puzzled for a clue, if one of them has miscarried. Sir Charles
Bunbury is not to be secretary for Ireland, but Thurlow the
lawyer:(840) they are to stay five years without returning. Lord
Lorn has declined, and Lord Frederic Campbell is to be lord privy
seal for Scotland. Lord Waldegrave, they say, chamberlain to the
Queen.(841)
(831) From the family, not from the rioters.-C.
(832) George the Second.
(833) This alludes to the required promise not to consult Lord
Bute.
(834) The Following is from Mr. Stuart Mackenzie's own account of
his removal, in the Mitchell MSS:--"They demanded certain terms,
without which they declined coming in; the principal of which
was, that I should be dismissed from the administration of the
affairs of Scotland, and likewise from the office of privy seal.
His Majesty answered, that as to the first, it would be no great
punishment, he believed, to me, as I had never been very fond of
the employment; but as to the second, I had his promise to
continue it for life. Grenville replied to this purpose: 'In
that case, Sir, we must decline coming in.'--'No,' says the King,
'I will not, on that account, put the whole kingdom in confusion,
and leave it without a government at all; but I will tell you how
that matter stands --that he has my royal word to continue in the
office; and if you force me, from the situation of things, to
violate my royal word, remember you are responsible for it, and
not I.' Upon that very solemn charge, Grenville answered, 'Sir,
we must make some arrangement for Mr. Mackenzie.' The King
answered, 'If I know any thing of him, he will give himself very
little trouble about your arrangements for him.' His Majesty
afterwards sent for me to his closet, where I was a very
considerable time with him; and if it were possible for me to
love my excellent prince now better than I ever did before, I
should certainly do it; for I have every reason that can induce a
generous mind to feel his goodness for me; but such was his
Majesty's situation at this time, that, had he absolutely
rejected my dismission, he would have put me in the most
disagreeable situation in the world; and, what was of much higher
consequence, he would leave greatly distressed his affairs."-E.
(835) John Marquis of Lorn, afterwards fifth Duke of Argyle; a
lieutenant-general in the army: he was brother of (General
Conway's lady.-C.
(836) An allusion to Mr. Pitt.-C.
(837) Sir Charles Bunbury, secretary of embassy at Paris, was
nominated secretary to Lord Weymouth, and held that office for
about two months.-E.
(838) The straitened circumstances of Lord Weymouth made his
nomination very unpopular in Ireland: he never went over.-C.
(839) In the recent arrangement, Lady Betty's husband was, as we
have seen, dismissed from, and Lady Dalkeith's (Charles
Townshend) acceded to, office.-C.
(840) This was a mistake.-E.
(841) This is the last of the series of letters written by
Walpole to Lord Hertford: to the publication is subjoined the
following postscript:-"The state of the administration, as
described in the foregoing letters, could evidently not last; and
after the failure of several attempts to induce Mr. Pitt to take
the government on terms which the King could grant, the Duke of
Cumberland, at his Majesty's desire, succeeded in forming the
Rockingham administration, in which General Conway was secretary
of state and leader of the House of Commons, and Lord Hertford,
lord lieutenant of Ireland. There can be little doubt, that
during these transactions, Mr. Walpole (although he had in the
interval a severe fit Of the gout) wrote to Lord Hertford, but no
other letter of this series has been discovered; which is the
more to be regretted, as the state of parties was it that moment
particularly interesting. The refusal of Mr. Pitt raised the
ministers to a pitch of confidence, (perhaps@, we might say,
-arrogance,) which, as Mr. Walpole foresaw, accelerated their
fall. So blind were they to their true situation, that Mr.
Rigby, who was as deep as any man in the ministerial councils,
writes to a private friend "I never thought, to tell you the
truth, that we were in any danger from this last political cloud.
The Duke of Cumberland's political system, grafted upon the Earl
of Bute's stock, seems, of all others, the least capable of
succeeding.' This letter was written on the 7th of July, and on
the 10th the new ministry was formed."-C.
Letter 253 To George Montagu, Esq.
Strawberry Hill, May 26, 1765. (page 405)
If one of the one hundred events, and one hundredth part of the
one hundred thousand reports that have passed, and been spread in
this last month, have reached your solitary hill, you must be
surprised at not a single word from me during that period. The
number of events is my excuse. Though mine is the pen of a
pretty ready writer, I could not keep pace with the revolution of
each day, each hour. I had not time to begin the narrative, much
less to finish it: no, I Must keep the whole to tell you at once,
or to read it to you, for I think I shall write the history,
which, let me tell you, Buckinger himself could not have crowded
into a nutshell.
For your part, you will be content though the house of Montagu
has not made an advantageous figure in this political warfare;
yet it is crowned with victory, and laurels you know compensate
for every scar. You went out of town frightened out of your
senses at the giant prerogative: alack! he is grown so tame,
that, as you said of our earthquake, you may stroke him.(842) The
Regency-bill, not quite calculated with that intent, has produced
four regents, King Bedford, king Grenville, King Halifax, and
king Twitcher.(843) Lord Holland is turned out, and Stuart
Mackenzie. Charles Townshend is paymaster, and Lord Bute
annihilated; and all done without the help of the Whigs. You
love to guess what one is going to say. Now you may what I am
not going to say. your newspapers perhaps have given you a long
roll of opposition names, who were coming into place, and so all
the world thought; but the Wind turned quite round, and left them
on the strand, and just where they were, except in opposition
which is declared to be at an end. Enigma as all this may sound,
the key would open it all to you in the twinkling of an
administration. In the mean time we have family reconciliations
without end. The King and the Duke of Cumberland have been shut
up together day and night; Lord Temple and George Grenville are
sworn brothers; well, but Mr. Pitt, where is he? In the clouds,
for aught I know; in one of which he may descend like the kings
of Bantam, and take quiet possession of the throne again.
As a thorough-bass to these squabbles, we have had an
insurrection and a siege. Bedford-house, though garrisoned by
horse and foot guards, was on the point of being taken. The
besieged are in their turn triumphant; and, if any body now was
to publish "Droit le Duc,"(844) I do not think the House of Lords
would censure his book. Indeed the regents may do what they
please, and turn out whom they will; I see nothing to resist
them. Lord Bute will not easily be tempted to rebel when the
last struggle has cost him so dear.
I am sorry for some of my friends, to whom I wished more fortune.
For myself, I am but just where I should have been had they
succeeded. It is satisfaction enough to me to be delivered from
politics; which you know I have long detested. When I was
tranquil enough to write Castles of Otranto in the midst of grave
nonsense and foolish councils of war, I am not likely to disturb
myself with the diversions of the court where I am not connected
with a soul. As it has proved to be the interest of the present
ministers, however contrary to their torturer views, to lower the
crown, they will scarce be in a hurry to aggrandize it again.
That will satisfy you; and I, you know, am satisfied if I have
any thing to laugh at--'tis a lucky age for a man who is so
easily contented!
The poor Chute has had another relapse, but is out of bed again.
I am thinking of my journey to France; but, as Mr. Conway has a
mind I should wait for him, I don't know whether it will take
place before the autumn. I will by no means release you from
your promise of making me a visit here before I go.
Poor Mr. Bentley, I doubt, is under the greatest difficulties of
any body. His poem, which he modestly delivered over to
immortality, must be cut and turned; for Lord Halifax and Lord
Bute cannot sit in the same canto together; then the horns and
hoofs that he had bestowed on Lord Temple must be pared away, and
beams of glory distributed over his whole person. 'Tis a
dangerous thing to write political panegyrics or satires; it
draws the unhappy bard into a thousand scrapes and
contradictions. The edifices and inscriptions at Stowe should be
a lesson not to erect monuments to the living. I will not place
an ossuarium in my garden for my cat, before her bones are ready
to be placed in it. I hold contradictions to be as essential to
the definition of a political man, as any visible or featherless
quality can be to man in general. Good night!
28th.
I shall send this by the coach; so whatever comes with it is only
to make bundle. Here are some lines that came into my head
yesterday in the postchaise, as I was reading in the Annual
Register an account of a fountain-tree in one of the Canary
Islands, which never dies, and supplies the inhabitants with
water. I don't warrant the longevity though the hypostatic union
of a fountain may eternize the tree.
"In climes adust, where rivers never flow,
Where constant suns repel approaching snow,
How Nature's various and inventive hand
Can pour unheard-of moisture o'er the land!
immortal plants she bids on rocks arise,
And from the dropping branches streams supplies,
The thirsty native sucks the falling shower,
Nor asks for juicy fruit or blooming flower;
But haply doubts when travellers maintain,
That Europe's forests melt not into rain."
(842) See ant`e, p. 365, letter 237.-E.
(843) Wilkes, in the North Briton, had applied to the Earl of
Sandwich the sobriquet of jemmy Twitcher.-E.
(844) ant`e, p. 294, letter 194.-E.
Letter 254 To George Montagu, Esq.
Strawberry Hill, June 10, 1765, Eleven at night. (page 407)
I am just come out of the garden in the most oriental of all
evenings, and from breathing odours beyond those of Araby. The
acacias, which the Arabians have the sense to worship, are
covered with blossoms, the honeysuckles dangle from every tree in
festoons, the seringas are thickets of sweets, and the new-cut
hay in the field tempers the balmy gales with simple freshness;
while a thousand sky-rockets launched into the air at Ranelagh or
Marybone illuminate the scene, and give it an air of Haroun
Alraschid's paradise. I was not quite so content by daylight;
some foreigners dined here, and, though they admired our verdure,
it mortified me by its brownness--we have not had a drop of rain
this month to cool the tip of our daisies. My company was Lady
Lyttelton, Lady Schaub, a Madame de Juliac from the Pyreneans,
very handsome, not a girl, and of Lady Schaub's mould; the Comte
de Caraman, nephew of Madame de Mirepoix, a Monsieur de
Clausonnette, and General Schouallow,(845) the favourite of the
late Czarina; absolute favourite for a dozen years, without
making an enemy. In truth, he is very amiable, humble, and
modest. Had he been ambitious, he might have mounted the throne:
as he was not, you may imagine they have plucked his plumes a
good deal. There is a little air of melancholy about him, and,
if I am not mistaken, Some secret wishes for the fall of the
present Empress; which, if it were civil to suppose, I could
heartily join with him in hoping for. As we have still liberty
enough left to dazzle a Russian, he seems charmed with England,
and perhaps liked even this place the more as belonging to the
son of one that, like himself, had been prime minister. If he
has no more ambition left than I have, he must taste the felicity
of being a private man. What has Lord Bute gained, but the
knowledge of how many ungrateful sycophants favour and power can
create?
If you have received the parcel that I consined to Richard Brown
for you, you will have found an explanation of my long silence.
Thank you for being alarmed for my health.
The day after to-morrow I go to Park-place for four or five days,
and soon after to Goodwood. My French journey is still in
suspense; Lord Hertford talks of coming over for a fortnight;
perhaps I may go back with him; but I have determined nothing
yet, till I see farther into the present chase, that somehow or
other I may take my leave of politics for ever; for can any thing
be so wearisome as politics on the account of others? Good
night! shall I not see you here? Yours ever.
(845) The Comte de Schouwaloff. See ant`e, p. 382, letter 245.
Walpole says, in a note to Madame du Deffand's letter to him of
the 19th of April, 1766, "Il fut IC favori, l'on croit le mari,
de la Czarine Elizabeth de Russie, et pendant douze ans de faveur
il ne se fit point un ennemi."-E.
Letter 255 To The Right Hon. Lady Hervey.
Strawberry Hill, June 11, 1765. (page 408)
I am almost as much ashamed, Madam, to plead the true cause of my
faults towards your ladyship, as to have been guilty of any
neglect. It is scandalous, at my age, to have been carried
backwards and forwards to balls and suppers and parties by very
young people, as I was all last week. My resolutions of growing
old and staid are admirable: I wake with a sober plan, and intend
to pass the day with my friends--then comes the Duke of Richmond,
and hurries me down to Whitehall to dinner-then the Duchess of
Grafton sends for me to loo in Upper Grosvenor-street--before I
can get thither, I am begged to step to Kensington, to give Mrs.
Anne Pitt my opinion about a bow-window--after the loo, I am to
march back to Whitehall to supper-and after that, am to walk with
Miss Pelham on the terrace till two in the morning, because it is
moonlight and her chair is not come. All this does not help my
morning laziness; and, by the time I have breakfasted, fed my
birds and my squirrels, and dressed, there is an auction ready.
In short, Madam, this was my life last week, and is I think every
week, with the addition of forty episodes. Yet, ridiculous as it
is, I send it your ladyship, because I had rather you should
laugh at me than be angry. I cannot offend you in intention, but
I fear my sins of omission are equal to many a good Christian's.
Pray forgive me. I really will begin to be between forty and
fifty by the time I am fourscore; and I truly believe I shall
bring my resolutions within compass; for I have not chalked out
any particular business that will take me above forty years more;
so that, if I do not get acquainted with the grandchildren of all
the present age, I shall lead a quiet sober life yet before I
die.
As Mr. Bateman's is the kingdom of flowers, I must not wish to
send you any; else, Madam, I should load wagons with acacias,
honeysuckles, and seringas. Madame de Juliac, who dined here
owned that the climate and odours equalled Languedoc. I fear the
want of rain made the turf put her in mind of it, too. Monsieur
de Caraman entered into the gothic spirit of the place, and
really seemed pleased, which was more than I expected; for,
between you and me, Madam, our friends the French have seldom
eyes for any thing they have not been used to see all their
lives. I beg my warmest compliments to your host and Lord
Ilchester. I wish your ladyship all pleasure and health, and am,
notwithstanding my idleness, your most faithful and devoted
humble servant.
Letter 256 To George Montagu, Esq.
Arlington Street, Saturday night. (page 409)
I must scrawl a line to you, though with the utmost difficulty,
for I am in my bed; but I see they have foolishly put it into the
Chronicle that I am dangerously ill; and as I know you take in
that paper, and are one of the very, very few, of whose
tenderness and friendship I have not the smallest doubt, I give
myself pain, rather than let you feel a moment's unnecessarily.
It is true, I have had a terrible attack of the gout in my
stomach, head, and both feet, but have truly never been in danger
any more than one must be in such a situation. My head and
stomach are perfectly well; my feet far from it. I have kept my
room since this day se'nnight, and my bed these three days, but
hope to get up to-morrow. You know my writing and my veracity,
and that I would not deceive you. As to my person, it will not
be so easy to reconnoitre it, for I question whether any of it
will remain; it was easy to annihilate so airy a substance.
Adieu!
Letter 257 To The Hon. H. S. Conway.
Wednesday noon, July 3, 1765. (page 410)
The footing part of my dance with my shocking partner the gout is
almost over. I had little pain there this last night, and got,
at twice, about three hours' sleep; but, whenever I waked, found
my head very bad, which Mr. Graham thinks gouty too. The fever
is still very high: but the same sage is of opinion, with my Lady
LOndonderry, that if it was a fever from death, I should die; but
as it is only a fever from the gout, I shall live. I think so
too, and hope that, like the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough.,
they are so inseparable, that when one goes t'other will.
Tell Lady Ailesbury, I fear it will be long before I shall be
able to compass all your terraces again. The weather is very
hot, and I have the (comfort of a window open all day. I have
got a bushel of roses too, and a new scarlet nightingale, which
does not sing Nancy Dawson from morning to night. Perhaps you
think all these poor pleasures; but you are ignorant what a
provocative the gout is, and what charms it can bestow on a
moment's amusement! Oh! it beats all the refinements of a Roman
sensualist. It has made even my watch a darling plaything; I
strike it as often as a child does. Then the disorder of my
sleep diverts me when I am awake. I dreamt that I went to see
Madame de Bentheim at Paris, and that she had the prettiest
palace in the world, built like a pavilion, of yellow laced with
blue; that I made love to her daughter, whom I called
Mademoiselle Bleue et Jaune, and thought it very clever.
My next reverie was very serious, and lasted half an hour after I
was awake; which you will perhaps think a little light-headed,
and so do I. I thought Mr. Pitt had had a conference with Madame
de Bentheim, and granted all her demands. I rung for Louis at
six in the morning, and wanted to get up and inform myself of
what had been kept so secret from me. You must know, that all
these visions of Madame de Bentheim flowed from George Selwyn
telling me last night, that she had carried most of her points,
and was returning. What stuff I tell you! But alas! I have
nothing better to do, sitting on my bed, and wishing to forget
how brightly the sun shines, when I cannot be at Strawberry.
Yours ever.
Letter 258 To The Countess Of Suffolk.(846)
London, July 3, 1765. (page 411)
Your ladyship's goodness to me on all occasions makes me flatter
myself that I am not doing an impertinence in telling you I am
alive; though, after what I have suffered, you may be sure there
cannot be much of me left. The gout has been a little in my
stomach, much more in my head, but luckily never out of my right
foot, and for twelve, thirteen, and seventeen hours together,
insisting upon having its way as absolutely as ever my Lady
Blandford(847) did. The extremity of pain seems to be over,
though I sometimes think my tyrant puts in his claim to t'other
foot; and surely he is, like most tyrants, mean as well as cruel,
or he could never have thought the leg of a lark such a prize.
The fever, the tyrant's first minister, has been as vexatious as
his master, and makes use of this hot day to plague me more; yet,
as I was sending a servant to Twickenham, I could not help
scrawling out a few lines to ask how your ladyship does, to tell
you how I am, and to lament the roses, strawberries, and banks of
the river. I know nothing, Madam, of ,any kings or ministers but
those I have mentioned; and this administration I fervently hope
will be changed soon, and for all others I shall be very
indifferent. had a (,real prince come to my bedside yesterday, I
should have begged that the honour might last a very few minutes.
I am, etc.
(846) Now first collected.
(847) lady Blandford was somewhat impatient in her temper. See
ant`e, p. 342, letter 220.-E.
letter 259 To The Countess Of Suffolk.(848)
Arlington Street, July 9, 1765. (page 411)
Madam,
though instead of getting better, as I flattered myself I should,
I have gone through two very painful and sleepless nights, yet as
I give audience here in my bed to new ministers and foreign
ministers, I think it full as much my duty to give an account of
myself to those who are so good as to wish me well. I am reduced
to nothing but bones and spirits; but the latter make me bear the
inconvenience of the former, though they (I mean my bones) lie in
a heap over one another like the bits of ivory at the game of
straws.
It is very melancholy, at the instant I was getting quit of
politics, to be visited with the only thing that is still more
plaguing. However, I believe the fit of politics going off makes
me support the new-comer better. Neither of them indeed will
leave me plumper;(849) but if they will both leave me at peace,
your ladyship knows it is all I have ever desired. The chiefs
of' the new ministry were to have kissed hands to-day; but Mr.
Charles Townshend, who, besides not knowing either of his own
minds, has his brother's minds to know too, could not determine
last night. Both brothers are gone to the King to-day. I was
much concerned to hear so bad an account of your ladyship's
health. Other people would wish you a severe fit, which is a
very cheap wish to them who do not feel it: I, who do, advise you
to be content with it in detail. Adieu! Madam. Pray keep a
little summer for me. I will give You a bushel of politics, when
I come to Marble Hill, for a teacup of strawberries and cream.
Mr. Chetwynd,(851) I suppose, is making the utmost advantage of
any absence, frisking and cutting capers before Miss Hotham, and
advising her not to throw herself away on a decrepit old man.-
-Well, fifty years hence he may begin to be an old man too; and
then I shall not pity him, though I own he is the best-humoured
lad in the world now. Yours, etc.
(848) Now first collected.
(849) Walpole was too fond of this boast of disinterestedness.
What was it but politics that made his fortune so plump? His
fortune from his father, we know from himself, was very
inconsiderable;-but from his childhood he held sinecure offices
which, during the greater part of his life, produced him between
six and seven thousand pounds per annum.-C.
(851) William Chetwynd, brother of the two first Viscounts, and
himself, in 1767, third Viscount Chetwynd. He was at this time
nearly eighty years of age.-E.
Letter 260 To George Montagu, Esq.
Arlington Street, July 11, 1765. (page 412)
You are so good, I must write you a few lines, and you will
excuse My not writing many, my posture is so uncomfortable, lying
on a couch by the side of my bed, and writing on the bed. I have
in this manner been what they call out of bed for two days, but I
mend very slowly, and get no strength in my feet at all; however,
I must have patience.
Thank you for your kind offer; but, my dear Sir, you can do me no
good but what you always do me, in coming to see me. I
should hope that would be before I go to France, whither I
certainly go the beginning of September, if not sooner. The
great and happy change-happy, I hope, for this country--is
actually begun. The Duke of Bedford, George Grenville, and the
two Secretaries are discarded. Lord Rockingham is first lord of
the treasury, Dowdeswell chancellor of the exchequer, the Duke of
Grafton and Mr. Conway secretaries of state. You need not wish
me joy, for I know you do. There is a good deal more to
come,(852) and what is better, regulation of general warrants,
and of undoing at least some of the mischiefs these - have been
committing; some, indeed, is past recovery! I long to talk it
all over with you; though it is hard that when I may write what I
will, I am not able. The poor Chute is relapsed again, and we
are no comfort to one another but by messages. An offer from
Ireland was sent to Lord Hertford last night from his brother's
office. Adieu!
(852) "There has been pretty clean sweeping already," wrote Lord
Chesterfield on the 15th; and I do not remember, in my time, to
have seen so much at once, as an entire new board of treasury,
and two new secretaries, etc. Here is a new political arch
built; but of materials of so different a nature, and without a
keystone, that it does not, in my opinion, indicate either
strength or duration. It will certainly require repairs and a
keystone next winter, and that keystone will and must necessarily
be Mr. Pitt."-E.
Letter 262 To George Montagu, Esq.
Strawberry Hill, August 23, 1765. (page 414)
As I know that when you love people, you love them, I feel for
the concern that the death of Lady Bab. Montagu(854) Will give
you. Though you have long lived out of the way of seeing her,
you are not a man to forget by absence, or all your friends would
have still more reason to complain of your retirement. Your
solitude prevents your filling up the places of those that are
gone. In the world, new acquaintances slide into our habits, but
you keep so strict a separation between your old friends and new
faces, that the loss of any of the former must be more Sensible
to you than to most people. I heartily condole with you, and yet
I must make you smile. The second Miss Jefferies was to go to a
ball yesterday at Hampton-court with Lady Sophia Thomas's
daughters. The news came, and your aunt Cosby said the girl must
not go to it. The poor child then cried in earnest. Lady Sophia
went to intercede for her, and found her grandmother at
backgammon, who would hear no entreaties. Lady Sophia
represented that Miss Jefferies was but a second cousin, and
could not have been acquainted. "Oh! Madam, if there is no
tenderness left in the world-cinq ace--Sir, you are to throw."
We have a strange story come from London. Lord Fortescue was
dead suddenly; there was a great mob about his house in
Grosvenor-square, and a buzz that my lady had thrown up the sash
and cried murder, and that he then shot himself. How true all
this I don't know: at least it is not so false as if it was in
the newspapers. However, these sultry summers do not suit English
heads: this last month puts even the month of November's nose out
of joint for self-murders. If it was not for the Queen the
peerage would be extinct: she has given us another Duke.(855)
My two months are up, and yet I recover my feet very slowly. I
have crawled once round my garden; but it sent me to my couch for
the rest of the day. This duration of weakness makes me very
impatient, as I wish much to be at Paris before the fine season
is quite gone. This will probably be the last time I shall
travel to finish my education, and I should be glad to look once
more at their gardens and villas: nay, churches and palaces are
but uncomfortable sights in cold weather, and I have much more
curiosity for their habitations than their company. They have
scarce a man or a woman of note that one wants to see; and, for
their authors, their style is grown so dull in imitation of us,
they are si philosophes, si g`eom`etres, si moraux, that I
certainly should not cross the sea in search of ennui, that I can
have in such perfection at home. However, the change of scene is
my chief inducement, and to get out of politics. There is no
going through another course of patriotism in your cousin
Sandwich and George Grenville. I think of setting out by the
middle of September; have I any chance of seeing you here before
that? Won't you come and commission me to offer up your
devotions to Notre Dame de Livry?(8 or chez nos filles de Sainte
Marie. If I don't make haste, the reformation in France will
demolish half that I want to see. I tremble for the Val de Grace
and St. Cyr. The devil take Luther for putting it into the heads
of his methodists to pull down the churches! I believe in twenty
years there Will not be a convent left in Europe but this at
Strawberry. I wished for you to-day; Mr. Chute and Cowslade
dined here; the day was divine: the sun gleamed down into the
chapel in all the glory of popery; the gallery was all radiance;
we drank our coffee on the bench under the great ash-tree; the
verdure was delicious; our tea in the Holbein room, by which a
thousand chaises and barges passed; and I showed them my new
cottage and garden over the way, which they had never seen, and
with which they were enchanted. It is so retired, so modest, and
yet so cheerful and trim, that I expect you to fall in love with
it. I intend to bring it a handful of treillage and agr`emens
from Paris; for being cross the road, and quite detached, it is
to have nothing gothic about it, nor pretend to call cousins with
the mansion-house.
I know no more of the big world at London, than if I had not a
relation in the ministry. To be free from pain and politics is
such a relief to me, that I enjoy my little comforts and
amusements here beyond expression. No mortal ever entered the
gate of ambition with such transport as I took leave of them all
at the threshold. Oh! if my Lord Temple knew what pleasures he
could create for himself at Stowe, he would not harass a
shattered carcass, and sigh to be insolent at St. James's! For my
part, I say with the bastard in King John, though with a little
more reverence, and only as touching his ambition,
Oh! old Sir Robert, father, on my knee
I give Heaven thanks I was not like to thee.
Adieu! Yours most cordially.
(854) Lady Barbara Montagu, daughter of George second Earl of
Halifax.-E.
(855) The Duke of Clarence, born on the 21st of August;
afterwards King William the Fourth.-'E.
(856) Madame de S`evign`e, whom Walpole frequently alludes to
under this title.-E.
Letter 261 To George Montagu, Esq.
Strawberry Hill, July 28, 1765. (page 413)
The less one is disposed, if one has any sense, to talk of
oneself to people that inquire only out of compliment, and do not
listen to the answer, the more satisfaction one feels in
indulging a self-complacency, by Sighing to those that really
sympathize with our griefs. Do not think it is pain that makes
me give this low-spirited air to my letter. No, it is the
prospect of what is to come, not the sensation of what is
passing, that affects me. The loss of youth is melancholy
enough; but to enter into old age through the gate of infirmity
is most disheartening. My health and spirits make me take but
slight notice of the transition, and under the persuasion of
temperance being a talisman, I marched boldly on towards the
descent of the hill, knowing I must fall at last, but not
suspecting that I should stumble by the way. This confession
explains the mortification I feel. A month's confinement to one
who never kept his bed a day is a stinging lesson, and has
humbled my insolence to almost indifference. Judge, then, how
little I interest myself about public events. I know nothing of
them since I came hither, where I had not only the disappointment
of not growing better, but a bad return In one of my feet, so
that I am still wrapped up and upon a couch. It was the more
unlucky as Lord Hertford is come to England for a few days. He
has offered to come to me; but as I then should see him only for
some minutes, I propose being carried to town tomorrow. It will
be SO long before I can expect to be able to travel, that my
French journey will certainly not take place so soon as I
intended, and if Lord Hertford goes to Ireland, I shall be still
more fluctuating; for though the Duke and Duchess of Richmond
will replace them at Paris, and are as eager to have me with
them, I have had so many more years heaped upon me within this
month, that I have not the conscience to trouble young people,
when I can no longer be as juvenile as they are. Indeed I shall
think myself decrepit till I again saunter into the garden in my
slippers and without my hat in all weathers--a point I am
determined to regain, if possible; for even this experience
cannot make me resign my temperance and my hardiness. I am tired
of the world, its politics, its pursuits, and its pleasures; but
it will cost me some struggles before I submit to be tender and
careful. Christ! can I ever stoop to the regimen of old age? I
do not wish to dress up a withered person, nor drag it about to
public places; but to sit in one's room, clothed warmly,
expecting visits from folk-, I don't wish to see, and tended and
flattered by relations impatient for one's death let the gout do
its worst as expeditiously as it can; it would be more welcome in
my stomach than in my limbs. I am not made to bear a course of
nonsense and advice, but must play the fool in my own way to the
last, alone with all my heart, if I cannot be with the very few I
wish to see: but, to depend for comfort on others, who would be
no comfort to me; this surely is not a state to be preferred to
death: and nobody can have truly enjoyed the advantages of youth,
health, and spirits, who is content to exist without the two
last, which alone bear any resemblance to the first.(853)
You see how difficult it is to conquer my proud spirit: low and
weak as I am, I think my resolution and perseverance will get me
better, and that I shall still be a gay shadow; at least, I will
impose any severity upon myself, rather than humour the gout, and
sink into that indulgence with which most people treat it.
Bodily liberty is as dear to me as mental, and I would as soon
flatter any other tyrant as the gout, my Whiggism extending as
much to my health as to my principles, and being as willing to
part with life, when I cannot preserve it, as your uncle Algernon
when his freedom was at stake. Adieu!
(853) Upon this passage the Quarterly Review observes: "Walpole's
reflections on human life are marked by strong sense and
knowledge of mankind; but our most useful lesson will perhaps be
derived from considering this man of the world, full of
information and sparkling with vivacity, stretched on a sick bed,
and apprehending all the tedious languor of helpless decrepitude
and deserted solitude." Vol. xix. p. 129.-E.
Letter 263 To George Montagu, Esq.
Saturday, Aug. 31, 1765, Strawberry Hill. (page 416)
I thought it would happen so; that I should not see you before I
left England! Indeed, I may as well give you quite up, for every
year reduces our Intercourse. I am prepared, because it must
happen, if I live, to see my friends drop off; but my mind was
not turned to see them entirely separated from me while they
live. This is very uncomfortable, but so are many things!--well!
I will go and try to forget you all--all! God knows that all that
I have left to forget is small enough; but the warm heart, that
gave me affections, is not so easily laid aside. If I could
divest myself of that, I should not, I think, find much for
friendship remaining; you, against whom I have no complaint, but
that you satisfy yourself with loving me without any desire of
seeing me, are one of the very last that I wish to preserve; but
I will say no more on a subject that my heart is too full of.
I shall set out on Monday se'nnight, and force myself to believe
that I am glad to go, and yet this will be my chief joy, for I
promise myself little pleasure in arriving. Can you think me boy
enough to be fond of a new world at my time of life! If I did not
hate the world I know, I should not seek another. My greatest
amusement will be in reviving old ideas. The memory of what made
impressions on one's youth is ten times dearer than any new
pleasure can be. I shall probably write to you often, for I am
not disposed to communicate myself' to any thing that I have not
known these thirty years. My mind is such a compound from the
vast variety that I have seen, acted, pursued, that it would cost
me too much pains to be intelligible to young persons, if I had a
mind to open myself to them. They certainly do not desire I
should. You like my gossiping to you, though you seldom gossip
with me. The trifles that amuse my mind are the only points I
value now. I have seen the vanity of every thing serious, and
the falsehood of every thing that pretended to be serious. I go
to see French plays and buy French china, not to know their
ministers, to look into their government, or think of the
interests of nations--in short, unlike most people that are
growing old, I am convinced that nothing is charming but what
appeared important in one's youth, which afterwards passes for
follies. Oh! but those follies were sincere; if the pursuits of
age are so, they are sincere alone to self-interest. Thus I
think, and have no other care but not to think aloud. I would
not have respectable youth think me an old fool. For the old
knaves, they may suppose me one of their number if they please; I
shall not be so--but neither the one nor the other shall know
what I am. I have done with them all, shall amuse myself as well
as I can, and think as little as I can; a pretty hard task for an
active mind!
Direct your letters to Arlington-street, whence Favre will take
care to convey them to me. I leave him to manage all my affairs,
and take no soul but Louis. I am glad I don't know your Mrs.
Anne; her partiality would make me love her; and it is entirely
incompatible with my present system to leave even a postern-door
open to any feeling which would steal in if I did not double-bolt
every avenue.
If you send me any parcel to Arlington-street before Monday
.se'nnight I will take care of it. Many English books I conclude
are to be bought at Paris. I am sure Richardson's works are, for
they have stupefied the whole French nation:(857) I will not
answer for our best authors. You may send me your list, and, if
I do not find them, I can send you word, and you may convey them
to me by Favre's means, who will know of messengers, etc., coming
to Paris.
I have fixed no precise time for my absence. My wish is to like
it enough to stay till February, which may happen, if I can
support the first launching into new society. I know four or
five very agreeable and sensible people there, as the Guerchys,
Madame de Mirepoix, Madame de Boufflers, and Lady Mary Chabot,-
-these intimately; besides the Duc de Nivernois, and several
others that have been here. Then the Richmonds will follow me in
a fortnight or three weeks, and their house will be a sort of
home. I actually go into it at first, till I can suit myself
with an -,apartment; but I shall take care to quit it before they
come, for, though they are in a manner my children, I do not
intend to adopt the rest of my countrymen; nor, when I quit the
best company here, to live in the worst there; such @are young
travelling boys, and, what is still worse, old travelling boys,
governors.
Adieu! remember you have defrauded me of this summer; I will be
amply repaid the next, so make your arrangements accordingly.
(857) "High as Richardson's reputation stood in his own country,
it was even more exalted in those of France and Germany, whose
imaginations are more easily excited, and their passions more
easily moved, by tales of fictitious distress, than are the cold-
blooded English. Foreigners of distinction have been known to
visit Hampstead, and to inquire for the Flask Walk, distinguished
as a scene in Clarissa's history, just as travellers visit the
rocks of Meillerie to view the localities of Rousseau's tale of
passion. Diderot vied with Rousseau in heaping incense upon the
shrine of the English author. The former compares him to Homer,
and predicts for his memory the same honours which are rendered
to the father of epic poetry; and the last, besides his
well-known burst of eloquent panegyric, records his opinion in a
letter to D'Alembert:--'On n'a jamais fait encore, en quelque
langue que ce soit, de roman `egal `a Clarisse, ni m`eme
approchant.'" Sir Walter Scott; Prose Works, Vol. iii. p. 49.-E.
Letter 264 To The Earl Of Strafford.
Arlington Street, Sept. 3, 1765. (page 418)
My dear lord,
I cannot quit a country where I leave any thing that I honour so
much as your lordship and Lady Strafford, without taking a sort
of leave of you. I shall set out for Paris on Monday next the
9th, and shall be happy if I can execute any commission for you
there.
A journey to Paris Sounds youthful and healthy. I have certainly
mended much this last week, though with no pretensions to a
recovery of youth. Half the view of my journey is to
re-establish my health--the other half, to wash my hands of
politics, which I have long determined to do whenever a change
should happen. I would not abandon my friends while they were
martyrs; but, now they have gained their crown of glory, they are
well able to shift for themselves; and it was no part of my
compact to go to that heaven, St. James's, with them. Unless I
dislike Paris very much, I shall stay some time; but I make no
declarations, lest I should be soon tired of it, and coming back
again. At first, I must like it, for Lady Mary Coke will be
there, as if by assignation. The Countesses of Carlisle and
Berkeley, too, I hear, will set up their staves there for some
time; but as my heart is faithful to Lady Mary, they would not
charm me if they were forty times more Disposed to it.
The Emperor' is dead,(858)--but so are all the Maximilians and
Leopolds his predecessors, and with no more influence on the
present state of things. The EmpressQueen will still be
master-Dowager unless she marries an Irishman, as I wish with all
my soul she may.
The Duke and Duchess of Richmond will follow me in about a
fortnight: Lord and Lady George Lennox go with them; and Sir
Charles Banbury and Lady Sarah are to be at Paris, too, for some
time: so the English court there will be very juvenile and
blooming. This set is rather younger than the dowagers with whom
I pass so much of my summers and autumns; but this is to be my
last sally into the world and when I return, I intend to be as
sober as my cat, and purr quietly in my own chimney corner.
Adieu, my dear lord! May every happiness attend you both, and may
I pass some agreeable days next summer with you at Wentworth
Castle!
(858) Francis the First, Emperor of Germany, died at Inspruck, on
Sunday the 18th of August. He was in good health the greater part
of the day, and assisted at divine service; but, between nine and
ten in the evening, he was attacked by a fit of apoplexy, and
expired in a few minutes afterwards in the arms of his son, the
King of the Romans.-E.
Letter 265 To The Right Hon. Lady Hervey.
Arlington Street, Sept. 3, 1765. (page 419)
The trouble your ladyship has given yourself so immediately,
makes me, as I always am, ashamed of putting you to any. There
is no persuading you to oblige moderately. Do you know, Madam,
that I shall tremble to deliver the letters you have been so good
as to send me? If you have said half so much of me, as you are,
so partial as to think of me, I shall be undone. Limited as I
know myself, and hampered in bad French, how shall I keep up to
any character at all? Madame d'Aiguillon and Madame Geoffrin
will never believe that I am the true messenger, but will
conclude that I have picked Mr. Walpole's portmanteau's pocket.
I wish only to present myself to them as one devoted to your
ladyship; that character I am sure I can support in any language,
and it is the one to which they would pay the most regard. Well!
I don't care, Madam-it is your reputation that is at stake more
than mine; and, if they find me a simpleton that don't know how
to express myself, it will all fall upon you at last.' If your
ladyship will risk that, I will, if you please, thank you for a
letter to Madame d'Egmont, too: I long to know your friends,
though at the hazard of their knowing yours. Would I were a
jolly old man, to match, at least, in that respect, your jolly
old woman!(859)--But, alas! I am nothing but a poor worn-out rag,
and fear, when I come to Paris, that I shall be forced to pretend
that I have had the gout in my understanding. My spirits, such
as they are, will not bear translating; and I don't know whether
I shall not find it the wisest part I can take to fling myself
into geometry, or commerce, or agriculture, which the French now
esteem, don't understand, and think we do. They took George
Selwyn for a poet, and a judge of planting and dancing-. why may
I not pass for a learned man and a philosopher? If the worst
comes to the worst, I will admire Clarissa and Sir Charles
Grandison; and declare I have not a friend in the world that is
not like my Lord Edward Bomston, though I never knew a character
like it in my days, and hope I never shall; nor do I think
Rousseau need to have gone so far out of his way to paint a
disagreeable Englishman.
If you think, Madam, this sally is not very favourable to the
country I am going to, recollect, that all I object to them is
their quitting their own agreeable style, to take up the worst of
ours. Heaven knows, we are unpleasing enough; but, in the first
place, they don't understand us; and in the next, if they did, so
much the worse for them. What have they gained by leaving
Moli`ere, Boileau, Corneille, Racine, La Rochefucault, Crebillon,
Marivaux, Voltaire, etc.? No nation can be another nation. We
have been clumsily copying them for these hundred years, and are
not we grown wonderfully like them? Come, madam, you like what I
like of them? I am going thither, and you have no aversion to
going thither--but own the truth; had not we both rather go
thither fourscore years ago? Had you rather be acquainted with
the charming madame Scarron, or the canting Madame de Maintenon?
with Louis XIV. when the Montespan governed him, or when P`ere le
Tellier? I am very glad when folks go to heaven, though it is
after another body's fashion; but I 'wish to converse with them
when they are themselves. I abominate a conqueror; but I do not
think he makes the world much compensation, by cutting the
throats of his Protestant subjects to atone for the massacres
caused by his ambition.
The result of all this dissertation, Madam--for I don't know how
to call it a letter--is, that I shall look for Paris in the midst
of Paris, and shall think more of the French that have been than
the French that are, except of a few of your friends and mine.
Those I know, I admire and honour, and I am sure I will trust to
your ladyship's taste for the others; and if they had no other
merit, I can but like those that will talk to me of you. They
will find more sentiment in me on that chapter, than they can
miss parts; and I flatter myself that the one will atone for the
other.
(859) la Duchesse Douairi`ere d'Aiguillon, n`ee Chabot, mother of
the Duc d'Aiguillon, who succeeded the Duc de Choiseul as
minister for foreign affairs. She was a correspondent of Lady
Hervey's. In a letter to Walpole, of the 20th of November 1766,
madame du Deffand says:--"Je soupai Iiier chez Madame
d'Aiguillon: elle nous lut la traduction de la Lettre d'H`eloyse
de Pope, et d'un chant du po`eme de Salomon, de Prior; elle
`ecrit admirablement bien; j'en `etais r`eellement dans
l'enthousiasme: dites-le `a Milady Hervey." She died in 1772.-E.
Letter 266 To The Rev. Mr. Cole.
Strawberry Hill, Sept. 5, 1765. (page 420)
Dear sir,
You cannot think how agreeable your letter was to me, and how
luckily it was timed. I thought you in Cheshire, and did not
know how to direct; I now sit down to answer it instantly.
I have been extremely ill indeed with the gout all over; in head,
stomach, both feet, both wrists, and both shoulders. I kept my
bed a fortnight in the most sultry part of this summer; and for
nine weeks could not say I was recovered. Though I am still
weak, and very soon tired with the least walk, I am in other
respects quite well. However, to promote my entire
reestablishment, I shall set out for Paris next Monday. Thus
your letter came luckily. To hear you talk of going thither,
too, made it most agreeable. Why should you not advance your
journey? Why defer it till the winter is coming on? It would
make me quite happy to visit churches and convents with you: but
they are not comfortable in cold weather. Do, I beseech you,
follow me as soon as possible. The thought of your being there
at the same time makes me much more pleased with my journey; you
will not, I hope, like it the less; and, if our meeting there
should tempt you to stay longer, it will make me still more
happy.
If, in the mean time, I can be of any use to you, I shall be glad
either in taking a lodging for you, Or any thing else. Let me
know, and direct to me in Arlington-street, whence my servant
Will convey it to me. Tell me above all things that you will set
out sooner.
If I have any money left when I return, and can find a place for
it, I shall be very glad to purchase the ebony cabinet you
mention, and will make it a visit with you next summer if you
please--but first let us go to Paris. I don't give up my passion
for ebony; but, since the destruction of the Jesuits, I hear one
can pick up so many of their spoils that I am impatient for the
opportunity.
I must finish, as I have so much business before I set out; but I
must repeat, how lucky the arrival of your letter was, how glad I
was to hear of your intended journey, and how much I wish it may
take place directly. I will only add that the court goes to
Fontainbleau, the last week in September, or first in October,
and therefore it is the season in the world for seeing all
Versailles quietly, and at one's ease. Adieu! dear sir, yours
most cordially.
Letter 267 To The Hon. H. S. Conway.
Amiens, Wednesday, Sept. 11, 1765. (page 421)
Beau Cousin,
I have had a very prosperous journey till just at entering this
city. I escaped a Prince of Nassau at Dover, and sickness at
sea, though the voyage lasted seven hours and a half. I have
recovered my strength surprisingly in the time; though almost
famished for want of clean victuals, and comfortable tea and
bread and butter. half a mile from hence I met a coach and four
with an equipage of French, and a lady in pea-green and silver, a
smart hat and feather., and two suivantes. My reason told me it
was the Archbishop's concubine; but luckily my heart whispered
that it was Lady Mary Coke. I Jumped out of my chaise--yes,
jumped, as Mrs. Nugent said of herself, fell on my knees, and
said my first ave Maria, grati`a plena. We just shot a few
politics flying--heard that Madame de Mirepoix had toasted me
t'other day in tea--shook hands, forgot to weep, and parted; she
to the Hereditary Princess, I to this inn, where is actually
resident the Duchess of Douglas. We are not likely to have an
intercourse, or I would declare myself' a Hamilton.(860)
I find this country wonderfully enriched since I saw it
four-and-twenty years ago. Boulogne is grown quite a plump snug
town, with a number Of new houses. The worst villages are tight,
and wooden shoes have disappeared. Mr. Pitt and the city of
London may fancy what they will, but France will not come
a-begging to the Mansion-house this year or two. In truth. I
impute this air of opulence a little to ourselves. The crumbs
that fall from the chaises of the swarms of English that visit
Paris, must have contributed to fatten this province. It is
plain I must have little to do when I turn my hand to
calculating: but here is my observation. From Boulogne to Paris
it will cost me near ten guineas; but then consider, I travel
alone, and carry Louis most part of the way in the chaise with
me. Nous autres milords Anglais are not often so frugal. Your
brother, last year, had ninety-nine English to dinner on the
King's birthday. How many of them do you think dropped so little
as ten guineas on this road? In short, there are the seeds of a
calculation for you, and if you will water them with a torrent of
words, they will produce such a dissertation, that you will be
able to vie with George Grenville next session in plans of
national economy-only be sure not to tax travelling till I come
back, loaded with purchases; nor, till then, propagate my ideas.
It will be time enough for me to be thrifty of the nation's
money, when I have spent all my own.
Clermont, 12th.
While they are getting my dinner, I continue my journal. The
Duchess of Douglas (for English are generally the most
extraordinary persons that we meet with even out of England) left
Amiens before me, on her way home. You will not guess what she
carries with her--Oh! nothing that will hurt our manufactures;
nor what George Grenville himself would seize. One of her
servants died at Paris: she had him embalmed, and the body is
tied before her chaise: a droll way of being chief mourner.
For a French absurdity, I have observed that along the great
roads they plant walnut-trees, but strip them up for firing. It
is like the owl that bit off the feet of mice, that they might
lie still and fatten.
At the foot of this hill is an old-fashioned ch`ateau belonging
to the Duke of Fitz-James, with a parc en quincunx and clipped
hedges. We saw him walking in his waistcoat and riband, very
well powdered; a figure like Guerchy. I cannot say his seat
rivals Goodwood or Euston.(861) I shall lie at Chantilly
to-night, for I did not Set Out till ten this morning--not
because I could not, as you will suspect, get up sooner--but
because all the horses in the country have attended the Queen to
Nancy.(862) Besides, I have a little Underplot of seeing
Chantilly and St. Denis in my way: which you know one could not
do in the dark to-night, nor in winter, if I return then.
H`otel de feue Madame l'Ambassadrice d'Angleterre,
Sept. 13, seven o'clock.
I am Just arrived. My Lady Hertford is not at home, and Lady
Anne(863) will not come out of her burrow: so I have just time to
finish this before Madame returns; and Brian sets out to-night
and will carry it. I find I shall have a great deal to say:
formerly I observed nothing, and now remark every thing minutely.
I have already fallen in love with twenty things, and in hate
with forty. Adieu! yours ever.
(860) The memorable cause between the houses of Douglas and
Hamilton was then pending.-E.
(861) The Duc de Fitzjames's father, Mareschal Berwick, was a
natural son of James II. Mr. Walpole therefore compares his
country-seat with those of the Dukes of Richmond and Grafton,
similar descendants from his brother, Charles II.-E.
(862) Stanislaus King of Poland, father to the Queen of Louis XV.
lived at Nancy.-E.
(863) Lady Anne Seymour Conway, afterwards married to the Earl of
Drogheda.-E.
Letter 268 To the Right Hon. Lady Hervey.
Paris, Sept. 14, 1765. (page 423)
I am but two days old here, Madam, and I doubt I wish I was
really so, and had my life to begin, to live it here. You see
how just I am, and ready to make amende honorable to your
ladyship. Yet I have seen very little. My Lady Hertford has cut
me to pieces, and thrown me into a caldron with tailors,
periwig-makers, snuff-box-wrights, milliners, etc. which really
took up but little time; and I am come out quite new, with every
thing but youth. The journey recovered me with magic expedition.
My strength, if mine could ever be called strength, is returned;
and the gout going off in a minuet step. I will say nothing of
my spirits, which are indecently juvenile, and not less improper
for my age than for the country where I am; which, if you will
give me leave to say it, has a thought too much gravity. I don't
venture to laugh Or talk nonsense, but in English.
Madame Geoffrin came to town but last night, and is not visible
on Sundays; but I hope to deliver your ladyship's letter and
packet to-morrow. Mesdames d'Aiguillon, d'Egmont, and Chabot,
and the Duc de Nivernois are all in the country. Madame de
Bouttlers is at l'Isle Adam, whither my Lady Hertford is gone
to-night to sup, for the first time, being no longer chained down
to the incivility of an ambassadress. She returns after supper;
an irregularity that frightens me, who have not got rid of all my
barbarisms. There is one, alas! I never shall get over--the dirt
of this country: it is melancholy, after the purity of
Strawberry! The narrowness of the streets, trees clipped to
resemble brooms, and planted on pedestals of chalk, and a few
other points, do not edify me. The French Opera, which I have
heard to-night, disgusted me as much as ever; and the more for
being followed by the Devin de Village, which shows that they can
sing without cracking the drum of one's ear. The scenes and
dances are delightful; the Italian comedy charming. Then I am in
love with treillage and fountains, and will prove it at
Strawberry. Chantilly is so exactly what it was when I saw it
above twenty years ago, that I recollected the very position of
Monsieur le Duc's chair and the gallery. The latter gave me the
first idea of mine; but, presumption apart, mine is a thousand
times prettier. I gave my Lord Herbert's compliments to the
statue of his friend the Constable -,(864) and, waiting some time
for the concierge, I called out, O`u est Vatel?(865)
In short, Madam, being as tired as one can be of one's own
country,--I don't say whether that is much or little,--I find
myself wonderfully disposed to like this. Indeed I wish I Could
wash it. Madame de Guerchy is all goodness to me; but that is
not new. I have already been prevented by great civilities from
Madame de Bentheim and my old friend Madame de Mirepoix; but am
not likely to see the latter much, who is grown a most particular
favourite of the King, and seldom from him. The Dauphin is ill,
and thought in a very bad way. I hope he will live, lest the
theatres should be shut up. Your ladyship knows I never trouble
my head about royalties, farther than it affects my own interest.
In truth, the way that princes affect my interest is not the
common way.
I have not yet tapped the chapter of baubles, being desirous of
making my revenues maintain me here as long as possible, It will
be time enough to return to my Parliament when I want money.
Mr. Hume that is the Mode,(866) asked much about your ladyship.
I have seen Madame de Monaco(867) and think her very handsome,
and extremely pleasing. The younger Madame d'Egmont,(868) I
hear, disputes the palm with her: and Madame de Brionne(869) is
not left without partisans. The nymphs of the theatres are
laides `a faire peur which at my age is a piece of luck, like
going into a shop of curiosities, and finding nothing to tempt
one to throw away one's money.
There are several English here, whether I will or not. I
certainly did not come for them, and shall connect with them as
little as possible. The few I value, I hope sometimes to hear
of. Your ladyship guesses how far that wish extends. Consider
too, Madam, that one of my unworthinesses is washed and done
away, by the confession I made in the beginning of my letter.
(864) The Constable de Montmorency.-E.
(865) The ma`itre-d'h`otel, who, during the visit which Louis
XIV. made to the grand Cond`e at Chantilly, put an end to his
existence, because he feared the sea-fish would not arrive in
time for one day's repast.
(866) "Hume's conversation to strangers," says Lord Charlemont,
"and still more particularly, one would suppose, to French women,
could be little delightful; and yet no lady's toilette was
complete without his attendance. At the Opera, his broad,
unmeaning face was usually seen entre deux jolis minois: the
ladies in France gave the ton, and the ton was deism."-E.
(867) Madame de Monaco, afterwards Princess de Cond`e.-E.
(868) Daughter of the celebrated Marshal Duc de Richelieu. See
vol. iii. p. 358, letter 233, note 710. She was one of the
handsomest women in France.-E.
(869) Madame de Brionne, n`ee Rohan Rochefort, wife of M. de
Brionne of the house of Lorraine, and mother of the Prince de
Lambesc; known by his imprudent conduct at the head of his
regiment in the garden of the Tuileries, at the commencement of
the revolution.-E.
Letter 269 To The Rev. Mr. Cole.