Commonplace Book

'"At least," said I, "give me leave to wish them such a degree of commerce as may enable them to follow their own inclinations."
"Heaven forbid!" cried the philosopher. "Woe be to that nation where the multitude is at liberty to follow their own inclinations! Commerce is undoubtedly a blessing, while restrained within its proper channels; but a glut of wealth brings along with it a glut of evils. It brings false taste, false appetite, false wants, profusion, venality, contempt of order, engendering a spirit of licentiousness, insolence, and faction, that keeps the community in continual ferment, and in time destroys all the distinctions of civil society; so that universal anarchy and uproar must ensue. Will any sensible man affirm, that the national advantages of opulence are to be sought on these terms?.."'

from Matt Bramble's letter to Dr Lewis, dated September 20, in The Expedition of Humphry Clinker by Tobias Smollett

Commonplace Book

'Mr. Campbell himself, who performs very well on the violin, has an invincible antipathy to the sound of the Highland bagpipe, which sings in the nose with a most alarming twang, and, indeed, is quite intolerable to ears of common sensibility, when aggravated by the echo of a vaulted hall. He, therefore, begged the piper would have some mercy upon him, and dispense with this part of the morning service. A consultation of the clan being held on this occasion, it was unanimously agreed, that the laird's request could not be granted, without a dangerous encroachment upon the customs of the family. The piper declared he could not give up for a moment the privilege he derived from his ancestors; nor would the laird's relations forego an entertainment which they valued above all others. There was no remedy; Mr. Campbell being obliged to acquiesce, is fain to stop his ears with cotton, to fortify his head with three or four nightcaps, and every morning retire into the penetralia of his habitation, in order to avoid this diurnal annoyance.'

from Jerry Melford's letter to Sir Watkin Phillips, dated September 3, in The Expedition of Humphry Clinker by Tobias Smollett

Don't Tell Alfred by Nancy Mitford (1960)

Mitford's last novel sees her trying to engage with youth as it was in 1960 in part. Fanny and her don husband from the cold climate novels have acceded to an ambassadorship in Paris, though quite why Alfred would have been swept from his tiny Oxford pastoral to this cosmopolitan glamour is not compassed. My suspicion is that he was a spy all along. Anyway, there are plenty of opportunities for Mitford to send up the craziness of the diplomatic sphere; both in its domestic element (a former ambassadress won't leave the embassy because she likes the lifestyle too much) and its political element (the French and English are about to have a major territorial spat over some tiny 'islands' which are only above water when the tide is out). This material is great and up to her usual standard of wry mirth. But the extension of the piece, and I'm presuming it's the place she would have felt obliged to visit further had she gone on writing fiction, is with the younger characters. The three children of their own, wide-boy scam-artist Basil, incipient Zen-man new age World Citizen David, and young Charlie, still at Eton but bored with it and pop music-obsessed, are embodiments of the cracks that were already appearing in societal fabric pre-60s. This carries with it an interesting observation: a lot of what constituted 60s 'alternativity' was spearheaded by those time and money-rich toffs! No wonder it carried so well culturally. The adopted child Fabrice (Fanny's best friend Linda's son) is a slightly more exotic version of Charlie, who makes a hit with his hitherto unknown French relatives here. There are added youths at the embassy who are naturally a little more traditional but even so quite challenging for someone of Fanny's now ageing generation. The best of them is Northey, Louisa's daughter fresh from Scotland, very slim, pretty and manipulative whilst retaining an ocean of charm. She is taken on as a secretary and manages to insouciantly inveigle most of the French government in clandestine affairs in turn, manipulating them brilliantly for cash, favours, fun and even diplomatic results! Grace and Valhubert from The Blessing are here too, though seen from a more critical angle, as is their ringleader-in-cheek son Sigi. I wonder whether Mitford's very slightly less sure grip on the younger characters would have improved with more use, or, contrastingly, was a sign of the need to stop, an omen which she understood and obeyed.