Books: The Letters of Horace Walpole Volume 3

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The victorious arms of the present ministry in Parliament will
make me protract my stay here, lest it should be thought I
awaited the decision of the event; next to successful enemies, I
dread triumphant friends. To be sure, Lord Temple and George
Grenville are very proper to be tied to a conqueror's car, and to
drag then, slow lengths along;" but it is too ridiculous to see
Goody Newcastle exulting like old Marius in a seventh consulship.
Don't tell it, but as far as I can calculate my own intention, I
shall not set out before the twenty-fifth of March. That will
meet your abode in London; and I shall get a day or two out of
you for some chat at Strawberry on all I have seen and done here.
For this reason I will anticipate nothing now, but bid you
good-morrow, after telling you a little story. The canton of
Berne ordered all the impressions of Helvetius's Esprit and
Voltaire's Pucelle to be seized. The officer of justice employed
by them came into the council and said, "Magnifiques seigneurs,
apr`es toutes les recherches possibles, on n'a p`u trouver dans
toute la ville que tr`es peu de l'Esprit, et pas une Pucelle."
Adieu! Robin and John.

January 9th.

I had not sent away my letter, being so disappointed of a
messenger, and now receive yours of December the thirtieth. My
house is most heartily at your service, and I shall write to
Favre to have it ready for You. You will see by the former part
of this letter, that I do not think of being in England before
the end of March. All I dislike in this contract is the fear,
that if I drive you out of my house, I shall drive you out of
town; and as you will find, I have not a bed to offer you but my
own, and Favre's, in which your servant will lie, for I have
stripped Arlington-street to furnish Strawberry. In the mean
time you will be comfortable in my bed, and need have no trouble
about Favre, as he lodges at his wife's while I am absent. Let
them know in time to have the beds aired.

I don't understand one syllable of your paragraph about Miss
Talbot, Admiral Cornish, and Mr. Hampden's son. I thought she
was married, and I forget to whom.

(922) Lady Mary Montagu, third daughter and coheiress of John
second Duke of Montagu, and last of that creation; married, 7th
July 1730, George Montagu, fourth Earl of Cardigan.-E.

Letter 289 To The Right Hon. Lady Hervey.
Paris, Saturday night, Jan. 11, 1766. (page 457)

I have just now, Madam, received the scissors, by General Vernon,
from Mr. Conway's office. Unluckily, I had not received your
ladyship's notification of them sooner, for want of a conveyance,
and I wrote to my servant to inquire of yours how they had been
sent; which I fear may have added a little trouble to all you had
been so good as to take, and for which I give you ten thousand
thanks: but your ladyship is so exact and friendly, that it
almost discourages rather than encourages me. I cannot bring
myself to think that ten thousand obligations are new letters of
credit. I have -seen Mrs. F *****, and her husband may be as
happy as he will: I cannot help pitying him. She told me it is
coulder here than in England; and in truth I believe so: I blow
the fire between every paragraph, and am quite cut off from all
sights. The agreeableness of the evenings makes me some amends.
I am just going to sup at Madame d'Aiguillon's with Madame
d'Egmont, and I hope Madame de Brionne, whom I have not yet seen;
but she is not very well, and it is doubtful. My last new
passion, and I think the strongest, is the Duchesse de Choiseul.
Her face is pretty, not very pretty; her person a little model.
Cheerful, modest, full of attentions, with the happiest propriety
of expression, and greatest quickness of reason and judgment, you
would take her for the queen of an allegory: one dreads its
finishing, as much as a lover, if she would admit one, would wish
it should finish. In short, Madam, though you are the last
person that will believe it, France is so agreeable, and England
so much the reverse, that I don't know when I shall return. The
civilities, the kindnesses, the honours I receive, are so many
and so great, that I am continually forced to put myself in mind
how little I am entitled to them, and how many of them I owe to
your ladyship. I shall talk you to death at my return. Shall
you bear to hear me tell you a thousand times over, that Madame
Geoffrin is the most rational woman in the world, and Madame
d'Aiguillon the most animated and most obliging? I think you
will. Your ladyship can endure the panegyric of your friends.
If you should grow impatient to hear them commended, you have
nothing to do but to come over. The best air in the world is
that where one is pleased: Sunning waters are nothing to it. The
frost is so hard, it is impossible to have the gout; and though
the fountain of youth is not here, the fountain of age is, which
comes to just the same thing. One is never old here, or never
thought so. One makes verses as if one was but seventccn-for
example:-

ON MADAME DE FORCALQUIER SPEAKING ENGLISH.

Soft sounds that steal from fair Forcalquier's lips,
Like bee that murmuring the jasmin sips!
Are these my native accents? None so sweet,
So gracious, yet my ravish'd ears did meet.
O power of beauty! thy enchanting look
Can melodize each note in Nature's book.
The roughest wrath of Russians, when they swear,
Pronounced by thee, flows soft as Indian air;
And dulcet breath, attemper'd by thine eyes,
Gives British prose o'er Tuscan verse the prize.

You must not look, Madam, for much meaning in these lines; they
were intended only to run smoothly, and to be easily comprehended
by the fair scholar who is learning our language. Still less
must you show them: they are not calculated for the meridian of
London, where you know I dread being represented as a shepherd.
Pray let them think that I am wrapped up in Canada bills, and
have all the pamphlets sent over about the colonies and the
stamp-act.

I am very sorry for the accounts your ladyship gives me of Lord
Holland. He talks, I am told, of going to Naples: one would do a
great deal for health, but I question if I could buy it at that
expense. If Paris would answer his purpose, I should not wonder
if he came hither; but to live with Italians must be woful, and
would ipso facto make me ill. It is true I am a bad judge: I
never tasted illness but the gout, which, tormenting as it is, I
prefer to all other distempers: one knows the fit will end, will
leave one quite well, and dispenses with the nonsense of
physicians, and absurdity is more painful than pain: at least the
pain of the gout never takes away my spirits, which the other
does.

I have never heard from Mr. Chute this century, but am glad the
gout is rather his excuse than the cause, and that it lies only
in his pen. I am in too good humour to quarrel with any body,
and consequently cannot be in haste to see England, where at
least one is sure of being quarrelled with. If they vex me, I
will come back hither directly; and I shall have the satisfaction
of knowing that your ladyship will not blame me.

Letter 290 To The Hon. H. S. Conway.
Paris, Jan. 12, 1766. (page 458)

I have received your letter by General Vernon, and another. to
which I have writ an answer, but was disappointed of a conveyance
I expected. You shall have it with additions, by the first
messenger that goes; but I cannot send it by the post, as I have
spoken very freely of some persons you name, in which we agree
thoroughly. These few lines are only to tell you that I am not
idle in writing to you.

I almost repent having come hither: for I like the way of life
and many of the people so well, that I doubt I shall feel more
regret at leaving Paris than I expected. It would sound vain to
tell you the honours and distinctions I receive, and how much I
am in fashion; yet when they come from the handsomest women in
France, and the most respectable in point of character, can one
help being a little proud? If I was twenty years younger, I
should wish they were not quite so respectable. Madame de
Brionne, whom I have never seen, and who was to have met me at
supper last night at the charming Madame d'Egmont's, sent me an
invitation by the latter for Wednesday next. I was engaged, and
hesitated. I was told, "Comment! savez-vous que c'est qu'elle
ne feroit pas pour toute la France?" However, lest you should
dread my returning a perfect old swain, I study my wrinkles,
compare myself and my limbs to every plate of larks I see, and
treat my understanding with at least as little mercy. Yet, do
you know, my present fame is owing to a very trifling
composition, but which has made incredible noise. I was one
evening at Madame Geoffrin's joking on Rousseau's affectations
and contradictions, and said some things that diverted them.
When I came home, I Put them into a letter, and showed it next
day to Helvetius and the Duc de Nivernois-, who were so pleased
with it, that, after telling me some faults in the language,
which you may be sure there were, they encouraged me to let it be
seen. As you know I willingly laugh at mountebanks, political or
literary, let their talents be ever so great, I was not averse.
The copies have spread like wildfire; et me voici `a la mode! I
expect the end of my reign at the end of the week with great
composure. Here is the letter:--

LE ROI DE PRUSSE, A MONSIEUR ROUSSEAU.(923)

Mon ch`ere Jean Jacques,
Vous avez renonc`e `a G`en`eve votre patrie; vous vous `etes fait
chasser de la Suisse, pays tant vant`e dans vos `ecrits; la
France vous a d`ecret`e. Venez done chez moi; j'admire vos
talens; je m'amuse de vos r`everies, qui (soit dit en passant)
vous occupent trop, et trop long tems. Il faut `a la fin `etre
sage et heureux. Vous avez fait assez parler de vous par des
singularit`es peu convenables `a un v`eritable grand homme.
D`emontrez `a vos ennemis que vous pouvez avoir quelquefois le
sens commun: cela les fachera, sans vous faire- tort. Mes `etats
vous offrent Une retraite paisible; je vous veux du bien, et je
vous en ferai, si vous le trouvez bon. Mais si vous vous
obstiniez `a rejetter mon secours, attendez-vous que je ne le
dirai `a personne. Si vous persistez @ vous creuser l'esprit
pour trouver de nouveaux malheurs, choisissez les tels que vous
voudrez. Je suis roi, je puis vous en procurer au gr`e de vos
souhaits: et ce qui s`urement ne vous arrivera pas vis `a vis de
vos ennemis, je cesserai de vous pers`ecuter quand vous cesserez
de mettre votre gloire `a l'`etre. Votre bon ami, Frederic.

The Princesse de Ligne,(924) whose mother was an Englishwoman
made a good observation to me last night. She said, "Je suis
roi, je puis vous procurer de malheurs," was plainly the stroke
of an English pen. I said, then I had certainly not well
imitated the character in which I wrote. You will say I am an
old man to attack both Voltaire and Rousseau. It is true; but I
shoot at their heel, at their vulnerable part.

I beg your pardon for taking up your time with these trifles.
The day after to-morrow we go in cavalcade with the Duchess of
Richmond to her audience;(925) I have got my cravat and shammy
shoes. Adieu!

(923) How much Rousseau, who was naturally disposed to believe in
plots and conspiracies against him, was annoyed by this jeu
d'esprit, the reader will readily learn from the following
letter, which he addressed to the editor of the London Chronicle
shortly after his arrival in England:--

Wootton, 3d March 1766.

You have failed, Sir, in the respect which every private person
owes to a crowned head, in attributing publicly to the King of
Prussia a letter full of extravagance and malignity, of which,
for these very reasons, you ought to have known be could not be
the author. You have even dared to transcribe his signature, as
if you had seen it written with his own hand. I inform you, Sir,
this letter was fabricated at Paris; and what rends my heart is,
that the impostor has accomplices in England. You owe to the
King of Prussia, to truth, and to me, to print the letter which I
write to you, and which I sign, as an atonement for a fault with
which you would doubtless reproach yourself severely, if you knew
to what a dark transaction you have rendered yourself accessory.
I salute you Sir, very sincerely. Rousseau.

(924) The Princess de Ligne was a daughter of the Marquis de
Megi`eres, by Miss Oglethorpe, sister of general Oglethorpe.-E.

(925) At Versailles, as ambassadress.

Letter 291 To The Rev. Mr. Cole.
Paris, Jan. 18, 1766. (page 460)

Dear sir,
I had extreme satisfaction in receiving your letter, having been
in great pain about you, and not knowing where to direct a
letter. Favre(926) told me, you had had an accident, did not say
what it was, but that you was not come to town.(927) He received
all the letters and parcels safe; for which I give you many
thanks, and a thousand more for your kindness in thinking of
them, when you was suffering so much. It was a dreadful
conclusion of your travels; but I trust will leave no
consequences behind it. The weather is by no means favourable
for a recovery, if it is as severe in England as at Paris. We
have had two or three days of fog, rather than thaw; but the
frost is set in again as sharp as ever. I persisted in going
about to churches and convents, till I thought I should have lost
my nose and fingers. I have submitted at last to the season, and
lie a-bed all the morning; but I hope in February and March to
recover the time I have lost. I shall not return to England
before the end of March, being determined not to hazard any
thing. I continue perfectly well, and few things could tempt me
to risk five months more of gout.

I will certainly bring you some pastils, and have them better
packed, if it is possible. You know how happy I should be if you
would send me any other commission. As you say nothing of the
Eton living, I fear that prospect has failed you; which gives me
great regret, as it would give me very sensible pleasure to have
you fixed somewhere (and not far from me) for your ease and
satisfaction.

I am glad the cathedral of Amiens answered your expectation; so
has the Sainte Chapelle mine; you did not tell me what charming
enamels I should find in the ante-chapel. I have seen another
vast piece, and very fine, of the Constable Montmorenci, at the
Mar`echale Duchesse de Luxembourg's. Rousseau is gone to England
with Mr. Hume. You will very probably see a letter to Rousseau,
in the name of the King of Prussia, writ to laugh at his
affectations. It has made excessive noise here, and I believe
quite ruined the author with many philosophers. When I tell you
I was the author, it is telling you how cheap I hold their anger.
If it does not reach you, you shall see it at Strawberry, where I
flatter myself I shall see you this summer, and quite well.
Adieu!

(926) A servant of Mr. Walpole's left in London.

(927) In disembarking at Dover, Mr. Cole met with an accident,
that had confined him there three weeks to his bed.

Letter 292 To Mr. Gray.
Paris, Jan. 25, 1766. (461)

I am much indebted to you for your kind letter and advice; and
though it is late to thank you for it, it is at least a stronger
proof that I do not forget it. However, I am a little obstinate,
as you know, on the chapter of health, and have persisted through
this Siberian winter in not adding a grain to my clothes, and in
going open-breasted without an under waistcoat. In short, though
I like extremely to live, it must be in my own way, as long as I
can: it is not youth I court, but liberty; and I think making
oneself tender is issuing a general warrant against one's own
person. I suppose I shall submit to confinement when I cannot
help it; but I am indifferent enough to life not to care if it
ends soon after my prison begins. I have not delayed so long to
answer your letter, from not thinking of you, or from want of
matter, but from want of time. I am constantly occupied,
engaged, amused, till I cannot bring a hundredth part of what I
have to say into the compass of a letter. You will lose nothing
by this: you know my volubility, when I am full of new subjects;
and I have at least many hours of conversation for you at my
return. One does not learn a whole nation in four or five
months; but, for the time, few, I believe, have seen, studied, or
got so much acquainted with the French as I have.

By what I said of their religious or rather irreligious opinions,
you must not conclude their people of quality atheists--at least,
not the men. Happily for them, poor souls! they are not capable
of going so far into thinking. They assent to a great deal,
because it is the fashion, and because they don't know how to
contradict. they are ashamed to defend the Roman Catholic
religion, because it is quite exploded; but I am convinced they
believe it in their hearts. They hate the Parliaments and the
philosophers, and are rejoiced that they may still idolize
royalty. At present, too, they are a little triumphant: the
court has shown a little spirit, and the Parliament much less:
but as the Duc de Choiseul, who is very fluttering, unsettled,
and inclined to the philosophers, has made a compromise with the
Parliament of Bretagne, the Parliaments might venture out again,
if, as I fancy will be the case, they are not glad to drop a
cause, of which they began to be a little weary of the
inconvenience.

The generality of the men, and more than the generality, are dull
and empty. They have taken up gravity, thinking it was
philosophy and English, and so have acquired nothing in the room
of their natural levity and cheerfulness. However, as their high
opinion of their own country remains, for which they can no
longer assign any reason, they are contemptuous and reserved,
instead of being ridiculously, consequently pardonably,
impertinent. I have wondered, knowing my own countrymen, that we
had attained such a superiority. I wonder no longer, and have a
little more respect for English heads than I had.

The women do not seem of the same country: if they are less gay
than they were, they are more informed, enough to make them very
conversable. I know six or seven with very superior
understandings. some of them with wit, or with softness, or very
good sense.

Madame Geoffrin, of whom you have heard much, is an extraordinary
woman, with more common sense than I almost ever met with. Great
quickness in discovering characters, penetration in going to the
bottom of them, and a pencil that never fails in a likeness--
seldom a favourable One. She exacts and preserves, spite of her
birth and their nonsensical prejudices about nobility, great
court and attention. This she acquires by a thousand little arts
and offices of friendship: and by a freedom and severity, which
seem to be her sole end of drawing a concourse to her; for she
insists on scolding those she inveigles to her. She has little
taste and less knowledge, but protects artisans and authors, and
courts a few people to have the credit of serving her dependents.
She was bred under the famous Madame Tencin, who advised her
never to refuse any man; for, said her mistress, though nine in
ten should not care a farthing for you, the tenth may live to be
a useful friend. She did not adopt or reject the whole plan, but
fully retained the purport of the maxim. In short, she is an
epitome' of empire, subsisting by rewards and punishments. Her
great enemy, Madame du Deffand, was for a short time mistress of
the Regent, is now very old and stoneblind, but retains all her
vivacity, wit, memory, judgment, passions, and agreeableness.
She goes to operas, plays, suppers, and Versailles; gives suppers
twice a-week; has every thing new read to her; makes new songs
and epigrams, admirably, and remembers every one that has been
made these fourscore years. She corresponds with Voltaire,
dictates charming letters to him, contradicts him, is no bigot to
him or any body, and laughs both at the clergy and the
philosophers. In a Dispute, into which she easily falls, she is
very warm, and yet scarce ever in the wrong: her judgment on
every subject, is as just as possible; on every point of conduct
as wrong as possible: for she is all love and hatred, passionate
for her friends to enthusiasm, still anxious to be loved, I don't
mean by lovers, and a vehement enemy, but openly. As she can
have no amusement but conversation, the least solitude and ennui
are insupportable to her, and put her into the power of several
worthless people, who eat her suppers when they can eat nobody's
of higher rank; wink to one another and laugh at her; hate her
because she has forty times more parts--and venture to hate her
because she is not rich.(928) She has an old friend whom I must
mention, a Monsieur Pondeveyle,(929) author of the Fat puni, and
the Complaisant, and of those pretty novels, the Comte de
Cominge, the Siege of Calais, and Les Malheurs de l'Amour.(930)
Would not you expect this old man to be very agreeable? He can
be so, but seldom is yet he has another very different and very
amusing talent, the art of parody, and is unique in his kind. He
composes tales to the tunes of long dances -. for instance, he
has adapted the Regent's Daphnis and Chloe to one, and made it
ten times more indecent; but is so old, and sings it so well,
that it is permitted in all companies. He has succeeded still
better in les caract`eres de la danse, to which he has adapted
words that express all the characters of love. With all this he
has not the least idea of cheerfulness in conversation; seldom
speaks but on grave subjects, and not often on them; is a
humourist, very supercilious, and wrapt up in admiration of his
own country, as the only judge of his merit. His air and look
are cold and forbidding; but ask him to sing, or praise his
works, his eyes and smiles open, and brighten up. In short, I
can show him to you: the self-applauding poet in Hogarth's Rake's
Progress, the second print, is so like his very features and very
wig, that you would know him by it, if you came hither--for he
certainly will not go to you.

Madame de Mirepoix's understanding is excellent of the useful
kind, and can be so when she pleases of the agreeable kind. She
has read, but seldom shows it, and has perfect taste. Her manner
is cold, but very civil; and she conceals even the blood of
Lorrain, without ever forgetting it. Nobody in France knows the
world better, and nobody is personally so well with the King.
She is false, artful, and insinuating beyond measure when it is
her interest,(931) but indolent and a coward. She never had any
passion but gaming, and always loses. For ever paying court, the
sole produce of a life of art is to get money from the King to
carry on a course of paying debts or contracting new ones, which
she discharges as fast as she is able. She advertised devotion,
to get made dame du palais to the Queen; and the very next day
this Princess of Lorrain was seen riding backwards with Madame
Pompadour in the latter's coach. When the King was stabbed, and
heartily frightened, the mistress took a panic too, and consulted
D'Argenson,(932) whether she had not best make off in time. He
hated her, and said, By all means. Madame de Mirepoix advised
her to stay. The King recovered his spirits, D'Argenson was
banished, and La Mar`echale inherited part of the mistress's
credit. I must interrupt my history of illustrious women with an
anecdote of Monsieur de Maurepas, with whom I am much acquainted,
and who has one of the few heads which approach to good ones, and
who luckily for us was disgraced, and the marine dropped, because
it was his favourite object and province. He employed Pondeveyle
to make a song on the Pompadour:(933) it was clever and bitter,
and did not spare Majesty. This was Maurepas absurd enough to
sing at supper at Versailles.(934) Banishment ensued; and lest
he should ever be restored, the mistress persuaded the King that
he had poisoned her predecessor Madame de Chateauroux. Maurepas
is very agreeable, and exceedingly cheerful; yet I have seen a
transient silent cloud when politics are talked of.

Madame de Boufflers, who was in England(935) is a savants
mistress of the Prince of Conti, and very desirous of being his
wife. She is two women, the upper and the lower. I need not
tell you that the lower is gallant, and still has pretensions.
The upper is very sensible, too, and has a measured eloquence
that is just and pleasing--but all is spoiled by an unrelaxed
attention to applause. You would think she was always sitting
for her picture to her biographer. Madame de Rochfort(936) is
different from all the rest. Her understanding is just and
delicate; with a finesse of wit that is the result of reflection.
Her manner is soft and feminine, and though a savants, without
any declared pretensions. She is the decent friend of Monsieur
de Nivernois; for you must not believe a syllable of what you
read in their novels. It requires the greatest curiosity, or the
greatest habitude, to discover the smallest connexion between the
sexes here. No familiarity, but under the veil of friendship, is
permitted, and love's dictionary is as much prohibited, as at
first sight one should think his ritual was. All you hear, and
that pronounced with nonchalance, is, that Monsieur un tel has
had Madame un telle. The Duc de Nivernois has parts, and writes
at the top of the mediocre, but, as Madame Geoffrin says, is
manqu`e par tout; guerrier manqu`e, ambassadeur manqu`e, homme
d'affaires manqu`e and auteur manqu`e--no, he is not homme de
naissance manqu`e. He would think freely, but has some ambition
of being governor to the Dauphin, and is more afraid of his wife
and daughter, who are ecclesiastic fagots. The former
outchatters the Duke of Newcastle; and the latter Madame de
Gisors, exhausts Mr. Pitt's eloquence in defense of the
Archbishop of Paris. Monsieur de Nivernois lives in a small
circle of dependent admirers, and Madame de Rochfort is
high-priestess for a small salary of credit.