Volume I Part 4 (1/2)
Adieu! my dear child. I am sensible that I write you short letters, but I write you all I know. I don't know how it is, but _the wonderful_ seems worn out. In this our day, we have no rabbit-women--no elopements--no epic poems, finer than Milton's--no contest about Harlequins and Polly Peachems. Jansen[1] has won no more estates, and the d.u.c.h.ess of Queensberry has grown as tame as her neighbours. Whist has spread an universal opium over the whole nation; it makes courtiers and patriots sit down to the same pack of cards. The only thing extraordinary, and which yet did not seem to surprise anybody, was the Barbarina's being attacked by four men masqued, the other night, as she came out of the Opera House, who would have forced her away; but she screamed, and the guard came. n.o.body knows who set them on, and I believe n.o.body inquired.
[Footnote 1: H. Jansen, a celebrated gamester, who cheated the Duke of Bedford of an immense sum: Pope hints at that affair in this line,
Or when a duke to Jansen punts at White's.]
The Austrians in Flanders have separated from our troops a little out of humour, because it was impracticable for them to march without any preparatory provision for their reception. They will probably march in two months, if no peace prevents it. Adieu!
_KING THEODORE--HANDEL INTRODUCES ORATORIOS._
TO SIR HORACE MANN.
ARLINGTON STREET, _Feb._ 24, 1743.
I write to you in the greatest hurry in the world, but write I will.
Besides, I must wish you joy: you are warriors; nay, conquerors[1]; two things quite novel in this war, for hitherto it has been armies without fighting, and deaths without killing. We talk of this battle as of a comet; ”Have you heard of _the_ battle?” it is so strange a thing, that numbers imagine you may go and see it at Charing Cross. Indeed, our officers, who are going to Flanders, don't quite like it; they are afraid it should grow the fas.h.i.+on to fight, and that a pair of colours should no longer be a sinecure. I am quite unhappy about poor Mr. Chute: besides, it is cruel to find that abstinence is not a drug. If mortification ever ceases to be a medicine, or virtue to be a pa.s.sport to carnivals in the other world, who will be a self-tormentor any longer--not, my child, that I am one; but, tell me, is he quite recovered?
[Footnote 1: This alludes to an engagement, which took place on the 8th of February, near Bologna, between the Spaniards under M. de Gages, and the Austrians under General Traun, in which the latter were successful.]
I thank you for King Theodore's declaration,[1] and wish him success with all my soul. I hate the Genoese; they make a commonwealth the most devilish of all tyrannies!
[Footnote 1: With regard to Corsica, of which he had declared himself king. By this declaration, which was dated January 30, Theodore recalled, under pain of confiscation of their estates, all the Corsicans in foreign service, except that of the Queen of Hungary, and the Grand Duke of Tuscany. (See vol. ii. p. 74.)]
We have every now and then motions for disbanding Hessians and Hanoverians,[1] alias mercenaries; but they come to nothing. To-day the party have declared that they have done for this session; so you will hear little more but of fine equipages for Flanders: our troops are actually marched, and the officers begin to follow them--I hope they know whither! You know in the last war in Spain, Lord Peterborough[2]
rode galloping about to inquire for his army.
[Footnote 1: The employment of Hessian and Hanoverian troops in this war was not only the subject of frequent complaints in Parliament, but was also the cause of very general dissatisfaction in the country, where it was commonly regarded as one of the numerous instances in which the Ministers sacrificed the interests of England from an unworthy desire to maintain their places by humouring the king's preference for his native land.]
[Footnote 2: Lord Peterborough is celebrated by Pope as
taming the genius of the arid plain Almost as quickly as he conquered Spain:
not that he did conquer Spain; but by an extraordinary combination of hardihood and skill he took Barcelona, which had defied all previous attacks; and, in the confidence inspired by this important success, he offered Archduke Charles to escort him to Madrid, so that he might be crowned King of Spain in that capital. But the Archduke, under the advice of some of his own countrymen, who were jealous of his influence, rejected the plan.]
But to come to more _real_ contests; Handel has set up an Oratorio against the Operas, and succeeds. He has hired all the G.o.ddesses from farces and the singers of _Roast Beef_[1] from between the acts at both theatres, with a man with one note in his voice, and a girl without ever an one; and so they sing, and make brave hallelujahs; and the good company encore the recitative, if it happens to have any cadence like what they call a tune. I was much diverted the other night at the opera; two gentlewomen sat before my sister, and not knowing her, discoursed at their ease. Says one, ”Lord! how fine Mr. W. is!” ”Yes,” replied the other, with a tone of saying sentences, ”some men love to be particularly so, your _pet.i.t-maitres_--but they are not always the brightest of their s.e.x.”--Do thank me for this period! I am sure you will enjoy it as much as we did.
[Footnote 1: It was customary at this time for the galleries to call for a ballad called ”The Roast Beef of Old England” between the acts, or before or after the play.--WALPOLE.]
I shall be very glad of my things, and approve entirely of your precautions; Sir R. will be quite happy, for there is no telling you how impatient he is for his Dominchin. Adieu!
_BATTLE OF DETTINGEN--DEATH OF LORD WILMINGTON._
TO SIR HORACE MANN.
HOUGHTON, _July_ 4, 1743.
I hear no particular news here, and I don't pretend to send you the common news; for as I must have it first from London, you will have it from thence sooner in the papers than in my letters. There have been great rejoicings for the victory; which I am convinced is very considerable by the pains the Jacobites take to persuade it is not. My Lord Carteret's Hanoverian articles have much offended; his express has been burlesqued a thousand ways. By all the letters that arrive, the loss of the French turns out more considerable than by the first accounts: they have dressed up the battle into a victory for themselves--I hope they will always have such! By their not having declared war with us, one should think they intended a peace. It is allowed that our fine horse did us no honour: the victory was gained by the foot. Two of their princes of the blood, the Prince de Dombes, and the Count d'Eu his brother, were wounded, and several of their first n.o.bility. Our prisoners turn out but seventy-two officers, besides the private men; and by the printed catalogue, I don't think many of great family. Marshal Noailles' mortal wound is quite vanished, and Duc d'Aremberg's shrunk to a very slight one. The King's glory remains in its first bloom.
Lord Wilmington is dead.[1] I believe the civil battle for his post will be tough. Now we shall see what service Lord Carteret's Hanoverians will do him. You don't think the crisis unlucky for him, do you? If you wanted a Treasury, should you choose to have been in Arlington Street, or driving by the battle of Dettingen? You may imagine our Court wishes for Mr. Pelham. I don't know any one who wishes for Lord Bath but himself--I believe that is a pretty substantial wish.
[Footnote 1: Formerly Sir Spencer Compton, and successor of Sir R.