to attract our admiration. It may be also, that impudence is more intolerably disgusting when joined with ugliness; for certainly, I should much sooner be tempted to affront an impertinent ugly woman, than to embrace her; whereas, by modesty, she might excite, even a tender compassion, which is often a harbinger of love. But, though it is generally remarked, that the prettiest women are the best behaved, yet they are often so extremely affected, and are always so evidently taken up with themselves, that, in this country, there is little danger of being exposed to that temptation which M. de Muralt sometimes experienced amongst the English ladies, of telling a woman she was handsome, only for the pleasure of persuading her to think so.
Neither the natural gaiety of the French, nor their love of singularity, is the cause of this freedom of conversation and behaviour for which these ladies are so remarkable; but it is rather to be deduced from their manners, by which they are authorized to spend all their time in the company of men; and hence it is, that the behaviour of each sex seems to be copied from the other.
Our Swiss ladies, on the contrary, are fond of little female assemblies, in which they are extremely social and happy; [32] for, though they probably may not dislike the company of men, yet it is certain their presence is some constraint upon them.
In Paris it is quite the reverse; the women are never easy nor satisfied without the men. In most companies, the lady of the house is seen alone amidst a circle of gentlemen, and this is so generally the case, that one cannot help wondering how such an unequal proportion of men can be every where assembled. But Paris is full of _avanturiers_, priests and abbés, who spend their whole lives in running from house to house. Thus the women learn to think, act and speak from the men, whilst these, in return, imbibe a certain degree of effeminacy; and this seems the only consequence of their trifling gallantry: however, they enjoy a fulsome adoration, in which their devotees do not think it worth while to preserve even the appearance of sincerity. No matter: in the midst of her circle, she is the sole object of attention, and that’s sufficient. But, if a second female enters the room, familiarity instantly gives place to ceremony, the high airs of quality are assumed, the adoration becomes divided, and each continues to be a secret constraint upon the other till the company breaks up.
The Parisian ladies are fond of public diversions: that is, they are fond of shewing themselves in public; but the great difficulty, every time they go, is to find a female companion, for decorum will not allow one lady alone to appear in the boxes, even though attended by her husband, or by any other man. It is amazing, in this very social country, how difficult it is to form these parties; out of ten that are proposed, nine generally miscarry: they are projected by the desire of being seen, and are broken by the disagreeable necessity for a sister petticoat. I should imagine it an easy matter for the ladies to abolish this ridiculous custom. What reason can there be why a woman should not be seen alone in public? perhaps, there being no reason for it, is the very cause of its continuance. However, upon the whole, it may be prudent to preserve decency where the abolition would be attended with no great satisfaction. What great matter would there be in the privilege of appearing alone at the opera? is it not much better to reserve this exclusive privilege for the private reception of one’s friends in one’s own house?
Nothing can be more certain than that this custom of being alone amidst such a number of men, is productive of many secret connections: indeed the world is pretty well convinced of it, since experience has proved the absurdity of that maxim, which told us, that by multiplying temptations we should destroy them; so that they do not defend this fashion for its decency, but that it is most agreeable; which, by the by, I do not believe. How can any love exist, where modesty is held in derision? and what pleasure can there be in a life which is at once deprived both of love and decency? but as the want of entertainment is the greatest evil which these slaves to dissipation have to fear, the ladies are solicitous for amusement rather than love; gallantry and attendance is all they require, and provided their danglers are assiduous, they are very indifferent about the violence or sincerity of their passion. The words _love_ and _lover_ are entirely banished even from the most private intercourse of the sexes, and are sunk into oblivion with the _darts_ and _flames_ of ancient romance.
One would imagine that the whole order of natural sensations was here reversed. A girl is to have no feelings, passions, or attachments; that privilege is reserved for the married women, and excludes no paramour except their husbands. The mother had better have twenty lovers, than her daughter one. Adultery is considered as no crime, and conveys no indecency in the idea: their romances, which are universally read for instruction, are full of it, and there appears nothing shocking in its consequences, provided the lovers do not render themselves contemptible by their fidelity. O Eloisa! there are many women in this city, who have defiled their marriage-bed a hundred times, yet would presume, with the voice of impurity, to slander an union like ours, that is yet unsullied with infidelity.
It should seem that in Paris, marriage is a different institution from what it is in other parts of the world: they call it a sacrament, and yet it has not half the power of a common contract. It appears to be nothing more than a private agreement between two persons to live together, to bear the same name, and acknowledge the same children; but who, in other respects, have no authority one over the other. If at Paris a man should pretend to be offended with the ill conduct of his wife, he would be as generally despised, as if, in our country, he was to take no notice of her scandalous behaviour. Nor are the ladies on their parts less indulgent to their husbands; for I have not yet heard of an instance of their being punished for having imitated the infidelity of their wives. In short, what other effect can be expected from an union in which their hearts were never consulted? those who marry fortune or title, seem to be under no personal obligation.
Love, even love, has lost its privilege, and is no less degenerated than marriage. As man and wife may be looked upon as a bachelor and a maid, who live together for the sake of enjoying more liberty; so are lovers a kind of people, who, with great indifference, meet for amusement, through custom, or out of vanity. The heart is entirely unconcerned in these attachments, in which nothing more than certain external conveniences are ever consulted: it is, in short, to know each other, to dine together, now and then to exchange a few words, or, if possible, even less than this. An affair of gallantry lasts but a little longer than a visit, and consists chiefly in a few genteel conversations, and three or four pretty letters, filled with descriptions, maxims, philosophy, and wit. As to experimental philosophy, it does not require so much mystery; they have wisely discovered the folly of letting slip any opportunity of gratification: whether it happens to be the lover or any other man, a man is a man, and why should a lady be more scrupulous of being guilty of an infidelity to her lover than to her husband? after a certain age they may all be considered as the same kind of puppets, made up by the same fashion monger, and consequently the first that comes to hand is always the best.
Knowing nothing of these matters from experience, I can relate only what I have heard; and indeed, the representation is so very extraordinary, that I have but an imperfect idea of what I have been told. That which I chiefly comprehend is, that the gallant is generally regarded as one of the family; that if the lady happens to be dissatisfied with him, he is dismissed, or if he meets with a service more to his inclination or advantage, he takes his leave, and she engages a fresh one. There are, I have been told, some ladies so capricious as even to take up with their own husbands for a while, considering them, at least, as a kind of male creature; but this whim seldom lasts long: as soon as it is past, the good man is entirely discarded, or, if he should happen to be obstinate, why then she takes another and keeps them both.
But I could not help objecting to the person who gave me this strange account, how it was possible, after this, to live among these discarded lovers. Live among them, says he, why, they are entire strangers to her ever after; and if they should, by chance, take it into their heads to renew their amours, they would have to begin anew, and would hardly be able to recollect their former acquaintance. I understand you, I replied, but I have great difficulty in reconciling these extravagancies. I cannot conceive how it is possible, after such a tender union, to see each other without emotion; how the heart can avoid palpitation, even at the name of a person once beloved; why they do not tremble when they meet. You make me laugh, says he, with your tremblings: and so you would have our ladies continually fainting away.
Suppress a part of this caricature representation; place my Eloisa in opposition to the rest, and remember the sincerity of my heart: I have nothing more to add.
However, I must confess, that many of these disagreeable impressions are effaced by custom. Though the dark side of their character may first catch our attention, it is no reason why we should be blind to their amiable qualities. The charms of their understanding and good humour are no small addition to their personal accomplishments. Our first repugnance overcome frequently generates a contrary sentiment.
It is not just to view the picture only in its worst point of sight.
The first inconveniency of great cities is, that mankind are generally disguised, and that in society they appear different from what they really are. This is particularly true in Paris with regard to the ladies, who derive from the observation of others, the only existence about which they are solicitous. When you meet a lady in public, instead of seeing a Parisian, as you imagine, you behold only a phantom of the fashion: her stature, dimension, gait, shape, neck, colour, air, look, language, every thing is assumed; so that, if you were to see her in her natural state, you would not know her to be the same creature. But this universal mask is greatly to her disadvantage; for nature’s substitutes are always inferior to herself: besides, it is almost impossible to conceal her entirely; in spite of us, she will now and then discover herself, and in seizing her with dexterity consists the true art of observation. This is indeed no difficult matter in conversing with the women of this country, for, if you take them off their grand theatre of representation, and consider them attentively, you will see them as they really are, and it is then possible that your aversion may be changed into esteem and friendship.
I had an opportunity of verifying this remark last week, on a party of pleasure, to which, along with some other strangers, I was, abruptly enough, invited by a company of ladies, probably with a design to laugh at us without constraint or interruption. The first day the project succeeded to their wish: they immediately began to dart their wit and pleasantry in showers, but as their arrows were not retorted, their quivers were soon empty. They then behaved with great decency, and finding themselves unable to bring us to _their_ stile, they were obliged to conform to ours. Whether they were pleased with it or not I am ignorant; however, the change was very agreeable to me, for I soon found that I stood a better chance to profit by the conversation of these females, than from the generality of men. Their wit now appeared so great an ornament to their natural good sense, that I changed my opinion of the sex, and could not help lamenting, that so many amiable women should want reason, only because it is their humour to reject it. I perceived also that their natural graces began insensibly to efface the artificial airs of the city: for, without design, our manner is generally influenced by the nature of our discourse: it is impossible to introduce much coquettish grimace in a rational conversation. They appeared much more handsome after they grew indifferent about it, and I perceived, that if they would please, they need only throw off their affectation. Hence, I am apt to conclude, that Paris, the pretended seat of taste, is of all places in the world, that in which there is the least; since all their methods of pleasing are destructive of real beauty.
Thus we continued together four or five days, satisfied with each other, and with ourselves. Instead of satirising Paris and its innumerable follies, we forgot both the city and its inhabitants. Our whole care was to promote the happiness of our little society. We wanted no ill-natured wit or sarcasm to excite our mirth, but our laughter, like your cousin’s, was the effect of good humour.
I had yet another reason to be confirmed in my good opinion of these females. Frequently in the very midst of our enjoyment, a person would come in abruptly and whisper the lady of the house. She left the room, shut herself up in her closet, and continued writing a considerable time. It was natural to suppose, that her heart was engaged in this correspondence; and of this one of the company gave a hint, which, however, was not very graciously received; a proof at least, that though she might possibly have no lovers, she was not without friends.
But, judge of my surprize, when I was informed that these supposed Parisian suitors were no other than the unhappy peasants of the parish, who came in their tribulation to implore the protection of their lady; one being unjustly taxed, another enrolled in the militia, regardless of his age and family, a third groaning under a lawsuit with a powerful neighbour, a fourth ruined by a form of hail, was going to be dragged to prison. In short, each had some petition to make, each was patiently heard, and the time we supposed to be spent in an amorous correspondence, was employed in writing letters in favour of these unhappy sufferers. It is impossible to conceive how I was astonished to find with what delight, and with how little ostentation this young, this gay woman, performed these charitable offices of humanity. Oh, says I to myself, if she were even Eloisa, she could not act otherwise! From that moment I continued to regard her with respect, and all her faults vanished.
My enquiries had no sooner taken this turn, than I began to discover a thousand advantageous particulars in the very women who before appeared so insupportable. Indeed all strangers are agreed, that, provided you exclude the fashionable topic, there is no country in the world whose women have more knowledge, talk more sensibly, with more judgment, and are more capable of giving advice. If from the Spanish, Italian, or German ladies, we should take the jargon of gallantry and wit, what would there remain of their conversation? and you, my Eloisa, are not ignorant how it is in general with our country-women.
But if, with a French woman, humour to reject it. I perceived also that their natural graces began insensibly to efface the artificial airs of the city: for, without design, our manner is generally influenced by the nature of our discourse: it is impossible to introduce much coquettish grimace in a rational conversation. They appeared much more handsome after they grew indifferent about it, and I perceived, that if they would please, they need only throw off their affectation. Hence, I am apt to conclude, that Paris, the pretended seat of taste, is of all places in the world, that in which there is the least; since all their methods of pleasing are destructive of real beauty.
Thus we continued together four or five days, satisfied with each other, and with ourselves. Instead of satirising Paris and its innumerable follies, we forgot both the city and its inhabitants. Our whole care was to promote the happiness of our little society. We wanted no ill-natured wit or sarcasm to excite our mirth, but our laughter, like your cousin’s, was the effect of good humour.
I had yet another reason to be confirmed in my good opinion of these females. Frequently in the very midst of our enjoyment, a person would come in abruptly and whisper the lady of the house. She left the room, shut herself up in her closet, and continued writing a considerable time. It was natural to suppose, that her heart was engaged in this correspondence; and of this one of the company gave a hint, which, however, was not very graciously received; a proof at least, that though she might possibly have no lovers, she was not without friends.
But, judge of my surprize, when I was informed that these supposed Parisian suitors were no other than the unhappy peasants of the parish, who came in their tribulation to implore the protection of their lady; one being unjustly taxed, another enrolled in the militia, regardless of his age and family, a third groaning under a lawsuit with a powerful neighbour, a fourth ruined by a storm of hail, was going to be dragged to prison. In short, each had some petition to make, each was patiently heard, and the time we supposed to be spent in an amorous correspondence, was employed in writing letters in favour of these unhappy sufferers. It is impossible to conceive how I was astonished to find with what delight, and with how little ostentation, this young, this gay woman, performed these charitable offices of humanity. Oh, says I to myself, if she were even Eloisa, she could not act otherwise! From that moment I continued to regard her with respect, and all her faults vanished.
My enquiries had no sooner taken this turn, than I began to discover a thousand advantageous particulars in the very women who before appeared so insupportable. Indeed all strangers are agreed, that, provided you exclude the fashionable topic, there is no country in the world whose women have more knowledge, talk more sensibly, with more judgment, and are more capable of giving advice. If from the Spanish, Italian, or German ladies, we should take the jargon of gallantry and wit, what would there remain of their conversation? and you, my Eloisa, are not ignorant how it is in general with our country-women.
But if, with a French woman, a man has resolution to sacrifice his pretensions to gallantry, and to draw her out of that favourite fortress, she will then make a virtue of necessity, and arming herself with reason, will fight manfully in the open field. With regard to their goodness of heart. I will not instance their zeal to serve their friends; for, as with the rest of mankind, that may partly proceed from self-love. But, though they generally love no body but themselves, long habit will frequently produce in them the effects of a sincere friendship. Those who have constancy enough to support an attachment of ten years, commonly continue it to the end of their lives, and they will then love their old friends with more tenderness, at least with more fidelity than their new lovers.
One common accusation against the women of France is, that they do every thing, and consequently more evil than good; but it may be observed in their justification, that in doing evil they are stimulated by the men, and in doing good are actuated by their own principles. This does not in any ways contradict what I said before, that the heart has no concern in the commerce between the two sexes; for the gallantry of the French has given to the women an universal power, which stands in no need of tenderness to support it. Every thing depends upon the ladies; all things are done by them or for them; Olympus and Parnassus, glory and fortune, are equally subject to their laws. Neither books nor authors have any other value or esteem than that which the ladies are pleased to allow them. There is no appeal from their decree in matters of the nicest judgment or most trivial taste. Poetry, criticism, history, philosophy, are all calculated for the ladies, and even the bible itself has lately been metamorphosed into a polite romance. In public affairs, their influence arises from their natural ascendency over their husbands, not because they are their husbands, but because they are men, and it would be monstrous for a man to refuse any thing to a lady, even though she were his wife.
Yet this authority implies neither attachment nor esteem, but merely politeness and compliance with custom; for it is as essential to French gallantry to despise the women as to oblige them; and this contempt is taken as a proof, that a man has seen enough of the world to know the sex. Whoever treats them with respect is deemed a novice, a knight-errant, one who has known woman only in romances. They judge so equitably of themselves, that to honour them is to forfeit their esteem; so that the principal requisite in a man of gallantry is superlative impertinence.
Let the ladies of this country pretend what they will, they are, in spite of themselves, extremely good-natured. All men who are burthened with a multiplicity of affairs, are difficult of access, and without commiseration; and in Paris, the center of business of one of the most considerable nations in Europe, the men of consequence are particularly obdurate: those, therefore, who have any thing to ask, naturally apply to the ladies, whose ears are never shut against the unhappy; they console and serve them. In the midst of all their frivolous dissipation, they do not scruple to steal a few moments from their pleasure, and devote them to acts of benevolence; and though there may be some women mean enough to make an infamous traffic of their services, there are hundreds, on the contrary, who are daily employed in charitably assisting the distressed. However, it must be confessed, that they are sometimes so indiscreet, as to ruin an unfortunate man they happen not to know, in order to serve their own friend. But how is it possible to know every body in so extensive a country? or how can more be expected from good-nature destitute of real virtue, whose sublimest effort is not so much to do good, as to avoid evil? After all, it must be allowed that their inclinations are not naturally bad; that they do a great deal of good; that they do it from their hearts; that they alone preserve the remains of humanity, which are still to be found in Paris; and that without them, we should see the men avaricious and insatiable, like wolves devouring each other.
I should have remained ignorant of all this, if I had not consulted their comedies and romances, whose authors are, perhaps, too apt to stumble upon those foibles from which they themselves are not exempt, rather than the virtues they happen not to possess; who, instead of encouraging their readers by praising their real virtues, amuse themselves with painting imaginary characters too perfect for imitation.
Romances are perhaps the last vehicle of instruction that can be administered to a corrupt people. It were to be wished that none were suffered to prepare this medicine but men of honest principles and true sensibility; authors, whose writings should be a picture of their own hearts; who, instead of fixing virtue in the heavens, beyond the reach of our nature, would, by smoothing the way, insensibly tempt us out of the gulph of vice.
But to return to the Parisian ladies; concerning whom, I do not by any means agree in the common opinion. They are universally allowed to have the most enchanting address, the most seducing manner, to be the most refined coquets, to possess the most sublime gallantry, and the art of pleasing to a most superlative degree. For my part, I think their address shocking, their coquettish airs disgusting, and their manner extremely immodest. I should imagine that the heart would shrink back at all their advances, and I can never be persuaded, that they can for a single moment, talk of love, without shewing themselves incapable of either feeling or inspiring that tender passion.
On the other hand, we find them represented frivolous, artful, false, thoughtless, inconstant, talking well, but without reflection or sentiment, and evaporating all their merit in idle chit-chat. But to me, all this appears to be as external as their hoops or _rouge_. They are a kind of fashionable vices, which are supposed necessary at Paris, but which are not incompatible with sense, reason, humanity and good-nature. These ladies are, in many cases, more discreet, and less given to tattling than those of any other country. They are better instructed, and the things they are taught have a stronger effect upon their judgment. In short, if I dislike them for having disfigured the proper characteristics of their sex, I esteem them for those virtues in which they resemble us; and, my opinion is, that they are better calculated to be men of merit, than amiable women.
One word more and I have done. If Eloisa had never been, if my heart had been capable of any other attachment than that for which it was created, I should never have taken a wife or mistress in Paris; but I should gladly have chosen a friend, and such a treasure might possibly have consoled me for the want of the others. [33] Letter LXXXVII. To Eloisa.
Since the receipt of your letter, I have been daily with Mr.
Silvester, to see after the packet you mentioned: but my impatience has been seven times disappointed. At length, however, on the eighth time of going, I received it; and it was no sooner put into my hands, than, without staying to pay the postage, even without asking what it came to, or speaking a word to any body, I ran with it out of doors; and, as if I had been out of my senses passed by the door of my lodgings, though it stood open before me, and traversed a number of streets that I knew nothing of, till in about half an hour I found myself at the farther end of Paris. I was then obliged to take a hackney coach in order to get the more speedily home, which is the first time I have made use of those conveniences in a morning; indeed it is with regret I use them even in an afternoon, to pay some distant visits; for my legs are good, and I should be sorry that any improvement in my circumstances should make me neglect the use of them.
When I was seated in the coach, I was a good deal perplexed with my packet; as you had laid your injunctions on me to open it no where but at home. Besides, I was unwilling to be subject to any interruption in opening the packet, and indulging myself in that exquisite satisfaction, I find in every thing that comes from you. I held it therefore with an impatience and curiosity which I could scarce contain: endeavouring to discover its contents through the covers, by pressing it every way with my hands; from the continual motions of which you would have thought the packet contained fire, and burned the ends of my fingers. Not but that from its size, weight, and the contents of your former letter, I had some suspicion; but then, how could I conceive you to have found either the opportunity or the artist? but what I then could not conceive, is one of the miracles of almighty love: the more it surpasses my conception, the more it enchants my heart, and one of the greatest pleasures it gives me arises from my ignorance in the manner in which you could effect it.
Arrived at length at my lodgings, I flew to my chamber, locked the door, threw myself, out of breath, into a chair, and with a trembling hand broke open the seal. ’Twas then, Eloisa, I felt the first effect of this powerful talisman. The palpitations of my heart increased at every paper I unfolded; till coming to the last, I was forced to stop and take breath a moment, before I could open it. It is open----my suggestions are true,----it is so,----it is the portrait of Eloisa.
----O, my love! your divine image is before me; I gaze with rapture on your charms! my lips, my heart, pay them the first homage, my knees bend;----Again, my eyes are ravished with thy heavenly beauties. How immediate, how powerful, is their magical effect! no Eloisa, it requires not, as you pretend, a quarter of an hour to make itself perceived; a minute, an instant suffices, to draw from my breast a thousand ardent sighs, and to recall, with thy image, the remembrance of my past happiness. Ah! why is the rapture of having such a treasure in possession allayed with so much bitterness? how lively is the representation it gives me of days that are no more!
I gaze on the portrait, I think I see Eloisa, and enjoy in imagination those delightful moments, whose remembrance imbitters my present hours; and which heaven in its anger bestowed on me only to take them away. Alas! the next instant undeceives me; the pangs of absence throb with increased violence, after the agreeable delusion is vanished, and I am in the fate of those miserable wretches, whose tortures are remitted only to render them the more cruel. Heavens! what flames have not my eager eyes darted on this unexpected object! how has the sight of it roused in me those impetuous emotions, which used to be effected by your presence! O, my Eloisa, were it possible for this talisman to affect your senses with the phrenzy and illusion of mine----But why is it not possible?
why may not those impressions, which the mind darts forth with such rapidity, reach as far as Eloisa? Ah, my charming friend! wherever you are, or however you are employed, at the time I am now writing, at the time your portrait receives the same homage I pay to the idol of my soul, do you not perceive your charming face bedewed with tears? do you not sympathize with me in love and sorrow? do you not feel the ardour of a lover’s kisses on your lips, your cheeks, your breast? do you not glow all over with the flame imparted from my burning lips?----Ha! what’s that?----some body knocks----I will hide my treasure----an impertinent breaks in upon me,----accursed be the cruel intruder, for interrupting me in transports so delightful, may he never be capable of love,----or may he be doomed to pine in absence, like me.
Letter LXXXVIII. To Mrs. Orbe.
It is to you, dear cousin, I am to give an account of the French opera; for, although you have not mentioned it in your own letters, and Eloisa has kept your secret in hers, I am not at a loss to whom to attribute that piece of curiosity. I have been once at the opera to satisfy myself, and twice to oblige you, but am in hopes, however, this letter will be my excuse for going no more. If you command me, indeed, I can bear it again; I can suffer, I can sleep there, for your service; but to remain awake and attentive is absolutely impossible.
But, before I tell you what I think of this famous theatre, I will give you an account of what they say of it here; the opinion of the connoisseurs may perhaps rectify mine, where I happen to be mistaken.
The French opera passes at Paris for the most pompous, the most delightful, the most wonderful entertainment that was ever effected by the united efforts of the human genius. It is said to be the most superb monument of the magnificence of Louis the fourteenth. In fact, every one is not so much at liberty, as you imagine, to give his opinion on so grave a subject. Every thing may be made a point of dispute here, except music and the opera; but with respect to these, it may be dangerous not to dissemble one’s thoughts, as the French music is supported by an inquisition no less arbitrary than severe.
Indeed the first lesson which strangers are taught, is, that foreigners universally allow that nothing in the whole world is so fine as the opera at Paris. The truth is, discreet people are silent upon this topic, because they dare not laugh, except in private.
It must be allowed, however, that they represent at the opera, at a vast expense, not only all the wonderful things in nature, but many others still more wonderful, and which nature never produced. For my part, I cannot help thinking Mr. Pope meant this theatre, where he said, one might see there, mixed in one scene of confusion, gods, devils, monsters, kings, shepherds, fairies, madness, joy, a wildfire, a jig, a battle, and a ball.
This assemblage, so magnificent and well conducted, is regarded by the spectators as if all the things and characters exhibited were real. On seeing the representation of a heathen temple, they are seized with a profound reverence; and, if the goddess be at all pretty, half the men in the pit are immediately pagans.
Here the audience is not so nice as at the French comedy. Those very spectators, who could not there consider the player as the character he represented, cannot, at the opera consider him any otherwise. It seems as if they were shocked at a national deception, and could give into nothing but what was grossly absurd; or perhaps they can more easily conceive players to be gods than heroes. Jupiter being of another nature, people may think of him as they please; but Cato was a man, and how few men are there, who, to judge from themselves, have any reason to think such a man as Cato ever existed.
This opera is not composed, therefore, as in other places, of a company of mercenaries, hired to furnish out an entertainment for the public. It is true, they are paid by the public, and it is their business to attend the opera: but the nature of it is quite changed by its becoming a royal academy of music, a sort of sovereign tribunal that judges without appeal in its own cause, and is not very remarkable for justice and integrity. Thus you see, how much in some countries the essence of things depends on mere words, and how a respectable title may do honour to that which least deserves it.
The members of this illustrious academy are not degraded by their profession: in revenge, however, they are excommunicated, which is directly contrary to the custom of all other countries: but, perhaps, having had their choice, they had rather live honourably and be damned, than go, as plebeians, vulgarly to heaven. I have seen a modern chevalier, on the French theatre, as proud of the profession of a player, as the unfortunate Laberius was formerly mortified at it, although the latter was forced into it by the commands of Caesar, and recited only his own works. [34] But then our degraded ancient could not afterwards take his place in the circus among the Roman knights; whilst the modern one found his every day at the French comedy, among the first nobility in the kingdom. And I will venture to say, never did they talk at Rome with so much respect, of the majesty of the Roman people, as they do at Paris, of the majesty of the opera.
This is what I have gathered chiefly from conversation about this splendid entertainment; I will now relate to you what I have seen of it myself.
Imagine to yourself the inside of a large box, about fifteen feet wide, and long in proportion: this box is the stage; on each side are