Part 17

The scandalous world are occupied with Lady Abercorn’s adventures. Ld. A.[228] seems to take the affair coolly and is inclined to behave well. The first is a disappointment, as people hoped his pride would be so galled that he would afford some sport to the wags, but he wisely enough seems of the opinion of La Fontaine, ‘Quand on l’ignore, ce n’est rien, et quand on le sait, c’est peu de chose.’ His absurd vanity has made him more conspicuous than he could have been otherwise. Before he married the lady in question he loved her. Some strange fancy induced him to wish her to have the rank and title of an earl’s daughter; he obtained it for her. Somebody asked Mr. Pitt how he would grant so strange a request.[229] He said he thought himself lucky to be let off so cheaply, for when he came, he looked so menacing and seemed so big with an important demand, that he thought he meant to ask for the Electoral vote for the Empire. (It was just upon Leopold’s death.)

_Nov. 13th._--La Harpe is a pleasant, critical writer. Admirable as Voltaire is, perhaps he is too servile in his admiration, and, like a zealous friend he defends a weak part as eagerly as if it were a perfection. One cannot but smile at his praise of Voltaire for a merit he certainly did not possess, _diffidence_.[230] He attacks Piron with severity and truth. Piron deserved every invective. It was best using his own weapons against him, for his epigrams deserve more to be reckoned scurrilous libels than witty satires. He determined to write one every morning before breakfast against Voltaire. In the number some must be good; those I have read are coarse abuse, full of jeers at personal defects. They tell a reply of his to Voltaire which is neat. They were at the theatre together at the first representation of one of Voltaire’s plays which failed. In going out Voltaire asked Piron what he thought of his piece, ‘Je pense que vous voudriez que je l’eusse faite.’ His epitaph upon himself, when refused admittance among the 40 Academicians, is good:--

C’y gît, qui ne fut rien, Pas même académicien.

[Sidenote: STATE OF OPPOSITION]

_Nov. 20th._--To-day Parliament opens. Ld. H., tho’ still weak, is gone down, and will, I believe, speak. In the Commons, Ld. Granville makes his maiden oratorical essay. These sessions will be diverting to a bystander. Tierney, notwithstanding his very superior abilities, is more perplexed than any of them. He cannot stand ridicule, and dares not alone without any support encounter the _flings_, as he calls them, about O’Connor. Therefore he means to begin first, and declare his error in having thought favourably of him; in short, to say he is a rogue and deceived him. The world are so illiberal that a recantation is more frequently ascribed to timidity than it is to candour. He will not gain one convert, but will excite many laughers.

True it is that those who are adverse to Ministry are in a lamentable plight. The discussion among Opposition and the crumbling of the whole party placed them in a ludicrous situation, and the brilliant state of the country, so contrary to their predictions, adds to the ridicule. All opposition must be unpopular, for tho’ in the abstract the real _griefs_ exist, yet the immediate successes, both in Ireland and against the French, efface the gloomy sight. The spirit of the Constitution, I sincerely believe, is lost, and those who care about political liberty must be contented and no longer struggle for what the majority are disposed to yield up.

Tierney told me he was surprised to find Lord Moira, in spite of his _chevaleresque_ manner, at times betrayed into merriment. He dined with him for the first time lately. Ld. M. told a story that happened at his own house, to illustrate the excess of French politeness. After dinner he proposed to the Duc de Luxembourg to taste some excellent _marasquin_ that had been sent him from the Martinique. The Duke said, ‘Volontiers.’ The bottle was brought, and a glass swallowed by ye D., upon whose countenance, however, there appeared strong marks of disgust, tho’ he bowed assent to all that was said in praise of the liquor. His silent approbation made Ld. M. taste it, and, to his astonishment he found it was castor-oil; the butler had mixed the bottles. Thus his good breeding saved his vomiting.

Dr. Brocklesby’s servant consumed a rare sort of castor-oil in making the salad, and when the Doctor, tortured by the colic, asked the relief, he was told he had eaten the last drop at dinner.

Jekyll told a story of Lord Kenyon[231] that is in character with his notorious stinginess and meanness. A ruined barrister was selling off his goods in his chambers in the Temple. The learned judge sent his son to purchase bargains. In a corner he spied two dirty globes. He asked what they were. ‘Oh,’ said the decayed lieut. of the law, ‘they are good for nothing; they are old, and half the countries now known are marked with lions and tigers as “Terra incognita.”’ ‘Never mind,’ replied the young K., ‘my father is not wise about new discoveries; provided they are globes and have a Zodiac, they will do for him.’ Ld. K., has a filthy trick of sniffing, instead of blowing his nose. Hare said the Assessed Taxes have made him retrench his pocket-handkerchiefs.

[Sidenote: MR. NICHOLL]

There is a strange man in the House of Commons, who is distinguished by being the particular object of the satire in the _Anti-Jacobin_ and having devoted himself most especially to Tierney during the last sessions, a Mr. Nicholl. His opinions upon the state of Europe have at least the merit of singularity. The Emperor of Russia imputes it to shoe-strings and round hats; Dr. Ingenhousz to freemasonry; but Mr. Nicholl ascribes all the disorders to the great families. ‘Aye, Sir,’ said he to Tierney, ‘unless they are crushed nothing can be done.’ He has explicitly protested to Tierney that unless he will bring forward a motion to that effect, he must no longer count upon his support. He called three times in one morning to obtain T.’s answer. Each time, like Dick in _The Confederacy_, ‘I’ll call a coach,’ then, ‘I’ll call a coach,’ he declared he would retire to his farm, and cultivate sour land. ‘I’ll go; I certainly will, Sir. These great families, this oligarchy, destroy us, Sir. Yes, Sir, they oppress us. Why look at them individually? Have they any single merit? Why, there is Ld. Fitzwilliam, a flat retailer in dull prose of Burke’s poetical, mad flights: has he not plunged us in this war? There’s Ld. Spencer recovering from epilepsy, merely to squander thousands upon an early edition. As to the house of Russell, Sir, Mr. Burke has handled them properly. The Cavendishes, Sir, are so notoriously stupid that they blunt satire; but see the head of them, Sir, the D. of Devonshire. Sir, why, I assure you I am credibly informed, I have it from the best authority, Sir, that he is a _mere sensualist_.’ (I wrote this to Chatsworth. The Duke, who, in fact, was paying for this said sensuality, laughed on his sick bed heartily.)

This shows the _travers_ of the human mind. Nicholl’s understanding has not kept pace with events. Sixty years ago, when he first flourished in manhood, the cry might have had some foundation. Sir Robert Walpole and the great Whigs did monopolise, from the Cabinet down to the turnpikes’ keepers. But since Lord Chatham, and, more particularly, his son’s Administration, the policy has been to annihilate all family unions; indeed, there is not a man of the Corresponding Society more bitter against the aristocracy than Pitt and Canning are. Pelham has resigned the Secretaryship, and the gentle Castlereagh, at the recommendation of Ld. Cornwallis, is to keep it as a principal, no longer as _locum tenens_.[232]

I have been reading French literature of a desultory sort and in a desultory way, both pernicious to the mind; for, by confusing the memory, it destroys the powers of the understanding. I can speak from experience, as I have completely obscured my faculty by too great an avidity to read, or, rather, devour books, without any method in my pursuits. My memory is seriously injured. I do not complain so much of it, as I always bear in mind La Rochefoucauld’s sarcasm, that everyone ‘se plaint de la foiblesse de leur mémoire,’ but ‘personne de celle de leur jugement.’

[Sidenote: COUNT RUMFORD]

Count Rumford, a celebrated man in the annals of science, is come to England, but grievously disappointed at the reception he has met with.[233] He is by birth an American. General Fox recollects his coming down from the interior settlements to the English fort where he commanded. The Indians had sacked his village, and he flew for protection. He was a rude, gawky, Puritanical colonial schoolmaster, astonished at seeing the number of brick houses, and delighted with the _splendour_ of the style of living in the garrison; but with all his simplicity, he was slyly awake to his interest, for when he claimed a reward for his loyalty he chose a district full of red oaks, saying he loved picturesque views. It was a lucky coincidence of profit and beauty. Red oaks are the only valuable timber in that country. When he came to England he continued to ingratiate himself into Ld. Sackville’s favour. He soon became, from private secretary, the most confidential person about him. It was either on account of a quarrel with, or at the death of, his patron, that he went upon the Continent _pour chercher fortune_. He fell in at Munich with ye Elector, who thought he might be useful in making reforms in his government. In the course of a few years he was, in fact, the sovereign in Bavaria. His establishments were excellent, and he may boast of having been of more essential benefit to mankind than most of those who stand high in the records of fame. He corrected the abuses which allowed an indolent, starving beggary, and he fed and employed them all.

When I knew him at Munich he was in the zenith of success. Subsequent to that period the Elector married; his interest clashed with that of the young Electress. He solicited to be appointed Minister from thence to this Court, and was. A quarter of an hour after he arrived, Canning called upon him, and informed him that he was not to be received in the diplomatic capacity: first, because he was an English subject, and 2ndly, because having been in the Secretary of State’s office, it was contrary to the rules. He was horribly vexed, but the case admitted of no appeal. He is going to America for a short time. Whatever his failings may be, he is a most useful member of society, and mankind are bound to revere him. His last publications, a theory upon heat, are _warmly_ combated.

Browne, the traveller, who excited my curiosity, is returned. I hope to see him here one day soon. He has been into the interior parts of Africa: his observations are said to be good, but are not yet made public.

Lady E. Fitzgerald is returned to Hamburg. Her late husband’s family are to subscribe towards making her up an income; two of her children are left among the family.

La Fayette is labouring under great pecuniary embarrassments. Gen. Fitzpatrick is making up among his friends ye sum of 3000_l._: it will principally fall upon himself, D. of Bedford, Whitbread, Ld. Holland, and a few others. It is shabby in the Americans not to do something for a man who deserved well of them, at least. I confess there are many whose situation excite my compassion much more; but I think we shall ourselves be soon among the number of ye distressed, for the claims, applications, recommendations, etc., upon Ld. H. are too numerous to be thought of with common patience; besides that, the follies and extravagancies of those who ought to know better fall upon him too.

Oh! my dear children, fond as I am of ye all, I had sooner at this instant hear of your deaths, than that you should become gamesters and spendthrifts. No, not even with the specious accompaniments of a good head and temper, for of what avail is it to a parent that a child possesses both, if their conduct is as abominable as that of the vilest. If these walls could speak, how would they resound with the bitter cries and tears of aged parents, distracted in their last few years by the behaviour of _good-hearted_ sons, but more especially of one who is still renowned for an excellent heart. I know of two good-hearted persons who have been, and still are, a curse to their connections by bringing ruin and distress upon them.

[Sidenote: LORD WYCOMBE]

It is difficult to be in a more embarrassed situation with respect to Ld. Lansdown than we are in. Ld. Wycombe is come to England, calls here, and lives at Richmond, peremptorily refusing to see his father, that he may, as he calls it, _keep up a good understanding between them_. Mrs. W. is living at Richmond in a state of melancholy and despair that borders upon intellectual derangement, refusing to see anybody, even me. Wycombe’s behaviour to his father admits of no apology. Slight and disregard towards a parent is at all times a defenceless cause, but, under the present circumstances, far beyond the power of an excuse. He has just obtained from him all he wanted--independence, the sale of estates to pay off debts, and getting rid of a borough, and now he will not even pay to a father that respect due to his age and infirmities were he but a common acquaintance.

Ld. L., who has more _travers_ in his understanding than most men, and as many as his son,--_et c’est tout dire_, imagines that Mrs. W. is a most artful, designing person, and that she is the cause of Wycombe’s estrangement; that I, as her friend, assist in the machinations; and that Ld. H. is a dupe to us both. He fancies that I have great influence over Wycombe, and could persuade him to call if I chose, as he knows I once made him go to Bath to see him. _Per contra_, Wycombe believes that his father has what he calls ‘got me over,’ and that my entreaties that he should call upon him, instead of arising from my own conviction of the propriety of them for his character, are merely the effects of his father’s management. In short, they are both so wrong-headed, and so far wide of the simple truth, that I have resolved not to say another word. All I have done is proceeded from my gratitude to Ld. L. for his good-nature to me, and my regard for Wycombe. Ld. L., like all warm-hearted people, can never suppose the error to be in the person he loves, and he always shifts the fault to those he is connected with at the time. Wycombe’s conduct is atrocious. He is revenging upon old age and infirmity the little vexations he experienced in his youth.

Ld. L.’s notions upon many subjects are so extravagant that, unless I had proofs about some of them, I could not possibly credit that any person of common sense or knowledge of the world could entertain them. He looks upon Mrs. Smith’s[234] marriage as a _profligate abandonment_. What he admires is a woman of rank marrying her equal whom she rather dislikes, and conquering a partiality to another, but fulfilling all her duties scrupulously and punctiliously. Lady Warwick, who is in that predicament, is his highest object of admiration.

Smith and he do not harmonise exactly; both lofty tempers, one claiming a superiority the other is not disposed to yield to. He is a most impracticable man to act with in politics. He has had the merit of bringing forward many distinguished men, but from his complaints of their desertion and ingratitude one perceives how much he exacts dependence, and how unreasonable he is. He used always to complain that though he voted with ye Opposition, yet they never told him what they intended. Upon the breaking, or rather stoppage, of the Bank, Messrs. Fox, Grey, and Sheridan went to him to concert measures for the ensuing debate,[235] upon which he said, ‘I will tell you, gentlemen, very fairly, my opinion, which has always been for _publicity_ and _simplicity_.’ With these two words they were obliged to be contented and extract from them what meaning they could, if any they had. One day, when Grey was talking confidentially to him, he burst out suddenly, and said: ‘Aye, but I have had one, Mr. Grey, already slip through my fingers.’ Grey was in a great rage; he meant Pitt.

[Sidenote: MRS. SMITH]

Mrs. S. is a superannuated, prudish beauty. She has survived her _attraits_ without perceiving their dereliction, and what seems as odd, those about her are equally dim-sighted. Her sister, Ld. L., and even Miss Fox, speak of her charms as they might have done 15 years ago. She is what a lively Frenchman called ‘demoiselle froide.’ She has no conversation, and her understanding, like Ld. Burleigh’s, must be taken upon trust, as she is too profound to open. Those who live with her say she has wonderful capacity, but as it is known to only 2 or 3 persons, she must submit to the aspersion of being suspected of great dulness. _Au reste_, I believe she is a good sort of person. Her eagerness to marry Smith, and delight at having done so, betray more warmth than by her cold exterior one may presume. She likes to be suspected of feeling.

I suspect there is not a more inveterate lover of pleasure than a well-matured prude; great prudery generally argues a more than usual warmth of constitution. The wearer of prudery, being conscious there is much to hide, falls into the extreme of reserve, whereas a naturally-disposed person is not troubled with any forbidden temptations, and appears lively and sprightly without fear of incurring severe observations.

The rage for German plays still continues. The stage abounds with them, and the press is loaded with translations, and some, in point of morality, very questionable. One of the causes that create them in Germany occasions their being relished here. The same dull apathy of character that demands something extraordinary to rouse it subsists in both countries, as we have nothing to boast on the score of liveliness beyond the good, dull Germans.

The first German play I ever saw was at Innspruck. I did not understand a word that was said, but the incidents diverted me as much as the pantomime in a harlequin farce. Ye first four acts were crowded with murders by poisoning, strangling, stabbing, occasional screams, starts, and trapdoors; the fifth had all the solemn parade of _bourgeois_ death, the exposition of a corpse in a coffin, with all the relations, just as Partridge would have them, crying around. But mark the catastrophe. Just as the mournful attendants were going to assign the apparently breathless heroine to her peaceful mansion, up she jumped, to the great discomfiture of the surrounding parties, and to ye admiration of the audience strutted about in her shroud.

The monstrous extravagancies of the German drama would not have been endured at Paris. There they were refined enough to relish wit and sentiment. The obtuse faculties of the German are incapable of tasting the raillery of Molière or ye poetical harmony of Racine. Perhaps something may be imputed to their political situation, for there the limits or gradations are strictly preserved between the difft. classes, and a _bourgeois_ knows nothing of life but the dull diary of his own. Therefore fiction and bloody ribaldry is not more extraordinary or untrue to his comprehension than would be an ironical picture of the manners of his superiors. Ye sphere of fiction and German nobility are equally remote from his knowledge, one as the other. I do not mean by this to justify the arrogance of a French _Académicien_, who absolutely proposed the question, ‘Si un Allemand pouvait avoir d’esprit.’

[Illustration:

_Louis Gauffier. pinx._ _Emery Walker Ph. sc._

_Elizabeth, third Lady Holland_

_1795_]

Ye theatre reminds me of a reply of Piron’s to Voltaire in coming out from ye _Semiramis_, which had some nights before been hissed. V. said: ‘You see, they have not hissed to-night.’ ‘Comment, voulez-vous qu’on siffle quand on bâille.’

[Sidenote: LORD G. LEVESON-GOWER]

_20th Nov._--Parliament met. Lord G. Leveson made his debut upon the Address; he did it uncommonly well, and was praised by the good judges on the opposite side to him. He is a man of mild, popular manners; without great force of intellect, but sufficiently endowed to distinguish himself and rise in politics. His family are accused of worldly wisdom, and have an uncommon share of that indefinable, useful quality, only to be rendered by the French word _tacte_. Ld. H. spoke, but was discontented with himself. He said Ld. Lansdown’s speech hampered him, for he did not like to contradict him, and yet he could not agree, as it breathed praise to the Ministers. In it he said, ‘_Rebellion and party are dead_.’ Mr. Hare said he coupled them like _robbery and murder_.

_21st._--Lord H. completed his twenty-fifth year. His sister, Ld. Ossory, General Fitzpatrick, Mrs. Crewe, Tierney, Hamilton, and Ld. Boringdon dined. In the evening Ly. Bessborough and Ld. Morpeth, and Ld. G. Leveson came; we were very merry.

I have been reading the _Memoir_, drawn up by the African Association, of Mungo Park’s journey. It is curious, as it proves that those who wrote 2000 years ago knew better the interior geography of Africa than we do, altho’ for many centuries their assertions were disbelieved.

_Dec. 8th._--D’Alembert’s _Éloges_ of the _Académiciens_ is full of excellent criticism, altho’ he was a mathematician, and might be suspected of requiring in a poet more precision than taste. That of Boileau is very entertaining; it not only contains criticisms of his works, but is full of philosophical observations upon human character and lively anecdotes. The title is disgusting. An _éloge_ implies a laboured panegyric upon the person who is the object, but he has adopted it only in conformity to the usage of ye French Academy, as, in fact, he has not spared Despréaux where a lash was called for. The futile prophecy of Despréaux’s father about him ought to serve as a lesson to parents not to indulge in predictions favourable or the contrary with regard to the abilities and character of their children. Who that has read Boileau can hear without a smile that it was of him that his father said, ‘Pour celui-ci, c’est un bon garçon qui ne dira jamais de mal de personne’? ‘On sent,’ says d’Alembert, ‘à quelle médiocrité sans ressource un père croit son fils condamné, quand il se borne à lui donner un éloge si modeste.’ Disgusted successively by jurisprudence and theology, he became a poet; and as if to belie his father he began by being a satirist, and by a trait of adroit flattery he converted into a friend the D. of Montausier, the declared enemy of raillery.