At Council yesterday to swear in James Parke and Bosanquet (who did not come) Privy Councillors, in order to carry into operation the Chancellor’s new Bill for the establishment of the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council.
August 20th, 1833
To Stoke on Saturday with Creevey and Lemarchant, the Chancellor’s secretary. The Chancellor and others of the Ministry were to have come, but they all dined at Blackwall. Brougham, Plunket, and John Russell came the next day. Brougham is not so talkative as he was; his dignities, his labours, and the various cares of his situation have dashed his gaiety, and pressed down his once elastic spirits; however, he was not otherwise than cheerful and lively. Plunket I never met before, he was pretty much at his ease, and talked sufficiently without exhibiting anything remarkable. Lemarchant is a clever, industrious fellow, whom I remember at Eton. The Chancellor’s secretaryship must be no sinecure, and he has particularly distinguished himself by his reports of the debates in the House of Commons. He goes there every night, and forwards to the Chancellor from time to time an account of the debate, and the manner of it, very well executed indeed. He talked to me of Brougham’s labours and their intensity, which put me in mind of his gasconading to Sefton a year or two ago about his idleness, and finding the Great Seal a mere plaything; Lemarchant said that by severe and constant application he had made himself very tolerably acquainted with equity law, and very extensively with cases. I find from Sefton that he means to propose next year that his salary should be reduced to 8,000ℓ. a year, and that the new Equity Judges should be paid out of what he now has. I believe he is liberal about money, and not careless, but I have some doubts whether this project will be executed. Lemarchant told me that the cause of Sugden’s inveterate animosity against Brougham was this—that in a debate in the House of Commons, Sugden in his speech took occasion to speak of Mr. Fox, and said that he had no great respect for his authority, on which Brougham merely said, loud enough to be heard all over the House, and in that peculiar tone which strikes like a dagger, ‘Poor Fox.’ The words, the tone, were electrical, everybody burst into roars of laughter, Sugden was so overwhelmed that he said afterwards it was with difficulty he could go on, and he vowed that he never could forgive this sarcasm.
Sefton talked to me of Brougham’s reluctance when the Government was formed to take the Great Seal; after they had offered him the Attorney-Generalship, which he so indignantly refused, they sent Sefton to cajole him and get him to take the Seal. He wanted to be made Master of the Rolls, and left in the House of Commons, the Seal being put in Commission. This they would not hear of, naturally enough not choosing to exist at his mercy in the House of Commons, and rely upon his doubtful and capricious support. It was very well for him to act the part of Atlas, and bear LORD BROUGHAM AS CHANCELLOR. the Government on his shoulders, but they shrewdly enough guessed that they would not ride on them very comfortably, that they would be considerably jolted, and perhaps at last shoved off. He, on the other hand, would not suffer anybody to be Chancellor but himself; and at last, with many misgivings, he yielded to the gentle violence which would make him the first officer of the Crown. Great was his lamentation at this necessity. ‘How,’ he said, ‘am I fallen! As member for Yorkshire in the House of Commons, what a position was mine.’ Sefton tried to comfort him by representing that ‘the fall’ upon the woolsack was somewhat of the softest, and that a few years ago he would not have considered it so grievous a misfortune if it had been foretold him that he should be seated there at such a time.
After dinner on Sunday Brougham talked of the Reform Bill and its first appearance in the House of Commons. He said that once allowed to take root there it could not be crushed, and that their only opportunity was thrown away by the Tories. Had Peel risen at once and declared that he would not even discuss such a measure, that it was revolution, and opposed its being brought in, he would have thrown it out, and if he had then come down with a moderate measure, it would have satisfied the country for the time. This is exactly what William Banks said to me last year, and the very thing Peel had intended to do, and from which he was deterred by Granville Somerset. The Duke of Wellington has continued to attend in the House of Lords day after day, proposing alterations and amendments to all the Bills, evidently reading hard, and preparing himself for each occasion, always loaded with papers. Lyndhurst said to somebody, ‘I shall attend no more, what’s the use of it? The Duke comes down every day, and tries to make the Bills better; if I could make them worse, I would come too.’
August 22nd, 1833
Called on Madame de Lieven yesterday, who is just come back from Petersburg, rayonnante at her reception and treatment. The Emperor went out to sea to meet her, took her into his own boat, when they landed he drove her to the palace, and carried her into the Empress’s room, who was en chemise. She told me a comical anecdote illustrative of the good humour of the Emperor (who, she says, is an angel), and of the free and frank reception he gives to strangers. In the midst of some splendid military fêtes, which terminated with a sham siege by 50,000 of his guards the last day, word was brought him that two strange-looking men had presented themselves at the lines, and requested to be allowed to see what was going on. They said they were English, had come from Scotland on purpose to see the Russian manœuvres, and had started from Petersburg under the direction of a laquais de place, who had conducted them to where they heard the firing of the cannon. The Emperor ordered them to be admitted, received them with the greatest civility, and desired apartments to be prepared for them in the palace (Peterhof), at the same time inviting them to dine with him, and be present at a ball he gave at night. She said that one was a Don Quixote sort of figure; they called themselves Johnstone. The Emperor asked her if she knew them. She said no, but that there were many of that name in England. There they remained, enchanted, astonished, behaving, however, perfectly well. After seeing all the sights, they were one evening led into a great hall, where all sorts of pastimes were going on, and among others a Montagne Russe (of which the Emperor is passionately fond). He is a very tall powerful man, and his way is to be placed at the top of the machine, when a man mounts astride on his shoulders, and another on his, and so on till there are fourteen; when a signal is given, with the rapidity of lightning down they go. On this occasion the Emperor took the Johnstones on his back, and she says their astonishment at the position they occupied, and at the rapidity of the descent, was beyond everything amusing. They were asked how they liked it, and they said they thought it ‘very good fun,’ and should like to begin again. So they were allowed to divert themselves in this way for an hour. Bligh told her afterwards that these men returned to Petersburg their heads turned, and utterly bewildered with, such an unexpected reception.
AFFAIRS OF PORTUGAL. In her serious talk the Princess said that the Emperor was full of moderation and desire for peace, ‘s’il y a des orages ce ne sera pas de ce côté qu’ils viendront,’ that he could not comprehend the English Parliament, nor the sort of language which was held there about him, that he was ‘le plus généreux, le plus humain, le meilleur des hommes,’ that they believed all the lies which were ‘débités sur les affaires de Pologne, qui enfin est notre affaire, qu’il était peu connu ici, qu’elle avait vu en Russie beaucoup de respects, beaucoup d’amour pour l’Empereur, et voilà tout.’ In short, she is returned in a state of intoxication, and her adoration for the Emperor is only exceeded by that which she has for the Empress.
August 24th, 1833
Matters have taken a bad turn in Portugal. Bourmont is marching on Lisbon with 18,000 men, ‘regna il terror nella citta.’ William Russell, in a fit of enthusiasm, says, ‘the capital must be saved even at the hazard of a war.’ Admiral Parker says he shall land 1,200 marines and make them occupy the forts. Our Government are in great confusion and alarm, and have despatched a swift steamer to Parker to desire him to do no such thing; but the steamer will probably arrive too late, and if Bourmont is really there, we shall cut a pretty figure with our non-intervention, for Parker will probably have to surrender the forts to Miguel. I dined with Talleyrand yesterday, who is furious, laughing non-intervention to scorn; and he told me he had for the last ten days been endeavouring to get the Government to take a decided part. What he advised was that we should recognise Donna Maria and the Regency appointed by the Charter; that is, Donna Isabella Regent, with a Council to be comprised of Palmella, Villa Flor, and any other; that our Minister should be directed to acknowledge no other government, and at the same time concert with Palmella that Pedro should be sent away, and the constitution be suspended till the Queen shall be of age. Pedro has committed, since he was in Lisbon, every folly and atrocity he could squeeze into so small a space of time; imprisoning, confiscating, granting monopolies, attacking the Church, and putting forth the constitution in its most offensive shape. I suspect we shall have made a sad mess of this business.