[Footnote 1: This was a false report.--WALPOLE.]

_HIS OWN "ANECDOTES OF PAINTING"--HIS PICTURE OF THE WEDDING OF HENRY VII.--BURNET'S COMPARISON OF TIBERIUS AND CHARLES II.--ADDISON'S "TRAVELS."_

TO THE REV. HENRY ZOUCH.

ARLINGTON STREET, _March_ 20, 1762.

I am glad you are pleased, Sir, with my "Anecdotes of Painting;" but I doubt you praise me too much: it was an easy task when I had the materials collected, and I would not have the labours of forty years, which was Vertue's case, depreciated in compliment to the work of four months, which is almost my whole merit. Style is become, in a manner, a mechanical affair, and if to much ancient lore our antiquaries would add a little modern reading, to polish their language and correct their prejudices, I do not see why books of antiquities should not be made as amusing as writings on any other subject. If Tom Hearne had lived in the world, he might have writ an agreeable history of dancing; at least, I am sure that many modern volumes are read for no reason but for their being penned in the dialect of the age.

I am much beholden to you, dear Sir, for your remarks; they shall have their due place whenever the work proceeds to a second edition, for that the nature of it as a record will ensure to it. A few of your notes demand a present answer: the Bishop of Imola p.r.o.nounced the nuptial benediction at the marriage of Henry VII., which made me suppose him the person represented.[1]

[Footnote 1: In a previous letter Walpole mentions that Vertue (the engraver) had disputed the subject of this picture, because the face of the King did not resemble other pictures of him; but Walpole was convinced of the correctness of his description of it, because it does resemble the face on Henry's shillings, "which are more authentic than pictures."]

Burnet, who was more a judge of characters than statues, mentions the resemblance between Tiberius and Charles II.; but, as far as countenances went, there could not be a more ridiculous prepossession; Charles had a long face, with very strong lines, and a narrowish brow; Tiberius a very square face, and flat forehead, with features rather delicate in proportion. I have examined this imaginary likeness, and see no kind of foundation for it. It is like Mr. Addison's Travels,[1] of which it was so truly said, he might have composed them without stirring out of England. There are a kind of naturalists who have sorted out the qualities of the mind, and allotted particular turns of features and complexions to them. It would be much easier to prove that every form has been endowed with every vice. One has heard much of the vigour of Burnet himself; yet I dare to say, he did not think himself like Charles II.

[Footnote 1: It is Fielding who, in his "Voyage to Lisbon," gave this character to Addison's "Travels."]

I am grieved, Sir, to hear that your eyes suffer; take care of them; nothing can replace the satisfaction they afford: one should h.o.a.rd them, as the only friend that will not be tired of one when one grows old, and when one should least choose to depend on others for entertainment.

I most sincerely wish you happiness and health in that and every other instance.

_BIRTH OF THE PRINCE OF WALES--THE CZARINA--VOLTAIRE'S HISTORICAL CRITICISMS--IMMENSE VALUE OF THE TREASURES BROUGHT OVER IN THE "HERMIONE."_

TO SIR HORACE MANN.

ARLINGTON STREET, _Aug._ 12, 1762.

A Prince of Wales [George IV.] was born this morning; the prospect of your old neighbour [the Pretender] at Rome does not improve; the House of Hanover will have numbers in its own family sufficient to defend their crown--unless they marry a Princess of Anhalt Zerbst. What a shocking tragedy that has proved already! There is a manifesto arrived to-day that makes one shudder! This northern Athaliah, who has the modesty not to name her murdered _husband_ in that light, calls him _her neighbour_; and, as if all the world were savages, like Russians, pretends that he died suddenly of a distemper that never was expeditious; mocks Heaven with pretensions to charity and piety; and heaps the additional inhumanity on the man she has dethroned and a.s.sa.s.sinated, of imputing his death to a judgment from Providence. In short, it is the language of usurpation and blood, counselled and apologised for by clergymen! It is Brunehault[1] and an archbishop!

[Footnote 1: Brunehault (in modern English histories called Brunhild) was the wife of Sigebert, King of Austrasia (that district of France which lies between the Meuse and the Rhine) and son of Clotaire I. The "Biographie Universelle" says of her: "This Princess, attractive by her beauty, her wit, and her carriage, had the misfortune to possess a great ascendency over her husband, and to have lost sight of the fact that even sovereigns cannot always avenge themselves with impunity." Her sister, Galswith, the wife of Chilperic, King of Neustria, between the Loire and the Meuse, had been a.s.sa.s.sinated by Fredegonde, and Brunehault, determined to avenge her, induced Sigebert to make war on Chilperic, who had married Fredegonde. He gained a victory; but Fredegonde contrived to have him also a.s.sa.s.sinated, and Brunehault became Fredegonde's prisoner. But Murovee, son of Chilperic, fell in love with her, and married her, and escaping from Rouen, fled into Austrasia. At last, in 595, Fredegonde died, and Brunehault subdued the greater part of Neustria, and ruled with great but unscrupulous energy.

She encouraged St. Augustine in his mission to England; she built hospitals and churches, earning by her zeal in such works a letter of panegyric from Pope Gregory the Great. But, old as she was, she at the same time gave herself up to a life of outrageous license. It was not, however, her dissolute life which proved fatal to her, but the design which she showed to erect a firm monarchy in Austrasia and Neustria, by putting down the overgrown power of the n.o.bles. They raised an army to attack her; she was defeated, and with four of her great-grandchildren, the sons of her grandson, King Theodoric, who had been left to her guardianship, fell into the hands of the n.o.bles, who put her to death with every circ.u.mstance of cruelty and indignity. (See Kitchin's "History of France," i. 91.)]

I have seen Mr. Keith's first despatch; in general, my account was tolerably correct; but he does not mention Ivan. The conspiracy advanced by one of the gang being seized, though for another crime; they thought themselves discovered. Orloff, one of them, hurried to the Czarina, and told her she had no time to lose. She was ready for anything; nay, marched herself at the head of fourteen thousand men and a train of artillery against her husband, but not being the only Alecto in Muscovy, she had been aided by a Princess Daschkaw, a nymph under twenty, and sister to the Czar's mistress. It was not the latter, as I told you, but the Chancellor's wife, who offered up the order of St. Catherine. I do not know how my Lord Buckingham [the English Minister at St. Petersburg]

feels, but unless to conjure up a tempest against this fury of the north, nothing could bribe me to set my foot in her dominions. Had she been priestess of the Scythian Diana, she would have sacrificed her brother by choice. It seems she does not degenerate; her mother was ambitious and pa.s.sionate for intrigues; she went to Paris, and dabbled in politics with all her might.

The world had been civilising itself till one began to doubt whether ancient histories were not ancient legends. Voltaire had unpoisoned half the victims to the Church and to ambition. Oh! there never was such a man as Borgia[1]; the league seemed a romance. For the honour of poor historians, the a.s.sa.s.sinations of the Kings of France and Portugal, majesties still living in spite of Damien and the Jesuits, and the dethronement and murder of the Czar, have restored some credibility to the annals of former ages. Tacitus recovers his character by the edition of Petersburg.

[Footnote 1: Borgia, the father, was Pope s.e.xtus VI.; Caesar Borgia was the son--both equally infamous for their crimes, and especially their murders by poison.]

We expect the definitive courier from Paris every day. Now it is said that they ask time to send to Spain. What? to ask leave to desert them!

The Spaniards, not so expeditious in usurpation as the Muscovites, have made no progress in Portugal. Their absurd manifestoes appeared too soon. The Czarina and Princess Daschkaw stay till the stroke is struck.

Really, my dear Sir, your Italy is growing unfashionably innocent,--if you don't take care, the Archbishop of Novgorod will deserve, by his crimes, to be at the head of the _Christian_ Church.[1] I fear my friend, good Benedict, infected you all with his virtues.

[Footnote 1: That is, Pope Benedict XIV.]

You see how this Russian revolution has seized every cell in my head--a Prince of Wales is pa.s.sed over in a line, the peace in another line. I have not even told you that the treasure of the _Hermione_,[1] reckoned eight hundred thousand pounds, pa.s.sed the end of my street this morning in one-and-twenty waggons. Of the Havannah I could tell you nothing if I would; people grow impatient at not hearing from thence. Adieu!

[Footnote 1: In August, 1761, Sir G. Poc.o.c.k took Havannah, the capital of Cuba. In September Commodore Cornish and Colonel Draper took Manilla, the princ.i.p.al of the Philippine Islands; and the treasures found in Manilla alone exceeded the sum here mentioned by Walpole, and yet did not equal those brought home from the Havannah, as Walpole mentions in a subsequent letter.]

You see I am a punctual correspondent when Empresses commit murders.

_NEGOTIATIONS FOR PEACE--CHRISTENING OF THE PRINCE OF WALES._

TO THE HON. H.S. CONWAY.

STRAWBERRY HILL, _Sept._ 9, 1762.

Nondum laurus erat, longoque decentia crine Tempora cingebat de qualibet arbore Phoebus.[1]

[Footnote 1: The quotation is from Ovid, Met. i. 450.]

This is a hint to you, that as Phoebus, who was certainly your superior, could take up with a chestnut garland, or any crown he found, you must have the humility to be content without laurels, when none are to be had: you have hunted far and near for them, and taken true pains to the last in that old nursery-garden Germany, and by the way have made me shudder with your last journal: but you must be easy with _qualibet_ other _arbore_; you must come home to your own plantations. The Duke of Bedford is gone in a fury to make peace,[1] for he cannot be even pacific with temper; and by this time I suppose the Duke de Nivernois is unpacking his portion of olive _dans la rue de Suffolk Street_. I say, I suppose--for I do not, like my friends at Arthur's, whip into my post-chaise to see every novelty. My two sovereigns, the d.u.c.h.ess of Grafton and Lady Mary c.o.ke, are arrived, and yet I have seen neither Polly nor Lucy. The former, I hear, is entirely French; the latter as absolutely English.

[Footnote 1: "On the 6th of September the Duke of Bedford embarked as amba.s.sador from England; on the 12th the Duc de Nivernois landed as amba.s.sador from France. Of these two n.o.blemen, Bedford, though well versed in affairs, was perhaps by his hasty temper in some degree disqualified for the profession of a Temple or a Gondomar; and Nivernois was only celebrated for his graceful manners and his pretty songs" (Lord Stanhope, "History of England," c. 38).]

Well! but if you insist on not doffing your cuira.s.s, you may find an opportunity of wearing it. The storm thickens. The City of London are ready to hoist their standard; treason is the bon-ton at that end of the town; seditious papers pasted up at every corner: nay, my neighbourhood is not unfashionable; we have had them at Brentford and Kingston. The Peace is the cry;[1] but to make weight, they throw in all the abusive ingredients they can collect. They talk of your friend the Duke of Devonshire's resigning; and, for the Duke of Newcastle, it puts him so much in mind of the end of Queen Anne's time, that I believe he hopes to be Minister again for another forty years.

[Footnote 1: "_The Peace is the cry._" This was the peace of Paris, not absolutely concluded till February of the next year. The conditions in our favour were so inadequate to our successes in the war, that the treaty caused general indignation; so great, indeed, that Lord Bute, the Prime Minister, was afraid to face the meeting of Parliament, and resigned his office, in which he was succeeded by Mr. George Grenville.

It was the subject of severe, but not undeserved comment in the celebrated _North Briton_, No. 45, by Wilkes.]

In the mean time, there are but dark news from the Havannah; the _Gazette_, who would not fib for the world, says, we have lost but four officers; the World, who is not quite so scrupulous, says, our loss is heavy.--But what shocking notice to those who have _Harry Conways_ there! The _Gazette_ breaks off with saying, that they were to storm the next day! Upon the whole, it is regarded as a preparative to worse news.

Our next monarch [George IV.] was christened last night, George Augustus Frederick; the Princess, the Duke of c.u.mberland, and Duke of Mecklenburgh, sponsors; the ceremony performed by the Bishop of London.

The Queen's bed, magnificent, and they say in taste, was placed in the great drawing-room: though she is not to see company in form, yet it looks as if they had intended people should have been there, as all who presented themselves were admitted, which were very few, for it had not been notified; I suppose to prevent too great a crowd: all I have heard named, besides those in waiting, were the d.u.c.h.ess of Queensberry, Lady Dalkeith, Mrs. Grenville, and about four more ladies.

_TREASURES FROM THE HAVANNAH--THE ROYAL VISIT TO ETON--DEATH OF LADY MARY--CONCEALMENT OF HER WORKS--VOLTAIRE'S "UNIVERSAL HISTORY."_

TO SIR HORACE MANN.

STRAWBERRY HILL, _Oct._ 3, 1762.

I am now only the peace in your debt, for here is the Havannah. Here it is, following despair and accompanied by glory, riches, and twelve ships-of-the-line; not all in person, for four are destroyed. The booty--that is an undignified term--I should say, the plunder, or the spoils, which is a more cla.s.sic word for such heroes as we are, amounts to at least a million and a half. Lord Albemarle's share will be about 140,000. I wish I knew how much that makes in _talents_ or _great sesterces_. What to me is better than all, we have lost but sixteen hundred men; _but_, alas! Most of the sick recovered! What an affecting object my Lady Albemarle would make in a triumph, surrounded by her three victorious sons; for she had three at stake! My friend Lady Hervey,[1] too, is greatly happy; her son Augustus distinguished himself particularly, brought home the news, and on his way took a rich French ship going to Newfoundland with military stores. I do not surely mean to detract from him, who set all this spirit on float, but you see we can conquer, though Mr. Pitt is at his plough.

[Footnote 1: Lady Hervey, the widow of Pope's Lord f.a.n.n.y and Sporus, had been the beautiful "Molly Lepel," celebrated by Lord Chesterfield.

Had I Hanover, Bremen, and Verden And likewise the Duchy of Zell, I would part with them all for a farden, Compared with sweet Molly Lepel.

Three of her sons succeeded to the Earldom of Bristol.]

The express arrived while the Duke de Nivernois was at dinner with Lord Bute. The world says, that the joy of the company showed itself with too little politeness--I hope not; I would not exult to a single man, and a minister of peace; it should be in the face of Europe, if I a.s.sumed that dominion which the French used to arrogate; nor do I believe it happened; all the company are not so charmed with the event. They are not quite convinced that it will facilitate the pacification, nor am I clear it will. The City of London will not lower their hopes, and views, and expectations, on this acquisition. Well, if we can steer wisely between insolence from success and impatience for peace, we may secure our safety and tranquillity for many years. But they are _not_ yet arrived, nor hear I anything that tells me the peace will certainly be made. France _wants_ peace; I question if she _wishes_ it. How his Catholic royalty will take this, one cannot guess. My good friend, we are not at table with Monsieur de Nivernois, so we may smile at this consequence of the family-compact. Twelve ships-of-the-line and the Havannah!--it becomes people who cannot keep their own, to divide the world between them!

Your nephew Foote has made a charming figure; the King and Queen went from Windsor to see Eton; he is captain of the Oppidans, and made a speech to them with great applause. It was in English, which was right; why should we talk Latin to our Kings rather than Russ or Iroquois? Is this a season for being ashamed of our country? Dr. Barnard, the master, is the Pitt of masters, and has raised the school to the most flourishing state it ever knew.

Lady Mary Wortley[1] has left twenty-one large volumes in prose and verse, in ma.n.u.script; nineteen are fallen to Lady Bute, and will not see the light in haste. The other two Lady Mary in her pa.s.sage gave to somebody in Holland, and at her death expressed great anxiety to have them published. Her family are in terrors lest they should be, and have tried to get them: hitherto the man is inflexible. Though I do not doubt but they are an olio of lies and scandal, I should like to see them. She had parts, and had seen much. Truth is often at bottom of such compositions, and places itself here and there without the intention of the mother. I dare say in general, these works are like Madame del Pozzo's _Memoires_. Lady Mary had more wit, and something more delicacy; their manners and morals were a good deal more alike.