Private Letters of Edward Gibbon (1753-1794) Volume 2 (of 2)

Last Monday only I received your letter, which had strangely loitered on the road since its date of the 29th of September. There must surely be some disorder in the posts, since the Eliza departed indignant at never having heard from you.*

I still am of opinion that it is both unseemly and unusual for us to propose any specific terms. You must hear the ideas of the parents or guardians. You must consider on the behalf of your client, how far a moderate interest may be enhanced by rank and character, how far a deficiency (less desirable) in those qualifications may be varnished with gold. If everything should unite, you may boldly accept; if you hesitate you must take the matter ad referendum, and they must expect our answer by the return of the post. You will say perhaps that the parties may be impatient, and that delay may be productive of danger. This I must acknowledge, nor is it only in this respect that I feel the disadvantage of his not being on the spot. – I much regret the M[arquis] of C[armarthen], his father the D[uke] of L[eeds] is a fair and honourable man. Your hint of General Bude (of whom I had never heard) shall not be neglected: when the Duchess of D. returns to England next year, I hope she will be able and willing to assist the young man, to whom she expressed much friendship, and whom she appointed her chevalier sans peur and sans reproche by the delivery of a feather and a cockade. He is now on service with his dragoons, but will probably be soon disbanded.

Without confessing that my fears and scruples were quite so anile as you are always disposed to think them, I am now in a great measure satisfied. I wish you may find a secure mortgage at four per cent.; but though I do not perfectly like the Debentures (which you never explained before), I cannot think they run much risk till our next meeting in England.

The case of my Wine I think peculiarly hard; to lose my Madeira, and to be scolded for losing it. Please to remember that the Wine Merchant never sent me any letter of advice, as he ought to have done, of the time and manner of its departure; and that when I first expressed my astonishment to you (in my great letter of at least four months ago) you were too much engrossed with a more interesting subject to return any answer. What could I do? my part was entirely passive, to expect its arrival, which I still expect. Yet I have now directed proper enquiries to be made at Basle and Ostend; the London Merchant must trace it forwards, and the last person in whose hands it has been must be responsible for the wine or its value. Whatsoever may be right, I have no intention of seeking a legal remedy; but on a similar occasion, I hope we shall never repeat the liberal confidence of such premature payment.

*I am much indebted to Mr. Nichols for his Genealogical communications, which I am impatient to receive; but I do not understand why so civil a Gentleman could not favour me, in six months, with an answer by the post: since he entrusts me with these valuable papers, you have not, I presume, informed him of my negligence and awkwardness in regard to Manuscripts. Your reproach rather surprizes me, as I suppose I am much the same as I have been for these last twenty Years. Should you hold your resolution of writing only such things as may be published at Charing-cross, our future correspondence would not be very interesting. But I expect and require, at this important crisis, a full and confidential account of your views concerning England, Ireland, and France. You have a strong and clear eye; and your pen is, perhaps, the most useful quill that ever has been plucked from a goose. Your protection of the French refugees is highly applauded. Rosset and La Motte have escaped from Arbourg, perhaps with connivance to avoid disagreeable demands from the Republic. Adieu.*

Ever yours,E. G.

601.

Lord Sheffield to Edward Gibbon

Bath, 5th Nov., 1792.

Among the whimsical events of the last three years, none is more extraordinary than an Hebdominal letter from you. Your character however is so bad on that head, that there is not much dependance on your perseverance, but it produces a desire and resolution in the Family to address you weekly as long as you give such encouragement.

THREE LATE FRENCH MINISTERS.

Here I am, not on account of my eyes (which continue very weak), but to attend the Mayor's Feast at Bristol this day. I arrived last night. I was but one night in London. I found the Hotel in Downing Street occupied by the Princess d'Henin, the Beautiful Comtesse Charles de Noailles,260 the Pauline, the Prince de Poix,261 Gouvernet,262 Lally, &c. I proceeded in the morning to Bulstrode263 to hold a conversation with the Duke, and from thence I moved to this place with the Maria, whom I shall leave with Aunt while I go through the necessary duties at Bristol, which will at least engage me till the 13th instant. Talking of Downing Street, I should mention the extraordinary occurrence in the dining-room there a few days since, of the three late French Ministers, St. Croix,264 Monciel,265 Bertrand266 and also Malouet,267 Gilliers,268 Gouvernet, Prince de Poix and Lally. They were in Committee on their deplorable affairs. For the sake of my eyes I shall give this to be finished by Maria. No man has a guess at the intentions of Gouvernment. There is not the slightest expectation that they will take the least part in the affairs of France. All those members of Opposition for whom you or others have respect are seriously well disposed to a junction of parties, and I am convinced, indeed I know, they would be very reasonable in their expectations. Pitt has said he could act in great confidence with Fox, notwithstanding sparrings which have taken place, and Charles Fox has said that a junction is so right a thing, that he cannot see otherwise than that it must take place. Yet there are great difficulties, and I am not sanguine. I shall have no opinion of Pitt's judgment or disposition if he does not remove them.

Poor Mrs. Gibbon was given over last week, a bilious attack. She has miraculously recovered, but the man who has bodily care of her, says she is so worn, she cannot pass the winter.

I should have added above that I fear Fox will be still detestable on the subject of French affairs. Pitt is suspected of Democracy, and it is said by some lately that he will himself move a Plan of Reform next Sessions.

JACOBIN SOCIETIES IN ENGLAND.

My Lord is gone to nurse his poor dear eyes, and leaves me to inform you of some of those extraordinary things to which I hardly expect you to give credit, but I shall name my authorities. Mr. Batt told us last Friday that the Attorney General had had information of the following event at Manchester, and that the said Attorney General had mentioned it to the said Mr. Batt. A person (we did not hear his name) at that place invited a number of people to dinner, among others the officers of the Scotch Greys, the day of the King's Accession, giving them notice there would be a ceremony. When the company was assembled there was an Ass brought into the room, dressed in a Blue Ribband, Crown and Sceptre, &c., which after many ridiculous formalities was killed, cut in pieces, and sent to different Societies in this Kingdom. I do not know if Lewes had a portion, but I know there is a Jacobin Society there. Burke called here yesterday evening to talk of a Plan for permanent relief of the poor priests, giving up all hopes of their returning to their native country. He proposed with the money in the hands of the Committee (£10,000) if Government would give any assistance towards settling them in the Crimea, Canada or Maryland,269 as the subscription cannot afford them subsistence in this country for three months longer.

Mrs. Moss is arrived in England. Have you received Lally's vessel which she sent you from Berne? How do the Acacias, &c., flourish upon the terrace?

602.

To Lord Sheffield

November 10th, 1792.

*Received this day, November 9th, a most amiable dispatch from the too humble secretary270 of the family of Espee,271 dated October 24th, which I answer the same day. It will be acknowledged, that I have fulfilled my engagement with as much accuracy as our uncertain state and the fragility of human nature would allow.

I resume my narrative. At the time when we imagined that all was settled by an equal treaty between two such unequal powers, as the Geneva flea and the Leviathan France, we were thunderstruck with the intelligence that the Ministers of the Republic refused to ratify the conditions; and they were indignant, with some colour of reason, at the hard obligation of withdrawing their troops to the distance of ten leagues, and of consequently leaving the Pays de Gex naked, and exposed to the Swiss, who had assembled 15,000 men on the frontier, and with whom they had not made any agreement. The Messenger who was sent last Sunday from Geneva is not yet returned; and many persons are afraid of some design and danger in this delay. Montesquiou has acted with politeness, moderation, and apparent sincerity; but he may resign, he may be superseded, his place may be occupied by an enragé,272 by Servan, or prince Charles of Hesse,273 who would aspire to imitate the predatory fame of Custine in Germany.

In the mean while, the General holds a wolf by the ears; an officer who has seen his troops, about 18,000 men (with a tremendous train of artillery), represents them as a black, daring, desperate crew of buccaneers, rather shocking than contemptible; the officers (scarcely a Gentleman among them), without servants, or horses, or baggage, lying higgledy piggledy on the ground with the common men, yet maintaining a rough kind of discipline over them. They already begin to accuse and even to suspect their General, and call aloud for blood and plunder: could they have an opportunity of squeezing some of the rich Citizens, Geneva would cut up as fat as most towns in Europe. During this suspension of hostilities they are permitted to visit the City without arms, sometimes three or four hundred at a time; and the Magistrates, as well as the Swiss Commander, are by no means pleased with this dangerous intercourse, which they dare not prohibit. Such are our fears; yet it should seem on the other side, that the French affect a kind of magnanimous justice towards their little neighbour, and that they are not ambitious of an unprofitable contest with the poor and hardy Swiss. The Swiss are not equal to a long and expensive War; and as most of our Militia have families and trades, the country already sighs for their return. Whatever can be yielded, without absolute danger or disgrace, will doubtless be granted; and the business will probably end in our owning the Sovereignty, and trusting to the good faith of the Republic of France: how that word would have sounded four years ago! The measure is humiliating; but after the retreat of the Duke of Brunswick, and the failure of the Austrians, the smaller powers may acquiesce without dishonour.

ENGLAND THE LAST REFUGE OF LIBERTY.

Every dog has his day; and these Gallic dogs have their day, at least, of most insolent prosperity. After forcing or tempting the Prussians to evacuate their country, they conquer Savoy, pillage Germany, threaten Spain: the Low Countries are ere now invaded; Rome and Italy tremble; they scour the Mediterranean, and talk of sending a squadron into the South Sea. The whole horizon is so black, that I begin to feel some anxiety for England, the last refuge of liberty and law; and the more so, as I perceive from Lord S.'s last epistle that his firm nerves are a little shaken; but of this more in my next, for I want to unburthen my conscience.

If England, with the experience of our happiness and French calamities, should now be seduced to eat the apple of false freedom, we should indeed deserve to be driven from the paradise which we enjoy. I turn aside from the horrid and improbable, (yet not impossible) supposition, that, in three or four years' time, myself and my best friends may be reduced to the deplorable state of the French emigrants: they thought it as impossible three or four years ago. Never did a revolution affect, to such a degree, the private existence of such numbers of the first people of a great Country: your examples of misery I could easily match with similar examples in this country and the neighbourhood; and our sympathy is the deeper, as we do not possess, like you, the means of alleviating, in some degree, the misfortunes of the fugitives. But I must have, from the very excellent pen of the Maria, the tragedy of the Archbishop of Arles; and the longer the better. Madame de Biron has probably been tempted by some faint and (I fear) fallacious promises of clemency to the Women, and which have likewise engaged Madame d'Aguesseau and her two daughters274 to revisit France. Madame de Bouillon275 stands her ground, and her situation as a foreign princess is less exposed. As Lord S. has assumed the glorious character of protector of the distressed, his name is pronounced with gratitude and respect. The D. of Richmond is praised, on Madame de Biron's account. To the Princess d'Henin, and Lally, I wish to be remembered.

The Neckers cannot venture into Geneva, and Madame de Stael will probably lye in at Rolle. He is printing a defence of the King, &c., against their Republican Judges;276 but the name of Necker is unpopular to all parties, and I much fear that the Guillotine will be more speedy than the press. It will, however, be an eloquent performance; and, if I find an opportunity, I am to send you one, to you, Lord S., by his particular desire: he wishes likewise to convey some copies with speed to our principal people, Pitt, Fox, Lord Stormont, &c. But such is the rapid succession of events, that it will appear, like the 'Pouvoir Executif,' his best Work, after the whole scene has been totally changed.*

Shall you never be able to place my £3000 on good Security? Was there ever before a two years' fruitless chace after a Mortgage? We are in hot pursuit from all quarters of my Madeira, and unless already drunk by the Hussars it must emerge.

Ever yours,E. G.

P.S. – *The Revolution of France, and my triple dispatch by the same post to Sheffield-place, are, in my opinion, the two most singular events in the eighteenth Century. I found the task so easy and pleasant, that I had some thoughts of adding a letter to the gentle Louisa.* And a note to the most respectable Tuft. I should not have forgot Miss Firth, but I hear she is leaving you. Is she going to be married? *I am this moment informed, that our troops on the frontier are beginning to move, on their return home; yet we hear nothing of the treaty's being concluded.*

603.

To Lady Sheffield

Lausanne, November 10, 1792.

NEITHER MONSTER NOR STATUE.

*I could never forgive myself, were I capable of writing by the same post, a political Epistle to the father, and a friendly letter to the daughter, without sending any token of remembrance to the respectable Matron, my dearest My lady, whom I have now loved as a sister for something better or worse than twenty years. No, indeed, the historian may be careless, he may be indolent, he may always intend and never execute, but he is neither a monster nor a statue; he has a memory, a conscience, a heart, and that heart is sincerely devoted to Lady S. He must even acknowledge the fallacy of a sophism which he has sometimes used, and she has always and most truly denied; that, where the persons of a family are strictly united, the writing to one is in fact writing to all; and that consequently all his numerous letters to the husband, may be considered as equally addressed to the wife. He feels, on the contrary, that separate minds have their distinct ideas and sentiments, and that each character, either in speaking or writing, has its peculiar tone of conversation. He agrees with the maxim of Rousseau, that three friends who wish to disclose a common secret, will impart it only deux à deux; and he is satisfied that, on the present memorable occasion, each of the persons of the Sheffield family will claim a peculiar share in this triple missive, which will communicate, however, a triple satisfaction. The experience of what may be effected by vigorous resolution, encourages the historian to hope that he shall cast the skin of the old serpent, and hereafter show himself as a new creature.*

And first let me congratulate yourself and your friends on the present happy state of your mental and corporeal faculties, of which I have gained the pleasing intelligence, not only from the hints in Lord S. and Maria's letters, but still more clearly from your own long and spirited Epistle to young Severy, which he received with gratitude and will answer with speed.

*I lament, on all our accounts, that the last year's expedition to Lausanne did not take place in a golden period;* the more familiar and cheerful intercourse with Madame de Severy would have opened your hearts to each other. I should have escaped many moments of painful though silent sympathy, and every object in Nature and society would have appeared to your eyes with a different aspect and colour. *But we must reflect, that human felicity is seldom without alloy; and if we cannot indulge the hope of your making a second visit to Lausanne, we must look forwards to my residence next summer at Sheffield-place, where I must find you in the full bloom of health, spirits, and beauty. I can perceive, by all public and private intelligence, that your house has been the open hospital Azylum of French fugitives; and it is a sufficient proof of the firmness of your nerves, that you have not been overwhelmed or agitated by such a concourse of strangers. Curiosity and compassion may, in some degree, have supported you. Every day has presented to your view some new scene of that strange tragical romance, which occupies all Europe so infinitely beyond any event that has happened in our time, and you have the satisfaction of not being a mere spectator of the distress of so many victims of false liberty. The benevolent fame of Lord S. is widely diffused.

From Angletine's last letter to Maria, you have already some idea of the melancholy state of her poor father. As long as Mr. de Severy allowed our hopes and fears to fluctuate with the changes of his disorder, I was unwilling to say anything on so painful a subject; and it is with the deepest concern that I now confess our absolute despair of his recovery. All his particular complaints are now lost in a general dissolution of the whole frame: every principle of life is exhausted, and as often as I am admitted to his bed-side, though he still looks and smiles with the patience of an Angel, I have the heartfelt grief of seeing him each day drawing nearer to the term of his existence. A few weeks, possibly a few days, will deprive me of a most excellent friend, and break for ever the most perfect system of domestic happiness, in which I had so large and intimate a share. Wilhelm (who has obtained leave of absence from his military duty) and his sister behave and feel like tender and dutiful children; but they have a long gay prospect of life, and new connexions, new families will make them forget, in due time, the common lot of mortality. But it is Madame de Severy whom I truly pity; I dread the effects of the first shock, and I dread still more the deep perpetual consuming affliction for a loss which can never be retrieved.

GIBBON'S ALTERED SITUATION.

You will not wonder that such reflections sadden my own mind, nor can I forget how much my situation is altered since I retired, nine years ago, to the banks of the Leman lake. The death of poor Deyverdun first deprived me of a domestic companion, who can never be supplied; and your visit has only served to remind me that man, however amused and occupied in his Closet, was not made to live alone. Severy will soon be no more; his widow for a long time, perhaps for ever, will be lost to herself and her friends, the son will travel, and I shall be left a stranger in the insipid circle of mere common acquaintance. The Revolution of France, which first embittered and divided the Society of Lausanne, has opposed a barrier to my Sussex visit, and may finally expell me from the paradise which I inhabit. Even that paradise, the expensive and delightful establishment of my house, library, and garden, almost becomes an incumbrance, by rendering it more difficult for me to relinquish my hold, or to form a new system of life in my native Country, for which my income, though improved and improving, would be probably insufficient. But every complaint should be silenced by the contemplation of the French; compared with whose cruel fate, all misery is relative happiness. I perfectly concurr in your partiality for Lally; though Nature might forget some meaner ingredients, of prudence, economy, &c., she never formed a purer heart, or a brighter imagination. If he be with you, I beg my kindest salutations to him. I am every day more closely united with the Neckers. Should France break, and this country be over-run, they would be reduced, in very humble circumstances, to seek a refuge; and where but in England? Adieu, dear Madam: there is, indeed, much pleasure in discharging one's heart to a real friend.*

Ever yours,E. G.

604.

To the Hon. Maria Holroyd

Lausanne, Nov. 10, 1792.

In dispatching the weekly political journal to Lord Sheffield, my conscience (for I have some remains of conscience) most powerfully urges me to salute, with some lines of friendship and gratitude, the amiable secretary, who might save herself the trouble of a modest apology. I have not yet forgotten our different behaviour after the much lamented separation of October the 4th, 1791, your meritorious punctuality, and my unworthy silence. I have still before me that entertaining narrative, which would have interested me, not only in the progress of the carissima famiglia, but in the motions of a Tartar camp, or the march of a caravan of Arabs; the mixture of just observation and lively imagery, the strong sense of a man, expressed with the easy elegance of a female. I still recollect with pleasure the happy comparison of the Rhine, who had heard so much of liberty on both his banks, that he wandered with mischievous licentiousness over all the adjacent meadows. The inundation, alas! has now spread much wider; and it is sadly to be feared that the Elbe, the Po, and the Danube, may imitate the vile example of the Rhine: I shall be content, however, if our own Thames still preserves his fair character of

Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full

These agreeable epistles of Maria produced only some dumb intentions, and some barren remorse; nor have I deigned, except by a brief missive from my chancellor, to express how much I loved the author, and how much I was pleased with the composition. That amiable author I have known and loved from the first dawning of her life and coquetry, to the present maturity of her talents; and as long as I remain on this planet, I shall pursue, with the same tender and even anxious concern, the future steps of her establishment and life. That establishment must be splendid; that life must be happy. She is endowed with every gift of nature and fortune; but the advantage which she will derive from them, depends almost entirely on herself. You must not, you shall not, think yourself unworthy to write to any man: there is none whom your correspondence would not amuse and satisfy.

I will not undertake a task, which my taste would adopt, and my indolence would too soon relinquish; but I am really curious, from the best motives, to have a particular account of your own studies and daily occupation. What books do you read? and how do you employ your time and your pen? Except some professed scholars, I have often observed that women in general read much more than men; but, for want of a plan, a method, a fixed object, their reading is of little benefit to themselves, or others. If you will inform me of the species of reading to which you have the most propensity, I shall be happy to contribute my share of advice or assistance.

I lament that you have not left me some monument of your pencil. Lady Elizabeth Foster has executed a very pretty drawing, taken from the door of the green-house where we dined last summer, and including the poor Acacia, (now recovered from the cruel shears of the gardener,) the end of the terrace, the front of the Pavilion, and a distant view of the country, lake, and mountains. I am almost reconciled to d'Apples' house, which is nearly finished. Instead of the monsters which Lord Hercules Sheffield extirpated, the terrace is already shaded with the new acacias and plantanes; and although the uncertainty of possession restrains me from building, I myself have planted a bosquet at the bottom of the garden, with such admirable skill that it affords shade without intercepting prospect.