Vienna.
I had the pleasure of yours by the last post, wherein you inform me
that our acquaintance C—— talks of setting out for Vienna very soon. As
nothing is so tiresome as the company of one who is continually tired of
himself, I should be alarmed at your information, were I not absolutely
certain that his stay here will be very short, come when he will.
C—— called at my lodgings one morning the summer before I had left
London.—I had remained in town merely because I had no particular
business elsewhere;—but he assured me, that the town was a desert;—that
it was shameful to be seen in the streets;—that all the world was a
Brighthelmstone.—So I allowed him to conduct me to that place, where we
had remained only a few days, when he told me, that none of the people
he cared for were there; and as I had nothing particular to detain me,
he begged as a favour that I would accompany him to Tunbridge.—We went
accordingly, and to my great satisfaction I there found Mr. N——’s family.
C—— remained pretty quiet for about four days;—he yawned a good deal
on the fifth;—and on the sixth, I thought he would have dislocated his
jaws. As he perceived I was pleased with the place, and would take none
of his hints about leaving it, he at last pretended that he had received
a letter which made it absolutely necessary for him to set out for
London:—and away he went.
I staid three weeks at Tunbridge.—On my return to town, I understood that
C—— had taken a genteel furnished house for the summer, in Yorkshire,
where he had already passed a week, having previously engaged a female
friend to go along with him.—He left word in town, that he was not to be
expected till the meeting of parliament. Though I never imagined that
he would remain quite so long, yet I was a little surprised to see him
enter my room two days after I had received this account.—He told me, he
was quite disgusted with his house, and more so with his companion:—and
besides, he had taken a violent fancy to go to Paris, which you know,
added he, is the most delightful place in the world, especially in
summer; for the company never think of rambling about the country like
our giddy fools in England, but remain together in the capital as
sensible people ought to do.
He then proposed that we should pack up a few things,—take post,—pass
over,—and spend a couple of months at Paris. Finding I did not relish
the proposal, he wrote an apology to the lady in Yorkshire, with an
inclosed bank bill, and set out next day by himself. I heard no more of
him for six weeks, but at the end of that time happening to be at Bath, I
saw my friend C—— enter the pump-room.—’Egad, said he, you were wise to
stay at home:—Paris is become the most insipid place on earth:—I could
not support it above ten days.—But having heard a good deal of Holland,
I even took a jaunt to Amsterdam, which, between friends, I found very
little more amusing than Paris; two days after my arrival, finding an
English ship just ready to sail, I thought it would be a pity to let the
opportunity slip. So I ordered my trunk aboard.—We had a disagreeable
passage:—However, I arrived safe a few days ago at Harwich. After this
sketch of poor C——’s turn of mind, you see, I have no reason to fear his
remaining long with us, if he should come.
Foreigners assert that the English have more of this restless disposition
than any other people in Europe.
Il faut que votre ville de Londres soit un triste séjour.—I asked the
person who made this remark to me, wherefore he thought so?—Parceque,
answered he, tous vos jeunes gens que je vois en France s’ennuyent à
la mort.—But, said I, there are a great many of your countrymen in
London.—Assurément, answered he, with polite insolence, cela fait une
différence.
Our climate is accused of producing this ennuy. If I rightly remember, I
formerly hinted some reasons against this opinion, and of late I begin to
suspect that the excessive wealth of certain individuals, and the state
of society in our capital, are the sole causes of our having a greater
share of that malady among us than our neighbours. The common people of
England know nothing of it:—neither do the industrious of any rank,
whether their object be wealth, knowledge, or fame. But in England there
is a greater number than in any other country, of young men, who come to
the possession of great fortunes before they have acquired any fixed and
determined taste, which may serve as a resource and occupation through
life.
When a youth has acquired a habit of application, a thirst of
knowledge, or of fame, the most ample fortune which can fall to him
afterwards, cannot always destroy dispositions and passions already
formed—Particularly if the passion be ambition, which generally gives
such energy to the mind, and occasions such continued exertions as
sufficiently ward off lassitude and tædium; for wealth cannot lull, or
pleasure enervate, a mind strongly inspired by that active principle.
Such therefore are out of the present question. But when a full and
uncontrolled command of money comes first, and every object of pleasure
is placed within the reach of the unambitious, all other pursuits are too
frequently despised; and every taste or accomplishment which could inform
or strengthen the mind, and fill up the tedious intervals of life, is
neglected.
A young man in this situation is prone to excess, he seldom waits
the natural returns of appetite of any kind;—his sensibility is
blunted by too frequent enjoyment;—what is desired to-day, is lothed
to-morrow;—every thing at a distance, which bears the name of pleasure,
is an object of desire;—when present, it becomes an object of
indifference, if not of disgust.—The agitations of gaming are tried to
prevent the horrid stagnation of indolence:—All amusements lose their
relish, and serve to increase the languor they were meant to expel.
As age advances, caprice, peevishness, and tædium augment:—The scene is
often changed; but the same fretful piece is constantly acted till the
curtain is dropt, or is pulled down by the impatient actor himself before
the natural end of the drama.
Does not all this happen in France and Germany?—Doubtless; but not so
often as in England, for the reasons already mentioned. In France, a
very small proportion of young men have the uncontrolled possession of
great fortunes. They have not the means of gratifying every desire, and
indulging every caprice. Instead of spending their time in clubs or
taverns, with people of their own age, the greater part of the young
nobility pass their evenings with some private family, or in those
societies of both sexes to which they have the entrée. There the decorum
due to such company restrains of course the vivacity and wantonness of
their behaviour and conversation; and adventures occur which interest and
amuse, without being followed by the nausea, languor, and remorse, which
often succeed nights spent at the gaming-table, or the licentiousness of
tavern suppers.
Nothing has a better influence on the temper, disposition, and manners
of a young person, than living much in the company of those whom he
respects. Exclusive of the improvement he may receive from their
conversation, he is habituated to self-denial, and must relinquish many
indulgencies which lead to indolence and languor.
The young French nobility, even although they should have no great share
of ambition, no love of study, no particular turn for any of those higher
accomplishments which enable men to pass the hours of life independent
of other amusements; yet they contrive to keep tædium at a distance
by efforts of a different kind, by a species of activity peculiar to
themselves; they perceive very early in life, the absolute necessity
of pleasing. This sentiment pervades their general conduct, and goes a
great way in the formation of their real character. They are attentive
and obliging to all, and particularly endeavour to acquire and retain
the friendship of those who can assist their fortunes; and they have a
relish for life, because it is not always in their power to anticipate
enjoyment, nor can they cloy their appetites by satiety. Even the most
dissipated among them are unacquainted with the unbounded freedom of a
tavern life, where all the freaks of a whimsical mind, and a capricious
taste, may be indulged without hesitation, and which, after long
indulgence, renders every other kind of society insupportable.
With regard to the Germans, there are very few men of great independent
fortunes among them. The little princes, by whom the riches of the
country are engrossed, have, I suspect, their own difficulties to get
through life with any tolerable degree of satisfaction. As for their
younger brothers and the middling gentry, they go into the army, and
are subjected to the rigorous and unremitting attentions of military
discipline. This, of consequence, forms a character, in many respects
different from that of the English or French gentleman.
But I have not yet mentioned the circumstance, which, of all others,
perhaps contributes the most to render London the triste séjour which
foreigners often find it; I mean the establishment of clubs, from which
that part of the community are excluded who have the greatest power to
soothe the cares, and enliven the pleasures of life.