The express arrived while the Duke de Nivernois was at dinner with Lord
Bute. The world says, that the joy of the company showed itself with too
little politeness--I hope not; I would not exult to a single man, and a
minister of peace; it should be in the face of Europe, if I assumed that
dominion which the French used to arrogate; nor do I believe it
happened; all the company are not so charmed with the event. They are
not quite convinced that it will facilitate the pacification, nor am I
clear it will. The City of London will not lower their hopes, and views,
and expectations, on this acquisition. Well, if we can steer wisely
between insolence from success and impatience for peace, we may secure
our safety and tranquillity for many years. But they are _not_ yet
arrived, nor hear I anything that tells me the peace will certainly be
made. France _wants_ peace; I question if she _wishes_ it. How his
Catholic royalty will take this, one cannot guess. My good friend, we
are not at table with Monsieur de Nivernois, so we may smile at this
consequence of the family-compact. Twelve ships-of-the-line and the
Havannah!--it becomes people who cannot keep their own, to divide the
world between them!
Your nephew Foote has made a charming figure; the King and Queen went
from Windsor to see Eton; he is captain of the Oppidans, and made a
speech to them with great applause. It was in English, which was right;
why should we talk Latin to our Kings rather than Russ or Iroquois? Is
this a season for being ashamed of our country? Dr. Barnard, the master,
is the Pitt of masters, and has raised the school to the most
flourishing state it ever knew.
Lady Mary Wortley[1] has left twenty-one large volumes in prose and
verse, in manuscript; nineteen are fallen to Lady Bute, and will not see
the light in haste. The other two Lady Mary in her passage gave to
somebody in Holland, and at her death expressed great anxiety to have
them published. Her family are in terrors lest they should be, and have
tried to get them: hitherto the man is inflexible. Though I do not doubt
but they are an olio of lies and scandal, I should like to see them. She
had parts, and had seen much. Truth is often at bottom of such
compositions, and places itself here and there without the intention of
the mother. I dare say in general, these works are like Madame del
Pozzo's _Memoires_. Lady Mary had more wit, and something more delicacy;
their manners and morals were a good deal more alike.
[Footnote 1: In a note to this letter, subsequently added by Walpole, he
reduces this statement to seventeen, saying: "It was true that Lady Mary
did leave seventeen volumes of her works and memories. She gave her
letters from Constantinople to Mr. Sowden, minister of the English
Church at Rotterdam, who published them; and, the day before she died,
she gave him those seventeen volumes, with injunctions to publish them
too; but in two days the man had a crown living from Lord Bute, and Lady
Bute had the seventeen volumes."]
There is a lad, a waiter at St. James's coffee-house, of thirteen years
old, who says he does not wonder we beat the French, for he himself
could thrash Monsieur de Nivernois. This duke is so thin and small, that
when minister at Berlin, at a time that France was not in favour there,
the King of Prussia said, if his eyes were a little older, he should
want a glass to see the embassador. I do not admire this bon-mot.
Voltaire is continuing his "Universal History"; he showed the Duke of
Grafton a chapter, to which the title is, _Les Anglois vainqueurs dans
les Quatres Parties du Monde_. There have been minutes in the course of
our correspondence when you and I did not expect to see this chapter. It
is bigger by a quarter than our predecessors the Romans had any
pretensions to, and larger than I hope our descendants will see written
of them, for conquest, unless by necessity, as ours has been, is an
odious glory; witness my hand