[1] [Mr. William Harcourt published a pamphlet at this time on 'The Morality of Public Men,' in which he censured with great severity the conduct of the late Ministers.]
[2] [Lord Naas was Chief Secretary for Ireland, and Sir Joseph Napier Attorney-General for Ireland, in Lord Derby's Administration of 1852. Lord Eglinton was Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and the Right Hon. Francis Blackburne Irish Lord Chancellor.]
[3] [A singularly unfortunate prediction! The alliance of Lord Derby and Mr. Disraeli remained unbroken, and continued long enough to enable them (after a second failure) to bring the Conservative party back to power.]
DEATH OF LORD BEAUVALE.
January 30th.—Yesterday morning Frederic Lamb, Lord Beauvale and Melbourne, with whom both titles cease, died at Brocket after a short but severe attack of influenza, fever, and gout. He was in his seventy-first year. Lady Palmerston thus becomes a rich heiress. He was not so remarkable a man in character as his brother William, less peculiar and eccentric, more like other people, with much less of literary acquirement, less caustic humour and pungent wit, but he had a vigorous understanding, great quickness, a good deal of general information, he was likewise well versed in business and public affairs, and a very sensible and intelligent converser and correspondent. He took a deep and lively interest in politics to the last moment of his life, was insatiably curious about all that was going on, and was much confided in and consulted by many people of very different parties and opinions. He never was in Parliament, but engaged all his life in a diplomatic career, for which he was very well fitted, having been extremely handsome in his youth, and always very clever, agreeable, and adroit. He consequently ran it with great success, and was in high estimation at Vienna, where his brother-in-law, Palmerston, sent him as Ambassador. He was always much addicted to gallantry, and had endless liaisons with women, most of whom continued to be his friends long after they had ceased to be his mistresses, much to the credit of all parties. After having led a very free and dissolute life, he had the good fortune at sixty years old, and with a broken and enfeebled constitution, to settle (as it is called), by marrying a charming girl of twenty, the daughter of the Prussian Minister at Vienna, Count Maltzahn. This Adine, who was content to unite her May to his December, was to him a perfect angel, devoting her youthful energies to sustain and cheer his valetudinarian existence with a cheerful unselfishness, which he repaid by a grateful and tender affection, having an air at once marital and paternal. She never cared to go anywhere, gave up all commerce with the world and all its amusements and pleasures, contenting herself with such society as it suited him to gather about them, his old friends and some new ones, to whom she did the honours with infinite grace and cordiality, and who all regarded her with great admiration and respect. In such social intercourse, in political gossip, and in her untiring attentions, his last years glided away, not without enjoyment. He and his brother William had always been on very intimate terms, and William highly prized his advice and opinions; but as Frederic was at heart a Tory, and had a horror of Radicalism in every shape, he was not seldom disgusted with the conduct of the Whig Government, and used sorely to perplex and mortify William by his free and severe strictures on him and his colleagues. He nominally belonged to the Liberal party, but in reality he was strongly Conservative, and he always dreaded the progress of democracy, though less disturbed than he would otherwise have been by reflecting that no material alteration could possibly overtake him. His most intimate friends abroad were the Metternichs and Madame de Lieven, and his notions of foreign policy were extremely congenial to theirs. Here, his connexions all lying with people of the Liberal side, he had nothing to do with the Tories, for most of whom he entertained great contempt. Brougham, Ellice, and myself were the men he was most intimate with. He was very fond of his sister, but never much liked Palmerston, and was bitterly opposed to his policy when he was at the Foreign Office, which was a very sore subject between himself and them, and for a long time, and on many occasions, embittered or interrupted their intercourse; but as he was naturally affectionate, had a very good temper, and loved an easy life, such clouds were always soon dispersed, and no permanent estrangement ever took place. He was largely endowed with social merits and virtues, without having or affecting any claim to those of a higher or moral character. I have no doubt he was much more amiable as an old man than he ever had been when he was a young one; and though the death of one so retired from the world can make little or no sensation in it, except as being the last of a remarkable family, he will be sincerely regretted, and his loss will be sensibly felt by the few who enjoyed the intimacy of his declining years.
LADY BEAUVALE.
February 8th.—Yesterday I went to see the unhappy Lady Beauvale, and, apart from the sorrow of witnessing so much bodily and mental suffering, it is really a singular and extraordinary case. Here is a woman thirty-two years old, and therefore in the prime of life, who has lost a husband of seventy-one deprived of the use of his limbs, and whom she had nursed for ten years, the period of their union, with the probable or possible fatal termination of his frequent attacks of gout constantly before her eyes, and she is not merely plunged in great grief at the loss she has sustained, but in a blank and hopeless despair, which in its moral and physical effects seriously menaces her own existence. She is calm, reasonable and docile, talks of him and his illness without any excitement, and is ready to do everything that her friends advise; but she is earnestly desirous to die, considers her sole business on earth as finished, and talks as if the prolongation of her own life could only be an unmitigated evil and intolerable burden, and that no ray of hope was left for her of any possibility of happiness or even peace and ease for the future. She is in fact brokenhearted, and that for a man old enough to be her grandfather and a martyr to disease and infirmity; but to her he was everything; she had consecrated her life to the preservation of his, and she kept his vital flame alive with the unwearied watching of a Vestal priestess. She had made him an object and an idol round which all the feelings and even passion of an affectionate heart had entwined themselves, till at last she had merged her very existence in his, and only lived in, with, and for him. She saw and felt that he enjoyed life, and she made it her object to promote and prolong this enjoyment. 'Why,' she says, 'could I not save him now, as I saved him heretofore?' and not having been able to do so, she regards her own life as utterly useless and unnecessary, and only hopes to be relieved of it that she may (as she believes and expects) be enabled to join him in some other world.[1]
[1] [She lived, however, and married Lord Forester, en secondes noces, in 1856.]
February 9th.—Yesterday Clarendon told me a curious thing about the Emperor Napoleon and his marriage, which came in a roundabout way, but which no doubt is true. Madame de Montijo's most intimate friend is the Marchioness of Santa Cruz, and to her she wrote an account of what had passed about her daughter's marriage and the Emperor's proposal to her. When he offered her marriage, she expressed her sense of the greatness of the position to which he proposed to raise her. He replied, 'It is only fair that I should set before you the whole truth, and let you know that if the position is very high, it is also perhaps very dangerous and insecure.' He then represented to her in detail all the dangers with which he was environed, his unpopularity with the higher classes, the malveillance of the Great Powers, the possibility of his being any day assassinated at her side, his popularity indeed with the masses, but the fleeting character of their favour, but above all the existence of a good deal of disaffection and hostility in the army, the most serious thing of all. If this latter danger, he said, were to become more formidable, he knew very well how to avert it by a war; and though his earnest desire was to maintain peace, if no other means of self-preservation should remain, he should not shrink from that, which would at once rally the whole army to one common feeling. All this he told her with entire frankness, and without concealing the perils of his position, or his sense of them, and it is one of the most creditable traits I have ever heard of him. It was, of course, calculated to engage and attach any woman of high spirit and generosity, and it seems to have had that effect upon her. It is, however, curious in many ways; it reveals a sense of danger that is not apparently suspected, and his consciousness of it; and it shows how, in spite of a sincere wish to maintain peace, he may be driven to make war as a means of self-preservation, and therefore how entirely necessary it is that we should be on our guard, and not relax our defensive preparations. I was sure from the conversations I had with M. de Flahault at Beaudesert, that he feels the Emperor's situation to be one of insecurity and hazard. He said that it remained to be seen whether it was possible that a Government could be maintained permanently in France on the principle of the total suppression of civil and political liberty, which had the support of the masses, but which was abhorred and opposed by all the elevated and educated classes. The limbs of the body politic are with the Emperor, and the head against him.
February 11th.—Parliament met again last night. Lord Derby threw off in the Lords by asking Lord Aberdeen what the Government meant to do, which Aberdeen awkwardly and foolishly enough declined to give any answer to. The scene was rather ridiculous, and not creditable, I think, to Aberdeen. He is unfortunately a very bad speaker at all times, and, what is worse in a Prime Minister, has no readiness whatever. Lord Lansdowne would have made a very pretty and dexterous flourish, and answered the question. Lord John did announce in the House of Commons what the Government mean to do and not to do, but they say he did it ill, and it was very flat, not a brilliant throw-off at all.