time give way to some other, equally absurd and
ill-founded, when you, if you will, may become a bishop, and I a
minister. In the mean time, let us make the best of our present
circumstances; I as treasurer of the chamber, you as the idol of
whatever is fair and learned at Paris. About the beginning of December I
will be at London, ready to assist your operations if you will follow my
advice. Yours," &c. MS. R.S.E.
[241:1] It will be seen that the letter had arrived safely.
[243:1] Minto MS. The remainder of the letter is wanting.
[245:1] Minto MSS. On 19th October, Mr. Elliot writes,--
"I am too well acquainted with your friendly disposition to be
at all surprised at the trouble you have so successfully taken
about my boys. You will, however, allow me to admire your
punctuality in sending me three letters all differently
addressed. The short one for this place is the only one come
to hand. I am impatient, on every account but what regards the
establishment of the boys, for the long one sent to London. I
act with implicit faith upon your short mandate; and if I
could have entertained any doubt, the name of Madame Mirepoix,
you very well know, was more than sufficient to remove it."
On 6th November, he is able to say,--
"I have at length received all your letters; the one intrusted
to Lord March, the other wrote on the supposition of its being
lost, and a third dated October 9th. They all came on the same
day, and so late as the 24th of October. The two boys and
their tutor, Mr. Liston, are now, I presume, settled at Paris.
They had a letter for you. I had luckily directed them, if
they found nobody at the Hotel de Brancas, to inquire for a
Pension opposite to the Maréchale de Mirepoix." (MS. R.S.E.)
[251:1] Private Correspondence, p. 112, _et seq._
[252:1] "But there is a person that has written an "Inquiry, historical
and critical, into the evidence against Mary Queen of Scots;" and has
attempted to refute the foregoing narrative. He quotes a single passage
of the narrative, in which Mary is said simply to refuse answering; and
then a single passage from Goodall, in which she boasts simply that she
will answer; and he very civilly and almost directly, calls the author a
liar, on account of this pretended contradiction. The whole inquiry,
from beginning to end, is composed of such scandalous artifices; and,
from this instance, the reader may judge of the candour, fair dealing,
veracity, and good manners of the inquirer. There are, indeed, three
events in our history which may be regarded as the touchstone of party
men. An English Whig, who asserts the reality of the Popish plot; an
Irish Catholic, who denies the massacre in 1641: and a Scotch Jacobite,
who maintains the innocence of Queen Mary, must be considered as men
beyond the reach of argument or reason, and must be left to their
prejudices."
[252:2] There is no address on the MS., but circumstances show the
letter to have been intended for Lord Elibank.
[253:1] These references are to the first edition of the "History of the
House of Tudor."
[256:1] Scroll MS. R.S.E. A faint line is drawn through the concluding
paragraph, and the passage may have been omitted in the letter as
transmitted.
[260:1] Scroll, MS. R.S.E.
[260:2] MS. R.S.E.
[261:1] See pp. 240, 244.
[263:1] Minto MSS.
CHAPTER XIV.
1765-1766. Æt. 54-55.
Hume's Sentiments as to the Popularity of his works--A letter
to the Scottish Clergy--Correspondence with Elliot continued--
Sir Robert Liston--Mallet--Hume appointed Secretary of
Legation--Chargé d'Affaires at Paris--Proposal to appoint him
Secretary for Ireland--Reasons of the Failure of the Project--
Lord Hertford--Resumption of Communication with Rousseau--
Rousseau in Paris--Notices of his History and Character--
Hume's solicitude for his welfare--Return to Britain--Disposal
of Rousseau--Death of Jardine.
Allusion has occasionally been made to the difficulty of satisfying Hume
with any amount of literary success. His correspondence with Millar is a
long grumble about the prejudices he has had to encounter, and their
influence on the circulation of his works; while the bookseller, by the
most glowing pictures of their popularity, is only able to elicit a
partial gleam of content. The success of the History made worthy Mr.
Millar very anxious that it should be continued, and Hume for a time
acquiesced in the proposal. There is a letter from Millar on the 26th
October, enlarging on the great and rapid sales: about 2500 complete
sets of the quarto edition, and upwards of 3000 of the "History of the
Stuarts," had been sold, along with near 2000 of the 8vo. edition. In
continuation he says:
The Essays, 8vo, were only published in May; what has been
sold of them, of all the different editions, I cannot
recollect. I was asked that question at St. James's the other
day, when I said, I considered your works as classics, that I
never numbered the editions, as I did in books we wished to
puff. This I said before many clergy. I am not a little
surprised to see one of your excellent understanding and merit
so anxious about the sale, when the booksellers entirely
concerned never complained, but on the contrary would be ready
to give you to your utmost wish any encouragement to proceed
in your History; and in truth, considering the number of
enemies, some particular Essays have risen from _interest_,
bigotry, folly, and knavery, not less than a one hundred
thousand, it is rather astonishing your works have sold so
much. While _men_ are _men_ this is to be expected, and you
are the last man I should ever thought could paid the least
attention to such things.[264:1]
On this Hume says:
HUME _to_ ANDREW MILLAR.
"_Paris, 14th January, 1765._
"DEAR SIR,--I am much obliged to you for your last letter, which is very
friendly, and I shall not fail to pay the proper attention to it. The
truth is, as I intend to continue my History, I could not possibly have
taken a more proper step than to pay a visit to this country, and to
make acquaintance here; for as France and England are so intermixed in
all transactions since the Revolution, the history of one country must
throw light upon the other; and I am now in a situation to have access
to all the families which have papers relative to public affairs
transacted in the end of the last and beginning of this century. The
reason why I was anxious to know the sale of my History, was, that I
might judge whether I could expect equal access and information in
England. The rage and prejudice of parties frighten me; and above all,
this rage against the Scots, which is so dishonourable, and indeed so
infamous to the English nation. We hear that it increases every day
without the least appearance of provocation on our part. It has
frequently made me resolve never in my life to set foot on English
ground. I dread, if I should undertake a more modern history, the
impertinence and ill manners to which it would expose me; and I was
willing to know from you whether former prejudices had so far subsided
as to ensure me of a good reception."[265:1]
The following very characteristic paper, which appears to have been
enclosed to Dr. Blair, needs no introduction.
"DEAR DOCTOR,--I am in debt to all my friends in letters, and shall ever
be so. But what strikes me chiefly with remorse, are my great and
enormous debts to the clergy. By this my neglect of my Protestant
pastors, you will begin to suspect that I am turning Papist. But to
acquit myself at once, allow me to write you a common letter, and to
address a few words to every one of you.
DR. ROBERTSON.
"Your History has been very very well translated here, better than mine,
as I am told. Its success has given me occasion to promise your
acquaintance to several persons of distinction; the Duc de Nivernois,
the Marquis de Puysieuls, President Hénault, Baron D'Holbach, &c. I wish
you could speak French tolerably; you would find this place agreeable.
The Marechal Broglio spoke of you to me with esteem the other day.
DR. CARLYLE.
"I consulted with the Chevalier Macdonald, (who, by the bye, is here in
great vogue, not for his gallantries, like some others who shall be
nameless, but for his parts and knowledge;) I say I consulted with the
Chevalier about writing a common letter to Eglinton in favour of Wilson.
He told me it would be quite useless. Eglinton would give that kirk and
every thing else to the tenth cousin of the tenth cousin of a voter in
the shire of Ayr, rather than to the most intimate friend he has in the
world. Je baise les mains de Madame Carlyle avec tout l'empressement
possible.
DR. FERGUSON.
"Who, by the bye, I believe is not a doctor, though highly worthy from
his piety and learning to be one; then Mr. Ferguson, I think I have
nothing in particular to say to you, except that I am glad of the change
of your class, because you desired it, and because it fitted Russell.
For otherwise I should have liked better the other science. The news of
your great success in teaching has reached me in Paris, and has given me
pleasure; but I fear for your health from all these sudden and violent
applications. Ah, that you could learn something, dear Ferguson, of the
courteous, and caressing, and open manners of this country. I should not
then have been to learn for the first time, (as I did lately from
General Clark,) that you have not been altogether ungrateful to me, and
that you bear me some good will, and that you sometimes regret my
absence. Why should your method of living with me have borne so little
the appearance of those sentiments?
DR. BLAIR.
"Many people who read English have got your dissertation on Fingal,
which they admire extremely: a very good critic told me lately that it
was incomparably the best piece of criticism in the English language; a
self-evident truth to me. I met also with many admirers of Fingal; but
many also doubt of its authenticity. The Chevalier Macdonald is of use
to me in supporting the argument, from his personal knowledge of facts.
I cannot, however, but allow that the whole is strange, passing strange.
"You seem to wish that I should give you some general accounts of this
country. Shall I begin with the points in which it most differs from
England, viz., the general regard paid to genius and learning; the
universal and professed, though decent, gallantry to the fair sex; or
the almost universal contempt of all religion among both sexes, and
among all ranks of men? Or shall I mention the points in which the
French begin to concur with the English,--their love of liberty, for
instance? Or shall I give you some remarkable anecdotes of the great men
who, at present, adorn French literature? Perhaps you would wish me to
run over all these topics successively. Alas! there is not one that
would not fill several sheets of paper with curious circumstances, and I
am the most lazy writer of letters in the world: however, I must say
something on these heads; and, first, of the first:--
"There is a very remarkable difference between London and Paris; of
which I gave warning to Helvétius, when he went over lately to England,
and of which he told me, on his return, he was fully sensible. If a man
have the misfortune, in the former place, to attach himself to letters,
even if he succeeds, I know not with whom he is to live, nor how he is
to pass his time in a suitable society. The little company there that is
worth conversing with, are cold and unsociable; or are warmed only by
faction and cabal; so that a man who plays no part in public affairs
becomes altogether insignificant; and, if he is not rich, he becomes
even contemptible. Hence that nation are relapsing fast into the deepest
stupidity and ignorance. But, in Paris, a man that distinguishes himself
in letters, meets immediately with regard and attention. I found,
immediately on my landing here, the effects of this disposition. Lord
Beauchamp told me that I must go instantly with him to the Duchess de la
Valieres.[268:1] When I excused myself, on account of dress, he told me
that he had her orders, though I were in boots. I accordingly went with
him in a travelling frock, where I saw a very fine lady reclining on a
sofa, who made me speeches and compliments without bounds. The style of
panegyric was then taken up by a fat gentleman, whom I cast my eyes
upon, and observed him to wear a star of the richest diamonds;--it was
the Duke of Orleans. The Duchess told me she was engaged to sup in
President Hénault's, but that she would not part with me;--I must go
along with her. The good president received me with open arms; and told
me, among other fine things, that, a few days before, the Dauphin said
to him, &c. &c. &c. Such instances of attention I found very frequent,
and even daily. You ask me, if they were not very agreeable? I
answer--no; neither in expectation, possession, nor recollection. I left
that fireside, where you probably sit at present, with the greatest
reluctance. After I came to London, my uneasiness, as I heard more of
the prepossessions of the French nation in my favour, increased; and
nothing would have given me greater joy than any accident that would
have broke off my engagements. When I came to Paris, I repented heartily
of having entered, at my years, on such a scene; and, as I found that
Lord Hertford had entertained a good opinion and good will for Andrew
Stuart, I spoke to Wedderburn, in order to contrive expedients for
substituting him in my place. Lord Hertford thought, for some time, that
I would lose all patience and would run away from him. But the faculty
of speaking French returned gradually to me. I formed many acquaintance
and some friendships. All the learned seemed to conspire in showing me
instances of regard. The great ladies were not wanting to a man so
highly in fashion: and, having now contracted the circle of my
acquaintance, I live tolerably at my ease. I have even thoughts of
settling at Paris for the rest of my life; but I am sometimes frightened
with the idea that it is not a scene suited to the languor of old age. I
then think of retiring to a provincial town, or returning to Edinburgh,
or ---- but it is not worth while to form projects about the matter.
D'Alembert and I talk very seriously of taking a journey to Italy
together; and, if Lord Hertford leave France soon, this journey may
probably have place.
"I began this letter about two months ago; but so monstrously indolent
am I that I have not had time to finish it. I believe I had better send
it off as it is. Tell Robertson that La Chapelle, his translator, is
very much out of humour, and with reason, for never hearing from him. I
suppose some letter has miscarried. I am, &c.[270:1]
"_Paris, 6th April, 1765._"
Mr. Elliot had expressed to Hume a fear lest the longer residence of his
sons in France might "render them too much Frenchmen," while, speaking
of their tutor, Mr. Liston,[270:2] he says, "I own I am more
apprehensive of the consequences of a Paris life upon a young man of his
age than upon the boys, who are too young to enter into the full
dissipation of a country, where, not to be dissipated, is hardly to have
any existence." On this Hume writes:
HUME _to_ GILBERT ELLIOT _of Minto_.
"_Paris, 14th April, 1765._
"MY DEAR SIR,--I have always had the pleasure of conversing, from time
to time, with your sons, with Mr. Liston, and with the Abbé Choquart,
and never found the least reason to alter the good opinion, which I had
at first conceived of that academy, and of the conduct of every one
concerned: but the tenor of your last letter made me apprehend, that you
had discovered some ground of suspicion; and the more so as Mr. Larpent
told me, that you had spoke to his father, to desire him to request of
his son, that he should keep a watchful eye over the conduct of your
sons, and of Mr. Liston, and inform him of all particulars. This it is
impossible for Larpent to do, and, indeed, impossible for me to do,
otherwise than by conversing with the Abbé Choquart and with your sons
apart. I have done this very carefully, and find Mr. Liston's conduct
not only irreproachable, but laudable. The Abbé tells me, that for the
first three or four months, he scarce ever stirred out of the house, but
conversed with him alone, and with the other masters, till he came to
such perfection in the language, as to be taken for a Languedocian, or a
Frenchman of some province. Since that time the Abbé tells me, he has
made a few acquaintances among his countrymen, and goes out sometimes;
but he uses this liberty with great moderation; and on the whole, the
Abbé praises him (and with great reason as appears to me) for his
reserve, his modesty, his good sense, his sobriety, and his virtue. As
to your sons, he assures me, that though he has been employed nineteen
years in instructing youth, he never knew any more happily formed, and
they are the favourites of the whole school. The boys themselves seem to
be extremely happy in their present situation. Gilbert speaks French
almost like a Parisian, and Hugh follows fast after him. This is an
advantage they have acquired, without interrupting the course of their
other studies. The sociableness of their disposition has been called
forth, by living among companions in a public school; and as they praise
very much the civility and good humour of their fellow students, they
may themselves be the more confirmed in their habits. But, pray, come
hither yourself and judge of the matter.
"Two or three days ago, Lord Hertford wrote a very earnest letter to Mr.
Grenville in my favour. I know well that, if you find an opportunity,
you will second his application. The Saxon minister at the court, told
my lord, that Mr. Wroughton was soon to leave Dresden. My lord has
proposed that Bunbury be sent thither: if he refuses, it will be a proof
that he is resolved to undertake no public service, but scandalously to
live at home, and enjoy a large salary, which should belong to another.
Surely if Mr. Grenville bore me never so little good-will, as a supposed
Tory, he must allow this reasoning to be unanswerable.
"You have now with you Sir James Macdonald, who is too good for you, for
I am afraid you will not know to value him. He leaves an universal
regret behind him at Paris, among all who were acquainted with him, and
in none more than myself. I am, dear sir, your faithful humble
servant."[272:1]
In the following letter to Millar, we find Mallet and the Life of
Marlborough, that had been promised and paid for, again the subject of
speculation. Hume, though he had at one time been induced to believe
that part of the work was written, seems to have on the whole indulged
himself in scepticism, which, in this case at least, was well founded.
The letter is dated 4th May.
"MY DEAR SIR,--As soon as I heard of poor Mallet's death,[273:1] my
curiosity was excited to know, whether he had really proceeded any
length in his work, or whether, as many people imagine, and as is
somewhat my opinion, he had never wrote a line nor taken a note with
regard to it. I beg you would make some inquiry upon that subject. The
widow will be able to inform you. I should be glad to know whether any
lights could be got from that quarter for the continuance of my
work."[273:2]
HUME _to_ GILBERT ELLIOT _of Minto_.
"_Paris, 12th May, 1765._