CHAPTER XXVI.
The Revolution in France—Princess Lieven's Narrative—Lamartine's Position—M. Guizot in London—Proposed Addition to the Income Tax—Sir Robert Peel spoken of—The State of Paris—The King's Narrative to Lady Granville—The State of France—The Convulsion in Europe—State of Ireland—Lord Palmerston invites Guizot to Dinner—M. Delessert on the State of France—The Revolution in Vienna—Fall of Metternich—State of England and Ireland—Lamartine's Reply to the Irish—The Duke's Preparations—Contemplated Measures of Repression—Lord John Russell's Coldness—Defence of the Public Offices—Failure of the Chartist Demonstration—Scene on April 10th—Effect of April 10th abroad—Measures of the Government—Measures of Relief for Ireland—Louis Philippe's Defence of the Spanish Marriages—Lord Palmerston's Conduct in Spain—Lord Clarendon on Ireland—Lord Palmerston's Affront in Spain—The West India Interest—Conversation with Sir James Graham.
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.
London, February 28th, 1848.—The French Revolution has driven for the time every other subject out of thought, and so astounding has the event been, so awful and surprising from its inconceivable rapidity and the immensity of the operation, that every mind has been kept in a restless whirl and tumult incompatible with calm reflexion; while from the quick succession of events crowding on each other, all dashed with lies, false reports, exaggerations, and errors, it has been almost impossible to sit down and give a clear, connected, and true account of what has happened; to jot down from hour to hour all that one hears would only have been to say one moment what must have been unsaid the next. By degrees the facts develope themselves and the fictions are cast aside; but the time is not yet arrived for completing this historical process. There are people alive who remember the whole of the first Revolution, and we of middle age are all familiar with the second; but this, the third, transcends them both, and all other events which history records, in the astonishing political phenomena which it displays. The first Revolution was a long and gradual act, extending over years, in which the mind traces an elaborate concatenation of causes and effects. The second was not unexpected; the causes were working openly and ominously; and at last the great stroke so rashly attempted, and by which the contest was provoked, was only the concluding scene of a drama which for a long preceding time had been in a state of representation before the world. In 1789 everybody saw that a revolution was inevitable; in 1830 everybody thought that it was probable; but in 1848, up to the very moment at which the explosion took place, and even for a considerable time after it (that is, considerable in reference to the period which embraced the whole thing from first to last), no human being dreamt of a revolution and of the dethronement of the King. The power of the Government appeared to be immense and unimpaired. The King was still considered one of the wisest and boldest of men, with a thorough knowledge of the country and the people he ruled; and though his prudence and that of his Ministers had been greatly impugned by their mode of dealing with the question of Parliamentary reform, the worst that anybody anticipated was the fall of Guizot's Cabinet, and that reform of some sort it would be found necessary to concede. But no one imagined that the King, defended by an army of 100,000 men and the fortifications of Paris (which it was always said he had cunningly devised to give himself full power over the capital), was exposed to any personal risk and danger. There was a strong reforming and, it might be, a strong republican or revolutionary spirit abroad, but the principal leaders of Opposition were understood to have no designs against the monarchy, and it was believed by those who had good opportunities of knowing that the bourgeoisie of Paris were comparatively indifferent to political questions, averse to revolutionary movements, and the determined advocates of order and tranquillity. For some time before the day appointed for the Reform banquet, much anxiety prevailed for the peace of the capital; but when it was announced that the Government did not mean to interfere, and that the question of the legality of the meeting was to be referred to a judicial decision, all apprehension subsided; and when the proclamation of Odilon Barrot and the chiefs of the Banquet appeared, it was regarded as a false and imprudent step, which by putting the Ministers in the right would only seem to strengthen their authority and avert their downfall, which otherwise had been probable. Duchâtel made a very good speech in the Chamber of Deputies, and proved that this last act was so clearly illegal and mischievous that the Ministers were bound to take the course they did; and as the banqueters showed a disposition to obey the Government, nobody doubted that the whole affair would end quietly.
When therefore this great and sudden insurrection took place, sweeping everything before it with the irresistible speed and violence of a hurricane, everybody here stood aghast; but for the first two days no one anticipated the final catastrophe. At Paris, from the King downwards, all seem to have lost their presence of mind and judgement. The state of things proved the fallacy of their former calculations and expectations, and their minds seemed incapable of keeping up with the march of events, of embracing the magnitude of the danger, and of discerning the means by which it could be met. Everything was involved in perplexity and confusion; the roar of insurrectionary Paris affrighted the ears and bewildered the senses of the inmates of the Tuileries. At the moment I am writing we are still ignorant of the minute details of all that passed, of what the King said and did, and how others played their several parts. We know that Guizot resigned, that Molé was appointed—a capital fault, for Molé was another Guizot, and the selection only proved how unconscious the King was of the precipice on the brink of which he was standing. Some precious hours were lost in Molé's abortive attempt. Then came Thiers and Odilon Barrot, Ministers of a few hours, who, seduced by the deceptive applause of the rabble, fancied they could command and restrain the people of Paris, and who persuaded the King to withdraw the troops, telling him they would answer for the people. This fatal advice cost him the Crown, which, perhaps, he could not have kept on his head. The tide swept on; a host of people, and among them Emile Girardin, rushed to the Tuileries, told the King his life was menaced, and advised him to abdicate; he refused. The people about him, and his own son amongst them (Duc de Montpensier), pressed him, and he signed the act of abdication. Still the crowd pressed on, and the palace was unprotected. He resolved, or was persuaded, to fly; and with the Queen and such of his family as were with him he quitted the palace with such precipitation that they had no time to take anything, and they had scarcely any money amongst them. They proceeded to Dreux, where they separated, and as yet no one knows where the King is, or where those of his family are who are not yet arrived in England.
FALL OF LOUIS PHILIPPE.
The Duchesse d'Orléans, after the terrible scene in the Chamber of Deputies, was taken to some house in or near Paris, where she now lies concealed. All these events passed with the velocity of an express train; hardly an interval was placed between circumstances and conditions of the most opposite description. No monarchy or monarch ever fell with such superhuman rapidity. There is something awful and full of fear and pity in the contemplation of such a tremendous vicissitude: of a great King and a numerous and prosperous family, not many hours before reposing in the security of an apparently impregnable power, suddenly toppled down from this magnificent eminence and laid prostrate in the dust, covered with ignominy and reproach, and pursued by terror and grief. All at once the whole edifice of grandeur and happiness fell to the ground; it dissolved, and, like the baseless fabric of a vision, left not a rack behind. The flight was undignified. It would be hard to accuse Louis Philippe of want of courage, of which he has given on various occasions many signal proofs; but he certainly displayed no resolution on this occasion. It is very doubtful whether his person would have been injured; the people have evinced no thirst for blood. It was then, indeed, too late for resistance, for the means had been withdrawn; but it may fairly be asked if it would not have been the more becoming and the wiser course to affront the danger of popular rage, and to have tried what might have been done by firmness, by reason, and by concession at the same time. All this is speculation. It may be that his life and that of his Queen would have been sacrificed; but on a more terrible occasion, when the same palace was invaded by a more formidable mob, a King still more unpopular and a detested Queen were left uninjured; and it is far more probable that the abdication of Louis Philippe would have satisfied and disarmed the wrath and fury of the people. At all events it is certain that he descended from the throne in a manner which, if it is cruel to call it ignominious, was not rendered captivating or affecting by any of those touching or striking circumstances which often environ and decorate the sacrifice of fallen majesty.
There is a strong impression that if they had unsparingly used the military means at their disposal while it was still time, the monarchy would have been saved and the tumult suppressed. The recollection of the 13th Vendémiaire and the Place St. Roch, when the troops of the Convention defeated the Sections of Paris, produces this notion. But when the time was given to the émeute to grow and expand, and when the National Guards took part in it, all was over; for the troops of the line, who would have repressed the mob, would not fight against the National Guards. Between blunders, bad advice, and delay, the insurrection sprang at once into gigantic proportions, and the world has seen with amazement a King who was considered so astute and courageous, with sons full of spirit and intelligence, sink without striking a blow for their kingdom, perishing without a struggle, and consequently falling dishonoured and unregretted. The end of Charles X. was far more dignified than that of his cousin, and the survivors of that shipwreck may see with a melancholy satisfaction their successful competitor 'whelmed in deeper gulfs' than themselves. Louis Philippe has been seventeen years on the throne; in many respects a very amiable man, and, though crafty and unscrupulous as a politician, and neither beloved nor respected, he has never done anything to make himself an object of the excessive hatred and bitter feelings which have been exhibited against him and his family. The mob, though, on the whole, moderate and good-humoured, have been violent against his person, and they plundered the Palais Royal, invaded the Tuileries, and burnt Neuilly to show their abhorrence of him. This manifestation is a cruel commentary on his reign and his character as King.
ARRIVAL OF THE FUGITIVES.
London, March 5th.—The fugitives have all arrived here day by day with the exception of the Duchesse d'Orléans and her children, who are supposed to be in Germany. The King and Queen came yesterday from Newhaven, where they landed; Madame de Lieven and Guizot the day before, the one from Paris, the other through Belgium; they were in the same train (leaving Paris at seven o'clock on Thursday night), but neither knew the other was there. The King, as soon as he reached England, wrote a letter to the Queen, in which he gave her to understand that he considered all as over with him, and he said that it was the Comte de Neuilly who thanked her for all her past and present kindness to himself and his family. It was a very good letter (Lord Lansdowne tells me), and the Queen was much moved by it. Her personal resentment had long ceased; Aberdeen told me last night that she had told him so not long ago, and that though the political question was another thing, her personal feelings towards the French Royal Family were what they had ever been.
Yesterday I saw Madame de Lieven, and heard her narrative, both personal and historical. With the sufferers, as with the spectators, the predominant feeling is one of intense astonishment amounting to a sort of incredulity; every one repeats (as well they may) that nothing that history has recorded, or fiction invented, ever approached this wonderful reality, wonderful in every way, in its whole and in all its parts, There is nothing in it that is not contrary to every antecedent probability, to all preconceived notions of the characters of the principal actors, and to the way in which almost everybody concerned might have been expected to act. The beginning, the middle, and the end of the contest have been equally wonderful: the conduct of the old Government and the conduct of the new; the events of months or years crammed into a few days or hours; the whole change so vast and complete, made as at the stroke of an enchanter's wand. France, on Monday, February 22nd, a powerful, peaceful, and apparently impregnable Monarchy; on Wednesday, 24th of the same month, the whole of her Royalty scattered over the face of the earth, and France become a Republic no less powerful and peaceful; the authority of the latter form of government as generally acknowledged as that of the former was a week before; and an able, vigorous, and despotic Government established in the name of the people, which was, with universal consent and approbation, and the admiration even of those whom it had displaced, discharging every legislative as well as executive function.
PRINCESS LIEVEN ON THE REVOLUTION.
Madame de Lieven's story runs thus. On Sunday—that is, this day fortnight—she had a reception as usual. No alarm prevailed, but she was a little struck by Delessert telling her that there was a good deal of agitation amongst some of the lower orders of workmen, and those who were known to the Government as Communists; still he did not appear to attach much importance to it. On Monday evening Guizot told her that it was possible there might be some rioting and disturbance in the streets the following day, and he advised her to go out of her house for a few hours in the morning, which she did, ordering her dinner and meaning to return. That same day the commotions began, but still the Ministers were unterrified; and though the affair began to be serious, they never doubted that they should be able to suppress the tumult and restore order. Everything went on, as is well known, up to Wednesday morning, when Guizot saw the King, told him all would go right, and went to the Chamber. While there Duchâtel called him out, and told him the King wanted him directly at the Tuileries. He was surprised, asked for what, and proposed they should go together, which they did. When they got there they found the King much disturbed; he said the Commandant of a Legion of the National Guard had been to him and told him they must have reform, and he was afraid the rest of the National Guard would follow the example. 'Well,' said Guizot, 'if they do, we shall have no difficulty in putting down such a demonstration.' 'Oh, but,' said the King, 'that will produce bloodshed, and may lead to lamentable events;' and then, after beating about the bush a good deal, and with many expressions of personal attachment to Guizot, he said, 'Perhaps a change of Ministers might settle everything, and relieve him from his embarrassment.' Guizot at once said that the mere suggestion of such a thing made it 'une affaire résolue,' and if His Majesty thought that by taking any other Ministers he could improve the state of his affairs, he, of course, ought to do so. The King then talked of his regrets, and that he would rather abdicate than part with him. Guizot said abdication was not to be thought of. The King then talked of sending for Molé, and Guizot assured him of his readiness to support Molé, or any other man who would maintain Conservative principles. He then returned to the Chamber, and announced that the Ministers were out. The Conservatives were struck with astonishment and alarm; crowded round Guizot, and asked him if he had resigned. He said 'No; that he had been dismissed.' Molé was sent for, and said he would try and form a Government. The King said he had only one exclusion to insist on: that Bugeaud should not command the troops. Molé said it was the very first appointment he should propose to His Majesty. The King wanted to keep the command in the hands of his sons. Molé went away to try his hand. Meanwhile the agitation of Paris increased. At night, hearing nothing of Molé, the King sent Pasquier to him; he found him alone. 'Well, is your Government formed?' 'No, not yet; but I expect to see Passy to-morrow morning.' He was told this would not do, and while he had been thus wasting time, the movement was swelling and advancing. So Molé went to the Palace at ten at night, and threw the thing up. Then the King sent for Thiers and Odilon Barrot. Thiers made it a condition that the troops should not act for twelve hours, and said he would meanwhile answer for the people. The King consented, and he and Odilon Barrot went out into the streets on horseback to harangue the mob, announce their Ministry, and send them home satisfied; they were received with menaces and shots, and sent about their business. They went back to the Tuileries and said all was over, and they could do nothing. Early in the morning (Thursday morning) the state of affairs having become more and more formidable, a host of people came to the Tuileries (Emile Girardin amongst them), and all urged the King to abdicate. He asked Thiers what he advised. Thiers had lost his head, and said he was not his Minister, and could give no advice; all the rest (none more urgently than the Duc de Montpensier) pressed the King to abdicate. The King was reluctant, and Piscatory alone entreated him not to do so. 'Il ne faut jamais abdiquer, Sire,' he said to him; 'voilà le moment de monter à cheval et de vous montrer.' The Queen behaved like a heroine. She who was so mild and religious, and who never took any part in public affairs, alone showed firmness and resolution; she thanked Piscatory for his advice to the King, and said, 'Mon ami, il ne faut pas abdiquer; plutôt mourez en Roi.' But the more disgraceful counsel prevailed. He abdicated, and hurried off, as we know. Piscatory was with him to the last, and the Queen, on parting from him, told him to tell Guizot that she owed to him all she had enjoyed of happiness for the last six years. Thus fell the Orleans dynasty, pitoyablement, honteusement, without respect or sympathy. 'Where,' I asked, 'were the sons, and what did they do?' Madame de Lieven only shook her head. She herself had taken refuge at St. Aulaire's, then at Apponyi's, then at an Austrian attaché's; then Pierre d'Aremberg took her under his care, and hid her at Mr. Roberts', the English painter, who brought her to England as Mrs. Roberts, with gold and jewels secreted in her dress. Guizot was concealed one day at Piscatory's, the other at the Duc de Broglie's.
GREATNESS OF LAMARTINE.
In all this great drama Lamartine stands forth pre-eminently as the principal character; how long it may last God only knows, but such a fortnight of greatness the world has hardly ever seen; for fame and glory with posterity it were well for him to die now. His position is something superhuman at this moment; the eyes of the universe are upon him, and he is not only the theme of general admiration and praise, but on him almost alone the hopes of the world are placed. He is the principal author of this Revolution; they say that his book has been a prime cause of it;[38] and that which he has had the glory of directing, moderating, restraining. His labour has been stupendous, his eloquence wonderful. When the new Government was surrounded by thousands of armed rabble, bellowing and raging for they knew not what, Lamartine contrived to appease their rage, to soften, control, and eventually master them; so great a trial of eloquence was hardly ever heard of. Then from the beginning he has exhibited undaunted courage and consummate skill, proclaiming order, peace, humanity, respect for persons and property. This improvised Cabinet, strangely composed, has evinced most curious vigour, activity, and wisdom; they have forced everybody to respect them; but Lamartine towers above them all, and is the presiding genius of the new creation. He has acted like a man of honour and of feeling too. He offered the King an escort; he wrote to Madame Guizot and told her her son was safe in England, and caused the report of this to be spread abroad that he might not be sought for; and, moreover, he sent to Guizot to say if he was not in safety where he was he might come to his house. When he first proposed the abolition of the punishment of death he was overruled; but the next day he proposed it again, and declared if his colleagues would not consent he would throw up his office, quit the concern, and they might make him if they pleased the first victim of the law they would not abolish. All this is very great in the man who the Duc de Broglie told me was so bad, 'un mauvais livre par un mauvais homme,' and consequently all France is praying for the continuation of the life and power of Lamartine; and the exiles whom he has been principally instrumental in driving from their country are all loud in praise and admiration of his humanity and his capacity.
Aberdeen saw Guizot yesterday; he is in good health and spirits, and wants for nothing. He told Aberdeen that for the last two years he thought there was a considerable alteration in the King's mind; that he was occasionally as vigorous as ever, but on the whole that he was changed for the worse. This makes Guizot's conduct during these two years only the more inexcusable. He thinks (as everybody else does) that this fine fabric which has risen like an exhalation will not last long, and he said, 'You English bet about everything; if I was compelled to bet, I should for choice take the Duchesse d'Orléans and her sons as the most probable eventuality where everything is so uncertain.'
M. GUIZOT'S NARRATIVE.
March 6th.—I called on Guizot yesterday; found several people there, and Delessert, who was telling his story and all that had happened to him. Then Guizot told us his, which, though it is essentially the same as what Madame de Lieven told me, as it is more circumstantial and in some respects different I will not pass over. He began with the morning of Wednesday, when he went to the Tuileries and transacted business with the King as usual; thence to the Chambers. Duchâtel called him out, and they went to the Tuileries together. In the way there Duchâtel told him that the King was very uneasy and alarmed at the reform petitions which had been presented to him by the National Guards, and had been talking of changing the Government and sending for Molé. When they arrived the King addressed Guizot in this sense, said that he had received petitions from this and that officer of the Garde Nationale, and that all the rest would follow their example; that they all asked for Reform, and for the dismissal of the Ministers. Guizot said he was quite ready to face the difficulty, having the support of the Chambers; but that he must have that of the King also. The King then sent for the Queen and the two Dukes of Nemours and Montpensier, and they all joined with the King in urging on Guizot the necessity of a change of Ministers to appease the clamour that had been raised. Guizot said that from the moment the King and the Royal Family signified such an opinion and such a desire to him, it was 'une affaire résolue,' and it was his duty to submit to their pleasure. The King asked him if he thought Molé could form a Government. He said, 'Yes, he might;' and that he should certainly have his best support if he made the attempt. The King appears not to have been quite decided; but while they were still conversing some one arrived from the Chamber and informed Guizot that he must return there directly, as an interpellation was going to be made to him. He said to the King that he must return and tell the Chamber what the state of things was, and on what His Majesty thought fit finally to decide. The King said that he might announce that he had sent for Molé to form a Government. Guizot returned to the Chamber and made the announcement, which was received with astonishment and indignation by the Conservative deputies, who crowded round him and enquired if he had resigned, crying out, 'Nous sommes abandonnés.' He replied that he had not resigned, but had been dismissed. From the Chamber he returned to the Tuileries, and told the King what had passed there. The King said he had sent for Molé who had undertaken to try and form a Government. Meanwhile affairs were getting worse in the town, and the concession of the King had of course encouraged the factious. Guizot, who could not return home, went to the Duc de Broglie and went to bed. Not long after, at one in the morning, he was called up by a message desiring him to come to the Tuileries forthwith; he went, when the King told him he had just heard from Molé that he had tried Passy, Dufaure, and Billault, who had all refused, and consequently that he could not form a Government. His Majesty said that he was now disposed to give the command of the troops to Marshal Bugeaud, and that of the National Guard to Lamoricière, and let them put down the émeute. Guizot said it was the best thing he could do, and he would sign the decree if he would make it. This was immediately done. Meanwhile the King had sent for Thiers, who came, accepted the office of forming a Government, but desired that Odilon Barrot might be joined with him, to which the King agreed. Thiers and Barrot then insisted that for some hours the military should not be allowed to act, and they undertook to pacify the people and put an end to the émeute. The King having consented to this, they mounted on horseback and went off in different directions to harangue the people and announce their Ministry. They were severally received with hisses, uproar, and in some instances shots, and returned to the palace and announced their failure. By this time there was an affluence of people at the Tuileries; the storm without increased and approached; the military, who were without orders, did nothing, and all was over. I asked Delessert whether the troops were well disposed. He said, 'Perfectly.' Guizot said, 'My entire conviction is, that if Bugeaud had acted the moment he took the command, everything would have been over before nine o'clock.' When the King was pressed to resign, Piscatory said to him, 'Sire, si vous signez votre abdication, vous n'aurez pas régné.' Guizot told me that the Government had long been aware of the secret societies, but never could ascertain who were their chiefs; that their intention had been to delay their republican attempt till the death of the King, but that they had changed this plan on the Tuesday night, and resolved to seize the present occasion. I told him we had always supposed the bourgeoisie of Paris, composing the bulk of the National Guard, to be disposed to order, and that they would have maintained it. He said the great majority of them were so, but that the well-disposed had not come forth, while the factious minority had. Moreover, 'you English cannot conceive what our lowest class is: your own is a mere mob without courage or organisation, and not given to politics; ours on the contrary, the lowest class, is eager about politics and with a perfect military organisation, and therefore most formidable.' I said Lamartine had done very well. He said yes, and praised him, though not very cordially; and he added that he was a man who had always wanted to be in the first place, and had never been able to accomplish it. He had tried it in the Legitimist party, and had found Berryer; in the Conservatives, and had found him (Guizot); and in the Opposition, where he was met by Thiers. On the present occasion (he might have added) he had found Odilon Barrot, but he managed to give him the go-by. He and Odilon Barrot were at the meeting on Tuesday when the attempt was determined on, and Odilon Barrot wanted to try the intermediate measure of the Regency and the Duchess of Orleans; but Lamartine flung himself at once into the Republic, and thus crushed his colleague and placed himself without a rival at the head of the movement. Guizot said all this could not last; that France had no desire for a Republic; everybody had adhered from fear or prudence. He expected, however, that there would be a great battle in the streets of Paris within a few days between the Republicans and the Communists, in which the former would prevail, because the National Guard would support the former.[39]
M. GUIZOT'S ESCAPE.
He gave us an account of his own personal adventures, which were very simple. He left the Ministry of the Interior with Madame Duchâtel, Duc de Broglie, and two other people; and he was first taken to a house where he was told he would be safe, and conducted by the portière au cinquième. She entered the room after him and said, 'You are M. Guizot.' He said, 'I am.' 'Fear nothing,' she said; 'you are safe here. You have always defended honest people, and I will take care nobody comes near you.' In the evening he went to the Duc de Broglie's; he was one day at Piscatory's; and on Wednesday night he left Paris as somebody's servant. He said he was never in danger, as the Government would have been sorry to apprehend him.
March 7th.—The French Revolution has been so absorbing as well as exciting that I have never found time to write about domestic affairs, so what I have now to say must be put in narrative form instead of that of journal. I have been in continual communication with Graham for some time past, especially during Charles Wood's income tax agony. Graham, who is by way of being very friendly to the Government (but is evidently not sorry to see their mismanagement and unpopularity), said so much of the difficulty they would have in carrying the two per cent. that I went to Charles Wood and told him what I had heard. I found him very uneasy, and he owned to me that he had received similar opinions from many other quarters. The same night (a Saturday) I met him at Lady Palmerston's, when he asked me to find out from Graham what substitute he would propose. I saw Graham on Sunday, when he more strongly urged the necessity of abandoning the addition, saying nothing would enable them to carry it; and he said, in answer to my enquiry, that he should take the money the Chancellor wanted from the reserve in hand—in short, just what the Government eventually did. I saw Charles Wood the same night, and told him what Graham recommended, and this advice they took.
POSITION OF SIR ROBERT PEEL.
After this, and indeed before it too, Graham and I had many conversations about the Government, its state and prospects, John Russell and his health, Peel and political probabilities and possibilities. We agreed that the Government was much damaged, weak and unpopular, and would have difficulty in going on, especially if, as seemed most likely, Lord John's health gave way, and he should be forced to retire. I said nothing would then be possible but Peel. On this he made me a speech, declaring Peel was impossible. He was, in the first place, determined not to take office; Lady Peel, who has great influence with him, doing her best to dissuade him; but, besides personal reluctance and objections, his position puts him out of the question. The Protectionists hate him as much as ever, and he hates them with equal intensity; he abhors what he considers their ingratitude as well as their folly, and nothing would induce him to have anything to do with them, even if they would with him; therefore he has no party. In the House of Lords he has not ten followers: how then, in a country which can only be governed by party, can he become Minister? That to think of putting himself at the head of a Whig party would be absurd: at sixty years old to begin such a strange career would be ridiculous. He said a great deal more in the same strain, all very plausible and not easy to answer; and the conclusion from which was that, for various reasons, Peel would not under any circumstances be Minister again. But in the meantime the reports of Lord John's declining health gained ground; the weakness of the Government became more apparent; the Radicals declared war against them; and one person after another began to turn his eyes towards Peel. There was some talk about sending for Clarendon, which I wrote to him; and in reply he entreated me to extinguish any such idea if I met with it; and he then demonstrated that Peel was a necessity and the only alternative. So many people in different ways said the same thing to me, that I told Graham. He was (or affected to be) still impressed with all the insuperable obstacles to Peel's return, amongst which he himself and Aberdeen were considerable, as Peel would never return without both of them, and they were particularly odious to the Whigs. I said he was not popular with them, but neither was he so odious; and they knew very well that if Peel returned, he must and would return with him. As to Aberdeen it was different, because he had behaved so ill ever since he left office, and opposed the Government in the most unfair and ungenerous manner. He said Peel never would have Palmerston at the Foreign Office, and would want Aberdeen there, in whom all his confidence was placed: not but what Aberdeen would be very ready to make any sacrifice. I told him that it was evident there was but one way by which Peel could return to office, and that was the arrival of a state of things which at once rendered him a great public necessity, and the urgency of which would make his refusal impossible; that he must be invited by the whole Whig party, not as a favour due to him but as a sacrifice exacted from him; and that this must be done heartily, sincerely, and in a spirit of unselfishness, and on public and patriotic grounds. Since this Lord John Russell has taken himself off to Hastings to try and get well. As Graham tells Peel everything I say, the latter now knows well what is thought and expected, and he has only so to conduct himself as to make the adhesion and overtures of the Whig party possible and not difficult when the time and occasion are ripe. The matter is replete with difficulties, and nothing but a great exigency can smooth them away. At present there are too many jealousies and animosities afloat; there is too much of suspicion, distrust, and old dislike lingering in men's minds to admit of the desired amalgamation; and unhappily the characters of the principal actors, both of John Russell and Peel, are extremely ill suited to deal with such a delicate and difficult state of affairs.
STATE OF PARIS.
March 10th.—Lord John Russell is better, and writes word confidently from Hastings that he shall return convalescent. Yesterday I saw Southern and Mrs. Austin, both just arrived from Paris. They have each been writing letters the last two or three days in the 'Times,' which are excellent descriptions of the state of affairs in France. Nothing can be more deplorable than it all is, and daily getting worse: no confidence, no work, and everything threatening frightful financial and commercial difficulties, and a general expectation of confusion, violence, and bloodshed. Southern told me that the dissensions in the Provisional Government were great, and the discussions violent; Lamartine often in a minority; no regular parties formed, but a continual dividing and crossing on different subjects. Lamartine wanted to omit what he said in his Circular about the Treaties of 1815, but was overruled. Southern thinks the Provisional Government will quarrel and break up before the Chambers can meet. They both agree that all France abhors this Revolution, but notwithstanding the bitter and universal regret that it has occasioned, and will still more hereafter, that nobody thinks of endeavouring to restore the monarchy in any way or under any head. The King was not so unpopular as Guizot, and they confirm all previous impressions, that not only he might have been saved, but that nothing but a series of fatal and inconceivable blunders and the most deplorable weakness could have upset him. The causes of this prodigious effect were ludicrously small. Southern declares there were not above 4,000 armed men of the populace actually employed; but the troops were everywhere paralysed, boys carried off the cannon from the midst of them without resistance. No one has the slightest conception what turn matters will take, but all seem to be of opinion they will have nothing to do with the Bonapartes. The Orleanses are now detested, and even the Legitimists do not look to the Duc de Bordeaux, because he is a poor creature, has no children, and they believe is not likely to have any; therefore it would not be worth while to restore a dynasty which would end with him.
March 11th.—Guizot received a letter from the Duc de Broglie yesterday, in which he said that Paris was quiet on the day he wrote, but such was the state of things that any day it might be the scene of confusion and rapine. I asked Madame de Lieven what the policy of the Government had been about Reform. She said, King, Duchâtel, and Guizot had all been determined against Reform; the latter willing to concede a very little, but always resolved to keep the Conservative majority, with which Reform was incompatible. I asked why, after having allowed the banquets in the provinces, they would not suffer that in the capital? The reply was very insufficient: because they did not like to stop the expression of public opinions in the country generally; but at Paris, when and where the Chambers were assembled, those opinions might have been expressed in them. I met Guizot at dinner at the Hollands'; he goes about everywhere, is very cheerful, and puts a good face on it; everybody is very civil to him, and he feels the kindness of his reception, especially as he knows he has been personally obnoxious since the Spanish marriages. He said last night, that he considered the payment of the members of the Convention fatal to the composition of that Assembly. The old revolutionary Assemblies never paid their members. Napoleon was the first who introduced that custom: his Senators were paid 30,000 fr.; his Deputies 10,000 fr. Guizot went to see the King and Queen two days ago: the interview was very affecting; both threw themselves on his neck; the King is the most abattu of the two; he has no money.
THE KING'S NARRATIVE.
March 12th.—Yesterday Lady Granville and Lady Georgiana Fullerton went to Claremont to see the Royal Family. The Queen was gone to town, but they were received by the King, who talked to them for an hour and gave them a narrative of his adventures, which they related to me last night. It was very carious, that is, curious as an exhibition of his character. He described his flight, and all his subsequent adventures, his travels, his disguises, his privations, the dangers he incurred, the kindness and assistance he met with, all very minutely. They said it was very interesting, and even very amusing; admirably well told. He was occasionally pathetic and occasionally droll; his story was told with a mixture of the serious and the comic—sometimes laughing and at others almost crying—that was very strange. It struck them that he was very undignified, even vulgar, and above all that he seemed to be animated with no feeling towards his country, but to view the whole history through the medium of self. He said of the French, 'Ils ont choisi leur sort; je dois supporter le mien.' He gave a very different account of what passed from that of Guizot. He said he was in personal danger when he was on horseback reviewing the National Guard on Thursday morning; that they pressed round him, shouting for reform. He cried out, 'Mais vous l'avez, la réforme; laissez-moi passer donc;' and that he was obliged to spur his horse through the mob, and got back to the Tuileries with difficulty. He said he had posé la question of resistance to Guizot, who had refused to entertain it, said that he could not give orders to fire on the National Guards. Their two statements are quite irreconcileable, and thus occur historical perplexities and the errors and untruths which crowd all history. I have always said that it is nothing but a series of conventional facts. There is no absolute truth in history; mankind arrives at probable results and conclusions in the best way it can, and by collecting and comparing evidence it settles down its ideas and its belief to a certain chain and course of events which it accepts as certain, and deals with as if it were, because it must settle somewhere and on something, and because a tolerable primâ facie and probable case is presented. But when one sees how the actors in and spectators of the same events differ in narrating and describing them; how continually complete contradictions are discovered to facts the most generally believed; there is no preserving the mind from a state of scepticism, nor is it possible to read or hear anything with entire satisfaction and faith. It appears that the Royal Family have no money, the King having invested his whole fortune in France, and beggary is actually staring them in the face. The King evinced no bitterness except in speaking of the English newspapers, especially the 'Times;' and he attributed much of his unpopularity, and what he considers the unjust prejudices against him, to the severity of their personal attacks on him! Curious enough this; but as he felt these philippics so acutely, why did he not take warning from them?
John Russell made his appearance in the House on Friday, but as they were not to divide he did not stay. Wilson (of the 'Economist') made a very fine speech; Disraeli very amusing, and Gladstone very good. It was a great night for Free Trade, which Wilson and Gladstone vindicated with great ability. The Government have been sadly vexed at an article in the 'Times' on Friday, speaking of them, and Lord John especially, very contemptuously. The truth is, the 'Times' thinks it has sniffed out that they cannot go on, and wants, according to its custom, to give them a shove; but matters are not ripe for a change yet, nor anything like it. It is evident that the notion of the weakness and incapacity of the Government is spreading far and wide, and nothing can exceed Charles Wood's unpopularity, nor is any confidence felt in Lord John himself. Palmerston is the most in favour at this moment; he has done well and gained some credit. Peel still holds the same language about not taking office, and treats it as a thing that is quite out of the question; but his friends see well enough that matters are moving on to this inevitable consummation.
March 14th.—The Government had a capital division last night, and Lord John made a very good and stout speech. In France everything is going down hill at railroad pace. This fine Revolution, which may be termed the madness of a few for the ruin of many, is already making the French people weep tears of blood. Hitherto there has been little or no violence, and fine professions of justice and philanthropy; up to this time, not a month from the beginning, the account may be thus balanced: they have got rid of a King and a Royal Family and the cost thereof; they have got a reform so radical and complete, that it can go no further; they have repealed some laws and some taxes which were obnoxious to different persons or different classes, but none of which were grievous or sensibly injurious to the nation at large. In short, it is difficult to point out any considerable advantage either of a positive or a negative character which they have obtained, or have got the prospect of obtaining. However, it remains to be seen whether they can work out any advantage from their new institutions.
FRENCH PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT.
Meanwhile, the other side of the account presents some formidable items for a political balance sheet. They have got a Government composed of men who have not the slightest idea how to govern, albeit they are men of energy, activity, and some capacity. The country is full of fear and distrust. Ruin and bankruptcy are stalking through the streets of the capital. The old revolutionary principles and expedients are more and more drawn forth and displayed by the present rulers; they are assuming despotic power, and using it without scruple; they confer it on their agents; they proclaim social and political maxims fraught with ruin and desolation, and incompatible with the existence of any Government. The different Ministers vie with one another in the extravagance of their several manifestoes. Louis Blanc holds a parliament of operatives, whom he feeds with soft sawder and delusive expectations, giving them for political truths all the most dangerous absurdities of his book. Garnier Pagès, in his frank exposé of the finances of the country, approaches to the very verge of national bankruptcy, and is evidently prepared for the next step. Carnot instructs the people to elect for their representatives (who are to be the unchecked masters of the Empire), not men of property and education, but any men who have republican ideas; and Ledru Rollin desires his agents to act in the same spirit, and with all the authority (which means despotism) that a revolutionary government always assumes it to be its right to exercise. In short, all is terror, distress, and misery, both material and moral; everybody fleeing away from the turbulent capital, and hiding what money he can collect; funds falling, everything depreciated in value, the shops unfrequented, no buyers, tranquillity still doubtfully preserved by factitious means, but the duration of which no one counts upon. As the embarrassment and suffering increase, so will the clouds continue to gather, and at last the storm will burst—but how, when, and where, with what fury, whom it will spare, or whom sweep away, none can venture to predict. Such, however, is the state of the capital, the heart of everything; while the provinces are motionless, and seem to wait with patient resignation the unfolding of events. All the letters that arrive here, whether they come from Legitimists, or Liberals, or Orleanists, or indifferents to all parties, tell the same tale of disgust, distress, and dread.
March 16th.—I dined with Madame de Lieven tête-à-tête the day before yesterday. Our talk, of course, was almost entirely about French affairs. I asked her whether she thought, as many here do, that if the émeute had been put down by violence, the throne must have fallen, as the King could not have reigned in the midst of bloodshed. She said the Ministers would have gone out, but the throne would have been safe. She told me Guizot was not indisposed to give some parliamentary reform (not electoral), and was sensible that the great number of functionaries in the Chamber was shocking to public opinion. He proposed to begin with his own department, and render all diplomatic agents incapable of sitting—a very small concession! She said something to me (as Lord Campbell did) about writing memoirs, and that my curious position—so intimate with so many persons of all parties and descriptions, and being so much in the confidence of all—gave me peculiar advantages for doing so. She knew I had written Journals, and I told her it was so, but in a very loose and casual way, and I asked her if she had not written. She said, 'Beaucoup.'
Lord John Russell had a great success the other night, and his speech got many votes. It was one of the best he ever made, and in all respects judicious and becoming his position.
March 20th.—There has been all sorts of botheration about Louis Philippe and his affairs, particularly about his remaining at Claremont. Soon after he came, a notification was made to him by Palmerston that he was not to remain there permanently.[40] He complained of this to all the people he saw (talking very loosely and foolishly), and it got wind and made a noise. Soon after, the Duke of Wellington went to see him, and told him that Claremont was the fit place for him, and the other day a letter arrived from Leopold telling him he might stay there as long as he liked; he is therefore to stay. So many different versions have been put forth of the details of what passed concerning this matter, that it is next to impossible to ascertain the exact truth. Everything in France gets more serious and alarming every day. The clubs of Paris are omnipotent, the National Guards are écrasés, the Provisional Government makes a show of independence, and Lamartine makes fine speeches; but they are at the mercy of the Parisian mob, whose organisation is wonderful. The playing out of the game will be very curious. At present, this mob of the capital seems resolved to dictate to the provinces, and to set aside the army.
REVOLUTIONS EVERYWHERE.
March 25th.—Nothing is more extraordinary than to look back at my last date and see what has happened in the course of five days. A tenth part of any one of the events would have lasted us for as many months, with sentiments of wonder and deep interest; but now we are perplexed, overwhelmed, and carried away with excitement, and the most stupendous events are become like matters of every-day occurrence. Within these last four or five days there has been a desperate battle in the streets of Berlin between the soldiers and the mob; the flight of the Prince of Prussia; the King's convocation of his States; concessions to and reconciliation with his people; and his invitation to all Germany to form a Federal State; and his notification of what is tantamount to removing the Imperial Crown from the head of the wretched crétin at Vienna, and placing it on his own.
Next, a revolution in Austria; an émeute at Vienna; downfall and flight of Metternich, and announcement of a constitutional régime; émeutes at Milan; expulsion of Austrians, and Milanese independence; Hungary up and doing, and the whole empire in a state of dissolution. Throughout Germany all the people stirring; all the sovereigns yielding to the popular demands; the King of Hanover submitting to the terms demanded of him; the King of Bavaria abdicating; many minor occurrences, any one of which in ordinary times would have been full of interest and importance, passing almost unheeded. To attempt to describe historically and narratively these events as they occur would be impossible if I were to attempt it; and it is unnecessary, because they are chronicled in a thousand publications, from which time and enquiry will winnow out the falsehoods, and leave a connected, intelligible, and tolerably accurate story. It is only therefore left to me to save some small fragments of facts or sentiments which would otherwise be swept down the stream and lost for ever, whenever such come across me.
France marches on with giant strides to confusion and ruin; Germany looks better; and there still appear to be some influences whose strength and authority are unimpaired, and the passion for reconstituting a German nationality may still save her from anarchy. It is very surprising that as yet in no country have single master-minds started forward to ride on these whirlwinds and direct the storms. In the midst of the roar of the revolutionary waters that are deluging the whole earth, it is grand to see how we stand erect and unscathed. It is the finest tribute that ever has been paid to our Constitution, the greatest test that ever has been applied to it, and there is a general feeling of confidence, and a reliance on the soundness of the public mind, though not unmixed with those doubts and apprehensions which the calmest and the most courageous may feel in the midst of such stupendous phenomena as those which surround us.
Our most difficult task is to deal with Irish disaffection and Irish distress: the former has never been so bold, reckless, and insolent. Clarendon, after enduring much and allowing the agitators to go on unchecked, at last attacked them in the persons of O'Brien, Mitchell, and Meagher. The general opinion here was that they were not worth attacking, and were so contemptible, and had so entirely failed to work upon the people, that they might be let alone; but he judged otherwise, and there is a great disposition to defer to his judgement. No sooner had they been held to bail, than others of the same party not only renewed the seditious language the first had used, but broke out with far greater fury and indecency; in plain language, they called on the people to arm for the purpose of overturning the Constitution, and they said they would have no more kings or queens. I thought this must amount to high treason; but George Grey told me yesterday that the lawyers here hold that to make it treason it must be followed by some overt act. However, whether Clarendon was right or wrong in attacking the rebel Repealers, it is clear that he ought now to throw away the scabbard, and war having been declared to wage it vigorously and unflinchingly. The confidence in him is unbounded, both there and here. It is a good feature in the case that the Roman Catholic clergy have on the whole behaved exceedingly well, and Clarendon has written to Lord John Russell that something must be done for them; but the difficulties of doing this something are next to insurmountable. No amount of danger, no policy however urgent, no considerations of justice, are sufficient to overcome the testimony and bigotry of the people of England and Scotland on this question.
LORD PALMERSTON'S DINNER TO M. GUIZOT.
March 26th.—I dined yesterday with Palmerston to meet Guizot and Madame de Lieven! Strange dinner, when I think of the sentiments towards each other of the two Ministers, and of all that Guizot said to me when I was at Paris last year! However, it did all very well. I thought Palmerston and Guizot would have shaken each other's arms off, and nothing could exceed the cordiality or apparent ease with which they conversed. There was not the slightest symptom of embarrassment; and though Guizot's manner is always stiff, pedantic, and without the least approach to abandon, he seemed to me to exhibit less of these defects than usual. There were the Granvilles, Clanricardes, and Harry Vane; Temple, Holland, and Beauvale came in the evening. I am glad Palmerston asked him to dinner, especially after what passed in reference to the exiles, and the impertinent remonstrances from Paris.
March 31st.—Nothing new these last few days; Ireland getting more and more serious, and a strong opinion gaining ground that there will be an outbreak and fighting, and that this will be on the whole a good thing, inasmuch as nothing will tame the Irish agitators but a severe drubbing. Last night I met M. Delessert[41] at dinner; he talked of the recent events in France and the state of the country; hopeless about the latter, and gave a character of his countrymen which he said he was ashamed to give, but it was the truth. He said they were not to be governed, for they had no sense of religion or of morality, or any probity among them; he said he had been faithful to the Government to the last, and it did not become him now to speak against Guizot and his policy, but that his unpopularity was immense, and he had committed the great fault of staying in power in spite of it and for so many years, when the French could not bear anything that lasted long; he was always aware of the fatal mistake Guizot had made about the Spanish marriages, and the consequences of the rupture of the English alliance; and he said Duchâtel was of the same mind as himself, and had communicated to him the conversation I had had with him when I was in Paris, and all I had said on the subject. I was not aware before that I was prêchant un converti so entirely, though I suspected it. Delane told me yesterday that Leopold saw their correspondent the other day, and asked him if England would give him a subsidy to assist in repelling the French and Belgian republicans who threaten his territory; and Van de Weyer told him they were in a great dilemma, as the French Government were letting loose these ruffians upon them, affording them all sorts of assistance underhand; and if the Belgian Government repelled them, it was very likely the mob and clubs at Paris would compel the Provisional Government to support them and swallow up Belgium. Everybody now thinks there must be a war somewhere, out of such immense confusion and excitement.
THE FALL OF METTERNICH.
April 2nd.—There is nothing to record but odds and ends: no new revolution, no fresh deposition. Madame de Lieven told me yesterday what she had heard from Flahault of the outbreak at Vienna and the downfall of Metternich. When the people rose and demanded liberal measures, they were informed that the Council would be convened and deliberate, and an answer should be given them in two hours. The Council assembled, consisting of the Ministers and the Archdukes. The question was stated, when Metternich rose and harangued them for an hour and a half without their appearing nearly to approach a close. On this the Archduke John pulled out his watch and said, 'Prince, in half an hour we must give an answer to the people, and we have not yet begun to consider what we shall say to them.' On this Kolowrath said, 'Sir, I have sat in Council with Prince Metternich for twenty-five years, and it has always been his habit to speak thus without coming to the point.' 'But,' said the Archduke, 'we must come to the point, and that without delay. Are you aware, Prince,' turning to Metternich, 'that the first of the people's demands is that you should resign?' Metternich said that he had promised the Emperor Francis on his deathbed never to desert his son, the present Emperor, nor would he. They intimated that his remaining would be difficult. Oh, he said, if the Imperial Family wished him to resign, he should feel that he was released from his engagement, and he was ready to yield to their wishes. They said they did wish it, and he instantly acquiesced. Then the Emperor himself interposed and said, 'But, after all, I am the Emperor, and it is for me to decide; and I yield everything. Tell the people I consent to all their demands.' And thus the Crétin settled it all; and the great Minister, who was in his own person considered as the Empire, and had governed despotically for forty years, slunk away, and to this hour nobody knows where he is concealed. But in this general break-up of the Austrian Monarchy there seems still some vitality left in it, and we hear that those provinces which demand liberal governments do not want to get rid of the dynasty; and in the midst of the confusion there is no small jealousy of the King of Prussia, and disgust at his attempt to make himself Sovereign of Germany. The condition of Prussia is disquieting; and the King, who has acted a part at once wavering and selfish, has raised up a host of enemies against his pretensions.
There has been, however, something of a pause on the Continent for some days, which gives us leisure to look inwards and consider our own situation. We are undisturbed in the midst of the universal hubbub, and the surface of society looks smooth and safe: nevertheless there is plenty of cause for serious reflexion and apprehension. It is the fashion to say that this country is sound; that the newfangled theories which are turning continental brains find no acceptance here; but the outward manifestations are not entirely to be relied upon. Ireland never was in so dangerous a state; not the less so because the Repealers and Republicans are so mad or so wicked, and the masses so ungrateful and stupid. It is in vain that we prove to demonstration that the Irish would gain nothing by separation from England, and that we point to our superhuman exertions in the famine as a proof of our good feeling. Our remonstrances and the violent appeals of the Irish leaders are addressed to vast masses who, in spite of all we have done for them, are in the lowest state of misery and starvation; it is not surprising that millions who are in this state should listen to the pernicious orators who promise to better their condition by the Repeal of the Union and the overthrow of English power. When men are so low and miserable that they cannot be worse off, and they see no prospect of being better off under the existing state of things; when they are ignorant and excitable, and continually acted upon by every sort of mischievous influence, it would be strange indeed if they were not as turbulent and disaffected as we find them.
OBSTRUCTION IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
April 5th.—I broke off the other day, and now resume. Lord John Russell, in reply to a question put by Jocelyn to him in the House of Commons, said the Government would come to Parliament for powers as soon as they deemed it necessary, and gave him to understand that they were preparing measures, but declined to say what. His answer did not give satisfaction. Everybody here wants something to be done to stop this torrent of sedition. I saw Graham this morning for a short time; he is greatly alarmed at the aspect of affairs both at home and abroad; he thinks the temper of the masses here very serious. The Chartist meeting on Monday next makes him uneasy, and he has talked much to George Grey and the Speaker about precautions. The state of the law is very doubtful, and it is a nice question whether to prevent a procession to the House of Commons or not. The expressions of the Act about seditious assemblies are ambiguous. Then he strongly deprecates the Queen's going out of town on Saturday, which he thinks will look like cowardice in her personally, and as indicative of a sense of danger which ought not to be manifested. I advised him (and Peel, who thinks so likewise) to tell the Government this; he said Peel would tell the Prince. He spoke very bitterly of Lord John Russell's having allowed the Irish Arms Bill to expire, and showed me his speech in which he engaged, if necessary, to come down and ask for fresh powers. I said, 'Why don't they come now?' He said it would be very difficult now; that the forms of the House, which enabled anybody to obstruct, would infallibly be seized on, and no Bill allowed to pass; every sort of delay would be interposed. I said, 'They ought not to endure this, and should suspend the Standing Orders.'
J. G.—How was this to be done? They would never allow the question to be put.
C. G.—Surely the House of Commons never will allow itself to be turned into a Polish Diet with a liberum veto to any man who chose to obstruct the business of the country. If there is no other way, it will be a time for the Speaker to interfere; he alone can do it; refuse to put the question of adjournment, and cast himself on the House for support. A brave Speaker will do this.
J. G.—This is a very serious matter: our forms are admirable, and with gentlemen are everything that is useful and desirable. If once you set them aside, all freedom of debate will be gone, and from such a coup d'état there would be an appeal out of doors.
C. G.—The appeal would not be successful in such a case; the English abhor the Irish and their proceedings, and will never endure that the House of Commons shall be dictated to by Irish Repealers and agitators.
Here somebody came in, and we were obliged to leave off.
The reply of Lamartine to the Irish deputation, which has been so anxiously expected, came yesterday, and excellent it was. He gave a lecture to the Irish much stronger than any they have had here; and if his speech does no good, it will certainly do no harm. There is now an increasing opinion that the French will be driven to go to war somewhere as a relief from the intolerable distress in which the country will soon be plunged. Beggary and anarchy are striding on at a fearful rate, and the present bloodless but most agitated and frightened state will in all probability soon be changed into scenes of violence brought about by the ferocity of every kind of unchained passion.
April 6th.—Ireland now absorbs all other interests. I saw Grey yesterday, who told me they did not mean to do anything till after Monday next, but then they would. It has not yet been determined whether they should stop the Chartists from entering London or not, but a Cabinet was to be held to decide the matter to-day.[42] He thought they should prevent their crossing the bridges. I saw the Duke in the morning at Apsley House in a prodigious state of excitement; said he had plenty of troops, and would answer for keeping everything quiet if the Government would only be firm and vigorous, and announce by a proclamation that the mob should not be permitted to occupy the town. He wanted to prevent groups from going into the Park and assembling there, but this would be impossible.
SIR ROBERT PEEL ON OBSTRUCTION.
This morning I had another conversation with Graham. He told me he sat next to Hobhouse at Hardinge's dinner[43] at the India House last night, and had much very open talk with him. He understood from Hobhouse that Government did not intend to do anything, and he told him that he was afraid that they would find great difficulty in surmounting the obstacles that the forms of the House would enable the Opposition to throw in their way. Subsequently, however, he had a conversation with Peel, who he found took a very different view of the matter, and the same that I do. He said that the Government ought to act as if they had no doubt of obtaining all they required from Parliament; to consider well what that was; to choose their time, not delaying it long, and then to have a call of the House and ask for all the powers they require. If they find themselves thwarted by a minority moving successive adjournments, to sit there for any number of hours; to divide twenty or thirty times; and at last, when they had sufficiently proved to the country that their efforts were vain, and that they had exhausted all legitimate means, to give up the contest, instantly hold a Cabinet, and then a Council, by which they should do by Order in Council what they wished to do by Act of Parliament, and trust to public opinion and Parliament to support and sanction their proceedings. He told me he had expressed to Hobhouse the strong opinion he has of the inexpediency, even the danger, of the Queen's quitting town at this juncture, and that if these strong measures are to be adopted, her presence would of course be indispensable. The Speaker told him that an Act of Parliament was not necessary, as by an old Act (21 & 22 George III.) the Lord Lieutenant could in case of rebellion (of the existence of which he was himself the judge) proclaim martial law and suspend the Habeas Corpus; but Peel is against having recourse to such a measure, and prefers the application to Parliament. He thinks, too, that if the Government do not soon adopt such a course, they will be incurring a responsibility far more fearful than any they can incur by its adoption—the responsibility of all the blood that will be shed and the mischief that will ensue. Graham again spoke of John Russell's conduct in giving up the Arms Act, and said that he had so great a regard for him that he would not say one word against him on that score; but that he must expect to hear of it in case of extremities, and that he would be called to a severe account if there should be an outbreak, and if torrents of blood were shed by the instrumentality of those arms which but for him would not have been put into every man's hands. In my conversation with Grey yesterday, he told me that the Church question must be brought forward—not now, because the moment of rebellion and armed resistance was not that in which it would be wise or dignified or right to make concessions and introduce remedial measures; but that when peace was restored, and in another year, this great question must be faced and dealt with; the details, however, it is no use as yet to enter into.
April 9th.—After I had seen Graham the other morning, I thought it of such importance that John Russell should know what he and Peel thought, that I went to him and told him. He received me with one of his coldest and most offensive manners, said nothing, and did not vouchsafe to tell me that they had made up their minds to do something, and that Grey was going to give notice of a Bill in a few minutes from that time. Nothing could be more ungracious, and I mentally resolved never to go near him again to tell him anything of use to him. I wrote to the Duke of Bedford and told him all this; and he wrote me back word that he was not surprised, and that nobody had more to suffer from John's manner than he himself; that John is very obstinate and unmanageable, and does not like to be found fault with or told things which run counter to his own ideas—all which he owned was very unfortunate, and a grievous fault in his character.
All London is making preparations to encounter a Chartist row to-morrow: so much that it is either very sublime or very ridiculous. All the clerks and others in the different offices are ordered to be sworn in special constables, and to constitute themselves into garrisons. I went to the police office with all my clerks, messengers, &c., and we were all sworn. We are to pass the whole day at the office to-morrow, and I am to send down all my guns; in short, we are to take a warlike attitude. Colonel Harness, of the Railway Department, is our commander-in-chief; every gentleman in London is become a constable, and there is an organisation of some sort in every district.
THE CHARTIST MOVEMENT IN LONDON.
Newmarket, April 13th.—Monday passed off with surprising quiet, and it was considered a most satisfactory demonstration on the part of the Government, and the peaceable and loyal part of the community. Enormous preparations were made, and a host of military, police, and special constables were ready if wanted; every gentleman in London was sworn, and during a great part of the day, while the police were reposing, they did duty. The Chartist movement was contemptible; but everybody rejoices that the defensive demonstration was made, for it has given a great and memorable lesson which will not be thrown away, either on the disaffected and mischievous, or the loyal and peaceful; and it will produce a vast effect in all foreign countries, and show how solid is the foundation on which we are resting. We have displayed a great resolution and a great strength, and given unmistakable proofs, that if sedition and rebellion hold up their heads in this country, they will be instantly met with the most vigorous resistance, and be put down by the band of authority, and by the zealous co-operation of all classes of the people. The whole of the Chartist movement was to the last degree contemptible from first to last. The delegates who met on the eve of the day were full of valour amounting to desperation; they indignantly rejected the intimation of the Government that their procession would not be allowed; swore they would have it at all hazard, and die, if necessary, in asserting their rights. One man said he loved his life, his wife, his children, but would sacrifice all rather than give way.
In the morning (a very fine day) everybody was on the alert; the parks were closed; our office was fortified, a barricade of Council Registers was erected in the accessible room on the ground-floor, and all our guns were taken down to be used in defence of the building. However, at about twelve o'clock crowds came streaming along Whitehall, going northwards, and it was announced that all was over. The intended tragedy was rapidly changed into a ludicrous farce. The Chartists, about 20,000 in number, assembled on Kennington Common. Presently Mr. Mayne appeared on the ground, and sent one of his inspectors to say he wanted to speak to Feargus O'Connor. Feargus thought he was going to be arrested and was in a terrible fright; but he went to Mayne, who merely said he was desired to inform him that the meeting would not be interfered with, but the procession would not be allowed. Feargus insisted on shaking hands with Mayne, swore he was his best of friends, and instantly harangued his rabble, advising them not to provoke a collision, and to go away quietly—advice they instantly obeyed, and with great alacrity and good-humour. Thus all evaporated in smoke. Feargus himself then repaired to the Home Office, saw Sir George Grey, and told him it was all over, and thanked the Government for their leniency, assuring him the Convention would not have been so lenient if they had got the upper hand. Grey asked him if he was going back to the meeting. He said No; that he had had his toes trodden on till he was lame, and his pocket picked, and he would have no more to do with it. The petition was brought down piecemeal and presented in the afternoon. Since that there has been an exposure of the petition itself, covering the authors of it with ridicule and disgrace. It turns out to be signed by less than two millions, instead of by six as Feargus stated; and of those, there were no end of fictitious names, together with the insertion of every species of ribaldry, indecency, and impertinence. The Chartists are very crestfallen, and evidently conscious of the contemptible figure they cut; but they have endeavoured to bluster and lie as well as they can in their subsequent gatherings, and talk of other petitions and meetings, which nobody cares about.
PLANS FOR IRELAND.
London, April 15th.—Every account from every quarter proves the wonderful effect produced by the event of Monday last. Normanby writes me word that it has astonished and disappointed the French more than they care to admit; and it has evidently had a great effect in Ireland, where Smith O'Brien is gone back in doleful dumps at his rebuff at Paris, and his reception in the House of Commons. Clarendon writes word that if there is any outbreak, which he now doubts, it will probably be after a great tea-party they were about to have on Smith O'Brien's return. The Government have gained some credit and some strength by this affair, as well as by their (at last) bringing fresh measures of a protective character into Parliament. The Conservatives are very angry with them for giving way on the clause about 'words spoken,' in the new Bill, and for consenting to make it temporary. Graham told me he had great doubts about that clause, but he would support whatever they proposed. It is certainly true that their concessions are not well managed; they do not come down and make them as if on mature consideration; but they suffer themselves to be bullied out of them by their Radical opponents, and this gives them an air of vacillation and irresolution which is very prejudicial. Lord John made a very good speech on this Bill, and George Grey by common consent does his work very well indeed.
I had some talk with the Duke of Bedford at Newmarket about Ireland, and told him my plan of operations, that is, the idea that has presented itself to my mind. It consists of two parts—one as to the land, the other the Church. I propose that the Government should become a great proprietor and capitalist, raising whatever funds are necessary, and expending them in productive works and the employment of labour. I have observed that all who have written, spoken, or thought on this subject, agree that the indispensable thing for Ireland is the application of capital to the developement of the resources of the country and the employment of its people. Nobody will invest capital there in its present state; consequently those resources remain undeveloped, and the people are in a state of idleness and starvation; that which it is desirable that everybody should do, but which nobody will do, must be done by the Government itself. I have only as yet formed the idea, without having deeply considered it, still less attempted to work out its details. The other question, the Church, that eternal stumbling-block, does not present less difficulty, but is equally urgent. This morning the Duke of Bedford came here and told me he had spoken to Lord John about my ideas, but without going into any detail, or even explanation, and Lord John said he should like to talk to me about it himself; he said, moreover, that they not only mean to propose something about the Church, but have got a plan half prepared. They will not, however, attempt to bring anything forward this year, and they would be very wrong if they did.
There has just appeared in all the newspapers a long letter of Louis Philippe's to the Queen of the Belgians, giving his whole case about the Montpensier marriage, with certain other letters from Guizot and Salvandy on the same subject. These papers were found at the Tuileries, and have been published at Paris. The history of this letter is this. When the King had concocted the marriage he made his Queen write to ours, and after mentioning all his family by name, and telling her all they were severally about, she mentioned this marriage in the same casual way, as a happy event in the family. Our Queen wrote an answer, in which she expressed her satisfaction at the happiness and prosperity of the different members of her family whom Queen Marie Amélie had enumerated, excepting the last topic, that of the marriage. This she said was a political matter, on which she entertained very different sentiments. It was then that Louis Philippe wrote this long epistle which the Queen of the Belgians sent to our Queen, who wrote a very laconic reply, saying that it had not altered her opinion, and that she considered that the King had forfeited the word he had given her. These letters she showed to Lord John Russell and Palmerston. The King was furious, and from that moment no more communication took place between them till the letter the Queen wrote to him (or to Queen Marie Amélie) on the death of Madame Adélaïde. The Duchess of Gloucester sent the Duchess of Bedford a letter of the Queen's to her on the present state of affairs and her own situation, which exhibits her in a very amiable light. She talks with such sympathy of the sufferings of others in whom she is interested, and with such thankfulness for the many blessings which she herself enjoys, and which she says she almost 'grudges' when she looks round and sees the afflictions of so many whom she loves. The expression is faulty, but the idea is clear.
SIR HENRY BULWER'S EXPULSION FROM MADRID.
April 30th.—While I was at Newmarket the newspapers published the correspondence between Palmerston, Bulwer, and Sotomayor, which excited great interest and no small animadversion even there.[44] It was a choice specimen of Palmerston's spirit of domination, which, so far from being moderated by all that was said about his Greek correspondence, seems only to have broken out with fresh virulence on this occasion. It remains to be seen whether John Russell and his colleagues will once for all make a stand against his arbitrary and independent administration of the Foreign Office, or submit to it: this must be the crisis. The Duke of Bedford told me he had read it in the papers with much annoyance, because he foresaw the difficulties it would produce; that he had known of it some time ago, and of what had occurred relating to it; that Palmerston had shown John Russell the despatch, and that Lord John had objected to it, stating his reasons for so doing. According to his custom, Palmerston made no reply; but they parted, Lord John naturally concluding that after he had stated his objection the despatch would not be sent. Shortly after he was with the Queen, and in conversation on this subject he told her what had passed between Palmerston and himself, and what he had said. 'No; did you say all that?' said the Queen. He said, 'Yes.' 'Well then,' she replied, 'it produced no effect, for the despatch is gone. Lord Palmerston sent it to me; I know it is gone.' What more passed I do not know. The only difference Palmerston made was that he divided his despatch to Bulwer into two, but he did not omit or alter a word of what Lord John had objected to. When I first heard this my impression was that this was such a daring defiance of the Prime Minister and such an insulting indifference to the sentiments of his colleagues that it must lead to a quarrel, and that Palmerston would be forced to resign. I anticipated discussions in both Houses of Parliament, in which Palmerston's colleagues would be obliged to speak out, especially John Russell, and that they would throw him over, which if they did it would be impossible for him to stay in. Lord Stanley, who was at Newmarket all last week, told the Duke of Bedford that it was very much against his inclination to attack Palmerston, who was so good-natured and agreeable, but that it was impossible to pass this over. Still on consideration I suspect that Palmerston's audacity and good fortune, his rare dexterity, and total absence of sensitiveness will carry him through. They will probably knock under to him, they will not venture to throw him over in public, and will content themselves with some timid remonstrance in private, which he will receive with perfect good humour and treat with sovereign contempt. He has not evinced the slightest disposition to give way, for I heard yesterday that he has written to Bulwer fully approving of his letter. He has replied to Sotomayor in a tone of sarcasm, and he has taken this opportunity to make Bulwer K.C.B. Of course he will not hear of recalling him, and I begin to think that it will end in his dictating to everybody, Spanish Cabinet and his own colleagues, and he will march on triumphant in the midst of ineffectual grumblings and abortive efforts to restrain him.
LORD CLARENDON ON IRISH CATHOLICS.
May 3rd.—Palmerston and John Russell seem to have made up this matter (if ever they quarrelled about it, which they probably did not), for I hear of Lord John expressing joy that it is taken up by Urquhart in the House of Commons rather than by any more formidable opponent. Ben Stanley tells me that it is all Bulwer's fault, and that he was instructed only to interfere if a suitable opportunity presented itself, and then verbally; but as Palmerston will not throw over Bulwer, it is an imbroglio, and will make a bother; but it is clear that Palmerston is in no danger. Ben Stanley also says that the Spanish Government are very anxious to make it up; however, we shall have something elicited by the discussions.
I had a long letter from Clarendon yesterday, and saw Southern[45] in the morning, just come from Dublin, where he has been staying several weeks. The former wrote to me on the subject of the Irish Church, and says that he is all against touching it, for that the Protestants are now the sole link between the two countries, and that they from feelings of pride and old associations cling to that Establishment with unconquerable tenacity, and any attempt to invade it would alienate the whole Protestant body and render them repealers also. He writes at considerable length on this topic, and what he says may be true; but if it be, and if it is always to be acted on, peace never can be attainable. Southern says everything is better so far as the chance of any immediate outbreak is removed, but that the state of the country is not improved, and that the chronic agitation and disaffection will only go on the more in every district under the priests. Clarendon says not a Roman Catholic in Ireland is to be trusted, and gives a deplorable picture of the condition of landed property and proprietors; the inveterate habit of selfishness and indifference to the state of the masses, which has so long distinguished the landowners, makes it impossible to get them to act on the principles which regulate the relations of landlord and tenant here; and he assures me that there are many who contemplate in the most cold-blooded way the relief from a starving and redundant population by the operation of famine. Then the tricks and jobbing of those who are concerned in the administration of the poor laws produce infinite mischief, and in short the whole material, high and low, is so corrupt that it is an Herculean task for anybody to introduce order into such a chaos, and to try and weed out its manifold evils. He complains that his plans and schemes for employing the people and developing the national resources do not meet with the attention he has a right to expect from the Government, and he doubts if Lord John Russell comprehends, or even reads them.
Yesterday arrived the news of Smith O'Brien's affair at Limerick,[46] which was hailed with great satisfaction. Ever since the Bill passed there has been a manifest falling off in the violence and determination of the Patriots; they have quailed under the force of Government, and nothing can be more paltry than the figure they are now cutting compared with their boastings and menaces the other day. Mitchell, Meagher, and O'Brien were near being killed at Limerick by an O'Connellite mob, and were saved by the interposition of the Queen's troops. Smith O'Brien was severely beaten, and has renounced the country, and says he will retire into private life. Mitchell, who meant to meet the law and the Government face to face, and dared them to the fight, has recourse to every sort of chicanery, and avails himself of all the technical pleas he can find to delay his trial. All these things have drawn both ridicule and contempt on these empty boasters, who began by blustering and swaggering, and who now crouch under the blows that are aimed at them.
CENSURE OF SIR HENRY BULWER.
May 7th.—The Limerick affair and discomfiture of the Young Irelanders has given a great blow to the whole rebellious faction, put Clarendon in spirits, and for the time cleared the horizon, and dispelled all chance of disturbance or outbreak. People jump to the conclusion (and the press takes that line) that the agitation is entirely at an end, and Ireland about to become peaceable if not satisfied. I have had a letter from Bessborough,[47] who tells me what Clarendon and Crampton said to him about Catholic endowment, and of the impossibility of it. The latter, he says, mixes with people of every denomination and description, and his opinion upon it he thinks entitled to much attention. Bessborough also thinks everything is looking better in Ireland, and more promising for future prosperity and tranquillity; he anticipates, in short, a very prosperous year.
Meanwhile everything is improving here. Within the last week there is a manifest revival of trade both in Lancashire and Yorkshire, and the magnificent weather which has succeeded the long course of rain and cold promises as good a harvest as the farmers can desire.
On Friday evening Stanley made his attack on Palmerston in a very brilliant speech, which Guizot was there to hear. He made a strong case, and Lord Lansdowne a very weak defence, and that only by throwing over Bulwer, and casting the blame on him. It will all end in nothing, as usual, and Palmerston will not care a straw. It is, however, damaging, for everybody thinks that he has been flippant, and that there was neither motive nor occasion for his interferences, or that it has been well done if there had been. In short, it is an ill-judged unskilfully conducted proceeding.
May 9th.—Palmerston got another drubbing last night in the Lords, which will be a lesson to him, if anything can. Stanley made a second speech, still more effective than his first, and Aberdeen followed him. Lord Lansdowne was miserably feeble in reply, as he might well be, having no case. I never saw public opinion more strongly or generally pronounced, and it may be of use in moderating Palmerston for the future. If he were not the man he is, there would be no doubt of it, but he is apparently incurable. The whole affair is very discreditable to the Government. It looks bad enough as it is; but what would people think of it if they knew that Lord John Russell had seen these offensive despatches, had objected to them, and that they had gone in spite of him; and now he and his colleagues are obliged to come down to Parliament and to defend them?
May 13th.—Palmerston's affair has not failed to produce certain consequences. Lord Lansdowne was in a state of great indignation and disgust; he told the Duke of Bedford he never had in all his life been placed in such a situation, that he had not cared for Stanley's first speech, but that when he made his second, he was conscious he had not a word to say. He had never read the despatches, and had not a notion how far Palmerston had committed himself in approval of Bulwer. He said that he had been to Lord John and told him this must never happen again, and it was arranged between them (he little knows how vainly) that for the future Lord John at least should see Palmerston's despatches before they go. Hobhouse spoke to me about it, and in reply to my remarks saying how unfair it was to place such a man as Lord Lansdowne in such a position, he very comically said, 'I wish you would say all this to Palmerston.' This was too good a joke, as I told him, that he a Cabinet Minister, his colleague and sharing his responsibility, could not tell him his mind, and should ask me to tell Palmerston the truths it behoved him to know. Both Labouchere and Charles Wood also spoke to me about it. I said to the latter, 'Unless Palmerston is quite incorrigible all this will be a lesson to him, and restrain him for the future.' He replied, 'You are quite right to put in that proviso.' Such is the state of things in this Cabinet.
Charles Wood asked me to go to Graham and find out what his views were about the West Indian question, and whether he was prepared to grant the West Indians any relief, and to meddle with the Bill of 1846. I went to him yesterday morning, and was with him for two hours, talking about everything and everybody.
THE QUARREL WITH SPAIN.
May 14th.—Graham said about the West Indians that the old proprietors must be ruined, nothing could save them. New purchasers who went out and cultivated these estates might do well, but men here could no longer derive incomes from sugar duties; he would not disturb the arrangement of 1846, though he thought the Government had been wrong in making it, and he and Peel had only supported them because if they had been beaten they would have gone out. Nor would he give any money; said that the Committees now sitting would recommend doing away with the African fleet and the whole of our anti-slavery machinery, and that all that could be done for the West Indians was to authorise a sort of regulated slave trade, procuring labourers and making them free; the people of this country had tasted cheap sugar, and would not now go back to dear; he anticipated no difficulty from the French Government in doing away with the Treaty, but much from Palmerston, who would hardly be brought to propose it. We talked much of the Spanish correspondence, of Palmerston, John Russell, and the rest; Graham could not understand how Lord Grey stood it, seeing that everything that had happened had justified him in his original objections. He told me a story of John Russell's having sat by somebody (I found out afterwards it was Ellice), just after the suppression of the insurrection at Madrid, to whom he expressed his satisfaction at the Government having put it down, and added, 'Think of that fool Bulwer having taken that opportunity to make an attempt in favour of the Progressista party,' which Graham said was a proof that he had not known anything of Palmerston's instructions. I did not tell him what the real state of the case was. He said that he and Peel did not want to turn the Government out, nor embarrass them, and therefore gave me to understand that they should not take any part against Palmerston; but he severely criticised his conduct, and was evidently very glad at his getting into such a scrape. His general views were very apparent to me; he has a great contempt for the Government, thinks nobody has done well but Sir George Grey and Clarendon, but is biding his time and acting on the policy which I long ago saw was the true one, of making a junction with the Whigs possible hereafter. He is very much provoked with Lincoln and Gladstone, who he said were 'impatient,' and acting in a spirit of most injudicious half hostility and annoyance to the Government; he sees all the inconvenience of this course, but he does not choose to interfere, and I perceive he does not like Lincoln nor think highly of him. His object is to have as many doors open to himself and Peel as is possible by-and-by, and he looks to govern upon such popular principles, and at the same time safe ones, as may enable them to raise a standard that will have attraction for all moderate, sensible, and liberal people. He anticipates a great part to be played by Francis Baring, of whose talents and influence he thinks highly; that he is greatly improved in speaking; and being now head of the great family of Baring, opulent, with a strong mind and will, very rigid and severe in his principles, he must be a very conspicuous and powerful man in public life. I have no doubt he would like to coalesce with Baring by-and-by, and have him for Chancellor of the Exchequer in their Government when they make one; he talked of Aberdeen and the way he was 'cottoning' himself to Stanley; owned that these times of universal revolution were unsuitable to the genius and taste of Aberdeen, who was an excellent foreign minister with Peel, adopting his free trade principles, and dealing with monarchical Europe; but now the scholar of Castlereagh, whose inclinations all lay towards Metternich and Guizot, was disgusted and disheartened at the spectacle Europe presented. I hinted that this might in some degree prove convenient, which he perfectly understood.