Jefferson's first Impressions of Europe.--Letter to Mrs.
Trist.--To Baron De Geismer.--He visits England.--Letter to his
Daughter.--To his Sister.--Extract from his Journal kept when
in England.--Letter to John Page.--Presents a Bust of Lafayette
to chief Functionaries of Paris.--Breaks his Wrist.-- Letter
to Mrs. Trist.--Mr. and Mrs. Cosway.--Correspondence with Mrs.
Cosway.--Letter to Colonel Carrington.--To Mr. Madison.--To Mrs.
Bingham.--Her Reply.
Jefferson's first impressions of Europe and of the French are found
in the following extracts from his letters written to America at that
time:
_Extract from a Letter to Mrs. Trist._
Paris, August 18th, 1785.
I am much pleased with the people of this country. The
roughnesses of the human mind are so thoroughly rubbed off
with them, that it seems as if one might glide through a
whole life among them without a jostle. Perhaps, too, their
manners may be the best calculated for happiness to a people
in their situation, but I am convinced they fall far short of
effecting a happiness so temperate, so uniform, and so lasting
as is generally enjoyed with us. The domestic bonds here are
absolutely done away, and where can their compensation be
found? Perhaps they may catch some moments of transport above
the level of the ordinary tranquil joy we experience, but they
are separated by long intervals, during which all the passions
are at sea without a rudder or a compass. Yet, fallacious as
the pursuits of happiness are, they seem, on the whole, to
furnish the most effectual abstraction from the contemplation
of the hardness of their government. Indeed, it is difficult
to conceive how so good a people, with so good a king, so
well-disposed rulers in general, so genial a climate, so
fertile a soil, should be rendered so ineffectual for producing
human happiness by one single curse--that of a bad form of
government. But it is a fact in spite of the mildness of their
governors, the people are ground to powder by the vices of
the form of government. Of twenty millions of people supposed
to be in France, I am of opinion there are nineteen millions
more wretched, more accursed, in every circumstance of human
existence, than the most conspicuously wretched individual
of the whole United States. I beg your pardon for getting
into politics. I will add only one sentiment more of that
character--that is, nourish peace with their persons, but war
against their manners. Every step we take towards the adoption
of their manners is a step to perfect misery.
In a fit of homesickness, he writes to the Baron de Geismer, Sept. 6:
_To Baron de Geismer._
I am now of an age which does not easily accommodate itself to
new modes of living and new manners; and I am savage enough to
prefer the woods, the wilds and independence of Monticello,
to all the brilliant pleasures of this gay capital. I shall,
therefore, rejoin myself to my native country with new
attachments and exaggerated esteem for its advantages; for
though there is less wealth there, there is more freedom, more
ease, and less misery. I should like it better, however, if it
could tempt you once more to visit it; but that is not to be
expected. Be this as it may, and whether fortune means to allow
or deny me the pleasure of ever seeing you again, be assured
that the worth which gave birth to my attachment, and which
still animates it, will continue to keep it up while we both
live, and that it is with sincerity I subscribe myself, etc.,
etc.
Early in the month of March of the following year (1786) Mr.
Jefferson went for a short while to England. Before leaving, he wrote
a letter of adieu to his daughter Martha, then at school in a convent
in Paris. The following is an extract from this letter:
_To Martha Jefferson._--[_Extract._]
Paris, March 6th, 1786.
I need not tell you what pleasure it gives me to see you
improve in every thing useful and agreeable. The more you learn
the more I love you; and I rest the happiness of my life on
seeing you beloved by all the world, which you will be sure
to be, if to a good heart you join those accomplishments so
peculiarly pleasing in your sex. Adieu, my dear child; lose no
moment in improving your head, nor any opportunity of exercising
your heart in benevolence.
The following letter to his sister proves him to have been as devoted
and thoughtful a brother as father:
_To Ann S. Jefferson._
London, April 22d, 1786.
My dear Nancy--Being called here for a short time, and finding
that I could get some articles on terms here of which I thought
you might be in want, I have purchased them for you. They are
two pieces of linen, three gowns, and some ribbon. They are done
up in paper, sealed, and packed in a trunk, in which I have
put some other things for Colonel Nicholas Lewis. They will of
course go to him, and he will contrive them to you. I heard
from Patsy a few days ago; she was well. I left her in France,
as my stay here was to be short. I hope my dear Polly is on
her way to me. I desired you always to apply to Mr. Lewis for
what you should want; but should you at any time wish any thing
particular from France, write to me and I will send it to you.
Doctor Currie can always forward your letters. Pray remember
me to my sisters Carr and Bolling, to Mr. Bolling and their
families, and be assured of the sincerity with which I am, my
dear Nancy, your affectionate brother,
TH. JEFFERSON.
While in England, Jefferson visited many places of interest there,
and kept a short journal, of which we give the heading, and from
which we make one quotation:
_Extract from Journal._
A TOUR TO SOME OF THE GARDENS OF ENGLAND.
_Memorandums made on a Tour to some of the Gardens in England,
described by Whately in his Book on Gardening._
While his descriptions, in point of style, are models of perfect
elegance and classical correctness, they are as remarkable for
their exactness. I always walked over the gardens with his book
in my hand, examined with attention the particular spots which
he described, found them so justly characterized by him as to be
easily recognized, and saw with wonder that his fine imagination
had never been able to seduce him from the truth. My inquiries
were directed chiefly to such practical things as might enable
me to estimate the expense of making and maintaining a garden
in that style. My journey was in the months of March and April,
1786....
_Blenheim._--Twenty-five hundred acres, of which two hundred
is garden, one hundred and fifty water, twelve kitchen-garden,
and the rest park. Two hundred people employed to keep it in
order, and to make alterations and additions. About fifty of
these employed in pleasure-grounds. The turf is mowed once in
ten days. In summer, about two thousand fallow-deer in the park,
and two or three thousand sheep. The palace of Henry II. was
remaining till taken down by Sarah, widow of the first Duke of
Marlborough. It was on a round spot levelled by art, near what
is now water, and but a little above it. The island was a part
of the high-road leading to the palace. Rosamond's Bower was
near where now is a little grove, about two hundred yards from
the palace. The well is near where the bower was. The water here
is very beautiful and very grand. The cascade from the lake
is a fine one; except this the garden has no great beauties.
It is not laid out in fine lawns and woods, but the trees are
scattered thinly over the ground, and every here and there small
thickets of shrubs, in oval raised beds, cultivated, and flowers
among the shrubs. The gravelled walks are broad; art appears
too much. There are but a few seats in it, and nothing of
architecture more dignified. There is no one striking position
in it. There has been great addition to the length of the river
since Whately wrote.
In a letter written, after his return to Paris, to his old friend,
John Page, of Virginia, Mr. Jefferson speaks thus of England:
_To John Page._
I returned but three or four days ago from a two months' trip
to England. I traversed that country much, and must own both
town and country fell short of my expectations. Comparing it
with this, I have found a much greater proportion of barrens, a
soil, in other parts, not naturally so good as this, not better
cultivated, but better manured, and therefore more productive.
This proceeds from the practice of long leases there, and short
ones here. The laboring people are poorer here than in England.
They pay about one half of their produce in rent, the English
in general about one third. The gardening in that country is
the article in which it excels all the earth. I mean their
pleasure-gardening. This, indeed, went far beyond my ideas. The
city of London, though handsomer than Paris, is not so handsome
as Philadelphia. Their architecture is in the most wretched
style I ever saw, not meaning to except America, where it is
bad, nor even Virginia, where it is worse than any other part
of America which I have seen. The mechanical arts in London are
carried to a wonderful perfection.
His faithful little pocket account-book informs us that he paid,
"for seeing house where Shakspeare was born, 1_s._; seeing his tomb,
1_s._; entertainment, 4_s._ 2_d._; servants, 2_s._"
In the fall of this year Jefferson, on behalf of the State of
Virginia, presented to the city authorities of Paris a bust of his
distinguished friend, the Marquis de Lafayette, which was inaugurated
with all due form and ceremony and placed in the Hôtel de Ville. A
few months later he wrote the following letter:
_To Mrs. Trist._
Dear Madam--I have duly received your friendly letter of
July 24, and received it with great pleasure, as I do all
those you do me the favor to write me. If I have been long in
acknowledging the receipt, the last cause to which it should
be ascribed would be want of inclination. Unable to converse
with my friends in person, I am happy when I do it in black
and white. The true cause of the delay has been an unlucky
dislocation of my wrist, which has disabled me from writing
three months. I only begin to write a little now, but with
pain. I wish, while in Virginia, your curiosity had led you
on to James River. At Richmond you would have seen your old
friends, Mr. and Mrs. Randolph, and a little farther you would
have become acquainted with my friend, Mrs. Eppes, whom you
would have found among the most amiable women on earth. I doubt
whether you would ever have got away from her. This trip would
have made you better acquainted too with my lazy and hospitable
countrymen, and you would have found that their character has
some good traits mixed with some feeble ones. I often wish
myself among them, as I am here burning the candle of life
without present pleasure or future object. A dozen or twenty
years ago this scene would have amused me; but I am past the
age for changing habits. I take all the fault on myself, as
it is impossible to be among a people who wish more to make
one happy--a people of the very best character it is possible
for one to have. We have no idea in America of the real French
character; with some true samples we have had many false ones....
Living from day to day, without a plan for four-and-twenty hours
to come, I form no catalogue of impossible events. Laid up in
port for life, as I thought myself at one time, I am thrown out
to sea, and an unknown one to me. By so slender a thread do all
our plans of life hang! My hand denies itself farther, every
letter admonishing me, by a pain, that it is time to finish, but
my heart would go on in expressing to you all its friendship.
The happiest moments it knows are those in which it is pouring
forth its affections to a few esteemed characters. I will pray
you to write to me often. I wish to know that you enjoy health
and that you are happy. Present me in the most friendly terms to
your mother and brother, and be assured of the sincerity of the
esteem with which I am, dear madam, your affectionate friend and
humble servant,
TH. JEFFERSON.
Among the many pleasant friendships formed by Jefferson in Paris,
there was none that he prized more than that of Mr. and Mrs. Cosway.
Both were artists; but the husband was an Englishman, while the
wife was born under the more genial skies of Italy. Possessing all
that grace and beauty which seem to be the unfailing birthright of
an Italian, she united to a bright and well-cultivated intellect
great charms of manner and sweetness of disposition. Her Southern
warmth of manner, and the brilliancy of her wit and conversation,
were fascinations which few could resist, and which made her one of
the queens of Parisian society. In Jefferson she found a congenial
friend, and held his worth, his genius, and his learning in the
highest estimation. When her husband and herself left Paris, she
opened a correspondence with him, and it was at the beginning of this
correspondence that he addressed to her that beautiful and gracefully
written letter, called the "Dialogue between the Head and Heart,"
which is found in both editions of his published correspondence. Mrs.
Cosway's own letters are sprightly and entertaining. I have lying
before me the originals of some that she wrote to Jefferson, from
which I give the following extracts, only reminding the reader that
they are written in a language which to her was foreign, though the
Italian idiom adds grace and freshness to the sweet simplicity of
these letters. Many of them are without date.
_Mrs. Cosway to Thomas Jefferson._
Paris, ----, 1786.
You don't always judge by appearances, or it would be much to
my disadvantage this day, without deserving it; it has been the
day of contradiction. I meant to have seen you twice, and I have
appeared a monster for not having sent to know how you were the
whole day.[27] I have been more uneasy than I can express. This
morning my husband killed my project I had proposed to him, by
burying himself among pictures and forgetting the hours. Though
we were near your house, coming to see you, we were obliged
to come back, the time being much past that we were to be at
St. Cloud, to dine with the Duchess of Kingston. Nothing was
to hinder us from coming in the evening, but, alas! my good
intentions proved only a disturbance to your neighbors, and just
late enough to break the rest of all your servants, and perhaps
yourself. I came home with the disappointment of not having
been able to make my apologies _in propria persona_. I hope you
feel my distress instead of accusing me; the one I deserve,
the other not. We will come to see you to-morrow morning, if
nothing happens to prevent it. Oh! I wish you were well enough
to come to us to-morrow to dinner, and stay the evening. I
won't tell you what I shall have; temptations now are cruel
for your situation. I only mention my wishes. If the executing
them should be possible, your merit will be greater, as my
satisfaction the more flattered. I would serve you and help you
at dinner, and divert your pain after with good music. Sincerely
your friend,
MARIA COSWAY.
[27] Mr. Jefferson, the reader will remember, was at this time
suffering with his broken wrist.
_Mrs. Cosway to Thomas Jefferson._
I am very sorry indeed, and blame myself for having been the
cause of your pains in the wrist. Why would you go, and why was
I not more friendly to you, and less so to myself by preventing
your giving me the pleasure of your company? You repeatedly said
it would do you no harm. I felt interested and did not insist.
We shall go, I believe, this morning. Nothing seems ready, but
Mr. Cosway seems more disposed than I have seen him all this
time. I shall write to you from England; it is impossible to
be wanting to a person who has been so excessively obliging. I
don't attempt to make compliments--there can be none for you,
but I beg you will think us sensible to your kindness, and that
it will be with exquisite pleasure I shall remember the charming
days we have passed together, and shall long for next spring.
You will make me very happy if you would send a line to the
_poste restante_ at Antwerp, that I may know how you are.
Believe me, dear sir, your most obliged, affectionate servant,
MARIA COSWAY.
The letter from Mr. Jefferson to Mrs. Cosway containing the
"Dialogue between the Head and Heart," though too long to be
given here in full, is too beautiful to be omitted altogether. I
accordingly give the following extracts:
_Thomas Jefferson to Mrs. Cosway._
Paris, October 12, 1786.
My dear Madam--Having performed the last sad office of handing
you into your carriage at the Pavillon de St. Denis, and seen
the wheels get actually in motion, I turned on my heel and
walked, more dead than alive, to the opposite door, where my
own was awaiting me. M. Danguerville was missing. He was sought
for, found, and dragged down stairs. We were crammed into the
carriage like recruits for the Bastile, and not having soul
enough to give orders to the coachman, he presumed Paris our
destination, and drove off. After a considerable interval,
silence was broken, with a "_Je suis vraiment affligé du depart
de ces bons gens_." This was a signal for a mutual confession of
distress. He began immediately to talk of Mr. and Mrs. Cosway,
of their goodness, their talents, their amiability; and though
we spoke of nothing else, we seemed hardly to have entered into
the matter, when the coachman announced the Rue St. Denis,
and that we were opposite M. Danguerville's. He insisted on
descending there and traversing a short passage to his lodgings.
I was carried home. Seated by my fireside, solitary and sad, the
following dialogue took place between my Head and my Heart.
_Head._ Well, friend, you seem to be in a pretty trim.
_Heart._ I am, indeed, the most wretched of all earthly beings.
Overwhelmed with grief, every fibre of my frame distended beyond
its natural powers to bear, I would willingly meet whatever
catastrophe should leave me no more to feel, or to fear....
_Head._ It would have been happy for you if my diagrams and
crotchets had gotten you to sleep on that day, as you are
pleased to say they eternally do.... While I was occupied with
these objects, you were dilating with your new acquaintances,
and contriving how to prevent a separation from them. Every soul
of you had an engagement for the day. Yet all these were to be
sacrificed, that you might dine together. Lying messages were to
be dispatched into every quarter of the city, with apologies for
your breach of engagement. You, particularly, had the effrontery
to send word to the Duchess Danville, that on the moment we were
setting out to dine with her, dispatches came to hand which
required immediate attention. You wanted me to invent a more
ingenious excuse, but I knew you were getting into a scrape,
and I would have nothing to do with it. Well; after dinner to
St. Cloud, from St. Cloud to Ruggieri's, from Ruggieri's to
Krumfoltz; and if the day had been as long as a Lapland summer
day, you would still have contrived means among you to have
filled it.
_Heart._ Oh! my dear friend, how you have revived me, by
recalling to my mind the transactions of that day! How well
I remember them all, and that when I came home at night, and
looked back to the morning, it seemed to have been a month
agone. Go on, then, like a kind comforter, and paint to me the
day we went to St. Germains. How beautiful was every object!
the Pont de Renilly, the hills along the Seine, the rainbows of
the machine of Marly, the terras of St. Germains, the chateaux,
the gardens, the statues of Marly, the pavilion of Lucienne.
Recollect, too, Madrid, Bagatelle, the King's Garden, the
Dessert. How grand the idea excited by the remains of such a
column. The spiral staircase, too, was beautiful....
_Heart._ God only knows what is to happen. I see nothing
impossible in that proposition:[28] and I see things wonderfully
contrived sometimes, to make us happy. Where could they find
such objects as in America for the exercise of their enchanting
art? especially the lady, who paints landscapes so inimitably.
She wants only subjects worthy of immortality to render her
pencil immortal. The Falling Spring, the Cascade of Niagara,
the Passage of the Potomac through the Blue Mountains, the
Natural Bridge; it is worth a voyage across the Atlantic to see
these objects; much more to paint, and make them, and thereby
ourselves, known to all ages. And our own dear Monticello--where
has Nature spread so rich a mantle under the eye?--mountains,
forests, rocks, rivers. With what majesty do we ride above the
storms! How sublime to look down into the workhouse of Nature,
to see her clouds, hail, snow, rain, thunder, all fabricated
at our feet! and the glorious sun, when rising as if out of
a distant water, just gilding the tops of the mountains, and
giving life to all nature! I hope in God no circumstance may
ever make either seek an asylum from grief!... Deeply practiced
in the school of affliction, the human heart knows no joy which
I have not lost, no sorrow of which I have not drunk! Fortune
can present no grief of unknown form to me! Who, then, can so
softly bind up the wound of another as he who has felt the same
wound himself?...
[28] That is, Mr. and Mrs. Cosway to visit America.
I thought this a favorable proposition whereon to rest the issue of
the dialogue. So I put an end to it by calling for my night-cap.
Methinks I hear you wish to Heaven I had called a little sooner, and
so spared you the ennui of such a sermon.... We have had incessant
rains since your departure. These make me fear for your health, as
well as that you had an uncomfortable journey. The same cause has
prevented me from being able to give you an account of your friends
here. This voyage to Fontainebleau will probably send the Count de
Moustier and the Marquis de Brehan to America. Danguerville promised
to visit me but has not done it yet. De la Tude comes sometimes to
take family soup with me, and entertains me with anecdotes of his
five-and-thirty years' imprisonment. How fertile is the mind of man,
which can make the Bastile and dungeon of Vincennes yield interesting
anecdotes! You know this was for making four verses on Madame De
Pompadour. But I think you told me you did not know the verses. They
were these:
"Sans ésprit, sans sentiment,
Sans être belle, ni neuve,
En France on peut avoir le premier amant:
Pompadour en est l'épreuve."
I have read the memoir of his three escapes. As to myself, my health
is good, except my wrist, which mends slowly, and my mind, which
mends not at all, but broods constantly over your departure. The
lateness of the season obliges me to decline my journey into the
South of France. Present me in the most friendly terms to Mr. Cosway,
and receive me into your own recollection with a partiality and
warmth, proportioned not to my own poor merit, but to the sentiments
of sincere affection and esteem, with which I have the honor to be,
my dear Madam, your most obedient, humble servant,
TH. JEFFERSON.
The following letter, written in a sprightly and artless style, will
be found more than usually interesting, from the allusion in it to
Sheridan's great speech in the trial of Warren Hastings--that scene
of which Macaulay's enchanted pen has left so brilliant a picture. A
few awkward expressions in this charming letter remind us that its
author wrote in a foreign language.
_Mrs. Cosway to Thomas Jefferson._
London, February 15th, 1788.
I have the pleasure of receiving two letters from you, and
though very short I must content myself, and lament much
the reason that deprived me of their usual length. I must
confess that the beginning of your correspondence has made me
an _enfant-gâtée_. I shall never learn to be reasonable in
my expectations, and shall feel disappointed whenever your
letters are not as long as the first was; thus you are the
occasion of a continual reproaching disposition in me. It is a
disagreeable one, and it will tease you into a hatred towards
me, notwithstanding the partiality you have had for me till now,
for nothing disobliges more than a dissatisfied mind, and that
my fault is occasioned by yourself you will be the most distant
to allow. I trust your friendship would wish to see me perfect
and mine to be so, but defects are, or are not, most conspicuous
according to the feelings which we have for the objects which
possess them....
I feel at present an inclination to make you an endless letter,
but have not yet determined what subject to begin with. Shall I
continue this reproaching style, quote all the whats and whys
out of Jeremiah's Lamentations, and then present you with some
outlines of Job for consolation? Of all torments, temptations,
and wearinesses, the female has always been the principal and
most powerful, and this is to be felt by you at present from my
pen. Are you to be painted in future ages, sitting solitary and
sad on the beautiful Monticello, tormented by the shadow of a
woman, who will present you a deformed rod, broken and twisted,
instead of the emblematical instrument belonging to the Muses,
held by Genius, inspired by Wit; and with which all that is
beautiful and happy can be described so as to entertain a mind
capable of the highest enjoyments?...
I have written this _in memoria_ of the many pages of scrawls
addressed to you by one whose good intentions repay you for your
beautiful allegories with such long, insipid chit-chat.[29]...
Allegories, however, are always far-fetched, and I don't like to
follow the subject, though I might find something which would
explain my ideas.
[29] An allusion to the "Dialogue between the Head and Heart."
Suppose I turn to the debates of Parliament? Were I a good
politician, I could entertain you much. What do you think of a
famous speech Sheridan has made, which lasted four hours, which has
astonished every body, and which has been the subject of conversation
and admiration of the whole town? Nothing has been talked of for
many days but this speech. The whole House applauded him at the
moment, each member complimented him when they rose, and Pitt made
him the highest encomiums. Only poor Mr. Hastings suffered for the
power of his eloquence, though nothing can be decided yet. Mr. H.
was with Mr. Cosway at the very moment the trial was going on; he
seemed perfectly easy--talking on a variety of subjects with great
tranquillity and cheerfulness. The second day he was the same, but
on the third seemed very much affected and agitated. All his friends
give him the greatest character of humanity, generosity, and feeling;
amiable in his manner, he seems, in short, totally different from the
disposition of cruelty they accuse him of. Turning from parliamentary
discussions, it is time to tell you that I have been reading with
great pleasure your descriptions of America;[30] it is written
by _you_, but Nature represents all the scenes to me in reality,
therefore do not take any thing to yourself; I must refer to your
name to make it the more valuable to me, but _she_ is your rival--you
her usurper. Oh! how I wish myself in those delightful places! those
enchanted grottoes! those magnificent mountains, rivers, etc., etc.,
etc.! Why am I not a man, that I might set out immediately, satisfy
my curiosity, and indulge my sight with wonders?
[30] Meaning, doubtless, his "Notes on Virginia."
I go to very few parties. I have a dislike for them, and I have grown
so excessively indolent that I do not go out for months together. All
the morning I paint whatever presents itself most pleasing to me.
Sometimes I have beautiful objects to paint from, and add historical
characters to make them more interesting. Female and infantine
beauty is the most perfect to see. Sometimes I indulge in those
melancholy subjects in which History often represents herself--the
horrid, the grand, the sublime, the sentimental, or the pathetic. I
attempt, I exercise in them all, and end by being witness of my own
disappointment and incapacity for executing the Poet, the Historian,
or the conceptions of my own imagination. Thus the mornings are spent
regretting they are not longer, to have more time to attempt again
in search of better success, or thinking they have been too long, as
they have afforded me many moments of uneasiness and anxiety, and a
testimony of my not being able to do any thing.
I devote my evenings to music, and then I am much visited by the
first Professors, who come to play, often every evening, something
new, and are all perfect in their kind. To complete the pleasure, a
small society of agreeable friends frequently come to see me, and
in this manner you see that I am more attached to my home than to
going in search of amusement out, where there are nothing but crowded
assemblies, uncomfortable heat, and not the least pleasure in meeting
any body, not being able to enjoy any conversation. The Operas are
very bad, tho' Zubenelli and Madame Mosa are the first singers; the
dancers, too, are very bad; all this I say from report, as I have not
been yet. Pray tell me something about Madame De Polignac; they make
a great deal about it here; we hardly hear any thing else, and the
stories are so different from one another that it is impossible to
guess the real one. She is expected in England.
I send this letter by a gentleman whom I think you will like. He
is a Spaniard. I am partial to that nation, as I know several who
are very agreeable. He is going to Paris as Secretary of Embassy at
that Court. He has travelled much, and talks well. If I should be
happy enough to come again in the summer to Paris, I hope we shall
pass many agreeable days. I am in a million fears about it; Mr.
Cosway still keeps to his intentions, but how many chances from our
inclinations to the gratification of our wishes. Poor D'Ancarville
has been very ill. I received a long letter from him appointing
himself my _correspondent_ at Paris. I know a gentleman who causes my
faith to be weak on this occasion, for _he_ flattered me with hopes
that I have seen fail; nevertheless I have accepted this offer, and
shall see if I find a second disappointment.
Is it not time to finish my letter? Perhaps I might go on, but I must
send this to the gentleman who is to take it.
I hope you are quite well by this time, and that your hand will tell
me so by a line. I must be reasonable, but give me leave to remind
you how much pleasure you will give by remembering sometimes with
friendship one who will be as sensible and grateful of it as is,
yours sincerely,
MARIA COSWAY.
In a letter to Colonel Edward Carrington, written early in January,
1787, Jefferson thus notices the meeting of the Notables:
_To Colonel Carrington._
In my letter to Mr. Jay I have mentioned the meeting of the
Notables, appointed for the 29th instant. It is now put off to
the 7th or 8th of next month. This event, which will hardly
excite any attention in America, is deemed here the most
important one which has taken place in their civil line during
the present century. Some promise their country great things
from it, some nothing. Our friend De Lafayette was placed on the
list originally. Afterwards his name disappeared; but finally
was reinstated. This shows that his character here is not
considered as an indifferent one; and that it excites agitation.
His education in our school has drawn on him a very jealous eye
from a court whose principles are the most absolute despotism.
But I hope he has nearly passed his crisis. The King, who is a
good man, is favorably disposed towards him; and he is supported
by powerful family connections, and by the public good-will. He
is the youngest man of the Notables, except one whose office
placed him on the list.
In a letter written to Madison a few days later, he gives a few
sketches of character which we quote, only reminding the reader of
Jefferson's great intimacy with Madison, to whom he consequently
wrote more freely of men and measures than to any one else.
_To James Madison._
Paris, January 30th, 1787.
As you have now returned to Congress, it will become of
importance that you should form a just estimate of certain
public characters, on which, therefore, I will give you such
notes as my knowledge of them has furnished me with. You will
compare them with the materials you are otherwise possessed of,
and decide on a view of the whole.
You know the opinion I formerly entertained of my friend Mr.
Adams.... A seven months' intimacy with him here, and as many
weeks in London, have given me opportunities of studying him
closely. He is vain, irritable, and a bad calculator of the
force and probable effect of the motives which govern men. This
is all the ill which can possibly be said of him. He is as
disinterested as the Being who made him; he is profound in his
views and accurate in his judgment, except where knowledge of
the world is necessary to form a judgment. He is so amiable,
that I pronounce you will love him if ever you become acquainted
with him. He would be, as he was, a great man in Congress....
The Marquis de Lafayette is a most valuable auxiliary to me. His
zeal is unbounded, and his weight with those in power great. His
education having been merely military, commerce was an unknown
field to him. But, his good sense enabling him to comprehend
perfectly whatever is explained to him, his agency has been
very efficacious. He has a great deal of sound genius, is well
remarked by the king, and is rising in popularity. He has
nothing against him but a suspicion of republican principles. I
think he will one day be of the ministry. His foible is a canine
appetite for popularity and fame; but he will get over this.
The Count de Vergennes is ill. The possibility of his recovery
renders it dangerous for us to express a doubt of it; but he is
in danger. He is a great minister in European affairs, but has
very imperfect ideas of our institutions, and no confidence in
them. His devotion to the principles of pure despotism renders
him unaffectionate to our governments. But his fear of England
makes him value us as a make-weight. He is cool, reserved
in political conversations, but free and familiar on other
subjects, and a very attentive, agreeable person to do business
with. It is impossible to have a clearer, better organized head;
but age has chilled his heart.
Nothing should be spared on our part to attach this country to
us. It is the only one on which we can rely for support under
every event. Its inhabitants love us more, I think, than they
do any other nation on earth. This is very much the effect of
the good dispositions with which the French officers returned.
In a former letter I mentioned to you the dislocation of my
wrist. I can make not the least use of it except for the single
article of writing, though it is going on five months since the
accident happened. I have great anxieties lest I should never
recover any considerable use of it. I shall, by the advice of
my surgeons, set out in a fortnight for the waters of Aix, in
Provence. I chose these out of several they proposed to me,
because if they fail to be effectual, my journey will not be
useless altogether. It will give me an opportunity of examining
the canal of Languedoc, and of acquiring knowledge of that
species of navigation, which may be useful hereafter.... I shall
be absent between two and three months, unless any thing happens
to recall me here sooner; which may always be effected in ten
days, in whatever part of my route I may be.
In speaking of characters, I omitted those of Rayneval and
Hennin, the two eyes of the Count de Vergennes. The former is
the most important character, because possessing the most of
the confidence of the Count. He is rather cunning than wise,
his views of things being neither great nor liberal. He governs
himself by principles which he has learned by rote, and is fit
only for the details of execution. His heart is susceptible of
little passions, but not of good ones. He is brother-in-law to
M. Gerard, from whom he received disadvantageous impressions of
us which can not be effaced. He has much duplicity. Hennin is
a philosopher, sincere, friendly, liberal, learned, beloved by
every body; the other by nobody. I think it a great misfortune
that the United States are in the department of the former. As
particulars of this kind may be useful to you in your present
situation, I may hereafter continue the chapter. I know it will
be safely lodged in your discretion. I send you by Colonel
Franks your pocket-telescope, walking-stick, and chemical-box.
The two former could not be combined together. The latter could
not be had in the form you referred to. Having a great desire
to have a portable copying-machine, and being satisfied, from
some experiments, that the principle of the large machine might
be applied in a small one, I planned one when in England, and
had it made. It answers perfectly. I have since set a workman
to making them here, and they are in such demand that he has
his hands full. Being assured that you will be pleased to have
one, when you shall have tried its convenience, I send you one
by Colonel Franks. The machine costs ninety-six livres, the
appendages twenty-four livres, and I send you paper and ink for
twelve livres; in all one hundred and thirty-two livres. There
is a printed paper of directions; but you must expect to make
many essays before you succeed perfectly. A soft brush like a
shaving-brush is more convenient than the sponge. You can get
as much paper and ink as you please from London. The paper
costs a guinea a ream. I am, dear sir, with sincere esteem and
affection, your most humble and obedient servant,
TH. JEFFERSON.
The following charmingly written letter to one of his lady friends
gives a spirited picture of the life of a Parisian belle:
_To Mrs. Bingham._
Paris, February 7th, 1787.
I know, Madam, that the twelvemonth is not yet expired; but
it will be, nearly, before this will have the honor of being
put into your hands. You are then engaged to tell me, truly
and honestly, whether you do not find the tranquil pleasures
of America preferable to the empty bustle of Paris. For to
what does the bustle tend? At eleven o'clock it is day,
_chez madame_. The curtains are drawn. Propped on bolsters
and pillows, and her head scratched into a little order, the
bulletins of the sick are read, and the billets of the well. She
writes to some of her acquaintances, and receives the visits
of others. If the morning is not very thronged, she is able to
get out and hobble around the cage of the Palais Royal; but
she must hobble quickly, for the coiffeur's turn is come; and
a tremendous turn it is! Happy if he does not make her arrive
when dinner is half over! The torpitude of digestion a little
passed, she flutters for half an hour through the streets,
by way of paying visits, and then to the spectacles. These
finished, another half-hour is devoted to dodging in and out
of the doors of her very sincere friends, and away to supper.
After supper, cards; and after cards, bed--to rise at noon the
next day, and to tread, like a mill-horse, the same trodden
circle over again. Thus the days of life are consumed, one by
one, without an object beyond the present moment; ever flying
from the ennui of that, yet carrying it with us; eternally in
pursuit of happiness, which keeps eternally before us. If death
or bankruptcy happen to trip us out of the circle, it is matter
for the buzz of the evening, and is completely forgotten by the
next morning. In America, on the other hand, the society of
your husband, the fond cares for the children, the arrangements
of the house, the improvements of the grounds, fill every
moment with a useful and healthy activity. Every exertion is
encouraging, because to present amusement it joins the promise
of some future good. The intervals of leisure are filled by
the society of real friends, whose affections are not thinned
to cobweb, by being spread over a thousand objects. This is
the picture, in the light it is presented to my mind; now let
me have it in yours. If we do not concur this year, we shall
the next; or if not then, in a year or two more. You see I am
determined not to suppose myself mistaken.
To let you see that Paris is not changed in its pursuits since
it was honored with your presence, I send you its monthly
history. But this relating only to the embellishments of their
persons, I must add, that those of the city go on well also. A
new bridge, for example, is begun at the Place Louis Quinze; the
old ones are clearing of the rubbish which encumbered them in
the form of houses; new hospitals erecting; magnificent walls of
inclosure, and custom-houses at their entrances, etc., etc. I
know of no interesting change among those whom you have honored
with your acquaintance, unless Monsieur de Saint James was of
that number. His bankruptcy, and taking asylum in the Bastile,
have furnished matter of astonishment. His garden at the Pont
de Neuilly, where, on seventeen acres of ground, he had laid
out fifty thousand louis, will probably sell for somewhat less
money. The workmen of Paris are making rapid strides towards
English perfection. Would you believe that, in the course of the
last two years, they have learned even to surpass their London
rivals in some articles? Commission me to have you a phaeton
made, and if it is not as much handsomer than a London one as
that is than a fiacre, send it back to me. Shall I fill the
box with caps, bonnets, etc.?--not of my own choosing, but--I
was going to say--of Mademoiselle Bertin's, forgetting for the
moment that she too is bankrupt. They shall be chosen, then,
by whom you please; or, if you are altogether nonplused by her
eclipse, we will call an Assemblée des Notables, to help you out
of the difficulty, as is now the fashion. In short, honor me
with your commands of any kind, and they shall be faithfully
executed. The packets now established from Havre to New York
furnish good opportunities of sending whatever you wish.
I shall end where I began, like a Paris day, reminding you of
your engagement to write me a letter of respectable length,
an engagement the more precious to me, as it has furnished me
the occasion, after presenting my respects to Mr. Bingham, of
assuring you of the sincerity of those sentiments of esteem and
respect with which I have the honor to be, dear Madam, your most
obedient and most humble servant,
TH. JEFFERSON.
_Mrs. Bingham to Thomas Jefferson._
June 1st, 1787.
I am too much flattered by the honor of your letter from Paris
not to acknowledge it by the earliest opportunity, and to assure
you that I am very sensible of your attentions. The candor with
which you express your sentiments merits a sincere declaration
of mine. I agree with you that many of the fashionable pursuits
of the Parisian ladies are rather frivolous, and become
uninteresting to a reflective mind; but the picture you have
exhibited is rather overcharged; you have thrown a strong
light upon all that is ridiculous in their characters, and you
have buried their good qualities in the shade. It shall be my
task to bring them forward, or at least to attempt it. The
state of society in different countries requires corresponding
manners and qualifications. Those of the French women are by
no means calculated for the meridian of America, neither are
they adapted to render the sex so amiable or agreeable in the
English acceptation of those words. But you must confess that
they are more accomplished, and understand the intercourse of
society better, than in any other country. We are irresistibly
pleased with them, because they possess the happy art of making
us pleased with ourselves. Their education is of a higher cast,
and by great cultivation they procure a happy variety of genius,
which forms their conversation to please either the fop or the
philosopher.
In what other country can be found a Marquise de Coigny, who,
young and handsome, takes a lead in all the fashionable
dissipations of life, and at more serious moments collects at
her house an assembly of the literati, whom she charms with her
knowledge and her _bel esprit_. The women of France interfere
with the politics of the country, and often give a decided turn
to the fate of empires. Either by the gentle arts of persuasion,
or the commanding force of superior attractions and address,
they have obtained that rank and consideration in society which
the sex are entitled to, and which they in vain contend for in
other countries. We are therefore bound in gratitude to admire
and revere them for asserting our privileges, as much as the
friends of the liberties of mankind reverence the successful
struggles of the American patriots.
The agreeable resources of Paris must certainly please and
instruct every class of characters. The arts of elegance are
there considered as essential, and are carried to a state of
perfection, and there the friend of art is continually gratified
by the admiration for works of taste. I have the pleasure of
knowing you too well to doubt of your subscribing to this
opinion. With respect to my native country, I assure you that
I am fervently attached to it, as well as to my friends and
connections in it; there, perhaps, there is more sincerity in
professions, and a stronger desire of rendering real services,
and when the mouth expresses the heart speaks.
I am sensible that I shall tire you to death with the length of
this letter, and had almost forgotten that you are in Paris,
and that every instant of your time is valuable, and might be
much better employed than I can possibly do it. However, I shall
reserve a further examination of this subject to the period when
I can have the happiness of meeting you, when we will again
resume it. I feel myself under many obligations for your kind
present of _les modes de Paris_. They have furnished our ladies
with many hints for the decoration of their persons, and I have
informed them to whom they are indebted. I shall benefit by your
obliging offer of service, whenever I shall have occasion for
a fresh importation of fashions; at present I am well stocked,
having lately received a variety of articles from Paris.
Be so kind as to remember me with affection to Miss Jefferson.
Tell her she is the envy of all the young ladies in America,
and that I should wish nothing so much as to place my little
girl under her inspection and protection, should she not leave
Paris before I revisit it. I shall hope for the pleasure of
hearing from you, and if you accompany another book of fashions
with any new operas or comedies you will infinitely oblige me.
It is quite time I bade you adieu; but remember this first of
June I am constant to my former opinion, nor can I believe that
any length of time will change it. I am determined to have some
merit in your eyes, if not for taste and judgment, at least for
consistency. Allow me to say, my dear sir, that I am sincerely
and respectfully yours,
A. BINGHAM.