Some few years ago, Charles the Third, his present Catholic Majesty, who is passionately fond of hunting, had accoutred himself as usual for the chase. It was in the month of January, and the weather at the extremest point of cold. The snow began to fall in such broad flakes that the poor King was absolutely prohibited the chase that day. The servants about his person were ordered to lay three or four dozen of watches before their royal master, in order that he might amuse himself with the delightful and instructive pastime of winding them up. It seems even this King affects and is allowed all the pageantry, ceremony, and parade of regal state. His servants, thus having brought him the watches, retired, and left him all alone. It is remarkable of this crowned head, that, like Cicero, he is nunquam minus solus quam cum solus; that is to say, he never perceives the least difference whatever between a solitude and a multitude.
I take the winding-up of thirty or forty watches to be an operation which must soon fatigue the mental faculties, and those faculties fatigued make room for the exertion of the bodily powers; accordingly, we are told that his Majesty, who is an enemy to idleness and inaction, the moment he had wound up his watches, immediately perceived by dint of instinct that the weather was extremely cold. To counter-operate the inclemency of this sharp season, what could his Majesty do? His servants had left his hunting-whip in the room with him; this room was hung with gobelin tapestry. The vivid colours and lively figure of an Arabian steed, ready saddled, was represented to the life. His Majesty, who is not easily deceived, immediately approaches the highly-coloured arras, attempts to mount his Bucephalus; the pictured stirrup fails to admit his kingly foot, and, O dire mishap! plump falls the Majesty of Spain on the resplendent wax-rubbed floor. Long did this mighty monarch, over whose wide-extended dominions the sun never ceases to shine, ponderate in his kingly breast, whether he should severely correct the resplendent wax-rubbed floor, or whether his hunting-whip would not fall with greater justice on the still prancing, proud Arabian steed. Wisely did Charles the Third distinguish between primary and secondary causes. The saddled palfrey, therefore, could not but appear to be the proper and immediate object of royal resentment. This weighty point determined, and Charles having thus acted the two parts of juryman and judge, there remained only the executioner’s part for him to perform. Instantly he sprung from off the floor, and with his three-thonged hunting-whip, during thirty-four minutes, two seconds, and a-half, with hand uplifted, sublimi flagello, flogged the unmoving, unmoved stately quadruped. At length, half-drowned and half-suffocated in his own unfragrant exudations, which copiously oozed out at every pore, the King, quite spent, again involuntarily rushed rumbling down upon the resplendent wax-rubbed floor. Alarmed at this unusual noise, the guard attendant in the outer room, breaking through all order and every etiquette of Madrid’s solemn stately-marching court, quickly rushed in the apartment royal, and found their monarch, Cyrus-like, weltering, if not in reeking gore, at least in reeking sweat.
The faculty, called in, all stunned aghast! and they themselves shivering with cold intense, much wonder whence the cause of all this burning heat, which thus unknown had overpowered their King. When straight, as rising from a trance and starting into life again, thus oracularly answered Charles the Third:
“Be not surprised that thus I sweat, for by this watch of Graham’s make, thirty-four minutes, two seconds, and a-half, have I been flogging with this whip, whose ponderous handle is of massy gold, that high-stomached quadruped, whose traitorous hoof hath twice extended my whole length upon this floor.” Much more spoke he, while every word was to the full as pertinent and wise.
From these outlines, characteristic of this crowned head, your readers will perceive I had strong reasons for saying that Charles the Third, King of the Two Indies, is rather more than a degree and a-half less unwise than his son, Ferdinand the Fourth, King of the Two Sicilies.
In my next letter I will draw the picture of that other crowned head of the Bourbon family, Louis the Fifteenth, King of Navarre.
One who paints to the Life.
V.
EXTRACTS FROM THE MS. LIFE OF THE DUKE OF GRAFTON, BY HIMSELF, ILLUSTRATIVE OF WALPOLE’S MEMOIRS OF GEORGE THE THIRD, WITH SOME INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS.