At first
everyone was silent; then followed a few confused murmurs, and
afterwards several insipid jokes passed and repassed, with false
reports, false reasonings, a little politics, and a great deal of
scandal. The conversation then turned upon the new productions in
literature.
"Pray," said the abbe, "good folks, have you seen the romance
written by a certain Gauchat, Doctor of Divinity?"
"Yes," answered one of the company, "but I had not patience to go
through it. The town is pestered with a swarm of impertinent
productions, but this of Dr. Gauchat's outdoes them all. In short, I
was so cursedly tired of reading this vile stuff that I even
resolved to come here, and make a party at basset."
"But what say you to the archdeacon T-'s miscellaneous
collection," said the abbe.
"Oh my God!" cried the Marchioness of Parolignac, "never mention the
tedious creature! Only think what pains he is at to tell one things
that all the world knows; and how he labors an argument that is hardly
worth the slightest consideration! how absurdly he makes use of
other people's wit! how miserably he mangles what he has pilfered from
them! The man makes me quite sick! A few pages of the good
archdeacon are enough in conscience to satisfy anyone.
Pages:
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113