The Letters of Horace Walpole, Earl of Orford
Chapter 242 : Letter 280 To The Right Hon. Lady Hervey.Paris, Nov. 21, 1765. (page 444) Madame Geoff

Letter 280 To The Right Hon. Lady Hervey.

Paris, Nov. 21, 1765. (page 444)

Madame Geoffrin has given me a parcel for your ladys.h.i.+p with two knotting-bags, which I will send by the first opportunity that seems safe:'--but I hear of nothing but difficulties; and shall, I believe, be saved from ruin myself, from not being able to convey any purchases into England. Thus I shall have made an almost fruitless journey to France, if I can neither fling away my money, nor preserve my health. At present, indeed, the gout is gone. I have had my house swept, and made as clean as I could-no very easy matter in this country; but I live in dread of seven worse spirits entering in. The terror I am under of a new fit has kept me from almost seeing any thing. The damps and fogs are full as great and frequent here as in London; but there is a little frost to-day, and I shall begin my devotions tomorrow. It is not being fas.h.i.+onable to visit churches: but I am de la vieille cour; and I beg your ladys.h.i.+p to believe that I have no youthful pretensions. The d.u.c.h.ess of Richmond tells me that they have made twenty foolish stories about me in England; and say that my person is admired here. I cannot help what is said without foundation; but the French have neither lost their eyes, nor I my senses. A skeleton I was born--skeleton I am--and death will have no trouble in making me one. I have not made any alteration in my dress, and certainly did not study it In England. Had I had any such ridiculous thoughts, the gout is too sincere a monitor to leave one under any such error. Pray, Madam, tell Lord and Lady Holland what I say: they have heard these idle tales; and they know so many of my follies, that I should be sorry they believed more of me than are true. If all arose from madame Geoffrin calling me in Joke le nouveau Richelieu, I give it under my hand that I resemble him in nothing but wrinkles.

Your ladys.h.i.+p is much in the right to forbear reading politics.

I never look at the political letters that come hither in the Chronicles. I was sick to death of them before I set out; and perhaps should not have stirred from home, if I had not been sick of them and all they relate to. If any body could write ballads and epigrams, 'a la bonne heure! But dull personal abuse in prose is tiresome indeed. A serious invective against a pickpocket, or written by a pickpocket, who has so little to do as to read?

The Dauphin continues languis.h.i.+ng to his exit, and keeps every body at Fontainbleau. There is a little bustle now about the parliament of Bretagne; but you may believe, Madam, that when I was tired of the squabbles at London, I did not propose to interest myself in quarrels at Hull or Liverpool. Indeed, if the Duc de Chaulnes(908) commanded at Rennes, or Pomenars(909) was sent to prison, I might have a little curiosity. You wrong me in thinking I quoted a text from my Saint(910) ludicrously. On the contrary I am so true a bigot, that if she could have talked nonsense, I should, like any other bigot, believe she was inspired.

The season and the emptiness of Paris, prevent any thing new from appearing. All I can send your ladys.h.i.+p is a very pretty logogriphe, made by the old blind Madame du Deffand, whom perhaps you know--certainly must have heard of. I sup there very often;(911) and she gave me this last night-you must guess it.

Quoique je forme un corps, je ne suis qu'une id'ee; Plus ma beaut'e vieillit, plus elle est decid'ee: Il faut, pour me trouver, ignorer d'o'u je viens; Je tiens tout de lui, qui reduit tout 'a rien.(912)

Lady Mary Chabot inquires often after your ladys.h.i.+p. Your other two friends are not yet returned to Paris; but I have had several obliging messages from the d.u.c.h.ess d'Aiguillon.

It pleased me extremely, Madam, to find no mention of your own gout in your letter. I always apprehend it for you, as you try its temper to the utmost, especially by staying late in the country, which you know it hates. Lord! it has broken my spirit so, that I believe it might make me leave Strawberry at a minute's warning. It has forbidden me tea, and been obeyed; and I thought that one of the most difficult points to carry with me.

Do let us be well, Madam, and have no gouty notes to compare! I am your ladys.h.i.+p's most faithful, humble servant.

(908) Governor of Britany in the time of Madame de S'evign'e.

(909) See Madame de S'evign'e's Letters.

(910) Madame de S'evign'e.

(911) Madame du Deffand had, at this time, a supper at her house every Sunday evening, at which Walpole, during his stay at Paris, constantly made one of the company.-E.

(912) The word is n.o.blesse.

Letter 281 To George Montagu, Esq.

Paris, Nov. 21, 1765. (page 445)

You must not be surprised when my letters arrive long after their date. I write them at my leisure, and send them when I find any Englishman going to London, that I may not be kept in check, if they were to pa.s.s through both French and English posts. Your letter to Madame Roland, and the books for her, will Set Out very securely in a day or two. My bookseller here happens to be of Rheims, and knows Madame Roland, comme deux gouttes d'eau. This perhaps is not a well-placed simile, but the French always use one, and when they are once established, and one knows the tune, it does not signify sixpence for the sense.

My gout and my stick have entirely left me. I totter still, it is true, but I trust shall be able to whisk about at Strawberry as well almost as ever. When that hour strikes, to be sure I shall not be very sorry. The sameness of the life here is worse than any thing but English politics and the House of Commons.

Indeed, I have a mind still to see more people here, more sights, and more of the Dumenil. The Dauphin, who is not dead yet, detains the whole court at Fontainbleau, whither I dare not venture, as the situation is very damp, and the lodgings abominable. Sights, too, I have scarce seen any yet; and I must satisfy my curiosity; for hither, I think, I shall never come again. No, let us sit down quietly and comfortably, and enjoy our coming old age. Oh! if you are in earnest, and will transplant yourself to Roehampton, how happy I shall be! You know, if you believe an experience of above thirty years, that you are one of the very, very few, for whom I really care a straw. You know how long I have been vexed at seeing so little of you. What has one to do, when one grows tired of the world, as we both do, but to draw nearer and nearer, and gently waste the remains of life with the friends with whom one began it!

Young and happy people will have no regard for us and our old stories, and they are in the right: but we shall not tire one another; we shall laugh together when n.o.body is by to laugh at us, and we may think ourselves young enough when we see n.o.body younger. Roehampton is a delightful spot, at once cheerful and retired. You will amble in your chaise about Richmond-park: we shall see one another as often as we like; I shall frequently peep at London, and bring you tales of it, and we shall sometimes touch a card with the Clive, and laugh our fill; for I must tell you, I desire to die when I have n.o.body left to laugh with me. I have never yet seen or heard any thing serious, that was not ridiculous. Jesuits, Methodists, philosophers, politicians, the hypocrite Rousseau, the scoffer Voltaire, the encyclopedists, the Humes, the Lytteltons, the Grenvilles, the atheist tyrant of Prussia, and the mountebank of history, Mr. Pitt, all are to me but impostors in their various ways. Fame or interest is their object; and after all their parade, I think a ploughman who sows, reads his almanack, and believes the stars but so many farthing candles, created to prevent his falling into a ditch as he goes home at night, a wiser and more rational being, and I am sure an honester than any of them. Oh! I am sick of visions and systems, that shove one another aside, and come over again, like the figures in a moving picture. Rabelais brightens up to me as I see more of the world; he treated it as it deserved, laughed at it all, and, as I judge from myself, ceased to hate it; for I find hatred an unjust preference. Adieu!

Letter 282 To The Right Hon. Lady Hervey.

Paris, Nov. 28, 1765. (page 447)

What, another letter! Yes, Madam; though I must whip and spur, I must try to make my thanks keep up with your favours: for any other return, you have quite distanced me. This is to acknowledge the receipt of the d.u.c.h.ess d'Aiguillon--you may set what sum you please against the debt. She is delightful, and has much the most of a woman of quality of any I have seen, and more cheerfulness too: for, to show your ladys.h.i.+p that I am sincere, that my head is not turned, and that I retain some of my prejudices still, I avow that gaiety, whatever it was formerly, is no longer the growth of this country, and I will own too that Paris can produce women of quality that I should not call women of fas.h.i.+on; I will not use so ungentle a term as vulgar; but from their indelicacy, I could call it still worse. Yet with these faults, and the latter is an enormous one in my English eyes, many of the women are exceedingly agreeable. I cannot say so much for the men--always excepting the Duc de Nivernois. You would be entertained, for a quarter of an hour, with his d.u.c.h.ess--she is the Duke of Newcastle properly placed, that is, chattering incessantly out of devotion, and making interest against the devil, that she may dispose of bishoprics in the next world.

Madame d'Egmont is expected to-day, which will run me again into arrears. I don't l(now how it is. Yes, I do: it is natural to impose on bounty, and I am like the rest of the world; I am going to abuse your goodness because I know n.o.body's so great. Besides being the best friend in the world, you are the best commissionnaire in the world, Madam - you understand from friends.h.i.+p to scissors. The enclosed model was trusted to me, to have two pair made as well as possible--but I really blush at my impertinence. However, all the trouble I mean to give your ladys.h.i.+p is, to send your groom of the chambers to bespeak them; and a pair besides of the common size for a lady, as well made as possible, for the honour of England's steel.

The two knotting-bags from Madame Geoffrin went away by a clergyman two days ago; and I concerted all the tricks the doctor and I could think of, to elude the vigilance of the customhouse officers.

With this, I send your ladys.h.i.+p the Orpheline Legu'ee: its intended name was the Anglomanie, my only reason for sending it; for it has little merit, and had as slender success, being acted but five times. However, there is nothing else new.

The Dauphin continues in the same languis.h.i.+ng and hopeless state, but with great coolness and firmness. Somebody gave him t'other day "The Preparation for Death:"(913) he said, "C'est la nouvelle du jour."

I have nothing more to say, but what I have always to say, Madam, from the beginning of my letters to the end, that I am your ladys.h.i.+p's most obliged and most devoted humble servant.

Nov. 28, three o'clock.

Oh, Madam, Madam, Madam, what do you think I have found since I wrote my letter this morning? I am out of my wits! Never was any thing like my luck; it never forsakes me! I have found Count Grammont's picture! I believe I shall see company upon it, certainly keep the day holy. I went to the Grand Augustins to see the pictures of the reception of' the knights of the Holy Ghost: they carried me into a chamber full of their portraits; I was looking for Ba.s.sompierre; my laquais de louage opened a door, and said, "Here are more." One of the first that struck me was Philibert Comte de Grammont!(914) It is old, not at all handsome, but has a great deal of finesse in the countenance. I shall think of nothing now but having it copied. If I had seen or done nothing else, I should be content with my journey hither.

(913) The t.i.tle of a French book of devotion.

(914) The witty Count de Grammont, who married Elizabeth, daughter of Sir George Hamilton, fourth son of James first Earl of Abercorn, by Mary, third sister of James first Duke of Ormond.

Tradition reports, that Grammont, who is not recorded to have been a men of personal courage, having attached, if not engaged himself to Hamilton, went off abruptly for France: the Count George Hamilton pursued and overtook him at Dover, when he thus addressed him: "My dear friend, I believe you have forgot a circ.u.mstance that should take place before you return to France."

To which Grammont answered, "True, my dear friend; what a memory I have! I quite forgot that I was to marry your sister; but I will instantly accompany you back to London and rectify that forgetfulness." His celebrated Memoirs were written by his brother-in-law, Anthony, generally called Count Hamilton, who followed the fortunes of James the Second, and afterwards entered the French service.-E.

Letter 283 To The Hon. H. S. Conway.

Paris, Nov. 29, 1765. (page 448)

As I answered your short letter with a very long one, I shall be shorter in answer to your long, which I received late last night from Fontainbleau: it is not very necessary: but as Lord William Gordon sets out for England on Monday, I take that opportunity.

The Duke of' Richmond tells me that Choiseul has promised every thing. I wish it may be performed, and speedily, as it will give you an opportunity of opening the Parliament with great 'eclat.

My opinion you know is, that this is the moment for pus.h.i.+ng them and obtaining.

Thank you for all you say about my gout. We have had a week of very hard frost, that has done me great good, and rebraced me.

The swelling of my legs is quite gone. What has done me more good, is having entirely left off tea, to which I believe the weakness of my stomach was owing, having had no sickness since.

In short, I think I am cured of every thing but my fears. You talk coolly of going as far as Naples, and propose my going with you. I would not go so far, if Naples was the direct road to the new Jerusalem. I have no thought or wish but to get home, and be quiet for the rest of my days, which I shall most certainly do the first moment the season will let me; and if I once get to London again, shall be scarce tempted ever to lie in an inn more.

I have refused to go to Aubign'e, though I should lie but one night on the road. You may guess what I have suffered, when I am grown so timorous about my health, However, I am again reverted to my system of water, and trying to recover my hardiness--but nothing has at all softened me towards physicians.

You see I have given you a serious answer, though I am rather disposed to smile at your proposal. Go to Italy! for what?--Oh!

to quit--do you know, I think that as idle a thought as the other. Pray stay where you are, and do some good to your country, or retire when you cannot--but don't put your finger in your eye and cry after the holidays and sugar-plums of Park-place. You have engaged and must go through or be hindered.

Could you tell the world the reason? Would not all men say you had found yourself incapable of what you had undertaken? I have no patience with your thinking so idly. It would be a reflection on your understanding and character, and a want of resolution unworthy of you.

My advice is, to ask for the first great government that falls, if you will not take your regiment again; to continue acting vigorously and honestly where you are. Things are never stable enough in our country to give you a prospect of a long slavery.

Your defect is irresolution. When you have taken your post, act up to it; and if you are driven from it, your retirement will then be as Honourable, and more satisfactory than your administration. I speak frankly, as my friends.h.i.+p for you directs. My way of acting (though a private instance) is agreeable to my doctrine. I determined, whenever our opposition should be over, to have done with politics; and you see I have adhered to my resolution by coming hither; and therefore you may be convinced that I speak my thoughts. I don't ask your pardon, because I should be forced to ask my own, if I did not tell you what I think the best for you. You have life and Park-place enough to come, and you have not had five months of gout. Make yourself independent honourably, which you may do by a government. but if you will take my advice, don't accept a ministerial place when you cease to be a minister. The former is a reward due to your profession and services; the latter is a degradation. You know the haughtiness of my spirit; I give you no advice but what I would follow.

I sent Lady Ailesbury the "Orpheline Legu'ee:" a poor performance; but the subject made me think she would like to see it. I am over head and ears at Count Caylus's(915) auction, and have bought half of it for a song--but I am still in greater felicity and luck, having discovered, by mere accident, a portrait of Count Grammont, after having been in search of' one these fifteen years, and a.s.sured there was no such thing.

Apropos, I promised you my but besides that there is n.o.body here that excels in painting skeletons, seriously, their painters are bitter bad, and as much inferior to Reynolds and Ramsay, as Hudson to Vandyck. I had rather stay till my return. Adieu!

(915) The Count de Caylus, member of the Royal Academy of Inscriptions and Belles-lettre, honorary member of the Royal Academy of Painting and Sculpture, and author of the "Recueil d'Antiquit'es Egyptiennes, Etrusques, Grecques, Romaines, et Gauloises," in seven volumes, 4to., died at Paris in September 1765, in the sixty-third year of his age. He was said to be the protector of the arts and the torment of the artists; for though he a.s.sisted them with his advice, and, better still, with his purse, he exacted from them, in return, the greatest deference to his opinion. Gibbon, in his Journal for May, 1763, thus speaks of the Count:--"Je le vis trois ou quatre fois, et je vis un homme simple, uni, bon, et qui me temoignoit une bont'e Extreme.

Si je n'en ai point profits, je l'attribue moins 'a son charact'ere qu''a son genre de vie. Il se l'eve de grand matin, court les atteliers des artistes pendant tout le jour, et rentre chez lui 'a six heures du soir pour se mettre en robe de chambre, et s'enfermer dans son cabinet. Le moyen de voir ses amis?"-E.

Letter 284 To The Hon. H. S. Conway.

Paris, Dec. 5, 1765. (page 450)