Adieu, dear George,

Yours most heartily.

THEATRES AT PARIS—­ST. DENIS—­FONDNESS OF THE FRENCH FOR SHOW, AND FOR GAMBLING—­SINGULAR SIGNS—­THE ARMY THE ONLY PROFESSION FOR MEN OF GENTLE BIRTH—­SPLENDOUR OF THE PUBLIC BUILDINGS.

TO RICHARD WEST, ESQ.

PARIS, April 21, N.S. 1739.[1]

[Footnote 1:  He is here dating according to the French custom.  In England the calendar was not rectified by the disuse of the “Old Style” till 1752.]

Dear West,—­You figure us in a set of pleasures, which, believe me, we do not find; cards and eating are so universal, that they absorb all variation of pleasures.  The operas, indeed, are much frequented three times a week; but to me they would be a greater penance than eating maigre:  their music resembles a gooseberry tart as much as it does harmony.  We have not yet been at the Italian playhouse; scarce any one goes there.  Their best amusement, and which, in some parts, beats ours, is the comedy; three or four of the actors excel any we have:  but then to this nobody goes, if it is not one of the fashionable nights; and then they go, be the play good or bad—­except on Moliere’s nights, whose pieces they are quite weary of.  Gray and I have been at the Avare to-night:  I cannot at all commend their performance of it.  Last night I was in the Place de Louis le Grand (a regular octagon, uniform, and the houses handsome, though not so large as Golden Square), to see what they reckoned one of the finest burials that ever was in France.  It was the Duke de Tresmes, governor of Paris and marshal of France.  It began on foot from his palace to his parish-church, and from thence in coaches to the opposite end of Paris, to be interred in the church of the Celestins, where is his family-vault.  About a week ago we happened to see the grave digging, as we went to see the church, which is old and small, but fuller of fine ancient monuments than any, except St. Denis, which we saw on the road, and excels Westminster; for the windows are all painted in mosaic, and the tombs as fresh and well preserved as if they were of yesterday.  In the Celestins’ church is a votive column to Francis II., which says, that it is one assurance of his being immortalized, to have had the martyr Mary Stuart for his wife.  After this long digression, I return to the burial, which was a most vile thing.  A long procession of flambeaux and friars; no plumes, trophies, banners, led horses, scutcheons, or open chariots; nothing but

                        friars,
    White, black, and grey, with all their trumpery.