Boswell and Thrale, retailers of his wit,
Will tell you how he wrote, and talk'd, and cough'd, and spit.
The French conspiracy here alluded to was the plot hatched for the murder of the Duc de Berri, son of the Comte d'Artois.
Bartolomeo Bergami, who just now loomed large through the cloud of scandal which surrounded the Queen's trial, was originally engaged by her as a courier, when she retired to the Continent in 1813. His handsome person so commended him to his royal mistress that she speedily promoted him to be her equerry and chamberlain, and treated him as an intimate friend. Through her influence he was made a Baron of Sicily, a Knight of Malta, and several other orders, including one of her own devising, under the patronage of "Saint Caroline": while a number of his relatives were provided with posts in her train.
Catherine Stephens was at this date the leading soprano at Covent Garden, and afterwards sang at Drury Lane, and in the chief concerts and festivals. In 1838 she married the fifth Earl of Essex, then over eighty years of age, and died in 1882. Though she had not a finished style, she sang airs like "Angels ever bright and fair" with much pathos and devotional feeling.
The Mrs. Sheridan here spoken of was the dramatist's first wife, Eliza Ann Linley, who died 1792. Though she was the finest singer of her day, her dislike to appearing in public had much to do with her run-away match with Sheridan.
Of Dr. Burney she writes in her Commonplace Book that he "died at last, I am told, at 89 years old, and in full possession of his faculties. They were extremely good ones. He thought himself my friend once, I believe, whilst he thought the world was so. When the stream turned against the poor straw, he helped its progress with his stick and made his daughter do it with her fingers. The stream however grew too strong, and forced the little straw forward in spite of them."
Mrs. Pennington sends a closely-written foolscap sheet dated October 1, largely taken up with the Queen's trial, a propos of which she says: "We received a comical anecdote in a letter from Town. They say it was a common trick for the little rascally boys, if they could get hold of a stranger in the mob, to offer to shew them the Queen for sixpence! On receiving it they would shout out; on which Her Majesty would immediately appear, and smile and curtesy graciously: and the boy would then add, "I'll have her out again presently!"
Penzance, Sunday Oct. 15, 1820.
A propos to Kingly residence the best joke is that since Her Majesty has possessed herself of all the John Bulls, her husband ran to Cowes by way of retaliation. It would seem by the Papers now, I think, that the Tryal draws near to a conclusion. If any poor Italian should be put in the Pillory, as menaced, he never, no never, would come out alive. When Mr. Thrale and I lived in Southwark, I pass'd a poor creature in that situation, upon St. Margaret's Hill, and could eat no dinner for thinking of his sufferings and danger. "Madam," exclaimed Dr. Johnson, "give yourself no concern about him. My life for it, he is drunk by now." The hapless Lombards have no such resource, and the man I saw died before night. But Miss Willoughby tells of another joke. One says the Queen must be fatigued to death sitting in this room so, without refreshment. "No Sir," is the reply, "the Queen's not nice; she can take a chop at the King's Head";—an Alehouse in the neighbourhood.
What you observe concerning public and private virtues may be true now in 1820; in 1760 I remember, when Wilkes's moral character was objected to by the Loyalists, the Liberty Boys cried, "What care we whether he be vicious, or the man he insults be virtuous? We look to public, not to private character." In consequence of these opinions the Town was deluged with verses, of which I can call to mind one stanza in praise of the then popular Hero.
'Tis thus that we are told,
The Ægyptians of old
Ador'd their still fouler Ichneumon,
Who alone durst engage
The fell Crocodile's rage,
With courage exceeding the human.
I forget whether the crocodile stood for King George III, or my Lord Mansfield. They equally resembled him, I believe; but 'tis plain men thought little of Jack Wilkes's vartue.
Your Butterfly, which was finished yesterday, is not less fixed in his flights than popular opinion. When Cardinal de Retz was followed up and down by an admiring mob, "Is not this fine?" said a flatterer, "to see your Eminence possess'd of so many friends and followers" "Let anybody ring a dinner-bell," said he, "and see how many would be left me then."
Meanwhile the storm continues very grand indeed, but something very like very dreadful. This bay looks so calm too! But sweetest wines make the sourest vinegar, and no anger is so fierce or fatal as that of gentle natures irritated to frenzy. I begin to wish it was over; as I did travelling among the Alps, which at first enraptur'd, but the third day wearied my very heart. Effect of the true sublime....
[P.M. Nov. 2, 1820.]
This will be a dull letter, dear Mrs. Pennington; I have been very ill, ill in good earnest, the pulse 92. There is a fever in the Town, and Sophy, my stout-looking housemaid, lies cover'd with blisters now....
Let us talk of the storm, it is more entertaining, and tho' death seems, by the describers, to be most dreadful under the form of white breakers, it comes cleanlier, and less to my personal disliking, so, than accompanied with gallipots and all the tribe of sick-bed sorrows; for which, and the talk concerning them, my aversion was ever great....
I continue to do what I came hither to perform, eat cheap fish, and pay old debts. Mr. Pennington will laugh, so will Dr. Randolph, if you tell them Tully's Offices are come to the last chapter, and that I shall write FINIS to that book, if I live the next month through.
Am I, d'ye think, to see the end of 1820? If I am, those who say people of letters are never people of figures, shall find themselves mistaken in H. L. P. Had I dreamed of losing £6000 at a stroke so, I would have been more prudent.
Conway was a good boy to send Partridge and pretty words to dear Clifton: he sends me no such nice things, knowing that my regard is not a ceremonious one. Marcella's speech to her lovers in Don Quixote, when they tax her with ingratitude, has the best common sense I ever read. "You love me," said she, "because I am young and beautiful and attractive by talents and graces. When you are so too I will requite your love, but no gratitude is due for that attention which you all confess to be involuntary. Get you gone, and plague me no more. Should I want your assistance when grown old and ugly, would you give me any? No, I warrant. Then I have nothing to thank you for."[36] ...
Dorset [Fellowes] has been surprisingly kind to me ... for after all, "Age is dark and unlovely, it is like the glimmering light of the Morn, when she shines thro' broken clouds: the blast of the North is on the plain, and the Traveller shrinks on his journey." Well! the people at Penzance do endure the dregs of the Piozzi very good naturedly; and Miss Willoughby grows much a favourite with them all.
What is to be seen at Penzance however, is a storm. The billows most majestic, and the sea spray tossing, foaming, as if to remind me of Brighthelmstone. For there alone does the salt water throw its particles into the air, so as to be carried 9 miles over the Downs to Lewes; where I have been warned to strip the Peaches of their downy coat, because they would taste of the last tempest. The shipwrecks here are shocking, and very frequent. This is no land of felicity to any but starvelings. Bessy buys five such fine Soles as I have partaken of at your table for one shilling, and they feed the family. We had a Turbot larger than that I sent to you for half a crown, a while ago. Miss Willoughby and I dined on the fins. But I scarce believe all fish is wholesome food, the town is full of Typhus now....
My heart tells me that H. L. P. has made her last journey; but 'tis no matter, and will be no loss.
A new book called Nicholle's Reflexions, or Recollections, will amuse you. His opinions of the late King run parallel with yours. But I, who remember caricatures of Charlotte toasting the muffin, and George the third reaching the Tea-kettle, can never be made believe that modern Reformers sigh for moral Princes. How did Louis 16ze please the people with his morality? Calling his present Majesty Nero, is to me comical. Carleton House may indeed be termed Nerot's Hôtel, because the Master of it is kept, like the people of a bagnio, in hot water. And it seems that's the true London joke. Adieu....