CHAPTER XLIV.
About this period, the fever of the French Revolution was beginning to manifest its effects, in some of those horrible paroxysms of frenzy, which produced crimes that will for ever throw a stain upon the pages of French history. The alarm was contagious, and, in every part of Europe, infected the serious, reflecting, and, more particularly, the aged part of the community. In this country it was verily believed, that the apprehension of seeing the French atrocities perpetrated among us, accelerated the death of many individuals. The amiable and excellent Mr. C⸺, endured such extreme and constant anxiety on this head, that it greatly disturbed his tranquillity, threw a gloom over his ordinary occupations and pursuits, undermined his health, and hastened his dissolution.
Neither did Lord ⸺ escape the panic.—How great and serious was the perturbation of his mind, will sufficiently appear from the following letters, which, in other respects also, appear to be worth preserving.
Sept. 24, 1792.
You do me too much honour, dear Sir, in proposing to me to furnish you with observations on ⸺, which you are so much more capable of executing yourself. I flatter myself you do not think me vain enough to attempt it. Your own learning, and your familiarity with all the classic authors, render you more proper for the task than any man. I, on the contrary, am most unqualified. It is long since I have been conversant with classic literature—Greek I have quite forgotten; but, above all, I hold Seventy-five so debilitating an age to whatever may have been taken for parts, and have so long pitied authors of Senilia, that I am sure I will not degrade your work by mixing my dregs with it; nor, by your good nature and good breeding, lay you under the difficulty of admitting or rejecting what you probably would find unworthy of being adopted. I have great satisfaction in reading what you write; but beg to be excused from writing for you to read.
Most entirely do I agree with you, Sir, on all French politics, and their consequences here—it is indeed to be forced to call assassinations and massacres, politics. It is my opinion, like yours, that homicides should be received no where, much less monsters who proclaim rewards for murderers.—What can put a stop to such horrors sooner than shutting every country upon earth against unparalleled criminals?
There may be inconveniencies, no doubt, from a vast influx of the present poor refugees, but I confess I see more advantages. They will spread their own, and the calamities of their country—a necessary service, when some newspapers, paid by Jacobin, perhaps by Presbyterian, money, labour to defend, or conceal, or palliate such infernal scenes, which can only be done by men who would kindle like tragedies here. The sufferers that arrive, many being conscientious ecclesiastics, must, I should hope, be a warning to the Catholics in Ireland not to be the tools of the Dissenters there, and of another use they may certainly be: they will be the fittest and surest detectors of their diabolic countrymen, who are labouring mischief here, both openly and covertly. Of their covert transactions we have a gloomy proof in the Drawer, who, having subscribed a guinea to the defence of Poland, and redemanding it, received a guinea’s worth of Paine’s pamphlet in return. This fact evinces that the opening of that subscription was not, as it seemed to be, the most ridiculously impotent attempt that ever was made, but a deep-laid plan of political swindling. Had it produced a thousand or five thousand pounds, it would have removed Mount Athos as soon as have stopped one Russian soldier. No! under colour of pity towards the honest and to be lamented Poles, it is evident that it was a scheme for raising a new sum for disseminating sedition, and therefore I wish the vile trick might be made public.—It may warn well meaning persons against being drawn into those subscriptions; and such a base trick of swindling should be laid open and exposed in severe terms.
I am just going to General ⸺ for a few days, and am,
Dear Sir,
Your most sincere and obliged
Humble servant,
⸺
Oct. 16, 1792.
I agree most sincerely and sadly with you, Dear Sir, in being shocked at the lamentable change of scene, but am far from knowing more than you do, which are general reports; nor whether there have been other causes than the evident, constant deluge, which have annihilated, for all good purposes, the Duke of Brunswick’s army. It is not less horrid to hear that the abominations of France, which had made us so rich, and promised such security to us, should now tend to threaten us with something of similar evils. I say with something, for, till this year, I did not conceive human nature capable of going such execrable lengths as it has done in France; and therefore I grow diffident, and dare not pronounce any thing impossible. But, alas! the subject is too vast for a letter.—May our apprehensions be too quick—may a favourable turn happen! Foresight and conjecture we find are most fallible; and I have on all emergencies found them so. In my long life I have seen very black æras, but they vanished, and the sky cleared again.
I am very sorry I cannot directly accept the kind offer you and Mr. K. are so good as to make me, but you shall hear from me again as soon as I am sure of my own movements.
I am, Dear Sir,
Most sincerely,
⸺.
Extract from a Letter, dated
Nov. 2, 1792.
Dear Sir,
I thank you for your information on the two Latin words, and am persuaded you are perfectly right: Xenophon might be so too, in his solution of the Spartan permission of robbery. As he was very sensible, it is no wonder he tried to explain so seemingly gross a contradiction, as an allowance of theft, where there was a community of property.
But, to say the truth, I little regard the assertions of most ancient authors, especially in their accounts of other countries than their own; and even about their own, I do not give them implicit credit. They dealt little in the spirit of criticism, information was difficult to be obtained, nor did they pique themselves on accuracy, but set down whatever they heard, without examination. With many of the contrary advantages, how little historic truth is to be gleaned even now!
I wish the report of the delivery of the King and Queen of France were not still unauthenticated. One did wish to believe it, not only for their sakes, but as some excuse for the otherwise inexplicable conduct of the King of Prussia.—He still wants a Xenophon; so do the Austrians too, who, with four times his numbers, do not make quite so sagacious a retreat.
... Vain-glory shall not be one of my last acts. Visions I have certainly had, but they have been amply dispelled. I have seen a noble seat built by a very wise man, who thought he had reason to expect it would remain to his posterity, as long as human foundations do in the ordinary course of things; alas! Sir, I have lived to be the last of that posterity, and to see the glorious collection of pictures, that were the principal ornaments of the house, gone to the North Pole, and to have the house remaining, half a ruin, on my hands.
Forgive me, dear Sir, for dwelling so long on this article; not too long for my gratitude, which is perfect, but perhaps too full on my own sentiments. But how could I do otherwise than open my mind to so obliging a friend, from whom I cannot conceal weaknesses, to which both my nature and my age have made me liable? But they have not numbed my sensibility; and, while I do exist, I shall be,
Dear Sir,
Your most obliged, &c.
⸺.
Nov. 17, 1793.
Dear Sir,
I have been so much out of order for near four months, that quiet is absolutely necessary to me; and I have remained here, to avoid every thing that could agitate or disturb me, French politics especially, which are so shocking, that I avoid all discussion of them as much as possible, and have quite declined seeing any of the Emigrés in my neighbourhood, that I may not hear details. Some of the most criminal have, indeed, brought swift destruction on themselves; and, as they have exceeded all former ages in guilt, we may trust they will leave a lesson to mankind that will prevent their fury from being imitated. Pray excuse my saying more than that I am,
Dear Sir,
Yours most sincerely,
⸺.
Many letters, of course, passed in the interval; but the next which presents itself as worthy of attention, is the following:
Dear Sir,
You would have heard of me before this time, but I have not been well since I came hither, and I am going to London to-morrow, for a few days, as I am sorry to say the atmosphere of the town agrees better with me than the air of the country; at least, I find that change now and then is of use. However, I think of coming back on Monday, and if you have half an hour to spare before that day, I shall be very glad to see you in Berkeley-square.
I approve extremely of ⸺, and its temper, which will contribute to establish its reputation; though I do not doubt but he will sometimes be provoked to sting those who would wield daggers, if they dared.—Though perhaps ridicule may have more effect than nettles.—Teach the people to laugh at incendiaries, and they will hiss, and not huzza them. Montesquieu’s brief answer to the critics of his Esprit des Loix, and Voltaire’s Short Summary of the Nouvelle Eloise, were more felt and tasted than regular confutations, and are oftener resumed; for the world does not supply readers enough for the daily mass of new publications: it must expect to be diverted, I mean at times, for it has not quick digestion enough to feed long on solid food only. Nay, men who have sense to comprehend sound reasoning, are too few and too sedate to trumpet the reputation of grave authors; and by pronouncing just and temperate judgments, (for such men do not exaggerate,) they excite no curiosity in the herd of idle readers. The deepest works that have become standards, owe their characters to length of time; but periodic publications must make rapid impression, or are shoved aside by their own tribe; and to acquire popularity, must gain noisy voices to their side. This is not the most eligible; but as the object of the ⸺ is to serve his country by stemming error, and exposing its apostles, the favour of the multitude must be gained, and it is necessary to tickle them before they will bite.
I am, Dear Sir,
Yours most sincerely,
⸺.
Lord ⸺ retained, to the latest period of his life, his vivacity of conversation and powers of memory. The last anecdote which our Sexagenarian heard him relate, was his explaining the reason which induced him to seek for a town residence in Berkeley-square. In the time of Sir Robert Walpole it was the established etiquette that the prime minister returned no visits: it may probably be so now. But, on his leaving office, Sir Robert took the earliest opportunity of visiting his friends; and one morning he happened to pass, for this purpose, through Berkeley-square, the whole of which had actually been built whilst he was minister, and he had never before seen it. He stopped the coachman, and desired to know where he was.—This incident alone prevailed upon his son, Horace, to take the first opportunity which offered, of purchasing a mansion in this place.
One of his amusements in the latter part of his life, was to preserve all the seals of the numerous letters he received, in a china vase, which was placed upon his writing-table. Once a week he examined them carefully, and putting aside such as were remarkable or curious, he destroyed the rest; and thus, as he observed, he obtained, on easy terms, a curious collection of antique seals and gems.
His breakfast service was of very beautiful Dresden china, which he never would permit any of the domestics to touch.—He always washed them, and put them away himself.
His Lordship was applied to in a very complimentary letter from the late and last King of Poland, for a set of his Anecdotes of Painting. It was not till this occasion presented itself, that he had any idea of the scarcity or value of the books, which he printed at Strawberry Hill.
The only copy he had was interleaved, and full of marginal notes, additions, and corrections. He would often good humouredly relate the extreme difficulty he found in procuring a copy of the work, suitable, as to condition, to the rank of the Royal petitioner for it, as well as the chagrin he experienced in being obliged to purchase it at the enormous price of forty guineas.
The only classical work Lord ⸺ printed, was a beautiful edition of Lucan. The proof sheets were corrected by Cumberland, and considerable pains were bestowed upon it; nevertheless, though exceedingly scarce, and of high price, it is in no very great estimation for its accuracy.
His establishment at his villa was not very splendid; nor had his Lordship a very high character for hospitality. It was facetiously said by an author, who went to dine at ⸺, on invitation, that he returned as he went—exceedingly hungry. He had, however, his gala days, when splendour went hand in hand with plenty. But his servants were on board-wages; and when alone, his Lordship lived on the very humblest fare, drinking only water. He was a dreadful martyr to the gout, and the chalk-stones on his fingers were distressing to see: he held his pen with difficulty between his first and second finger. On the first symptoms of the approach of gout, he plunged his feet into cold water—by many thought a most desperate experiment, but from which he, of course, either received benefit, or conceived that he did.
He was, in the truest sense of the word, a perfect courtier. He was consummately insincere; and would compliment and flatter those in conversation, whom, in his correspondence, he sneered at and abused. This was, in a more particular manner, the case with some literary acquaintances, who, when he wanted their aid and information in the prosecution of any pursuit, were ostensibly very high indeed in his esteem; but, when he had got all he wanted, were either noticed with coldness, or made objects of his ridicule and contempt. This was remarkably the fact with respect to Richard Gough, and Cole of Milton.
He was accustomed to speak of those admirable specimens of satire, the Baviad and Mæviad, in terms of rapture: his expression was, “it is so soothing.” At the same time, more than one of the objects of that satire were among his “dearest friends,” and complimented by him on their poetic talents.
On the first appearance of Dr. Darwin’s celebrated poem on “The Loves of the Plants,” he was extravagant in his commendation of it—“we had seen nothing equal to it since the time of Pope.” His Lordship’s admiration of it cooled afterwards. He certainly had an elegant taste for poetry; and his smaller compositions of this kind, are models in their way. He had no great extent of capacity, and very little learning; but he was undoubtedly a most entertaining companion, and a very polished and accomplished gentleman.—So much for H. W.
Tu procerum de stirpe solus prægressus et ipsos,
Unde genus claræ nobilitatis erat,
Ore decens, bonus ingenio, facundus—et omni
Dexteritate vigens.