MADAME DU DEFFAND to whom these letters are addressed was born in 1697. At an early age she, then Marie de Vichy-Chamroud, married the Marquis du Deffand from whom however, she soon separated.

She was intelligent, witty, beautiful and accomplished, and her house in Paris for fifty years was frequented by authors and statesmen of the highest eminence, and the most noble and fashionable were attracted to her parties.

In 1765 Walpole visited Paris and saw much of cultivated French society, especially its great ladies, and he formed a lasting friendship with the brilliant Madame du Deffand [then nearing seventy and practically blind], whose attraction to the mixture of independence, effeminacy, and real genius which made up Walpole's character speedily grew into a species of infatuation and lead to a correspondence ending only with her death—which took place in 1780.

She left Walpole her manuscripts and her books. Her letters to him were sold at the Strawberry Hill sale of 1842 and many of them have been published. Walpole's letters to her have not been printed, for with the exception of a few which escaped, they were burnt by her at his request; and these in this collection are possibly the only ones in existence.

London,

4 January 1775.

Your last letter was all that I could
desire, and I thank you for it: but Lady
Ailesbury's that I received at the same time
by no means pleased me. She tells me that
you were so exhausted at your feast, that you
thought you would die. I hope your relatives
will not be again exiled, if their return costs
you so much. You can set your mind entirely
at rest as to my condition, a little swelling
of my right hand, is all that remains, and even
so I am using it now, although envelopped in
the 'bottleneck'.

Mr. Wiart will not recognise my hand writing,
although difficult, it is better. I walk
without a crutch and without assistance, but it
is true that I am still very feeble, and much
more like a ghost than your parliamentarians;

but I rest myself considerably. The town is
deserted at this moment, and I receive very
few of those who remain. Two years ago it
was the fashion to visit me. All the beauti-
ful, all the great ladies came here to their
hearts content; at present I advertise my
languor, and receive only my intimate friends.

Here we are at Wednesday evening and that
devil of a man has not yet brought me the
emeralds. I am afraid of losing the Dover
coach. Couty sent me this morning two
gridirons and four pounds of tea, which will
be sent in the same chest.

My relations will have told you of the
great match which has been proposed for their
niece Lady Frances. She is a very amiable girl,
and very pretty. All those cousins are. I
have not been sorry for the absence of my
relations. I like to be alone when suffering.
I know precisely how to treat myself. I only

like obedient servants, and certainly I have
no wish to kill myself. You see I know what
I am about, and have very quickly cured myself.
Moreover I am very pleased with their visit to
Paris, the honours, courtesies and kindnesses
they have received. I am charmed that they
should have made your acquaintance, and that
they have the happiness to please you. Now
I begin to wish for their return, and I pray
you to give them their discharge.

Thursday. 5th.

As the Dover coach leaves tomorrow, and
only passes here once a week, I was afraid the
emeralds would not be in time, but here they are;
the shopman brought them to me this morning.
The cover of the bowl is very heavy and badly
made, but the bowl is alright without it, and
all the rest is very good. If I had refused
to take the cover, it would have caused a delay

of six or twelve months, as glass for that
purpose is very rarely made, it being out of
fashion. M. de Trudaine must send the chest
on, which will be left addressed to him at the
Custom House at Calais. Besides the glasses
you will find two gridirons and four pounds of
tea, all was packed by Mr. Couty, whom I sent
for to come to my house for the purpose.

Selwyn spent all last evening at my house,
and even had supper, that is to say he eat some
biscuits, and I some baked apples. Your little
friend is running round the country, today at
Lady Spencer's, tomorrow at the Ossory's. I
do not expect to get away before next week at
the earliest.

Friday 6th.

My right hand is better, I have removed
the 'bottine', and am writing gloved. You can
retail to the Duc d'Orleans this new proof of the

excellence of the 'bottines.' In my case it
is a demonstration, five weeks instead of five
months and a half. You spoke to me recently
of a plan of yours to dine instead of supping.
I do not agree with you. You have been used
for so long to your ordinary method, that I
cannot believe that a change would suit you
better; perhaps if you were to take a little
soup instead of tea, it would suit you better,
and would prevent you from eating too much at
night; but I do not advise you to make a
sudden change. You are very delicate, and
you must not risk any considerable change,
suddenly.

London,

13 January 1775.

In truth I assure you that I was not
thinking of using threats to you. I told
you jokingly that I did not want to write to
you for a week - see the misfortune which
befalls me from not writing in my own tongue.
If I do not always write in a serious phlegmatic
tone, your natural distrust makes you suspect
that I am in a bad temper, I don't know any
remedy, and one must put up with these mishaps.
Anyway you will note that I am not angry today.

No, certainly not, my cousin shall not
keep your Madame de Prie. You offered it to
me, and I did not want to deprive you of it,
but since you are giving it away, I claim that
it belongs to me from a prior date. Do not
trouble any more over Madame d'Olonne; you
have already taken too much trouble. I ask

you only to procure it for me at the sale if the
price does not exceed a hundred Louis or
thereabouts, which would be a good price to pay
for one's fantasy; but I am afraid I shall
not get it. There is a Mons. d'Henri or
d'Heneri, who lives in the same street as the
Chevalier Lambert and quite near the Hotel de
Richelieu; and who buys all the alleged works
of Petitot right and left, who will buy it over
my head, and I shall be sorry. There is also
a man whom I met at your house, I forget his
name, but he has thick black eyebrows, he also
buys Petitots, and asked me one day to come and
see his pictures; but I am worrying you too
much, and I will not speak of it again. I am
also sorry to have asked you for the life of
Ninon since it is old; it is no doubt the one
"dont j'ai tiré ma feuille" in the world, and
that I know by heart.

I have just received from the Executors
of Mons. Jaaffe three hundred and twenty seven
pounds sterling, twelve shillings and sixpence,
for the account of Madame la Marechal de Mirepoix,
this is the last payment she will receive. The
middleman took five guineas, which is very
reasonable, so there remains for Madame three
hundred and twenty two pounds, seven shillings
and sixpence. I think the best way of conveying
the money to Madame la Marechale would be for my
cousin to have the kindness to pay this sum to
her, and for his Banker to apply to me for
reimbursement - but then Madame de Mirepoix must
pay him what he loses on the exchange, as I do
not want him to pay the Lady to his own loss.
Please arrange this with him before speaking to
the Marechale.

I think Voltaire's epigram very amusing.
The three 'Exclamations' have not been sent to

me; and M. Clarges, whom I know has arrived
has not sold me the Ninon, but I will ask him
for it; if I do not hear anything of it. I
was told yesterday that our little friend has
the gout, at Lady Spenser's, and his foot on a
stool. Mad. Greville is bold if she answers
for what he will do in the Spring.

I beg you to assure Mad. de Jonsac how
grateful I am for her souvenir of me, she is
one of the persons in France for whom I have
the most esteem, although I have not made ninety
acquaintances like Mr. Conway.

I forgot to tell you that I was very
pleased with the verses of the Chevalier "dans
la Tasse." Everything he does is pretty.

My gout is going as slowly as may be. I
walk with difficulty, I go upstairs with
difficulty, and come down with even more
difficulty. I do not remove my glove from my

right hand excepting to write, and I have asked
permission of Princess Amelie to keep it on
when I play with her on Monday. I count on
my complete cure for next month, when I
propose to spend a week at a country house of
Lord Hertford's two paces from the sea, and
twenty miles from London. Sea air does me as
much good as the 'bottines.' and is a thousand
times more rapid. I feel very sterile today.
The political campaign opens next week, and
then the town will fill up. I have some very
amusing news for my relatives, but as it is not
political and will keep, and I have not the
time to write to them today, I will keep it
for Tuesday. It is the story of a poetical
society that has amused me very much.
Good-night.

London,

19 January 1775.

I can assure you with all truth that not
only are my relatives infinitely pleased with
you, but that they admire and love you as much
as you deserve. They repeat this too often
for me to doubt it. On their side what reasons
they have to be pleased! Never has so much been
done for foreigners! It seems to me that Mr.
Conway would be charmed to settle in Paris.
Yes, I will ask them many questions, but they
have well passed beyond the circle of my
acquaintances.

I was much amused at your polite handling
of my verses. I expected you to exclaim that
they were the most flat and most ridiculous in
the world. You have never had to reproach
yourself for too great kindness for my works, why
did you spare my French verses! Did you think

that I thought them good? I knew very well
that they were detestable. It is my cousin
who writes pretty ones. I find those he wrote
for Madame de Cambis very pretty. I also
thought those he wrote for your feast very good,
though not admirable. But there is no subject
on which we differ so much as on verses. I
am wrong no doubt, as surely you must be able
to judge your language better than I can.

Will you permit me, failing other matter,
to fill the rest of my letter with political news
for my cousin? Affairs in America then, are as
bad as can be. Three more regiments are being
sent out. Parliament, which assembles today,
is to be asked for six thousand sailors, who were
not wanted a month ago. That does not seem
very consistent, but here is something even more
strange, and which had not a warlike appearance.
Yesterday it was announced with authority, that

is on his own, in the public newspapers, that
my Lord Chatham would present himself in the
House of Lords to make a proposal. There was
much curiosity to know what this proposal
might be, and it is declared to be this.

Authorised by Doctor Franklin (my cousin will
tell you who he is) Lord Chatham is to offer
the King in the name of the colonies three
hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling a
year, in consideration of the abolition of
the taxes and edicts oppressing America. It
is pretended that it will be received with
mockery, however one laughs against the grain.
Lord North presented to the House an enormous
file of American papers, asking that they should
be examined in a week's time.

You are now as earned as never a Politician
of our cafes. Yesterday the Court was in gala
for the Queen's day. The costumes were of an

extraordinary magnificence, and the feathers
of the ladies a little copied from yours. At
three o'clock in the afternoon a fog came up
so thick that no one could find their carriage,
and great was the noise and inconvenience that
ensued, and considerable damage to the vehicles.
The Prussian Minister's valet knocked down with
fisticuffs a grenadier at the gates of the Palace,
the Minister complained to the Colonel that the
lackey had been detained. "Monsieur," said the
Colonel, "what do you think would have been done
to an Englishman who had struck a grenadier at
the gates of the Palace at Berlin?" We are more
polite, the servant was set at liberty.

Here is a sample of an English letter. I
don't think you will ask for a continuation.
20th.

To-day everything is changed: it is said
that Lord Chatham is to ask for an increase of

the army by land and sea. I shall not know the
truth until the post has gone, what is more
certain is that the Ministry has decided for
war, and that the Colonies are threatened with
severe punishment.

Your emeralds cost five Louis and a half.
It seems to me that my letters are like Courts,
full of big and little things.

London,

27 January 1775.

My cousin will be expecting news of
the death of the Duke of Gloucester, but all
goes well. The shiverings of Saturday only
announced fever, and the fever has passed, and
the danger too, for the present I flatter
myself. Our doctors are like yours, that is to
say ignoramuses. There is every reason to
believe that the voyage overseas will take place,
but it is deferred to the month of April, which
seems to me a fresh proof of ignorance. Why
defer it? I confess to you that I should not
be sorry on my own account. Our Court is very
small, nevertheless my role does not please me.
I am not fitted to it, and although the interest
I take in the terrible position of the Duchess,
makes me neglect nothing which can prove to her
my zeal, it is very painful to me to have to go

two or three times a day to Court. It does
not fit in with my idleness, my amusements,
and my occupations. It throws me back into
the world, and it is contrary to all I have
ever liked, in a word to Liberty. I was charmed
when my father left the Ministry and I left
Parliament as soon as I was able, and certainly
it is much against my will that I find myself
a courtier at my age. I have neither the
ambition, the interest, the envy, the jealousy,
the falseness; I would yield my place to
whomsoever desired it.

I have just received a letter from Mr.
Conway of the 19th. brought by a young English
lord. He tells me that they will return at the
time fixed, but I ignore what the fixed time is.
He speaks of a great revolution which is to take
place in your country in the fashion of dress,
and consequently in ours. He says that there

is question of dressing as the Chevaliers du
St. Esprit. Oh! for my part I swear to you
nothing will induce me to do so. I am not
of a figure to dress as a tight-rope dancer;
I should rather like to envelope myself in a
big cloak to the heels. I think St. Cyr was
not shown to my relatives with advantage.

When I went they made the young girls repeat
scenes and dialogues of Mme. de Maintenon, and
they did them to perfection, and you know they
made me a present of an original letter of the
Foundress. I was there five hours to my great
pleasure, though it was not the extreme happiness
I enjoyed with you at Sceaux, or on the day of
Livry. Indeed certain visions must arouse one
to enthusiasm, as they do with me, otherwise
everything would be insipid. Moreover these
dreams come very rarely, and are only for the
Elect. It happened to me once after having

written by Castle of Otranto. Two or three
years later I went to the University of Cambridge
where I had spent three years in my youth.

In entering one of the Colleges, which I had
entirely forgotten, I found myself in the
courtyard of my Castle. The towers, the doors,
the chapel, the great hall, everything
corresponded with the greatest accuracy. In
fact the idea of the College had remained in
my mind without my thinking of it, and I had
made use of it for the plan of my castle without
perceiving it; so that I felt I was entering
in reality the Castle of Otranto. Had you been
with me, I should have inspired you with ecstacy,
as in the carriage when you related to me your
visit to Mad. de Coulanges. Ah! I do not
enter the Royal Palace with the same pleasure.

Couty paid me for the emeralds. Did they
reach you in good health? The English part of

my letter will be very short to-day.
Yesterday they disputed late in the Lower
House on the subject of the protests of the
American Merchants, but I do not know the
details, except that Charles Fox spoke
unrestrainedly against Lord North, and that
the Duke d'Alva distinguished himself for the
Court. It was also asked that Charles I
should be struck out of the Martyrology;
Wilkes said that he was quite willing, having
always observed the day of his death as a
festival rather than a fast: but the Court
prevailed both in the one dispute and the
other by a large majority of votes. What is
funny is that the town of Birmingham asked for
war, because swords and guns are manufactured
there. I end - there is no means to improve
upon this news.

suffice, and I beg you to thank him exceedingly;
also this eagerness will make seemingly, Mad,
Mariette ask a ridiculous price, seeing herself
so pressed, but truly I am ashamed to speak
so much about it. Abbé Bartelemi will be
certainly obeyed; it is the least I can do for
your friends, after all that you do for mine.
Do not doubt their gratitude. Mr. Conway is
truth itself, and he constantly speaks to me of
you in terms which I can in no way doubt. He
will preserve this gratitude, he is neither
young nor changeable. He is absent-minded, he
is cold, he will not show the warmth you like
in your friends, but he will not forget you.
He will not scold you, loving you always equally
well. My medal is at Strawberry Hill, where I
have not been for two months, because of my
gout, visits, and the illness of Monseigneur the
Duke; but I expect to go there next Sunday, and

will bring back the medal to have it drawn.
As to the visits, I had many to pay, as to
Politics, I do not trouble about them, and do
not mix in them. I have no connection with
our parties; I have friends on both sides, I
hear the news of both Chambers, and send it to
my cousin; but I never know anything till
the event has passed. Mr. Selwyn called on
me the other day, and we were complaining of
hearing nothing spoken of but America: "Ah,
for my part," said he, "I must get an American
master to acquire the fashion of the world."

His Royal Highness went out to get some
air yesterday. I do not think his lungs are
attacked, but he coughs a good deal, and I
hasten his departure.

I am very pleased with Mr. Conway's New
Year's Gift; the saying is very pretty, and
moreover which is much more rare, it is exactly

true. Why do you not send me his verses?
Were you afraid of humiliating me, because
they are worth much more than mine? Ah! I
am in no way envious or jealous of my poetry,
and still less apt to be angry if my friends
are preferred. I have admitted to you, I
have an infinite pride, but no vanity. Never
was an Author less enthusiastic over his works.

I have no news to send to my relatives if
they are still with you. I am, actually, not
occupying myself with anything but a new
Tragedy which is going to be given, and in
which I am much interested. The subject is
taken from the Revolution of Portugal in favour
of the Braganzas. It is written in a very
superior manner. The Language is admirably
beautiful, the poetry charming, but charming —
nevertheless I am afraid. The incident is
known and happy, therefore less interesting.

Moreover the Author seems to me little used to
the mechanism of the Theatre, and is more at
home with poetic images, than with the characters,
consequently there are prolixities, and the
interest is not sustained. He is an Irishman
whom I formerly knew, and who has much intellect,
and what is more amazing, he is naturally
comic, and a counterfeit in perfection. I
have been persuaded to write an epilogue for
him, with which I am in no way pleased. You
know it is our unbreakable custom to begin and
end a piece with prologues and epilogues. Usually
these last are not only gay but jovial, to make
those whom one has saddened laugh, a ridiculous
custom which I would not follow, so that my verses
are only dull; but as satire, without obscenity,
rejoices us I have mocked my Lord Chesterfield
in taking the defence of the fair sex; which
will obtain pardon for the platitudes of my

poetry. The piece will be given Saturday week.
You will hear of the result.

P.S. Do not forget to warn me if I am to dress
like a tight-rope dancer next year. Mr.

Conway announces that there is question with
you of reviving the costume of the Chevaliers
du St. Esprit. Your fashions decide ours.