Chapter XV: Boswell and the Art of Intimate Biography (1)

It is the privilege of few men in any age to raise an art to such perfection that it becomes in effect a new thing. The development of intimate biography is still largely the work of one man. After a hundred years of memorabilia, personal reminiscences, and interviews, Boswell is still as indubitably the greatest of biographers as when he referred to his book as the ‘first in the world,’ or when, fifty years later, Macaulay applied to him the language of the race-course, and pronounced, ‘Eclipse is first, and the rest nowhere.’ Later biographers do not eclipse him, nor do earlier ones explain him. A comparison of his work with what went before serves only to reveal his utter uniqueness. If an earlier biographer suggests a point of comparison in his realistic record of conversation, the slightness of his work gives no conception of the whole life he is writing; if another seems like Boswell in refusing to write a mere eulogy, he seems chill and judicial where Boswell is warm with pulsing life. Other lives give us admirable things: table-talk, a portrait, a eulogy, a handful of anecdotes, a list of dates from ‘pedigree to funeral,’ or a volume of letters; but Boswell gives us all these and more. He aspires to be as complete as life itself. Boswell knew and delighted in other biographies; but was hardly influenced by them. He knew Plutarch, Xenophon, and Valerius Maximus, among the ancients, and Jonson’s _Timber_, Selden’s _Table-Talk_, and Spence’s _Anecdotes_, among modern _ana_; but is like none of these. He surpasses them all in intimacy, variety, and what, for want of a better name, may be called his sustained quality. To read Boswell after these men is like passing to a Flemish painting from a study in black and white.

From a series of caricatures of the _Journal_ by Rowlandson and Collings]

In so far as he can be said to have learned his art from any man, his master was Johnson himself. The first sentence in the _Life_ proclaims Johnson’s superiority to all men in writing the lives of others. Biography was often discussed by the two men together, and Boswell was also well acquainted with Johnson’s published remarks on the subject. Johnson enunciated, with fair consistency, the theory of intimate biography, but he never fully realized it in any work of his. Thus he was wont to assert that autobiography was superior to biography, for the simple reason that a man might more readily reveal the facts concerning himself. If a man’s life is to be written by another than himself, it should be by one who has ‘eat and drunk and lived in social intercourse with him.’ The material of biography, he asserts, at various times, to be ‘trifles,’ the ‘delicate features of the mind,’ the ‘minute peculiarities of conduct,’ ‘domestic privacies,’ and ‘the minute details of daily life.’ He approved of much anecdote in biography, used such incidents with a free hand in his own work, and encouraged Boswell to record them. He did not, however, anywhere fully embody his theories. It was, in truth, impossible for him to do so in the _Lives of the Poets_, for, with the exception of Savage, he had been on terms of real intimacy with none of these men. Had he written the life of Goldsmith, as he once thought of doing, he might, if his indolence had not prevented him, have produced such a book as would illustrate his own theories. Yet, in spite of this lack of intimacy in the _Lives of the Poets_, he was attacked for making them too familiar. Potter, Mrs. Montagu’s _protégé_, denounced his introduction of trifles into serious biography, considering it beneath the dignity of that art to mention that Pope wore three pairs of stockings to increase the size of his legs, and that he loved to feast on potted lampreys which he heated in a silver saucepan. ‘We know,’ writes the critic, ‘that the greatest men are subject to the infirmities of human nature equally with the meanest; why then are these infirmities recorded?’

This sentence may be taken to summarize the general conception of biography before Boswell. The death of a man seems to have been regarded as an opportunity for rationalizing his views and perfecting his character. The duty of a biographer was to forget all vices and to idealize all virtues, with the laudable purpose of setting before the public a notable pattern of conduct. ‘He that writes the life of another,’ wrote Johnson in the _Idler_, ‘endeavours to hide the man that he may produce a hero.’ Even Johnson never felt quite sure how far it was proper to describe a man’s vices in writing his biography. Boswell notes the inconsistency of his views. When the subject of the poet Parnell’s drinking arose, Johnson remarked, ‘More ill may be done by the example, than good by telling the whole truth’; but at another time he said, ‘If a man is to write _A Panegyric_, he may keep vices out of sight; but if he professes to write _A Life_, he must represent it really as it was.... It would produce an instructive caution to avoid drinking, when it was seen that even the learning and genius of Parnell could be debased by it.’[435] In practice it is clear that Johnson preferred to err on the side of frankness. Potter was shocked because he revealed the avidity of Addison by repeating the now-hackneyed story of how Steele was forced to pay a debt of £100. If biography is regarded as the handmaid of morality, and eulogy is preferred to actuality, such details are of course worse than useless. Beattie dwells on ‘the due distinction between what deserves to be known and what ought to be forgotten.’[436] Miss Burney considered that the publication of letters verbatim was the ‘greatest injury’ to a man’s memory. Horace Walpole, who deplored the whole policy of expurgation, nevertheless gives Mason, the biographer of Gray, the conventional advice. He avows that the publication of the life of Gray is an opportunity to establish that poet’s character ‘unimpeached.’ He was shocked at the section of the biography which Mason had submitted to his criticism, because it was honest and frank. ‘What can provoke you to be so imprudent?... You know my idea was that your work should consecrate his name.’[437] Once such a theory of consecration is adopted, the author of a life is driven relentlessly towards panegyric; for, not daring to trust the public to interpret facts, he must suppress everything that is not admirable, lest the mention of even the slightest fault be taken to point to the existence of thousands that are passed over in silence. When once you have taken to varnishing, you must varnish thoroughly, for any cracks or bare spots which reveal the material beneath ruin your whole effect.

To a public with these lofty notions of propriety Boswell, genially sacrificing what little was left to him of his reputation, addressed, in 1785, his _Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides with Samuel Johnson_ ... ‘containing ... A series of his Conversation, Literary Anecdotes and Opinions of Men and Books.’ It was a jumble of gossip such as readers had hitherto seen only in the twopenny pamphlets of the scandal-mongers of Grub Street; but was set forth with an abundance of detail which captured the most frivolous and an air of authenticity which convinced the most sceptical. It depicted a great man who had been in his grave but a few months. It was written with veneration, but wholly without awe, as though a valet had collaborated with the Recording Angel. It flouted all restraints, and passed the most distant limits of decency. Nothing like it had ever been heard of. Even in our own day, to a world whose nerves have been jaded by a thousand _exposés_, such a book would come as a surprise, but to the world of 1786 it was a revelation of new possibilities in literature, as alarming as they were entertaining. With all the frankness of Pepys the author combines the conscious skill of one who has mastered the art of anecdote and the joy of a conceited man who realizes that he is about to attain fame by one of the by-paths of literature. It was difficult, in 1785, to say whether Johnson’s theory of familiar biography had been realized or travestied in this book. It was obvious that he had been hoist with his own petard. The world was informed with the most scrupulous accuracy of how he said his prayers and how he was persuaded to wear a woollen night-cap. His idlest word was recorded as though in a dictograph. ‘I have often thought that if I kept a seraglio, the ladies should all wear linen gowns,—or cotton; I mean stuffs made of vegetable substances. I would have no silk; you cannot tell when it is clean, ...’ and so forth. At times the book is hardly quotable. Once when about to get into a dirty bed, during their travels in the Hebrides, Boswell remarks: ‘We had much hesitation, whether to undress, or lye down with our clothes on. I said at last, “I’ll plunge in! There will be less harbour for vermin about me when I’m stripped”—Dr. Johnson said, he was like one hesitating to go into the cold bath. At last he resolved too.’ The first sensation of the reader of such amazing stuff as this is that Boswell was engaged in a deliberate attempt to degrade a great man. He was accused by a writer in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_[438] of having ‘exposed and cut up’ his hero ‘in the most shameful and cruel manner.’ That Boswell had a kind of mischievous delight in what he was doing, no one need take the trouble to tell us; but that he was a sort of skilful blackmailer is now unthinkable. He felt that he was doing the world a service in showing that a great man was human; and time has proved that he was right. ‘There is something noble,’ Johnson had remarked to him, ‘in publishing truth, though it condemns one’s self.’ Boswell paid this price. He made Johnson permanently familiar by making himself almost permanently notorious. Witness the following extract:

Dr. Johnson went to bed soon. When one bowl of punch was finished,
I rose, and was near the door, in my way up stairs to bed; but
Corrichatachin said, it was the first time Col had been in his
house, and he should have his bowl—and would not I join in drinking
it? The heartiness of my honest landlord, and the desire of doing
social honour to our very obliging conductor, induced me to sit
down again. Col’s bowl was finished; and by that time we were well
warmed. A third bowl was soon made, and that too was finished.
We were cordial, and merry to a high degree; but of what passed
I have no recollection, with any accuracy. I remember calling
_Corrichatachin_ by the familiar appellation of _Corri_, which his
friends do. A fourth bowl was made, by which time Col, and young
M’Kinnon, Corrichatachin’s son, slipped away to bed. I continued a
little with Corri and Knockow; but at last I left them. It was near
five in the morning when I got to bed.

Sunday, September 26.

I awaked at noon, with a severe head-ach. I was much vexed that I
should have been guilty of such a riot, and afraid of a reproof
from Dr. Johnson. I thought it very inconsistent with that
conduct which I ought to maintain, while the companion of the
Rambler. About one he came into my room, and accosted me, ‘What,
drunk yet?’ His tone of voice was not that of severe upbraiding;
so I was relieved a little. ‘Sir, (said I,) they kept me up.’
He answered, ‘No, you kept them up, you drunken dog:’—This he
said with good-humoured _English_ pleasantry. Soon afterwards,
Corrichatachin, Col, and other friends assembled round my bed.
Corri had a brandy-bottle and glass with him, and insisted I should
take a dram. ‘Ay, said Dr. Johnson, fill him drunk again. Do it in
the morning, that we may laugh at him all day. It is a poor thing
for a fellow to get drunk at night, and sculk to bed, and let his
friends have no sport.’ Finding him thus jocular, I became quite
easy; and when I offered to get up, he very good naturedly said,
‘You need be in no such hurry now.’ I took my host’s advice, and
drank some brandy, which I found an effectual cure for my head-ach.
When I rose, I went into Dr. Johnson’s room, and taking up Mrs.
M’Kinnon’s Prayer-book, I opened it at the twentieth Sunday after
Trinity, in the epistle for which I read, ‘And be not drunk with
wine, wherein there is excess.’ Some would have taken this as a
divine interposition.

Such writing as this at once divided the reading public into hostile camps. There were many who considered the book delightful; others considered it a new kind of libel. It became the subject of a long controversy in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_. In the December following its appearance, Boswell was accused of ‘betraying private conversations even of the most trivial kind.’ In May, the tastes of a ‘gossiping age’ were denounced as well. By December 1786, the sale of the book having gone triumphantly forward, Boswell was reminded that his popularity was due solely to the general interest in Johnson; the sale of his work was compared to the consumption of potatoes in a time of famine; and the public was instructed that such works require for their composition nothing but an ear and a memory.

In the spring of the same year, soon after the appearance of Mrs. Piozzi’s _Anecdotes_, Walpole wrote to Mann:

She and Boswell and their hero are the joke of the public.
A Dr. Wolcot, _soi-disant_ Peter Pindar, has published a
burlesque eclogue,[439] in which Boswell and the signora are
the interlocutors, and all the absurdest passages in the works
of both are ridiculed. The print-shops teem with satiric prints
on them: one, in which Boswell, as a monkey, is riding on
Johnson, the bear,[440] has this witty inscription, ‘My friend
_delineavit_.’—But enough of these mountebanks![441]

Other caricatures represented the ghost of Johnson haunting Boswell while he pieced together his _Journal_ from various rags of reminiscence, and the bust of Johnson frowning down upon Boswell and Mrs. Piozzi as they wrote. Rowlandson and Collings later made the _Tour_ the subject of a series of sixteen caricatures.

From a contemporary caricature]

In 1786, moreover, a pamphlet appeared entitled, _A Poetical Epistle from the Ghost of Dr. Johnson to his Friends_, in which Boswell was satirized together with Strahan, Courtenay, and Mrs. Piozzi. The verses were elaborately annotated with quotations from the _Journal_, and Boswell was addressed by the manes of Johnson in these words:

How oft I mark’d thee, like a watchful cat,
List’ning to catch up all my silly chat;
How oft that chat I still more silly made,
To see it in thy commonplace conveyed.

This was the invariable charge against the book. It was a mass of small talk collected by a man with a retentive memory, ‘not to do honour to his [Johnson’s] memory, by judiciously selecting the best and most striking of his sentences, but with a design to show his own assiduity in exhibiting the Doctor in the most glaring colours of inconsistency.’[442]

There was a secondary charge against the book. It was conceived as a libel on living people.[443] Various persons—the Duchess of Hamilton, Sir Alexander MacDonald, and many of those who had entertained the travellers in the Hebrides—discovered in the book remarks about themselves that were anything but palatable. A reference to Mrs. Thrale created the greatest excitement. Johnson’s remark that she could not get through Mrs. Montagu’s _Essay on Shakespeare_ was there for all the world to read. She protested in her _Anecdotes_; but Boswell reminded her, in the pages of the _Gentleman’s Magazine_, that she had read his _Journal_ in manuscript, without complaining of this, and that he was but quoting Johnson’s own words regarding her. So ended one controversy. It was not the only one.

But perhaps the chief excitement rose from the advertisement at the end of the volume, in which Boswell announced that he had but begun his memoirs of Johnson. He proposed presently to ‘erect a literary monument worthy of so great an author,’ and stated that he had been collecting biographical material for more than twenty years. The promise, for those who had known Johnson, was not gratifying. If Boswell had upset the literary world with an account of three months in Johnson’s life, what would he do in recounting seventy-five years of it? Everybody who had known Johnson held his breath for fear. Many urged the new biographer to be cautious. Fanny Burney refused to assist him in his work of showing the pleasanter side of Johnson’s character, and wrote in her Diary,[444] ‘I feel sorry to be named or remembered by that biographical, anecdotical memorandummer till his book of poor Dr. Johnson’s life is finished and published.’ Sir William Forbes, who was distressed because Boswell had quoted his approval of the _Journal_, took the liberty of ‘strongly enjoining him’ to be more careful about personalities in the later work.[445] He had perhaps never heard Boswell’s famous reply to Hannah More, who had urged him to ‘mitigate some of Johnson’s asperities’ when he published the _Journal_. ‘He said roughly,’ she writes, ‘“He would not cut off his claws, nor make a tiger a cat to please anybody.”’[446] This remark has been hackneyed in every work on Boswell, but it can never be quoted too often, for it is Boswell’s reply to the world. There is nothing more to be said.

I have dwelt on the reception of Boswell’s _Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides_ because it is the most effective way of showing the novelty and the magnitude of his achievement. If the author had been any other than James Boswell, critics would long ere this have expatiated on the splendid courage of his undertaking; but he enjoyed and esteemed his own work too highly to elicit such praise. Whatever were Boswell’s superficial faults, whatever the resentments that he caused, it is impossible to withhold our admiration from the simple confidence in the letter of the truth that characterized his Scotch soul. His would be the simplicity of childhood if it were not the simplicity of genius. The Lord Bishop of Chester complained[447] that Boswell recorded facts simply because they were facts. Such was indeed the case.

When, in 1791, the _Life_ appeared, many of the old charges were repeated and some of the old satires revived; but it is not important to consider them in detail, for the note of admiration, which had been heard now and again in the beginning, when the _Journal_ was published, soon became dominant. The other lives and memoirs of Johnson, with which Boswell’s former work had often been compared, now served only for purposes of contrast; they were useful in illustrating the greatness of the new work.

What are the characteristics which tended to give the _Life_ its place in the history of biography? They are of the simplest kind. Boswell had, as this entire chapter has been designed to show, a passion for completeness. It is hardly necessary to labour this point. Boswell himself writes near the opening of his book: ‘I will venture to say that he will be seen in this work more completely than any man who has yet lived.’ In this sentence Boswell wrote his own panegyric, as in his reply to Miss More he had pronounced his own defence. Like everything that he did, the panegyric is not without the ludicrous touch, for he adds: ‘Had his other friends been as diligent and ardent as I was, he might have been almost entirely preserved.’ He might, indeed; for why should anything be lost, while there is a note-book—and a Boswell? Boswell, I repeat, aspired to the completeness of life itself.

Nor is it greatly necessary to dwell on Boswell’s fidelity to fact. It has been often dwelt upon, and, through the labours of Dr. Birkbeck Hill, is now generally admitted; though by one who liked neither Boswell nor Hill the matter has recently been once more called in question.[448] It would seem that a work which in its own day was both praised and denounced for its scrupulous accuracy might have been accepted without question. It is scarcely reasonable to demand a more lifelike biographer than Boswell. His own times readily granted that he had given the true Johnson; that was both the praise and the blame. Pepys, who knew Johnson and had no illusions about him, wrote to Hannah More:

The Journal is a most faithful picture of him, so faithful that I
think anybody who has got a clear idea of his person and manner may
know as much of him from that book as by having been acquainted
with him (in the usual way) for three years.[449]

This was written before the _Life_ appeared. Respecting the later work we have the testimony of Burke to its value as a monument to Johnson’s conversation.[450] Even more than this may be said. We have the nearest possible thing to Johnson’s own approval. He had himself read the _Journal_ in manuscript, and pronounced it a ‘very exact picture of a portion of his life.’ It is difficult to demand more than this. In the same work Boswell writes:

He read this day a good deal of my _Journal_, written in a small
book with which he had supplied me, and was pleased, for he said,
‘I wish thy books were twice as big.’ He helped me fill up blanks
which I had left in first writing it, when I was not quite sure
of what he had said, and he corrected any mistakes that I had
made.[451]

In his accurate reproduction of life, Boswell surpasses all the realists and attains to something of the inexhaustibility of nature itself. Delightful as is his book for mere reading, it can never be fully appreciated till it has been used as a work of reference; for such it was intended to be. The work exhibits, according to the title-page, ‘a view of literature and literary men in Great Britain for near half a century.’ Boswell aspired to be not only stenographer but historian. And to the life that he loved he was both.

We reach at last the core of Boswell’s being, his pagan joy in life, that greediness of social pleasure which explains all his faults and suggests all his greatness. He loved social life as other men have loved a noble woman or a noble cause. He solemnly dedicated his life to it and his genius to the recording of it. Only when his work is viewed in the large does one see its grandeur. Like Ulysses, he might have said, when his great work was done, ‘Much have I seen and known, cities of men and manners ... myself not least but honoured of them all.’

I incline to think that this social avidity is the ruling passion not only of Boswell but of all the life that we have been studying, of the salons, the conversationists, the diarists, and the letter-writers. That life at its best blends two kinds of pleasure that seem ordinarily incompatible, those of society and solitude, of association and reflection. In the ‘exchange of mind’ which is its ideal, its disciples find a joy that excels the more passive pleasures of reading, by bringing them directly into the creation of its characteristic product, conversation, and to this it adds the pleasure of seeing the immediate effect of one’s words. Conversation such as this may be said to represent the active, social, and more human side of the intellectual life, while meditation stands for its contemplative and eremitical side. The two are often mutually exclusive. Philosopher and poet belong to the latter class, because the meditative temper naturally shuns social distractions; but diarists, letter-writers, and biographers owe their very existence to this social instinct, and write to exalt it. They cannot bear that the delights which they have experienced should pass away without leaving a memorial. They are determined not only to pluck the passing hour, but to do what they can to preserve the blossom even as it droops in their hand. A withered flower is better than none at all; at worst, it is a pathetic reminder of what has been. The memorialist is one whose face is ever towards the past and the glories that have been, the _noctes cæncæque deum_. It is in honour of them that his work is done. His office is to record life, not to transfigure it. He cannot aspire to be among those who have seen visions and pointed others towards them; the joy of poetic creation and the passion of adventurous thought are not for him; but it is his to know men and the cheerful ways of men, and to unite us with the heroic minds of old, not in the lonely glory of their visions, but in their more familiar hours and their more human joys.

INDEX

Addison, Joseph, conversation of, 220;
_Spectator_, quoted, 103 _n._

Alembert, Jean d’, birth, 43;
quoted, 11, 32, 49;
referred to, 11, 27, 52, 55.

Anglomania, in Paris, 12 ff.

_Anglomanie_, Saurin’s comedy, 12-13.

Anstey, Christopher, 121.

Arblay, Mme. d’, _see_ Burney, Fanny.

Aurelia, Hoole’s poem, 178.

Barbauld, Letitia, 124.

_Barmécides, Les_, La Harpe’s tragedy, 67.

Barry, James, portrait of Johnson, 199;
of Mrs. Montagu, 199;
relations with Mrs. Montagu, 199.

_Bas Bleu_, Hannah More’s poem, 23, 123-24, 125.

Bath, Earl of, 123, 125.

Beattie, James, character, 189;
_Essay on Truth_, 190;
_Essays_, 192;
_Minstrel, The_, 190 ff.;
—— dedicated to Mrs. Montagu, 193;
presented to George III, 192;
relations with Mrs. Montagu, 189-95.

Beauclerk, Topham, 53, 104.

Beaufort, Duchess of, 153 _n._, 205.

Bedford, Countess of, 85.

Behn, Aphra, 94-96, 257.

biography, art of, 268 ff.;
theory of, before Boswell, 270 ff.

Blount, Martha, 100.

‘blue,’ _i.e._, bluestocking, origin and use of the word, 132-33.

bluestocking, etymology, 127-28;
translated into French, 127, 130, 133.

Bluestocking Club, 123 ff.;
members of, listed, 123-24;
origin of, 129 ff.

bluestockings, as authors, 166 ff.;
as hostesses, 134 ff.;
as patrons of the arts, 189 ff.;
descent from the Marquise de Rambouillet, 22.

Bocage, Mme. du, 35, 52, 75;
poem to Mrs. Montagu, 135 _n._;
visits Mrs. Montagu, 105, 135.

Bolingbroke, Lord, relations with Mme. de Tencin, 45.

Boscawen, Admiral, 125, 129.

Boscawen, Mrs. Frances, 153-58;
assemblies, 153;
Boswell’s opinion of, 153;
interest in Mrs. Yearsley, 205;
letters, 154;
patron of letters, 154;
relations with Hannah More, 154-56, 181, 184 ff.;
—— with Pye, 156 _n._;
—— with Young, 156 _n._;
reports the discovery of new letters by Mme. de Sévigné, 237.

Boswell, James, announces the _Life of Johnson_, 278-79;
biography, knowledge of, 269;
——, theory of, derived from Johnson, 269 ff.;
caricatures of, 277;
character, 8, 110;
influence on Johnson, 222-23;
_Life of Johnson_, completeness of, 281;
——, reception of, 280;
truthfulness of, 281;
love of social life, 282;
quoted, 5;
references to bluestockings, 126;
refuses to idealize Johnson, 279;
_Tour to the Hebrides_, Johnson reads, 282;
——, reception of, 272 ff.;
——, reviewed in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_, 274;
——, selection from, 274-76;
treatment of his contemporaries, 278.

Boufflers, Mme. de, 53;
relations with Gibbon, 77;
—— with Hume, 27;
—— with Johnson, 53, 104.

_bouts rimés_, 117, 119, 120.

breakfasts, literary, 105 ff.

Buffon, Georges de, 52.

Burke, Edmund, 123, 139 _n._;
indebtedness to Johnson’s conversation, 234;
quoted, 5;
visits Parisian salons, 66-68.

Burney, Dr. Charles, 159, 189.

Burney, Fanny, character, 255, 257;
_Diary_, art of, 254 ff.;
——, dramatic quality in, 265;
——, selection from, 262-64;
——, truthfulness of, 265;
_Evelina_, reception of, 257;
friends, 258;
love of boisterous scenes, 262;
luck, 256;
relations with Mrs. Ord, 159-60;
relations with Mrs. Thrale, 163;
self-consciousness, 267;
sensibility, 266;
sojourn at Court, as Dresser to the Queen, 257, 259 ff.

Cardigan Priory, salon at, 91.

card-playing, in salons, 106.

Carlisle, Countess of, 88.

Carter, Elizabeth, 172-77;
catholicity of taste, 176-77;
Johnson’s opinion of, 174;
learning, 157, 173;
_Poems_, 174;
relations with Gray, 144;
—— with Mrs. Montagu, 173;
romanticism, 175;
translation of Epictetus, 173-74.

Cartwright, William, 89.

Castiglione, Baldassare, his _Cortegiano_ cited, 18 ff.

Centlivre, Susannah, 100.

Chapman, George, 85-86.

Chapone, Mrs. Hester, 177-80;
_Essays_, 138, 157;
familiar letters, 180;
_Letters_, 177 ff., 202;
poems, 179;
quoted, 132;
referred to, 124, 179;
relations with Mrs. Carter, 178;
—— with Mrs. Montagu, 178;
—— with Richardson, 177, 180.

Charles II, relations of, with the Duchess of Mazarin, 97.

Charlotte, Queen, 259, 261.

Chesterfield, Lord, opinion of the salon, 46;
relations with Mme. de Tencin, 45 ff.

Cholmondeley, Mrs. Mary, 135, 153.

Church, of England, 9;
of Rome, hatred of, in salons, 37.

circle, seating of guests in, 111, 126, 139, 159.

Clarence, Duke of, 262 ff.

Clubs, literary, 5-7.

Colman, George, 102 _n._

conversation, chief amusement in salons, 25, 135;
Goldsmith’s, 220, 221;
ideal of, 7, 20, 25, 223;
Johnson’s, 217 ff.;
—— Boswell’s influence on, 222, 227.

_conversazione_, nature and office of, 102 ff., 108 ff., 152.

‘Cophthi,’ Walpole’s name for bluestockings, 147.

Cornaro, Caterina, 17.

cosmopolitanism, of salons, 43, 144, 147 _n._

court of love, 17.

courts, Renaissance, as predecessors of the salon, 16 ff., 84.

Cowley, Abraham, verses to Mrs. Phillips, 92.

Cowper, William, correspondence, charm of, 249-50;
—— compared with Mme. de Sévigné, 239-40;
relations with Mrs. Montagu, 197-99;
translation of Homer, submitted to Mrs. Montagu, 198.

Crewe, Lady, 131, 135.

Daniel, Samuel, 84, 85, 86.

Davies, Sir John, 85.

_Decameron_, Boccaccio’s, 18 _n._

declamation, fashionable entertainment in salons, 106.

Deffand, Mme. du, blindness, 61;
career and salon, 59-64;
described by Walpole, 59-60;
ennui, 60, 63;
letter to Walpole in manner of Mme. de Sévigné, 238;
opinion of Burke, 67;
—— of Gibbon, 77;
—— of Hume, 51;
—— of Walpole, 57;
quoted, 7, 13, 62 _n._, 64, 75, 238;
relations with Mlle. de Lespinasse, 61;
—— with Montesquieu, 60 _n._;
—— with Walpole, 27, 63-65;
type of her century, 34;
wit, 29.

Delany, Mrs. Mary, 160-63;
friendship with Swift, 161;
interest in Mrs. Yearsley, 205;
relations with Miss Burney, 162;
verses, Miss More’s to, 161.

democracy, in salons, 25;
theory of, 9.

Denham, Sir John, 92.

diary, as a literary type, 254 ff.

Diderot, Denis, 52.

Donne, John, relations with the Countess of Bedford, 86-87.

Drayton, Michael, 85.

Dryden, John, 92, 96.

England, French attitude to, 11 ff.

_Englishman in Paris_, Foote’s comedy, 42 _n._

epigram, Garrick’s on Goldsmith, 116;
Johnson’s on Barnard, 116;
popularity of, in salons, 26, 115-117, 229;
Young’s on Chesterfield, 116.

Este, Beatrice d’, 17.

feminism, in seventeenth century, 98-99.

_femmes savantes_, 28, 35, 78, 83, 98 _n._, 105.

Ferguson, Adam, 191.

Fielding, Sarah, 257.

Fontenelle, Bernard de, 45.

Foote, Samuel, quoted, 42 _n._

Frederick, Duke of Urbino, 18 ff.

friendship, in salons, 26 ff., 210.

Garrick, David, 123, 139 _n._;
declamation, 106;
verses, 121.

Gay, John, 100.

Geoffrin, Mme., career and salon, 47-50;
charity, 73;
described by Walpole, 58;
maxims, 113;
praised by Mlle. de Lespinasse, 73 ff.;
referred to, 25;
relations with Marmontel, 27;
—— with Walpole, 58 ff.;
type of her century, 34, 36;
wit, 29, 48 _n._

Gibbon, Edward, career in salons, 74-80, 211;
_Decline and Fall_, popularity of, in salons, 76;
influence of salon upon, 79;
Mme. du Deffand’s opinion of, 74-75, 77;
Mme. Necker’s opinion of, 75;
quoted, 11;
relations with Mme. Necker, 77-79;
Walpole’s opinion of, 76 _n._

Goldsmith, Oliver, account of Parisian salon, 42;
not a frequenter of the London salon, 211;
quoted, 32, 103 _n._, 105, 113;
visits Mrs. Vesey, 147 _n._

Gonzaga, Elizabeth, of Urbino, 17 ff.; 27, 84.

gossip, 223, 245, 248-49;
_see also_ scandal.

government, theories of, 11.

Gray, Thomas, 144;
at Mrs. Vesey’s, 147.

Greville, Lady, 153.

Guibert, Comte de, 67.

Henrietta Maria, Queen, 88.

Herries, Lady, 153.

Hervey, Lady, 135.

Hesketh, Lady, 197-98.

Hogarth, William, depiction of the levee, 103.

Holbach, Baron d’, his salon, 70, 75.

Holcroft, Thomas, quoted, 112, 170 _n._

Hoole, Rev. Samuel, quoted, 108 ff., 178.

Hume, Alexander, career in Parisian salons, 50-55;
death, 55;
influence of the salon on, 55;
quarrel with Rousseau, 53 ff.;
quoted, 5.

Huntington, Countess of, 87.

intrigue, flourishes in salons, 89, 95.

Isabella, of Mantua, 17.

Italy, courts of, _see_ courts.

Johnson, Samuel, conversation, 231 ff.;
correspondence, 252;
described by Hoole, 109-10;
dogmatism, 230;
levee, 104;
manner in conversation, 224;
quarrel with Mrs. Montagu, 199-202;
quoted, 5, 6, 7, 9, 100, 101, 231 ff.;
salons, visits, 210-11;
serenity, 223;
style in conversation and in writing compared, 229;
versatility, 226.

Jonson, Ben, 85.

Kauffmann, Angelica, 134.

Kyd, Thomas, 84.

Lambert, Mme. de, 44.

landscape, love of, among bluestockings, 148, 176.

laughter, unpopular in salons, 57.

Lely, Sir Peter, 97 _n._

Lennox, Charlotte, 257.

Lespinasse, Julie de, career and salon, 71 ff.;
relations with Burke, 68;
—— with d’Alembert, 25;
—— with Sterne, 71-72;
_Sentimental Journey_, imitates, 72 ff.;
type of romanticism, 34.

letter-writing, 236 ff.

levee, 102-05.

London, a literary centre, 5, 6.

Lorenzo the Magnificent, 18.

Lucan, Lady, 135, 153.

Lyttelton, Lord, _Dialogues of the Dead_, 167;
Johnson’s life of, 196 ff.;
poetry, 157;
praises Beattie, 190;
relations with Mrs. Montagu, 139-140, 157.

Macaulay, Mrs. Catherine, 10, 135.

Macaulay, Lord, 225, 259, 267, 268.

Manley, Mrs. Mary, 98, 100.

Mann, Sir Horace, Walpole’s letters to, 242 _n._

manners, literature of, 3.

Marmontel, Jean, 52.

Mascarille, 102.

Mathias, T. J., 170.

maxims, _see_ sentiments.

Mazarin, Cardinal, 96.

Mazarin, Duchess of, 96-98.

men of letters, state of, in eighteenth century, 32.

Miller, Lady, career and salon, 117-122;
poems, 120.

Molière, J. B. P., comedies referred to, 26 _n._, 28, 29, 102, 107.

Monckton, Miss, 153.

Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley, 100-01, 237, 252.

Montagu, Mrs. Elizabeth, achievements, 141;
assemblies, 138;
breakfasts, 105;
conceit, 202-03;
_Dialogues of the Dead_, 167-69, 200;
_Essays on Shakespeare_, 169-72, 278;
‘female Mæcenas,’ 189;
‘femme savante,’ a, 140, 171-72;
influence in literary world, 202;
learning, 140, 198;
loyalty, 195;
patron of the arts, 189-208;
quarrel with Johnson, 196, 199-202;
‘Queen of the Blues,’ 133;
relations with Barry, 199;
—— with Beattie, 189-95;
—— with Cowper, 197-99;
—— with Lyttelton, 167, 200;
—— with Mme. du Deffand, 136-37;
—— with Mrs. Yearsley, 204 ff.;
—— with Potter, 195;
—— with Sterne, 202;
salon, originates in London, 124.

More, Hannah, 180-88;
_Bas Bleu_, 23, 123-25;
_Bleeding Rock_, 181;
description of an assembly, 106 _n._;
_Essays_, 156, 187;
_Fatal Falsehood_, 185-86;
_Florio_, 157, 187;
_Inflexible Captive_, 181;
influence of bluestockings on, 180, 188;
_Ode on the Marquess of Worcester_, 155;
_Ode to Mrs. Boscawen_, 154 ff.;
_Percy_, 154, 183-85;
piety, 186-88;
relations with Garrick, 181;
—— with Mrs. Boscawen, 181 ff.;
—— with Mrs. Yearsley, 204 ff.;
—— with Walpole, 187;
romanticism, 182;
_Sensibility_, 156;
_Sir Eldred_, 181-83;
‘Stella,’ 206;
_Thoughts on the Manners of the Great_, 188.

Necker, Mme., career and salon, 77-80;
quoted, 7, 14, 38, 63 _n._;
relations with Gibbon, 77 ff.;
—— with Hume, 27;
—— with Mrs. Montagu, 136.

Newcastle, Duchess of, 90 _n._

Opie, John, portrait of Miss More, 157.

Ord, Mrs. Anne, relations with Miss Burney, 159-60;
salon, 124, 158-159.

‘Orinda,’ _see_ Phillips, Mrs. Katherine.

Ossian, 176.

Otway, Thomas, 96.

Paoli, General, 147 _n._

Paris, attraction for Englishmen, 15, 36, 38.

patronage, 30, 84, 189 ff.

Pembroke, Countess of, 84.

Pepys, Sir William, 123.

Percy, Bishop, _Reliques_, 182.

Phillips, Mrs. Katherine, 91-94.

Piozzi, Mme., _see_ Thrale, Mrs. Hester.

Pix, Mary, 98.

Platonic love, 88, 91, 93.

Polignac, Mme. de, 131.

Portland, Duchess of, 131, 162, 205, 207.

Potter, Robert, attacks Johnson’s _Lives_, 196, 270;
meets Johnson, 196;
relations with Mrs. Montagu, 195-97.

_précieuses galantes_, 88.

_précieuses ridicules_, 29.

Prior, Matthew, relations with Mme. de Tencin, 44 ff.

pseudonyms, classical, 89, 91, 95, 206.

Pye, Henry, poem to Mrs. Boscawen, 156 _n._

Queensbury, Duchess of, 100.

Rambouillet, Hôtel de, 22 ff.;
Marquise de, 22 ff., 102 _n._

Raynal, Abbé, 144, 150-51.

Restoration, influence of, on the salon, 89-90.

Reynolds, Sir Joshua, indebtedness to Johnson’s conversation, 235.

Richardson, Samuel, his Daughters, 100;
fame in France, 14.

Rousseau, J. J., 9, 40, 54, 59, 176.

Rowe, Nicholas, relations with Mrs. Phillips, 92 _n._

_ruelle_, 102 _n._

Rutland, Lady, 87.

Saint Évremond, Charles de, 96-98.

salon, characteristics, 24 ff.;
conservatism, 210 ff.;
conversation in, 25, 125;
cosmopolitanism of, 43;
decline of, 209;
democratic tone, 25;
failure of, in England, 213;
first English, 83;
ideal of, 152;
influence on authors, 39;
literary academy, a, 31;
origin of, 16 ff.;
original works read aloud, 26, 67, 72 _n._;
patronage, 30, 84, 189 ff.;
radicalism of, 37;
room, 24;
woman’s place in, 16, 33 ff.

scandal, prevalence of, in salons, 111.

scepticism, in salons, 10, 37, 42, 52, 150.

Schwellenberg, Mrs., 260, 264.

Scudéry, Mlle. de, 26, 95.

sentiments, popular in salons, 113-15.

Sévigné, Mme. de, influence of, in England, 237 ff.

Seward, Anna, 121.

Shakespeare, William, Mrs. Montagu’s Essay on, 169-72;
salon spirit in his comedies, 22, 85.

Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, _Rivals_, 115;
_School for Scandal_, quoted, 103, 104, 107, 112, 115.

Sheridan, Thomas, 106.

Spenser, Edmund, 84.

Sterne, Laurence, describes salons, 37;
influence of salons upon, 74;
relations with Mrs. Montagu, 202;
—— with Mrs. Vesey, 148 ff.;
_Sentimental Journey_, quoted, 37, 69;
imitated by Mlle. de Lespinasse, 72 ff.

Stillingfleet, Benjamin, 123, 128-30.

Stuart, Lady Louisa, 126, 139.

Suckling, Sir John, 89.

Swift, Jonathan, 100.

Taylor, Jeremy, relations with Mrs. Phillips, 92-94.

Tencin, Mme. de, career and salon, 43-47, 102;
type of her century, 34.

Tessier, Le, 106.

Thrale, Hester, _Anecdotes of Johnson_, 164;
——, reception of, 276;
character, 165;
not properly a bluestocking, 124;
relations with Johnson, 163-64;
—— with Miss Burney, 163-64.

Tighe, Edward, 106.

Trotter, Catherine, 98.

Twickenham Park, salon at, 85.

Vaughan, Henry, 94.

Vesey, Agmondesham, 115, 203.

Vesey, Mrs. Elizabeth, agnosticism, 150;
bluestocking, use of the word, 130;
entertains the Literary Club, 33 _n._, 147;
relations with Sterne, 148 ff.;
romanticism, 147, 151;
salon, 141-52;
——, one of the originators, in London, 124.

Vivonne, Cathérine de, _see_ Rambouillet, Marquise de.

Voiture, Vincent, 25.

Voltaire, François, denounced by bluestockings, 109, 151;
opinion of, in salons, 37;
opinion, his, of the English, 12.

Walpole, Horace, correspondence, art of, 236 ff.;
gossip, love of, 249-50;
influence of salons on, 39, 65-66;
interest in Mrs. Yearsley, 206;
letter to Rousseau, 54, 59;
opinion of Gibbon, 76 _n._;
—— of Hume, 51;
—— of the salon, 56 ff.;
popularity in Paris, 59;
quoted, 10, 36, 39, 42, 44 _n._, 52, 58, 62 _n._, 66 _n._, 68, 76
_n._, 132, 236 ff.;
relations with Mme. du Deffand, 63-65;
—— with Mme. Geoffrin, 57;
salons, career in, 56-66;
uses the word bluestocking, 132.

Walsingham, Mrs., 124, 153, 157.

Woodhouse, the poetical shoemaker, 205.

Wroth, Lady, 87.

Yearsley, Mrs. Ann, the poetical milk-woman, career and poems, 204-08.

Young, Edward, 100, 156 _n._, 157.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Hume, Boswell, Burke, and Johnson are quoted in turn. The first reference is to Edinburgh, the rest to London.

[2] Boswell’s _Life_, Hill’s edition, 2. 75.

[3] Boswell’s _Life_ 3. 253.

[4] _Ib._, 4. 167.

[5] _Ib._, 3. 247.

[6] _Lettres à Walpole_ 3. 338; 28 May 1777.

[7] Boswell’s _Life_ 2. 328-29.

[8] _Ib._, 2. 340.

[9] Boswell’s _Life_ 1. 447.

[10] _Letters_ 6. 301.

[11] In his _Memoirs_.

[12] See Churton Collins’ _Voltaire, Montesquieu, and Rousseau in England_, London 1908.

[13] _Essai sur la Société des Gens de Lettres et des Grands, sur la Réputation, sur les Mécènes, et sur les Récompenses Littéraires._ In his _Mélanges de Littérature et de Philosophie_ (1753) 2. 119.

[14] _Ib._ 2. 121. Cf. Helvétius to Hume (_Letters to Hume_; 28 June 1767). ‘L’attraction de la terre Britannique agit puissament sur moi.’

[15] See his _Memoirs_.

[16] _Œuvres_ (1819-25) 43. 320; 14 November 1764. The whole passage is worth quoting: ‘Mille gens, messieurs, s’élèvent et déclament contre l’anglomanie: j’ignore ce qu’ils entendent par ce mot. S’ils veulent parler de la fureur de travestir en modes ridicules quelques usages utiles, de transformer un deshabillé commode en un vêtement malpropre, de saisir, jusqu’à des jeux nationaux, pour y mettre des grimaces à la place de la gravité, ils pourraient avoir raison; mais si, par hasard, ces déclamateurs prétendaient nous faire un crime du désir d’étudier, d’observer, de philosopher, comme les Anglais, ils auraient certainement bien tort: car, en supposant que ce désir soit déraisonable, ou même dangereux, il faudrait avoir beaucoup d’humeur pour nous l’attribuer et ne pas convenir que nous sommes à cet égard à l’abri de tout reproche.’

[17] Its first published title was _L’Orphéline Léguée_. See also Walpole’s _Letters_ 6. 360.

[18] _Correspondance_, ed. Lescure, 1. 497; 14 August 1768.

[19] _Mélanges_ 2. 240.

[20] Gibbon’s _Miscellaneous Works_ 2. 178.

[21] The ideal of a group of ladies and gentlemen who seek in literature the pleasantest of entertainment is of course encountered in Italian literature long before this time. The singular vitality of the scheme adopted by Boccaccio for the framework of the _Decameron_ is proved by the numerous imitations of it. The Petrarchists, as well as Boccaccio, found favour in the eyes of the court-ladies.

[22] _The Book of the Courtier_, from the Italian of Count Baldassare Castiglione, done into English by Sir Thomas Hoby. Edited by Professor Raleigh. London, 1900. See pp. 29 ff.

[23] Spirit.

[24] Figures, allegories.

[25] ‘Arguments,’ discussions, such as the one that follows on the nature of the true courtier.

[26] The following anecdote of a warrior who affirmed that the entertainments of the Court were beneath him, may be cited as a specimen: ‘The Gentlewoman demaundyng him, What is then your profession? He aunswered with a frowning looke: To fight. Then saide the Gentlewoman: Seing you are not nowe at the warre nor in place to fight, I woulde thinke it beste for you to bee well besmered and set up in an armorie with other implementes of warre till time wer that you should be occupied, least you waxe more rustier than you are.’ p. 49.

[27] See below, p. 124.

[28] _Historical Memoirs_ 1. 14. Chesterfield, who knew the salons at first hand, writes to his son, 24 December 1750, ‘Le bon goût commença seulement à se faire jour, sous le règne, je ne dis pas de Louis Treize, mais du Cardinal de Richelieu, et fut encore épuré sous celui de Louis Quatorze.... Vers la fin du règne du Cardinal de Richelieu, et au commencement de celui de Louis Quatorze, l’Hôtel de Rambouillet était le Temple du Goût, mais d’un goût pas encore tout à fait épuré.’ _Letters_, ed. Bradshaw, 1. 382.

[29] ‘Arthénice’ is an anagram of her name, Cathérine. It is said to have been discovered by Malherbe.

[30] This, too, is Italian. Cf. Burckhardt, _Renaissance in Italy_, tr. Middlemore, p. 359: ‘Social intercourse in its highest and most perfect form now ignored all distinctions of caste, and was based simply on the existence of an educated class.’

[31] Thus Mascarille in _Les Précieuses Ridicules_: ‘Vous verrez courir de ma façon, dans les belles ruelles de Paris, deux cents chansons, autant de sonnets, quatre cents épigrammes, et plus de mille madrigaux, sans compter les énigmes et les portraits.’

[32] Petit de Julleville, _Histoire de la Langue et de la Littérature Française_ 4. 105.

[33] She sneered at _précieuses_. _Lettres à Walpole_ 1. 417.

[34] _Essai sur les Gens de Lettres, etc._, _op. cit._ 2. 136. Cf. Goldsmith, _Citizen of the World_, 84: ‘A writer of real merit now may ... talk even to princes with all the conscious superiority of wisdom.’

[35] ‘Collé regrettera toujours les cafés littéraires et ne se consolera pas de les voir déserter pour les salons.’ Petit de Julleville, _Histoire de la Littérature Française_, 6. 388. It was a significant moment in the history of the Literary Club in London when, about 1780, it fell into the habit of dining at Mrs. Vesey’s before its more exclusive sessions at the tavern.

[36] ‘Comme son siècle, Madame du Deffand, dans son extrême viellesse, retrouva le don d’aimer et la douceur des larmes.’ Lanson, _Choix de Lettres_, quoted by Mrs. Toynbee in _Lettres à Walpole_ 1. lx.

[37] ‘Elle symbolise l’évolution qui, à l’époque où elle vécut, s’est opérée dans l’âme de ses contemporains, lorsque de raisonneur le siècle s’est fait passionné, de libertin sentimental.’ Ségur, _Julie de Lespinasse_, p. 15.

[38] _Letters_ 6. 393.

[39] _Ib._ 6. 367; 2 December 1765.

[40] _Ib._ 9. 252; [? September] 1775.

[41] _Sentimental Journey._

[42] _Letters_ 6. 352; 19 November 1765. Cf. Madame du Deffand to Walpole (_Letters_ 1. 385; 30 January 1768): ‘Vous n’aimez pas les impiétés, vous êtes, ce me semble, un peu dévot.’

[43] Letter to Gibbon, 30 September 1776; in Gibbon’s _Miscellaneous Works_ 2. 178.

[44] This function is admirably expressed by Professor Brunel in his account of Madame de Tencin (Petit de Julleville, _Histoire de la Littérature Française_ 6. 403) ‘[Elle les ramenait] sans cesse au ton léger qui convient, même en un sujet grave. Tel est bien le rôle d’une femme au milieu de ces têtes pensantes. Elle se tient audessus et au dehors du débat, qu’elle envisage au seul point de vue d’agrément, et dont elle règle la marche, toujours souriante, sans le laisser languir ni s’aigrir.’

[45] _Letters_ 6. 414; 3 February 1766.

[46] Boswell’s _Life of Johnson_ 3. 47.

[47] Madame Necker speaks of the ‘art perfectionné de l’exagération,’ in the letter to Gibbon cited above.

[48] Thus Marmontel: ‘Leurs entretiens étaient une école pour moi non moins utile qu’agréable et, autant qu’il m’était possible, je profitais de leurs leçons.’

[49] English visitors in Paris are satirized in two comedies by Samuel Foote, _The Englishman in Paris_ (1753) and _The Englishman returned from Paris_ (1757). In the former the leading character, Buck, is offered an introduction to ‘Madame de Rambouillet’; in the latter he comes home completely Frenchified.

[50] _Letters_ 6. 332; 19 October 1765.

[51] _Memoirs of M. de Voltaire._ During Goldsmith’s sojourn on the Continent, Diderot and Fontenelle were still visitors at Madame Geoffrin’s.

[52] In Petit de Julleville’s _Histoire de la Littérature Française_, _op. cit._, 6. 404, Walpole, who must have had her character from Madame du Deffand, tells Mason that she was ‘a most horrid woman’ who ‘had great parts and so little principle that she was supposed to have murdered and robbed one of her lovers, a scrape out of which Lord Harrington and another of them saved her. She had levees from eight in the morning till night, from the lowest tools to the highest.’ _Letters_ 10. 28; 13 March 1777.

[53] _Works_ of Bolingbroke 7. 169; letter to Hanmer, December 1712 (?).

[54] _Ib._, 7. 87; 17 October 1712. Prior to Bolingbroke.

[55] _Lettres Historiques de Bolingbroke_ (Paris 1808), 2. 431; 3 June 1715.

[56] _Dictionary of National Biography_, ‘Saint John.’

[57] See the ribald verses commencing, ‘Tencin, vous avez de l’esprit,’ printed in _Lettres de Bolingbroke_, _op. cit._, 2. 433 n. The second stanza begins, ‘Bolingbroke, es-tu possédé?’

[58] _Letters_, edited by Bradshaw, 1. 383; 24 December 1750.

[59] See his letter to Madame de Tencin, introducing Mrs. Cleland, in _Letters_, as above, 2. 771; 20 August 1742.

[60] _Letters_, _op. cit._, 1. 383.

[61] See Professor P. M. Masson’s excellent monograph, _Madame de Tencin_ (Paris 1909), pp. 278-80. The appendix contains Madame de Tencin’s letters.

[62] Cf. Montesquieu, _Lettres_; 12 March 1750 (in _Œuvres_, Paris 1879): ‘Dîtes à milord Chesterfield que rien ne me flatte tant que son approbation,’ and the rest.

[63] Madame Necker, who had studied Madame Geoffrin’s methods, remarks (_Nouveaux Mélanges_ 1. 100): ‘Le piquant de l’esprit de Madame Geoffrin consistait toujours à rendre des idées ingénieuses par des images triviales, et pour ainsi dire, de ménage; son esprit était toujours enté sur un ton bourgeois.’ The following may serve as specimens (cf. above, p. 29): ‘Madame —— a frappé à la porte de toutes les vertus sans entrer chez aucune.’ ‘Quand nos amis sont borgnes, il faut les regarder de profil.’

[64] Letter in _Éloges de Madame Geoffrin_, ed. M. Morellet, p. 110.

[65] _Éloges_, _op. cit._, p. 105.

[66] _Letters to Hume_, pp. 288-89.

[67] _Letters_ 6. 298; 20 September 1765.

[68] _Correspondance Littéraire_, Paris 1829, 5. 4: ‘Il est lourd, il n’a ni chaleur, ni grâce, ni agrément dans l’esprit.’

[69] _Lettres à Walpole_ 1, _passim_.

[70] Burton’s _Life of Hume_ 2. 168 _n._

[71] _Letters_ 6, _passim_. Cf. Grimm, _op. cit._, 5. 3-4.

[72] Burton’s _Hume_ 2. 173; 9 November 1673.

[73] An Englishman in Paris wrote to the Earl Marshall of Scotland, ‘L’on regarde le bonheur de l’y voir comme un des plus doux fruits de la paix.’ _Letters to Hume_, p. 63; 4 January 1764.

[74] Burton’s _Hume_ 2. 181.

[75] Du Deffand’s _Lettres à Walpole_ 3. 591.

[76] _Lettres à Walpole_ 1. 232; 5 March 1767, _et passim_.

[77] See Burton’s _Life of Hume_; _Letters addressed to Hume_ (1849); _Private Correspondence of Hume_ (1820); _Letters_, ed. T. Murray (1841); and _Exposé succinct de la Contestation ... entre M. Hume et M. Rousseau_ (1766). The simplest narratives for the general reader are in Ségur’s _Julie de Lespinasse_, chapter 7, and in Collins’s _Voltaire, Montesquieu, and Rousseau in England_, pp. 182 ff.

[78] See Garat, _Mémoires Historiques_ 2. 158.

[79] See _Letters_ 6. 396; 12 January 1766, for the complete letter. A second letter, in the character of Émile, is printed in Madame du Deffand’s _Lettres à Walpole_ 1. 3 _n._ Madame du Deffand persuaded Walpole not to let it become public.

[80] See above, p. 54 _n._, and volume one of her _Lettres à Walpole_, _passim_.

[81] Burton’s _Life of Hume_ 2. 513.

[82] _Lettres à Walpole_ 3. 253.

[83] In October (?) 1776, Mrs. Montagu wrote to Beattie: ‘As I passed a good deal of my time with the Litterati at Paris, you may imagine I heard much of the manner of Mr. Hume’s taking leave of the world. “Les Philosophes” (as they call themselves) were pleased that he supported the infidel character with so much constancy.’ M. Forbes’s _Beattie and his Friends_ 130.

[84] _Letters_ 6. 309; 3 October 1765.

[85] _Ib._, 6. 332.

[86] _Ib._, 6. 358.

[87] See _Letters_ 6. 332: ‘Good folks, they have no time to laugh.’ ‘M. de Fontenelle,’ asked Madame Geoffrin one day, ‘Vous n’avez jamais ri?’ ‘Non,’ he replied, ‘je n’ai jamais fait ah, ah, ah.’ Necker, _Nouveaux Mélanges_ 1. 165. Chesterfield’s hatred of laughter, that ‘shocking distortion of the face,’ is well-known; he boasted that he had never been seen to laugh.

[88] _Lettres à Walpole_ 1. 577; 24 May 1769.

[89] _Letters_ 6. 404; 25 January 1766.

[90] Ten years later Madame du Deffand gave him a more startling illustration of French motherliness. See _Letters_ 9. 236.

[91] Cf. Professor Brunel in Petit de Julleville’s _Histoire_ 6. 410: ‘C’est en effet la “raison” qu’on reconnaît à Madame Geoffrin pour mérite éminent.’

[92] _Letters_ 6. 395; 11 January 1766.

[93] _Ib._, 6. 396.

[94] _Ib._, 6. 404; 25 January 1766.

[95] Montesquieu wrote her (15 June 1751): ‘Je sens qu’il n’y a pas de lectures qui puissent remplacer un quart d’heure de ces soupers qui faisaient mes délices.’ _Œuvres_ (1879), 7. 377.

[96] _Letters_ 9. 59; 28 September 1774.

[97] _Ib._, 6. 356; Walpole had met this Duke in Paris.

[98] Montesquieu, _Œuvres_ (1879), 7. 400; 13 September 1752. ‘Ce qui doît nous consoler, c’est que ceux qui voient clair ne sont pour celà lumineux.’

[99] This description of herself ‘dans le coin d’un couvent’ she sent to Madame de Boufflers:

Dans son tonneau
On voit une vieille sibylle
Dans son tonneau.
Qui n’a sur les os que la peau,
Qui jamais ne jeûna Vigile,
Qui rarement lit l’Évangile
Dans son tonneau.

—From G. Maugras, _La Marquise de Boufflers_, p. 101.

[100] ‘Madame du Deffand ... is delicious; that is, as often as I can get her fifty years back, but she is as eager about what happens every day as I am about the last century.’ Walpole, _Letters_ 6. 367; 2 December 1765.

[101] D’Alembert called her ‘The Viper,’ and told Hume that she hated everybody, especially great men. _Letters to Hume_, p. 201.

[102] ‘Ceux par qui on n’a pas craindre d’être assassiné, mais qui laisseraient faire les assassins.’ Montesquieu, _Œuvres_ (1879) 7. 379.

[103] Necker, _Nouveaux Mélanges_ 1. 79: ‘Madame du Défan [sic] accusait tous les penseurs d’affectation.’

[104] _Lettres à Walpole_ 3. 319, _et passim_.

[105] _Ib._ 3. 77.

[106] _Ib._ 2. 373; cf. 3. 203. ‘Toute espèce de lecture m’ennuie.’

[107] Edited by Mrs. Paget Toynbee, London, 1912. There are 838 letters.

[108] _Lettres à Walpole_ 1. 167; 14 November 1766.

[109] _Letters_ 9. 249; 8 September 1775.

[110] ‘If possible she is more worth visiting than ever; and so far am I from being ashamed of coming hither at my age, that I look on myself as wiser than one of the Magi, when I travel to adore this star in the East. The star and I went to the Opera last night, and when we came from Madame de la Vallière’s, at one in the morning, it wanted to drive about the town, because it was too early to _set_.... You nurse a little girl of four years old, and I rake with an old woman of fourscore!’ _Letters_ 9. 256; to Selwyn, 16 September 1775.

[111] _Lettres à Walpole_ 2. 476.

[112] _Ib._ 2. 484.