I was a fortnight ****** this journey, which I may reckon among the happiest days of my life.I was young, in perfect health, with plenty of money, and the most brilliant hopes: add to this, I was on foot, and alone.It may appear strange I should mention the latter circumstance as advantageous, if my peculiarity of temper is not already familiar to the reader.I was continually occupied with a variety of pleasing chimeras, and never did the warmth of my imagination produce more magnificent ones.When offered an empty place in a carriage, or any person accosted me on the road, how vexed was I to see that fortune overthrown, whose edifice, while walking, Ihad taker, such pains to rear.
For once, my ideas were all martial: I was going to live with a military man; nay, to become one, for it was concluded I should begin with being a cadet.I already fancied myself in regimentals, with a fine white feather nodding on my hat, and my heart was inflamed by the noble idea.I had some smattering of geometry and fortification; my uncle was an engineer; I was in a manner a soldier by inheritance.My short sight, indeed, presented some little obstacle, but did not by any means discourage me, as I reckoned to supply that defect by coolness and intrepidity.I had read, too, that Marshal Schomberg was remarkably short-sighted, and why might not Marshal Rousseau be the same? My imagination was so warm by these follies, that it presented nothing but troops, ramparts, gabions, batteries, and myself in the midst of fire and smoke, an eye-glass in hand, commanding with the utmost tranquility.Notwithstanding, when the country presented a delightful prospect, when I saw charming groves and rivulets, the pleasing sight made me sigh with regret, and feel, in the midst of all this glory.that my heart was not formed for such havoc; and soon without knowing how, I found my thoughts wandering among my dear sheepfolds, renouncing forever the labors of Mars.
How much did Paris disappoint the idea I had formed of it! The exterior decorations I had seen at Turin, the beauty of the streets, the symmetry and regularity of the houses, contributed to this disappointment, since I concluded that Paris must be infinitely superior.I had figured to myself a splendid city, beautiful as large, of the most commanding aspect, whose streets were ranges of magnificent palaces, composed of marble and gold.On entering the faubourg St.Marceau, I saw nothing but dirty stinking streets, filthy black houses, an air of slovenliness and poverty, beggars, carters, butchers, cries of diet-drink and old hats.This struck me so forcibly, that all I have since seen of real magnificence in Paris could never erase this first impression, which has ever given me a particular disgust to residing in that capital; and I may say, the whole time I remained there afterwards was employed in seeking resources which might enable me to live at a distance from it.This is the consequence of too lively imagination, which exaggerates even beyond the voice of fame, and ever expects more than is told.I had heard Paris so flatteringly described, that I pictured it like the ancient Babylon, which, perhaps, had I seen, I might have found equally faulty, and unlike that idea the account had conveyed.The same thing happened at the Opera-house, to which I hastened the day after my arrival! I was sensible of the same deficiency at Versailles!
and some time after on viewing the sea.I am convinced this would ever be the consequence of a too flattering description of any object;for it is impossible for man, and difficult even for nature herself, to surpass the riches of my imagination.
By the reception I met with from all those to whom my letters were addressed, I thought my fortune was certainly made.The person who received me the least kindly was M.de Surbeck, to whom I had the warmest recommendation.He had retired from the service, and lived philosophically at Bagneux, where I waited on him several times without his offering me even a glass of water.I was better received by Madam de Merveilleux, sister-in-law to the interpreter, and by his nephew, who was an officer in the guards.The mother and son not only received me kindly, but offered me the use of their table, which favor I frequently accepted during my stay at Paris.
Madam de Merveilleux appeared to have been handsome; her hair was of a fine black, which, according to the old mode, she wore curled on the temples.She still retained (what do not perish with a set of features) the beauties of an amiable mind.She appeared satisfied with mine, and did all she could to render me service; but no one seconded her endeavors, and I was presently undeceived in the great interest they had seemed to take in my affairs.I must, however, do the French nation the justice to say, they do not so exhaust themselves with protestations, as some have represented, and that those they make are usually sincere; but they have a manner of appearing interested in your affairs, which is more deceiving than words.The gross compliments of the Swiss can only impose upon fools; the manners of the French are more seducing, and at the same time so ******, that you are persuaded they do not express all they mean to do for you, in order that you may be the more agreeably surprised.I will say more; they are not false in their protestations, being naturally zealous to oblige, humane, benevolent, and even (whatever may be said to the country) more sincere than any other nation; but they are too flighty: in effect they feel the sentiments they profess for you, but that sentiment flies off as instantaneously as it was formed.In speaking to you, their whole attention is employed on you alone, when absent you are forgotten.
Nothing is permanent in their hearts, all is the work of the moment.
