Mellish of the Foreign Office told me the other day that Lord Malmesbury had one very good quality, firmness; that his firmness brought about the settlement of the Danish Question, and in the office he was evidently resolved to maintain his own authority. He said he had seen Malmesbury put down——with great tact, when the other showed a disposition to take upon himself. The fact is, he is not an incapable man at all, though inexperienced to the greatest degree.
August 31st.—To Brocket with Clarendon on Saturday, and came back yesterday. Before I went, I saw Graham, and found him fully persuaded that a change is about to take place in the Government, which, if it occurs, he fancies he has indirectly been instrumental in bringing about. He said that Goulburn came to him the other day and told him Walpole, who is a great friend of Goulburn's, is very sick of his office, and annoyed at the mess he has got into about the Militia; that he wanted very much to be Solicitor-General originally, and that he now finds himself thrown out of his profession of the law, and holding a situation which he may lose any day. Graham said, Why does not he take the vacant Vice-Chancellorship? and Derby may offer the Home Secretaryship to Palmerston, who is the man (if any can) to get them out of the Militia difficulty. Goulburn seemed to catch at this suggestion, and Graham has no doubt he suggested it to Walpole; and he has entirely persuaded himself that the arrangement will take place. He says Disraeli would concede the lead to Palmerston, and as Palmerston would only join on Protection being formally abandoned, it would give Derby a capital opportunity of giving it up and of satisfying his party by giving them Palmerston, and with him a secure tenure of office. He says, if Palmerston joined, Gladstone would probably follow, and then they would have a strong Government; all the Conservatives opposed to Reform would rally round it, and they would be able to go on. Clarendon and I talked it over, and without arriving at Graham's conclusions, we both agreed that this arrangement was not improbable. It seems to be the interest both of Derby and Palmerston to make it; and if Protection should be given up, there appears no difference between them, for Palmerston is a strenuous Anti-Reformer. It seems John Russell has written to Graham in the same terms as to Clarendon, and said he would not propose any disfranchisement without the assent of his Whig friends. Graham sent him a letter of Joe Parke's in which that worthy said the Radicals were well disposed towards Lord John, and he sketched the sort of Reform Bill that ought to be proposed, to which Lord John wrote rather a lofty answer, and in a more peremptory style than Graham liked. The truth is he is in this fix, that he cannot do much without offending the Whigs, nor little without alienating the Radicals; nor do I see how this difficulty is to be got over.
DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.
London, September 18th.—It was at Doncaster on Wednesday morning last that I heard of the Duke of Wellington's death, which at first nobody believed, but they speedily telegraphed to London, and the answer proved that the report was correct. Doncaster was probably the only place in the kingdom where the sensation caused by this event was not absorbing and profound; but there, on the morning of the St. Leger, most people were too much occupied with their own concerns to bestow much thought or lamentation on this great national loss. Everywhere else the excitement and regret have been unexampled, and the press has been admirable, especially the 'Times,' the biographical notice and article in which paper were both composed many months ago, and shown to me. Indeed the notices of the Duke and the characters drawn of him have been so able and elaborate in all the newspapers, that they leave little or nothing to be said. Still, there were minute traits of character and peculiarities about the Duke which it was impossible for mere public writers and men personally unacquainted with him to seize, but the knowledge and appreciation of which are necessary in order to form a just and complete conception of the man. In spite of some foibles and faults, he was, beyond all doubt, a very great man—the only great man of the present time—and comparable, in point of greatness, to the most eminent of those who have lived before him. His greatness was the result of a few striking qualities—a perfect simplicity of character without a particle of vanity or conceit, but with a thorough and strenuous self-reliance, a severe truthfulness, never misled by fancy or exaggeration, and an ever-abiding sense of duty and obligation which made him the humblest of citizens and most obedient of subjects. The Crown never possessed a more faithful, devoted, and disinterested subject. Without personal attachment to any of the monarchs whom he served, and fully understanding and appreciating their individual merits and demerits, he alike reverenced their great office in the persons of each of them, and would at any time have sacrificed his ease, his fortune, or his life, to serve the Sovereign and the State. Passing almost his whole life in command and authority, and regarded with universal deference and submission, his head was never turned by the exalted position he occupied, and there was no duty, however humble, he would not have been ready to undertake at the bidding of his lawful superiors, whose behests he would never have hesitated to obey. Notwithstanding his age and his diminished strength, he would most assuredly have gone anywhere and have accepted any post in which his personal assistance might have been essential to the safety or advantage of the realm. He had more pride in obeying than in commanding, and he never for a moment considered that his great position and elevation above all other subjects released him from the same obligation which the humblest of them acknowledged. He was utterly devoid of personal and selfish ambition, and there never was a man whose greatness was so thrust upon him. It was in this dispassionate unselfishness, and sense of duty and moral obligation, that he was so superior to Napoleon Bonaparte, who, with more genius and fertility of invention, was the slave of his own passions, unacquainted with moral restraint, indifferent to the well-being and happiness of his fellow-creatures; and who in pursuit of any objects at which his mind grasped trampled under foot without remorse or pity all divine and human laws, and bore down every obstacle and scorned every consideration which opposed themselves to his absolute and despotic will. The Duke was a good-natured, but not an amiable man; he had no tenderness in his disposition, and never evinced much affection for any of his relations. His nature was hard, and he does not appear to have had any real affection for anybody, man or woman, during the latter years of his life, since the death of Mrs. Arbuthnot, to whom he probably was attached, and in whom he certainly confided. Domestic enjoyment he never possessed, and, as his wife was intolerable to him, though he always kept on decent terms with her, at least, ostensibly, he sought the pleasure of women's society in a variety of capricious liaisons, from which his age took off all scandal: these he took up or laid aside and changed as fancy and inclination prompted him. His intimate friends and adherents used to smile at these senile engouements, but sometimes had to regret the ridicule to which they would have exposed him if a general reverence and regard had not made him a privileged person, and permitted him to do what no other man could have done with impunity. In his younger days he was extremely addicted to gallantry, and had great success with women, of whom one in Spain gained great influence over him, and his passion for whom very nearly involved him in serious difficulties. His other ladies did little more than amuse his idle hours and subserve his social habits, and with most of them his liaisons were certainly very innocent. He had been very fond of Grassini, and the successful lover of some women of fashion, whose weaknesses have never been known, though perhaps suspected. These habits of female intimacy and gossip led him to take a great interest in a thousand petty affairs, in which he delighted to be mixed up and consulted. He was always ready to enter into any personal matters, intrigues, or quarrels, political or social difficulties, and to give his advice, which generally (though not invariably) was very sound and good; but latterly he became morose and inaccessible, and cursed and swore at the people who sought to approach him, even on the most serious and necessary occasions.
CHARACTERISTICS OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.
Although the Duke's mind was still very vigorous, and he wrote very good papers on the various subjects which were submitted for his judgement and opinion, his prejudices had become so much stronger and more unassailable, that he gave great annoyance and a good deal of difficulty to the Ministers who had to transact business with him. He was opposed to almost every sort of change and reform in the military administration, and it was a task of no small difficulty to steer between the exigencies of public opinion and his objections and resistance. As it was always deemed an object to keep him in good humour, and many considerations forbade anything like a dissension with him, or an appeal against him to the public, the late Ministers often acted, or refrained from acting, in deference to his opinions and against their own, and took on themselves all the responsibility of maintaining his views and measures, even when they thought he was wrong. His habits were latterly very solitary, and after the death of Arbuthnot he had no intimacy with any one, nor any friend to whom he could talk freely and confidentially. As long as Arbuthnot lived he confided everything to him, and those who wished to communicate with the Duke almost always did so through him.
Notwithstanding the friendly and eulogistic terms in which he spoke of Sir Robert Peel just after his death, it is very certain that the Duke disliked him, and during the latter part of their Administration he seldom had any communication with Peel except such as passed through Arbuthnot. The Duke deeply resented, and I believe never heartily forgave, Peel's refusal to have anything to do with the Administration he so unwisely undertook to form on Lord Grey's sudden resignation in 1832, in the middle of the Reform contest; but this did not prevent his advising King William to make Peel Prime Minister, and taking office under him in 1835, and again in 1841. They acted together very harmoniously during Peel's Administration, but the Duke (though he sided with Sir Robert when the schism took place) in his heart bitterly lamented and disapproved his course about the Repeal of the Corn Laws, not so much from aversion to Free Trade as because it produced a fresh and final break-up of the Conservative party, which he considered the greatest evil which could befall the country. But whatever may have been his real sentiments with regard to various public men, he never allowed any partialities or antipathies to appear in his manner or behaviour towards them, and he was always courteous, friendly, and accessible to all, especially those in office, who had recourse to him for his advice and opinion. He had all his life been long accustomed to be consulted, and he certainly liked it till the last, and was pleased with the marks of deference and attention which were continually paid to him.
THE DUKE'S GENEROSITY AND INDEPENDENCE.
His position was eminently singular and exceptional, something between the Royal Family and other subjects. He was treated with greater respect than any individual not of Royal birth, and the whole Royal Family admitted him to a peculiar and exclusive familiarity and intimacy in their intercourse with him, which, while he took it in the easiest manner, and as if naturally due to him, he never abused or presumed upon. No man was more respectful or deferential towards the Sovereign and other Royal personages, but at the same time he always gave them his opinions and counsels with perfect frankness and sincerity, and never condescended to modify them to suit their prejudices or wishes. Upon every occasion of difficulty, public or private, he was always appealed to, and he was always ready to come forward and give his assistance and advice in his characteristic, plain, and straightforward manner. If he had written his own memoirs, he might have given to the world the most curious history of his own times that ever was composed, but he was the last man to deal in autobiography. One of his peculiarities was never to tell anybody where he was going, and when my brother or his own sons wished to be acquainted with his intentions, they were obliged to apply to the housekeeper, to whom he was in the habit of making them known, and nobody ever dared to ask him any questions on the subject. He was profuse but careless and indiscriminating in his charities, and consequently he was continually imposed upon, especially by people who pretended to have served under him, or to be the descendants or connexions of those who had, and it was very difficult to restrain his disposition to send money to every applicant who approached him under that pretence. Partly from a lofty feeling of independence and disinterestedness, and partly from indifference, he was a very bad patron to his relations and adherents, and never would make any applications for their benefit. The consequence was that he was not an object of affection, even to those who looked up to him with profound veneration and respect. He held popularity in great contempt, and never seemed touched or pleased at the manifestations of popular admiration and attachment of which he was the object. Whenever he appeared in public he was always surrounded by crowds of people, and when he walked abroad everybody who met him saluted him; but he never seemed to notice the curiosity or the civilities which his presence elicited.