July 14th, 1820
I have been at Newmarket, where I had the first fortunate turn this year. The conversation about the Queen begins to subside; everybody seems to agree that it is a great injustice not to allow her lists of the witnesses; the excuse that it is not usual is bad, for the proceedings are anomalous altogether, and it is absurd to attempt to adhere to precedent; here there are no precedents and no analogies to guide to a decision. London is drawing to a close, but in August it will be very full, as all the Peers must be here. They say the trial will last six months.
Luttrell’s poem44 has succeeded. The approbation it receives is general but qualified; in fact, it was difficult to make such a sketch of life and manners sufficiently piquant without the infusion of a little satire, and his fear of giving offence has induced him to be so good-natured that he is occasionally rather insipid. ‘Il y a des tracasseries de société.’ I cannot record them, though perhaps years hence, when I may look over what I now write, I might be amused with stories of long-forgotten jealousies and various interests extinguished by the lapse of time, or perhaps silenced in the grave; still it would be melancholy to retrace the days of my youth and to bring before my imagination the blooming faces and the gaiety and brilliancy of those who once shone the meteors of society, but who would then be so changed in form and mind, and with myself rapidly descending to our last home.
Read ‘Les Liaisons dangereuses.’ Much has been said about the dangerous tendency of certain books, and probably this would be considered as one pregnant with mischief. I consider this a mere jargon, and although I would never recommend this book (because it is so grossly indecent) I should never apprehend the smallest danger to the most inexperienced mind or the warmest passions from its immoral tendency. The principle upon which books of this description are considered pernicious is the notion that they represent vice in such glowing and attractive colours as to make us lose sight of its deformity and fill our imagination with the idea of its pleasures. No one who has any feeling or a spark of generosity or humanity in his breast can read this book without being moved with compassion for Madame de Tourval and with horror and disgust towards Valmont and Madame de Merteuil. It raised in my mind a detestation of such cold-blooded, inhuman profligacy, and I felt that I would rather every pleasure that can flow from the intercourse of women were debarred me than run such a course. The moral effect upon my mind was stronger than any which ever resulted from the most didactic work, and if anyone wants to excite remorse in the most vicious mind I would recommend him to make use of ‘Les Liaisons dangereuses’ for the purpose.
The Duchess of York died on Sunday morning of water on her chest. She was insensible the last two days. She is deeply regretted by her husband, her friends, and her servants. Probably no person in such a situation was ever more really liked. She has left 12,000ℓ. to her servants and some children whom she had caused to be educated. She had arranged all her affairs with the greatest exactitude, and left nothing undone.
The Queen’s letter was brought to the King whilst he was at dinner (at the Cottage). He said, ‘Tell the Queen’s messenger that the King can receive no communication from her except through the hands of his Ministers.’ Esterhazy THE QUEEN’S TRIAL. was present, and said he did this with extraordinary dignity.
Notes
44 [Mr. Luttrell’s ‘Advice to Julia,’ published in 1820.]