Books: Letters of Horace Walpole, V4

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(855) The Miss Berrys were at this time in Yorkshire.

Letter 405 To The Miss Berrys.
Strawberry Hill, Wednesday, 3 o'clock, Sept. 25, 1793. (page 543)

Every thing has gone au mieux. The rain vented itself to the
last drop yesterday; and the sun, as bright as the Belvedere, has
not had a wrinkle on his brow since eight o'clock this morning;
nay, he has been warm, and gilded the gallery and tribune with
sterling rays; the Thames quite full with the last deluges, and
the verdure never fresher it was born. The Duchess of York
arrived punctually at twelve, in a high phaeton, with Mrs. Ewert,
and Bude on horseback. On the step of the gate was a carpet,
and the court matted. I received the Princess at the side of
her chaise, and when entered, kissed her hand. She had meant to
ride; but had hurt her foot, and was forced to sit most of the
time she was here. We had many civil contests about my sitting
too: but I resisted, and held out till after she had seen the
house and drank chocolate in the round drawing-room; and then she
commanded General Bude to sit, that I might have no excuse: yet I
rose and fetched a salver, to give her the chocolate myself, and
then a glass of water. She seemed much pleased, and commended
much; and I can do no less of her, and with the strictest truth.
She is not near so small as I had expected; her face is very
agreeable and lively; and she is so good-humoured, and so
gracious, and so natural, that I do not believe Lady Mary
Coke(856) would have made a quarter so pleasing a Duchess of
York; nor have been in half so sweet a temper, unless by my
attentions de vieille cour. I was sorry my Eagle(857) had been
forced to hold its tongue To-morrow I shall go to Oatlands, with
my thanks for the honour; and there, probably, will end my
connexions with courts, begun with George the First,
great-great-great-grandfather to the Duchess of' York! It
sounds as if there could not have been above three generations
more before Adam.

Great news How eager Mr. Berry will look!-but it is not
from armies or navies; not from the murderers at Paris, nor from
the victims at Grodno. No! it is only an event in the little
world of me. This morning, to receive my Princess, I put on a
silver waistcoat that I had made three years ago for Lord
Cholmondeley's marriage, and have not worn since. Considering,
my late illness, and how many hundredweight of chalk I have been
Venting these ten years, I concluded my wedding garment would
wrap round me like my nightgown; but, lo! it was grown too tight
for me. I shall be less surprised, if, in My next century, and
under George the Tenth, I grow as plump as Mrs. Ellis.

Methinks I pity you, when all the world is in arms, and you
expect to hear that Saul Duke of Brunswick has slain his
thousands, and David Prince of Cobourg his ten thousands, to be
forced to read the platitudes that I send you, because I have
nothing better to amuse me than writing to you. Well! you know
how to get rid of my letters. Good night. I reckon you are at
Brumpton,(858) and have had no accidents, I hope, on the road.

(856) Lady Mary Coke, youngest daughter of John Duke of Argyle,
married to Lord Coke, eldest son of the Earl of Leicester.
After his death she fancied an attachment existed between herself
and the Duke of York, brother of George the Third; which she
likewise fancied had ended in an undeclared marriage.-M.B.

(857) The antique marble eagle in the gallery at Strawberry Hill,
round the neck of which was to have been suspended some lines
which Lord Orford had written, extolling the, Duke of York's
military fame and conquests in Holland, which the unfortunate
issue of the campaign obliged him to suppress.-E.

(858) The seat of Sir George Cayley, Bart. near Scarborough.

Letter 406 To The Miss Berrys.
Strawberry Hill, Oct. 6, 1793. (page 544)

You are welcome to Scarborough both, and buon proviccia! As you,
Mrs. Mary, have been so mistaken about your sister, I shall allow
nobody for the future to take a panic about either but myself. I
am rejoiced the journey seems hitherto to answer so well; but, do
you know, "it is very inconvenient to my Lord Castlecomer." I am
forced to eat all the game of your purparties, as well as my own
thirds.

Pray did not you think that the object of the grand alliance was
to reduce France? No such thing! at least their views have
changed ever since they heard of your setting out. Without
refining too much, it is clear to me that all they think on now,
is to prevent my sending you news. Does any army stir? Is not
the Duke of Brunswick gone to sleep again, like a paroli at faro,
or like a paroil at Torbay, which cocks one corner, but never
wins a septleva? That Lord Admiral reminds me of a trait of poor
Don Carlos, which helped on his death-warrant. He one day made a
little book, which he intituled "The Travels of Philip the
Second, King of Spain." It contained his Majesty's removals from
his capital to his country palaces, and back again. Well! if all
those monarchs are so pitiful as to set their wits against you, I
will balk them. I will do as other folks do; I will make news
myself-not to-night; for I have no invention by me at present:
besides, you are apt to sift news too shrewdly

.But, before I coin a report for you, I must contradict one. If
you should hear in Yorkshire, that I am appointed aide-de-camp to
the Duke of York, you may safely contradict it. It could only
arise from the Duchess of York's visit to me; just as, the year
before you came to Cliveden, your predecessor, Sir Robert
Goodere, literally told me, that he heard that Princess Elizabeth
had been sent to me for two days for the air. On questioning him
roundly, I discovered that he had heard no such thing; but had
conjectured so. on seeing two of the Duchess of Gloucester's
servants pass before his door from or to the Pavilions; which
ought not to have puzzled the goose's imagination a moment--but
thus reports originate!

Monday night, 7th.

I come from Mrs. Jeffries at Richmond, but return not a battle
richer than I went; though I saw the secretary-at-war' there, and
even the panic-master-general, who had not a single alarm to
bestow on a poor soul who is hungering and thirsting for news,
good or bad, to send to you. Sir George Yonge,(859) indeed, did
tell us, that thirty Jacobins, who had disguised themselves as
priests, to bring scandal on their countrymen of that profession,
but who, the Bishop of Leon declares, are none of their clergy,
have been detected and seized, and are to be sent away to-morrow.
Home news from Richmond. Your friend Mr. Dundas was robbed this
morning at eleven o'clock at Cranford-bridge. He happened to
tell them he is a surgeon; on which they insisted on his giving
them his case of instruments. I suspect they are French
surgeons, and will poison the instruments for the first wound
they dress. You see how I labour in your service, though my
crops are small. An old Duchess of Rutland, mother of the late
Duchess of Montrose, whenever a visiter told her some news or
scandal, cried to her daughter, "Lucy, do step into next room,
and make a memorandum of what Lady Greenwich, or Lady M.M. or
N.N. has been telling us." "Lord! Madam, to be sure it cannot
be true." "No matter, child; it will do for news in the
country." It is for want of such prudent provision pour le
couvent, that so many people are forced to invent off-hand. You
cannot say I am so thoughtless: you receive every morsel
piping-hot as it comes from the bakers. One word about our
glorious weather, and I have done. It even improves every day.
I kept the window open till dinner-time to-day, and could do
nothing but gaze at the brilliant beauty of the verdure. It is
so equal to ordinary Julys, that one is surprised to see the sun
set before six o'clock. Good night!

(859) Sir George Yonge.

Letter 407 To Miss Hannah More.(860)
Strawberry Hill, Oct. 1793. page 546)

Though it would make me happy, my dear Madam, if you were more
corresponding, yet I must not reproach your silence, nor wish it
were less; for all your moments are so dedicated to goodness, and
to unwearied acts of benevolence, that you must steal from
charity, or purloin from the repose you want, any that you bestow
on me. Do not I know, too, alas! how indifferent your health is!
You sacrifice that to your duties: but can a friend, who esteems
you so highly as I do, be so selfish as to desire to cost you
half an hour's headache! No, never send me a line that you can
employ better; that would trespass on your ease.

Of the trash written against you I had never even heard.(861)
Nor do I believe that they gave you any other disquiet than what
arose from seeing that the worthiest and most humane intentions
are poison to some human beings. Oh! have not the last five
years brought to light such infernal malevolence, such monstrous
crimes, as mankind had grown civilized enough to disbelieve when
they read any thing similar in former ages; if, indeed, any thing
similar has been recorded. But I must not enter into what I dare
not fathom. Catherine Slay-Czar triumphs over the good honest
Poles; and Louis Seize perishes on a scaffold, the best of men:
while whole assemblies of fiends, calling themselves men, are
from day to day meditating torment and torture for his heroic
widow; On whom, with all their power and malice, and with every
page, footman, and chambermaid of hers In their reach, and with
the rack in their hands, they have not been able to fix a speck.
Nay, do they not talk of the inutility of evidence? What other
virtue ever sustained such an ordeal? But who can wonder, when
the Almighty himself is called by one of those wretches, the
soi-disant God.

You say their outrageous folly tempts you to smile(862)--yes,
yes: at times I should have laughed too, if I could have dragged
my muscles at once from the zenith of horror to the nadir of
contempt: but their abominations leave one leisure enough to leap
from indignation to mirth. I abhor war and bloodshed as much as
you do; but unless the earth is purged of such monsters, peace
and morality will never return. This is not a war of nation and
nation; it is the cause of every thing dear and sacred to
civilized man, against the unbounded licentiousness of assassins,
who massacre even the generals who fight for them--not that I
pity the latter; but to whom can a country be just that rewards
tools with the axe? What animal is so horrible as one that
devours its own young ones?

That execrable nation overwhelms ill moralizing. At any other
minute the unexpected death of Lady Falmouth would be striking:
yet I am sorry for Mrs. Boscawen. I have been ill for six weeks
with the gout, and am just recovered: yet I remember it less than
the atrocities of France; and I remember, if possible, with
greater indignation, their traitors here at home; amongst whom
are your antagonists. Do not apologize for talking Of them and
yourself. Punish them not by answering, but by supporting the
good cause, and by stigmatizing the most imprudent impiety that
ever was avowed.

Mrs. Garrick dined here to-day, with some of the quality of
Hampton and Richmond. She appears quite well, and was very
cheerful: I wish you were as well recovered. Do you remember how
ill I found you both last year in the Adelphi? Adieu! thou
excellent champion, as well as practiser, of all goodness. Let
the vile abuse vented against you be balm to your mind: your
writings must have done great service, when they have so provoked
the enemy. All who have religion or principle must revere your
name. Who would not be hated by Duponts and Dantons!--and if
abhorrence of atheism implies Popery, reckon it a compliment to
be called Papist. The French have gone such extravagant lengths,
that to preach or practise massacres is, with them, the sole test
of merit-of patriotism. Just in one point Only they have merit;
they sacrifice the blackest criminals with as much alacrity as
the most innocent or the most virtuous: but I beg your pardon; I
know not how to stop when I talk of these ruffians. Yours, most
cordially and most sincerely.

(860) Now first collected.

(861) Three abusive answers to Miss More's pamphlet against M.
Dupont had just been published.-E.

(862) Miss More had said,--"These mad monkeys of the Convention
do contrive to enliven my unappeasable indignation against them
with occasional provocatives to mirth. How do you like the
egregious inventions of the anniversary follies of the 10th of
August?"-E.

Letter 408 To The Miss Berrys.
Strawberry Hill, Tuesday evening, eight o'clock, Oct. 15, 1793.
(page 547)

Though I do not know when it will have its whole lading, I must
begin my letter this very moment, to tell you what I have just
heard. I called on the Princesse d'Hennin, who has been in town
a week. I found her quite alone, and I thought she did not
answer quite clearly about her two knights: the Prince de Poix
has taken a lodging in town, and she talks of letting her house
here, if she can. In short, I thought she had a little of an
Ariadne-air--but this was not what I was in such a hurry to tell
you. She showed me several pieces of letters, I think from the
Duchesse de Bouillon: one says, that poor Duchesse de Biron is
again arrested and at the Jacobins, and with her "une jeune
`etourdie, qui ne fait que chanter toute la journ`ee;" and who,
think you, may that be?--only our pretty little wicked Duchesse
de Fleury! by her singing and not sobbing, I suppose she was
weary of her Tircis, and is glad to be rid of him. This new
blow, I fear, will overset Madame de Biron again. The rage at
Paris seems to increase daily or hourly; they either despair, or
are now avowed banditti. I tremble so much for the great- and
most suffering victim of all, the Queen, that one cannot feel so
much for many, as several perhaps deserve: but her tortures have
been of far longer duration than any martyrs, and more various;
and her courage and patience equal to her woes!(864)

My poor old friend, the Duchesse de la Vali`ere, past ninety and
stone-deaf, has a guard set upon her, but in her own house; her
daughter, the Duchesse de Chatillon, mother of the Duchesse de la
Tremouille, is arrested; and thus the last, with her attachment
to the Queen, must be miserable indeed!--But one would think I
feel for nothing but Duchesses: the crisis has crowded them
together into my letter, and into a prison;-and to be prisoner
amongst cannibals is pitiable indeed!

Thursday morning, 17th, past ten.

I this moment receive the very comfortable twin-letter. I am so
conjugal, and so much in earnest upon the article of recovery,
that I cannot think of a pretty thing to say to very pretty Mrs.
Stanhope; nor do I know what would be a pretty thing in these
days. I might come out with some old-fashioned compliment, that
would have been very genteel In

"good Queen Bess's golden day, when I was a dame of honour."

Let Mrs. Stanhope(865) imagine that I have said all she
deserves: I certainly think it, and will ratify it, when I have
learnt the language of the nineteenth century; but I really am so
ancient, that as Pythagoras imagined he had been Panthoides
Enphorbus in the Trojan war, I am not sure that I did not ride
upon a pillion behind a gentleman-usher, when her Majesty
Elizabeth went in procession to St. Paul's on the defeat of the
Armada! Adieu! the postman puts an end to idle speculations--but,
Scarborough for ever! with three huzzas!

(863) The Duchess perished under the guillotine in the following
year.-E.

(864) On the 16th of October, a few hours after Walpole had
penned the above letter, the unfortunate Marie Antoinette was
conducted, amidst a great concourse of the populace, to the fatal
spot, where, ten months before, Louis the Sixteenth had perished.
"Sorrow had blanched her once beautiful hair: but her features
and air commanded the admiration of all who beheld her. Her
cheeks, pale and emaciated, were occasionally tinged with a vivid
colour at the mention of those she had lost. When led out to
execution, she was dressed in white; she had cut off her hair
with her own hands. Placed in a tumbrel, with her arms tied
behind her, she was taken to the Place de la R`evolution. She
listened with calmness to the exhortations of the ecclesiastic
who accompanied her, and cast an indifferent look at the people
who had so often applauded her beauty and her grace, and who now
as warmly applauded her execution. On reaching the foot of the
scaffold, she perceived the Tuileries, and appeared to be moved;
but she hastened to ascend the fatal ladder, and gave herself up
with courage to the executioner. The infamous wretch exhibited
her head to the people, as he was accustomed to do when he had
sacrificed an illustrious victim. The Jacobins were overjoyed.
'Let these tidings be carried to Austria,' said they; 'the Romans
sold the ground occupied by Hannibal; we strike off the heads
that are dearest to the sovereigns who have invaded our
territory.' " See Thiers, vol. iii. p. 196, and Lacretelle, tom.
xi. p. 261.-E.

(865) The wife of Colonel Stanhope, brother of the Earl of
Harrington.

Letter 409 To The Miss Berrys.
Strawberry Hill, Nov. 7, 1793. (page 549)

I often lay the egg of my journals two or three days before they
are hatched. This may make some of my articles a little stale
before you get them; but then you know they are the more
authentic, if the Echo has not told me to unsay them-and, if a
Prince of Wales drops a thumping victory at my door as he goes
by, you have it hot out of the oven--though, as happened lately,
not half baked.(866)

The three last newspapers are much more favourable, than you
seemed to expect. Nieuport has been saved; Ostend is safe. The
Royalists in La Vend`ee are not demolished, as the Convention of
Lars asserted. Strasbourg seems likely to fall. At Toulon even
the Neapolitans, on whom you certainly did not reckon, have
behaved like heroes. As Admiral Gravina is so hearty, though his
master makes no progress in France, I suspect that the sovereign
of so many home kingdoms is a little afraid Of trusting his army
beyond the borders, lest the Catalans should have something of
the old--or new leaven. In the mean time, it Is still more
provoking to hear of Catherine Slay-Czar sitting on her throne
and playing with royal marriages, without sending a single ship
or regiment to support the cause of Europe, and to punish the Men
of the Mountain, who really are the assassins that the Crusaders
supposed or believed existed in Asia. Oh! Marie Antoinette, what
a contrast between you and Petruchia!

Domestic news are scanty, but dismal, and you have seen them
anticipated; as the loss of the young Lord Montague(867) and Mr.
Burdett,(868) drowned in a cataract in Switzerland by their own
obstinate folly.(869) Mr. Tickell's death was a determined
measure, and more shocking than the usual mode by a pistol. He
threw himself from one of the uppermost windows of the palace at
Hampton Court, into the garden -an immense height! Some attribute
his despair to debts; some to a breach with his political
friends. I am not acquainted with, but am sorry for him, as I
liked his writings.(870)

Our weather remains unparagoned; Mrs. Hastings is not more
brilliant: the elms are evergreens. I a little regret your not
seeing how beautiful Cliveden can be on the 7th of November; ay,
and how warm. Then the pheasants, partridges, and hares from
Houghton, that you lose: they would have exceeded Camacho's
wedding, and Sancho Panza would have talked chapters about them.
I am forced to send them about the neighbourhood, as if I were
making interest to be chosen for the united royal burghs of
Richmond and Hampton Court. But all this is not worth sending: I
must wait for a better bouche. I want Wurmser to be Caesar, and
send me more Commentaries de Bello Gallico. What do you say to
those wretches who have created Death an endless Sleep,(871) that
nobody may boggle at any crime for fear of hell? Methinks they
have no reason to dread the terrors of conscience in any
Frenchman!

November 10th.

Hiatus non deflendus; for I have neither heard a word, nor had a
word to say these three days. Victories do not come every tide,
like mackerel, or prizes in the Irish lottery. Yesterday's paper
discounted a little of Neapolitan valour; but, as even the Dutch
sometimes fight upon recollection, and as there was no account
yet of O'Hara's arrival at Toulon, I hope he will laugh or
example lor' Signori into spirit.

YOU Will Wonder at my resuming my letter, when I profess having
nothing to add to it; but yours of the 7th is just arrived, and I
could not make this commenced sheet lie quiet in my writing-box:
it would begin gossiping with your letter, though I vowed it
shall not Set out till to-morrow. "Why, you empty thing," said
I, "how do you know but there may have been a Gazette last night,
crammed With vast news, which, as no paper comes out on Sundays,
we shall not learn here; and would you be such a goose as to
creep through Brentford and Hammersmith and Kensington, where the
bells may be drinking some general's health, and will scoff you
for asking whose? Indeed you Shall not stir before to-morrow.
Lysons is returned from Gloucestershire, and is to dine here
to-day; and he will at least bring us a brick, like Harlequin, as
a pattern of any town that we may have taken. Moreover, no Post
sets out from London on Sunday nights, and you would only sit
guzzling--I don't mean you, Miss Berry, but you, my letter-with
the clerks of the post-office. Patience till tomorrow."

We have had some rain, even this last night: but the weather is
fine all day, and quite warm. I believe it has made an
assignation with the Glastonbury Thorn, and that they are to
dance together on old Christmas-day. What could I do with myself
in London! All my playthings are here, and I have no playfellows
left there! Lady Herries's and poor Mrs. Hunter's(872) are shut
up. Even the "one game more at cribbage"(873) after supper is on
table, which is not my supreme felicity, though accompanied by
the Tabor and Pipe,(874) is in the country or, to say all in a
word, North Audley-street is in Yorkshire! Reading composes
little of my pastime, either in town or country. A catalogue of
books and prints, or a dull history of a county, amuse me
sufficiently; for now I cannot open a French book, as it would
keep alive ideas that I want to banish from my thoughts. When I
am tired at home, I go and sit an hour or two with the ladies of
Murray,(875) or the Doyleys, and find them conversable and
comfortable; and my pessime aller is Richmond.

Monday morning, 11th.

Lysons(876) has been drawing churches in Gloucestershire, and
digging out a Roman villa and mosaic pavement near Cirencester,
which he means to publish: but he knew nothing outlandish; so if
the newspaper does not bring me something fresh for you
presently, this limping letter must set out with its empty
wallet. Mrs. Piozzi is going to publish a book on English
Synonymes. Methinks she had better have studied them, before she
stuffed her Travels with so many vulgarisms!(877)

(866) This alludes to some false report of the time.

(867) Lord Viscount Montague was the last male heir of a most
noble and ancient family, in a lineal descent from the Lady Lucy
Nevill.-E.

(868) Charles Sedley Burdett, second son of Francis Burdett Esq.
and brother of Francis, who on the death of his grandfather, Sir
Robert Burdett, in 1797, succeeded to the baronetcy.-E.

(869) They insisted on shooting down the, great fall of the Rhine
at Schaflhausen in a boat, against the remonstrances of the
neighbouring inhabitants and their refusal of every bribe, either
to assist or accompany them. They and their boat were shattered
to pieces, and their remains were found some days after, at a
considerable distance from the scene of their mad exploit.

(870) Richard Tickell, Esq. author of "Anticipation," the "
Wreath of Fashion," and other poems. He was a commissioner of
the stamp-office, and brother-in-law to Richard Brinsley
Sheridan.-E.

(871) "C'est ici l'asile du sommeil `eternel," was the republican
inscription over all the public cemeteries. Pache, Hebert, and
Chaumette, the leaders of the municipality, publicly expressed
their determination to dethrone the King of Heaven, as well as
the kings of the earth. Gebel, the constitutional Bishop of
Paris, disowned at the bar of the Convention the existence of a
God. On the 10th of November, a female whom they termed the
Goddess of Reason, was admitted within the bar, and placed on the
right hand of the president. After receiving the fraternal hug,
she was mounted on a magnificent car, and conducted to the church
of Notre Dame, to take the place of the Holy of Holies; and
thenceforth that ancient and imposing cathedral was called "the
Temple of Reason," See Thiers, vol. iii, p. 2,25, and
Lacretelle, torn. xi. p, 306.-E.