is intelligence, and, in poetry,
was the successful rival of La Fare and St. Aulaire. The Duke of
Burgundy was learned and enlightened. His Duchess, the daughter
of Louis XIV., was remarkably clever, and wrote epigrams and
couplets. The Duc du Maine is generally spoken of only for his
weakness, but nobody had a more agreeable wit. His wife was mad,
but she had an extensive acquaintance with letters, good taste in
poetry, and a brilliant and inexhaustible imagination. Here are
instances enough, I think," said he; "and, as I am no flatterer,
and hate to appear one, I will not speak of the living." His
hearers were astonished at this enumeration, and all of them
agreed in the truth of what he had said. He added, "Don't we daily
hear of _silly D'Argenson_, because he has a good-natured air,
and a _bourgeois_ tone? and yet, I believe, there have not been
many Ministers comparable to him in knowledge and in enlightened
views." I took a pen, which lay on the Doctor's table, and begged
M. Duclos to repeat to me all the names he had mentioned, and
the eulogium he had bestowed on each. "If," said he, "you show
that to the Marquise, tell her how the conversation arose, and
that I did not say it in order that it might come to her ears,
and eventually, perhaps, to those of another person. I am an
historiographer, and I will render justice, but I shall, also,
often inflict it." "I will answer for that," said the Doctor,
"and our master will be represented as he really is. Louis XIV.
liked verses, and patronised poets; that was very well, perhaps,
in his time, because one must begin with something; but this
age will be very superior to the last. It must be acknowledged
that Louis XV., in sending astronomers to Mexico and Peru, to
measure the earth, has a higher claim to our respect than if he
directed an opera. He has thrown down the barriers which opposed
the progress of philosophy, in spite of the clamour of the devotees:
the Encyclopaedia will do honour to his reign." Duclos, during
this speech, shook his head. I went away, and tried to write
down all I had heard, while it was fresh. I had the part which
related to the Princes of the Bourbon race copied by a valet,
who wrote a beautiful hand, and I gave it to Madame de Pompadour.
But she said to me, "What! is Duclos an acquaintance of yours? Do
you want to play the _bel esprit_, my dear good woman? That will
not sit well upon you." The truth is, that nothing can be further
from m