Letter 20 To The Hon. H. S. Conway.
Arlington Street, Christmas-day. (page 43)
If poplar-pines ever grow,(21) it must be in such a soaking season as this. I wish you would send half-a-dozen by some Henley barge to meet me next Saturday at Strawberry Hill, that they may be as tall as the Monument by next summer. My cascades give themselves the airs of cataracts, and Mrs. Clive looks like the sun rising out of the ocean. Poor Mr. Raftor(22) is tired to death of their solitude; and, as his passion is walking, he talks with rapture of the brave rows of lamps all along the street, just as I used formerly to think no trees beautiful without lamps to them, like those at Vauxhall.
As I came to town but to dinner, and have not seen a soul, I do not KNOW whether there is any news. I am just going to the Princess,(23) where I shall hear all there is. I went to King Arthur(24) on Saturday, and was tired to death, both of the nonsense of the piece and the execrable performance, the singers being still worse than the actors. The scenes are little better (though Garrick boasts of rivalling the French Opera,) except a pretty bridge, and a Gothic church with windows of painted glass. This scene, which should be a barbarous temple of Woden, is a perfect cathedral, and the devil officiates at a kind of high-mass! I never saw greater absurdities. Adieu!
(21) The first poplar-pine (or, as they have since been called, Lombardy poplar) planted in England was at Park-place, on the bank of the river near the great arch. It was a cutting brought from Turin by Lord Rochford in his carriage, and planted by General Conway's own hand.
(22) Brother of Mrs. Clive. He had been an actor himself, and, when his sister retired from the stage, lived with her in the house Mr. Walpole had given her at Twickenham.
(23( The Princess Amelia.
(24) Dryden's dramatic opera of King Arthur, or the British Worthy, altered by Garrick, was this year brought out at Drury Lane, and, by the aid of scenery, was very successful.-E.
Letter 21 To The Hon. H. S. Conway.
Arlington Street, Dec. 29, 1770. (page 44)
The trees came safe: I thank you for them: they are gone to Strawberry, and I am going to plant them. This paragraph would not call for a letter, but I have news for you of importance enough to dignify a despatch. The Duc de Choiseul is fallen! The express from Lord Harcourt arrived yesterday morning; the event happened last Monday night, and the courier set out so immediately, that not many particulars are yet known. The Duke was allowed but three hours to prepare himself, and ordered to retire to his seat at Chanteloup: but some letters say, "il ira plus loin." The Duc de Praslin is banished, too, and Chatelet is forbidden to visit Choiseul. Chatelet was to have had the marine; and I am Sure is no loss to us. The Chevalier de Muy is made secretary of state pour la guerre;(25) and it is concluded that the Duc d'Aiguillon is prime-minister, but was not named so in the first hurry. There! there is a revolution! there is a new scene opened! Will it advance the war? Will it make peace? These are the questions all mankind is asking. This whale has swallowed up all gudgeon-questions. Lord Harcourt writes, that the d'Aiguillonists had officiously taken opportunities of assuring him, that if they prevailed it would be peace; but in this country we know that opponents turned ministers can change their language It is added, that the morning of Choiseul's banishment'(26) the King said to him, "Monsieur, je vous ai dit que je ne voulais point la guerre." Yet how does this agree with Franc`es's(27) eager protestations that Choiseul's fate depended on preserving the peace? How does it agree with the Comptroller-general's offer of finding funds for the war, and of Choiseul's proving he could not?—But how reconcile half the politics one hears? De Guisnes and Franc`es sent their excuses to the Duchess of Argyle last night; and I suppose the Spaniards, too; for none of them were there.—Well! I shall let all this bustle cool for two days; for what Englishman does not sacrifice any thing to go his Saturday out of town? And yet I am very much interested in this event; I feel much for Madame de Choiseul, though nothing for her Corsican husband; but I am in the utmost anxiety for my dear old friend,(28) who passed every evening with the Duchess, and was thence in great credit; and what is worse, though nobody, I think, can be savage enough to take away her pension, she may find great difficulty to get it paid—and then her poor heart is so good and warm, that this blow on her friends, at her great age, may kill her.(29) I have had no letter, nor had last post—whether it was stopped, or whether she apprehended the event, as I imagine—for every one observed, on Tuesday night, at your brother's, that Franc`es could not open his mouth. In short, I am most seriously alarmed about her.
You have seen in the papers the designed arrangements in the law.(30) They now say there is some hitch; but I suppose it turns on some demands, and so will be got over by their being granted. Mr. Mason, the bard, gave me yesterday, the enclosed memorial, and begged I would recommend it to you. It is in favour of a very ingenious painter. Adieu! the sun shines brightly; but it is one o'clock, and it will be set before I get to Twickenham. Yours ever.