Rousseau's Dog (11 page)

Whatever their reservations, the
philosophes
sought Hume out. Next to d'Alembert, Turgot, then an enlightened royal administrator of the Limoges district in central France, was his closest friend. Their band included Suard (who later translated a crucial document for Hume) and the magistrate and chief censor for the French book trade, Lamoignon de Malesherbes. Early on in his stay, Hume told Hugh Blair that the men of letters there were really very agreeable: all of them men of the world; living in entire, or almost entire, harmony among themselves; and quite irreproachable in their morals.

Ironically, the only cultural gap that Hume had difficulty in bridging was over religion. His problem was not that the
philosophes
were overly religious—quite the reverse. Hume squirmed at the disdain directed at believers. Once, dining with d'Holbach, Hume claimed he had never seen an atheist and questioned whether they really existed. But there were seventeen of them at that very table, replied d'Holbach. (Diderot, who recounted this anecdote, feared it would scandalize the English, who still believed a little in God, whereas, in his judgment, the French scarcely did at all.) It seems Hume was fated to be damned on one side of the Channel for having too little religion and on the other side for having too much.

Mossner hazards that this—and the fact that his metaphysical skepticism was never fully embraced in Paris—contributed to an intellectual loneliness and might have been one reason why
le bon David
never returned to France. We might hazard another—that he wanted to avoid Mme de Boufflers.

E
VEN AT A
distance of 250 years, it is impossible to resist the appeal of Marie-Charlotte-Hippolyte de Campet de Saujon, comtesse de Boufflers-Rouverel. Hume's odd relationship with her reveals the constraints on his capacity for sentiment. She also acted as an essential link between him and Rousseau.

Mme de Boufflers exemplified the adage that in England marriage took place to end a young woman's indiscretions, while in France it began them. In 1746, she had been married to Édouard, comte de Boufflers-Rouvel; but for over twenty years she was the mistress of a prince of the blood royal, Louis-François de Bourbon, prince de Conti. In Paris, he resided at the magnificent Temple—originally a fortified monastery of the Knights Templar. Hence Mme du Deffand's dismissive reference to Mme de Boufflers as
l'Idole du Temple.

When in the capital, Mme de Boufflers lived in rue Notre-Damede-Nazareth in the Temple precincts. There she held her illustrious salon, serving tea
à l'anglaise
in the glittering Room of the Four Mirrors. One such séance can be seen at Versailles in Michel-Barthelémy Ollivier's painting, commissioned by Conti in 1766,
English Tea, in the Room of Four Mirrors, at the Temple, with All the Court of the Prince de Conti.
Chaperoned by his father on his second European tour, the young Mozart is giving a recital. Her salon was in the grand style, an eclectic mix of high nobility, writers, and thinkers, including Hume, Gustav III of Sweden, Grimm, and d'Alembert. On Fridays, she entertained a chosen few—again including Hume—in her own house.

Beautiful, clever, she was the
adulée
of many and the jealous target of some. Her taste for letters gave her another nickname, “Learned Minerva.” Walpole had reservations. “She is two women, the upper and the lower. I need not tell you that the lower is gallant, and still has pretensions. The upper is very sensible, too, and has a measured eloquence that is just and pleasing—but all is spoiled by an unrelaxed attention to applause. You would think she was always sitting for her picture to her
biographer.” Mme du Deffand pronounced her
drôle,
having damned her with faint praise:

Mme de Boufflers did indeed devise moral maxims. She hung a copy of her “Rule of Life” on her bedroom wall. It was a litany of eighteenth-century manners and included: “In conduct, simplicity and reason; in appearance, propriety and decency; in manners, propriety and decorum; in actions, justice and generosity; in the use of wealth, economy and liberality; in conversation, clearness, truth, precision; in adversity, courage and pride; in prosperity, modesty and moderation; in society, charm, ease, courteousness; in domestic life, integrity and kindness without familiarity; to sacrifice everything for tranquillity of soul; to permit oneself only innocent railleries, which cannot wound.” She did not expect her friends to flout these standards.

Madame de Boufflers opened contact with Rousseau in 1758. She was staying with Mme de Luxembourg at Montmorency and asked Rousseau if she could see him. In the
Confessions,
he records: “I sent the conventional reply, but I did not stir.” He then relishes his developing romantic attachment to her: “If I did not commit the foolishness of becoming [Conti's] rival, I narrowly escaped doing so. … She was beautiful and still young. … I was nearly caught. I think that she saw it. … But for this once, I was sensible. … Having perceived the emotion she caused me, Mme de Boufflers could also see that I had triumphed over it.”

Her dealings with Hume went back to March 1761, when she had taken the initiative in writing to him. “I dare only add that in all the
products of your pen, you show yourself a perfect philosopher, a statesman, an historian of genius, an enlightened political scientist, a true patriot.” Thus began a correspondence that lasted until his death. In a letter eighteen months after opening communication, she offered a description of herself approaching forty.

Their correspondence took on a passionate note, though it is possible that Hume misread its significance for her. An editor of Walpole's letters points out that in prerevolutionary Paris, a woman of fashion passed through well-delineated states. “When young she was
galante;
on becoming more mature, she became a
bel esprit.
These were as strictly defined and observed as changes of dress on a particular day of the different seasons. A woman endeavouring to attract lovers after she had ceased to be a
galante
would have been not less ridiculous than her wearing velvet when all the rest of the world were in
demisaison.
”

So, lively and romantic language, expressions of attachment, could be used in the epoch of
bel esprit
without any fear of misunderstanding by society or the “loving” partner. Did Hume recognize this where Mme de Boufflers was concerned? Did he imagine that there was more to her sentiments than the regard of an ardent spirit? Walpole appears to have been aware of the convention: in a letter of July 11, 1766, he describes her as “a
savante, philosophe,
author,
bel esprit.
” As for Hume's own response, there is the curious episode of the encounter that did not take place during their burgeoning attachment.

In the springtime of 1763, Hume had the opportunity to see his correspondent for the first time when she came to England on what became a celebrity tour. She traveled to London on April 17, confiding to her cousin and escort Lord Elibank that the true purpose of her journey was to meet Hume.

In London, “Madame Blewflower” (as the mob called her) was the sensation of the moment, with the pick of the
beau monde
vying to entertain her. She visited Horace Walpole at Strawberry Hill. She stayed with several dukes, and a play was put on in her honor. When she visited Dr. Johnson, the sage hurried to show her to her coach; this was considered a remarkable tribute.

Elibank did his best to get Hume to London: “You cannot in decency neglect the opportunity of gratifying this flattering curiosity, perhaps passion, of the most amiable of God's creation.”

However, Hume did neglect it. Mme de Boufflers had intended only a two-month sojourn, but lingered on in hope of the absent Hume's emerging. He had gone visiting in Yorkshire, and it was not until July 3 that he sent his rather feeble and evasive excuses for not seeking her out. “I am only afraid that, to a person acquainted with the sociable and conversible parties of France, the showy and dazzling crowds of London assemblies would afford but an indifferent entertainment, and that the love of retreat and solitude, with which the English are reproached, never appears more conspicuously, than when they draw together a multitude of 500 people.”

Frustrated, she eventually returned to Paris on July 23.

The philosopher and
l'Idole
still did not come face-to-face until several months after his transfer to Paris. She was away in the country suffering from measles and then depression, occasioning from Rousseau a pretty sympathy. “Ah! How could melancholy dare take up her abode in so beautiful a soul, adorned with a garment which so admirably becomes its wearer.”

However, once they did get together, some of Hume's letters suggest
they grew so close that he felt the need to assure her of his rectitude. He probably again misinterpreted her
bel esprit.
The role she had for him was fond courtier, always subordinate to her governing relationship with the prince. (A recognized term had been coined for the constant but chivalrous attendant,
cicisbeo,
also used to mean a hanger-on.) While formally rejoicing in the role, Hume lacked commitment to the time it implied, as well as the willingness (and ability?) to make the needed emotional investment.

The death of Mme de Boufflers's husband in October 1764 shook her world to its foundations. Without the cover provided by marriage, her remaining with Conti risked being seen as improper: she was desperate to marry him. He was equally determined not to wed her.

Hume's part now evolved from fond courtier to compassionate adviser. Seemingly with some relief, he stepped back, and became objective, supportive, and shrewd. In a series of letters, he advised that without a husband in the background, she could no longer properly be at Conti's side; she should set up on her own and build a new social life.

It was not what she wanted to hear. Still fixed on marriage to Conti, and feeling ill and wretched, she then sought relief in England. In a letter to the Marquise de Barbantane, Hume remarked on her leaving in such a miserable state, and added, “I can hope for no event that will restore her peace of mind, except one, which is not likely to happen; and she herself is sensible of it. I have wrote in the terms,
which the Prince desired
[authors' italics]; though I wonder he should expect a great effect from anything that can be wrote or said by anybody on that head. If he does not choose to apply the proper remedy, he need expect no cure.” In other words, when he counseled his unhappy friend so sympathetically, he seems to have been acting as the prince's agent.

No doubt this was a well-intentioned deceit by
le bon David
with the aim of helping the
Minerve savante
face up to unwelcome facts. Happily, she never knew of his deception. But later she was put out to discover another. He had promised to return to Paris, and she had
arranged and lovingly furnished rooms for him. What he had not told her was that before leaving the capital, he had tried to rent other houses there with the assistance of other friends, no admirers of
l'Idole.

W
ITH THE ARRIVAL
of the Duke of Richmond at the embassy on November 9, the end of Hume's rapturous posting had come into sight. There were rumors in London, of which Hume was unaware, that he might be appointed embassy secretary in Lisbon. The man himself was vacillating. Home to Edinburgh? Rent a house in Paris? Take an Italian trip with d'Alembert? Of one thing he was certain. There was no question of London.

But thither he went on January 4, 1766. He bade farewell to “the best place in the world,” its salons, its conversation, and its adoration.

Bound for London, Rousseau at his side, Rousseau's dog Sultan running ahead of the carriage.

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