CHAPTER XIV.

1764-1765. Æt. 53-54.

The French and English Society of Hume's day—Reasons of his warm reception in France—Society in which he moved—Mixture of lettered men with the Aristocracy—Madame Geoffrin—Madame Du Page de Boccage—Madame Du Deffand—Mademoiselle De L'Espinasse—D'Alembert—Turgot—The Prince of Conti—Notices of Hume among the Parisians—Walpole in Paris—Resumption of the Correspondence—Hume undertakes the management of Elliot's sons—Reminiscences of home—Mrs. Cockburn—Adam Smith—Madame De Boufflers and the Prince of Conti—Correspondence with Lord Elibank.

There were many things to make the social position he obtained in France infinitely gratifying to Hume. Even his good birth was no claim to admission on a position of liberal familiarity with the higher aristocracy of England. His descent from a line of Scottish lairds would be insufficient in the eyes of the Walpoles, Russels, and Seymours, to distinguish him from the common herd of men who could put on a laced waistcoat and powdered wig, and command decent treatment from the lackeys in their ante-chambers. His claims rested on his Literary rank; and the extent to which such claims might be admitted was fixed by Hereditary rank at its own discretion. It might cordially receive them one day, and repel them with cold disdain on another. In this doubtful and partial recognition, Hume would find himself in the motley crowd of those who force themselves, or are partly welcomed, into these high places—dissipated men of genius, underbred men of riches, hardworking, pertinacious politicians; persons with whom his finely trained mind, his reserve, and his habit of mixing in a refined though small society of Scotsmen, would not easily harmonize.

In France matters were widely different; there he was at once warmly and affectionately received into the bosom of a society to which many of the supercilious English aristocracy would have sought for admission in vain. In England no distinct palpable barrier surrounded the distinguished group. The multitude clamorously asserted an equality. In default of other qualities, impudence and perseverance were sometimes sufficient to force admission. In these circumstances, each member of the privileged classes guarded his own portion of the arena as well as he might, and the intruder had to fight battle after battle, and contest every inch of ground he gained.

It seems as if in France the very rigidness with which the select circle was fortified was the reason why those admitted within it were placed so thoroughly at their ease. The aristocracy could open the door, look about them, and invite an individual to enter, without fearing to encounter a general rush for admission. There was much evil of every kind in that circle; we have not to deal here with its inward morality, but its outward form, and it certainly deserves to be remembered as one of the most memorable instances in which, on any large scale, the aristocracy of rank and wealth has met the aristocracy of letters without restraint. The quality of shining in conversation was not to be despised by the greatest in wealth, or the highest in the peerage; and their efforts were measured with those of the first wits of the time. To an aristocracy which could thus amuse itself, it was a great luxury to be surrounded by men of thought and learning. The courtier who could open his salon to the wits and philosophers of Paris, was far more dependant on their presence than they were on the privilege of admission. If a Barthélemi, a Marmontel, a Condillac, saw cause to desert the suppers of D'Holbach, they would be received at those of the Duc de Praslin or de Choiseul, the Prince of Conti, and Madame du Deffand; but how were such departed stars to be replaced?[209:1]

There is perhaps no more striking type of the character and condition of the Parisian coteries than one of Hume's most intimate friends, Madame Geoffrin. In this country, were an uneducated woman to frame and lead a social party, including the first in rank and in talent of the day, to which no one under royalty was too great not to deem admission a privilege; were she to be absolute in her admissions and exclusions, bold in her sarcasms, free and blunt often to rudeness in her observations and opinions, and severe or kind to all by turns as her own choice or caprice suggested, it would be at once pronounced that the reddest blood and the highest rank could alone produce such an anomaly. A very small number of eminent duchesses have perhaps occupied such a position in this country. Yet Madame Geoffrin, who acted this part to the full among the fastidious aristocracy of France before the revolution, was the daughter of a valet-de-chambre and the widow of a glass manufacturer. The foundation of her influence was her success in making herself the centre of a circle of artists and men of letters. She was much in the confidence of Madame De Tencin, and on that lady's death succeeded in transferring to herself what remained of her distinguished society, dimmed as it was by the departure of Montesquieu and Fontenelle. Madame Geoffrin by activity and energy widened the circle. She never made visits herself, and those who had the privilege of entering her dining-room on her public days, found there assembled D'Alembert, Helvétius, Raynal, Marmontel, Caraccioli, Holbach, Galliani, and the artist Vanloo. During the British embassy, David Hume, the great philosopher from the far North, might there be met; and when all other attempts had perhaps failed, some chance of encountering such an erratic meteor as Rousseau still remained in attending Madame Geoffrin's Wednesday dinner. Having once, by her signal wit and wisdom, gained her position, no obtrusive rivals from her own deserted class could push near enough to drive her from it. It is not the least admirable feature of this remarkable woman, that far from assuming the subdued and cautious tone of one of her own rank, who must be more wary than a denizen of committing breaches of the social rules of her new cast, a simplicity and freedom seems to have accompanied all her actions and ideas; a courageous adoption of what seemed good to her in place of what might be fit. Her letters, in their severe diction, give some notion of the writer's character, but cannot convey so full an impression as when they are presented in the bold, irregular, and most "unlady-like" hand in which they are scribbled.[211:1]

The pleasant retailers of the literary chit-chat of that time, Marmontel, Grimm, Bauchemont, and others, are full of details of Madame Geoffrin, who, if she was not quite as formally approached as Boufflers, or Deffand, was as much respected, loved, and feared. The author of the Contes Moraux," tells us some of the weaknesses of this gifted lady; and, according to his account, she had been actually convicted, living as she was outwardly in the freest society in the world, of a turn for secret devotion! "Elle avait un apartement dans un couvent de religieuses et une tribune à l'Eglise des Capucins,—mais avec autant de mystère que les femmes galantes de ce temps-là avaient des petites maisons." The picture would be sufficiently ludicrous, were it not for the darker features presented by a state of society, where no one should venture to be pious except under pain of being exterminated with ridicule.

There was one matter as to which Madame Geoffrin was timid and cautious; she never meddled with matters of state or unsafe political opinions, and was induced to discountenance those who did so. Surrounded by restless and inquiring spirits, she often dreaded being compromised by their conduct; and was especially uneasy at any time when the Bastille sheltered a more than usual number of those whose wit was wont to flash round her board. But her guests have recorded, that if there was a little saddened and earnest gravity in her deportment, when she received them after such naughty affairs, she abated nothing of her old kindness. Her good heart indeed was after all her noblest quality. She was one of those who held the simple notion, that were it not for the judicious distribution of favours by the rich, the poor, including artisans and producers of all kinds, must necessarily die of starvation. She was thus in the midst of an extensive distribution of charities, actively occupied in the encouragement of those who lived by the sweat of their brow; and if she believed that she accomplished much more than she actually did, it was a satisfaction not to be grudged to one who occupied herself with the fortunes of the poor, in the midst of the stony indifference of the French aristocracy of that day.

Another lady, a friend and correspondent of Hume, Madame le Page du Boccage, endeavoured to rival Madame Geoffrin as a centre of attraction; but though she possessed, along with wealth, both rank and beauty, she was unsuccessful, on account of the presence of a third quality—authorship. The wits must praise her bad poetry if they frequented her house, and where so many other doors were open without such a condition, they abandoned it. "Elle était d'une figure aimable," says Grimm, "elle est bonne femme; elle est riche; elle pouvait fixer chez elle les gens d'esprit et de bonne compagnie, sans les mettre dans l'embarras de lui parler avec peu de sincérité de sa Colombiade ou de ses Amazones."[213:1]

Perhaps of all these eminent women, while Madame de Boufflers had the greatest amount of elegance and accomplishment, Madame du Deffand had the sharpest and most searching wit. She was the author of that proverbial bon mot about St. Denis carrying his head under his arm, il n'y a que le premier pas qui coûte; a saying sufficient to make a reputation in France. Madame du Deffand does not appear to have been a correspondent of Hume, nor, though they occasionally met, does much cordiality seem to have subsisted between them.[214:1] The aveugle clairvoyante, as Voltaire aptly called her, in allusion to her blindness and her wit, thought that she discovered in Hume a worshipper at another shrine. She wrote to Walpole expressing her disgust of those who paid court to Madame de Boufflers, at the same time, only just not stating, in express terms, how much they were mistaken in not transferring their obsequiousness to herself.[214:2] She, certainly an object of pity from her blindness, was still more so in her own discontented spirit. The days which tranquil ease and the attentions of kind friends might have soothed, were disturbed by restless vanity, an intense desire to interfere with the doings of that world which she could not see, dissipation, and literary wrangles.

One remarkable person, an offshoot of Madame du Deffand's circle, and driven forth from it to raise an empire of her own, was Mademoiselle de L'Espinasse. Hume and she met frequently in Paris, and they subsequently corresponded together. She was an illegitimate child, who, having been well educated, had been adopted by Madame du Deffand as her companion, and the minister for supplying, as far as possible, her lost sense of sight. Mademoiselle had to be present at those displays of intellect which illuminated the table of her mistress. It soon began to transpire that the humble drudge possessed a soul of fire; and taking part in the conversation, her remarks rose as she acquired confidence and ease, into an originality of thought, fulness of judgment, and rich eloquence of language, which fascinated the senses of those veteran champions in the arena of intellect. Thus many of those who went to offer their incense to a woman old and blind, were constrained to bestow some of it on one "young in years, but in sage counsel old," who had little more outward claim on their admiration; for Mademoiselle de L'Espinasse was naturally plain, and was deeply marked with smallpox. The patroness did not present herself till six o'clock in the evening; to her who knew no difference between light and darkness it was morning. She often found that her protégée had been entertaining the guests for an hour, and that they had come early to enjoy her conversation. This was treason—an overt tampering with the allegiance of the followers; and the subordinate was driven forth with contumely.

It is not easy to decide which party, if either, was in the right; though the memoir writers in general take the part of Mademoiselle de L'Espinasse. Far from being made a homeless wanderer by the dismissal, she was immediately supplied with a house and furniture by her friends, who obtained for her a pension from the crown. On these means she founded a rival establishment of her own; and surrounded herself with an intellectual circle, which seems to have more than rivalled in brilliancy that from which she was dismissed. D'Alembert was told that if he countenanced the new idol, he must bid farewell to his former patroness. He at once joined the party of the young aspirant. He became dangerously ill, and Mademoiselle de L'Espinasse nursed him with the untiring affection of a wife or a daughter. The philosopher, whose humble dwelling was found to be on too sordid a scale to be consistent with health, thenceforth took up his abode with his young friend. Hume must have witnessed the rise of this new connexion, for it was during his residence in Paris that D'Alembert's illness took place, and it is the object of occasional anxious allusion by his Parisian acquaintance.[216:1]

Though the circumstances in which he passed his earlier days were not likely to nourish such a taste, no man seems to have been more dependant on the presence of an educated and intellectual female than the secretary of the Academy. There is little doubt that the new attachment was of a Platonic character; but it boded evil to both parties. The lady, if she had some portion of the purer affections of the soul to bestow upon the sage, had warmer feelings for likelier objects; and her frame sunk before the consuming fires of more than one passion.[218:1] She was carried to an early grave, and the mortifications, caused by her alienation, followed by grief for her death, broke the spirit, and imbittered and enfeebled the latter days of the philosopher. Hume seems to have established a closer friendship with D'Alembert than with any of his other contemporaries in France; and he left a memorial of his regard for the encyclopediast in his will. Unlike, in many respects, they had some features in common. D'Alembert's personal character, and the habits of his life, had, like his philosophy, the dignity of simplicity. His figure, and still more his voice, were the objects of much malicious sarcasm; but cruel jests could not make his fragile body less the tenement of a noble spirit; or his shrill puny voice less the instrument of great and bold thoughts. His mind stands forth in strong relief from the frippery of that age; while his writings contain no marks of that reckless infidelity which distinguishes the productions of his fellow labourers. In some of those follies, so prevalent that a man utterly free of them, must have courted the charge of eccentricity, if not of insanity, he partook; but moderately and reluctantly, as one suited for a better time and a nobler sphere of exertion. In the quarrel with Rousseau, he adopted the cause of Hume with honest zeal. He wrote many letters to Hume, which are still preserved. They perhaps, in some measure, exhibit the least amiable feature of his character—his bitterness, it might be almost termed hatred, towards Madame du Deffand, on account of her conduct to his own friend.

It is unnecessary to discourse, at any length, on the distinguished men—including the names of Buffon, Malesherbes, Diderot, Crébillon, Morellet, Helvétius, Holbach, Hénault, Raynal, Suard, La Condamine, and De Brosses, who courted Hume's company in France. Next to D'Alembert, his closest friendship seems to have been with the honest and thoughtful statesman, Turgot; who, in the midst of that reckless whirl of vanity, was already looking far into the future, and predicting, from the disorganized and menacing condition of the elements of French society, the storm that was to come. He wrote many letters to Hume, containing remarks on matters of statesmanship and political economy, which are of great interest in a historical and economical view, especially in one instance, where he notices the want of any common principle of sympathies and interests connecting the aristocracy with the people, and reflects on the dangerous consequences of such a state of matters to the peace of Europe.

There are many circumstances showing that much as he loved the social ease, combined with learning and wit, for which his Parisian circle was conspicuous, he disliked one prominent feature of that social system—the scornful infidelity, the almost intolerance of any thing like earnest belief, so often exhibited, both in speech and conduct. Sir Samuel Romilly has preserved the following curious statement by Diderot:—"He spoke of his acquaintance with Hume. 'Je vous dirai un trait de lui, mais il vous sera un peu scandaleux peut-être, car vous Anglais vous croyez un peu en Dieu; pour nous autres nous n'y croyons guères. Hume dîna avec une grande compagnie chez le Baron D'Holbach. Il était assis à côté du Baron; on parla de la religion naturelle: 'Pour les Athées,' disait Hume, 'je ne crois pas qu'il en existe; je n'en ai jamais vu.' 'Vous avez été un peu malheureux,' répondit l'autre, 'vous voici à table avec dix-sept pour la première fois.'"[220:1]

The secretary's residence in the metropolis was occasionally varied by official sojourns to Fontainbleau, or Compiègne, a visit to the Duchesse de Barbantane at Villers Cotterets, or an excursion with Madame de Boufflers and the Prince of Conti to L'Ile-Adam. That rural seat of princely magnificence and hospitality is a familiar name in the memoirs of the times; and particularly in those of Madame de Genlis. It is singular, indeed, that this lady never mentions Hume, though she appears to have been living in the castle at the time when he visited it. The Prince of Conti was in every way possessed of the external qualifications which, in the eyes of his countrymen, were then the proper ornaments of his high station. He was brave, a distinguished military leader, generous, extravagant, gallant, and a lover of literature and the arts.[221:1] There was probably little in such a character to rival a Turgot, or a D'Alembert in Hume's esteem; but his intercourse with this prince, as with De Rohan, De Choiseul, and others, would be of a more limited and formal character.[221:2] His influence with courtiers and statesmen, however, appears to have been considerable. In the letters addressed to him there are several instances where French people solicit his interposition with the great: thus, Madame Helvétius desires his good offices to procure an abbaye for her friend and neighbour the Abbé "Macdonalt," of an illustrious Irish family.[222:1] One lady, seeking ecclesiastical patronage, tells him that the clergy will have more pleasure in doing him a favour than in performing the functions of their office!

Hume has thus recorded in his "own life" the impression left on him by his reception in Paris:—"Those who have not seen the strange effects of modes, will never imagine the reception I met with at Paris, from men and women of all ranks and stations. The more I resiled from their excessive civilities, the more I was loaded with them. There is, however, a real satisfaction in living at Paris; from the great number of sensible, knowing, and polite company with which that city abounds above all places in the universe. I thought once of settling there for life." If he thought that he could have taken up his residence in Paris, and preserved for the remainder of his days the fresh bloom of his reputation, he was undoubtedly mistaken; but, dazzled as he in some measure was, we can see in his correspondence that he estimated the sensation he made pretty nearly at its just value. In the circle of toys, seized and discarded, by a giddy fashionable crowd, philosophy will have its turn, as well as poodles, parrots, tulips, monkeys, cafés, and black pages. It had been so a century earlier, when the most abstruse works of Des Cartes had been the ornament of every fashionable lady's toilette; and now the wheel had revolved and philosophy was again in vogue.

A second time we have Lord Charlemont affording us a passing sketch of Hume. Having had an opportunity of witnessing the philosopher's reception in France, he says:—

"From what has been already said of him, it is apparent that his conversation to strangers, and particularly to Frenchmen, could be little delightful, and still more particularly, one would suppose, to French women: and yet no lady's toilette was complete without Hume's attendance. At the opera his broad unmeaning face was usually seen entre deux jolis minois. The ladies in France gave the ton, and the ton was deism: a species of philosophy ill suited to the softer sex, in whose delicate frame weakness is interesting, and timidity a charm. . . . . How my friend Hume was able to endure the encounter of these French female Titans, I know not. In England, either his philosophic pride or his conviction that infidelity was ill suited to women, made him perfectly averse from the initiation of ladies into the mysteries of his doctrine."[223:1]

The same characteristics are recorded by Grimm.[223:2] We have his position still more vividly painted by Madame d'Epinay, according to whom he must have undergone not a small portion of the martyrdom of lionism. One of the "rages" of the day was the holding of cafés, or giving entertainments in private houses, according to the arrangements and etiquette of a public café. Among the amusements of the evening were pantomimes, and acted tableaux. In these it was necessary that Hume should take a rôle, and as he was always willing to conform to established regulations, we find him seated as a sultan between two obdurate beauties, intending to strike his bosom, but aiming the blows at le ventre, and accompanying his acting with characteristic exclamations.[224:1]

Hume's popularity in Paris appears to have somewhat disturbed Horace Walpole's equanimity. He was too good an artist to be very angry, or to express himself in terms of aggravated bitterness; but it is clear from occasional notices, that, notwithstanding his professed admiration of Scotsmen, it displeased him to find Hume the Scotsman sitting at the king's gate. Writing to Lady Hervey on 14th Sept. 1765, he says, "Mr. Hume, that is the mode, asked much about your ladyship."[225:1] Then to Montague, on the 22d of the same month, and in allusion to the conversation of the dinner-table in Paris:

For literature, it is very amusing when one has nothing else to do. I think it rather pedantic in society: tiresome when displayed professedly; and, besides, in this country, one is sure it is only the fashion of the day. Their taste in it is the worst of all; could one believe, that when they read our authors, Richardson and Mr. Hume should be their favourites? The latter is treated here with perfect veneration. His History, so falsified in many points, so partial in as many, so very unequal in its parts, is thought the standard of writing.[225:2]

Thus, and in the like strain, do the French suffer in his good opinion, for their offence in making an idol of Hume. So, on the 3d October, when writing to Mr. Chute,—

Their authors, who by the way are every where, are worse than their own writings, which I don't mean as a compliment to either. In general, the style of conversation is solemn, pedantic, and seldom animated, but by a dispute. I was expressing my aversion to disputes: Mr. Hume, who very gratefully admires the tone of Paris, having never known any other tone, said with great surprise, "Why, what do you like, if you hate both disputes and whisk?"[225:3]

Then, on the 19th of the same month, to Mr. Brand:

I assure you, you may come hither very safely, and be in no danger from mirth. Laughing is as much out of fashion as pantins and bilboquets. Good folks, they have no time to laugh. There is God and the king to be pulled down first; and men and women, one and all, are devoutly employed in the demolition. They think me quite profane for having any belief left. But this is not my only crime; I have told them, and am undone by it, that they have taken from us to admire the two dullest things we had—Whisk and Richardson. It is very true that they want nothing but George Grenville to make their conversations, or rather dissertations, the most tiresome upon earth. For Lord Lyttelton, if he would come hither, and turn freethinker once more, he would be reckoned the most agreeable man in France,—next to Mr. Hume, who is the only thing in the world that they believe implicitly, which they must do, for I defy them to understand any language that he speaks.[226:1]

At this time Adam Smith was travelling in France, with his pupil, the young Duke of Buccleuch. On 5th July, 1764, he writes from Toulouse, requesting Hume to give him and his pupil introductions to distinguished Frenchmen, the Duc de Richelieu, the Marquis de Lorges, &c. He says, that Mr. Townsend had assured him of these and other introductions, from the Duc de Choiseul, but that none had made their appearance in that quarter. Smith seems to have been heartily tired of the glittering bondage of his tutorship, and to have sighed for the academic conviviality he had left behind him at Glasgow. He says:—

"The Duke is acquainted with no Frenchman whatever. I cannot cultivate the acquaintance of the few with whom I am acquainted, as I cannot bring them to our house, and am not always at liberty to go to theirs. The life which I led at Glasgow, was a pleasureable dissipated life in comparison of that which I lead here at present. I have begun to write a book, in order to pass away the time. You may believe I have very little to do. If Sir James would come and spend a month with us in his travels, it would not only be a great satisfaction to me, but he might, by his influence and example, be of great service to the Duke."[228:1]

There is little doubt that the book he had begun to write, was the "Wealth of Nations:" and we have here probably the earliest announcement of his employing himself in that work. On the 21st of October, he writes from Toulouse, stating that the letters of introduction had reached him, and that his noble pupil was well received. He says, "Our expedition to Bourdeaux, and another we have made since to Bagneres, has made a great change upon the Duke. He begins now to familiarize himself to French company; and I flatter myself I shall spend the rest of the time we are to live together, not only in peace and contentment, but in great amusement."

Amidst the multiplied attractions of Paris, Hume's thoughts were often turned to his native city, and the circle of kind friends and admirers he had there left behind him. Such reminiscences of home doings as are contained in the following letters, would doubtless ensure his warm attention. On 1st July, Blair writes:

Robertson has, of late, had worse health than usual, which has somewhat interrupted his studies. He talked once of a trip to France this season; but his want of the language is so discouraging, as seems to have made him lay aside thoughts of it for the present. It will be a twelvemonth more, I suppose, before his Charles V. shall see the light.

I dined this day with Sir James Macdonald, on whose praises I need not expatiate to you. Much conversation we had about you; and a great deal I heard of your flourishing state. You write concerning it yourself, like a philosopher and a man of sense. The first splendour and eclat of such situations soon loses its lustre, and often, as you found it, is burdensome. Ease and agreeable society are the only things that last and remain; and these, now that you are quite naturalized, and have formed habits of life, I imagine you enjoy in a very comfortable degree. The society at Paris, to one who has all your advantages for enjoying it in its perfection, is, I am fully convinced, from all that I have heard, the most agreeable in the whole world.

Our education here is at present in high reputation. The Englishes are crowding down upon us every season, and I wish may not come to hurt us at the last.[229:1]

Jardine writes, on 1st August:—

I have attempted, four or five times, to write to you but this poor church has, for some time past, been in such danger, that I could never find time for it. She has employed all my thoughts and care for these twelve months past. The enemy had kindled such a flame, that the old burning bush was like to have been consumed altogether. I know it will give you pleasure to hear that my endeavours to preserve her have been crowned with success. She begins to shine forth with her ancient lustre; and will very soon be, not only fair as the sun, but, to all her enemies, terrible as an army with banners.[230:1]

It is pleasing to find one whose name has been so much associated with the later school of our national literature, as Mrs. Cockburn, the early friend of Scott, enjoying the intimacy of the sages of the philosophical age of Scottish letters. This accomplished lady, well known as the authoress of one of the versions of "The Flowers of the Forest," was a correspondent of Hume. A few of her letters have been preserved; and the following are her free and animated remarks on Hume's flattering reception in France,—remarks written in the full assurance that neither adulation nor prosperity would diminish the regard of that simple manly heart, for the chosen friends he had left in his native soil.

From the bleak hills of the north, from the uncultured daughter of Caledon, will the adored sage of France deign to receive a few lines: they come from the heart of a friend, and will be delivered by the hand of an enemy. Which, O man of mode, is most indifferent to thee? Insensible thou art alike to gratitude or resentment; fit for the country that worships thee. Thou art equally insensible to love or hate. A momentary applause, ill begot, and worse brought up,—an abortion, a fame not founded on truth,—have bewitched thee, and thou hast forgot those who, overlooking thy errors, saved thy worth. Idol of Gaul, I worship thee not. The very cloven foot, for which thou art worshipped, I despise: yet I remember thee with affection. I remember that, in spite of vain philosophy, of dark doubts, of toilsome learning, God had stamped his image of benignity so strong upon thy heart, that not all the labours of thy head could efface it. Idol of a foolish people, be not puffed up; it is easy to overturn the faith of a multitude that is ready to do evil: an apostle of less sense might bring to that giddy nation—libertinism; liberty they are not born to. This will be sent to you by your good friend, Mr. Burnet; who goes much such an errand as you have given yourself through life, viz., in search of truth; and I believe both are equally impartial in the search; though, indeed, he has more visible interests for darkening it than ever you had.

Castlehill, Baird's Close, Aug. 20th, 1764.[231:1]

Hume to Andrew Millar.

"Paris, 3d September, 1764.

"It is certain that nothing could be a greater inducement to me to continue my History, than your desiring so earnestly I should do so. I have so great reason to be satisfied with your conduct towards me, that I wish very much to gratify you in every thing that is practicable; and there want not other motives to make me embrace that resolution. For, though I think I have reason to complain of the blindness of party, which has made the public do justice to me very slowly, and with great reluctance, yet I find that I obtain support from many impartial people; and hope that I shall every day have more reason to be satisfied in that particular. But, in my present situation, it is impossible for me to undertake such a work; and I cannot break off from Lord Hertford, as long as he is pleased to think me useful to him. I shall not, however, lose sight of this object; and any materials that cast up, in this country, shall be carefully collected by me.

"I am glad you are satisfied with the publication of the new edition of my Essays. I shall be obliged to you if you will inform yourself exactly how many copies are now sold, both of that edition and of the octavo edition of my History. I think both these editions very correct. I did little more than see your friends, Mr. Buchanan and Mr. Wilson, at Paris, and present them to Lord Hertford. We returned not from Compiegne till a few days before they left Paris. . . . . . I think the Duchess of Douglas has chosen well in making Mallet one of her commissioners. I have no good opinion of that cause. Mrs. Mallet has retired into the forest of Fontainbleau with a Macgregor. I fancy she is angry with me, and thought herself neglected by me while in Paris. I heard of her thrusting herself every where into companies, who endeavoured to avoid her; and I was afraid she would have laid hold of me to enlarge her acquaintance among the French. I have not yet executed your commission with Monsr. le Roy, but shall not forget it. I am very glad that Mrs. Millar is so good as to remember me. I shall regard it as one agreeable circumstance attending my return to England, that you and she will have leisure to give more of your company to your friends; and I shall always be proud to be ranked in the number.

"The lowness of stocks surely proceeds not from any apprehension of war: never was a general peace established in Europe with more likelihood of its continuance; but I fancy your stocks are become at last too weighty, to the conviction of all the world. What must happen, if we go on at the same rate during another war? I am, with great sincerity, dear sir, your most obedient humble servant."[233:1]

The course of correspondence with Elliot, which commences with the next following letter, relates, in a great measure, to the disposal of his two sons at Paris, and to their future training and education.[233:2] There could be no better evidence of the reliance placed in Hume's honourable principles and knowledge of the world, by those friends who were sufficiently intimate with him, fully to appreciate his character; while his whole conduct in the transaction shows kindness of heart, with a warm attachment to friends, and an earnest disposition to serve them.

Gilbert Elliot of Minto to Hume.

My Dear Sir,—My departure from Paris was so very sudden, that I was obliged to leave many of my little schemes uncompleted; and, what was still more mortifying, to see the progress of all my growing attachments cruelly interrupted. I reached this place just in time, though not a little retarded by the Russian chancellor and his forty horses. Had I but foreseen this obstruction, I might as well have set out on Wednesday morning at two o'clock; and in that case, my dear philosopher, what a delicious evening should I have passed in your company.

Upon full deliberation I am determined to send you my boys, if a tolerable place can be found for their reception. I did not much like that talking professor, who undertakes so largely: if nothing better can be done, pray take the trouble to renew my negotiation with Madame Anson. Her house, though not just what I could wish, is, however, not much amiss. I must not lose this occasion of sending my children to France. I shall never find any other so favourable. It will be no small consolation to their mother, from whom they are now to be separated for the first time, to know that we are not without a friend in Paris, who will sometimes have an eye to their conduct. If I am not too partial, I think you will find in their character much native simplicity, and perhaps some little elevation of mind. Send them back to me, my dear sir, with the same qualities, tempered, if you will, but not impaired by the acquisition of some few of those graces which spread such an inexpressible charm through those societies where even you are not ashamed to pass so many precious hours.

If you should find no leisure to give them a moment's instruction, tell them at least to look up to the conduct and character of a young friend of ours at Paris.[234:1] There they will find a model, which, without hoping to equal, it will, however, become them to copy. But, after all, what am I about? At Paris, to have children at all, is de plus mauvais ton de monde, and I forgot to inform myself, when one happens to have them, whether it be permitted to take any thought about them. I am impatient to hear from you at London. I shall not be long there. I desire you would take this important business into your hands and settle it for me entirely. I will send them over the moment you desire me, and consigned to whom you direct,—the sooner the better: you will settle all other particulars as you find proper. Before I conclude, allow me in friendship also to tell you, I think I see you at present upon the very brink of a precipice. One cannot too much clear their mind of all little prejudices, but partiality to one's country is not a prejudice. Love the French as much as you will. Many of the individuals are surely the proper objects of affection; but, above all, continue still an Englishman. You know, better than any body, that the active powers of our mind are much too limited to be usefully employed in any pursuit more general than the service of that portion of mankind which we call our country. General benevolence and private friendship will attend a generous mind and a feeling heart, into every country; but political attachment confines itself to one.

Mon fils, sur les humains que ton ame attendrie,

Habite l'univers, mais aime sa patrie.

I have not now leisure to trouble you with the few observations my too short stay at Paris had but imperfectly furnished me with. Irreconcileable to the principles of their government, I am delighted with the amenity and gentleness of their manners. I was even pleased to find that the severity and rigour of our English climate had not rendered me altogether insensible to the kind impressions of a milder sky. May I trouble you with my most cordial and sincere respects to Lord and Lady Hertford. Some French names, too, I could mention, but I am not vain enough to imagine that I can, upon so short an acquaintance, have a place in their remembrance. Believe me, very dear sir, yours very sincerely, and most affectionately,

Gilbert Elliot.[235:1]

(I set out this moment.)

Brussels, 15th September, 1764.

Hume to Gilbert Elliot of Minto.

"Paris, 22d Sept. 1764.

"As soon as I received yours from Brussels, I set on foot my inquiries. I spoke to Abbé Hooke, to Père Gordon, to Clairaut, to Madame de Pri, and to others, with a view of finding some proper settlement for your young gentlemen. Every body told me, as they did, of the difficulty of succeeding in my scheme; and nothing yet has been offered me, that I would advise you to accept of. I went to Madame Anson's, and found that family a very decent, sensible kind of people. I came in upon them about seven o'clock, and found a company of eight or nine persons assembled, whose aspects pleased me very much. The only objection that occurred to me with regard to this family, is the quarter of the town, which is not only so unfashionable, that my coachman was astonished when I ordered him to drive thither, but, what is worse, it is far from all walks and places of exercise. However, it is near the university; and, consequently, it is in that quarter where all the youth of France are educated. If nothing better present itself, I shall conclude a bargain with this family for a thousand crowns a-year, without firing or washing, according to the terms proposed to you, which they said they could not depart from. The misfortune is, that I must go to Fontainbleau in about a fortnight, and, consequently, am straitened in my time of inquiry; but, in all cases, I shall certainly conclude with somebody before my departure. We stay six weeks at Fontainbleau, during which time, if you send your sons to Paris, I shall take a journey thither to receive them. In all cases, they must come immediately to the Hotel de Brancas, where they will not want friends.

"I do not like the talking man more than you do; and a flattering letter I have since received from him, does not augment my good opinion. I went to Monsieur Bastide, he who proposed the scheme for ten thousand livres a-year. He seems to be a genteel, well-bred man; lives in a very good house in an excellent quarter of the town; is well spoke of by D'Alembert and others; and has with him two very agreeable boys, Russian princes, who speak French very well. I should have given him the preference, had it not been the price. He asks ten thousand livres a-year for your two sons and their governor, without supplying them either with clothes or masters. You know his ten thousand a-piece included all expenses. If you can resolve to go so far in point of expense, it is the best place that occurs, or is likely to occur.

"Since I wrote the above, I went to see Mademoiselle L'Espinasse, D'Alembert's mistress, who is really one of the most sensible women in Paris. She told me that there could not be a worthier, honester, better man, than Bastide. I told her that I had entertained the same opinion, but was afraid his head-piece was none of the best. She owned that he did not excel on that side; and a proof of it was, that he had wrote several books, all of which were below middling. On my return home, I found the enclosed letter from him.[237:1] I have promised him an answer by the return of the post from England. On the whole, the chief advantage, as it appears to me, which his house will have above Anson's, consists in the air and situation. It lies on the skirts of the town, in an open street near the rampart; but five thousand livres a-year is paying too dear for the advantage.

"I cannot imagine what you mean by saying I am on a precipice. I shall foretell to you the result of my present situation almost with as great certainty as it is possible to employ with regard to any future event. As soon as Lord Hertford's embassy ends, which probably may not continue long, some zealot, whom I never saw, and never could offend, finding me without protection, will instanter fly, with alacrity, to strike off that pension which the king and the ministry, before I would consent to accept of my present situation, promised should be for life. I shall be obliged to leave Paris, which I confess I shall turn my back to with regret. I shall go to Thoulouse or Montauban, or some provincial town in the south of France, where I shall spend, contented, the rest of my life, with more money, under a finer sky, and in better company than I was born to enjoy.

"From what human motive or consideration can I prefer living in England than in foreign countries? I believe, taking the continent of Europe, from Petersburg to Lisbon, and from Bergen to Naples, there is not one who ever heard of my name, who has not heard of it with advantage, both in point of morals and genius. I do not believe there is one Englishman in fifty, who, if he heard I had broke my neck to-night, would be sorry. Some, because I am not a Whig; some because I am not a Christian; and all because I am a Scotsman. Can you seriously talk of my continuing an Englishman? Am I, or are you, an Englishman? Do they not treat with derision our pretensions to that name, and with hatred our just pretensions to surpass and govern them? I am a citizen of the world; but if I were to adopt any country, it would be that in which I live at present, and from which I am determined never to depart, unless a war drives me into Switzerland or Italy.

"I must now inform you what passed with regard to my affair at L'ile-Adam.[238:1] My friend showed me a letter, which she had lately received from Lord Tavistock, by which it appears he had fallen into great friendship, and bore a great regard to Lady Sarah Bunbury. I instantly forbade her to write to England a line about my affair. I bear too great a respect to her, to expose her to ask a favour, where there was so little probability of success: thus have vanished my best hopes of obtaining justice in this point. Here is surely no new ground of attachment to England."[239:1]

Hume to Gilbert Elliot of Minto.

"Hotel de Brancas, 30th Sept. 1764.

"After acknowledging that I received both your letters, that from Brussels, and that from Calais, I should be ashamed to appear before you with so late a letter. This day fortnight, Lord March and Selwin appointed to go off. I sent March a very long letter for you, and enjoined him, as he lived next door to you, to deliver it the moment he arrived; and having thus done my duty, I went very contentedly to L'ile-Adam, where I remained for four days. On my return to Paris, I was much surprised to hear that March, after his post-chaise was yoked, had changed his mind, and was still in Paris. When I appeared alarmed at this intelligence, I was told that he had sent off an express to London with letters, which composed my mind. Next day I saw him, and he fairly confessed, that from forgetfulness, he had not sent off my letter. I begged him to send it to me; he promised it, delayed it, promised again, and at last owns that he has lost it; which gives me great vexation, both on your account, and my own, for I spoke to you with great freedom, and am infinitely uneasy lest my letter should fall into bad hands.[241:1] When I rail at March, I get no other reply than, 'God damn you! if your letter was of consequence, why the devil did you trust it to such a foolish fellow as me?' I am therefore obliged, in a great hurry, to give you some imperfect account of what I have done. I went to Ansons', who seem a discreet, sober set of people. I came in upon a mixed company, whose looks pleased me: the only objection is the quarter of the town, which is straitened; but it is near the University, and consequently where all the youth of France are educated. I do not like the talking man more than you; and a very flattering letter he wrote me, helped further to disgust me. La Bastide, the 10,000 livres man, I went to see: he seems an agreeable man, and is well spoke of; he lives in an agreeable house, and in a good air, and has two young Russian princes with him, who speak very good French; he offers to take your two boys and preceptor for 8000 livres on the whole, but without paying either clothes or master. I suppose you would not choose to pay 5000 livres a-year, merely for the advantage of better air. I have heard a very good character of one Eriot, professor of rhetoric in the Collège de Beauvais, who offers to take them: they would live in the house with him alone; but he proposes that they should go to all the classes of the university, where they would make acquaintance with French boys, and nobody would ever ask questions about their religion: But as I heard you declare against their going to the university, (which yet I should highly approve of,) I cannot make any bargain with Eriot. The misfortune is, I go to Fontainbleau to-morrow se'ennight, and must conclude a bargain without hearing from you, by this fine trick Lord March has played me. It is probable, therefore, it will be with Anson, because you yourself did not disapprove of that plan; and I should be afraid to depart from it considerably, without your authority. If you give me information in time, I shall come from Fontainbleau to settle your boys. In any case make them come immediately to the Hotel de Brancas, where they will not want friends if any of the family be in town.

"Since I wrote the above, one of my numerous scouts came to me, and told me, that within gunshot of the Hotel de Brancas, there was to be found all I could wish, and more than I could have imagined. It is called La Pension Militaire. I immediately went to see it. I found there an excellent airy house, with an open garden belonging to it. It is the best house but one in Paris; has a prospect and access into the large open space of the Invalids, and from thence into the fields. The number of boys is limited to thirty-five, whom I saw in the court, in a blue uniform with a narrow silver lace. They left off their play, and made me a bow with the best grace in the world, as I passed. I was carried to their master the Abbé Choquart, who appeared to me a sensible, sedate, judicious man, agreeable to the character I had received of him. He carried me through the boys' apartments, which were cleanly, light, spacious, and each lay in a small bed apart. I saw a large collection of instruments for experimental philosophy. I saw an ingenious machine for teaching chronology. There were plans of fortification. While I was considering these, I heard a drum beat in the court. It was the hour for assembling the boys for their military exercises. I went down. They had now all got on their belts, and had their muskets in their hands. They went through all the Prussian exercises with the best air and greatest regularity imaginable. Almost all were about your son's age, a year or two more or less. They are the youth of the best quality in France; their air and manners seemed to bespeak it. The master asked only about thirteen hundred livres a-year for each of your boys, five hundred for the preceptor. He supplies them with all masters, except those of dancing, music, and designing; for these they have masters that come in, who take only eight livres a-month, though they require from others three louis-d'ors. There is a riding master belonging to the house. Your sons need never go to mass unless they please, and nobody shall ever talk to them about religion; the master only requires, that you should write him a letter, which he will read to every body, by which you desire . . . ."[243:1]

The following short letter was addressed to Mr. Elliot on the same day with the preceding one, for the reason which the letter itself states. The anxious care with which Hume endeavoured not only to be punctual and exact himself in the performance of the business he had undertaken, but to remedy the consequences of the absence of these qualities in others, may afford a useful reproof to those who demean themselves as above the exercise of these homely virtues; and shows that the practice of them has been, in one instance at least, considered not incompatible with the design and achievement of intellectual greatness.

Hume to Gilbert Elliot of Minto.

"Hotel de Brancas, 30th September, 1764.

"I have wrote you a long letter to London, a short one to Harrowgate, and now I write to you to Minto. Not to lose time, you must have a little implicit faith; without making further questions, give instantly orders that your sons be sent to me, and that they come instantly to the Hotel de Brancas. Within less than a gunshot of this, I have found a place which has all advantages beyond what your imagination could suggest; it is almost directly opposite to my friend the Marechale de Mirepoix's, by whose advice I act. I tell you this, lest your opinion of my discretion be not the highest in the world. There are there about thirty boys of the best families in France. The house is spacious, airy, clean, has a garden, opens into the fields; the board costs only thirteen hundred livres a-year for each boy, five hundred for the tutor; the boys have almost all masters for this sum. I have concluded the bargain for a quarter; the payment runs on from the first of October, because the course of studies begins then; there will be no question about religion or the mass. I have been more particular in my letter to London. Nothing was ever so fortunate for your purpose."

"Hotel de Brancas, 9th October, 1764.

"I go to Fontainbleau to-day; my Lady and Lord Beauchamp go also. Mr. Trail, the chaplain, and Mr. Larpent, my lord's secretary, follow in a few days. All these arrangements are unexpected; but the consequence is, that there will be nobody in the Hotel de Brancas for some weeks; but this need not retard a moment your sending the young gentlemen. I have spoke to the master of the academy, who says that the moment they arrive they shall be settled as well as if all their kindred were there. I have sent the enclosed letter to him, which the gentleman who attends them may deliver immediately on his arrival in Paris. Vive valeque."[245:1]

In 1764, the Comte de Boufflers died, and his widow expected to be made Princess of Conti. Hume seems to have seen from the first that this expectation was likely to lead to manifold mortifications, and that it was the duty of a true friend to prepare her mind for disappointment. In this spirit he wrote her the following long and carefully considered letters, in answer to some communications from her, full of hopes and fears, and all a Frenchwoman's nervous agitations.

Hume to the Comtesse de Boufflers.

Wednesday, 28th of November, 1764.

You may believe that, ever since my return to Paris, I have kept my eyes and ears open with regard to every thing that concerns your affair. I find it is the general opinion of all those who think themselves the best informed, that a resolution is taken in your favour; and that the resolution will probably have place. But you do not expect surely, that so great an event will pass without censure. It would ill become my friendship to flatter you on this head. The envy and jealousy of the world would alone account for a repugnance in many. Nobody has been more generally known than you; both of late and in your early youth. Will so numerous an acquaintance be pleased to see you pass, from being their equal, to be so much their superior? Will they bear your uniting the decisive elevation of rank to the elevation of genius, which they feel, and which they would in vain contest? Be assured, that she is really and sincerely your friend, who can willingly yield you so great advantages.

But though I hear some murmurs of this kind, I have likewise the consolation to meet with several who entertain opposite sentiments. I was told of a man of superior sense, nowise connected with you, who maintained in a public company, that, if the report was true, nothing could give him a higher idea of the laudable and noble principles of your friend. The execution of his purpose, he said, could not only be justified, but seemed a justice due to you. The capital point is to interpose as few delays as possible. Time must create obstacles, and can remove none. While the matter seems in suspense, many will declare themselves with violence against you, and will render themselves irreconcilable enemies by such declarations. They might be the first to pay court to you, had no leisure been allowed them to display their envy and malignity.

On the whole, I am fully persuaded, from what I hear and see, that the matter will end as we wish. But in all cases, I foresee, that, let the event be what it will, you will reap from it much honour and much vexation. Alas! dear madam, the former is never a compensation for the latter: especially to you, whose delicate frame, already shaken by an incident of much less importance surely, is ill calculated to bear such violent agitations. Pardon these sentiments if you think them mean. They are dictated by my friendship for you. I am indeed so mean as to wish you alive and healthy and gay in any fortune. A fine consolation for us truly, to see the epithet of princess inscribed on your grave, while we reflect that it contains what was the most amiable in the world? I propose to pay my respects to you the beginning of next week.

10th December, 1764.

It is needless to inform you, how much you employed my thoughts in this great crisis of your fortune, of your health, of your life itself. You could perceive, by undoubted signs, that I partook sincerely of the violent anxieties, by which I found you agitated; and that, after having endeavoured in vain to appease the tumult of your passions, I was at last necessitated myself to take part in your distress. My sympathy is not abated by absence. I find myself incapable almost of other occupation or amusement.

You still recur to my memory. The chief relief I have is in writing to you, and throwing together some thoughts, which occur to me, on your subject.

They are mostly the same which occurred in conversation, and which I have already suggested to you. They will acquire no additional authority at present in writing, except by convincing you that they are the result of my most mature reflections.

Of all your friends, I, as a foreigner, am perhaps the least capable of giving you advice on so delicate a subject: I only challenge the preference, in the warmth of my affection and esteem towards you; and I am, as a foreigner, the farther removed from all suspicion of separate interests and regards.

I cannot too often repeat, what I inculcated on you with great earnestness, that, even if your friend should fix his resolution on the side least favourable to you, you ought to receive his determination without the least resentment. You know that princes, more than other men, are born slaves to prejudices, and that this tax is imposed on them, as a species of retaliation by the public. This prince in particular is in every view so eminent, that he owes some account of his conduct to Europe in general, to France, and to his family, the most illustrious in the world. It is expected, that men, in his station, shall not be actuated by private regards. It is expected, that with them friendship, affection, sympathy, shall be absorbed in ambition, and in the desire of supporting their rank in the world; and, if they fail in this duty, they will meet with blame from a great part of the public. Can you be surprised, that a person covetous of honour, should be moved by these considerations? If he neglected them, would not your grateful heart suggest to you, that he had taken an extraordinary step in your favour? And can you, with any grace, complain, that an extraordinary event has not happened, merely because you wished for it, and found it desirable?

I am fully sensible, madam, of the force of those arguments which you urged, not to justify your resentment, [from] which you declared you would ever be exempted, but to maintain the reasonableness of your expectations. I am fully sensible of the regard, the sacred regard, due to a long and sincere attachment, which, passing from love to friendship, lost nothing of its warmth, and acquired only the additional merit of reason and constancy. This regard, I own, is really honourable and virtuous; and may safely be opposed to the maxims of an imaginary honour, which, depending upon modes and prejudices, will always be regarded, by great minds, as a secondary consideration. I shall add, what your modesty would not allow you to surmise, or even, perhaps, to think, that an extraordinary step, taken in favour of extraordinary merit, will always justify itself; and will appear but an ordinary tribute. Allow me to do you this justice in your present melancholy situation. I know I am exempt from flattery: I believe I am exempt from partiality. The zeal and fervour which move me, are the effects, not the causes of my judgment.

But, my dear friend, the consideration, which is the most interesting, the most affecting, the most alarming, is the immediate danger of your health and life, from the violent situation into which fortune has now thrown you. You continued long to live, with tolerable tranquillity, though exposed to many vexations, in a state little befitting your worth and merit; and you still comforted yourself by reflecting that you could not change it, without withdrawing from a friendship dearer to you than life itself. You still could flatter yourself, that the person, for whose sake you made this sacrifice, if he had it in his power, would, at any price, repair your honour, and fortify his connexions with you. The unexpected death of M. de Boufflers has put an end to these illusions. It has at once brought you within reach of honour and felicity: and has thrown a poison on your former state, by rendering it still less honourable than before.

You cannot say, madam, that I do not feel, and with the most pungent sensation, the cruelty of your situation. I am sensible too, that time will scarcely bring any remedy to this evil.

The loss of a friend, of a dignity, of fortune, admits of consolation, if not from reason, at least from oblivion; and these sorrows are not eternal. But while you maintain your present connexions, your hopes, still kept alive, will still enliven your natural desire of that state to which you aspire, and your disgust towards that state in which you will find yourself. I foresee that your lively passions, continually agitated, will tear in pieces your tender frame: melancholy and a broken constitution may then prove your lot, and the remedy which could now preserve your health and peace of mind, may come too late to restore them.

What advice, then, can I give you, in a situation so interesting? The measure which I recommend to you requires courage, but I dread that nothing else will be able to prevent the consequences, so justly apprehended. It is, in a word, that after employing every gentle art to prevent a rupture, you should gradually diminish your connexion with the Prince, should be less assiduous in your visits, should make fewer and shorter journeys to his country seats, and should betake yourself to a private, and sociable, and independent life at Paris. By this change in your plan of living, you cut off at once the expectations of that dignity to which you aspire; you are no longer agitated with hopes and fears; your temper insensibly recovers its former tone; your health returns; your relish for a simple and private life gains ground every day, and you become sensible, at last, that you have made a good exchange of tranquillity for grandeur. Even the dignity of your character, in the eyes of the world, recovers its lustre, while men see the just price you set upon your liberty; and that, however the passions of youth may have seduced you, you will not now sacrifice all your time, where you are not deemed worthy of every honour.

And why should you think with reluctance on a private life at Paris? It is the situation for which I thought you best fitted, ever since I had the happiness of your acquaintance. The inexpressible and delicate graces of your character and conversation, like the soft notes of a lute, are lost amid the tumult of company, in which I commonly saw you engaged. A more select society would know to set a juster value upon your merit. Men of sense, and taste, and letters, would accustom themselves to frequent your house. Every elegant society would court your company. And though all great alterations in the habits of living may, at first, appear disagreeable, the mind is soon reconciled to its new situation, especially if more congenial and natural to it. I should not dare to mention my own resolutions on this occasion, if I did not flatter myself that your friendship gives them some small importance in your eyes. Being a foreigner, I dare less answer for my plans of life, which may lead me far from this country; but if I could dispose of my fate, nothing could be so much my choice as to live where I might cultivate your friendship. Your taste for travelling might also afford you a plausible pretence for putting this plan in execution: a journey to Italy would loosen your connexions here; and, if it were delayed some time, I could, with some probability, expect to have the felicity of attending you thither.[251:1]

Hume had the happiness of Madame de Boufflers sincerely at heart; and we find him, on 24th June, 1765, thus writing to his brother:—

"I had great hopes, all the winter, of seeing the Countess in a station suitable to her merit, and of paying my respects to her as part of the royal family. Several accidents have disappointed us; and the various turns of this affair have more agitated me than almost any event in which I was ever engaged."

The following correspondence exhibits a feature in Hume's character, which to many readers will be new, and perhaps unpleasing. It shows that he was by no means exempt from the passion of anger, and that when under its influence he was liable to be harsh and unreasonable. The general notion formed of his character is, that he passed through life unmoved and immovable, a placid mass of breathing flesh, on which the ordinary impulses which rouse the human passions into life might expend themselves in vain. We have seen that very early in life he had undertaken the task of bringing his passions and propensities under the yoke, and directing all his physical and mental energies to the accomplishment of his early and never fading vision of literary renown. From many indications which petty incidents in his life afford, it would appear that the ardour of his nature, if thus regulated, was not eradicated; and one cannot, in a general survey of his course and character, reject the conclusion, that his early resolution not to enter the lists as a controversial writer, mentioned in the following letter, was suggested by a profound self-knowledge, and a consciousness of his inability to preserve his temper as a controversialist.

The person against whom all the wrath of the following letter is directed, is the respectable author of the "Historical and Critical Inquiry into the Evidence produced by the Earls Murray and Morton against Mary Queen of Scots." That, assailed as he often was by attacks so much more vehement and unscrupulous, Hume should have taken so deep umbrage at this piece of free historical criticism, is a problem not easily to be explained. It is not a little remarkable that the bitterest remark on any contemporary contained in his published works, is a note to his History, in which he has abbreviated the purport of the letter.[252:1]

Hume to Lord Elibank.[252:2]

"My Lord,—As I am told that Dr. Robertson has wrote a few remarks, which he communicated to your lordship, as our common answer about the affair of Queen Mary, and has endeavoured to show you that it was contempt and not inability, which kept him from making a public reply; I thought it would not be amiss for me to imitate his example; and I did not indeed know a properer person, nor a more equal judge than your lordship, to whom I could submit the cause. For if, on the one hand, your lordship's regard to the memory of that princess might give you a bias to that side, I know, that the ancient and constant friendship, with which your lordship has always honoured me, both in public and private, would give you a strong bias on my side; and there was a good chance for your remaining neutral and impartial between these motives.

"I shall confine my apology to the account which I have given of the conference at Hampton court, as this is indeed the chief point, in which the answerer has thought proper to find fault with me.

"There are several places, in which I mention Mary's refusal to give any reply to Murray's charge, and have commonly said, that she annexed as a condition, her being admitted to Queen Elizabeth's presence; as in page 496, line 20; page 501, line 12, line 21.[253:1] I have not said that this condition was an unreasonable one, (the words which the answerer puts in my mouth,) but only that it was such a one as she did not expect to be granted; and that because Queen Elizabeth had formerly refused it, before any positive proofs of Mary's guilt were produced, merely from the general rumour and opinion, which were unfavourable to her. Having thus clearly expressed myself on this head, when I have occasion afterwards, in the course of the narration, to mention the matter, I say once or twice simply, that Mary refused to give any answer, without expressing the condition annexed by her. My reasons were, that the position was sufficiently qualified by the preceding narration; and because a refusal, grounded on a condition which the person does not expect to be gratified, and which is accordingly denied, is certainly equivalent to a simple and absolute refusal.

"That your lordship may judge of the unfairness of the answerer, he picks out this simple and unqualified expression of mine, and omits the others, which explain it to the readers of the meanest capacity; and he opposes it by a passage cited with equal unfairness from Mr. Goodall's appendix. He quotes a long passage from Goodall, p. 308, in which Queen Mary demands copies of her letters, and offers positively to give an answer without mentioning any conditions; and this detached passage he opposes to the detached passage from me, in which I assert that she absolutely refused to answer. He desires that this express contradiction between my narration and the records may be remarked. But, in the first place, the condition of being admitted to Queen Elizabeth, though not mentioned in that paper, is not relinquished, and it is even clearly implied; because Mary there refers to a former letter, which we find in Goodall, p. 283, line 2, from the bottom, page 289, line 13, and where it is positively insisted on. Secondly, we have in Goodall, page 184, Queen Mary's commission to break up the conference, if that condition be not granted. Thirdly, Queen Elizabeth understands her meaning very well, as indeed it was very plain, and offers to her copies of the letters, if she will promise to answer without any condition; see Goodall, page 311, line 3, and this offer is not accepted of. Fourthly, in the very last paper of all, which closes the whole, the Bishop of Ross still insists on that condition; Goodall, page 390 about the middle.

"You see, therefore, my lord, the double trick practised. A mangled passage of my History is confronted with a mangled passage of Mr. Goodall's papers, and by this gross fraud a contradiction is pretended to be found between them. A single forgery would not do the business.

"I believe it will divert your lordship to observe, that when the answerer is employing these base artifices, this is the very moment he chooses to call me liar and rascal. But that trick is so frequently practised by thieves, pick-pockets, and controversial writers, (gentlemen whose morality are pretty much upon a footing,) that all the world has ceased to wonder, and wise men are tired of complaining of it.

"I do not find that even this gentleman has ventured to assert, that Queen Mary offered to answer Murray's accusation, though she should be refused access to Queen Elizabeth. Where then is the difference between us? He asserts, that she offered to answer, if admitted to that queen. I say that she refused to answer unless she was admitted, which are positive and negative propositions of the same import.

"For a proof that Queen Mary's commission was finally revoked, I beg your lordship to consult Goodall, p. 184, 311, 387, where it is plainly asserted. The last quotation is from the concluding paper of the whole collection.

"I hope your lordship, as my friend, will congratulate me on the resolution I took in the beginning of my life, that is, of my literary life, never to reply to any body. Otherwise this gentleman, I mean this author, might have insulted me on my silence. I am sure your lordship would have disowned me for ever as a friend, if I had entered the lists with such an antagonist. Mr. Goodall is no very calm or indifferent advocate in this cause; yet he disowns him as an associate, and confesses to me and all the world, that I am here right in my facts, and am only wrong in my inferences.

"There appear to me two infallible marks of our opposite parties, and as we may say proof charges, which, if a man can stand, there is no fear that any charge will ever burst him. A Whig who believes the popish plot, and a Tory who asserts Queen Mary's innocence, are certainly fitted to go all lengths with their party. I am happy to think that such people are both equally my enemies; and still more happy, that I have no animosity at either.

"It is an old proverb, Love me, love my dog; but certainly it admits of many exceptions. I am sure, at least, that I have a great respect for your lordship, yet have none at all for this dog of yours. On the contrary, I declare him to be a very mangy cur; entreat your lordship to rid your hands of him as soon as possible, and think a sound beating, or even a rope too good for him."[256:1]

Lord Elibank's answer does not appear to have been preserved. It can scarcely be supposed that the foregoing letter, or any one written in a like spirit, is the communication which Hume characterizes in the following letter as written "in a spirit of cordiality and amity," and containing "every pathetic, every engaging sentiment and expression;" yet we afterwards find Lord Elibank sarcastically alluding to his having been so stupid as to mistake the spirit thus described, for one of a totally opposite tendency.

Hume to Lord Elibank.

"Fontainbleau, 3d Nov. 1764.

"My Lord,—In reply to the letter with which your lordship has honoured me, I shall endeavour to be as clear and as concise as possible. Your lordship should never have heard of the short and slight disgust between your brother and me, had he not told Sir James Macdonald that you was in such a passion against me, on account of my conduct towards him, that you intended instantly to compose a pamphlet against me, on the subject of Queen Mary, and to publish it as a full revenge upon me. You see that he insinuates the same thing in his letter, and he says that you was formerly my friend. But the whole story, I have now reason to see, was without foundation, both from the tenor of your lordship's present letter, and from a letter of yours delivered to me by Mons. Calvet, and which is wrote in the usual friendly strain that had so long subsisted between us. But not doubting at that time of Mr. Murray's story, I dreaded the consequence of a pamphlet composed and published by one of your lordship's temper in a fit of rage, on a subject where you are naturally heated. I knew that it would be full of expressions of the utmost acrimony, which you yourself could not forgive, even were I disposed to do so; and I may now add, that this last letter proves you to be an excellent proficient in that style. I wrote my letter in a spirit of cordiality and amity, that I might prevent a rupture most disagreeable to me. I have no objection to the publishing any thing in opposition to my opinions. On the contrary, there is nothing I desire more than these discussions. I was far from threatening your lordship with the loss of my friendship, which I was sensible could never be of any consequence to you: I only foretold with infinite regret, that if you wrote against me in a heat, without allowing your temper to compose itself, it would be impossible for us to be any longer friends. I employed every pathetic, every engaging sentiment and expression to induce your lordship to embrace this way of thinking. I shall venture to say, that you have never in your life received a more friendly and more obliging letter. I leave your lordship to judge of the return it has met with.

"I composed my letter with great care, because I set a value on your lordship's friendship. I was so much satisfied with it myself, that I read it to a friend, who told me, that it would be impossible for your lordship to resist so many mollifying expressions, and that they would certainly bring you back to our usual state of friendship. Under what power of fascination have your eyes lain, when you could see every thing in a light so directly opposite?

"I come now to the other ground of your complaint, my indifference in the case of Mr. Murray. When I arrived in Paris, the first question he asked me was, whether Lord Bute or Mr. Stuart Mackenzie had recommended him to Lord Hertford, that he might be received in the ambassador's house like other British subjects. I asked my lord, who told me that neither of these persons had ever mentioned Mr. Murray to him; he wished they had; he desired to show all manner of civilities to Mr. Murray. But he was afraid, that a person against whom a public proclamation had been issued, and who had openly lived so many years with the Pretender, could not be received in his house, unless he had previously received some assurances, that the matter would give no offence. I told this to Mr Murray. He was entirely satisfied. He only said that he would write again to Mr. Stuart Mackenzie, who never wrote to Lord Hertford. In this affair, then, Mr. Murray received all the favour which he either desired or expected.

"But perhaps your lordship means, that I ought to have befriended him in his law-suit with Mrs. Blake,—I suppose, by taking his part in company. But who told you that I did not? I have frequently desired people in general to suspend their judgment; for as to any particular justification of him, I was not capable of it, because I was and still am ignorant of all particulars of his story. Whence could I learn them? From himself, or from his antagonist, or from both? I assure your lordship that I was otherwise employed, and more to my satisfaction, than in unravelling an intricate story, which the Parliament of Paris could not clear up in much less than two years, and which, it is pretended, they have not cleared up at last.

"But I need say no more on this head, since your brother a few days after I wrote you sent me a letter, in which he asked pardon for his former letter, acknowledged his error, and desired a return of my friendship. His only ground of quarrel, indeed, was a small negligence in returning his visits: an offence which, operating on a man of his vanity, has engaged him to do all this mischief.

"I have said that your lordship never received a letter more friendly and obliging than my former letter: I hope you will also acknowledge that this is wrote with sufficient temper and moderation. Adieu.

"I have the honour to be, with the greatest regard and consideration, my lord, your lordship's most obedient, and most humble servant."[260:1]

Lord Elibank to Hume.

Balancrief, July 9th, 1765.

Dear Sir,—I have the pleasure to understand, by yours of the ——, that I have never been altogether in disgrace with you; I choose rather to pass for dull as mad, and it would have been the highest proof of the latter, if I had taken any thing ill of you, that I had not thought ill meant.

I own the compliment you say you intended me in your former letter, was too refined for my genius. I really mistook it for an intention to break with me; and as there is hardly any thing I set a greater value on than your friendship, and I was not conscious of having ever entertained a single idea inconsistent with it, I could not resign it without pain and resentment. Diffident of myself, I showed your letter to several of our common friends, who all understood it as I did. Had my affection for you been more moderate, my answer to yours would have been cool in proportion. I am still mortified to think you could suspect me of siding with my brother against you. I know the distinction between relationship and friendship. I have ever thought those connexions incompatible; and if I was dull enough to mistake the meaning of your letter, I have not more reason to blush, than you have for suspecting, that any thing my brother could say, was capable of influencing my sincere regard for a friend of thirty years' standing, or that my zeal for the reputation of any prince, dead or alive, could draw any sentiment or expression from me, inconsistent with that admiration of your talents, as an author, and merit as a man, I have constantly felt in myself, and endeavoured to excite in others. I am, dear sir, your sincerely obedient humble servant,

Elibank.[260:2]

In fear lest the two letters to Elliot, printed above,[261:1] might not have reached their destination, Hume wrote to him again on 17th November, repeating the substance of his engagement with the Abbé Choquart. The remainder of the letter follows:

Hume to Gilbert Elliot of Minto.

"As soon as I came from Fontainbleau, I went to the Pension Militaire, so it is called, where I had first a conversation with the Abbé. I found him exceedingly pleased with your boys: he told me that whenever his two young pupils arrived, he called together all the French gentlemen, who are to the number of thirty or thirty-two, and he made them a harangue; he then said to them, that they were all men of quality, to be educated to the honourable profession of arms; that all their wars would probably be with England; that France and that kingdom, were Rome and Carthage, whose rivality more properly than animosity never allowed long intervals of peace; that the chance of arms might make them prisoners of arms to Messrs Elliot, in which case it would be a happiness to them to meet a private friend in a public enemy; that he knew many instances of people whose lives were saved by such fortunate events, and it therefore became them, from views of prudence, and from the generosity for which the French nation was so renowned, to give the best treatment to the young strangers, whose friendship might probably endure, and be serviceable to them through life: he added, that the effect of this harangue was such, that, as soon as he presented your boys to their companions, they all flew to them and embraced them, and have ever since continued to pay them all courtship and regard, and to show them every mark of preference. Every one is ambitious to acquire the friendship of the two young Englishmen, who have already formed connexions more intimate than ever I observed among his other pupils. 'Ce que j'admire,' added he, 'dans vos jeunes amis est qu'ils ont non seulement de l'esprit, mais de l'âme. Ils sont véritablement attendris des témoinages d'amitié qu'on leur rend. Ils méritent d'être aimés, parce qu'ils savent aimer.'

"When I came next to converse with your boys, I found all this representation exactly just: I believe they never passed fourteen days in their life so happily as they did the last. What I find strikes them much is the high titles of their companions: there is not one, says Hugh, that is not a marquis, or count, or chevalier at least. They are indeed all of them of the best families in France, a nephew of M. de Choiseul, two nephews of M. de Beninghen, &c. &c. They are frequently drawn out, and displayed after the Prussian manner. I saw them go through their exercises with the greatest exactness and best air. The Abbé remarked to me, that the marching, and wheeling, and moving under arms, is better than all the dancing schools in the world to give a noble carriage to youth. Gilbert is such a proficient, that the master is thinking already of advancing him to the first rank, if not of making him a corporal: all this is excellent for Hugh, and if Gilbert's head be a little too full with military ideas, this inconvenience will easily be corrected, as far as it ought to be corrected.

"The Abbé tells me, that in the short time they have been with him, their accent is sensibly corrected, and he is persuaded that, in three months' time, it will not be possible to distinguish them from Frenchmen. They are never to hear mass, but to attend at the ambassador's chapel every Sunday. Such is the general account I have to give you; their preceptor will be more particular, and I shall visit them from time to time."[263:1]

FOOTNOTES:

[209:1] The confidence with which the great aristocracy of birth mingled with whatever elements it thought fit, is perhaps the best evidence of the security it felt in the haughty and arbitrary exercise of its established privileges. With all this free equality of social intercourse, however, there must have been something yet left to which the mere guest was not admitted, and to which he never aspired. Without this, it seems impossible that Actors,—menials by the etiquette of the court, anathematized by the church, held incapable of giving evidence in some courts of law as persons of infamous profession,—should have been so much sought after and caressed. Thus the Le Kains, Fleurys, and Prévilles, among the men; the Sophy Arnoulds, Dumesnils, Clairons, among the women, many of them thorough profligates, are to be found haunting places surrounded by the highest lustre of adventitious rank, busying themselves with state secrets, mingling in family disputes, and always with the easy assurance of their profession. This state of matters could not have existed unless the aristocracy, notwithstanding the ease with which they permitted themselves to be approached, were able effectually to mark precisely the point where the advance was to stop, and could feel themselves among persons, who, like old family servants, never presume upon familiarity. In admitting to social intercourse, however, a person of Hume's dignity of character and position in literature, there could be no such reserves, and the intercourse must have been as really on terms of familiarity as it appeared to be.

[211:1] The following is a specimen, of a letter to Hume:—

Among other like distinctions, an author had offered to dedicate to her his Italian Grammar. She answered, "A moi, Monsieur; la dédicace d'une grammaire! à moi qui ne sais pas seulement l'orthographe." "C'était la pure vérité," subjoins Marmontel.

[213:1] This active lady visited Voltaire, and succeeded in getting access to him. It is said that the patriarch laboured hard to compose a quatrain in her praise, but that the muse would not attend for such a purpose. He solved the difficulty very ingeniously, by twisting some laurel twigs into a wreath, and placing it on her brow.

She writes to Hume, on 27th September, 1764, "Je vous présente monsieur un receuil de mes ouvrages nouvellement imprimé à Lyon, pour avoir l'honneur d'être dans la bibliothèque d'un homme qui fait l'honneur de notre siècle. Je vous supplie d'accepter ce faible don, et de vouloir bien faire passer le paquet que vous trouverez c'y joint au Marquis Caraccioli Ministre de Naples à Londres."—MS. R.S.E.

[214:1] The following note shows that there was some intercourse between them, though it was probably not very extensive.

"Madame la D. de Choiseul a très bien reçu les compliments de Mr. Hume. Elle se reproche de ne lui avoir point écrit. Elle m'a chargée de lui dire que s'il vouloit la venir voir aujourd'hui sur le midi et demy une heure[214:A]qu'il lui feroit beaucoup de plaisir. Madame du Deffand l'exhorte de ne pas manquer à y aller, et elle le prie de faire souvenir Madame de Choiseul de la promesse qu'elle lui a faite de la venir voir avant la visite qu'elle veut rendre à Madame L'Ambassadrice."—MS. R.S.E.

[214:A] Sic in MS.

[214:2] "Vous me faites un grand plaisir de m'apprendre que David Hume va en Ecosse; je suis bien aise que vous ne soyez plus à portée de le voir, et moi ravie de l'assurance de ne le revoir jamais. Vous me demanderez ce qu'il m'a fait? Il m'a déplu. Haïssant les idoles je déteste leurs prêtres et leurs adorateurs. Pour d'idoles, vous n'en verrez pas chez moi: vous y pourrez voir quelquefois de leurs adorateurs, mais qui sont plus hypocrites que dévots; leur culte est extérieur; les pratiques, les cérémonies de cette religion sont des soupers, des musiques, des opéras, des comédies, etc." Letters of the Marquise du Deffand, vol. i. p. 331.

[216:1]

"C'est avec la plus grande joie que M. D'Angiviller a l'honneur d'informer Monsr. Hume que la philosophie n'a plus de larmes à répandre. D'Alembert est comme hors d'affaire. Il a été transporté chez Watelet. Il s'en trouve fort bien: il plaisante, il dit de bons mots et s'impatiente. Tout cela est de bon augure. Duclos a dit assez plaisamment le jour que l'on a transporté le malade chez Watelet. Voicy un jour remarquable, c'est aujourd'huy que l'on a sevré D'Alembert; nous sommes surs au moins qu'il n'y a pas de miracle à cette guérison; les prêtres n'ont pas prié pour lui. Mr. D'Angiviller a l'honneur d'assurer Monsieur Hume de l'attachement profond et de la vénération dont il est pénétré pour lui."

"Ce Mardi 30."

The Earl Marischal writes thus:—

"Potsdam, 11th September, 1764.

"Le plaisir de votre lettre, et l'assurance d'amitié de Madame Geoffrin et de Monsieur D'Alembert a été bien rabattu par ce que vous me dites de l'état de la santé de M. D'Alembert. Sobre comme il est à table—comment peut-il avoir des maux d'estomac? Il faut qu'il travaille trop de la tête à des calculs, ou qu'il allume sa chandelle par les deux bouts. C'est cela sans doute. Renvoyez-le ici à mon hermitage. Je le rendrai à sa, ou ses belles, frais, reposé, se portant à merveille.

"Apropos de mon hermitage dont M. de Malsan vous a fait la description, il a voyagé avec Panurge, et a été chez oui-dire tenant école de temorgnerie. Primo, ma petite maison ne subsiste pas—par conséquence mon grand hôte ne pouvoit m'y honorer de sa présence. 2do, Elle ne sera pas si petite, ayant 89 pieds de façade avec deux ailes de 45 pieds de long. Le jardin est petit, assez grand cependant pour moi, et j'ai une clef pour entrer aux jardins de Sans-Souci. Il y aura une belle salle avec un vestibule, et un cabinet assez grand pour y mettre un lit, tout apart des autres apartements. Si D'Alembert venoit, il pouroit y loger, et prendre les eaux; mais il est peu-que probable, que le grand hôte me disputeroit, et emporteroit cet avantage. En attendant son arrivée, j'y logerai mon ancien ami Michel de Montaigne, Ariosto, Voltaire, Swift, et quelques autres.

"Dites à D'Alembert que j'ai une vache pour lui donner de bon lait. Cela le contentera plus que les cent mille roubles qu'on lui a offert. N'a pas bon lait qui veut, et vir sapiens non abhorrebit eam, comme disoit Maître Janotus de ses chausses."

[218:1] If we are to trust the story told by Marmontel, and repeated by others who should be equally well informed, her conduct, put in plain language, comes to this. That she had made up her mind to raise her position by a distinguished marriage. That in this view, looking to one object after another, she finally determined boldly to experiment on M. Mora, the son of the Spanish ambassador. That as this young gentleman had been recalled by his family to Spain, she fraudulently procured a certificate from an eminent physician, to the effect that a return to the climate of France was essential to his safety; and that he died on his journey back. But not less singular than the tale itself, is the good-humoured simplicity with which it is told, as something rather commendable than otherwise. Marmontel tells it, not omitting to state how he used to run to the post-office for M. Mora's letters, in the midst of that amusing series of sketches, the leading charm of which is their amiable author's utter unconsciousness that his narrative is ever likely to be scrutinized by people so educated and trained, as to look upon his pleasant frailties as detestable vices, and the whole system of society, so loveable and interesting in his eyes, as hideous. These things indeed are mysteries; and read and ponder as we may, we cannot enter into their spirit, but must view them as strange, distant, and unnatural objects.

There is reason, however, to believe, that Marmontel's account of L'Espinasse is far from being accurate. See the article on Deffand's and L'Espinasse's letters, in The Edinburgh Review , vol. xv. p. 459, where, as also in the article, vol. xvii. p. 290, a fuller view of the character of the French literary circles of that day will be found than any where else in the English language. The doubts of Marmontel's accuracy in the former of these articles, are singularly confirmed by the Memoires of Marmontel's uncle-in-law, Morellet, published in 1832, see vol. ii. p. 276.

[220:1] Memoirs of Romilly, i. 179. I have seen this anecdote in some French book, but do not remember where.

[221:1] Madame de Genlis has preserved an instance of the magnificent gallantry of the prince. Madame Blot, the same lady probably who occupies so curious a place in the Chesterfield correspondence, expressed a wish to have a picture of her canary-bird set in a ring. The prince desired to have the felicity of accomplishing her wish, and she consented, provided the ring were of plain gold without ornament. The ring when it made its appearance was plain indeed, but the portrait was covered by a large diamond cut flat like glass. Madame Blot preserved the ring and the picture, but returned the diamond. The prince pounded the diamond to powder, and wrote the lady a letter strewed with the diamond dust as drying sand.

[221:2] The following specimen of the invitations which poured in upon Hume during his sojourn in Paris, is a slight departure from the usual received form of such documents, the functionary who had charge of the despatches of the august entertainer having chosen to make it the vehicle of his own good taste in literature, and knowledge of the English language.

"M. Le Prince Louis de Rohan prie M. Hume de lui faire l'honneur de venir dîner chez lui. Mardi, 17 Janvier—"

"M. L'Abbé Georgel fait un million de complimens à M. Hume. He makes great account of his works, admires her wit, and loves her person."

"Samedy, 14."—MS. R.S.E.

[222:1] MS. R.S.E.

[223:1] Hardy's Memoirs of Charlemont, p. 122.

[223:2] "Ce qu'il y a encore de plaisant, c'est que toutes les jolies femmes se le sont arraché, et que le gros philosophe Ecossais s'est plu dans leur société. C'est un excellent homme, que David Hume; il est naturellement serein, il entend finement, il dit quelquefois avec sel, quoiqu'il parle peu; mais il est lourd, il n'a ni chaleur, ni grâce, ni agrément dans l'esprit, ni rien qui soit propre à s'allier au ramage de ces charmantes petites machines qu'on appelle jolies femmes. O que nous sommes un drôle de peuple!"—Correspondance Littéraire, 1ière P. vol. v. p. 125.

[224:1] "Le célèbre David Hume, grand et gros historiographe d'Angleterre, connu et estimé par ses écrits, n'a pas autant de talens pour ce genre d'amusemens auquel toutes nos jolies femmes l'avoient décidé propre. Il fit son début chez Madame de T——; on lui avoit destiné le rôle d'un Sultan assis entre deux esclaves, employant toute son éloquence pour s'en faire aimer; les trouvant inexorables, il devoit chercher le sujet de leurs peines, et de leur résistance: on le place sur un sopha entre les deux plus jolies femmes de Paris, il les regarde attentivement, il se frappe le ventre et les genoux à plusieurs reprises, et ne trouve jamais autre chose à leur dire que: 'Eh bien! mes demoiselles...Eh bien! vous voilà donc...Eh bien! vous voilà...vous voilà ici?' Cette phrase dura un quart d'heure, sans qu'il pût en sortir. Une d'elles se leva d'impatience: Ah! dit elle, je m'en étois bien doutée, cet homme n'est bon qu'à manger du veau! Depuis ce temps il est relégué au rôle de spectateur, et n'en est pas moins fêté et cajolé. C'est en vérité une chose plaisante que le rôle qu'il joue ici; malheureusement pour lui ou plutôt pour la dignité philosophique, car, pour lui, il paroît s'accommoder fort de ce train de vie; il n'y avoit aucune manie dominante dans ce pays lorsqu'il y est arrivé; on l'a regardé comme une trouvaille dans cette circonstance, et l'effervescence de nos jeunes têtes s'est tourné de son côté. Toutes les jolies femmes s'en sont emparées; il est de tous les soupers fins, et il n'est point de bonne fête sans lui; en un mot, il est pour nos agréables ce que les Génevois sont pour moi."—Mémoires et Correspondance de Madame d'Epinay, vol. iii. p. 284.

[225:1] Letters, collected edition, v. 69.

[225:2] Ib. 73.

[225:3] Ib. 77.

[226:1] Ib. 90-91. He was not then aware that Hume's presence was destined to afford him an opportunity of becoming "the mode" himself. This he tells us was the effect of his jeu d'esprit on Rousseau, with which we shall hereafter have concern; and he tells it in a manner which shows that, however contemptible when set in the brow of David Hume, the chaplet of fashionable renown was not felt to be unbecoming on his own. Thus, he says to Mr. Conway, on 12th January, 1766, "I almost repent having come hither, for I like the way of life and many of the people so well, that I doubt I shall feel more regret at leaving Paris than I expected. It would sound vain to tell you the honours and distinctions I receive, and how much I am in fashion. Yet when they come from the handsomest women in France, and the most respectable in point of character, can one help being a little proud? If I was twenty years younger, I should wish they were not quite so respectable. Madame de Brionne, whom I have never seen, and who was to have met me at supper last night, at the charming Madame D'Egmont's, sent me an invitation by the latter for Wednesday next. I was engaged and hesitated: I was told, 'Comment! savez-vous que c'est qu'elle ne feroit pas pour toute La France.' However, lest you should dread my returning a perfect old swain, I study my wrinkles, compare myself and my limbs to every plate of larks I see, and treat my understanding with at least as little mercy. Yet, do you know, my present fame is owing to a very trifling composition, but which has made incredible noise. I was one evening at Madame Geoffrin's, joking on Rousseau's affectations and contradictions, and said some things that diverted them. When I came home I put them into a letter, and showed it next day to Helvetius, and the Duke de Nivernois, who were so pleased with it, that, after telling me some faults in the language, which you may be sure there were, they encouraged me to let it be seen. As you know I willingly laugh at mountebanks, political or literary, let their talents be ever so great, I was not averse. The copies have spread like wildfire, et me voici à la mode. I expect the end of my reign, at the end of the week, with great composure." (Ib. 118-119.)

One is tempted to give, as part of the whole picture of the visit of the two Englishmen, a few of Walpole's notices of his own intense modesty. Thus: "I had had my share of distresses in the morning, by going through the operation of being presented to the royal family, down to the little madame's pap dinner, and had behaved as sillily as you will easily believe, hiding myself behind every mortal. The queen called me up to her dressing-table, and seemed mightily disposed to gossip with me; but instead of enjoying my glory like Madame de Sévigné, I slunk back into the crowd after a few questions. She told Monsieur de Guerchy of it afterwards, and that I had run away from her, but said she would have her revenge at Fontainbleau; so I must go thither, which I did not intend." Ib. 81-82. So when writing to Gray, after giving a description of the effect which his wicked wit had produced on Madame de Boufflers and the Prince of Conti, how she "with a tone of sentiment, and the accents of lamenting humanity, abused me heartily, and then complained to myself with the utmost softness," and how he "acted contrition, but had like to have spoiled all, by growing dreadfully tired of a second lecture from the Prince of Conti, who had taken up the tale;" he concludes, "but when I left a triumphant party in England, I did not come hither to be at the head of a fashion. However, I have been sent for about like an African prince or a learned canary bird; and was, in particular, carried by force to the Princess of Talmond, the queen's cousin, who lives in a charitable apartment in the Luxembourg, and was sitting on a small bed hung with saints and Sobieskis, in a corner of one of those vast chambers, by two blinking tapers." (Ib. 130-131.)

Hume's simple and self-satisfied account of the distinctions conferred on him, and the gratification they afforded him, has met with considerable ridicule. But the reader may judge for himself which is the more honest, manly, and dignified: the plain acknowledgment of distinctions conferred and appreciated, or this hollow profession of contempt for unsolicited, unexpected, unenjoyed honours.

[228:1] MS. R.S.E. The Sir James alludes to Sir James Macdonald.

[229:1] MS. R.S.E.

[230:1] MS. R.S.E.

[231:1] MS. R.S.E.

[233:1] MS. R.S.E.

[233:2] The elder of the youths here mentioned, who became afterwards an eminent statesman, was born in 1751. He was for some time attached to the Fox party, and after the dissolution of the Fox and North coalition ministry, he was twice unsuccessfully proposed as Speaker. In 1793, he was selected for the delicate duty of negotiating with the French Royalists. During the British sovereignty of Corsica, in 1794, he was appointed viceroy or governor of the island. But the most brilliant and the best known chapter in his political career, is his policy as Governor-general of India, from 1807 to 1814. He was created Baron Minto in 1797, and Earl of Minto in 1813. He died in 1814.

[234:1] Probably either the young Comte de Boufflers, the son of the lady who was Hume's correspondent, or Sir James Macdonald.

[235:1] MS. R.S.E.

[237:1] Among Hume's papers there is a letter signed "De Bastide, auteur d'un Maison d'Éducation," thanking him for the favourable disposition shown towards him, and desiring an interview.

[238:1] In allusion to the interest taken by the Comtesse de Boufflers in his being appointed secretary of legation. See postea.

[239:1] Minto MSS. The tone of this letter extracted the following criticism from Elliot.

"So you did not permit your friend to write the long intended letter. Your reason for this, I must own, is not to me a satisfactory one. If the secretaryship were now actually vacant, it would of course devolve upon you; nor would the interposition of your friends be necessary. It is Mr. Bunbury's provision then, and not yours, which constitutes the difficulty: he happens to be in possession; his alliance and his connexions are considerable; and the difficulty of his re-election makes it less easy than it would otherwise be to find an equivalent for him. Yet if it could be found, it is impossible to conceive that he would not willingly exchange a situation, the functions of which are performed by another, and which he holds contrary to the inclination of his principal. In such a state of things, I cannot help thinking, that a lively representation of your case, from the warm and persuasive pen of your friend, is the most likely circumstance to engage the active genius of the D. of B. to rouse government from their indolence about finding or creating some proper arrangement for Mr. Bunbury. Lord Holland will probably join his influence, and Lord Tavistock, even on his new friend's account, will most certainly concur. This joint operation, supported by the justice of your claims, and the application of your friends, seems to me the most infallible method to surmount the real difficulty, which you have candour enough to admit stands in the way of administration, though disposed to do you justice. If to all this you object certain delicacies in your own mind, and a disdain to solicit what ought to be bestowed, I can only answer, a British minister is at all times so much the slave of those who are not his friends, that his best friends are almost always obliged to extort justice to themselves by methods often hostile, always indelicate. I write to you popularly, not as a philosopher. I desire, therefore, that your objections to my doctrine may be in the same tone; and, after all, why should you, like the plaintive author of 'Emile,' indulge yourself in a pleasing kind of indignation, as if your countrymen had some unaccountable satisfaction in mortifying a man, who feels so very different treatment even from strangers. Notwithstanding all you say, we are both Englishmen; that is, true British subjects, entitled to every emolument and advantage that our happy constitution can bestow. Do not you speak and write and publish what you please? and though attacking favourite and popular opinions, are you not in the confidential friendship of Lord Hertford, and intrusted with the most important national concerns? Am not I, a member of Parliament, as much at liberty to abuse ministers and administration, as if I had been born in Wapping, or to support them if I think proper? Had it not been for the clamour of a Scott, perhaps indeed I might have been in some more active, but not more honourable or lucrative situation. This clamour we all know is merely artificial and occasional. It will in time give way to some other, equally absurd and ill-founded, when you, if you will, may become a bishop, and I a minister. In the mean time, let us make the best of our present circumstances; I as treasurer of the chamber, you as the idol of whatever is fair and learned at Paris. About the beginning of December I will be at London, ready to assist your operations if you will follow my advice. Yours," &c. MS. R.S.E.

[241:1] It will be seen that the letter had arrived safely.

[243:1] Minto MS. The remainder of the letter is wanting.

[245:1] Minto MSS. On 19th October, Mr. Elliot writes,—

"I am too well acquainted with your friendly disposition to be at all surprised at the trouble you have so successfully taken about my boys. You will, however, allow me to admire your punctuality in sending me three letters all differently addressed. The short one for this place is the only one come to hand. I am impatient, on every account but what regards the establishment of the boys, for the long one sent to London. I act with implicit faith upon your short mandate; and if I could have entertained any doubt, the name of Madame Mirepoix, you very well know, was more than sufficient to remove it."

On 6th November, he is able to say,—

"I have at length received all your letters; the one intrusted to Lord March, the other wrote on the supposition of its being lost, and a third dated October 9th. They all came on the same day, and so late as the 24th of October. The two boys and their tutor, Mr. Liston, are now, I presume, settled at Paris. They had a letter for you. I had luckily directed them, if they found nobody at the Hotel de Brancas, to inquire for a Pension opposite to the Maréchale de Mirepoix." (MS. R.S.E.)

[251:1] Private Correspondence, p. 112, et seq.

[252:1] "But there is a person that has written an "Inquiry, historical and critical, into the evidence against Mary Queen of Scots;" and has attempted to refute the foregoing narrative. He quotes a single passage of the narrative, in which Mary is said simply to refuse answering; and then a single passage from Goodall, in which she boasts simply that she will answer; and he very civilly and almost directly, calls the author a liar, on account of this pretended contradiction. The whole inquiry, from beginning to end, is composed of such scandalous artifices; and, from this instance, the reader may judge of the candour, fair dealing, veracity, and good manners of the inquirer. There are, indeed, three events in our history which may be regarded as the touchstone of party men. An English Whig, who asserts the reality of the Popish plot; an Irish Catholic, who denies the massacre in 1641: and a Scotch Jacobite, who maintains the innocence of Queen Mary, must be considered as men beyond the reach of argument or reason, and must be left to their prejudices."

[252:2] There is no address on the MS., but circumstances show the letter to have been intended for Lord Elibank.

[253:1] These references are to the first edition of the "History of the House of Tudor."

[256:1] Scroll MS. R.S.E. A faint line is drawn through the concluding paragraph, and the passage may have been omitted in the letter as transmitted.

[260:1] Scroll, MS. R.S.E.

[260:2] MS. R.S.E.

[261:1] See pp. 240, 244.

[263:1] Minto MSS.