I am but two days old here, Madam, and I doubt I wish I was really so, and had my life to begin, to live it here.  You see how just I am, and ready to make amende honorable to your ladyship.  Yet I have seen very little.  My Lady Hertford has cut me to pieces, and thrown me into a caldron with tailors, periwig-makers, snuff-box-wrights, milliners, etc. which really took up but little time; and I am come out quite new, with every thing but youth.  The journey recovered me with magic expedition.  My strength, if mine could ever be called strength, is returned; and the gout going off in a minuet step.  I will say nothing of my spirits, which are indecently juvenile, and not less improper for my age than for the country where I am; which, if you will give me leave to say it, has a thought too much gravity.  I don’t venture to laugh Or talk nonsense, but in English.

Madame Geoffrin came to town but last night, and is not visible on Sundays; but I hope to deliver your ladyship’s letter and packet to-morrow.  Mesdames d’Aiguillon, d’Egmont, and Chabot, and the Duc de Nivernois are all in the country.  Madame de Bouttlers is at l’Isle Adam, whither my Lady Hertford is gone to-night to sup, for the first time, being no longer chained down to the incivility of an ambassadress.  She returns after supper; an irregularity that frightens me, who have not got rid of all my barbarisms.  There is one, alas!  I never shall get over—­the dirt of this country:  it is melancholy, after the purity of Strawberry!  The narrowness of the streets, trees clipped to resemble brooms, and planted on pedestals of chalk, and a few other points, do not edify me.  The French Opera, which I have heard to-night, disgusted me as much as ever; and the more for being followed by the Devin de Village, which shows that they can sing without cracking the drum of one’s ear.  The scenes and dances are delightful; the Italian comedy charming.  Then I am in love with treillage and fountains, and will prove it at Strawberry.  Chantilly is so exactly what it was when I saw it above twenty years ago, that I recollected the very position of Monsieur le Duc’s chair and the gallery.  The latter gave me the first idea of mine; but, presumption apart, mine is a thousand times prettier.  I gave my Lord Herbert’s compliments to the statue of his friend the Constable -,(864) and, waiting some time for the concierge, I called out, O`u est Vatel?(865)

In short, Madam, being as tired as one can be of one’s own country,—­I don’t say whether that is much or little,—­I find myself wonderfully disposed to like this.  Indeed I wish I Could wash it.  Madame de Guerchy is all goodness to me; but that is not new.  I have already been prevented by great civilities from Madame de Bentheim and my old friend Madame de Mirepoix; but am not likely to see the latter much, who is grown a most particular favourite of the King, and seldom from him.  The Dauphin is ill, and thought in a very bad way.  I hope he will live, lest the theatres should be shut up.  Your ladyship knows I never trouble my head about royalties, farther than it affects my own interest.  In truth, the way that princes affect my interest is not the common way.