ve the credit of serving her dependents. She
was bred under the famous Madame Tencin,[1] who advised her never to
refuse any man; for, said her mistress, though nine in ten should not
care a farthing for you, the tenth may live to be an useful friend. She
did not adopt or reject the whole plan, but fully retained the purport
of the maxim. In short, she is an epitome of empire, subsisting by
rewards and punishments. Her great enemy, Madame du Deffand,[2] was for
a short time mistress of the Regent, is now very old and stoneblind, but
retains all her vivacity, wit, memory, judgment, passions, and
agreeableness. She goes to Operas, Plays, suppers, and Versailles; gives
suppers twice a week; has everything new read to her; makes new songs
and epigrams, ay, admirably, and remembers every one that has been made
these four-score years. She corresponds with Voltaire, dictates charming
letters to him, contradicts him, is no bigot to him or anybody, and
laughs both at the clergy and the philosophers. In a dispute, into which
she easily falls, she is very warm, and yet scarce ever in the wrong:
her judgment on every subject is as just as possible; on every point of
conduct as wrong as possible: for she is all love and hatred, passionate
for her friends to enthusiasm, still anxious to be loved, I don't mean
by lovers, and a vehement enemy, but openly. As she can have no
amusement but conversation, the least solitude and _ennui_ are
insupportable to her, and put her into the power of several worthless
people, who eat her suppers when they can eat nobody's of higher rank;
wink to one another and laugh at her; hate her because she has forty
times more parts--and venture to hate her because she is not rich.[3]
She has an old friend whom I must mention, a Monsieur Pondeveyle, author
of the "Fatpuni," and the "Complaisant," and of those pretty novels, the
"Comte de Cominge," the "Siege of Calais," and "Les Malheurs de
l'Amour." Would you not expect this old man to be very agreeable? He can
be so, but seldom is: yet he has another very different and very
amusing talent, the art of parody, and is unique in his kind. He
composes tales to the tunes of long dances: for instance, he has adapted
the Regent's "Daphnis and Chloe" to one, and made it ten times more
indecent; but is so old, and sings it so well, that it is permitted in
all companies. He has succeeded still better in _les caracteres de la
danse_, to which he has adapted words that exp