(1091) Madame du Barry, the celebrated mistress of Louis XV., was born in the lowest rank of society, and brought up in the most depraved habits; being known only by the name which her beauty had acquired for her, Mademoiselle l'Ange. She became the mistress of the Comte du Barry, (a gentleman belonging to a family of Toulon, of no distinction, well known as Le Grand du Barry, or, Du Barry le Rou`e,) and eventually the mistress of the King; and, when the influence she exercised over her royal protector had determined him to receive her publicly at court and a marriage was necessary to the purpose, Du Barry le Rou`e brought forward his younger brother, the Comte Guillaume du Barry, who readily submitted to this prostitution of his name and family.-E.
(1092) Madame du Deffand, in her letter to Walpole of the 10th of May 1776, enclosed the following portrait of Madame de Cambise, by Madame de la Valli`ere:—"Non, non, Madame, je ne farai point votre portrait: vous avez une mani`ere d'`etre si noble, si fine, si piquante, si d`elicate, si s`eduisaitte; votre gentilesse et vos graces changent si souvent pour n'en `etre que plus aimable, que l'on ne peut saisir aucun de vos traits ni au physique ni au moral." She was niece of La Marquise de Boufflers, and, having fled to England at the breaking out of the French Revolution, resided here until her death, which took place at Richmond in January 1809.-E.
Letter 372 To George Montagu, Esq.
Arlington Street, Oct. 13, 1769. (page 560
I arrived last night at eleven o'clock, and found a letter from you, which gave me so much pleasure, that I must write you a line, though I am hurried to death. You cannot imagine how rejoiced I am that Lord North(1093) drags you to light again; it is a satisfaction I little expected. When do you come? I am impatient. I long to know your projects.
I had a dreadful passage of eight hours, was drowned, though not shipwrecked, and was sick to death. I have been six times at sea before, and never suffered the least, which makes the mortification the greater: but as Hercules was not more robust than I, though with an air so little Herculean, I have not so much as caught cold, though I was wet to the skin with the rain, had my lap full of waves, was washed from head to foot in the boat at ten o'clock at night, and stepped into the sea up to my knees. Q'avois-je `a faire dans cette gal`ere?(1094) In truth, it is a little late to be seeking adventures. Adieu! I must finish, but I am excessively happy with what you have told me. Yours ever.
(1093) Lord North had appointed Mr. Montagu his private secretary.
(1094) Walpole left Paris on the 5th of October. Early on the morning of the 6th, Madame du Deffand thus wrote to him:- -"N'exigez point de gaiet`e, contentez-vous de ne pas trouver de tristesse: je n'envoyai point chez vous hier matin; j'ignore `a quelle heure vous partites; tout ce que je sais c'est que vous n'`etes plus ici." And again, on the 9th:—"Je ne respirerai `a mon aise qu'apr`es une lettre de Douvres. Ah! je me ha`is bien de tout le mal que je vous cause; trois journ`ees de route, autant de nuits d`etestables, une embarquement, un passage, le risque de mille accidens, voil`a le bien que je vous procure. Ah! c'est bien vous qui pouvez dire en pensant de moi, 'Qu'allais-je faire dans cette gal`ere?'"-E.
Letter 373 To George Montagu, Esq.
Strawberry Hill, Oct. 16, 1769. (page 560)
I arrived at my own Louvre last Wednesday night, and am now at my Versailles. Your last letter reached me but two days before I left Paris, for I have been an age at Calais and upon the sea. I could execute no commission for you, and, in truth, you gave me no explicit one; but I have brought you a bit of china, and beg you will be content with a little present, instead of a bargain. Said china is, or will be soon, in the custom-house; but I shall have it, I fear, long before you come to London.
I am sorry those boys got at my tragedy. I beg you would keep it under lock and key; it is not at all food for the public; at least not till I am "food for worms, good Percy." Nay, it is not an age to encourage any body, that has the least vanity, to step forth. There is a total extinction of all taste: our authors are vulgar, gross, illiberal: the theatre swarms with wretched translations, and ballad operas, and we have nothing new but improving abuse. I have blushed at Paris, when the papers came over crammed with ribaldry, or with Garrick's insufferable nonsense about Shakspeare. As that man's writings will be preserved by his name, who will believe that he was a tolerable actor? Cibber wrote as bad odes, but then Cibber wrote The Careless Husband and his own Life, which both deserve immortality. Garrick's prologues and epilogues are as bad as his Pindarics and pantomimes.(1095)