STRAWBERRY HILL, _July_ 7, 1779.
How much larger the war will be for the addition of Spain, I do not
know. Hitherto it has produced no events but the shutting of our ports
against France, and the junction of nine ships from Ferrol with the
French squadron. They talk of a great navy getting ready at Cadiz, and
of mighty preparations in the ports of France for an embarkation. As all
this must have been foreseen, I suppose we are ready to resist all
attacks.
The Parliament rose last Saturday, not without an open division in the
Ministry: Lord Gower, President of the Council, heading an opposition to
a Bill for doubling the Militia, which had passed the Commons, and
throwing it out; which Lord North as publicly resented. I make no
comments on this, because I really know nothing of the motives.
Thoroughly convinced that all my ideas are superannuated, and too old to
learn new lessons, I only hear what passes, pretend to understand
nothing, and wait patiently for events as they present themselves. I
listen enough to be able to acquaint you with facts of public notoriety;
but attempt to explain none of them, if they do not carry legibility in
the van.
Your nephew, who lives more in the world, and is coming to you, will be
far more master of the details. He called here some few days ago, as I
was going out to dinner, but has kindly promised to come and dine here
before he sets out. His journey is infinitely commendable, as entirely
undertaken to please you. It will be very comfortable too, as surely the
concourse of English must much abate, especially as France is
interdicted. Travelling boys and self-sufficient governors would be an
incumbrance to you, could you see more of your countrymen of more
satisfactory conversation. Florence probably is improved since it had a
Court of its own, and there must be men a little more enlightened than
the poor Italians. Scarcely any of the latter that ever I knew but, if
they had parts, were buffoons. I believe the boasted _finesse_ of the
ruling clergy is pretty much a traditionary notion, like their jealousy.
More nations than one live on former characters after they are totally
changed.
I have been often and much in France. In the provinces they may still be
gay and lively; but at Paris, bating the pert _étourderie_ of very young
men, I protest I scarcely ever saw anything like vivacity--the Duc de
Choiseul alone had more than any hundred Frenchmen I could select. Their
women are the first in the world in everything but beauty; sensible,
agreeable, and infinitely informed. The _philosophes_, except Buffon,
are solemn, arrogant, dictatorial coxcombs--I need not say superlatively
disagreeable. The rest are amazingly ignorant in general, and void of
all conversation but the routine with women. My dear and very old friend
[Madame du Deffand] is a relic of a better age, and at nearly
eighty-four has all the impetuosity that _was_ the character of the
French. They have not found out, I believe, how much their nation is
sunk in Europe;--probably the Goths and Vandals of the North will open
their eyes before a century is past. I speak of the swarming empires
that have conglomerated within our memories. _We_ dispelled the vision
twenty years ago: but let us be modest till we do so again....
_11th._
Last night I received from town the medal you promised me on the Moorish
alliance.[1] It is at least as magnificent as the occasion required, and
yet not well executed. The medallist Siriez, I conclude, is grandson of
my old acquaintance Louis Siriez of the Palazzo Vecchio.
[Footnote 1: A treaty had just been concluded between the Duke of
Tuscany and the Emperor of Morocco.]
Yesterday's Gazette issued a proclamation on the expected invasion from
Havre, where they are embarking mightily. Some think the attempt will be
on Portsmouth. To sweeten this pill, Clinton has taken a fort and
seventy men--not near Portsmouth, but New York; and there were reports
at the latter that Charleston is likely to surrender. This would be
something, if there were not a French war and a Spanish war in the way
between us and Carolina. Sir Charles Hardy is at Torbay with the whole
fleet, which perhaps was not a part of the plan at Havre: we shall see,
and you shall hear, if anything passes.
_Friday night, July 16th._
Your nephew has sent me word that he will breakfast with me to-morrow,
but shall not have time to dine. I have nothing to add to the foregoing
general picture. We have been bidden even by proclamation to expect an
invasion, and troops and provisions have for this week said to have been
embarked. Still I do not much expect a serious descent. The French, I
think, have better chances with less risk. They may ruin us in detail.
The fleet is at present at home or very near, and very strong; nor do I
think that the French plan is activity:--but it is idle to talk of the
present moment, when it will be some time before you receive this. I am
infinitely in more pain about Mr. Conway, who is in the midst of the
storm in a nutshell, and I know will defend himself as if he was in the
strongest fortification in Flanders--and, which is as bad, I believe the
Court would sacrifice the island to sacrifice him. They played that
infamous game last year on Keppel, when ten thousand times more was at
stake. They look at the biggest objects through the diminishing end of
every telescope; and, the higher they who look, the more malignant and
mean the eye....
Adieu! my dear Sir. In what manner we are to be undone, I do not guess;
but I see no way by which we can escape happily out of this crisis--I
mean, preserve the country and recover the Constitution. I thought for
four years that calamity would bring us to our senses: but alas! we have
none left to be brought to. We shall now suffer a greal deal, submit at
last to a humiliating peace, and people will be content.--So adieu,
England! it will be more or less a province or kind of province to
France, and its viceroy will be, in what does not concern France, its
despot--and will be content too! I shall not pity the country; I shall
feel only for those who grieve with me at its abject state; or for
posterity, if they do not, like other degraded nations, grow callously
reconciled to their ignominy.
_ERUPTION OF VESUVIUS--DEATH OF LORD TEMPLE._