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Updated: September 23, 2025
This is the minister of finance, whose measures of economy were so much ridiculed by the Parisians, and from whom the portraits, called Silhouettes, took their name: his travels indicate considerable acquaintance with the arts and political affairs. Lettres sur différens Sujets, écrites pendant le Cours d'un Voyage en Allemagne, en Suisse, dans la France Meridionelle, et en Italie. Par Bernouilli.
The French talk much of the rapacity of the Swiss, and have a common saying-, "Point d'argent point de Suisse"; but it would be unreasonable to expect that the Swiss should give their services gratuitously to strangers; and, considering how much their country is frequented by strangers, the guides, servants, &c. &c. cannot be accused of any particularly great extortion.
Bob grows every day more and more attached to him, but I cannot dawdle him as Horry Walpole does Tonton, for Me du Deffand's sake, nor does he seem to expect it. He has the accueil of a respectable old suisse in my hall, where I meet him on coming home in a posture couchante. Adieu; till I have letters, remember me kindly to all, but to the dear children in particular.
My Suisse sought everywhere for the Italian, whom he thought to be in danger; he stumbled against his corpse. What a scene! What an affliction! The commissary having had his room opened, on a small bureau a letter was found which he had been at the pains of writing, and in which he accused me of his despair and death. The people of Paris have been at all times extravagance and credulity itself.
The King of Prussia has had the victory, which you in some measure foretold; and as he has taken 'la caisse militaire', I presume 'Messieurs les Russes sont hors de combat pour cette campagne'; for 'point d'argent, point de Suisse', is not truer of the laudable Helvetic body, than 'point d'argent, point de Russe', is of the savages of the Two Russias, not even excepting the Autocratrice of them both.
And here was I, almost the only Englishman who knew the truth powerless! It was a busy night at the Cafe Suisse. Guest promenaded the room in his tightly fitting frock coat, his grey wig, and newly grown imperial, exchanging greetings with his clients in many languages. The long table was full! Hartwell was there, and Hirsch, and Kauffman, Madame and the others.
"The Cafe Suisse," I told him. From his look of interest, I knew that he had heard something about the place. "Well," he said, "let me hear the stories." Guest told his first, I followed, Adele told hers, and Monsieur Bardow rapidly filled in certain blanks. All the while Staunton listened in silence.
"To enter Monseigneur's room," replied the Suisse, "in order to see if the fugitive has not taken refuge there." "Are you crazy?" exclaimed the head valet de chambre. "How could any one have entered here? Besides, I can't suffer Monsieur le Duc to be disturbed. He has been at work all night, and he is just going to take a bath before going to bed."
"They say you've made peace with him!" "Ve fight vit propaganda de vay de Kaiser fear most of all. Ve spend millions of roubles, we print papers, leaflets you know, comrade, vat Socialists do. Ve send dem into Germany, we drop dem by aeroplanes, we have printing-presses in vat you call it, de Suisse, de Nederland everyvere. De Germans read, dey tink, dey say.
A tall old porter used to stand there in a long livery-coat and a cocked-hat; on holidays he appeared in the traditional garb of the Parisian "Suisse," magnificent in silk stockings and a heavily laced coat of dark green, leaning upon his tall mace a constant object of wonder to the small boys of the quarter.
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