Dura sed emovere loco me tempora grato, Civilisque rudem belli tulit æstus in arma.
You know the consequence. This civil turmoil drove me from the shelter of retirement into the heat and bustle of life; from those studies which, as you say, had enchanted my youth, into business and action of all sorts. I lived in the world: I conversed familiarly with the great. A change like this, one would suppose, were enough to undo the prejudices of education. But the very reverse happened. The further I engaged, and the longer I continued in this scene, the greater my impatience was of retiring from it.
But you will say, my old vice was nourished in me by living in the neighbourhood of books and letters[37]. I was yet in the fairy land of the Muses; and, under these circumstances, it was no wonder that neither arms nor business, nor a court, could prevent the mind from returning to its old bias. All this may be true. And yet, I think, if that court had contained many such persons as some I knew in it, neither the distractions of business on the one hand, nor the blandishments of the Muse on the other, could have disposed me to leave it. But there were few LORD FALKLANDS—and unhappily my admiration of that nobleman’s worth and honour[38] created an invincible aversion to the rest, who had little resemblance of his virtues.
I would not be thought, said I, to detract from so accomplished a character as that of the Lord FALKLAND; but surely there was something in his notions of honour—
Not a word, interrupted he eagerly, that may but seem to throw a shade on a virtue the brightest and purest that hath done honour to these later ages.—But I turn from a subject that interests me too much, and would lead me too far. Whatever attractions there might be in such a place, and in such _friendships_, the iniquity of the times soon forced me from them. Yet I had the less reason to complain, as my next removal was into the family of so beneficent a patron as the Lord JERMYN, and into the court of so accomplished a princess as the QUEEN MOTHER.
My residence, you know, was now for many years in _France_; a country, which piques itself on all the refinements of civility. Here the world was to appear to me in its fairest form, and, it was not doubted, would put on all its charms to wean me from the love of a studious retired life. I will not say I was disappointed in this expectation. All that the elegance of polished manners could contribute to make society attractive, was to be found in this new scene. My situation, besides, was such, that I came to have a sort of familiarity with greatness. Yet shall I confess my inmost sentiments of this splendid life to you? I found it empty, fallacious, and even disgusting. The outside indeed was fair. But to me, who had an opportunity of looking it through, nothing could be more deformed and hateful. All was ambition, intrigue, and falsehood. Every one intent on his own schemes, frequently wicked, always base and selfish. Great professions of honour, of friendship, and of duty; but all ending in low views and sordid practices. No truth, no sincerity: without which, conversation is but words; and the polish of manners, the idlest foppery.