STRAWBERRY HILL, _Oct._ 17, 1756.
Lentulus (I am going to tell you no old Roman tale; he is the King of
Prussia's aid-de-camp) arrived yesterday, with ample confirmation of the
victory in Bohemia.[1]--Are not you glad that we have got a victory that
we can at least call _Cousin_? Between six and seven thousand Austrians
were killed: eight Prussian squadrons sustained the _acharnement_, which
is said to have been extreme, of thirty-two squadrons of Austrians: the
pursuit lasted from Friday noon till Monday morning; both our
countrymen, Brown and Keith, performed wonders--we seem to flourish much
when transplanted to Germany--but Germans don't make good manure here!
The Prussian King writes that both Brown and Piccolomini are too
strongly intrenched to be attacked. His Majesty ran _to_ this victory;
not _à la_ Molwitz. He affirms having found in the King of Poland's
cabinet ample justification of his treatment of Saxony--should not one
query whether he had not these proofs in his hands antecedent to the
cabinet? The Dauphiness[2] is said to have flung herself at the King of
France's feet and begged his protection for her father; that he promised
"qu'il le rendroit au centuple au Roi de Prusse."
[Footnote 1: On the 1st of the month Frederic II. had defeated the
Austrian general, Marshal Brown, at Lowositz. It was the first battle of
the Seven Years' War, and was of great political importance as leading
to the capture of Dresden and of laying all Saxony at the mercy of the
conqueror. "_À la_ Molwitz" is an allusion to the first battle in the
war of the Austrian Succession, April 10, 1741, in which Frederic showed
that he was not what Voltaire and Mr. Pitt called "a heaven-born
general;" since on the repulse of his cavalry he gave up all for lost,
and rode from the field, to learn at night that, after his flight, his
second in command, the veteran Marshal Schwerin, had rallied the broken
squadrons, and had obtained a decisive victory.]
[Footnote 2: The Dauphiness was the daughter of Augustus, King of Poland
and Elector of Saxony.]
Peace is made between the courts of Kensington and Kew:[1] Lord Bute,
who had no visible employment at the latter, and yet whose office was
certainly no _sinecure_, is to be Groom of the Stole to the Prince of
Wales; which satisfies. The rest of the family will be named before the
birthday--but I don't know how, as soon as one wound is closed, another
breaks out! Mr. Fox, extremely discontent at having no power, no
confidence, no favour (all entirely engrossed by the old monopolist),
has asked leave to resign. It is not yet granted. If Mr. Pitt will--or
can, accept the seals, probably Mr. Fox will be indulged,--if Mr. Pitt
will not, why then, it is impossible to tell you what will happen.
Whatever happens on such an emergency, with the Parliament so near, with
no time for considering measures, with so bad a past, and so much worse
a future, there certainly is no duration or good in prospect. Unless the
King of Prussia will take our affairs at home as well as abroad to
nurse, I see no possible recovery for us--and you may believe, when a
doctor like him is necessary, I should be full as willing to die of the
distemper.
[Footnote 1: "The courts of Kensington and Kew"--in other words, of the
King and the Prince of Wales and his mother, to whom George II. was not
very friendly. A scandal, which had no foundation, imputed to the
Princess undue intimacy with the Earl of Bute, who, however, did stand
high in her good graces, and who probably was indebted to them for his
appointment in the next reign to the office of Prime Minister, for which
he had no qualification whatever.]
Well! and so you think we are undone!--not at all; if folly and
extravagance are symptoms of a nation's being at the height of their
glory, as after-observers pretend that they are forerunners of its ruin,
we never were in a more flourishing situation. My Lord Rockingham and my
nephew Lord Orford have made a match of five hundred pounds, between
five turkeys and five geese, to run from Norwich to London. Don't you
believe in the transmigration of souls? And are not you convinced that
this race is between Marquis Sardanapalus and Earl Heliogabalus? And
don't you pity the poor Asiatics and Italians who comforted themselves
on their resurrection with their being geese and turkeys?
Here's another symptom of our glory! The Irish Speaker Mr. Ponsonby has
been _reposing_ himself at _Newmarket_: George Selwyn, seeing him toss
about bank-bills at the hazard-table said, "How easily the Speaker
passes the money-bills!"
You, who live at Florence among vulgar vices and tame slavery, will
stare at these accounts. Pray be acquainted with your own country, while
it is in its lustre. In a regular monarchy the folly of the Prince gives
the tone; in a downright tyranny, folly dares give itself no airs; it is
in a wanton overgrown commonwealth that whim and debauchery intrigue
best together. Ask me which of these governments I prefer--oh! the
last--only I fear it is the least durable.
I have not yet thanked you for your letter of September 18th, with the
accounts of the Genoese treaty and of the Pretender's quarrel with the
Pope--it is a squabble worthy a Stuart. Were he, here, as absolute as
any Stuart ever wished to be, who knows with all his bigotry but he
might favour us with a reformation and the downfall of the mass? The
ambition of making a Duke of York vice-chancellor of holy church would
be as good a reason for breaking with holy church, as Harry the Eighth's
was for quarrelling with it, because it would not excuse him from going
to bed to his sister after it had given him leave.
I wish I could tell you that your brother mends! indeed I don't think he
does: nor do I know what to say to him; I have exhausted both arguments
and entreaties, and yet if I thought either would avail, I would gladly
recommence them. Adieu!
_MINISTERIAL NEGOTIATIONS--LOSS OF MINORCA--DISASTER IN NORTH AMERICA._