Dangerous Letters

Chapter Thirteen

Letter XXIX

December 01, 17—

Dear Mother and Father,

I hope my dear parents want no new proofs of my sincere affection: I am sure, if you do, I could not give a stronger than writing after a day when I have walked what seems like the length and breadth of the city. I have returned wearied and with aching soles but determined to sketch out the excitement of the past week.

Here, it is as if I have been transported to some distant and far land; the court is akin to a puppet show, amidst the representations of real life. I have found myself staring agape at the spectacles of nobility – thankfully, nobody remarks at this uncouth behaviour since everyone stares. Staring, I have discovered, is a-la-mode. Our aristocracy are, on the whole, restless, frivolous, surprisingly agreeable people; but I do not – and cannot pretend to – understand their sense of fashion. The women are squeezed up into their gowns, adorned with gorgets and the other implements thereunto belonging. An inconvenient dress, it nevertheless displays the neck and shape to great advantage, and so the contemporary style might be forgiven if there was not a continual competition amongst ladies of the court to see who can pack the most fabric into their skirts and hair.

They wear petticoats larger than I have ever seen, whale-bone that are several yards in circumference and cover some acres of ground. And on their heads, they build fabrics of gauze, about a yard high, consisting of three or four stories, fortified with numberless yards of heavy ribbon. The foundation of this structure is what they call a Bourle, exactly of the same shape and kind, but about four times as big, as those rolls our prudent milk-maids make use of to fix their pails upon. This machine they cover with their own hair, which they mix with a great deal of false, it being a particular beauty to have their heads too large to go into a moderate tub. Their hair is prodigiously powdered to conceal the mixture, and set out with three or four rows of bodkins (wondrously large, that stick out two or three inches from their hair) made of diamonds, pearls, red, green and blue stones, that it certainly requires art and experience to carry the load upright. The sight is so diverting, I have sat awhile by the window that looks down on the court gardens, watching the ladies perform this balancing act whilst trying to hold their parasols aloft.

I can offer more approbation of the architectural taste discoverable in P----. During the evenings, after he has returned from court and Villette's lessons are finished, the Marquis has shown us the king's palaces and gardens. He is so knowledgeable in history, and informed in his opinions, he makes for an excellent guide; besides which, his quick liveliness of mind has afforded high entertainment. One of the pieces of antiquity, that struck me most in the gardens of Versailles, was the famous Colossian statue of Jupiter, the workmanship of Myron, which Mark Anthony carried away from Samos, and Augustus ordered to be placed in the capitol. The Master provided a very humorous speculation that if the Parian marble could feel, the god would experience generous indignation to see himself transported into the French garden; after having received the homage of the Roman emperors, who laid their laurels at his feet when they returned from their conquests, to behold now nothing but frizzled beaus passing by him with indifference!

Today is the first that is my own and I have spent it according to the Marquis' recommendations, wandering the city laissez-faire. I walked to Notre-Dame, went in; mounted the tower: I saw thence P——, with its river, and its bridges, and its churches; I saw antique Le Marais, and the green Tuileries, with sun upon them, and a glad, blue sky, of early spring above; and between them and it, not too dense, a cloud of haze.

Descending, I went whither chance might lead, in a still ecstasy of freedom and enjoyment; and got—I know not how— into the heart of the city. I saw and felt P—— the way the Marquis said I would: walked Île de la Cité; went up to Panthéon; mixed with the life passing along; dared the perils of crossings. To do this, and to do it utterly alone, gave me, perhaps an irrational but real pleasure in the exhilaration of being swept up by the rush, the roar of the urban sprawl.

"The great art of life is sensation," the Marquis says often, quoting the famed write R------- who attends the intellectual gatherings my Master hosts, almost every evening, which he calls his "philosophical suppers". I believe that he has had, in attendance, the likes of ------- --------- 1stduke of ----------, and his wife, ----- ---------, the Honourable -------- --- ----------, Lord ------, and his wife, M----, the poet Sir ------- -----, and even his Royal Highness ----- -------- -----------. I have not ventured down on these occasions, of course – but I can often hear them from the doorway of my room. I am much obliged, really, that my attendance has not been requested – I am certain to have nothing to contribute to the conversation and should be quite overwhelmed to find myself seated in such illustrious company. Therefore, it is better that I remain upstairs where the excitement of one a good book is enough to divert my interests for the evening!

Lette is very adamant against what she calls "parading"; when the Master calls her down so that she might recite a poem or play a tune for entertainment. Having an immediate dislike of strangers (which they often mistake as shyness), she has adamantly refused to participate these last two nights. She has less tolerance for the general business of a city, but I hope that P---- will win her eventually, for she has a great love of finery and art and those are found in abundance here. The other objection that she has to our residence I can find much more sympathy for – that of the Parisian domestique who keeps the Master's residence here.

She is a largely an objectionable character; always in debt; her salary being anticipated, not only in dress, but in perfumes, cosmetics, confectionery, and condiments. I cannot stand that she appears to mortally hate work and loves what she calls pleasure, being an insipid, heartless, brainless dissipation of time. I might have overlooked these flaws if not for her treatment of Villette, whom she spoke to very harshly yesterday. Granted, Lette was, in her usual way, being rather blunt with her maids who she always keeps busy with demanding tasks. Yet the Parisienne, enraged that her orders were not being observed first, flew into such a temper I fear she would pounce upon the little mademoiselle.

Fortunately, I was, bless her, far more affected than Lette who declared, with the absolute faith of a child, "do not worry Madame, father will punish her". I hope she was correct, for I was worried to leave her alone today under the care of that dreadful woman (I checked on her upon my return, however, and she was quite serene).

But hark! I hear a sweet melody of music strike up from below. That signals that the evening has begun for those below but, for me, it is time to retire to bed. I, therefore, bid you good night, dearest mother and father,

With all my, &c,

Charlotte B------