TO GEORGE MONTAGU, ESQ.

PARIS, Sunday night, Sept. 17, 1769.

I am heartily tired; but, as it is too early to go to bed, I must tell you how agreeably I have passed the day.  I wished for you; the same scenes strike us both, and the same kind of visions has amused us both ever since we were born.

Well then; I went this morning to Versailles with my niece Mrs. Cholmondeley, Mrs. Hart, Lady Denbigh’s sister, and the Count de Grave, one of the most amiable, humane, and obliging men alive.  Our first object was to see Madame du Barri.  Being too early for mass, we saw the Dauphin and his brothers at dinner.  The eldest is the picture of the Duke of Grafton, except that he is more fair, and will be taller.  He has a sickly air, and no grace.  The Count de Provence has a very pleasing countenance, with an air of more sense than the Count d’Artois, the genius of the family.  They already tell as many bon-mots of the latter as of Henri Quatre and Louis Quatorze.  He is very fat, and the most like his grandfather of all the children.  You may imagine this royal mess did not occupy us long:  thence to the Chapel, where a first row in the balconies was kept for us.  Madame du Barri arrived over against us below, without rouge, without powder, and indeed sans avoir fait sa toilette; an odd appearance, as she was so conspicuous, close to the altar, and amidst both Court and people.  She is pretty, when you consider her; yet so little striking, that I never should have asked who she was.  There is nothing bold, assuming or affected in her manner.  Her husband’s sister was along with her.  In the Tribune above, surrounded by prelates, was the amorous and still handsome King.  One could not help smiling at the mixture of piety, pomp, and carnality.  From chapel we went to the dinner of the elder Mesdames.  We were almost stifled in the antechamber, where their dishes were heating over charcoal, and where we could not stir for the press.  When the doors are opened, everybody rushes in, princes of the blood, cordons bleus, abbés, housemaids, and the Lord knows who and what.  Yet, so used are their highnesses to this trade, that they eat as comfortably and heartily as you or I could do in our own parlours.

Our second act was much more agreeable.  We quitted the Court and a reigning mistress, for a dead one and a Cloister.  In short, I had obtained leave from the Bishop of Chartres to enter into St. Cyr; and, as Madame du Deffand never leaves anything undone that can give me satisfaction, she had written to the abbess to desire I might see everything that could be seen there.  The Bishop’s order was to admit me, Monsieur de Grave, et les dames de ma compagnie:  I begged the abbess to give me back the order, that I might deposit it in the archives of Strawberry, and she complied instantly.  Every door flew open to us:  and the nuns vied in attentions to please us.  The first thing I desired to see was Madame de Maintenon’s apartment.  It consists of two small rooms, a library, and a very small chamber, the same in which the Czar saw her, and in which she died.  The bed is taken away, and the room covered now with bad pictures of the royal family, which destroys the gravity and simplicity.  It is wainscotted with oak, with plain chairs of the same, covered with dark blue damask.  Everywhere else the chairs are of blue cloth.  The simplicity and extreme neatness of the whole house, which is vast, are very remarkable.  A large apartment above (for that I have mentioned is on the ground-floor), consisting of five rooms, and destined by Louis Quatorze for Madame de Maintenon, is now the infirmary, with neat white linen beds, and decorated with every text of Scripture by which could be insinuated that the foundress was a Queen.  The hour of vespers being come, we were conducted to the chapel, and, as it was my curiosity that had led us thither, I was placed in the Maintenon’s own tribune; my company in the adjoining gallery.  The pensioners, two and two, each band headed by a man, march orderly to their seats, and sing the whole service, which I confess was not a little tedious.  The young ladies, to the number of two hundred and fifty, are dressed in black, with short aprons of the same, the latter and their stays bound with blue, yellow, green, or red, to distinguish the classes; the captains and lieutenants have knots of a different colour for distinction.  Their hair is curled and powdered, their coiffure a sort of French round-eared caps, with white tippets, a sort of ruff and large tucker:  in short, a very pretty dress.  The nuns are entirely in black, with crape veils and long trains, deep white handkerchiefs, and forehead cloths, and a very long train.  The chapel is plain but very pretty, and in the middle of the choir under a flat marble lies the foundress.  Madame de Cambis, one of the nuns, who are about forty, is beautiful as a Madonna. The abbess has no distinction but a larger and richer gold cross:  her apartment consists of two very small rooms.  Of Madame de Maintenon we did not see fewer than twenty pictures.  The young one looking over her shoulder has a round face, without the least resemblance to those of her latter age.  That in the royal mantle, of which you know I have a copy, is the most repeated; but there is another with a longer and leaner face, which has by far the most sensible look.  She is in black, with a high point head and band, a long train, and is sitting in a chair of purple velvet.  Before her knees stands her niece Madame de Noailles, a child; at a distance a view of Versailles or St. Cyr, I could not distinguish which.  We were shown some rich reliquaires and the corpo santo that was sent to her by the Pope.  We were then carried into the public room of each class.  In the first, the young ladies, who were playing at chess, were ordered to sing to us the choruses of Athaliah; in another, they danced minuets and country dances, while a nun, not quite so able as St. Cecilia, played on a violin.  In the others, they acted before us the proverbs or conversations written by Madame de Maintenon for their instruction; for she was not only their foundress but their saint, and their adoration of her memory has quite eclipsed the Virgin Mary.  We saw their dormitory, and saw them at supper; and at last were carried to their archives, where they produced volumes of her letters, and where one of the nuns gave me a small piece of paper with three sentences in her handwriting.  I forgot to tell you, that this kind dame who took to me extremely, asked me if we had many convents and relics in England.  I was much embarrassed for fear of destroying her good opinion of me, and so said we had but few now.  Oh! we went too to the apothecairie, where they treated us with cordials, and where one of the ladies told me inoculation was a sin, as it was a voluntary detention from mass, and as voluntary a cause of eating gras.  Our visit concluded in the garden, now grown very venerable, where the young ladies played at little games before us.  After a stay of four hours we took our leave.  I begged the abbess’s blessing; she smiled, and said, she doubted I should not place much faith in it.  She is a comely old gentlewoman, and very proud of having seen Madame de Maintenon.  Well! was not I in the right to wish you with me? ­could you have passed a day more agreeably.

I will conclude my letter with a most charming trait of Madame de Mailly, which cannot be misplaced in such a chapter of royal concubines.  Going to St. Sulpice, after she had lost the King’s heart, a person present desired the crowd to make way for her.  Some brutal young officers said, “Comment, pour cette catin la!” She turned to them, and with the most charming modesty said ­“Messieurs, puisque vous me connoissez, priez Dieu pour moi.”  I am sure it will bring tears into your eyes.  Was she not the Publican and Maintenon the Pharisee?  Good night!  I hope I am going to dream of all I have been seeing.  As my impressions and my fancy, when I am pleased, are apt to be strong, my night perhaps may still be more productive of ideas than the day has been.  It will be charming indeed if Madame de Cambis is the ruling tint.  Adieu!

Yours ever.