being the particular object of the satire in the _Anti-Jacobin_
and having devoted himself most especially to Tierney during the last
sessions, a Mr. Nicholl. His opinions upon the state of Europe have
at least the merit of singularity. The Emperor of Russia imputes it
to shoe-strings and round hats; Dr. Ingenhousz to freemasonry; but
Mr. Nicholl ascribes all the disorders to the great families. ‘Aye,
Sir,’ said he to Tierney, ‘unless they are crushed nothing can be
done.’ He has explicitly protested to Tierney that unless he will bring
forward a motion to that effect, he must no longer count upon his
support. He called three times in one morning to obtain T.’s answer.
Each time, like Dick in _The Confederacy_, ‘I’ll call a coach,’
then, ‘I’ll call a coach,’ he declared he would retire to his farm,
and cultivate sour land. ‘I’ll go; I certainly will, Sir. These great
families, this oligarchy, destroy us, Sir. Yes, Sir, they oppress us.
Why look at them individually? Have they any single merit? Why, there
is Ld. Fitzwilliam, a flat retailer in dull prose of Burke’s poetical,
mad flights: has he not plunged us in this war? There’s Ld. Spencer
recovering from epilepsy, merely to squander thousands upon an early
edition. As to the house of Russell, Sir, Mr. Burke has handled them
properly. The Cavendishes, Sir, are so notoriously stupid that they
blunt satire; but see the head of them, Sir, the D. of Devonshire.
Sir, why, I assure you I am credibly informed, I have it from the
best authority, Sir, that he is a _mere sensualist_.’ (I wrote
this to Chatsworth. The Duke, who, in fact, was paying for this said
sensuality, laughed on his sick bed heartily.)
This shows the _travers_ of the human mind. Nicholl’s understanding has
not kept pace with events. Sixty years ago, when he first flourished
in manhood, the cry might have had some foundation. Sir Robert Walpole
and the great Whigs did monopolise, from the Cabinet down to the
turnpikes’ keepers. But since Lord Chatham, and, more particularly,
his son’s Administration, the policy has been to annihilate all family
unions; indeed, there is not a man of the Corresponding Society more
bitter against the aristocracy than Pitt and Canning are. Pelham
has resigned the Secretaryship, and the gentle Castlereagh, at the
recommendation of Ld. Cornwallis, is to keep it as a principal, no
longer as _locum tenens_.[232]
I have been reading French literature of a desultory sort and in a
desultory way, both pernicious to the mind; for, by confusing the
memory, it destroys the powers of the understanding. I can speak from
experience, as I have completely obscured my faculty by too great an
avidity to read, or, rather, devour books, without any method in my
pursuits. My memory is seriously injured. I do not complain so much of
it, as I always bear in mind La Rochefoucauld’s sarcasm, that everyone
‘se plaint de la foiblesse de leur mémoire,’ but ‘personne de celle de
leur jugement.’
[Sidenote: COUNT RUMFORD]
Count Rumford, a celebrated man in the annals of science, is come
to England, but grievously disappointed at the reception he has met
with.[233] He is by birth an American. General Fox recollects his
coming down from the interior settlements to the English fort where
he commanded. The Indians had sacked his village, and he flew for
protection. He was a rude, gawky, Puritanical colonial schoolmaster,
astonished at seeing the number of brick houses, and delighted with
the _splendour_ of the style of living in the garrison; but with
all his simplicity, he was slyly awake to his interest, for when he
claimed a reward for his loyalty he chose a district full of red oaks,
saying he loved picturesque views. It was a lucky coincidence of profit
and beauty. Red oaks are the only valuable timber in that country.
When he came to England he continued to ingratiate himself into Ld.
Sackville’s favour. He soon became, from private secretary, the most
confidential person about him. It was either on account of a quarrel
with, or at the death of, his patron, that he went upon the Continent
_pour chercher fortune_. He fell in at Munich with ye Elector, who
thought he might be useful in making reforms in his government. In the
course of a few years he was, in fact, the sovereign in Bavaria. His
establishments were excellent, and he may boast of having been of more
essential benefit to mankind than most of those who stand high in the
records of fame. He corrected the abuses which allowed an indolent,
starving beggary, and he fed and employed them all.
When I knew him at Munich he was in the zenith of success. Subsequent
to that period the Elector married; his interest clashed with that of
the young Electress. He solicited to be appointed Minister from thence
to this Court, and was. A quarter of an hour after he arrived, Canning
called upon him, and informed him that he was not to be received in
the diplomatic capacity: first, because he was an English subject, and
2ndly, because having been in the Secretary of State’s office, it was
contrary to the rules. He was horribly vexed, but the case admitted
of no appeal. He is going to America for a short time. Whatever his
failings may be, he is a most useful member of society, and mankind are
bound to revere him. His last publications, a theory upon heat, are
_warmly_ combated.
Browne, the traveller, who excited my curiosity, is returned. I hope
to see him here one day soon. He has been into the interior parts of
Africa: his observations are said to be good, but are not yet made
public.
Lady E. Fitzgerald is returned to Hamburg. Her late husband’s family
are to subscribe towards making her up an income; two of her children
are left among the family.
La Fayette is labouring under great pecuniary embarrassments. Gen.
Fitzpatrick is making up among his friends ye sum of 3000_l._:
it will principally fall upon himself, D. of Bedford, Whitbread, Ld.
Holland, and a few others. It is shabby in the Americans not to do
something for a man who deserved well of them, at least. I confess
there are many whose situation excite my compassion much more; but I
think we shall ourselves be soon among the number of ye distressed,
for the claims, applications, recommendations, etc., upon Ld. H. are
too numerous to be thought of with common patience; besides that, the
follies and extravagancies of those who ought to know better fall upon
him too.
Oh! my dear children, fond as I am of ye all, I had sooner at this
instant hear of your deaths, than that you should become gamesters
and spendthrifts. No, not even with the specious accompaniments of
a good head and temper, for of what avail is it to a parent that a
child possesses both, if their conduct is as abominable as that of the
vilest. If these walls could speak, how would they resound with the
bitter cries and tears of aged parents, distracted in their last few
years by the behaviour of _good-hearted_ sons, but more especially
of one who is still renowned for an excellent heart. I know of two
good-hearted persons who have been, and still are, a curse to their
connections by bringing ruin and distress upon them.
[Sidenote: LORD WYCOMBE]
It is difficult to be in a more embarrassed situation with respect to
Ld. Lansdown than we are in. Ld. Wycombe is come to England, calls
here, and lives at Richmond, peremptorily refusing to see his father,
that he may, as he calls it, _keep up a good understanding between
them_. Mrs. W. is living at Richmond in a state of melancholy
and despair that borders upon intellectual derangement, refusing to
see anybody, even me. Wycombe’s behaviour to his father admits of
no apology. Slight and disregard towards a parent is at all times
a defenceless cause, but, under the present circumstances, far
beyond the power of an excuse. He has just obtained from him all he
wanted--independence, the sale of estates to pay off debts, and getting
rid of a borough, and now he will not even pay to a father that respect
due to his age and infirmities were he but a common acquaintance.
Ld. L., who has more _travers_ in his understanding than most
men, and as many as his son,--_et c’est tout dire_, imagines
that Mrs. W. is a most artful, designing person, and that she is the
cause of Wycombe’s estrangement; that I, as her friend, assist in
the machinations; and that Ld. H. is a dupe to us both. He fancies
that I have great influence over Wycombe, and could persuade him to
call if I chose, as he knows I once made him go to Bath to see him.
_Per contra_, Wycombe believes that his father has what he calls
‘got me over,’ and that my entreaties that he should call upon him,
instead of arising from my own conviction of the propriety of them for
his character, are merely the effects of his father’s management. In
short, they are both so wrong-headed, and so far wide of the simple
truth, that I have resolved not to say another word. All I have done is
proceeded from my gratitude to Ld. L. for his good-nature to me, and
my regard for Wycombe. Ld. L., like all warm-hearted people, can never
suppose the error to be in the person he loves, and he always shifts
the fault to those he is connected with at the time. Wycombe’s conduct
is atrocious. He is revenging upon old age and infirmity the little
vexations he experienced in his youth.
Ld. L.’s notions upon many subjects are so extravagant that, unless
I had proofs about some of them, I could not possibly credit that
any person of common sense or knowledge of the world could entertain
them. He looks upon Mrs. Smith’s[234] marriage as a _profligate
abandonment_. What he admires is a woman of rank marrying her equal
whom she rather dislikes, and conquering a partiality to another, but
fulfilling all her duties scrupulously and punctiliously. Lady Warwick,
who is in that predicament, is his highest object of admiration.
Smith and he do not harmonise exactly; both lofty tempers, one claiming
a superiority the other is not disposed to yield to. He is a most
impracticable man to act with in politics. He has had the merit of
bringing forward many distinguished men, but from his complaints of
their desertion and ingratitude one perceives how much he exacts
dependence, and how unreasonable he is. He used always to complain
that though he voted with ye Opposition, yet they never told him what
they intended. Upon the breaking, or rather stoppage, of the Bank,
Messrs. Fox, Grey, and Sheridan went to him to concert measures for the
ensuing debate,[235] upon which he said, ‘I will tell you, gentlemen,
very fairly, my opinion, which has always been for _publicity_
and _simplicity_.’ With these two words they were obliged to be
contented and extract from them what meaning they could, if any they
had. One day, when Grey was talking confidentially to him, he burst out
suddenly, and said: ‘Aye, but I have had one, Mr. Grey, already slip
through my fingers.’ Grey was in a great rage; he meant Pitt.
[Sidenote: MRS. SMITH]
Mrs. S. is a superannuated, prudish beauty. She has survived her
_attraits_ without perceiving their dereliction, and what seems
as odd, those about her are equally dim-sighted. Her sister, Ld. L.,
and even Miss Fox, speak of her charms as they might have done 15 years
ago. She is what a lively Frenchman called ‘demoiselle froide.’ She
has no conversation, and her understanding, like Ld. Burleigh’s, must
be taken upon trust, as she is too profound to open. Those who live
with her say she has wonderful capacity, but as it is known to only 2
or 3 persons, she must submit to the aspersion of being suspected of
great dulness. _Au reste_, I believe she is a good sort of person.
Her eagerness to marry Smith, and delight at having done so, betray
more warmth than by her cold exterior one may presume. She likes to be
suspected of feeling.
I suspect there is not a more inveterate lover of pleasure than
a well-matured prude; great prudery generally argues a more than
usual warmth of constitution. The wearer of prudery, being conscious
there is much to hide, falls into the extreme of reserve, whereas
a naturally-disposed person is not troubled with any forbidden
temptations, and appears lively and sprightly without fear of incurring
severe observations.
The rage for German plays still continues. The stage abounds with
them, and the press is loaded with translations, and some, in point
of morality, very questionable. One of the causes that create them in
Germany occasions their being relished here. The same dull apathy of
character that demands something extraordinary to rouse it subsists in
both countries, as we have nothing to boast on the score of liveliness
beyond the good, dull Germans.
The first German play I ever saw was at Innspruck. I did not understand
a word that was said, but the incidents diverted me as much as the
pantomime in a harlequin farce. Ye first four acts were crowded with
murders by poisoning, strangling, stabbing, occasional screams, starts,
and trapdoors; the fifth had all the solemn parade of _bourgeois_
death, the exposition of a corpse in a coffin, with all the relations,
just as Partridge would have them, crying around. But mark the
catastrophe. Just as the mournful attendants were going to assign the
apparently breathless heroine to her peaceful mansion, up she jumped,
to the great discomfiture of the surrounding parties, and to ye
admiration of the audience strutted about in her shroud.
The monstrous extravagancies of the German drama would not have been
endured at Paris. There they were refined enough to relish wit and
sentiment. The obtuse faculties of the German are incapable of tasting
the raillery of Molière or ye poetical harmony of Racine. Perhaps
something may be imputed to their political situation, for there the
limits or gradations are strictly preserved between the difft. classes,
and a _bourgeois_ knows nothing of life but the dull diary of his
own. Therefore fiction and bloody ribaldry is not more extraordinary
or untrue to his comprehension than would be an ironical picture of
the manners of his superiors. Ye sphere of fiction and German nobility
are equally remote from his knowledge, one as the other. I do not
mean by this to justify the arrogance of a French _Académicien_,
who absolutely proposed the question, ‘Si un Allemand pouvait avoir
d’esprit.’
[Illustration:
_Louis Gauffier. pinx._ _Emery Walker Ph. sc._
_Elizabeth, third Lady Holland_
_1795_]
Ye theatre reminds me of a reply of Piron’s to Voltaire in coming
out from ye _Semiramis_, which had some nights before been
hissed. V. said: ‘You see, they have not hissed to-night.’ ‘Comment,
voulez-vous qu’on siffle quand on bâille.’
[Sidenote: LORD G. LEVESON-GOWER]
_20th Nov._--Parliament met. Lord G. Leveson made his debut upon
the Address; he did it uncommonly well, and was praised by the good
judges on the opposite side to him. He is a man of mild, popular
manners; without great force of intellect, but sufficiently endowed to
distinguish himself and rise in politics. His family are accused of
worldly wisdom, and have an uncommon share of that indefinable, useful
quality, only to be rendered by the French word _tacte_. Ld. H.
spoke, but was discontented with himself. He said Ld. Lansdown’s speech
hampered him, for he did not like to contradict him, and yet he could
not agree, as it breathed praise to the Ministers. In it he said,
‘_Rebellion and party are dead_.’ Mr. Hare said he coupled them
like _robbery and murder_.
_21st._--Lord H. completed his twenty-fifth year. His sister, Ld.
Ossory, General Fitzpatrick, Mrs. Crewe, Tierney, Hamilton, and Ld.
Boringdon dined. In the evening Ly. Bessborough and Ld. Morpeth, and
Ld. G. Leveson came; we were very merry.
I have been reading the _Memoir_, drawn up by the African
Association, of Mungo Park’s journey. It is curious, as it proves that
those who wrote 2000 years ago knew better the interior geography of
Africa than we do, altho’ for many centuries their assertions were
disbelieved.
_Dec. 8th._--D’Alembert’s _Éloges_ of the _Académiciens_
is full of excellent criticism, altho’ he was a mathematician,
and might be suspected of requiring in a poet more precision than
taste. That of Boileau is very entertaining; it not only contains
criticisms of his works, but is full of philosophical observations
upon human character and lively anecdotes. The title is disgusting.
An _éloge_ implies a laboured panegyric upon the person who is
the object, but he has adopted it only in conformity to the usage of
ye French Academy, as, in fact, he has not spared Despréaux where a
lash was called for. The futile prophecy of Despréaux’s father about
him ought to serve as a lesson to parents not to indulge in predictions
favourable or the contrary with regard to the abilities and character
of their children. Who that has read Boileau can hear without a smile
that it was of him that his father said, ‘Pour celui-ci, c’est un
bon garçon qui ne dira jamais de mal de personne’? ‘On sent,’ says
d’Alembert, ‘à quelle médiocrité sans ressource un père croit son
fils condamné, quand il se borne à lui donner un éloge si modeste.’
Disgusted successively by jurisprudence and theology, he became a
poet; and as if to belie his father he began by being a satirist, and
by a trait of adroit flattery he converted into a friend the D. of
Montausier, the declared enemy of raillery.
Mr. Fox came and slept here on ye 4th December to attend the Whig Club.
He made a speech which has, if possible, added to his unpopularity. He
was, in a way, called upon by a man who talked of the _deceptions of
O’Connor_, to say something with regard to the evidence he gave at
Maidstone. What he said as to that point was liberal and manly, but
he unnecessarily added some sentences upon the application of those
principles of liberty (which he professed maintaining in common with
O’Connor) against the Governt. in Ireland. Very few of his friends
attended; Grey and ye D. of Bedford would not go, thinking that as they
did not take an active part in Parliament, it was wrong to do anything
out of it. Ld. H. wishes, if possible, to abolish the Whig Club, more
especially as the reason for which it was instituted subsists no
longer, as Mr. Fox has completely seceded.
[Sidenote: GREY AND SECESSION]
Grey is the man who is placed in the most awkward situation. He now
regrets the secession, yet to him, ye D. of Bedford, and Whitbread, is
it owing, but most especially to him. He was the first suggester of
it, and when Mr. Fox balanced (for he adopted the measure unwillingly,
and now thinks it was very injudicious) he urged it vehemently. At
present he is tired of inactivity, and wishes to attend, yet he feels
a difficulty in doing so after all he has declared upon its inutility;
besides that to the world it will always have the appearance of being
a most deceitful line of conduct, to have gotten Mr. Fox pledged to
absence, and then become a leader. Unless I knew him to be of an
honest, open, warm-hearted character, I should myself suspect a little
fraud, but I fully acquit him.
Grey, Tierney, Mr. Nicholl, and Francis dined here.
_18th Dec._--The Jesuits, who kept in a register notes upon the
character and abilities of those whom they educated in order to govern
the world, said in the margin on Crébillon the father, ‘Enfant plein
d’esprit, insigne vaurien.’ He belied the prediction, as he was an
excellent man in private life. His early passion for poetry, especially
dramatic, disposed the judicious _procureur_, under whom he was
placed to study the law, to encourage his natural taste in cultivating
the Muses, instead of drudging through a mass of black-lettered folios.
His first piece was tolerably received, tho’ ‘le caustique Despréaux’
said it was the work of ‘Racine ivre.’ Sarcastic as he intended the
observation, it was flattering to a young author to have his name
in any way coupled with that of the harmonious Racine. Many years
afterwards he presented a tragedy to the theatre; it was objected to,
as being too harsh and not suited to the public taste, and they advised
him to adopt the style of Voltaire, which pleased everyone. He said,
‘Monsr. de Voltaire travaille en or moulu, et moi je jette en bronze.’
_Rhadamiste_ is one, if not quite the best of his tragedies, tho’
it is rugged in its versification, and turgid in expressions. The
famous lines,
La Nature, marâtre en ces affreux climats,
Ne produit, au lieu d’or, que du fer des soldats,
are very fine, and have been happily imitated by Goldsmith in his
_Traveller_ on Switzerland,
No product here the barren hills afford
But man and steel--the soldier and his sword.
On Sunday Marsh came. He intends staying a few days only. He is one of
the most excellent men I know, and one towards whom I feel the most
sincere friendship. The extreme simplicity of his character is very
delightful. With a very good understanding and great information he
is as unassuming as the most modest youth could be; but he has some
violent prejudices that are very diverting. They are chiefly owing to
the French Revolution. He has so great a dread of _French principles_
that he condemns everything that his ardent imagination can torture
into a tendency towards them. His fancy is so good-humoured that it is
more a scene of mirth than disputation when he gets upon the subject
of politics. Yesterday the Bessbro’s dined here, Ld. Boringdon, and G.
Leveson; Beauclerk came in ye evening and slept.
[Sidenote: MR. CANNING]
The Ministerialists praise Canning’s speech in reply to Tierney’s
motion[236] to the skies, but it is the fault of friends to overrate,
for as La Harpe says somewhere, ‘On affaiblit toujours tout ce qu’on
exagère.’ Canning is very lively, writes pretty verses, and has a good
deal of _local wit_, but I should suspect upon grave subjects
which require depth and argument he is a _très petit monsieur_.
The Opposition, who have not forgiven his desertion of them, exclaim at
the venality of his politics.[237] I think they are unjust in accusing
him of desertion, and he was wrong in point of judging the thing for
his own reputation to make a bargain so soon. It was hard upon him that
he was intimately connected with Sheridan, who chose to announce him to
the world as his _élève_ in politics, and as a confirmation of his
principles, repeated strong expressions and youthful sallies of his,
saying that he should be pledged to Opposition before he was well of an
age maturely to decide. Principle, I believe, did not sway him much.
He found the party in a desperate, languishing state, himself full
of ambition and life, and that in that party he must have contented
himself with a very subaltern post; whereas the reputation that
Sheridan, in his over-zeal, had anticipated for him made him an object
worth getting to the others. He is, in his heart, the veriest Jacobin
there is, and would, if he were not in power, manifest his principles
in a most dangerous, innovating Opposition. He abhors titles, and the
aristocracy of hereditary nobility; the lowness of his own extraction
first made him envy, then wish to destroy, those whom chance has raised
above him. The worst part of his character is his love of intrigue and
management. He has made a little detached party out of the great party,
that peculiarly belong to him. Over them he exerts an almost despotic
sway, not only in their votes, but their opinions and conduct in the
minutest concerns, such as who they must see and live with.
In this little set there is a want of wit, and as the topics are
generally allusions to old jokes and practical witticisms that have
occurred among themselves, they are quite unintelligible in mixed
societies, where, unless the catch-word is known, two-thirds of the
company must see them laugh without feeling the smallest tendency to
share in their mirth. The Ellis’, Frere, Mr. Legge, Sneyd, Mr. Sturges,
Ld. G. Leveson, and a few others, complete the select squad. Ld.
Morpeth is of it also, but he wisely chooses to conduct himself without
being interfered with, so he is not quite one of ye Elect.
Charles Ellis’[238] marriage was a blow upon his power; he ventured
not only to fall in love, but to make his proposals without a previous
consultation with the young Cato, the authority of whose little senate
was infringed upon by such an overt act. There were fifty little
ridiculous circumstances about that marriage that made one laugh at
the time. The ceremony was absurdly pompous; carriages full of her
relations accompanied them to the church. As soon as the ceremony was
finished, the bride, who had, according to etiquette, been crying all
the time, was kissed round by the family to be wished joy. Ld. ----
went up and consoled her, saying ‘Do not be frightened any longer,
for now _all_ is over,’ upon which the jokers say Ly. ---- burst
out into a flood of tears, recollecting but too well that _all_
finished there with her, for Ld. ---- has two projects, equally
impracticable, that of marching at the head of a victorious army to
Paris, and the other equally desperate, that of obtaining a son. It is
a bold undertaking in C. Ellis to marry a Hervey, for they still keep
up their strangeness of character that made a celebrated wit class
mankind under the generic appellation of _men_, _women_, and
_Herveys_.
[Sidenote: LORD BRISTOL]