History of Friedrich II of Prussia V 11 [53]
Leave him standing there: to him
let Truchsess and Bielfeld suffice, in these hurries, in this ague
that is still upon us." Upon which the dull old Newspapers, Owls
of Minerva that then were, endeavor to draw inferences.
The noticeable fact is, Friedrich did, on this occasion, pass
within a mile or two of his royal Uncle, without seeing him;
and had not, through life, another opportunity; never saw the
sublime little man at all, nor was again so near him.
I believe Friedrich little knows the thick-coming difficulties of
his Britannic Majesty at this juncture; and is too impatient of
these laggard procedures on the part of a man with eyes A FLEUR-
DE-TETE. Modern readers too have forgotten Jenkins's Ear; it is
not till after long study and survey that one begins to perceive
the anomalous profundities of that phenomenon to the poor English
Nation and its poor George II.
The English sent off, last year, a scanty Expedition, "six ships
of the line," only six, under Vernon, a fiery Admiral, a little
given to be fiery in Parliamentary talk withal; and these did
proceed to Porto-Bello on the Spanish Main of South America; did
hurl out on Porto-Bello such a fiery destructive deluge, of
gunnery and bayonet-work, as quickly reduced the poor place to the
verge of ruin, and forced it to surrender with whatever navy,
garrison, goods and resources were in it, to the discretion of
fiery Vernon,--who does not prove implacable, he or his, to a
petitioning enemy. Yes, humble the insolent, but then be merciful
to them, say the admiring Gazetteers. "The actual monster," how
cheering to think, "who tore off Mr. Jenkins's Ear, was got hold
of [actual monster, or even three or four different monsters who
each did it, the "hold got" being mythical, as readers see], and
naturally thought he would be slit to ribbons; but our people
magnanimously pardoned him, magnanimously flung him aside out of
sight;" [ Gentleman's Magazine, x. 124, 145
(date of the Event is 3d December N.S., 1739).] impossible to
shoot a dog in cold blood.
Whereupon Vernon returned home triumphant; and there burst forth
such a jubilation, over the day of small things, as is now
astonishing to think of. Had the Termagant's own Thalamus and
Treasury been bombarded suddenly one night by red-hot balls,
Madrid City laid in ashes, or Baby Carlos's Apanage extinguished
from Creation, there could hardly have been greater English joy
(witness the "Porto-Bellos" they still have, new Towns so named);
so flamy is the murky element growing on that head. And indeed had
the cipher of tar-barrels burnt, and of ale-barrels drunk, and the
general account of wick and tallow spent in illuminations and in
aldermanic exertions on the matter, been accurately taken, one
doubts if Porto-Bello sold, without shot fired, to the highest
bidder, at its floweriest, would have covered such a sum. For they
are a singular Nation, if stirred up from their stagnancy; and are
much in earnest about this Spanish War.
It is said there is now another far grander Expedition on the
stocks: military this time as well as naval, intended for the
Spanish Main;--but of that, for the present, we will defer
speaking. Enough, the Spanish War is a most serious and most
furious business to those old English; and, to us, after forced
study of it, shines out like far-off conflagration, with a certain
lurid significance in the then night of things. Night otherwise
fallen dark and somniferous to modern mankind. As Britannic
Majesty and his Walpoles have, from the first, been dead against
this Spanish War, the problem is all the more ominous, and the
dreadful corollaries that may hang by it the more distressing to
the royal mind.
For example, there is known, or as good as known, to be virtually
some Family Compact, or covenanted Brotherhood of Bourbonism,
French and Spanish: political people quake to ask themselves, "How
will the French keep out of this War, if it continue any length of
time? And in that case, how will Austria, Europe at
let Truchsess and Bielfeld suffice, in these hurries, in this ague
that is still upon us." Upon which the dull old Newspapers, Owls
of Minerva that then were, endeavor to draw inferences.
The noticeable fact is, Friedrich did, on this occasion, pass
within a mile or two of his royal Uncle, without seeing him;
and had not, through life, another opportunity; never saw the
sublime little man at all, nor was again so near him.
I believe Friedrich little knows the thick-coming difficulties of
his Britannic Majesty at this juncture; and is too impatient of
these laggard procedures on the part of a man with eyes A FLEUR-
DE-TETE. Modern readers too have forgotten Jenkins's Ear; it is
not till after long study and survey that one begins to perceive
the anomalous profundities of that phenomenon to the poor English
Nation and its poor George II.
The English sent off, last year, a scanty Expedition, "six ships
of the line," only six, under Vernon, a fiery Admiral, a little
given to be fiery in Parliamentary talk withal; and these did
proceed to Porto-Bello on the Spanish Main of South America; did
hurl out on Porto-Bello such a fiery destructive deluge, of
gunnery and bayonet-work, as quickly reduced the poor place to the
verge of ruin, and forced it to surrender with whatever navy,
garrison, goods and resources were in it, to the discretion of
fiery Vernon,--who does not prove implacable, he or his, to a
petitioning enemy. Yes, humble the insolent, but then be merciful
to them, say the admiring Gazetteers. "The actual monster," how
cheering to think, "who tore off Mr. Jenkins's Ear, was got hold
of [actual monster, or even three or four different monsters who
each did it, the "hold got" being mythical, as readers see], and
naturally thought he would be slit to ribbons; but our people
magnanimously pardoned him, magnanimously flung him aside out of
sight;" [
(date of the Event is 3d December N.S., 1739).] impossible to
shoot a dog in cold blood.
Whereupon Vernon returned home triumphant; and there burst forth
such a jubilation, over the day of small things, as is now
astonishing to think of. Had the Termagant's own Thalamus and
Treasury been bombarded suddenly one night by red-hot balls,
Madrid City laid in ashes, or Baby Carlos's Apanage extinguished
from Creation, there could hardly have been greater English joy
(witness the "Porto-Bellos" they still have, new Towns so named);
so flamy is the murky element growing on that head. And indeed had
the cipher of tar-barrels burnt, and of ale-barrels drunk, and the
general account of wick and tallow spent in illuminations and in
aldermanic exertions on the matter, been accurately taken, one
doubts if Porto-Bello sold, without shot fired, to the highest
bidder, at its floweriest, would have covered such a sum. For they
are a singular Nation, if stirred up from their stagnancy; and are
much in earnest about this Spanish War.
It is said there is now another far grander Expedition on the
stocks: military this time as well as naval, intended for the
Spanish Main;--but of that, for the present, we will defer
speaking. Enough, the Spanish War is a most serious and most
furious business to those old English; and, to us, after forced
study of it, shines out like far-off conflagration, with a certain
lurid significance in the then night of things. Night otherwise
fallen dark and somniferous to modern mankind. As Britannic
Majesty and his Walpoles have, from the first, been dead against
this Spanish War, the problem is all the more ominous, and the
dreadful corollaries that may hang by it the more distressing to
the royal mind.
For example, there is known, or as good as known, to be virtually
some Family Compact, or covenanted Brotherhood of Bourbonism,
French and Spanish: political people quake to ask themselves, "How
will the French keep out of this War, if it continue any length of
time? And in that case, how will Austria, Europe at