The bishops in France are said to have had the most
luxurious dinners imaginable on what were erroneously
styled fast-days; and their cooks had such a reputation
for their skill, that the having served a Monseigneur
d’Eglise was a passport to the kitchens of
all lovers of good eating. There are people so
profane as to insinuate that the excellence at which
the cooks arrived in dressing les diners maigres
is one of the causes why Catholicism has continued
to flourish; but this, of course, must be looked on
as a malicious hint of the enemies to that faith which
thus proves itself less addicted to indulgence in
the flesh than are its decryers.
CHAPTER XVII.
The more I observe Lady C—— the
more surprised I am at the romantic feelings she still
indulges, and the illusions under which she labours;—yes
labours is the suitable word, for it can be
nothing short of laborious, at her age, to work oneself
into the belief that love is an indispensable requisite
for life. Not the affection into which the love
of one’s youth subsides, but the wild, the ungovernable
passion peculiar to the heroes and heroines of novels,
and young ladies and gentlemen recently emancipated
from boarding-schools and colleges.
Poor Lady C——, with so many estimable
qualities, what a pity it is she should have this
weakness! She maintained in our conversation
yesterday that true love could never be extinguished
in the heart, and that even in age it burnt with the
same fire as when first kindled. I quoted to
her a passage from Le Brun, who says—“L’amour
peut s’eteindre sans doute dans le coeur d’un
galant homme; mais combien de dedommagements n’a-t-il
pas alors a offrir! L’estime, l’amitie,
la confiance, ne suffisent-elles pas aux glaces de
la vieillesse?” Lady C—— thinks
not.
Talking last night of ——, some one
observed that “it was disagreeable to have such
a neighbour, as he did nothing but watch and interfere
in the concerns of others.”
“Give me in preference such a man as le Comte
——,” said Monsieur ——,
slily, “who never bestows a thought but on self,
and is too much occupied with that interesting subject
to have time to meddle with the affairs of other people.”
“You are right,” observed Madame ——,
gravely, believing him to be serious; “it is
much preferable.”
“But surely,” said I, determined to continue
the mystification, “you are unjustly severe
in your animadversions on poor Monsieur ——.
Does he not prove himself a true philanthropist in
devoting the time to the affairs of others that might
be usefully occupied in attending to his own?”
“You are quite right,” said Mrs. ——;
“I never viewed his conduct in this light before;
and now that I understand it I really begin to like
him,—a thing I thought quite impossible
before you convinced me of the goodness of his motives.”
How many Mrs. ——’s there are
in the world, with minds ductile as wax, ready to
receive any impression one wishes to give them!
Yet I reproached myself for assisting to hoax her,
when I saw the smiles excited by her credulity.
Copyrights
The Idler in France from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
