_HIS RETURN TO PARIS--MADAME DEFFAND--A TRANSLATION OF "HAMLET"--MADAME
DUMENIL--VOLTAIRE'S "MEROPE" AND "LES GUEBRES._"

TO JOHN CHUTE, ESQ.

PARIS, _Aug._ 30, 1769.

I have been so hurried with paying and receiving visits, that I have not
had a moment's worth of time to write. My passage was very tedious, and
lasted near nine hours for want of wind.--But I need not talk of my
journey; for Mr. Maurice, whom I met on the road, will have told you
that I was safe on _terra firma_.

Judge of my surprise at hearing four days ago, that my Lord Dacre and my
lady were arrived here. They are lodged within a few doors of me. He is
come to consult a Doctor Pomme who has prescribed wine, and Lord Dacre
already complains of the violence of his appetite. If you and I had
_pommed_ him to eternity, he would not have believed us. A man across
the sea tells him the plainest thing in the world; that man happens to
be called a doctor; and happening for novelty to talk common sense, is
believed, as if he had talked nonsense! and what is more extraordinary,
Lord Dacre thinks himself better, _though_ he is so.

My dear old woman [Madame du Deffand] is in better health than when I
left her, and her spirits so increased, that I tell her she will go mad
with age. When they ask her how old she is, she answers, "J'ai soixante
et mille ans." She and I went to the Boulevard last night after supper,
and drove about there till two in the morning. We are going to sup in
the country this evening, and are to go to-morrow night at eleven to the
puppet-show. A _protege_ of hers has written a piece for that theatre. I
have not yet seen Madame du Barri, nor can get to see her picture at the
exposition at the Louvre, the crowds are so enormous that go thither for
that purpose. As royal curiosities are the least part of my _virtu_, I
wait with patience. Whenever I have an opportunity I visit gardens,
chiefly with a view to Rosette's having a walk. She goes nowhere else,
because there is a distemper among the dogs.

There is going to be represented a translation of Hamlet; who when his
hair is cut, and he is curled and powdered, I suppose will be exactly
_Monsieur le Prince Oreste_. T'other night I was at "Merope." The
Dumenil was as divine as Mrs. Porter[1]; they said her familiar tones
were those of a _poissonniere_. In the last act, when one expected the
catastrophe, Narbas, more interested than anybody to see the event,
remained coolly on the sta