Tragedy of _Brutus_, which is so fine a Piece, that I and my _English_
Companions were charm'd with it: We not only admir'd the Conduct and
Versification of it, but we applauded the Freedom with which the Author
makes the _Romans_ think and speak. Mean time, the _French_ are not of our
Opinion. _The Respect due to Royalty_, say they, _is not well preserv'd in
it_. They censure the Author _for presuming to confine the Royal Authority
within the Bounds of Justice_. _M._ de Voltaire, say they, _never could
imbibe these Sentiments in_ France. _'Tis very plain that he contracted
them beyond Sea. They may be relish'd well enough by the_ English; _but to
us they are intolerable: And if M._ de Voltaire _goes on to write in this
Manner, he may, perhaps, have an Apartment in the_ Bastile. I confess that
terrible Name dumb-founder'd me, and I did not dare to say a Word in the
Author's Vindication, for fear of being deem'd his Accomplice. The
_Bastile_ and the _Holy Office_ are two Terms which always silenc'd me,
even when I have had the strongest Inclination to speak my Mind.
As for the Comedians, they perform'd Wonders. One _du Frêne_ actually
out-did himself. He is Brother to _Quinaut_, an excellent Comedian in the
Parts which require Humour, but excessively out-of-the-Way in Tragedy; and
take him off the Theatre, impertinent beyond Expression, as is also his
Brother, tho' they are both Men of Wit.
The Players are much more respected here than they are elsewhere, which
makes them insolent to the last Degree. The Nobility are fond of their
Company, and admit them to their Parties of Pleasure: And as they are
Kings upon the Stage, and Equals and Companions at Table with the best
Lords in the Kingdom, no wonder that it turns their Brains. But that which
must needs render them arrogant beyond Measure, is a late Instance of
Regard paid them by the _French_ Academy, who, by a Letter, invited the
Performers in the _French_ Comedy, to hear an Oration made in their
Academy; which the Comedians took for such an Honour, that the very next
Day they offer'd the Members of the Academy Admission to their Comedy
_Gratis_; which the Academicians made no Scruple to accept, to the great
Amazement of the whole City of _Paris_, which blames the Members for it
not a little: The Fault is laid at the Door of certain Authors, who are in
League with the Comedians, and gave the Invitation without consulting the
rest of the Members, of whom several that had, no Hand in the Transaction,
protested against the Conduct of those who had, the Consequence of which
was a Quarrel in the Academy. Indeed, one would imagine by that Day's
Work, that they did not really consider what they were doing; and the
Noblemen who are Members of the Academy, cry out against it very much.
'Tis true, that the Comedians who presume to offer Admission _Gratis_ to a
Marshal _de Villars_, a Marshal _d'Estrées_, or other Noblemen of that
Rank, are not mean Fellows, and deserve the Appellation of the _Company
of_ Comedians, instead of _Troop_; in order to distinguish them from the
Strollers in the[74] Country. Why then should not they be honour'd? The
Actors in the Opera, who, as well as they, divert the Public for Lucre,
have, indeed, the Privilege, that a Gentleman may be admitted among them
without Disparagement to his Title. This is a Favour, says a modern Author
very justly, which had never yet been granted to those who perform in the
public Spectacles, and who give Diversion for Money; because in most of
the Ages of Christianity, they had been look'd upon as Persons
excommunicated and infamous, by reason of the Corruption in Morals, owing
to their then too licentious Representations, which, perhaps, is no longer
apprehended to be the Case at present. 'Tis certain, that if a Performer
in an Opera may be noble, I can't see why a Person mayn't be the same in a
Comedy; tho' 'tis my Opinion, that if Stage-players may be Gentlemen,
Rope-dancers and Tumblers have a Title to it; for, besides the Honour they
have of diverting the Public, they run the Risk of breaking their Necks
every Day; and is not that the Lot of the Nobility?
As I returned Yesterday with my _Englishmen_ from _Versailles_, we went to
_St. Cloud_, where we had the Honour to see the Duke _de Chartres_, the
only Son of the Duke of _Orleans_. This Prince was in the Park, to see a
young Officer of the Train of Artillery make Proofs of some Pieces of
Ordnance. We were surpriz'd to see how attentively the young Prince
observed every thing, and to hear him ask the Officer such Questions as
were not to be expected from one of his Years. We had reason also to
applaud the gracious and polite Reception which he gave us. To be plain, I
was charm'd to see a Grandson of the late _Madame_, so worthy of herself,
and of the illustrious Blood from which he is descended.
_St. Cloud_ is a Palace belonging to the Duke of _Orleans_, first Prince
of the Blood, and was built by Order of the late Monsieur _Philip_ of
_France_, (Brother of _Lewis_ XIV.) who added very magnificent Gardens to
it. 'Tis certain, that if the late King had chose _St. Cloud_ for his
Residence, instead of _Versailles_, he might have had a finer Building
with less Expence. What is most admir'd at _St. Cloud_, are the Gallery
and Salon, both painted by _Mignard_, the Cascade, and the great
Water-work, which throws up the Water a hundred Feet high, and which
nothing exceeds of the Kind, but the Work that was made by the Direction
of an[75]_English_ Gentleman at _Herenhausen_, near _Hanover_, in the
Reign of King _George_ I.
_St. Cloud_ has been fatal to several Princes of the Royal Family. _Henry_
III. was assassinated there on the first of _August_ 1589, at eight
o'Clock in the Morning, by _James Clement_. _Henrietta_ of _England_,
first Wife to the late _Philip_ of _France_, Duke of _Orleans_, only
Brother to _Lewis_ XIV. died there suddenly of a Colic, on the 30th of
_June_ 1670. She said that she was poison'd, for which Reason the King
caus'd her Corpse to be open'd in Presence of the _English_ Ambassador.
'Tis a difficult Matter, to judge whether that Princess's Suspicions were
true; for the Physicians and Surgeons found all her noble Parts corrupted,
tho' she was but twenty-six Years old. Her Husband paid his Tribute to
Nature on a sudden, in the same Palace, on the 4th of _June_ 1701.
What I have mentioned to you of the unhappy Catastrophe of the last of the
_Valois_, puts me in Mind of a Passage in History, that _Te Deum_ was
forgot in the Ceremony of his Coronation; that the Crown fell from his
Head; and that there was no Oil in the Sacred Phial, to perform the
customary[76] Unction; which were then taken for ill Omens, and Time
prov'd them but too true.
Since I am upon Tragical Events, I will mention a Thing to you that lately
happen'd in _England_, and which I was assur'd by the _English_ Gentlemen,
in our Return from _Versailles_, is a certain Fact.
One _Richard Smith_, a Bookbinder, and his Wife _Bridget_, were about a
Fortnight ago found hanging in their Chamber near their Bed-side, about
three or four Feet Distance from one another; and in the next Room, their
Daughter, who was but two Years old, was found shot thro' the Head. There
were three Letters left upon the Table, of which the following is the most
material; and I send you a Copy of it, because it will let you into the
_Stoic_ Character of the _English_ Nation. 'Tis directed to Mr.
_Brindley_, a Bookbinder at _London_, in that which is call'd _New
Bondstreet_.
_Cousin_ BRINDLEY,
'These Actions, consider'd in all their Circumstances, being
somewhat uncommon, it may not be improper to give some Account
of the Cause, and that it was an inveterate Hatred we conceiv'd
against Poverty and Rags; Evils, which through a Train of
unlucky Accidents were become inevitable; for we appeal to all
that ever knew us, whether we were either idle or extravagant;
whether or no we have not taken as much Pains to get our Living
as our Neighbours, altho' not attended with the same Success.
We apprehend the taking our Child's Life away to be a
Circumstance for which we shall be generally condemn'd; but for
our own Parts, we are perfectly easy upon that Head. We are
satisfy'd it is less Cruelty to take the Child with us, even
supposing a State of Annihilation, as some dream of, than to
leave her friendless in the World, expos'd to Ignorance and
Misery. Now in order to obviate some Censures, which may proceed
either from Ignorance or Malice, we think it proper to inform
the World, that we firmly believe the Existence of Almighty God;
that this Belief of ours is not an implicit Faith, but deduced
from the Nature and Reason of Things: We believe the Existence
of an Almighty Being from the Consideration of his wonderful
Works, from a Consideration of those innumerable celestial and
glorious Bodies, and from their wonderful Order and Harmony. We
have also spent some Time in viewing those Wonders which are to
be seen in the minute Part of the World, and that with great
Pleasure and Satisfaction, from all which Particulars, we are
satisfied, that such amazing Things could not possibly be
without a first Mover, without the Existence of an Almighty
Being: And as we know the wonderful God to be Almighty, so we
cannot help believing but that he is also good, not implacable;
not like such Wretches as Men are, not taking Delight in the
Miseries of his Creatures; for which Reason we resign up our
Breaths unto him, without any terrible Apprehensions, submitting
ourselves to those Ways, which in his Goodness he shall please
to appoint after Death. We also believe the Existence of
unbody'd Creatures, and think we have Reason for that Belief,
altho' we don't pretend to know their Way of subsisting. We are
not ignorant of those Laws made _in Terrorem_; but leave the
Disposal of our Bodies to the Wisdom of the Coroner and his
Jury; the Thing being indifferent to us where our Bodies are
laid: From whence it will appear how little anxious we are about
a _Hic jacet_; we for our Parts neither expect, nor desire such
Honours, but shall content ourselves with a borrowed Epitaph,
_viz._
'Without a Name, for ever silent, dumb,
Dust, Ashes, nought else is within this Tomb.
Where we were born or bred, it matters not,
Who were our Parents, or have us begot.
We were, but are not: think no more of us;
For as we are, so you'll be turn'd to Dust.
'It is the Opinion of _Naturalists_, that our Bodies are at
certain Stages of Life compos'd of new Matter, so that a great
many poor People have new Bodies oftner than new Cloaths: Now as
Divines are not able to inform us which of those several Bodies
shall rise at the Resurrection, it is very probable, that the
deceased Body may be for ever silent as well as any other.'
Sign'd,
RICHARD SMITH.
BRIDGET SMITH.
The Coroner's Inquest, after the usual Formalities, brought in their
Verdict, whereby they declared _Richard Smith_ guilty of that Crime, which
they call in _England_, _Felo de se_, or Self-Murder; and of Wilful Murder
as to his Child. _Bridget_ was brought in a Lunatic, tho' she had sign'd
the Letter with her Husband, and acknowledged that she was equally
concerned in the Murder of her Child; so that I think her Corpse deserved
hanging, at least for a little while: And sure I am, that she would not
have been found a Lunatic here.
There being commonly some little Piece of Entertainment at the End of
Tragedies, I am now to divert you with some such Farce. 'Tis the Adventure
of a certain pert Coxcomb of a Counsellor, with the Abbé _de Vayrac_, an
Author, and a Man of[77]Wit. Not many Days ago, as the Abbé was walking on
Foot, he was overtaken with a Shower of Rain, which made him take Shelter
under a Penthouse, at a Shop-door. At the same Time, who should pass by in
a magnificent Coach, driving at a mad Rate, as if he would run over every
Thing in his Way, but a Counsellor, whose furious Career was stopp'd all
on a sudden, by something that broke his Harness! This Disaster happen'd
just at the Place Where the Abbé _de Vayrac_ stood, dress'd like other
Authors, with an old tatter'd Hat upon his Head, and a shabby Cloak over a
Coat quite thread-bare. The Thing that most diverted the Counsellor, was
his Hat, and he order'd one of his Lacqueys to ask him, if it was not as
old as the Battle of[78]_Rocroy_. You must know, the Lacqueys of this
Country are more brazen-fac'd and insolent than they are any-where else;
and the Counsellor's discharg'd his Errand to a Tittle. M. _l'Abbé_, said
he, in a Droll Tone, _my Master wants to know in what Battle your Hat
receiv'd all those Wounds_. _At the Battle of_ Cannæ, _Friend_, reply'd
the Abbé; and then he laid on five or six heavy Blows upon the impudent
Ambassador's Shoulders with his _Cane_. The Counsellor, seeing his
Domestic so soundly drubb'd, stepp'd instantly out of his Coach, and
running to the Abbé, said, _What are you doing?_ The Abbé reply'd very
sedately, _I am chastising Insolence._ _Parbleu_, M. _l'Abbé_, said the
Counsellor, _I think you are a pleasant Fellow to presume to strike a
Servant of mine! Surely you don't know me; for if you did, you would have
more Respect for my Livery._ _Pardon me_, reply'd the Abbé, _I know you
very well._ _And who am I?_ said the Counsellor. _Why you are a Fool_,
reply'd the _Abbé_; upon which the Gentleman thought fit to sneak off.
This is a very true Story; for I had it from the Abbé _de Vayrac_ himself,
who told it to me with the same Gravity as he had answer'd the Counsellor.
Tho' Lacqueys are not commonly the Subjects of Conversation, yet I think
that those of _Paris_ deserve some Notice. They form so considerable a
Body, that there are many Kings who have not so numerous an Army. Besides,
these Fellows make such extraordinary Fortunes, and often rise so quick
from _Valets_, to be Masters and Gentlemen, that really they ought not to
be confounded in the Lump with the _European_ Lacqueys. Those of 'em who
set up for fine Fellows, as many of 'em do, (for in the Livery of _Paris_,
you meet with every Thing that is handsome and gay) such, I say, as are in
the Service of some young Noblemen, are commonly Equals and Companions
with their Masters. There are others who are the Darlings of the Fair Sex;
and if Satire may be credited, and Appearances, perhaps, into the
Bargain, there are Ladies even of the first Quality, who don't always
treat their Lacqueys like Servants. 'Tis true, they most commonly take
them out of the Livery, and in order to bring them near their Persons,
they make them their Pages, or _Valets de Chambre_. Nothing is thought too
good for these Favourites of _Venus_; they are rigg'd out like Princes,
and were you to see one of these fortunate Lacqueys, you would naturally
take him for some Person of Consequence. And indeed, there are some who
act the Man of Quality to such a Perfection, that nothing can exceed it;
and they have often better Manners than their Masters. The Airs of
Importance, and of Quality, are very natural to the _French_. There are
others of the menial Class, that enjoy the Favour of their young Masters,
in a Way so uncommon, that one knows not what to think of it; and many of
those young Gentlemen, forgetting the Respect that is due to their own
Persons, and their Families, make Parties at Supper with 'em, at which
Time, I fansy, Conversation is the least Part of the Entertainment. But
such is the Spirit of Debauchery, that it has infected the Generality of
the young People at Court; tho' 'tis true enough, that it ever was so.
I don't say that excessive Debauchery is the universal Goût of the Nation;
for, on the contrary, the _French_ are virtuous from the Cradle to the
Grave, if they are but so happy as to get over the four or five Years of
juvenile Fury, and to surmount the tumultuous Passions which their great
Vivacity kindles in their Breasts, and prompts them to do Things at twenty
Years of Age, which at thirty they detest and abhor; and I affirm of the
_French_ in general, that they are not vicious by Inclination. The
Nobleman is infinitely more so, than the Bulk of the People; and whether
it is bad Company, bad Counsel, or whatever else that misleads him, he
thinks that to be debauch'd gives him a fine Air; and many of 'em really
boast of being greater Deboshees, than in Fact they are.
But this does not seem to me to be the Case of the Women (I mean of those
who are not very rigidly attach'd to the Precepts of Virtue). They always
preserve an Appearance of Decency, which imposes on such as don't know
them: Nor is their Conversation licentious; and if they are naughty, 'tis
in private. 'Tis certain that our Countrymen don't do the _French_ Ladies
Justice. Many of our young Fellows, when they come home from _Paris_,
affecting to be Coxcombs, tell Stories so much to the Disadvantage of the
Fair Sex, that most of the _German_ Gentlemen, and especially of our
Ladies, think the Reverse of what they ought to do. Virtue and Modesty are
as eminent among the Sex here as elsewhere; and those Whifflers, that give
themselves the Liberty of scandalizing them, very often know not how to
call one Woman of Quality by her right Name, and even never saw her
Antichamber. 'Tis certain, that there are Women of Quality here, who have
laid aside the Mask; but of these there are so few, that the whole Sex
ought not to be reproach'd for their Misconduct. I give you my Word and
Honour, that there are fine young Ladies here, born to charm our Sex, whom
Calumny itself is obliged to respect; and I don't see what more can be
desired. I'll vouch the same for the young Gentlemen, of whom indeed, the
greatest Number is very much debauch'd, but there are some that have not
quitted the Reins of Modesty. A _Tremouille_, a _Luxembourg_, a
_Boufflers_, and many more, may be set up as Examples to our Youth, who,
perhaps, would be worse than the Youth of _France_, if they were enter'd
as young into Company, and seated in the Centre of Joy and Pleasures. But
I perceive, that instead of a Letter I am drawing a Case. Therefore here I
drop my Brief, and think my Epistle long enough to be concluded. I am
intirely Yours, _&c._
[Illustration]
LETTER XLIII.
_SIR_, _Paris, May 28, 1732._
I was puzzled some time ago, to think what could make the _French_ forget
Father _Girard_ and _la Cadiere_, and the pretended St. _Paris_; for I
apprehended, those two Articles would be the Subject of Conversation a
great while longer; but I was mistaken: 'Tis all forgot; and there's
something now upon the Tapis, of quite another Kind.
The Archbishop of _Paris_ having thought fit to issue his Mandate for
suppressing a certain printed Paper, intitled _Nouvelles Ecclesiastiques_,
(a Sort of Ecclesiastical News-Journal) the Parliament of _Paris_ was
disgusted, and made an Arret, condemning the Archbishop's Mandate. The
Court took the Prelate's Part, and declar'd all that was done by the
Parliament upon this Occasion, null and void. The Parliament standing up
mightily for its Privileges, which nevertheless it holds only by the good
Pleasure of its Kings, discontinued its Assemblies, and the King was
obliged to issue repeated Orders, before the Members would resume their
Business. Mean time the _Advocates_ and _Solicitors_ have thought fit to
espouse the Cause of the Parliament, and refuse to plead till the King has
_done Justice_ to the Parliament, ('tis their own Term) by preserving it
in the Possession of Appeals against Incroachments; which it has really
enjoy'd for many Years, and which is the Ground of the present Disputes.
The Parliament say, that they are the more justifiable in supporting this
antient Prerogative, because they are obliged to it in Conscience, and for
the Welfare of the State committed to their Charge. For, say they, what
would be the Consequence, were the Archbishop's Mandate to be authorized?
The Pope and the Bishops would, by Degrees, assume that Right which they
pretend to, of pronouncing Excommunications for very trivial Causes, and
even of putting the King himself under an Interdict, and consequently of
usurping a Temporal Despotic Power under the Umbrage of their Spiritual
Power, which, say the Parliament, is absolutely contrary to the Liberties
of the _Gallican_ Church; by Virtue whereof, 'tis sufficient for the
Parliament alone, in the like Case, to stigmatize and condemn those
_Nouvelles Ecclesiastiques_, as they have already done for a long Time.
This is, in general, the Situation of Affairs, and the Substance of the
Arguments made use of by the Parliament for the Maintenance of their
Rights, which are stuff'd with Abundance of pompous Terms, such as the
_Obligations of Conscience_, the _Liberties of the_ Gallican _Church_, and
a thousand such Expressions, with which the very Hawkers make your Ears
ring as you go along the Streets. The Ladies too have for the present laid
aside all the Jargon of Dresses, to learn that Language; and she who us'd
to talk of Cornets and Gorgets, now assumes the Style of an Advocate,
pleads for _Gallican_ Liberties, overturns the Church, and sends the
_Sacred College_ and the _Bishops_ to the Gallies. In short, I can't
express to you, how ridiculous the _French_ are in these Cases. Being fond
of every Thing that's new, be it good or bad, they catch at it blindfold;
which is a plain Confirmation of the Inconstancy of these People, who are
so fickle, that I verily believe, if any one should take a Fancy to preach
_Mahometanism_ to them, they would embrace it with their usual Levity.
The following, my dear Friend, is a Piece of Poetry, which, I think, is
good, and make no Doubt will please you. The Subject of it is, Christian
Tranquillity. If I can pick up any Thing new for you, before I go hence, I
will not fail to send it to you. I supp'd lately in a Place with M. _de
Voltaire_, and another Poet, the latter of whom rehearsed a very pretty
Piece to us, of which he refused to give us a Copy, pretending 'twas
imperfect; but however, he has promised it to me. When I have it, I will
send it to you.
TRANQUILLITÉ CHRISTIAN
CHRÉTIENNE. TRANQUILLITY.
Surles les Disputes du Tems. On the Disputes of the Times.
Plein d'ignorance et de Miseres, Why wilt, audacious mortal Man,
Pourquoi, Mortel audacieux, So wretched, and so ignorant,
Veux-tu sur des profonds mysteres On Mysteries dark and profound
Porter un oeil trop curieux! resume to cast an Eye too nice?
Toi, pour qui toute la Nature Dost thou, to whom all Nature seems
Ne paroit qu'une Enigme obscure, But an impenetrable Riddle,
Tu sondes les Divins Decrets? Pretend to fathom God's Decrees?
Tu croi que ton foible gênie Think'st thou thy feeble Genius can
De l'Intelligence infinie The mighty Secrets e'er unfold
Pourra dévoiler les Secrets? Of infinite Intelligence?
Crains les ténèbres respectables, Fear thou the dark, but awful Shades,
Où Dieu cache sa Majesté; Where God his Majesty conceals;
De ses Desseins impénétrables For who the Veil can penetrate
Qui peut percer l'obscurité? Of his impenetrable Schemes?
Mesure la vaste étendue Measure the vast immense Extent
De ces Globes, qu'offre à la vue Of all those Globes that may be seen
Un tems serein et lumineux. In Weather most serene and bright.
Mais arrête ici ton audace, But here thy fond Presumption check;
Tu ne peux voir que la surface For thou nought but the Surface seest
De ce Théatre merveilleux. Of this Theatre wonderful.
Où t'emporte l'ardeur extréme Where will thy furious Ardor stop,
De tout comprendre, et de tout All Things to comprehend and see?
voir?
Tu ne te connois pas toi-même: And know'st not what thou art
L'Esprit échape à son savoir; thyself,
Et la Raison impérieuse Thy Mind a Stranger to its Bounds:
De la Grace victorieuse Will then imperious Reason dare
Veut pénétrer la Profondeur! Presume to penetrate the Depths
+Paul+, tout rempli de Of all-victorious Grace Divine?
sa Lumiere, Great Paul, in whom its
Nous apprend quelle est la maniere Light shone full,
Dont elle agit sur notre coeur. Explains to us the Manner how
Grace operates upon our Hearts.
Je sens en moi que la Nature I feel within, that Nature's self
Veut établir ma Liberté; To fix my Freedom makes Efforts;
Elle se plaint, elle murmure, And when her Power is controll'd
Quand son pouvoir est disputé. She murmurs inward, and complains.
Mais si j'interroge mon Ame But if my Soul I do but ask
Comment une céleste flâme Which way a Flame celestial
La fait agir, la fait mouvoir; Induces it to act and move;
Je crains que cette Ame hautaine I fear this haughty swelling Soul
Ne donne à la puissance humaine, To human Power will ascribe
Ce qui vient du Divin Pouvoir. That which to Pow'r Divine is due.
Surpris de l'Intervalle immense Astonish'd at the Space immense
Qu'on voit de l'Homme au Créateur, Betwixt the Creature and Creator,
Si je n'admets une Puissance If I do not a Pow'r confess
Qui concourt avec son Auteur, Concurring with its Author,
Ce n'est plus pour moi qu'un Free Agency, or that Free-will
vain titre,
Que le franc, que le libre Arbitre, Of which my Reason so much vaunts,
Que ma Raison sais tant vanter: Is but for me an empty Plea:
Je ne connois plus de Justice, That Justice I no longer own,
Qui récompense et qui punisse, Which doth reward and punish too,
Ce qui ne peut rien mériter. What strictly neither can deserve.