As for myself, I scrape wildly on the violin, as a simple country amateur--'Orpheus in silvis'.
Do not imagine, however, Monsieur le Comte, that we let the worship of this sweet art absorb all our faculties--all our time-certainly not.
When you take part in our little reunions, which of course you will do, you will find we disdain no pursuit worthy of thinking beings.

We pass from music to literature--to science--even to philosophy; but we do this--I pray you to believe--without pedantry and without leaving the tone of familiar converse.

Sometimes we read verses, but we never make them; we love the ancients and do not fear the moderns: we only fear those who would lower the mind and debase the heart.

We love the past while we render justice to the present; and flatter ourselves at not seeing many things that to you appear beautiful, useful, and true.
"Such are we, my young friend.

We call ourselves the 'Colony of Enthusiasts,' but our malicious neighbors call us the 'Hotel de Rambouillet.' Envy, you know, is a plant that does not flourish in the country; but here, by way of exception, we have a few jealous people--rather bad for them, but of no consequence to us.
"We are an odd set, with the most opposite opinions.