London, July 24, 1834.—It was generally said yesterday that the Infanta Maria Princess of Portugal and wife of Don Carlos, has also secretly left England to follow her husband to Spain, leaving her children here with her sister the Duchess of Beira. Princess Maria is said to be possessed of much courage and decision of character. Probably she thinks that she has more than her husband, and that her presence will inspire the Pretender with all the energy which he needs in his difficult situation. All these Portuguese Princesses are demons either in politics or in love, and sometimes in both. One of them, married to a Marquis de Loulé, had an adventure with a British naval officer, which caused much scandal at Lisbon. M. de Loulé was furious and sent away his wife, keeping the children. Dom Pedro required his brother-in-law to take her back, but I did not hear how the matter ended.
Princess Isabella also caused some talk while she was Regent, and Dom Miguel, it is said, tried to give her poison in a vegetable soup. She is now at Lisbon, reunited to the rest of her family, or, rather, her relatives, for love and hate are alike so perverse in the House of Braganza that they can hardly be said to respect in any way the natural family ties.
A propos of Pretenders and curious manners, Lord Burghersh yesterday told me a great deal about the Countess of Albany, whom he knew at Florence. There she had as cavaliere servente M. Fabre, the painter, who had lived with her since the death of Alfieri. They used to walk out alone, with only M. Fabre's big dog to keep them company. They also dined alone. From eight to eleven the Countess received all Florence. While this was going on M. Fabre retired to a mistress of an inferior order. At eleven he reappeared at the Countess's, and his arrival was the signal for the whole company to disperse in order that they might sup tête-à-tête. The one was never asked out without the other; this is the etiquette in Italy, and is carried to a naïve extreme. Here is an example: Lord Burghersh, who was British Minister at Florence, opened his house with a great ball, to which he thought that he had invited every one of importance. However, not being as yet very well up in the manners and customs of society, he forgot to invite a gentleman who was attached to a certain fair lady. On the morning of the ball my lord's steward came to him with an open letter which he had just received, and which he asked his master to read. Lord Burghersh read as follows: "Sapete, caro Matteo, che sono servita da il Cavaliere so-and-so; he is not invited to Lord Burghersh's, which, as you will understand, makes it impossible for me to go to his ball; please correct this mistake." The mistake was, in fact, corrected, and Lord Burghersh never forgot the lesson. "Sapete" to a servant, and "sono servita" are expressions of a naïveté which is almost beyond belief, yet quite according to Italian manners. But, to return to the Countess of Albany and M. Fabre, her ladyship having died, M. Fabre painted a portrait of the dog, the companion of their walks, had it engraved, and sent a proof to each of the Countess's friends with the following inscription: "To the friends of the Countess of Albany from M. Fabre's dog."
London, July 25, 1834.—The Ministry grows very bitter against Lord Grey, being incensed at his dignified retirement and his just disdain of the preposterous proposal of the Privy Seal. He is called weak, incapable and capricious, and insult is added to perfidy. The thin veil with which this treacherous conduct is covered does not conceal it sufficiently to prevent Lord Grey himself from beginning to be embittered by it. I know that he has said that if his successors went another step in the direction of revolution he would not only cease to vote for them but openly declare against them. Decidedly he has returned to his better instincts, and I believe he will have the courage to purge himself, so far as that is possible, of the imputation of having led England along a road to ruin.
Lord John Russell the mildest, the wittiest, and the most honourable of Jacobins, the most simple minded and the most candid of revolutionaries, the most agreeable, but also by the very reason of his virtue, the most dangerous of Ministers, was telling me yesterday that some months ago he had a violent argument with Lord Grey about a measure on which they did not agree. On this occasion, Lord Grey declared to him that he would never consent to put his name to a revolutionary measure. "After Reform," added Lord John in his mild little way, "this showed great weakness and want of logic." "You would be right," I replied, "if Lord Grey, when he allowed you to pass the Reform Bill, had foreseen all the consequences; but you will agree with me that he did not foresee them, and that you took good care not to point them out to him in time." Lord John laughed and said very charmingly, "You don't expect me to confess, do you?" If all the revolutionaries were of the type of Cobbett and O'Connell, or of the ill-bred and cynical nature of Lord Brougham, it would be easier to be on one's guard. But in the witty, fragile figure of the Duke of Bedford's son how could one suspect that there lurks so much perversity of judgment, how could one imagine that a body to all appearance so frail and exhausted could be capable of such persistence in thought and such violence in action?
London, July 29, 1834.—An expedition to Woburn Abbey has interrupted this journal. This, the third visit which I have paid to this splendid place, was much pleasanter to me personally than the two others, but it has furnished me with nothing to add to my previous descriptions of it. Nothing happened there at all out of the ordinary course of English country-house life. The hospitality dispensed is on a great and generous scale with a little more pomp and ceremony than one wants in country life, at least according to Continental ideas.
A party at Woburn in particular is as carefully arranged as a London dinner-party. Twenty or thirty persons who know each other, but not familiarly, are invited to be together for two or three days. The hosts go to their house for the special purpose of receiving their guests, and return to town after their departure. They have thus themselves the air of being on a visit. However, when all is said and done, there is so much to see and admire; the Duke of Bedford is so charming, such a perfect embodiment of the grand seigneur; the Duchess is so attentive, that it is impossible not to carry away with one the most pleasing impressions. My own impression was particularly so, and this in spite of the rather melancholy cloud on the countenances of some of the leading figures. Lord Grey, for instance, has collapsed in a rather startling way; he seems ill and worn out, and takes no trouble to conceal his attitude, which is becoming more and more bitter. The most voluntary of abdications are always followed by regrets; one may die of overwork; one flickers out when one is shelved. It is so difficult to be satisfied both with one's self and with others.
Madame de Lieven, also, despite all her efforts, was fainting under the burden of saying good-bye, of going away and staying away. She is really very unhappy, and I am very sorry for her. This is the more the case as no person of ability has ever found less resources within herself than she. She always relies for help on her surroundings. She must have the stir of news and conversation, and when she is alone there is nothing left for her to do but to go to sleep. She weeps to have to quit England; she fears St. Petersburg, but what she feels most is the journey—a week of solitude! Her husband and children don't count! She will stay a day at Hamburg solely for the purpose of exchanging a few words with new people. She seized with avidity the idea of arranging that the Baron and Baroness de Talleyrand should visit her, though she has never seen them and does not know whether they will amuse her. She was obviously consoled when she managed to persuade Lord Alvanley to go on his way to Carlsbad by Hamburg in the same packet as herself, and this though Lord Alvanley warned her that sea-sickness made him very bad company. For her, indeed, ennui is like a conscience; her one idea is to fly from herself.
When we got back to London we heard of the Madrid massacres—always the same horrible fable of the poisoned wells, which infuriates popular ignorance wherever there is an epidemic of cholera, and produces mad atrocities. The monks have been the victims on this occasion, and the convents have been pillaged in spite of religious fanaticism. The hand of authority was weak and impotent: the Government had retired to St. Ildephonse, terrified and irresolute, not knowing whether in these melancholy circumstances of plague, riot and civil war, the Cortès should be summoned or prorogued, or, if they should be summoned, to what place or under whose auspices! It is impossible to imagine a concourse of circumstances more melancholy in themselves, more fatal for Spain, or more unpleasing neighbours for France.
Louis-Philippe is very unwilling to interfere openly and directly in the destinies of Spain. He has even showed this unwillingness so clearly, that the Ambassadors at Paris have divined his secret and are taking great advantage of it. The attitude of the Ministry, which has to reckon more directly with the national vanity and susceptibility, is much less decided. This is the situation in which the Chambers will meet the day after to-morrow.
One of the chief ostensible motives for Marshal Soult's retirement was his insistence on the appointment of a soldier to govern Algiers in opposition to the rest of the Cabinet which demanded that the Governor should be a civilian. It appears that Marshal Gérard took the same line as his predecessor, and that his friendship with the King has enabled him to carry his point; anyhow, General Drouet d'Erlou has just been appointed to the post.
London, July 31, 1834.—Last year, when M. de Talleyrand left for the Continent, the King of England said to him, "When are you coming back?" The year before he had said, "I have told my Ambassador at Paris to say to your Government that I particularly wish to have you here." This year he says, "When are you going?" I think one can find in these varying expressions a trace of Palmerstonian influence.
Yesterday at the King's levée Lord Mulgrave received the Privy Seal which Lord Carlisle has resigned.
In our drawing-room the conversation turned on the talent of certain people for telling ghost stories. This reminded me of the interest with which two years ago at Kew[27] I heard from the Duchess of Cumberland the story of an apparition seen by herself, the remembrance of which seemed to cause her much emotion. The impression she produced on us was the deeper as the hour was late and a terrifying thunderstorm was raging outside the house.
The story is as follows. The Duchess of Cumberland, then Princess Louise of Prussia, had gone to visit her mother's relatives at Darmstadt. She was lodged in a state apartment in a part of the castle which was rarely used, the furniture of which, though magnificent, had not been changed for three generations. Wearied with her journey she quickly fell asleep but all the same soon felt on her face a breath which awakened her. She opened her eyes and saw the face of an old lady who was leaning over her own face. Terrified by the sight she immediately drew the bed-clothes over her eyes and remained motionless for several moments. Want of air, however, made her change her position and impelled by curiosity she again opened her eyes and saw the same venerable face, pale and gentle, still staring at her. She then screamed loudly and the nurse of Prince Frederick of Prussia who slept with the child in the neighbouring room, the door of communication being open, rushed in and, finding her mistress bathed in a cold sweat, remained with her for the rest of the night. Next day the Princess related what had happened, and urgently requested that her room might be changed, which was done. No one was surprised for it was said in the family that whenever any descendant of the old Duchess of Darmstadt, who had occupied this apartment, slept there, this venerable ancestress would come and pay her posterity a visit. The Duke of Weimar and several other princes were cited as examples proving the truth of this story. Many years later the Duchess of Cumberland, then Princess Solms, and established at Frankfort, was invited by her cousin, the Grand Duke of Hesse Darmstadt, to a great festivity which he was preparing. The Princess went, intending to return to Frankfort the same night. Supper over she went to a room where her travelling dress had been laid out and was followed by the young Grand Duchess then recently married. The latter asked the Princess Solms whether the story of the ghost was true and asked that it might be told her in detail. She wished to discover whether the impression left had been strong enough to make the Princess remember the features of their venerable ancestress. The Princess was sure that it was so. "Very well," said the Grand Duchess "her portrait is in this very room with two others of the same period. Take the light and tell me which you think represents the spectre, I shall see if you are right." The Princess with some repugnance approached the portraits and had just recognised that of the old grandmother when the picture and its frame crashed to the ground with a terrible noise and, had the ladies not immediately fled, they would have been crushed by its weight.
I do not say that this story is particularly good in itself. I only know that it made a deep impression on me because it was very well told, and because, when in this style of narrative you hear some one say "I saw, I heard," it is impossible not to treat the matter seriously. The Duchess was perfectly serious and her emotion strong, so that I have never doubted the truth of what she told us.
The Duchess of Cumberland's absence has left, for me at least, a gap which is very noticeable in London. She is clever and well educated, her manners are most refined and very queenly, she is graceful and kindly and still beautiful, especially in figure. Her kindness to me has been enhanced by her again lately bestowing it on my second son. In fact, whatever judgment be passed on her character, which is not equally admired by everybody, it is impossible not to recognise that she possesses great qualities and not to be touched by her great affliction—the infirmity of her son Prince George. He is an amiable, good-looking youth, who at fifteen after terrible suffering has lost his sight. He is a fit object at once of pity and admiration; his resignation is angelic, he shows no impatience, no regrets, no ill temper, and he hides his sadness from his mother. He sustains the courage of his attendants by his own, and, young as he is, he already inspires all the respect due to a great character. His favourite occupation is improvising on the piano, and his favourite melodies are sad and serious; but when he recognises his mother's step he changes to a gay and animated theme to make her think he is happy. So long as it was hoped that remedies might check the inflammation and restore him his sight his education was suspended. After a time, however, his tutor—an excellent man—became convinced that his education was suffering and his sight not profiting by this and he proposed that the young Prince should resume the course of his studies and continue them as far as possible without the aid of sight, on a plan submitted by him. Prince George was silent for a time, then said with a serious air, "Yes sir, you are right, I shall follow your advice for I feel that as one door is being closed for me I must try all the harder to open another."
London, August 1, 1834.—What a melancholy dinner we had last night at Lord Palmerston's! It was a farewell party for the Princesse de Lieven. She went against her will, we simply for her sake. Lady Cowper was making visible efforts to appear at ease, Lady Holland wanted explanations of Lord Palmerston's latest offences against M. de Talleyrand; every one obviously felt that our approaching departure will be as final as that of the unfortunate Princess. M. de Bülow was pale and embarrassed and looked like a pickpocket caught in the act. Poor Dedel resembled an orphan at the funeral of both his parents. Lord Melbourne with his coarse Norman farmer style of build looked like anything rather than a Prime Minister.
The defeat which the Ministry purposely incurred yesterday in the House of Commons by letting the Radicals beat them on the question of the Irish Church did not make them look very happy, and in fact there was a melancholy sense of embarrassment in everything and on everybody, which oppressed me excessively.
I had not the courage this morning to go and say good-bye for the last time to poor Madame de Lieven, who is half dead with weariness and emotion. It was really kinder not to increase her agitation. I am distressed at her departure as it separates me from a personage of real distinction without much hope of seeing her again; but it also brings home to me in the most painful manner the changes which have taken place here during the last four years, and which have done so much to dim the brilliancy and splendour of England. What losses the Corps Diplomatique has suffered! Kind and gentle M. Falk with all his subtlety, his learning, and his wit, is replaced, first by the cross-grained M. de Zuylen, and now by the excellent but insignificant Dedel. Madame Falk's frank and simple high spirits are also much missed. M. and Madame de Zea were more intelligent by far than the liliputian Miraflorès, M. and Madame de Münster, were in every way much superior to the Omptedas. I can find no one to replace the excellent Madame de Bülow, and I believe that her absence has left her husband's evil tendencies far too much without the check which his wife's simple and honest nature imposed. Esterhazy is universally regretted. His perfect good-humour, the certainty of his social touch, the ease of his character, the magnificence of his way of life, the subtlety of his wit, the correctness of his judgment, and the kindness of his heart made him much beloved here, and not likely to be forgotten. Wessenberg has also left a vacant place which has not been filled. The departure of the Lievens enlarges the social breach, and our own will complete the ruin. The neutral ground afforded by diplomatic households is especially valuable in a country divided by party spirit, in which, politics having broken so many other ties, society can no long hold together in the old way.
We learned yesterday by telegraph that the Queen Regent of Spain had opened the Cortès in person at Madrid on the 24th; that order was restored in the city; that the cholera was diminishing a little; and that Don Carlos was retiring further and further towards the French frontier.
London, August 3, 1834.—Nothing, I think, shows more clearly the state into which the home policy of the English Government has fallen than a remark made to me yesterday by Lord Sefton. "Do you know," he said, "that, in spite of my admiration for Lord Grey, I think that we have come to a point at which it is not only fortunate for himself but a very good thing for the country that he has retired? He would never have consented to the slightest courtesy being shown to O'Connell and his friends, and yet we have no alternative but to satisfy them. It is urgently necessary to conciliate them by condescensions against which Lord Grey would have rebelled, and which are less repulsive to his successors, from my friend the Chancellor downwards. It is a good thing, you see, that we have a Government composed of people who have no objection to condescend as much as may be necessary!"
There seems to be general approval of the speech made by the Queen of Spain. In order to appreciate it properly one must know the condition of the country better than I do. The best wish I can send her Majesty is that she may not again have to deliver such a long one, and that the circumstances of her future speeches may be very different. They say that she spoke very gracefully. She deserves praise for having recovered her nerve, and run the risk of infection in coming back to address the Cortès.
The cholera is carrying off many people at Madrid. The sanitary arrangements are bad; the heat is torrid, and cleanliness is unknown. Twice as many women as men fall victims to the disease. The mother of Madame de Miraflorès is among those who have succumbed.
Don Carlos, it appears, is on the point of recrossing the frontier. It is said that he is so close to it that his outposts and the French outposts are in sight of each other.
I don't know what ill wind is blowing in Paris, but I incline to think that all is not so quiet there as it seems. Here is an extract from a letter from Bertin de Veaux on this subject: "It seems that you and the Prince de Talleyrand are fated never to come to Paris except during a Ministerial crisis, for our Ministry is no steadier than that in London. Here, moreover, people have made up their minds to live from hand to mouth and, except the actors, no one pays any attention to the play. However, when you do come your salon will soon be full, and it is before you and the Prince that all our actors, great and small, will come and try their 'poses,' as they call them nowadays."
In another letter there is a great deal about the dangers of to-day and to-morrow, of the obvious aspirations of some people, of under-currents and cross-currents, of the cabals, and the unmeasured ambition of certain small men, and the ill-temper and sullenness of the rest. A propos of the cruel disappointments experienced by M. Decazes, it is added: "Poor M. Decazes may strike the earth all round him as loudly as he likes; he can make nothing emerge. It is said that he now wants Semonville's place, and that he has perhaps some chance of getting it as Semonville is a convenient person to disoblige, being formidable to nobody. I do not at all like this habit of burying people before they are dead, and I thought that they had had enough of it since their attempt on MM. de Marbois and Gaëte, which was not a success with the public. One is quite delighted when one comes home to find that one has not been robbed of anything."
London, August 4, 1834.—It seems certain that on the eve of the opening of the Cortès, a very extensive Republican conspiracy was discovered, in which many important persons were concerned. Palafox and Romero have been arrested; they say that their supporters were chiefly in Galicia. In Aragon and Catalonia the Carlists are the dominating faction, and are making themselves troublesome. Thus there are two flags under which Spain divides and arrays herself.
When Mr. Backhouse went to see Don Carlos in the Donegal the latter said that he had heard of the treaty of Quadruple Alliance, but wished to see the text. Having read it, he returned it to Mr. Backhouse without remark but with an ironical smile, which became a disdainful laugh when Mr. Backhouse said to him that he believed the Prince to be mistaken about the strength of his party in Spain. Except for this the Prince was polite, gentle, and even kindly.
Parliament was to have risen on the 12th, and most members hoped to leave London even earlier. But the day before yesterday the Duke of Wellington called a meeting of his supporters at his house, and begged them to remain at their posts in the interest of the safety of the country, and to use their majority, which is admitted to be formidable, on the dissenting question, to strike another blow for the Church on the debate on the remaining measures which have still to be discussed. There is some reason to fear that the Irish Protestant clergy will be left without means of subsistence if O'Connell's Tithes Bill is rejected, and this makes it rather doubtful what course the Lords will take. The Bishops, however, seem to think that the Bill would be just as bad for them as even the absence of any financial provision. It is certain that this week marks the crisis of the affair: if the Bill is thrown out there will be a collision between the two Houses. Will the Ministry resign? Or will it demand carte blanche of the King? Will this be a further step in the direction of revolution? Or will they be satisfied, as the Chancellor said yesterday, to leave the Irish clergy to die of hunger? Lord Grey said that it would not be so easy to leave them to die of hunger, as there was a law which enacted that their subsistence must be provided for, whether by tithes or otherwise. As to a creation of Peers, it was observed that it would be necessary to create a hundred and fifty, and on this Lord Grey said that two hundred would not be enough, because all the old Peerage, and himself at their head, would revolt against any Government mad and wicked enough to proceed to such an extremity. Besides, it remained to be seen whether the King would consent. The King is ill, depressed and exhausted; he admits as much himself, and especially his mental preoccupation, which he does not attempt to conceal. He is obviously suffering from extreme oppression, and from great weakness of one eye, which he can hardly open.
This is what passed about the Garter vacant by the death of Lord Bathurst. The King sent it to Lord Melbourne as his Prime Minister. The latter respectfully declined it and begged that His Majesty would bestow it on the recipient Lord Grey would have chosen, that is to say, on the Duke of Grafton. The King did in fact send it to the Duke, but he, deeply affected by the death of his favourite son, and moreover feeling himself aged and averse from the world, begged His Majesty to give it to some one who would be able to show it more often, and who would be more active in his service. It is thought that it will go to the Duke of Norfolk, but he is a Catholic, and it would be the first instance of such a favour being conferred on a dissenter.
A heavy blow has just fallen on the Duke of Wellington in the midst of the heavy cares which devolve on him as Leader of the Opposition. Mrs. Arbuthnot, a clever and sensible woman, who was both discreet and devoted and the Duke's faithful friend, has just been carried off by a few days violent illness. She was in all the flower of her age, and hitherto her health had been robust. The Duke has thus lost in one week his old friend Lord Bathurst, and Mrs. Arbuthnot his confidante, his consolation, his home! Deaths and departures make London very dismal just now—every one is going about discomfited and with long faces. People are terrified at the run of bad luck in which every day brings forth some new catastrophe.
London, August 5, 1834.—It is certain that Dom Miguel has signed his protest. The Duke of Alcudia and M. de Lavradio are with him; they are all preparing to join Don Carlos whenever he gains the slightest success.
Lady Holland and Lady Cowper are doing all in their power to secure that M. de Talleyrand and Lord Palmerston part on good terms. I can understand that the friends of the latter should desire this. It is important to them that there should not be occasion to blame Lord Palmerston's personal incivility for the total dispersion of the more important part of the Corps diplomatique, and that the evil reputation of the English Ministry all over Europe should not be emphasised by what M. de Talleyrand says of it at Paris. They will succeed in securing an amicable parting without any overt rupture, but it is impossible that a ferment which has been going on so long should not issue in ill-feeling, embarrassment and rancour. M. de Talleyrand could never forget that he has been uncivilly treated by a man younger and less capable than himself. Lord Palmerston, not impertinent in form, would take every opportunity of being so in fact, and this would be all the easier as the age and indolence of M. de Talleyrand would make it every day more easy to lead him into some false step. Nothing, therefore, would be more ill-advised than to come back, and in spite of all the pleasant and gratifying memories which attach me to England, I confess that I shall be relieved on M. de Talleyrand's account when he is out of public life.
London, August 6, 1834.—It is confirmed that the Duke of Norfolk is to have the Garter.
Spain is asking for additional articles in the Treaty of April 22 called the "Quadruple Alliance." She asks for British cruisers on the coast of Biscaya, for a Portuguese army corps, for French money and munitions of war and for troops on the French frontier. She asks all her allies for the moral support of a declaration in favour of the Regency, extending and explaining more fully the object of the first treaty.
The prolonged uncertainty and ignorance regarding Rodil's movements are causing anxiety about his success, and to the resulting alarm is attributed the fall on the Stock Exchange at Paris. Ugly catastrophes have occurred as the result of the particular misfortunes of the moment. The Rothschilds who had flooded Europe with Spanish stock, and who are still encumbered with a good deal themselves, are very cross and extremely anxious.
Some clever people are saying that the Queen Regent's most serious danger does not come from Don Carlos, but from what is called the party of the "movement." One is much disposed to accept this view when one thinks of the horrible remark made by Romero Alpuende, who called the massacres at Madrid on July 17 "a slight measure of patriotic relief."
London, August 8, 1834.—Rodil, it seems clear, has gained a very distinct success all along the line of the Carlists. In a regular war this might end the struggle, but in a civil conflict ordinary rules do not apply, and a party which seems annihilated to-day comes to life again to-morrow.
M. de Talleyrand took leave of the King the day before yesterday. The King was very gracious to him and to me, regretting that in the absence of the Queen his bachelor establishment prevented him from asking me to Windsor, where he would have been charmed to see me before I left. This is more courteous than correct, for the Princess Augusta is doing the honours of the Castle; ladies have been invited, among others Lady Grey and her daughter. But it is nicely put and in Society that is all one has a right to ask.
The King talked much about the seriousness of the situation and observed that the cards were well shuffled, on which M. de Talleyrand replied, "for our part, sir, we play with our cards on Your Majesty's table."
London, August 9, 1834.—I know nothing more embarrassing for a host than obvious mutual hostility at close quarters among his guests. Yesterday we thought we had escaped the Chancellor, but he came at dessert and prolonged our dinner, eating much at his ease in his usual dirty manner. As he ate he talked, helping himself to all subjects, as he did to all the dishes, without stopping and without restraint. We suffered agonies, especially on account of Lord and Lady Grey, and, in fact, he put us all out completely, and increased, if possible, the contempt and loathing that I feel for him.
Lord John Russell, who was dining with us, is also a little Radical, but at least he has his father's good taste and good breeding.
Speaking of popularity and of the trouble which great people should take for the less exalted classes of Society, Lord John told me yesterday that nothing could overcome the Duke of Bedford's hatred of the lesser people with whom he is surrounded. One day his steward suggested that some of them should be asked to dinner and the Duke refused. The man of business said, "But Your Grace, this civility will perhaps save you fifteen thousand pounds at next election." "Perhaps," replied the Duke, "but if by spending money I can save myself boredom and annoyance I consider it well spent. I will pay the fifteen thousand pounds, but I will not give the dinner." Yet the Duke of Bedford is very free handed, very charitable, and undertakes works on a considerable scale solely in order to give employment to the poor. However, he is not popular, and the wounded vanity of the middle classes has more weight than the gratitude of the indigent whose necessities he has relieved.
Lord and Lady Grey and their family, having, as they said, need of change of scene and surroundings, wanted to come and pay us a visit in France. But the sort of triumphal progress which would have awaited Lord Grey there struck terror into the present Ministry, who would have shrunk from the comparison of the honour done to their victim and the contempt under which they themselves languish. So Lord Grey was persuaded that if he went to France now it would look as if he went on purpose to secure an ovation, which would be an improper thing to do. Thus we shall not have the pleasure of seeing him, which I regret on his account, as I fear that in his present irritable and painful mood he may suffer real harm from solitude and ennui, and his wife also, for she is even more deeply wounded than he is himself. Lord Grey has worn himself out, morally and physically, with his labours. How much better it would have been if he had resigned six weeks sooner—at the same time as the four really distinguished and honourable members of the Cabinet? He would then have marched out with all the honours of war instead of laying down his arms!
Every one is bitten with the taste for travel, and the Lord Chancellor, like the rest, had planned a holiday to be spent in a picturesque and amorous pilgrimage on the banks of the Rhine in the train of Mrs. Peter. But it seems from what he told me yesterday himself that the King would not allow him. Since Lord Clarendon's time no Chancellor of England has quitted the country, and the precedent is not a happy one, for Lord Clarendon only went on his travels because his master was in flight. Others say that the King has nothing to do with the change in Lord Brougham's plans, but that the necessity of paying fourteen hundred pounds out of his salary to arrange for a Commission of the Seals in his absence is the real reason why he is not going.
London, August 11, 1834.—Lord Palmerston has given us a farewell dinner. This is in his line; he loves to speed the parting guest. But he did not take much trouble about it. Besides several diplomatists of the second order there was no one there but Mrs. Peter—not a single person of eminence in English Society, no one of those who are known to be our friends. It was done as a duty, or, perhaps as an atonement—nothing more. Perhaps he hates the Lievens more than he does us, but he intends to advertise equally his contempt for both.
A propos of the Flahauts, he put in an attempt at an explanation of his never accepting a single one of our invitations. On this subject, half laughingly and half bitterly, I told him a few home-truths, which went off very well. There were many hints and double meanings and sly digs in our conversation, which reminded me of those that take place at the Opera ball, where the thought is all the freer for the appearance being veiled and dissimulated. I amused myself by frightening the "young man," as Madame de Lieven called him. He thought it necessary to pretend to be most desirous of our prompt return; I took him at his word, and said that I went further, and that in my opinion M. de Talleyrand should not go away at all. He then looked very foolish and went off on the other tack, saying that a change of air was necessary and, in fact, indispensable; that one required refreshment, both physical and mental—in short, all he wanted was to see the last of us.
I looked at him closely yesterday. It is seldom that a man has a face so expressive of his character. The eyes are hard and pale, the nose turned up and impertinent. His smile is bitter, his laugh forced. There is no dignity, or frankness, or correctness either in his features or his build. His conversation is dry, but, I confess, not wanting in wit. He has on him a stamp of obstinacy, arrogance, and treachery, which I believe to be an exact reflection of his real character.
London, August 12, 1834.—In spite of the slow progress made by Don Carlos it is difficult to be quite happy about the state of Spain. General Alava, who has gone back there after many years of exile, seems struck with the demoralisation and confusion which he sees. All natural bonds are broken by party spirit—the ferocity and violence of these Southern fanatics, no longer directed against the foreigner, have recoiled cruelly on themselves. Republicanism is gaining everywhere where religion is not on the side of the Legitimist party. It appears with all the tawdry emotion of revolutionary eloquence in the address of the Procuradores to the Queen-Regent. Already since the opening of the Cortès the Ministry is at variance with the Second Chamber, and one cannot think how a Regency with such a feeble Government can possibly overcome so many adverse circumstances.
I lately saw, at Lord Palmerston's, a portrait of little Queen Isabella II., sent by the Regent to his Lordship. To judge by this picture, she is not at all a pretty child. She seems to have insignificant eyes and her father's wicked mouth; and, on the whole, is an ugly little Princess. It is a pity; women destined to sit on a throne, especially a disputed one, find it a dangerous thing not to be beautiful.
The species of bankruptcy proclaimed by M. de Toreno, which has proved so fatal to a horde of small rentiers at Paris, is making the little Queen's cause unpopular there. It seems to me that this is in a way fortunate; for if vanity and the furia francese had rushed the Government into taking too prominent a part in promoting the success of their little neighbour, they would have found themselves drawn into a series of embarrassments and into a network of dangers the effect of which would have been incalculable. King Louis-Philippe is shrewd and alert enough, where his own dynastic interests are concerned, not to remain coldly aloof from this struggle, which cannot but end to his disadvantage, whether anarchy triumphs under Isabella II. or Legitimacy carries the day under Don Carlos. This being the case, it would not be advisable to ruffle our other neighbours (for they are neighbours and not allies) by too definite acts of intervention. England alone is allied with us, but, undermined as she is by so many internal wounds, can she still assert herself as she ought in the councils of Europe? Certainly not; and she must be well aware of the fact, for neither in the Eastern Question nor in any other question which has come up during the last two years has England made good in action the boasting of her language.
The cholera continues to ravage Madrid, attacking chiefly the upper classes and particularly women. It has also appeared again, though slightly, in Paris and London.
London, August 13, 1834.—The Irish Tithes Bill has been rejected by the House of Lords, as was expected, and by so large a majority that it would be difficult to create enough new Peers to redress the balance. And yet how can one imagine next Session opening with the same Upper House and the same Ministry? The Ministry say that they will not give in, that they care nothing for the House of Lords, and will get on with the Commons alone without caring at all about the Clergy or the Peers, and without paying much attention to the Crown. It is the Crown that should assert itself at this juncture; but, alas! the Crown is in a most benighted condition.
Lord Grey told me he did not agree with the Chancellor that the only obstacles came from the House of Lords. He thinks that there will be very serious trouble in the Commons, where Mr. Stanley, the ex-Minister, is preparing a most violent attack on the Government. Lord Grey has been staying away from the House of Lords; he feared he might perhaps be forced to speak and that, not being able to hide his distaste for the Cabinet's alliance with O'Connell, he might do an injury to the Ministry for which he does not wish to be responsible.
London, August 14, 1834.—Grandees of Spain, it seems, are allowed to behave in a very free and easy way with their sovereigns. They smoke cigars with them and often finish the cigar which the monarch has left half consumed. The Duke of Frias, who was once Ambassador here, is a curious, absurd, and absent-minded person who puts himself about for nobody; he came back some time ago on a few days visit to London. He went to the King's levée, and pushing forward his funny little face said to His Majesty: "You must know me." The King, who at first did not clearly remember him and was offended at the familiarity of his manner, said: "No, I don't know you." "I was Ambassador here," replied the little Duke, "when you were only Duke of Clarence." On this the King very nearly lost his temper, and, waving him on, repeated emphatically: "No, no, I don't know you." He then turned to the Minister of the Netherlands who came next and said to him aloud: "Who is that clown?" This was a curious scene.
London, August 18, 1834.—For several days I have been oppressed by the unwholesome atmosphere in which we live in London, profoundly agitated by the illness of my friends, and overwhelmed with all the preparations for my approaching departure. Thus my notes have been neglected. I should have liked to set down some of my last recollections of London, which are blurred with illness, anxiety and regret, but which are none the less precious.
I have seen the Duke of Wellington and Lord Grey, who came to say good-bye, and expressed a friendship and esteem which I consider a great honour. Lord Grey I leave trying to quiet his conscience and to deceive himself about the too rapid progress of his country's affairs, which he has placed in a train that his successors will accelerate.
The Duke of Wellington is not deceived about the seriousness of the situation, but he has made up his mind to struggle to the last and doesn't know the meaning of discouragement. It is not that he wishes to oppose all the proposals of the Ministry or to obstruct systematically all administration and stop the machinery of government. He is too honest a man for that. But he thinks it his duty and that of the Upper House to make themselves a bulwark for the protection of the ancient and fundamental bases of the constitution. The personality of the King spoils almost every chance of safety. His successor is a child with perhaps almost more against her, the more so as her mother, the future Regent, seems to be very obstinate and very narrow-minded.
It is impossible not to think with terror of the future of this great country, which was still so brilliant and so proud four years ago when I came to it, and whose glory is now so tarnished when I am leaving it perhaps for ever.
I do not admit the possibility of M. de Talleyrand's coming back. There are too many good reasons why he should not. I set them forth in a letter which I have written to him and which describes his position pretty correctly, so I insert it here.
"I have a serious duty towards you of which I am never more conscious than when your glory is at stake. When I speak to you you sometimes find me a little irritating, and then I am silent and do not tell you all that I think—the whole truth. Allow me therefore to write to you, and please forgive anything that may seem displeasing because of the devotion which inspires what I write. Without claiming a very great share of cleverness I don't think I am altogether at fault in forming an opinion about you whom I know so well, and whose difficulties and embarrassments I am in such a good position for observing. It is not therefore lightly that I press you to abandon public life and to retire from the scene where a disordered society is playing a sorry part. Do not remain any longer at a post in which you will necessarily be called upon to demolish the edifice which you have laboured so hard to sustain. You know what I feared last year, and how greatly, when you made up your mind to return to England. I foresaw all the repugnance which you would find in performing your task with the instruments at your disposal. Confess that my forebodings have to a great extent been realised. This year there are a thousand additional aggravating circumstances. Think of the circumstances in which you would find yourself. What do we see in England? A society divided by party spirit, and agitated by all the passions which arise from that spirit, losing every day something of its brilliancy, its breeding and its security, a King without firmness influenced chiefly by the very man of all his Cabinet who has most injured you, a frivolous, presumptuous, arrogant Minister, who pays you none of the respect due to your age and position. He obstructs and impedes business by every means in his power. His one thought is to secure the triumph of his own ideas; he has no thought of educating himself by studying yours. He leads you on from uncertainty to uncertainty, entraps you with contradictions, leaves you in ignorance and doubt, carries on independently of you things in which you ought to have a share, and then glories in the success of his treachery and scorn. Do you think you can preserve much longer with such a man, the dignity which befits you? Do you not feel that it is already compromised, in fact, and soon will be in the public eye? Moreover, do you think that an Ambassador who is a great personage, a man of your social gifts, can be acceptable to a Government which is being swept away by the current of Revolution, especially when you have already enough to do to struggle against a similar movement in your own country? You have founded an alliance on a common basis of good order, stable equilibrium, and conservation of existing institutions. Will it please you to continue it on the basis of common sympathy with anarchy?
"Do not forget that the support and consolation which you have found for several years in your relations with your colleagues will no longer be there, now that the face of the Diplomatic Corps in London has changed so much. The new Spain, the new Portugal, the shapeless form of Belgium, are the only conspicuous features, as impudent as they are vulgar. You would therefore be isolated in England and in the trying situation which would be the result, where would you find support? Not in the Government you represent, for pettiness, indiscretion, vanity, and intrigue dominate everything in Paris. Only the greatness of your position in London enabled you to hold them in check. Our little Ministers are more on Lord Granville's side than ours, and you would not have their support in dominating things here. You came here four years ago, not to make your fortune, your career or your reputation. All these were made long ago; you came, not out of affection for those who are conducting our government, for whom you have neither love nor affection. You came solely to render a great service to your country at a moment of the gravest peril. It was a perilous enterprise at your age! It was a bold thing to reappear to still the storm after fifteen years of retirement! You accomplished what you attempted; let that suffice you. Henceforth you can do nothing but diminish the importance of what you have done. Remember the truth of Lord Grey's words: 'When one has kept one's health, and one's faculties, one may still at an advanced age usefully occupy one's self with public affairs. But, in critical times like the present, a degree of attention, activity and energy is required which belongs only to the prime of life and not to its decline.' When one is young, one moment is as good as another for joining in the fray; when one is old the only thing to do is to choose a good time for leaving it. Here Lord Grey was the last, all too feeble barrier against the revolutionary spirit; here you have been the last barrier against the struggle of the powers with each other. Lord Grey realised too late that he was being carried away by the torrent; do you not also feel that your influence has become as inadequate as his? The noble and touching farewell words of Lord Grey threw a last fleeting ray of light on his career; his retirement became a triumph; another day and he was effaced! The last two champions of the old Europe should quit public life at the same time. May they carry with them into their retirement the consciousness of their efforts and their services, and may history one day show that the coincidence of their departures was honourable to both.
"This and only this I conceive to be the fitting close of your public life. All considerations which might lead you to think otherwise are unworthy of you. You cannot be influenced by the possibility of a little more amusement, a few more social resources. Are you to count the trifling excitements of dispatches, couriers, and news? The interest produced by such things is too often a child's plaything. Are we even to consider the more or less material tranquillity we enjoy? Is the epoch of shocks and revolutionary torments at an end in France? I do not know. Is it more or less distant in England? I cannot tell. Will solitude be trying? Shall we seek distraction in travel? What in a word will be the arrangement of our private life? What does it matter? I am younger than you, and might, perhaps, more naturally take some thought for that; but I should think myself unworthy of your confidence and of the truth which I am now venturing to tell you if the slightest consideration of my own comfort made me keep anything from you. When one is a historical personage as you are, one has no right to think of any other future than the future of history. History, as you know, judges the end of a man's life more severely than the beginning. If, as I am proud to believe, you think as highly of my judgment as of my affection, you will be as frank with yourself as I am with you now. You will have done with all self-created illusions, all specious arguments and subtle pieces of self-love, and you will put an end to a situation which would soon lower you in other eyes than mine. Do not bargain with the public. Dictate its judgment, do not submit to it. Confess that you are old in order that people may not say that you are aging. Say nobly and simply before all the world, 'The time has come!'"
Dom Miguel has left Genoa and has been seen at Savona. This is particularly displeasing to Lord Palmerston.
London, August 19, 1834.—It appears that while Dom Miguel was at Savona several vessels were seen in the offing which hoisted English colours and made many signals, following which Dom Miguel is said to have returned to Genoa. This is what was being said yesterday, but no explanation is forthcoming.
London, August 20, 1834.—M. de Talleyrand left London yesterday, probably never to return. That, at least, is what he said himself.
There is always something solemn and peculiarly painful in doing a thing for the last time, in departure, in absence, in saying good-bye, especially when one is eighty. I think he felt it, I know I feel it for him. Besides, surrounded as I am with illness, and ill myself, this being the anniversary of my mother's death, remembering all the pleasant things that have happened to me in England, I feel very weak and discouraged by the thought of departure. I said good-bye to M. de Talleyrand with a heart-sinking as great as if I was not to see him again in four days, and I might well have said to him as I said to Madame de Lieven, "I mourn my departure in yours."
M. de Talleyrand's last impressions of his public life here were not precisely agreeable. After many hours spent at the Foreign Office in the company of M. de Miraflorès, of M. de Sarmento, and of Lord Palmerston, who, as usual, kept everybody waiting a long time, the additional articles (which are of no great importance) of the Treaty of April 22, the Quadruple Alliance, were signed in the middle of the night. Lord Palmerston wanted to extend the scope of the Treaty. M. de Talleyrand, on the other hand, desired rather to narrow its obligations. Lord Granville's absence from Paris had left the French Government free from this source of obsession, so they held their ground and authorised M. de Talleyrand to maintain his position, and Lord Palmerston gained nothing by his wilfulness, Lord Holland by his draughtsmanship, or Miraflorès by his antics.
There are two stories which I have heard M. de Talleyrand tell so often that for me they have lost their freshness. They seemed very good when first I heard them, so I will set them down here. They both have to do with the campaigns of the Emperor Napoleon, which ended in the Peace of Tilsit.
At Warsaw, where he remained during part of the winter of 1806-7, the Emperor received an ambassador[28] from Persia, who seems to have been a man of wit. At any rate, M. de Talleyrand says that Napoleon asked the Persian whether he was not surprised to find a Western Emperor so near the East, and that the Ambassador replied, "No, sir, for Tah-masp-Kouli-Khan got even nearer." I have always had my doubts about the authenticity of this retort, which, I believe, to have been invented by M. de Talleyrand himself in one of his moments of irritation against the Emperor, an irritation to which he gave vent in malicious sayings usually attributed to other people. Some, however, he acknowledged as his own, and, indeed, I have heard them said for the first time; such, for instance, as his remark in 1812, "It is the beginning of the end" (C'est le commencement de la fin), which has been so often quoted since, which has received such numerous applications, and has become public property and almost a commonplace. The unfortunate campaign of 1812 inspired more than one of M. de Talleyrand's most mordant sayings. I remember one day M. de Dalberg came to my mother's, and said that all the matériel of the army was lost. "Not at all," said M. de Talleyrand, "for the Duc de Bassano has just arrived." The Duc de Bassano was at that particular time, and for a very good reason, the object of M. de Talleyrand's displeasure. The Emperor desired to recall M. de Talleyrand to office, and it had been agreed that he should follow His Majesty to Warsaw. This was to remain a secret until the day of his departure. The Emperor, however, told the Duc de Bassano who, being disturbed at the revival of a favour which might disturb his own position, told his wife. She took it upon herself to put an end to the affair, and used, for this purpose, a M. de Rambuteau, a talkative, pompous, and smooth-spoken person, pretentious and pliant at the same time, who fancied himself in love with the Duchess, and did her husband's dirty work. M. de Rambuteau, then, having been thoroughly coached by the Duchesse de Bassano, went about everywhere spreading the news of the journey to Warsaw, saying that M. de Talleyrand was boasting about it and telling every one. The Emperor was offended, and M. de Talleyrand remained in France preparing reprisals.
But to come to the second story which M. de Talleyrand so often tells—he says that the Persian Ambassador, who made such subtly witty replies to the Emperor Napoleon, was a very tall, handsome man, whereas another Oriental, the Turkish Ambassador,[29] was a little man, short, squat, common and ridiculous. At a great ball, given by Count Potocki, the two Ambassadors were ascending the staircase together, and the little Turk darted forward in order to enter the ball-room before his colleague. The latter, seeing himself passed, stretched out his arm so as to make a kind of yoke, under which he calmly allowed the Mussulman to pass.
London, August 22, 1834.—The English Ministers wished to insert in the King's Speech on the prorogation of Parliament a phrase very offensive to the Upper House, in revenge for the rejection of the Dissenters Bill and The Protestant Clergy in Ireland Tithes Bill. But the King opposed this with sufficient firmness to secure the abandonment of the phrase, after a very sharp struggle which rather delayed the hour of the sitting.
The Queen has returned from her journey and has been received with ceremonious cordiality by the City of London, the chief magistrates of which went out to meet her. Her health is better. I think with pleasure of all the consolations which Providence in its equity reserves for her.
M. de Bülow announces that he has applied for leave of absence on family affairs and that he is sure to obtain it. He says he wants to go to the Hague to face the storm there, and having dispersed it at the Hague, to face more boldly that which he foresees at Berlin. I believe he will in fact go to the Hague, but much more for the purpose of rehabilitating himself by a few platitudes than of fighting his quarrel to a finish. He does not wish to reach Berlin until he has received absolution at the Hague; that at least is my opinion.
London, August 23, 1834.—Here I end my London Journal with the regret that I did not begin it sooner. It would perhaps have possessed greater interest if I had. But four years ago when I arrived in this city I had neither pleasant memories of the past nor much interest in the present, nor much thought for the future. I then asked no more of each day as it succeeded its predecessor than a little distraction, and I paid little attention to the features which marked out each from the other....
Dover, August 24, 1834.—I was quite astonished to find myself expected here and all along the road. The Duke of Wellington who goes this way to Walmer Castle, his residence as Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, had announced my arrival. A single family named Wright, who are very excellent people, keep almost all the inns on the road.
Last year after a storm I was received here by a very pretty Mrs. Wright, who kept the Ship Hotel. She had the manner of a Queen and it was only to-day that I learned that she had been one—on the stage, and that her husband had been ruined by her extravagance. The hotel is now kept by people called Warburton, who do it in great style. I was again struck by the respectful politeness with which one is received in English inns when one changes horses, and with the pleasant language and good manners of the humblest people. On the way I heard of the Duke of Wellington, of the death of Mrs. Arbuthnot, of the passage of M. de Talleyrand, of the desire to see us back in England, and all this in the most charming way possible.
I am to sail in a French packet—the weather is good and the sea calm. Farewell to England, but not to the memory of the four happy years which I have spent there, and which have passed with a rapidity to be explained by the interest of the events which have happened, and the particular sources of pleasure and contentment which I have found there! Farewell once more to this hospitable country which I leave with regrets and gratitude!
Paris, August 27, 1834.—I arrived here yesterday evening at ten o'clock to find M. de Talleyrand awaiting me. The general impression I got of him was that he was rather depressed and bored; yet he said he was very much pleased with the Tuileries where he seems to be much in fashion. He also says that he is so popular in Paris that the passers-by stop before his carriage and lift their hats to him; but in spite of all this he repeats that he knows no one here, that he is bored and that every one is aged and worn out.
Paris, August 28, 1834.—I was at Saint-Cloud yesterday. The King did me the honour to speak to me a great deal, perhaps too much, for I had to say something on my side, and at Court my one desire is to be silent. This conversation, however, was very interesting, for the King, who is witty on all subjects and intelligent about everything, talked about many things—the state of England at present, the break-up of which is so disquieting for her neighbours, Lord Grey's retirement which is greatly deplored here, Don Carlos's departure from England and the part great or small which the Duke of Wellington played in bringing it about. Here he is supposed to have arranged it all, a belief which I vigorously combated as I believed myself in duty bound to do. Then we talked of intervention in Spain, then of the Salic Law and in fact of everything that is occupying people just now. The King talked very well. He insisted much on the fact that he alone had opposed the immediate intervention demanded by his Ministers, and closing his large hand he showed me his fist and said, "Do you understand Madame? I had to hold back by the mane steeds which have neither mouth nor bridle!"
As regards the Salic law he said, "I am 'Salic law' to my finger tips; the Dukes of Orleans always have been, you will believe me when I say so. But when I struggled for the law they thought that I should have less chance if it were destroyed, so every one lent a hand in its destruction instead of helping me to maintain it. I was left alone to fight French ignorance and vanity and all the other difficulties of the situation, and now I am reproached with having abandoned my own cause in that of Don Carlos. I have no enmity against him, no love for Isabella, but people would have what has come to pass. The two years before I came to the Throne saw the preparation of the deplorable state of things which now prevails in the Peninsula. However, whether Anarchy triumphs under Isabella, or the Inquisition under Don Carlos, I may be troubled by them being my neighbours, but I cannot be shaken. We have made enormous internal progress, though I admit that much remains to be done, and with what instruments!"
The King then entered into many details relating to the troubles of his office and ended by saying, "Madame you must know that I have to be the Director in everything and the Master in nothing."
A propos of the state of England, and of the complications which will arise there owing to the age and sex of the heir to the throne, His Majesty said, "What a deplorable thing it is to see all these little girl Kings in a time like the present!" He went on to a dissertation full of real eloquence on the disadvantages of female rule, then suddenly stopped with a polite phrase and a sort of apology which was quite unnecessary. So I said that I thought that what M. de Talleyrand said of wits was true of women, "they were useful for anything but sufficient for nothing."
The King then talked for a long time about the restorations at Versailles and Fontainebleau. He has had Louis XIV.'s room at Versailles refurnished exactly as it was, that is with hangings embroidered by the Demoiselles de Saint-Cyr. One panel represents the Sacrifice of Abraham, a second that of Iphigenia, a third the loves of Armida. The King has had replaced in this room a portrait of Madame de Maintenon giving a lesson to Mlle. de Nantes. Versailles will be a true Museum of the history of France. I am grateful to the King for his respect for tradition; our historic monuments will owe him a great deal.
What a sad letter Alava writes from Milan! He paints a most melancholy picture of Spain, and can foresee only a series of circumstances, each of which will be more fatal than the other. He tells me that the ignorance and presumption there are beyond belief, and that the half-knowledge of things which comes from France and England is perhaps doing more harm than absolute ignorance. The state of bankruptcy there is flagrant; the cholera is more horrible than elsewhere, and is made worse by the stupidity of the people who at the funerals of cholera victims are seen eating tomatoes and cucumbers raw! At Segovia, on the other hand, the sanitary junta ordered that in each house visited by the epidemic all the effects of the deceased should be burned and all the survivors shut up in the hospital, including the priest present during the last moments of the departed!
Paris, August 29, 1834.—How excited and busy every one is at Paris! How their minds work! How completely tranquillity and calm are unknown here! Yet there is progress and amelioration everywhere, but without regularity or measure. There are so many small intrigues, small passions and small cabals to exhaust people that no one can enjoy what is good or rest his soul in the prospect of a quiet future. This feverish way of living consumes people, and I find the members of the French Cabinet appallingly aged. They are little old men with the saddest air in the world.
M. Thiers has passed through a series of disillusions and embarrassments which have made him wish for retirement; he feels humiliated and discouraged. The King has supported him, cheered him up and protected him, and has not been sorry to make this protection felt. He even said, "It is no bad thing that Messieurs les gens d'esprit should see from time to time that they have need of the King."
M. le Duc d'Orléans spent an hour with me. He is anxious to be married and is determined to be so. He is weary both of dissipation and of the youthful frivolities which are injuring and belittling him. He is also disgusted with the real inactivity of his public life. He desires a home, a house of his own. He wishes to take root, to form a circle, to settle down, in short, to get older. All these views are very proper.
The choice of a wife is the more difficult, as there are more prejudices than ever to overcome. The Russian Grand-duchess would be the most brilliant marriage, but would they have him? Then there are some sentimental regrets for Poland here which would make such a marriage unpopular in France and perhaps impossible in Russia. An Austrian Arch-duchess would not be very easy to get, and besides, alliances in that quarter always seem to be unlucky. The King of Prussia's niece, to whom Louis-Philippe inclines, seems to be insignificant in appearance and delicate in health. She has been brought up in habits of parsimony, and the possible subjects of quarrel which might arise between two Powers between whom the Rhine is in dispute, make the Duke somewhat averse from the Prussian Princess. From reports which are current it appears that the young Prince is more in favour of the second daughter of the King of Würtemberg, who is tall, well made, pretty, witty and vivacious. She takes it from her mother, the Grand-duchess Catherine of Russia, one of the most distinguished women of her time, and, when she wished to be so, very charming. She was, however, an ambitious, restless and intriguing person, and I hope that her daughter does not resemble her in everything. M. le Duc d'Orléans asked for M. de Talleyrand's advice and mine on the subject; we asked for time to reflect.
The Prince has invited himself to Valençay for the beginning of October to talk all this over at our ease. He has sense and a good judgment, and is not without ambition. There are excellent features in his character, but both his qualities and his defects make a distinguished wife essential.
They say that Marshal Gérard is not pleased with his post as Minister of War. It appears that he only took it on a promise of a portfolio for his brother-in-law M. de Celles—a foolish and impracticable idea. However, they promised in order to persuade the Marshal to accept, and then were not ashamed to break their word.
As to the marriage of the Prince Royal, I see that the question of religion is indifferent to him and of secondary importance to the King. The Queen alone would stand out for a preliminary conversion, but no rupture of negotiations would occur on this point.
The exaggerated ideas of the King of Naples on the subject of the Princess Marie's dowry have suspended all idea of a marriage in that quarter. There is general regret in the Royal Family except on the part of the Princess herself, who dreams of continuing here her aunt's existence, which she thinks charming.
Paris, August 30, 1834.—From what M. Thiers tells me, it seems that the King, on Marshal Soult's retirement, thought of summoning M. de Talleyrand to the Presidency of the Council. This idea is even now again in his mind when he thinks of Marshal Gérard's probable retirement. But M. de Talleyrand would not accept on any account and besides, as Thiers said to the King, "Madame de Dino does not wish it."
At dinner yesterday at Saint-Cloud the King spoke to me with much acrimony of the Duc de Broglie who, he said, had wished to keep him out of everything. He complained bitterly of the Duke's conduct. He complains of a good many people, but is arranging with Rigny and counting on M. Thiers.
M. de Talleyrand is very much the fashion indeed at the Palace because he is saying everywhere that the King should have a free hand. I am also the fashion because I am a good listener, and because I say, as I think, that the King is the cleverest man in France. The King speaks on all subjects very well, a great deal, and at great length. He listens to himself, and, at least, is conscious of his ability. He loves the memory of the Regent, of whom Saint-Cloud naturally reminds him. He told me that Louis XVIII. also loved his memory and appeared much shocked at the calumnies of which he had been the object. "I," he said, "am his best justification." But when Louis XVIII. said all this he ended curiously, for, having insisted on the outrageous character of these calumnies, he added, "Nevertheless, the verses of Lagrange-Chancel are so good that I have them by heart and like to say them over."[30] This was a curious conclusion to come to in a conversation with the present King.
Paris, September 1, 1834.—This morning I saw M. de Rigny, who told me that the news from Spain was most embarrassing. Martinez de la Rosa is beginning to say that without the armed intervention of France all will go to the devil. The King is very strongly against intervention, much more so than his Ministers, who seem to me to be much agitated by this terrible neighbour.
Hatred of Lord Palmerston is so general here that no one troubles to conceal it. M. de Rigny is deafened by it on all sides. A propos of this he told me that as Palmerston's exhibitions of arrogance and his hostile demonstrations were never, in fact, followed by any action, they had ceased to make any impression, and that people only said, "Ah, that's only one of Palmerston's little outbursts!" and then thought no more of it.
M. Guizot has succeeded to Rigny's place in this house; he is much pleased with the internal condition of the country, but he justly says that, if in addition to our domestic difficulties we had to interfere in a revolution in Spain, and were to be at the same time confronted with one in England we should indeed be undone. It seems certain that the new Chamber of Deputies is infinitely better than the last, and that it is recruited from a higher class. Material progress has also sensibly advanced. France left to herself without external embarrassments is evidently in a very good way indeed.
Prince Czartoriski, very languid as usual, also came in; he intends to establish himself definitely at Paris.
At last I have been able to go out and call on the Werthers, where I heard more complaints of Palmerston. When I came back M. de Talleyrand set me to arranging papers, and I turned up a curious letter, signed Ferdinand, Carlos, Antonio, which was written from Valençay by these three Princes to express their gratitude and affection.
Paris, September 2, 1834.—I have had a visit from M. Thiers, who told me what follows. All reports from Spain agree that Don Carlos will have just as many men as he can get muskets, and that he is only waiting for a consignment of arms to march on Madrid, where everything is going wrong. Dom Miguel in his turn is preparing to reappear in the Peninsula. If, therefore, the blockade is not effective enough to prevent the importation of arms the Queen's cause is desperate, unless France intervenes actively in Spanish affairs. The question may arise in an acute form at any moment and opinion is much divided. Bertin de Veaux and some others are in favour of armed intervention if it should become necessary to save the Queen, because, they say, if Don Carlos triumphs Carlism will become everywhere audacious, and France will have an implacable enemy on her frontiers. With so immediate a danger behind her here, every movement would be paralysed in a war, which would be all the more likely to be forced on her, and her chances of success the less. To this the King and M. de Talleyrand reply: "But if you intervene you will have war all the sooner! And, moreover, who is going to help you? Is England, undermined by her internal troubles, likely to be of any assistance?" To that the answer is: "Her neutrality is enough." "But can you count on her neutrality. Does it not depend on the duration and composition of the present Cabinet, whose existence is extremely doubtful?" M. de Rigny is much distracted by these conflicting opinions and is terribly embarrassed. Every one is racking their brains for an expedient.