CHAPTER XII.
Pia mater, Plus quam se sapere, et virtutibus esse priorem Vult, et aitprope vera.--Horace.
Vere mihi festus atras Eximet curas.--Horace.
The next morning I received a letter from my mother.
"My dear Henry," began my affectionate and incomparable parent--
"My dear Henry,
"You have now fairly entered the world, and though at your age my advicemay be but little followed, my experience cannot altogether be useless.I shall, therefore, make no apology for a few precepts, which I hope maytend to make you a wiser and better man.
"I hope, in the first place, that you have left your letter at theambassador's, and that you will not fail to go there as often aspossible. Pay your court in particular to Lady--. She is a charmingperson, universally popular, and one of the very few English people towhom one may safely be civil. Apropos, of English civility, you have, Ihope, by this time discovered, that you have to assume a very differentmanner with French people than with our own countrymen: with us, theleast appearance of feeling or enthusiasm is certain to be ridiculedevery where; but in France, you may venture to seem not quite devoid ofall natural sentiments: indeed, if you affect enthusiasm, they willgive you credit for genius, and they will place all the qualities of theheart to the account of the head. You know that in England, if youseem desirous of a person's acquaintance you are sure to lose it; theyimagine you have some design upon their wives or their dinners; but inFrance you can never lose by politeness: nobody will call your civilityforwardness and pushing. If the Princess De T--, and the Duchesse deD--, ask you to their houses (which indeed they will, directly you haveleft your letters), go there two or three times a week, if only for afew minutes in the evening. It is very hard to be acquainted with greatFrench people, but when you are, it is your own fault if you are notintimate with them.
"Most English people have a kind of diffidence and scruple at calling inthe evening--this is perfectly misplaced: the French are never ashamedof themselves, like us, whose persons, families, and houses are neverfit to be seen, unless they are dressed out for a party.
"Don't imagine that the ease of French manners is at all like what wecall ease: you must not lounge on your chair--nor put your feet upon astool--nor forget yourself for one single moment when you are talkingwith women.
"You have heard a great deal about the gallantries of the French ladies;but remember that they demand infinitely greater attention than Englishwomen do; and that after a month's incessant devotion, you may loseevery thing by a moment's impolitesse.
"You will not, my dear son, misinterpret these hints. I suppose, ofcourse, that all your liaisons are platonic.
"Your father is laid up with the gout, and dreadfully ill-tempered andpeevish; however, I keep out of the way as much as possible. I dinedyesterday at Lady Roseville's: she praised you very much, said yourmanners were particularly good, and that you had already quite the usagedu monde. Lord Vincent is, I understand, at Paris: though very tiresomewith his learning and Latin, he is exceedingly clever and repandu; besure to cultivate his acquaintance.
"If you are ever at a loss as to the individual character of a personyou wish to gain, the general knowledge of human nature will teach youone infallible specific,--flattery! The quantity and quality may varyaccording to the exact niceties of art; but, in any quantity and in anyquality, it is more or less acceptable, and therefore certain to please.Only never (or at least very rarely) flatter when other people, besidesthe one to be flattered, are by; in that case you offend the rest, andyou make even your intended dupe ashamed to be pleased.
"In general, weak minds think only of others, and yet seem only occupiedwith themselves; you, on the contrary, must appear wholly engrossedwith those about you, and yet never have a single idea which does notterminate in yourself: a fool, my dear Henry, flatters himself--a wiseman flatters the fool.
"God bless you, my dear child, take care of your health--don't forgetCoulon; and believe me your most affectionate mother,
"F. P."
By the time I had read this letter and dressed myself for the evening,Vincent's carriage was at the porte cocher. I hate the affectionof keeping people waiting, and went down so quickly, that I met hisfacetious lordship upon the stairs. "Devilish windy," said I, as we weregetting into the carriage.
"Yes," said Vincent; "but the moral Horace reminds us of our remedies aswell as our misfortune--
"'Jam galeam Pallas, et aegida, Currusque parat,'--
that is, 'Providence that prepares the gale, gives us also a great coatand a carriage.'"
We were not long driving to the Palais Royal. Very's was crowded toexcess--"A very low set!" said Lord Vincent, (who, being half a liberal,is of course a thorough aristocrat) looking round at the various Englishwho occupied the apartment.
There was, indeed, a motley congregation; country esquires; extractsfrom the Universities; half-pay officers; city clerks in frogged coatsand mustachios; two or three of a better looking description, but inreality half swindlers, half gentlemen. All, in short, fit specimens ofthat wandering tribe, which spread over the continent the renown and theridicule of good old England. I know not why it is that we should lookand act so very disgracefully abroad; but I never meet in any spotout of this happy island, a single Englishman, without instinctivelyblushing for my native country.
"Garcon, garcon," cried a stout gentleman, who made one of three at thetable next to us. "Donnez-nous une sole frite pour un, et des pommes deterre pour trois!"
"Humph!" said Lord Vincent; "fine ideas of English taste these garconsmust entertain; men who prefer fried soles and potatoes to the variousdelicacies they can command here, might, by the same perversion oftaste, prefer Bloomfield's poems to Byron's. Delicate taste dependssolely upon the physical construction; and a man who has it not incookery, must want it in literature. Fried sole and potatoes!! If I hadwritten a volume, whose merit was in elegance, I would not show itto such a man!--but he might be an admirable critic upon 'Cobbett'sRegister,' or 'Every Man his own Brewer.'"
"Excessively true," said I; "what shall we order?"
"D'abord des huitres d'Ostende," said Vincent; "as to the rest," takinghold of the carte, "deliberare utilia mora utilissima est."
We were soon engaged in all the pleasures and pains of a dinner.
"Petimus," said Lord Vincent, helping himself to some poulet al'Austerlitz, "petimus bene vivere--quod petis, hic est?"
We were not, however, assured of that fact at the termination of dinner.If half the dishes were well conceived and better executed, the otherhalf were proportionably bad. Very is, indeed, no longer the prince ofRestaurateurs. The low English who have flocked there, have entirelyruined the place. What waiter--what cook can possibly respect men whotake no soup, and begin with a roti; who know neither what is good norwhat is bad; who eat rognons at dinner instead of at breakfast, and fallinto raptures over sauce Robert and pieds de cochon; who cannot tell,at the first taste, whether the beaune is premiere qualite, or thefricassee made of yesterday's chicken; who suffer in the stomach afterchampignon, and die with indigestion of a truffle? O! English people,English people! why can you not stay and perish of apoplexy andYorkshire pudding at home?
By the time we had drank our coffee it was considerably past nineo'clock, and Vincent had business at the ambassador's before ten; wetherefore parted for the night.
"What do you think of Very's?" said I, as we were at the door.
"Why," replied Vincent, "when I recal the astonishing heat of the place,which has almost sent me to sleep; the exceeding number of times inwhich that becasse had been re-roasted, and the extortionate lengthof our bills, I say of Very's, what Hamlet said of the world, 'Weary,stale, and unprofitable!'"
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