the immediate auspice of the avowed enemies of himself, and of the
constitution he has sworn to protect, cannot be much wondered at; and
those who know the Catholic religion, and consider that this Prince is
devout, and that he has reason to suspect the fidelity of all who
approach him, will wonder still less that he refuses to banish a class of
men, whose influence is extensive, and whose interest it is to preserve
their attachment to him.

These events have thrown a gloom over private societies; and public
amusements, as I observed in a former letter, are little frequented; so
that, on the whole, time passes heavily with a people who, generally
speaking, have few resources in themselves. Before the revolution,
France was at this season a scene of much gaiety. Every village had
alternately a sort of Fete, which nearly answers to our Wake--but with
this difference, that it was numerously attended by all ranks, and the
amusement was dancing, instead of wrestling and drinking. Several small
fields, or different parts of a large one, were provided with music,
distinguished by flags, and appropriated to the several classes of
dancers--one for the peasants, another for the bourgeois, and a third for
the higher orders. The young people danced beneath the ardour of a July
sun, while the old looked on and regaled themselves with beer, cyder, and
gingerbread. I was always much pleased with this village festivity: it
gratified my mind more than select and expensive amusements, because it
was general, and within the power of all who chose to partake of it; and
the little distinction of rank which was preserved, far from diminishing
the pleasure of any, added, I am certain, to the freedom of all. By
mixing with those only of her own class, the Paysanne* was spared the
temptation of envying the pink ribbons of the Bourgeoise, who in her turn
was not disturbed by an immediate rivalship with the sash and plumes of
the provincial belle. But this custom is now much on the decline. The