| Citation |
GG(J.768.009
20 Jan 1768:22 (226)
From the London Chronicle, October 17, Extract of a letter
from Paris, Oct. 7.
"Some young persons walking lately in the wood of Boulogne,
perceived there an Abbe singing at the foot of a tree. They
drew near and surrounded him. The Abbe, startled at his
auditory, stops short. The forwardest of them addresses
him, and tells him, that, attracted by the charms of his
voice, they are come there to listen to him. The singer
excuses himself. They insist, he refused. The petulant
orator lifts up his cane, and threatens to take the measure
of his shoulders, if he requires any further entreaty. A
pretty method indeed of teaching one to sing, said the Abbe.
I agree that it is rather harsh, but we will cut off your
ears for you, if you like that better. The poor devil
seeing there was no reasoning with these gentlemen, set
about his part, and sung, as you may imagine, very ill. To
it again, Sir, said the orator, we shall perform [blurred]
the second time. In short, they made him pass through the
whole scale of musick; after which they withdrew with great
commendations on his voice, and, above all, on his
complaisance in singing.
[Abbe finds their coachman, identifies his tormentor,
visits him the next morning and challenges him to duel.]
While the musqueteer was stripping, the Abbe takes a pistol
out of his pocket, and claps it to his breast. We are not
come here to fight, Sir, said he; you make me sing yesterday
against my will. I take you to be a good dancer, and you
shall dance, or I will blow out your brains. In vain the
soldier startled at the pistol, would have pleaded the laws
of honour. You was a stranger to them yesterday, said the
Abbe, and deserve no other usage. No more ceremony, or I
avenge myself immediately, let what will come of it. The
musqueteer squeezes his ears, and is obliged to comply.
Accordingly, he asks submissively, what he must dance.
Cupis' Minuet is what I am going to sing, said the Abbe, who
thereupon warbles out the tune, directing his pupil all the
while by the pistol. When the minuet was over, the Abbe
required a country dance, then a hornpipe, rigadoon, &c. At
last, throwing aside his pistol, and drawing his sword--we
have nothing, Sir, to reproach each other with; let us
fight. No, cry'd the Count, we will not; you are too brave
a conqueror, you have corrected my folly, I am to thank you
for your lesson; let us be friends. The two combatants
embraced each other, and went to seal their friendship over
a bottle."
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