His name is Mr.Louis Leverett (such a beautiful name,I think),and he is about thirty years old.He is rather small,and he looks pretty sick;he suffers from some affection of the liver.But his conversation is remarkably interesting,and I delight to listen to him--he has such beautiful ideas.I feel as if it were hardly right,not being in French;but,fortunately,he uses a great many French expressions.It's in a different style from the conversation of Mr.
Verdier--not so complimentary,but more intellectual.He is intensely fond of pictures,and has given me a great many ideas about them which I should never have gained without him;I shouldn't have known where to look for such ideas.He thinks everything of pictures;he thinks we don't make near enough of them.They seem to make a good deal of them here;but I couldn't help telling him the other day that in Bangor I really don't think we do.
If I had any money to spend I would buy some and take them back,to hang up.Mr.Leverett says it would do them good--not the pictures,but the Bangor folks.He thinks everything of the French,too,and says we don't make nearly enough of THEM.I couldn't help telling him the other day that at any rate they make enough of themselves.
But it is very interesting to hear him go on about the French,and it is so much gain to me,so long as that is what I came for.I talk to him as much as I dare about Boston,but I do feel as if this were right down wrong--a stolen pleasure.
I can get all the Boston culture I want when I go back,if I carry out my plan,my happy vision,of going there to reside.I ought to direct all my efforts to European culture now,and keep Boston to finish off.But it seems as if I couldn't help taking a peep now and then,in advance--with a Bostonian.I don't know when I may meet one again;but if there are many others like Mr.Leverett there,I shall be certain not to want when I carry out my dream.He is just as full of culture as he can live.But it seems strange how many different sorts there are.
There are two of the English who I suppose are very cultivated too;but it doesn't seem as if I could enter into theirs so easily,though I try all I can.I do love their way of speaking,and sometimes I feel almost as if it would be right to give up trying to learn French,and just try to learn to speak our own tongue as these English speak it.It isn't the things they say so much,though these are often rather curious,but it is in the way they pronounce,and the sweetness of their voice.It seems as if they must TRY a good deal to talk like that;but these English that are here don't seem to try at all,either to speak or do anything else.They are a young lady and her brother.I believe they belong to some noble family.I have had a good deal of intercourse with them,because I have felt more free to talk to them than to the Americans--on account of the language.It seems as if in talking with them I was almost learning a new one.
I never supposed,when I left Bangor,that I was coming to Europe to learn ENGLISH!If I do learn it,I don't think you will understand me when I get back,and I don't think you'll like it much.I should be a good deal criticised if I spoke like that at Bangor.However,I verily believe Bangor is the most critical place on earth;I have seen nothing like it over here.Tell them all I have come to the conclusion that they are A GREAT DEAL TOO FASTIDIOUS.But I was speaking about this English young lady and her brother.I wish I could put them before you.She is lovely to look at;she seems so modest and retiring.In spite of this,however,she dresses in a way that attracts great attention,as I couldn't help noticing when one day I went out to walk with her.She was ever so much looked at;but she didn't seem to notice it,until at last I couldn't help calling attention to it.Mr.Leverett thinks everything of it;he calls it the "costume of the future."I should call it rather the costume of the past--you know the English have such an attachment to the past.
I said this the other day to Madame do Maisonrouge--that Miss Vane dressed in the costume of the past.De l'an passe,vous voulez dire?said Madame,with her little French laugh (you can get William Platt to translate this,he used to tell me he knew so much French).
