Letters Of Horace Walpole Volume I Part 20

C'est de nos coeurs l'expression sincere; En tout climat, Iris, a toute heure, en tous lieux, Par tout ou brilleront vos yeux, Vous apprendrez combien ils scavent plaire.

_GENERAL CHARACTER OF THE FRENCH--FESTIVITIES ON THE QUEEN'S BIRTHDAY._

TO THE HON. H.S. CONWAY.

ARLINGTON STREET, _May_ 21, 1763.

You have now seen the celebrated Madame de Boufflers. I dare say you could in that short time perceive that she is agreeable, but I dare say too that you will agree with me that vivacity[1] is by no means the _partage_ of the French--bating the _etourderie_ of the _mousquetaires_ and of a high-dried _pet.i.t-maitre_ or two, they appear to me more lifeless than Germans. I cannot comprehend how they came by the character of a lively people. Charles Townshend has more _sal volatile_ in him than the whole nation. Their King is taciturnity itself, Mirepoix was a walking mummy, Nivernois has about as much life as a sick favourite child, and M. Dusson is a good-humoured country gentleman, who has been drunk the day before, and is upon his good behaviour. If I have the gout next year, and am thoroughly humbled by it again, I will go to Paris, that I may be upon a level with them: at present, I am _trop fou_ to keep them company. Mind, I do not insist that, to have spirits, a nation should be as frantic as poor f.a.n.n.y Pelham, as absurd as the d.u.c.h.ess of Queensberry, or as das.h.i.+ng as the Virgin Chudleigh.[2] Oh, that you had been at her ball t'other night! History could never describe it and keep its countenance. The Queen's real birthday, you know, is not kept: this Maid of Honour kept it--nay, while the Court is in mourning, expected people to be out of mourning; the Queen's family really was so, Lady Northumberland having desired leave for them. A scaffold was erected in Hyde-park for fireworks. To show the illuminations without to more advantage, the company were received in an apartment totally dark, where they remained for two hours.--If they gave rise to any more birthdays, who could help it? The fireworks were fine, and succeeded well. On each side of the court were two large scaffolds for the Virgin's tradespeople. When the fireworks ceased, a large scene was lighted in the court, representing their Majesties; on each side of which were six obelisks, painted with emblems, and illuminated; mottoes beneath in Latin and English: 1. For the Prince of Wales, a s.h.i.+p, _Multorum spes_. 2. For the Princess Dowager, a bird of paradise, and _two_ little ones, _Meos ad sidera tollo_. People smiled. 3. Duke of York, a temple, _Virtuti et honori_. 4. Princess Augusta, a bird of paradise, _Non habet parem_--unluckily this was translated, _I have no peer_. People laughed out, considering where this was exhibited. 5. The three younger princes, an orange tree, _Promitt.i.t et dat_. 6. The two younger princesses, the flower crown-imperial. I forget the Latin: the translation was silly enough, _Bashful in youth, graceful in age_. The lady of the house made many apologies for the poorness of the performance, which she said was only oil-paper, painted by one of her servants; but it really was fine and pretty. The Duke of Kingston was in a frock, _comme chez lui_. Behind the house was a cenotaph for the Princess Elizabeth, a kind of illuminated cradle; the motto, _All the honours the dead can receive_. This burying-ground was a strange codicil to a festival; and, what was more strange, about one in the morning, this sarcophagus burst out into crackers and guns. The Margrave of Ans.p.a.ch began the ball with the Virgin. The supper was most sumptuous.

[Footnote 1: In a subsequent letter he represents Mme. de Boufflers as giving them the same character, saying, "Dans ce pays-ci c'est un effort perpetuel pour sedivertir."]

[Footnote 2: Miss Chudleigh, who had been one of the Princess Dowager's maids of honour, married Mr. Hervey, afterwards Earl of Bristol, but, having taken a dislike to him, she procured a divorce, and afterwards married the Duke of Kingston; but, after his death, his heirs, on the ground of some informality in the divorce, prosecuted her for bigamy, and she was convicted.]

You ask, when do I propose to be at Park-place. I ask, shall not you come to the Duke of Richmond's masquerade, which is the 6th of June? I cannot well be with you till towards the end of that month.

The enclosed is a letter which I wish you to read attentively, to give me your opinion upon it, and return it. It is from a sensible friend of mine in Scotland [Sir David Dalrymple], who has lately corresponded with me on the enclosed subjects, which I little understand; but I promised to communicate his ideas to George Grenville, if he would state them--are they practicable? I wish much that something could be done for those brave soldiers and sailors, who will all come to the gallows, unless some timely provision can be made for them.--The former part of his letter relates to a grievance he complains of, that men who have _not_ served are admitted into garrisons, and then into our hospitals, which were designed for meritorious sufferers. Adieu!

_THE ORDINARY WAY OF LIFE IN ENGLAND--WILKES--C. TOWNSHEND--COUNT LALLY--LORD CLIVE--LORD NORTHINGTON--LOUIS LE BIEN AIMe--THE DRAMA IN FRANCE._

TO THE EARL OF HERTFORD.

ARLINGTON STREET, _Dec._ 29, 1763

You are sensible, my dear lord, that any amus.e.m.e.nt from my letters must depend upon times and seasons. We are a very absurd nation (though the French are so good at present as to think us a very wise one, only because they, themselves, are now a very weak one); but then that absurdity depends upon the almanac. Posterity, who will know nothing of our intervals, will conclude that this age was a succession of events. I could tell them that we know as well when an event, as when Easter, will happen. Do but recollect these last ten years. The beginning of October, one is certain that everybody will be at Newmarket, and the Duke of c.u.mberland will lose, and Shafto win, two or three thousand pounds.

After that, while people are preparing to come to town for the winter, the Ministry is suddenly changed, and all the world comes to learn how it happened, a fortnight sooner than they intended; and fully persuaded that the new arrangement cannot last a month. The Parliament opens; everybody is bribed; and the new establishment is perceived to be composed of adamant. November pa.s.ses, with two or three self-murders, and a new play. Christmas arrives; everybody goes out of town; and a riot happens in one of the theatres. The Parliament meets again; taxes are warmly opposed; and some citizen makes his fortune by a subscription. The opposition languishes; b.a.l.l.s and a.s.semblies begin; some master and miss begin to get together, are talked of, and give occasion to forty more matches being invented; an unexpected debate starts up at the end of the session, that makes more noise than anything that was designed to make a noise, and subsides again in a new peerage or two. Ranelagh opens and Vauxhall; one produces scandal, and t'other a drunken quarrel. People separate, some to Tunbridge, and some to all the horse-races in England; and so the year comes again to October. I dare to prophesy, that if you keep this letter, you will find that my future correspondence will be but an ill.u.s.tration of this text; at least, it is an excuse for my having very little to tell you at present, and was the reason of my not writing to you last week.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HORACE WALPOLE.

_From a picture in the National Portrait Gallery, by Nathaniel Hone, R.A._]

Before the Parliament adjourned, there was nothing but a trifling debate in an empty House, occasioned by a motion from the Ministry, to order another physician and surgeon to attend Wilkes:[1] it was carried by about seventy to thirty, and was only memorable by producing Mr. Charles Townshend, who, having sat silent through the question of privilege, found himself interested in the defence of Dr. Brocklesby![2] Charles ridiculed Lord North extremely, and had warm words with George Grenville. I do not look upon this as productive of consequential speaking for the opposition; on the contrary, I should expect him sooner in place, if the Ministry could be fools enough to restore weight to him, and could be ignorant that he can never hurt them so much as by being with them. Wilkes refused to see Heberden and Hawkins, whom the House commissioned to visit him; and to laugh at us more, sent for two Scotchmen, Duncan and Middleton. Well! but since that, he is gone off himself: however, as I did in D'Eon's case, I can now only ask news of him from you, not tell you any; for you have got him. I do not believe you will invite him, and make so much of him, as the Duke of Bedford did. Both sides pretend joy at his being gone; and for once I can believe both. You will be diverted, as I was, at the cordial esteem the ministers have for one another; Lord Waldegrave told my niece [Lady Waldegrave], this morning, that he had offered a s.h.i.+lling, to receive a hundred pounds when Sandwich shall lose his head! what a good opinion they have of one another! _apropos_ to losing heads, is Lally[3]

beheaded?

[Footnote 1: Wilkes had been wounded in a duel, and alleged his wound as a sufficient reason for not attending in his place in the House of Commons when summoned. Dr. Brocklesby, a physician of considerable eminence, reported that he was unable to attend; but the House of Commons, as if they distrusted his report, appointed two other physicians to examine the patient, Drs. Heberden and Hawkins.]

[Footnote 2: Dr. Brocklesby is mentioned by Boswell as an especial friend of Johnson; having even offered him an annuity of 100 to relieve him from the necessity of writing to increase his income.]

[Footnote 3: Count Lally, of an Irish family, his father or grandfather having been among those who, after the capitulation of Limerick, accompanied the gallant Sarsfield to France, had been the French governor in India; but, having failed in an attempt on Madras, and having been afterwards defeated at Wandewash by Colonel Coote, was recalled in disgrace, and brought to trial on a number of ridiculously false charges, convicted, and executed; his real offence being that by a somewhat intemperate zeal for the reformation of abuses, and the punishment of corruption which he detested, he had made a great number of personal enemies. He was the father of Count Lally Tollendal, who was a prominent character in the French Revolution.]

The East India Company have come to an unanimous resolution of not paying Lord Clive the three hundred thousand pounds, which the Ministry had promised him in lieu of his Nabobical annuity. Just after the bargain was made, his old rustic of a father was at the King's levee; the King asked where his son was; he replied, "Sire, he is coming to town, and then your Majesty will have another vote." If you like these franknesses, I can tell you another. The Chancellor [Northington] is a chosen governor of St. Bartholomew's Hospital: a smart gentleman, who was sent with the staff, carried it in the evening, when the Chancellor happened to be drunk. "Well, Mr. Bartlemy," said his lords.h.i.+p, snuffing, "what have you to say?" The man, who had prepared a formal harangue, was transported to have so fair opportunity given him of uttering it, and with much dapper gesticulation congratulated his lords.h.i.+p on his health, and the nation on enjoying such great abilities. The Chancellor stopped him short, crying, "By G.o.d, it is a lie! I have neither health nor abilities; my bad health has destroyed my abilities."[1] The late Chancellor [Hardwicke] is much better.

[Footnote 1: Lord Northington had been a very hard liver. He was a martyr to the gout; and one afternoon, as he was going downstairs out of his Court, he was heard to say to himself, "D--- these legs! If I had known they were to carry a Lord Chancellor, I would have taken better care of them;" and it was to relieve himself of the labours of the Court of Chancery that he co-operated with Mr. Pitt in the discreditable intrigue which in the summer of 1766 compelled the resignation of Lord Rockingham, Mr. Pitt having promised him the office of President of the Council in the new Ministry which he intended to form.]

The last time the King was at Drury-lane, the play given out for the next night was "All in the Wrong:" the galleries clapped, and then cried out, "Let _us_ be all in the right! Wilkes and Liberty!" When the King comes to a theatre, or goes out, or goes to the House, there is not a single applause; to the Queen there is a little: in short, _Louis le bien aime_[1] is not French at present for King George.

[Footnote 1: "Le Bien aime" was a designation conferred on Louis XV. by the people in their joy at his recovery from an illness which had threatened his life at Metz in 1744. Louis himself was surprised, and asked what he had done to deserve such a t.i.tle; and, in truth, it was a question hard to answer; but it was an expression of praise for his leaving the capital to accompany his army in the campaign.]

I read, last night, your new French play, "Le Comte de Warwic,"[1] which we hear has succeeded much. I must say, it does but confirm the cheap idea I have of you French: not to mention the preposterous perversion of history in so known a story, the Queen's ridiculous preference of old Warwick to a young King; the omission of the only thing she ever said or did in her whole life worth recording, which was thinking herself too low for his wife, and too high for his mistress; the romantic honour bestowed on two such savages as Edward and Warwick: besides these, and forty such glaring absurdities, there is but one scene that has any merit, that between Edward and Warwick in the third act. Indeed, indeed, I don't honour the modern French: it is making your son but a slender compliment, with his knowledge, for them to say it is extraordinary. The best proof I think they give of their taste, is liking you all three. I rejoice that your little boy is recovered. Your brother has been at Park-place this week, and stays a week longer: his hill is too high to be drowned.

[Footnote 1: "Le Comte de Warwic" was by La Harpe, who was only twenty-three years of age. The answer here attributed to Elizabeth Woodville has been attributed to others also; and especially to Mdlle.

de Montmorency, afterwards Princesse de Conde, when pursued by the solicitations of Henry IV.]

Thank you for your kindness to Mr. Selwyn: if he had too much impatience, I am sure it proceeded only from his great esteem for you.

I will endeavour to learn what you desire; and will answer, in another letter, that and some other pa.s.sages in your last. Dr. Hunter is very good, and calls on me sometimes. You may guess whether we talk you over or not. Adieu!

_A NEW YEAR'S PARTY AT LADY SUFFOLK'S--LADY TEMPLE POETESS LAUREATE TO THE MUSES_

TO GEORGE MONTAGU, ESQ.

ARLINGTON STREET, _Jan._ 11, 1764.

It is an age, I own, since I wrote to you: but except politics, what was there to send you? and for politics, the present are too contemptible to be recorded by anybody but journalists, gazetteers, and such historians!

The ordinary of Newgate, or Mr. ----, who write for their monthly half-crown, and who are indifferent whether Lord Bute, Lord Melcombe, or Maclean [the highwayman], is their hero, may swear they find diamonds on dunghills; but you will excuse _me_, if I let our correspondence lie dormant rather than deal in such trash. I am forced to send Lord Hertford and Sir Horace Mann such garbage, because they are out of England, and the sea softens and makes palatable any potion, as it does claret; but unless I can divert _you_, I had rather wait till we can laugh together; the best employment for friends, who do not mean to pick one another's pocket, nor make a property of either's frankness. Instead of politics, therefore, I shall amuse you to-day with a fairy tale.

I was desired to be at my Lady Suffolk's on New-year's morn, where I found Lady Temple and others. On the toilet Miss Hotham spied a small round box. She seized it with all the eagerness and curiosity of eleven years. In it was wrapped up a heart-diamond ring, and a paper in which, in a hand as small as Buckinger's[1] who used to write the Lord's Prayer in the compa.s.s of a silver penny, were the following lines:--

Sent by a sylph, unheard, unseen, A new-year's gift from Mab our queen: But tell it not, for if you do, You will be pinch'd all black and blue.

Consider well, what a disgrace, To show abroad your mottled face: Then seal your lips, put on the ring, And sometimes think of Ob. the king.

[Footnote 1: Buckinger was a dwarf born without hands or feet.]

You will eagerly guess that Lady Temple was the poetess, and that we were delighted with the gentleness of the thought and execution. The child, you may imagine, was less transported with the poetry than the present. Her attention, however, was hurried backwards and forwards from the ring to a new coat, that she had been trying on when sent for down; impatient to revisit her coat, and to show the ring to her maid, she whisked upstairs; when she came down again, she found a letter sealed, and lying on the floor--new exclamations! Lady Suffolk bade her open it: here it is:--

Your tongue, too nimble for your sense, Is guilty of a high offence; Hath introduced unkind debate, And topsy-turvy turn'd our state.

In gallantry I sent the ring, The token of a love-sick king: Under fair Mab's auspicious name From me the trifling present came.

You blabb'd the news in Suffolk's ear; The tattling zephyrs brought it here; As Mab was indolently laid Under a poppy's spreading shade.

The jealous queen started in rage; She kick'd her crown, and beat her page: "Bring me my magic wand," she cries; "Under that primrose, there it lies; I'll change the silly, saucy chit, Into a flea, a louse, a nit, A worm, a gra.s.shopper, a rat, An owl, a monkey, hedgehog, bat.

But hold, why not by fairy art Transform the wretch into-- Ixion once a cloud embraced, By Jove and jealousy well placed; What sport to see proud Oberon stare, And flirt it with a _pet en l'air_!"

Then thrice she stamp'd the trembling ground, And thrice she waved her wand around; When I, endow'd with greater skill, And less inclined to do you ill, Mutter'd some words, withheld her arm, And kindly stopp'd the unfinish'd charm.

But though not changed to owl or bat, Or something more indelicate; Yet, as your tongue has run too fast, Your boasted beauty must not last.

No more shall frolic Cupid lie In ambuscade in either eye, From thence to aim his keenest dart To captivate each youthful heart: No more shall envious misses pine At charms now flown, that once were thine No more, since you so ill behave, Shall injured Oberon be your slave.

There is one word which I could wish had not been there though it is prettily excused afterwards. The next day my Lady Suffolk desired I would write her a patent for appointing Lady Temple poet laureate to the fairies. I was excessively out of order with a pain in my stomach, which I had had for ten days, and was fitter to write verses like a Poet Laureate, than for making one; however, I was going home to dinner alone, and at six I sent her some lines, which you ought to have seen how sick I was, to excuse; but first I must tell you my tale methodically. The next morning by nine o'clock Miss Hotham (she must forgive me twenty years hence for saying she was eleven, for I recollect she is but ten), arrived at Lady Temple's, her face and neck all spotted with saffron, and limping. "Oh, Madam!" said she, "I am undone for ever if you do not a.s.sist me!" "Lord, child," cried my Lady Temple, "what is the matter?" thinking she had hurt herself, or lost the ring, and that she was stolen out before her aunt was up. "Oh, Madam," said the girl, "n.o.body but you can a.s.sist me!" My Lady Temple protests the child acted her part so well as to deceive her. "What can I do for you?" "Dear Madam, take this load from my back; n.o.body but you can." Lady Temple turned her round, and upon her back was tied a child's waggon. In it were three tiny purses of blue velvet; in one of them a silver cup, in another a crown of laurel, and in the third four new silver pennies, with the patent, signed at top, "Oberon Imperator;" and two sheets of warrants strung together with blue silk according to form; and at top an office seal of wax and a chaplet of cut paper on it. The Warrants were these:--

From the Royal Mews:

A waggon with the draught horses, delivered by command without fee.

From the Lord Chamberlain's Office:

A warrant with the royal sign manual, delivered by command without fee, being first entered in the office books.

From the Lord Steward's Office: