It is curious to see the different measure that was dealt out to Durham and to Head,[18] the latter an able, though not always a prudent man, who really did good service in his government, and extricated himself boldly and successfully from a very difficult situation. He had dismissed a Judge for certain reasons, part of which he explained to the Colonial Office, and for the rest he told them that he must, in the difficult position he was in, draw upon their confidence to support and confirm his act. They said this was not enough, and insisted on his restoring the Judge. Upon this he tendered his resignation, which they instantly accepted; and when he came home they took no notice of him whatever, and at the same time they were flattering and lauding and trying to cajole Durham, and begging and praying him to stay, in the midst of his blundering acts and insolent language, and while he was addressing the Government in the most contumelious terms. Head has behaved very well about the publication of his despatches; for when he asked Melbourne’s leave to publish, and the latter refused, he promised that nothing should appear, and that he would discourage any Parliamentary attempt to elicit them. Now that Durham’s Report has come forth, containing strictures on Head’s conduct, he assumes a right to publish, for his own vindication, and he has asserted this in a pettish letter to Melbourne; whereas, if he had again asked for permission on this express ground, it would not have been refused. The motto of this Government, however, seems to be,—
parcere superbis et debellare subjectos,
and their besetting sins are pusillanimity, indifference, and insouciance. On a discussion the other night about speaking on petitions, when the Speaker laid down the practice, which Lord John Russell supported with great earnestness, and which was opposed on Radical grounds by the Radicals, Stewart of the Treasury, and Vernon Smith, marched off and would not vote; and, instead of being reprimanded, Vernon Smith will probably be made Under Secretary of State.
[18] [Right Hon. Sir Francis Bond Head, who was Governor of Upper Canada at the time of the outbreak of the insurrection.]
February 17th, 1839
I dined at Lady Blessington’s yesterday, to meet Durham and Brougham; but, after all, the latter did not come, and the excuse he made was, that it was better not; and as he was taking, or going to take (we shall see), a GORE HOUSE. moderate course about Canada, it would impair his efficacy if the press were to trumpet forth, and comment on, his meeting with Durham. There was that sort of strange omnium gatherum party which is to be met with nowhere else, and which for that reason alone is curious. We had Prince Louis Napoleon and his A.D.C.[19] He is a short, thickish, vulgar-looking man, without the slightest resemblance to his Imperial uncle, or any intelligence in his countenance. Then we had the ex-Governor of Canada, Captain Marriott, the Count Alfred de Vigny (author of ‘Cinq Mars’ &c.), Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer, and a proper sprinkling of ordinary persons to mix up with these celebrities. In the evening, Forster, sub-editor of the ‘Examiner;’ Chorley, editor of the ‘Athenæum;’ Macready, and Charles Buller. Lady Blessington’s existence is a curiosity, and her house and society have at least the merit of being singular, though the latter is not so agreeable as from its composition it ought to be. There is no end to the men of consequence and distinction in the world who go there occasionally—Brougham, Lyndhurst, Abinger, Canterbury, Durham, and many others; all the minor poets, literati, and journalists, without exception, together with some of the highest pretensions. Moore is a sort of friend of hers; she has been very intimate with Byron, and is with Walter Savage Landor. Her house is furnished with a luxury and splendour not to be surpassed; her dinners are frequent and good; and D’Orsay does the honours with a frankness and cordiality which are very successful; but all this does not make society, in the real meaning of the term. There is a vast deal of coming and going, and eating and drinking, and a corresponding amount of noise, but little or no conversation, discussion, easy quiet interchange of ideas and opinions, no regular social foundation of men of intellectual or literary calibre ensuring a perennial flow of conversation, and which, if it existed, would derive strength and assistance from the light superstructure of occasional visitors, with the much or the little they might individually contribute. The reason of this is that the woman herself, who must give the tone to her own society, and influence its character, is ignorant, vulgar, and commonplace.[20] Nothing can be more dull and uninteresting than her conversation, which is never enriched by a particle of knowledge, or enlivened by a ray of genius or imagination. The fact of her existence as an authoress is an enigma, poor as her pretensions are; for while it is very difficult to write good books, it is not easy to compose even bad ones, and volumes have come forth under her name for which hundreds of pounds have been paid, because (Heaven only can tell how) thousands are found who will read them. Her ‘Works’ have been published in America, in one huge folio, where it seems they meet with peculiar success; and this trash goes down, because it is written by a Countess, in a country where rank is eschewed, and equality is the universal passion. They have (or some of them) been likewise translated into German; and if all this is not proof of literary merit, or at least of success, what is? It would be not uninteresting to trace this current of success to its source, and to lay bare all the springs of the machinery which sustains her artificial character as an authoress. The details of course form the mystery of her craft, but the general causes are apparent enough. First and foremost, her magnificent house and luxurious dinners; then the alliance offensive and defensive which she has contrived (principally through the means of said house and dinners) to establish with a host of authors, booksellers, and publishers, and above all with journalists. The first lend GORE HOUSE. her their assistance in composition, correction, or addition; with the second she manages to establish an interest and an interchange of services; and the last everlastingly puff her performances. Her name is eternally before the public; she produces those gorgeous inanities, called ‘Books of Beauty,’ and other trashy things of the same description, to get up which all the fashion and beauty, the taste and talent, of London are laid under contribution. The most distinguished artists and the best engravers supply the portraits of the prettiest women in London; and these are illustrated with poetical effusions of the smallest possible merit, but exciting interest and curiosity from the notoriety of their authors; and so, by all this puffing and stuffing, and untiring industry, and practising on the vanity of some, and the good-nature of others, the end is attained; and though I never met with any individual who had read any of her books, except the ‘Conversations with Byron,’ which are too good to be hers, they are unquestionably a source of considerable profit, and she takes her place confidently and complacently as one of the literary celebrities of her day.
[19] [The first mention of His Imperial Majesty Napoleon III., who was an habitué of Gore House, and well known to all who frequented it. The A.D.C. was M. de Persigny, who accompanied the Prince everywhere.]
[20] [Lady Blessington had a good deal more talent and reading than Mr. Greville gives her credit for. Several years of her agitated life were spent in the country in complete retirement, where she had no resources to fall back upon but a good library. She was well read in the best English authors, and even in translations of the classics; but the talent to which she owed her success in society was her incomparable tact and skill in drawing out the best qualities of her guests. What Mr. Greville terms her vulgarity might be more charitably described as her Irish cordiality and bonhomie. I have no doubt that her ‘Conversations with Lord Byron’ were entirely written by herself. It is true that, writing, as she did, to make money, many of her other books were exceedingly worthless.]