*Why I did not leave a letter for you at Marseilles? For a very
plain reason: Because I did not go to Marseilles. But, as you have
most judiciously added, why did not I send one? Humph! I own that
nonplusses me a little. However, hearken to my history. After
revolving a variety of plans, and suiting them as well as possible
to time and finances, Guise and I at last agreed to pass from Venice
to Lyons, swim down the Rhosne, wheel round the South of France,
and embark at Bourdeaux. Alas! At Lyons I received letters which
convinced me that I ought no longer to deprive my country of one of
her greatest ornaments. Unwillingly I obeyed, left Guise to execute
alone the remainder of our plan, passed about ten delicious days at
Paris, and arrived in England about the end of June. Guise followed
me about two months afterwards, as I was informed by an epistle from
him, which, to his great astonishment, I immediately answered. You
perceive there is still some virtue amongst men. _Exempli gratiâ_,
your letter is dated Vienna, October 12th, 1765; it made its
appearance at Beriton, Wednesday evening, October the 29th. I am at
this present writing, sitting in my library, on Thursday morning,
between the hours of twelve & one.
I have ventured to suppose you still at Berlin; if not, I presume
you take care that your letters should follow you. This Ideal march
to Berlin is the only one I can make at present. I am under command;
and were I to talk of a third sally as yet, I know some certain
people who would think it just as ridiculous as the third sally of
the Renowned Don Quixote. All I ever hoped for was, to be able to
take the field once more, after lying quiet a couple of years. I must
own that your executing your tour in so compleat a manner gives me a
little selfish pain. If I make a summer's escape to Berlin, I cannot
hope for the companion I flattered myself with. I am sorry however I
have said so much; but as it is difficult to increase your honour's
proper notions of your own perfections, I will e'en let it stand.
Indeed I owed you something for Your account of the favourable
reception my book[89] has met with. I see there are people of taste
at Vienna, and no longer wonder at your liking it. Since the court
is so agreeable, a thorough reformation must have taken place. The
stiffness of the Austrian Etiquette, and the haughty magnificence of
the Hungarian princes, must have given way to more civilized notions.
You have (no doubt) informed yourself of the forces and revenues of
the Empress. I think (however unfashionably) we always esteemed her.
Have You lost or improved that opinion? Princes, like Pictures, to be
admired, must be seen in their proper point of view, which is often
a pretty distant one. I am afraid you will find it peculiarly so at
Berlin.
I need not desire you to pay a most minute attention to the Austrian
and Prussian discipline. You have been bit by a mad Serjeant as well
as myself; and when we meet, we shall run over with every particular
which we can approve of, blame, or imitate. Since my arrival, I have
assumed the august character of Major, received returns, issued
orders, &c. &c. I do not intend you shall have the honor of reviewing
my troops next summer. Three-fourths of the men will be recruits;
and during my pilgrimage, discipline seems to have been relaxed. I
do not care to expose the chosen seed to the prophane mockery of
the uncircumcised. But I summon you to fulfil another engagement.
Make me a visit next summer. You will find here a bad house, a
pleasant country in summer, some books, and very little _strange_
company. Such a plan of life for two or three months must, I should
imagine, suit a man who has been for as many years struck from one
end of Europe to the other like a tennis-ball. At least I judge of
you by myself. I always loved a quiet, studious, indolent life; but
never enjoyed the charms of it so truly, as since my return from an
agreable but fatiguing course of motion and hurry. However, I shall
hear of your arrival, which can scarce be so soon as January, 1766,
and shall probably have the misfortune of meeting you in town soon
after. We may then settle any plans for the ensuing campaign.
[Sidenote: VISIT TO MADAME NECKER.]
_En attendant_, (admire me, this is the only scrap of foreign lingo
I have imported into this Epistle--if you had seen that of Guise to
me!) let me tell you a piece of Lausanne news. Nanette Grand is
married to Lieutenant-colonel Prevôt, _a poor unfortunate half-pay
officer_. Grand wrote to me; and by the next post I congratulated
both father and daughter. There is exactness for you. The Curchod
(Madame Necker) I saw at Paris. She was very fond of me, and the
husband particularly civil. Could they insult me more cruelly? Ask
me every evening to supper; go to bed, and leave me alone with
his wife--what an impertinent security! It is making an old lover
of mighty little consequence. She is as handsome as ever and much
genteeler; seems pleased with her fortune rather than proud of it.
I was (perhaps indiscreetly enough) exalting Nanette de Illens's
good luck and the fortune. "What fortune?" said she, with an air of
contempt--"not above 20,000 Livres a year." I smiled, and she caught
herself immediately. "What airs I give myself in despising twenty
thousand Livres a-year, who a year ago looked upon 800 as the summit
of my wishes."[90]
I must end this tedious scrawl. Let me hear from you: I think I
deserve it. Believe me, Dear Holroyd, I share in all your pleasures,
and feel all your misfortunes. Poor Bolton![91] I saw it in the
newspaper. Is Ridley[92] with you? I suspect not: but if he is,
assure him I do not forget him tho' he does me. Adieu; and believe
me, most affectionately yours,*