_Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_
_Paris, Hotel de l'Université, près le Pont Royal_
It was well I did not tell my tale in my last, Fairfax; it would have
been spoiled. I knew it only by halves. It has ended in the most
singular combination of circumstances one could well imagine.
You remember I told you of the arrival of Sir Arthur St. Ives, and his
daughter; I believe it was in the postscript; and that I was
immediately going to--Pshaw! I am beginning my story now at the wrong
end. It is throughout exceedingly whimsical. Listen, and let amazement
prop your open mouth.
You must have observed the ease with which Frenchmen, though perfect
strangers to each other, fall into familiar conversation; and become as
intimate in a quarter of an hour, as if they had been acquainted their
whole lives. This is a custom which I very much approve. But, like all
other good things, it is liable to abuse.
The other day I happened to be taking a walk on the Boulevards, it
being a church festival, purposely to see the good Parisians in all
their gaiety and glory; and a more cheerful, at least a more noisy
people, do not, I believe, exist. As I was standing to admire a waxwork
exhibition of all the famous highwaymen, and cut-throats, whose
histories are most renowned in France, and listening to the fellow at
the door, bawling--_Aux Voleurs! Aux grands Voleurs!_--Not a little
amused with the murderous looks, darkness, dungeons, chains and petty
horror which they had mimicked, a man uncommonly well-dressed, with an
elegant person and pleasing manners, came up and immediately fell into
discourse with me. I encouraged him, because he pleased me. We walked
together, and had not conversed five minutes before, without seeming to
seek an opportunity, he had informed me that he was the Marquis de
Passy, and that he had left his carriage and attendants, because he
like me took much pleasure in observing the hilarity of the holiday
citizens. He had accosted me, he said, because he had a peculiar esteem
for the English; of which nation he knew me to be, by my step and
behaviour.
We talked some time, and though he made no deep remarks, he was very
communicative of anecdotes, which had come within his own knowledge,
that painted the manners of the nation. Among other things, he told me
it was not uncommon for valets to dress themselves in their masters
clothes, when they supposed them to be at a distance, or otherwise
engaged, assume their titles, and pass themselves upon the
_Bourgeoisie_ and foreigners for counts, dukes, or princes. It was but
this day fortnight, said he, that the Marechal de R--surprised one of
his servants in a similar disguise, and with some jocularity publicly
ordered the fellow to walk at his heels, then went to his carriage, and
commanded him, full dressed as he was, to get up behind.
He had scarcely ended this account before another person came up, and
with an air of some authority asked him where his master was, what he
did there, and other questions.
To all this my quidam acquaintance, with a degree of surprise that
seemed to be tempered with the most pleasing and unaffected urbanity,
replied, without being in the least disconcerted, sir, you mistake me:
but I am sure you are too much of a gentleman to mean any wilful
affront.
Affront! Why whom do you pretend yourself to be, sir?
Sir, I am the Marquis de Passy.