While London is entirely deserted, and everything is quiet and prosperous here, there is a storm raging in Spain which has already had an effect in France, by producing the dissolution of Thiers’s Ministry,[7] and may very likely end by GEORGE VILLIERS’S DESPATCHES. creating disturbances in that country and embroiling Europe. The complication of French politics, the character and designs of the King, his relations with the great Powers of Europe, and the personal danger to which he is exposed from the effects of a demoralised mass of floating hostility and disaffection, rendered doubly perilous from the mixture of unnatural excitement and contempt of life which largely enter into it, present a very curious and very interesting subject of political observation and speculation for those who have the means of investigating it closely.

[7] [M. Thiers came into power for the first time as Minister of Foreign Affairs and head of the Government on the 22nd of February, 1836. He had boasted that he should be able to engage the King in a more active intervention in Spain in favour of the young Queen—‘Nous entraînerons le Roi’ was his expression—but in this he was deceived, and his Administration came to a speedy termination. Lord Palmerston proposed on the 14th of March that some of the ports on the coast of Biscay should be occupied by British seamen and marines, and that Passages, Fontarabia, and the valley of Bartan should be occupied by the French. This scheme was strenuously opposed by the King, though M. Thiers was willing to assent to it. The Revolution of La Granja in August only increased the repugnance of Louis Philippe to interfere actively in Spain, and early in September the Thiers Cabinet was dissolved. Mr. Villiers’s narrative of the revolution of La Granja is alluded to in the passage next following.]

September 7th, 1836

Mrs. Villiers sent me to-day the copies of two despatches of George Villiers’s to Palmerston, containing a narrative of the events which took place at St. Ildefonso on the 12th, 13th, and 14th of last month; these he sent to her, because he had not time to write the details all over again. Nothing can be more curious, nothing more interesting, nothing more admirably described, all the details given with great simplicity, extreme clearness, and inimitable liveliness of narration. It reminds one of the scenes enacted during the French Revolution; but as these despatches will probably be published, I shall not be at the pains to give an analysis of them here. It is remarkable how courageously and prudently the Queen seems to have behaved. What energies a difficult crisis called forth! How her spirit and self-possession bore up in the midst of danger and insult, and how she contrived to preserve her dignity even while compelled to make the most humiliating concessions! No romance was ever more interesting than this narrative. George Villiers’s correspondence will some day or other make one of the most valuable and entertaining publications that ever appeared, though I shall not live to see it. He writes incomparably well, with a mixture of vivacity and energy peculiarly his own.

September 21st, 1836

I have recorded nothing about the revolutions at Madrid and Lisbon, because I know nothing besides what has appeared in all the newspapers, and it would be very useless to copy facts from their columns. As to private matters, and the exploits or interests of individuals, I only note them as the fancy takes me, and the fancy has not taken me of late. I cannot keep a journal—that is, a day by day memorial—and I have an invincible repugnance to making my MS. books the receptacles of scandal, and handing down to posterity (if ever posterity should have an opportunity of seeing and would take the trouble to read these pages) the private faults and follies of my friends, acquaintance, and associates.

To-day we had a Council, the first since Parliament was prorogued, when his most gracious Majesty behaved most ungraciously to his confidential servants, whom he certainly does not delight to honour. The last article on the list was a petition of Admiral Sartorius praying to be restored to his rank, and when this was read the King, after repeating the usual form of words, added, ‘And must be granted. As Captain Napier was restored, so must this gentleman be, for there was this difference between their cases: Admiral Napier knew he was doing wrong, which Admiral Sartorius was not aware of.’ Lord Minto said, ‘I believe, sir, there was not so much difference between the two cases as your Majesty imagines, for Admiral Sartorius—’ Then followed something which I could not catch, but the King did, for he said, with considerable asperity, ‘Unless your Lordship is quite sure of that, I must beg leave to say that I differ from you and do not believe it to be so, but since you have expressed your belief that it is so, I desire you will furnish me with proofs of it immediately. The next time I see you you will be prepared with the proofs of what you say, for unless I see them I shall not believe one word of it.’ Minto made no reply to this extraordinary sortie, and the rest looked at each other in silence.

This, however, was nothing compared with what took place at Windsor with the Duchess of Kent, of which I heard something a long time ago (August 30th), but never the particulars till last night. It is very remarkable that the thing has not been more talked about. The King invited the Duchess of Kent to go to Windsor on the 12th of August to celebrate the Queen’s birthday (13th), and to stay there over RUDENESS OF THE KING. his own birthday, which was to be kept (privately) on the 21st (the real day, but falling on Sunday) and publicly the day following. She sent word that she wanted to keep her own birthday at Claremont on the 15th (or whatever the day is), took no notice of the Queen’s birthday, but said she would go to Windsor on the 20th. This put the King in a fury; he made, however, no reply, and on the 20th he was in town to prorogue Parliament, having desired that they would not wait dinner for him at Windsor. After the prorogation he went to Kensington Palace to look about it; when he got there he found that the Duchess of Kent had appropriated to her own use a suite of apartments, seventeen in number, for which she had applied last year, and which he had refused to let her have. This increased his ill-humour, already excessive. When he arrived at Windsor and went into the drawing-room (at about ten o’clock at night), where the whole party was assembled, he went up to the Princess Victoria, took hold of both her hands, and expressed his pleasure at seeing her there and his regret at not seeing her oftener. He then turned to the Duchess and made her a low bow, almost immediately after which he said that ‘a most unwarrantable liberty had been taken with one of his palaces; that he had just come from Kensington, where he found apartments had been taken possession of not only without his consent, but contrary to his commands, and that he neither understood nor would endure conduct so disrespectful to him.’ This was said loudly, publicly, and in a tone of serious displeasure. It was, however, only the muttering of the storm which was to break the next day. Adolphus Fitzclarence went into his room on Sunday morning, and found him in a state of great excitement. It was his birthday, and though the celebration was what was called private, there were a hundred people at dinner, either belonging to the Court or from the neighbourhood. The Duchess of Kent sat on one side of the King and one of his sisters on the other, the Princess Victoria opposite. Adolphus Fitzclarence sat two or three from the Duchess, and heard every word of what passed. After dinner, by the Queen’s desire, ‘His Majesty’s health, and long life to him’ was given, and as soon as it was drunk he made a very long speech, in the course of which he poured forth the following extraordinary and foudroyante tirade:—‘I trust in God that my life may be spared for nine months longer, after which period, in the event of my death, no regency would take place. I should then have the satisfaction of leaving the royal authority to the personal exercise of that young lady (pointing to the Princess), the heiress presumptive of the Crown, and not in the hands of a person now near me, who is surrounded by evil advisers and who is herself incompetent to act with propriety in the station in which she would be placed. I have no hesitation in saying that I have been insulted—grossly and continually insulted—by that person, but I am determined to endure no longer a course of behaviour so disrespectful to me. Amongst many other things I have particularly to complain of the manner in which that young lady has been kept away from my Court; she has been repeatedly kept from my drawing-rooms, at which she ought always to have been present, but I am fully resolved that this shall not happen again. I would have her know that I am King, and I am determined to make my authority respected, and for the future I shall insist and command that the Princess do upon all occasions appear at my Court, as it is her duty to do.’ He terminated his speech by an allusion to the Princess and her future reign in a tone of paternal interest and affection, which was excellent in its way.

This awful philippic (with a great deal more which I forget) was uttered with a loud voice and excited manner. The Queen looked in deep distress, the Princess burst into tears, and the whole company were aghast. The Duchess of Kent said not a word. Immediately after they rose and retired, and a terrible scene ensued; the Duchess announced her immediate departure and ordered her carriage, but a sort of reconciliation was patched up, and she was prevailed upon to stay till the next day. The following morning, when the King saw Adolphus, he asked him what people said to his speech. He replied that they thought the THE KING AND THE DUCHESS OF KENT. Duchess of Kent merited his rebuke, but that it ought not to have been given there; that he ought to have sent for her into his closet, and have said all that he felt and thought there, but not at table before a hundred people. He replied that he did not care where he said it or before whom, that ‘by God he had been insulted by her in a measure that was past all endurance, and he would not stand it any longer.’

Nothing can be more unaccountable than the Duchess of Kent’s behaviour to the King, nothing more reprehensible; but his behaviour to her has always been as injudicious and undignified as possible, and this last sortie was monstrous. It was his duty and his right to send for her, and signify to her both his displeasure at the past and his commands for the future; but such a gross and public insult offered to her at his own table, sitting by his side and in the presence of her daughter, admits of no excuse. It was an unparalleled outrage from a man to a woman, from a host to his guest, and to the last degree unbecoming the station they both of them fill. He has never had the firmness and decision of character a due display of which would have obviated the necessity of such bickerings, and his passion leads him to these indecent exhibitions, which have not the effect of correcting, and cannot fail to have that of exasperating her, and rendering their mutual relations more hopelessly disagreeable.