of women stands in danger of being stripped alive.  All this pretty world has the same pastimes, the men as well as the women.  Scarcely a man can be found without some drawing room accomplishment, some trifling way of keeping his mind and hands busy, and of filling up the vacant hour; almost all make rhymes, or act in private theatricals; many of them are musicians and painters of still-life subjects.  M. de Choiseul, as we have just seen, works at tapestry; others embroider or make sword-knots.  M. de Francueil is a good violinist and makes violins himself; and besides this he is “watchmaker, architect, turner, painter, locksmith, decorator, cook, poet, music-composer and he embroiders remarkably well."[55] In this general state of inactivity it is essential “to know how to be pleasantly occupied in behalf of others as well as in one’s own behalf.”  Madame de Pompadour is a musician, an actress, a painter and an engraver.  Madame Adelaide learns watchmaking and plays on all instruments from a horn to the jew’s-harp; not very well, it is true, but as well as a queen can sing, whose fine voice is ever only half in tune.  But they make no pretensions.  The thing is to amuse oneself and nothing more; high spirits and the amenities of the hour cover all.  Rather read this capital fact of Madame de Lauzun at Chanteloup:  “Do you know,” writes the abbé, “that nobody possesses in a higher degree one quality you would never suspect of her, that of preparing scrambled eggs?  This talent has been buried in the ground, she cannot recall the time she acquired it; I believe that she had it at her birth.  Accident made it known, and immediately it was put to test.  Yesterday morning, an hour for ever memorable in the history of eggs, the implements necessary for this great operation were all brought out, a heater, some gravy, some pepper and eggs.  Behold Madame de Lauzun, at first blushing and in a tremor, soon with intrepid courage, breaking the eggs, beating them up in the pan, turning them over, now to the right, now to the left, now up and now down, with unexampled precision and success!  Never was a more excellent dish eaten.”  What laughter and gaiety in the group comprised in this little scene.  And, not long after, what madrigals and allusions!  Gaiety here resembles a dancing ray of sunlight; it flickers over all things and reflects its grace on every object.

VI.  Gaiety.

Gaiety in the 18th Century. — Its causes and effects. — Toleration and license. — Balls, fêtes, hunts, banquets, pleasures. — Freedom of the magistrates and prelates.

The Frenchman’s characteristic,” says an English traveler in 1785, “is to be always gay;"[56] and he remarks that he must be so because, in France, such is the tone of society and the only mode of pleasing the ladies, the sovereigns of society and the arbiters of good taste.  Add to this the absence of the causes which produce modern dreariness, and which convert the sky above our heads into one