well. He was so desirous of being civil that he was here exactly at
six; nobody hardly was arrived, and he seemed uneasy, fearful that
knowing he was coming many might refuse, but by half-past seven our
party was complete, except of Sheridan, who did not come till ten.
Grey, Tierney, Whitbread, D. of Norfolk, Ld. Suffolk, Bessboro’, J.
and W. Russell, D. of Leinster, Ld. R. Spencer, Mr. Erskine, Francis,
Adam, and several others. After dinner ye Prince declared that he was
willing to do everything that could serve the cause of Ireland, and
that if after mature consideration and consultation with Mr. Fox, it
was agreed that his going down to ye H. of Lords and making a motion
would be serviceable, he almost pledged himself to do it. Grey said
he applauded ye measure, and was of opinion that it would turn the
scale of the wavering loyalty of the Irish, but at the same time that
such a momentous step was discussing he thought it but honourable to
apprise H.R.H. that the consequences might be to him of ye utmost
importance, as it was probable attempts would be made to pass him by
in ye succession. After much argument and debating a meeting was fixed
for next Saturday, when ye whole will be finally settled. The D. of
Norfolk was comical in his serious manner of entreating ye Prince to
postpone all decision; ‘for,’ said he, ‘one is always betrayed into
some imprudences after a bottle of wine.’ It occurred to everybody that
he thought of his own toast which deprived him of his Ld.-Lieutenancy.
Ld. Suffolk[212] is ye strangest looking mortal; he had just come from
a two hours’ audience of the King, who did not reply a word to any of
his statements. He told ye King that the taking out of the Commons
so many new peers degraded ye Commons, without adding dignity to ye
Peers. The party broke up at 12, with very few more than a little gay.
Sheridan and ye D. of Leinster supped, ye first having lost his dinner.
Ld. Lansdown passed some days here; he is, I fear, breaking quite up.
His extraordinary son is still in Dublin, where his conversation has
procured him three spies who watch every action of his life. Great as
would be his eventual loss should Ireland by continuing the war waste
the country or become independent, I am convinced he delights in the
turmoil, because it furnishes events and matter for critical discussion.
When Grattan was taken up by mistake upon the arrestation of Mr.
Lawless, he was carried to the D. of Portland’s office and before
the Duke.[213] The meeting was humiliating on one side, as the
conversation that ensued to explain away the mistake was the first
communication that had arisen between them since the D.’s famous
letter to Mr. Ponsonby and the free party in Ireland, assuring them
that his principal reason for taking office (upon the breaking up
of Fox’s party) was that he might put his system of conciliation in
practice. There was a report that Grattan’s steward had been flogged
into confession that his master was a United Irishman. Somebody
expressed anxiety to Grattan about his returning, to which he replied,
‘I can have nothing to fear; I am not an opposer of all law; I do not
countenance torture, flogging, free quarters, and military law.’
I have read since Xmas the D. of Marlbro’s _Apology_, Burnet’s
_History_, ye _XIII. Satire of Juvenal_, Hearne’s _Travels into N.
America_, Smith on ye figure and complexion of ye human species,
Bancroft on dying, some desultory chemistry, _Roderick Random_,
_Lazarillo de Tormes_, Leti’s _Life of Sixtus V._, various German
and French plays, novels, and trash, Cook’s _Third Voyage_, Wolf’s
_Ceylon_, part of Ulloa’s _Voyage_,[214] and some papers in ye memoirs
of ye Exeter Society. Frequent dippings into Bayle, Montaigne, La
Fontaine, Ariosto. Read ye three first books of Tasso; Ld. Orford’s
works.
[Sidenote: DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH]
The Dss. of Marlborough’s vindication[215] is sure of being interesting
from ye high and distinguished characters who figure in the
piece--herself and sovereign. After reading her history one feels the
propriety of placing her name first. She seems to have been a haughty,
imperious dame, full of ambition and that love of power which she was
determined to wrest by terror; for it appears that she disdained the
meanness of intrigue, and when tottering in her favour submitted sooner
to disgrace than owe her power to flattery. Her dominion over the mind
of her mistress was that of an _esprit fort sur l’esprit faible_,
for feeble indeed was our narrow-minded Anne.
There are stories in the Spencer family, which confirm all that her
contemporaries said of the violence of her temper. She had uncommonly
fine hair which her husband admired: in a fit of passion, upon his
refusing her a request she made, she cut off her fine tresses and threw
them in his face. One of her daughters offended her beyond her powers
of pardoning; she immediately flew to a portrait of her which was near,
and smeared over the features with black paint, saying, ‘Now her face
is as black as her heart.’[216] Her grandson, the D. of M., ventured to
differ from her in politics, owing, it was reported, to the influence
of the first Ld. Holland, of whom she always used to say, ‘He is the
Fox who stole my goose.’ There is a letter or two of hers preserved
among the old correspondence of Ld. H. to him. The present Lord Spencer
owes his fortune to an adroit joke of his ancestor Jack Spencer,[217]
who recovered from her displeasure by jumping in at the window after
she had foiled his entering her doors; for this she left him as much
almost as she gave the D. of M. Her apology was written by Mallet or
Fenton;[218] she paid him several thousands for the work.
* * * * *
_July 17._--Left Holland House to make a tour in the Highlands of
Scotland. As I was with child and Charles had not been inoculated, the
intended journey on the Continent was delayed. We arrived, on the 19th,
at York, which little Marsh had reached before us. We went that evening
to see the Cathedral, which is certainly both grand and spacious,
but inferior to any Gothic buildings I have seen. It is scarcely as
fine as Salisbury, and certainly not equal to that of Amiens. Those
in Italy again are in a different taste; that at Pavia is, I believe,
anterior to any we have in England. It is very ugly, and bears the
rugged marks of tasteless cost and unskilful labour. York is one of the
oldest cities in the island, and to a lover of Shakespeare all around
it is classical ground. The remains of the walls, the city gates, and
the ruins of an old nunnery near the river make it altogether a place
rather worth seeing.
[Sidenote: CASTLE HOWARD]
On ye 20th we went with Marsh to see Castle Howard.[219] The road lies
over bleak and dreary moors, which may have charms to a sportsman’s
eye, but can afford nothing but wearisome disgust to the traveller. The
_château_ is a magnificent pile, surrounded with the appropriate
ornaments of woods and gardens, etc., but the sight of a country
residence inspires me with gloom. I feel escaped from some misfortune
when I get out of its precincts. The most conspicuous object by way
of decoration from the windows and terraces of the mansion is the
Mausoleum intended for the sepulchre of the family.
To my fancy I had as lief have my rooms hung round with death’s
heads and cross-bones, as behold in moments of recreation that
perpetual _mementi mori_ [_sic_], and I have always entered into
the feelings that actuated Louis XIV. when he left St. Germains and
built Versailles, because the pleasantest apartments looked towards
St. Denis, the last resting-place of the Royal bones of ye Bourbons.
I never could approve the necessity of inculcating an eternal view
of death; we daily feel that it is inevitable from the frequent
derangement of our fragile bodies, and as it neither makes us wiser
or happier to be in expectation of the event and certainly embitters
enjoyments, I disapprove of the system. The opposite extreme is
ridiculous, and the great Empress of Russia showed her own littleness
in forbidding mourning and the sight of funerals, especially as she was
so prodigal of the lives of her subjects.
Almost all the principal apartments are decorated with a full-length
portrait of the pompous possessor in the most stately attitudes, in
robes of ye Peerage, Viceroyalty, and Knighthood, etc.; whereas his
wife, who was one of the prettiest women of her time, is only once
represented in a small picture, in which he, by-the-bye, is again the
principal object. Not to be scandalous, I could not, however, help
remarking the _recherche_ of French luxury in the apartments
dedicated to the use of Ly. S., and called hers by name. We returned
and dined at York, and proceeded from thence to Knaresborough, where
we saw the Dripping Well, which is a small stream issuing from the side
of a calcareous hill. The water, like that at Terni, incrusts whatever
is exposed to its action with a calcareous texture around it, commonly
called petrifaction.
We got at night to Ripon. The next day we went to Fountains Abbey, the
sight of which highly gratified me. Nothing that I have seen in England
bears any comparison to the pleasure I received from seeing it. The
ruins are kept in such excellent preservation that in many points of
view one might give in to the illusion of its being still tenanted by
its venerable owners, and such is the superstitious awe inspired by
monastic gloom that I almost wished it were possible to indulge in a
serious mood. Old Jenkins, who lived and died in the neighbourhood of
the Abbey, and whose life closed with the century at the age of one
hundred and sixty-nine years, remembered the dissolution of the Abbey
and spoke with emotion of the _élan_ it occasioned in the country.
He remembered a hundred and thirty years before being sent to the Abbey
to inquire how the Abbot was, and being ordered roast beef and wassel
in a _Black Jack_.
Travellers are carried to see Studley, but to me the eight miles would
have been tedious, as the beauties consist in _bold views_. Now to
a person glowing with admiration for the Alpine views of Switzerland,
Tyrol, etc., the insipid tinkling of a puny stream gurgling over a few
large pebbles could afford but slender room for admiration; therefore
I declined going. We intended going to Sunderland to see the iron
bridge,[220] but as we overtook Ld. Lauderdale upon the road we decided
upon pleasant conversation in preference to a curious sight, so we
stopped at Newcastle.
[Sidenote: ALNWICK]
The next day, 22nd., we saw the once proud seat of the Percies.
Alnwick, on the outside, revives the recollection of all one has heard
of baronial splendour, battlements, towers, gateways, portcullis, etc.,
immense courts, thick walls, and everything demonstrative of savage,
solitary, brutal power and magnitude. The late Duchess _built_
the present fabric upon the site of the primitive castle, but much
is from traditional guess. The inside corresponds but feebly with
the outward promise; the whole is fitted up in a tinsel, gingerbread
taste, rather adapted to a theatrical representation than a permanent
decoration. It must be an unpleasant residence, as comfort, nay,
even common convenience is sacrificed to preserve the appearance of
a fortress. At some distance upon the coast is seen the crestfallen
towers of Warkworth, the usual residence of the Percies, and from
whence Hotspur issued to return no more in his rebellion against the
ungrateful monarch. It is in that castle Shakespeare lays his scene in
the 2nd part of _Henry IV._, where Northumberland receives the
tidings of Hotspur’s untimely end. One custom, probably descended from
the earliest days of the glory of their house, is preserved at Alnwick.
When the Duke is willing to receive the visits of the neighbouring
gentry, a flag is hung upon the highest turret as a signal that he may
be approached. How far the democratic spirit that so generally pervades
all ranks submits to this aristocratical summons I know not.
On that night we slept at Berwick; the Tweed is wide and handsome. Its
width is more properly derived from the waters of the sea than from its
own mass of tributary streams. From thence to Edinburgh the road lies
along an elevated coast; the view of the sea is very pleasing. The
colour was blue, unlike the green and yellow streaks that disfigure the
muddy channel. I was gratified at quitting ye uniform features, both
of towns, villages, and country, that fatigue the eye in England; one
enclosure is like another, and when you have seen a street lined with
red-brick, three-windowed houses, you have seen the extent of their
architecture and the summit of their taste.
We reached Edinburgh on ye 23rd of July, 1798; lodged at Dumbreck’s
Hotel in the square. The singular contrast between the new and old town
is very striking; the situation of the Castle upon a high rock, the sea
views, etc., make the whole a delightful prospect. Holyrood House is
at the bottom of the eminence upon which the habitable residences are
now placed; the Royal apartments have been modestly fitted up for the
reception of the poor, vagrant _Monsieur_,[221] who is not only
compelled to seek an asylum in Great Britain, but is also necessitated
to keep within the precincts of the palace, as his royalty is of no
avail against his creditors. Report speaks well of his conduct. He is
affable in his manners, and resigned to the rigour of his lot. In the
upper apartments we were shown into those occupied by ye unfortunate
Mary; two or three moderate rooms were all she had, such as a private
gentlewoman in these days would be dissatisfied with.
Ld. Lauderdale joined us a few days after our arrival. From 23rd
to 31st of July we remained in Edinburgh. Ld. L. and Mr. Henry
Erskine[222] dined almost every day with us. The mornings we devoted
to seeing the town, and generally drove upon the Leith sands. Lewis and
Ld. Lorne,[223] Beddoes,[224] and some others I saw. Every morning we
had a prodigious concourse of visitors, the _patriotic_ Scotchmen
thinking it a due homage to Mr. Fox to wait upon his nephew.
[Sidenote: VOLNEY’S WORKS]
_Nov. 5th, 1798._--Bonaparte’s Egyptian campaign has brought every
book of travels into those countries into requisition. I have again
read with pleasure Volney’s account of Egypt and Syria. His work is
the more interesting, as it is imagined that his information has been
chiefly relied upon by the French, and that his observations serve as
guides to the expedition. He finishes his account of Egypt with a wish
that a revolution may take place there under the Govert. of a nation
friendly to the fine arts, and expressly implies that such an event
may not be so remote as we may possibly imagine. Ye Empress of Russia
took the prediction to herself, and upon some slight pretext gave him a
pension and an order, which he accepted and enjoyed. In the first years
of the democratic fury of the Revolution in France he returned both,
accompanied by an insolent letter.
The present speculations whether or not the French can maintain
themselves in those countries are curious.[225] The Ministerial people
assert the impracticability of their doing so, but their arguments
are chiefly founded upon the resistance they will meet with from
the Turkish army--a power that has hitherto been found ineffectual
against the ill-disciplined squadrons of their own Beys. Sickness and
ye want of wine and clothing are the chief obstacles to a permanent
establishment, but I hope and almost believe the skill of Bonaparte
will baffle even those inconveniences.
I have been shown under the strictest promise of secrecy copies
of several of the private letters that were intercepted after ye
engagement of the 1st of August.[226] There is only one from Bonaparte.
It places that extraordinary man in a far more amiable point of
view than I had seen him in before. It is to his brother,[227] to
whom he appears to be most tenderly attached; he describes himself
as disgusted with life and mankind, that at 29 he has exhausted the
_attraits_ of ambition and glory, and that he has been deceived by
those he trusted most in. He says, ‘Le voile est levé,’ and that his
brother alone is left him to love, though he is unfortunate in being
compelled to love a person ‘dans tous les cas.’ He desires him to get
a small house in Burgundy, as his means are too slender for a large
establishment, and that he hopes to be in Paris in two months, and that
his ‘âme a besoin d’isolement.’
[Sidenote: INTERCEPTED LETTERS]
This letter would be unintelligible without the key of Beauharnais’
letter to his mother. After much affection, he says the General has
been _triste_ for many days, but more so since an ‘entretien
particulier avec Berthier.’ His melancholy proceeds from ‘chagrins
domestiques,’ aggravated by stories told him by Berthier, who informed
him that Mde. Bonaparte had brought ‘Charles’ (who is he?) in her
carriage from Plombières to within three posts of Paris, and that she
had gone ‘au quatrième aux Italiens’ with him, and various other little
trifles amounting to ‘confirmation, strong as proofs in Holy Writ,’ to
a jealous mind. In short, it appears that Berthier has acted Iago, and
that the conqueror of Italy is as jealous as a Turk. The son-in-law
[_sic_] adds that the only difference in B.’s behaviour towards
him is a _redoublement_ of kindness if possible. These letters are
not to be published; it perhaps would be as handsome if the Ministers
sent them to their respective addresses.
_6th Nov., 1798._--Ld. H. has been laid up for 5 days by a very
severe fit of the gout. It is a hard thing to suffer thus before five
and twenty, and it is the more distressing as he lives at all times so
reasonably that diet can do little for him in future. Strong exercise
and frequent jaunts to a warm climate may mitigate future attacks.
General Fitzpatrick and Mr. Hare are staying with us a few days; we
have had the ladies constantly during this last week. In point of
society it is impossible to be better than ours--enough, and that of
the best sort, and yet not too numerous.
The scandalous world are occupied with Lady Abercorn’s adventures. Ld.
A.[228] seems to take the affair coolly and is inclined to behave
well. The first is a disappointment, as people hoped his pride would
be so galled that he would afford some sport to the wags, but he
wisely enough seems of the opinion of La Fontaine, ‘Quand on l’ignore,
ce n’est rien, et quand on le sait, c’est peu de chose.’ His absurd
vanity has made him more conspicuous than he could have been otherwise.
Before he married the lady in question he loved her. Some strange
fancy induced him to wish her to have the rank and title of an earl’s
daughter; he obtained it for her. Somebody asked Mr. Pitt how he would
grant so strange a request.[229] He said he thought himself lucky to be
let off so cheaply, for when he came, he looked so menacing and seemed
so big with an important demand, that he thought he meant to ask for
the Electoral vote for the Empire. (It was just upon Leopold’s death.)
_Nov. 13th._--La Harpe is a pleasant, critical writer. Admirable
as Voltaire is, perhaps he is too servile in his admiration, and, like
a zealous friend he defends a weak part as eagerly as if it were a
perfection. One cannot but smile at his praise of Voltaire for a merit
he certainly did not possess, _diffidence_.[230] He attacks Piron
with severity and truth. Piron deserved every invective. It was best
using his own weapons against him, for his epigrams deserve more to be
reckoned scurrilous libels than witty satires. He determined to write
one every morning before breakfast against Voltaire. In the number some
must be good; those I have read are coarse abuse, full of jeers at
personal defects. They tell a reply of his to Voltaire which is neat.
They were at the theatre together at the first representation of one of
Voltaire’s plays which failed. In going out Voltaire asked Piron what
he thought of his piece, ‘Je pense que vous voudriez que je l’eusse
faite.’ His epitaph upon himself, when refused admittance among the 40
Academicians, is good:--
C’y gît, qui ne fut rien,
Pas même académicien.
[Sidenote: STATE OF OPPOSITION]
_Nov. 20th._--To-day Parliament opens. Ld. H., tho’ still weak, is
gone down, and will, I believe, speak. In the Commons, Ld. Granville
makes his maiden oratorical essay. These sessions will be diverting to
a bystander. Tierney, notwithstanding his very superior abilities, is
more perplexed than any of them. He cannot stand ridicule, and dares
not alone without any support encounter the _flings_, as he calls
them, about O’Connor. Therefore he means to begin first, and declare
his error in having thought favourably of him; in short, to say he is a
rogue and deceived him. The world are so illiberal that a recantation
is more frequently ascribed to timidity than it is to candour. He will
not gain one convert, but will excite many laughers.
True it is that those who are adverse to Ministry are in a lamentable
plight. The discussion among Opposition and the crumbling of the whole
party placed them in a ludicrous situation, and the brilliant state of
the country, so contrary to their predictions, adds to the ridicule.
All opposition must be unpopular, for tho’ in the abstract the real
_griefs_ exist, yet the immediate successes, both in Ireland
and against the French, efface the gloomy sight. The spirit of the
Constitution, I sincerely believe, is lost, and those who care about
political liberty must be contented and no longer struggle for what the
majority are disposed to yield up.
Tierney told me he was surprised to find Lord Moira, in spite of
his _chevaleresque_ manner, at times betrayed into merriment.
He dined with him for the first time lately. Ld. M. told a story
that happened at his own house, to illustrate the excess of French
politeness. After dinner he proposed to the Duc de Luxembourg to
taste some excellent _marasquin_ that had been sent him from the
Martinique. The Duke said, ‘Volontiers.’ The bottle was brought, and
a glass swallowed by ye D., upon whose countenance, however, there
appeared strong marks of disgust, tho’ he bowed assent to all that was
said in praise of the liquor. His silent approbation made Ld. M. taste
it, and, to his astonishment he found it was castor-oil; the butler had
mixed the bottles. Thus his good breeding saved his vomiting.
Dr. Brocklesby’s servant consumed a rare sort of castor-oil in making
the salad, and when the Doctor, tortured by the colic, asked the
relief, he was told he had eaten the last drop at dinner.
Jekyll told a story of Lord Kenyon[231] that is in character with his
notorious stinginess and meanness. A ruined barrister was selling off
his goods in his chambers in the Temple. The learned judge sent his
son to purchase bargains. In a corner he spied two dirty globes. He
asked what they were. ‘Oh,’ said the decayed lieut. of the law, ‘they
are good for nothing; they are old, and half the countries now known
are marked with lions and tigers as “Terra incognita.”’ ‘Never mind,’
replied the young K., ‘my father is not wise about new discoveries;
provided they are globes and have a Zodiac, they will do for him.’ Ld.
K., has a filthy trick of sniffing, instead of blowing his nose. Hare
said the Assessed Taxes have made him retrench his pocket-handkerchiefs.
[Sidenote: MR. NICHOLL]