ARLINGTON STREET, _Feb._ 22, 1771.
Two days ago there began to be an alarm at the delay of the Spanish
courier, and people were persuaded that the King of Spain had refused to
ratify his ambassador's declaration; who, on the warrant of the French
King, had ventured to sign it, though expecting every hour to be
recalled, as he actually was two days afterwards. However, the night
before last, to the great comfort of Prince Masserano and our Ministers,
the ratification arrived; and, after so many delays and untoward
accidents, Fortune has interposed (for there has been great luck, too,
in the affair), and peace is again established. With you, I am not at
all clear that Choiseul was in earnest to make it. If he was, it was
entirely owing to his own ticklish situation. Other people think, that
this very situation had made him desperate; and that he was on the point
of striking a hardy stroke indeed; and meditated sending a strong army
into Holland, to oblige the Dutch to lend twelve men-of-war to invade
us. Count Welderen,[1] who is totally an anti-Gaul, assured me he did
not believe this project. Still I am very glad such a _boute-feu_ is
removed.
[Footnote 1: The Dutch Minister in England. He married a sister of Sir
John Griffin, Maid of Honour to Anne Princess of Orange.--WALPOLE.]
This treaty is an epoch; and puts a total end to all our preceding
histories. Long quiet is never probable, nor shall I guess who will
disturb it; but, whatever happens, must be thoroughly new matter, though
some of the actors perhaps may not be so. Both Lord Chatham and Wilkes
are at the end of their reckoning, and the Opposition can do nothing
without fresh fuel.
The scene that is closed here seems to be but opening in France. The
Parliament of Paris banished; a new one arbitrarily appointed;[1] the
Princes of the Blood refractory and disobedient; the other Parliament
as mutinous; and distress everywhere: if the army catches the infection,
what may not happen, when the King is despised, his agents detested, and
no Ministry settled? Some say the mistress and her faction keep him
hourly diverted or drunk; others, that he has got a new passion: how
creditable at sixty! Still I think it is the crisis of their
constitution. If the Monarch prevails, he becomes absolute as a Czar; if
he is forced to bend, will the Parliament stop there?
[Footnote 1: "_A new one appointed._" This is a mistake of Walpole's. A
new Parliament was not, nor indeed could be, appointed; but Maupéou
created six new Sovereign Courts at Arras, Blois, Chalons sur Marne,
Clermont, Lyon, and Poitiers, at which "justice should be done at the
sovereign's expense" (Lacretelle, iv. 264).]
In the mean time our most serious war is between two Operas. Mr. Hobart,
Lord Buckingham's brother, is manager of the Haymarket. Last year he
affronted Guadagni, by preferring the Zamperina, his own mistress, to
the singing hero's sister. The Duchess of Northumberland, Lady
Harrington, and some other great ladies, espoused the brother, and
without a license erected an Opera for him at Madame Cornelys's. This is
a singular dame, and you must be acquainted with her. She sung here
formerly, by the name of the Pompeiati. Of late years she has been the
Heidegger of the age, and presided over our diversions. Her taste and
invention in pleasures and decorations are singular. She took Carlisle
House in Soho Square, enlarged it, and established assemblies and balls
by subscription. At first they scandalised, but soon drew in both
righteous and ungodly. She went on building, and made her house a fairy
palace for balls, concerts, and masquerades. Her Opera, which she called
_Harmonic Meetings_, was splendid and charming. Mr. Hobart began to
starve, and the managers of the theatres were alarmed. To avoid the act,
she pretended to take no money, and had the assurance to advertise that
the subscription was to provide coals for the poor, for she has
vehemently courted the mob, and succeeded in gaining their princely
favour. She then declared her Masquerades were for the benefit of
commerce. I concluded she would open another sort of house next for the
interests of the Foundling Hospital, and I was not quite mistaken, for
they say one of her maids, gained by Mr. Hobart, affirms that she could
not undergo the fatigue of managing such a house. At last Mr. Hobart
informed against her, and the Bench of Justices, less soothable by music
than Orpheus's beasts, have pronounced against her. Her Opera is
quashed, and Guadagni, who governed so haughtily at Vienna, that, to
pique some man of quality there, he named a minister to Venice, is not
only fined, but was threatened to be sent to Bridewell, which chilled
the blood of all the Caesars and Alexanders he had ever represented; nor
could any promises of his lady-patronesses rehabilitate his courage--so
for once an Act of Parliament goes for something.
You have got three new companions;[1] General Montagu, a West Indian
Mr. Paine, and Mr. Lynch, your brother at Turin.
[Footnote 1: As Knights of the Bath.--WALPOLE.]
There is the devil to pay in Denmark. The Queen[1] has got the
ascendant, has turned out favourites and Ministers, and literally wears
the breeches, actual buckskin. There is a physician, who is said to rule
both their Majesties, and I suppose is sold to France, for that is the
predominant interest now at Copenhagen. The Czarina has whispered her
disapprobation, and if she has a talon left, when she has done with the
Ottomans, may chance to scratch the little King.
[Footnote 1: The Queen was Caroline Matilda, a sister of George III.,
and was accused of a criminal intimacy with Count Struenzee, the Prime
Minister. Struenzee, "after a trial with only a slight semblance of the
forms of justice" (to quote the words of Lord Stanhope), was convicted
and executed; and the Queen was at first imprisoned in the Castle of
Cronenburg, but after a time was released, and allowed to retire to
Zell, Hanover, where she died in 1774.]
For eight months to come I should think we shall have little to talk of,
you and I, but distant wars and distant majesties. For my part, I reckon
the volume quite shut in which I took any interest. The succeeding world
is young, new, and half unknown to me. Tranquillity comprehends every
wish I have left, and I think I should not even ask what news there is,
but for fear of seeming wedded to old stories--the rock of old men; and
yet I should prefer that failing to the solicitude about a world one
belongs to no more! Adieu!
_QUARREL OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS WITH THE CITY--DISSENSIONS IN THE
FRENCH COURT AND ROYAL FAMILY--EXTRAVAGANCE IN ENGLAND._