“Why will the Queen at Brighton make
So very, very short a stay?
Solely, of course, for Sponge’s sake,
Who cannot dine there every day.”
“Lord Sponge Melbourne” was a favourite form of address for him in the satiric papers.
However, the real fury did not burst around the Throne until some time after the Queen’s coronation, and it became a veritable hurricane after the troubles of 1839. Meanwhile Melbourne did his best, not only to guide Her Majesty and to educate her in statecraft, but to arrange the affairs of the realm as far as he could in the face of virulent opposition. There was really no justification for the comment made by The Times early in 1838 that Melbourne “was a mere dangler after the frivolous courtesies of the ball room and boudoir.”
In a conversation with her Prime Minister the Queen once told him that the first thing which had convinced her that he was worthy of her confidence was his conduct in the disputes at Kensington the year before concerning her suggested allowance. Then, though he knew that the King was near his end, and that he was offending the Duchess, who might soon be the most important person in the kingdom, he consistently took the King’s part, in face of that King’s disfavour. This the then silent but observant young Princess regarded as a proof of his honesty and determination to do what was right, and it is evident that she herself sided with the King on that occasion. Indeed, from the affection with which she always afterwards spoke of her uncle, it can hardly be doubted that she was with him in many of the quarrels which occurred. Greville says that when King William made that fierce attack on her mother at the Windsor banquet, and expressed his earnest hope that he might live to see the majority of his niece, “Victoria must have inwardly rejoiced at the expression of sentiments so accordant with her own.” But this is going too far, for though it may have been true concerning her concurrence with the King’s hope, it is most likely that in such a scene the girl’s feelings were those of terror, regret, and a passionate sympathy with her insulted mother. Afterwards that particular sentiment may have appealed to her, but scarcely at the time.
Many accounts are given by contemporary writers as to how the Queen’s evenings were spent in the first years of her reign, and they all tally with regard to the general details. Her semi-state entry into the drawing-room just before the announcement of dinner seems always to have commenced the evening. She would then shake hands with the women and bow to the men, speaking a few words to everyone. At the table Melbourne, when present, always sat on her left hand, and a foreign ambassador or, failing any such, the highest in rank present among the English, on the other. The men only stayed a quarter of an hour in the dining-room after the Queen rose, and were then expected in the drawing-room, where she always stood until they appeared. Then the Duchess of Kent would be settled at a whist table, and the Queen would marshal the other guests about a round table—Melbourne, the careless and easy, sitting bolt upright and keeping a guard upon his tongue, still at her left hand. There they all remained talking small talk until the band had finished its music, and the evening was at an end at about half-past eleven. How a man of the world like Melbourne could put up with that night after night it is difficult to say, for he might have been in any one of half a dozen other places where there was real conversation going on, and where he could have been at his ease.
Among Melbourne’s curious failings was a habit of talking to himself, a habit which grew with his years. He was once seen coming out of Brooks’s, saying emphatically, though unaccompanied by anyone, “I’ll be damned if I do it for you, my Lord.” One day Lord Hardwicke was writing in the library of the House of Lords, when Melbourne entered straight from a debate on the Non-Intrusion question in Scotland. The Prime Minister threw himself into a chair saying, “God bless me! What’s to be done now? I had only just settled that confounded Irish Church question, when earth yawns, and here comes up a devilish worse one about the Scotch Church.”
This peculiarity he seems to have successfully dropped when in the presence of Queen Victoria, even though he spent about six hours out of the twenty-four in her society. But there can be no doubt that he had a feeling of paternal affection for his young Sovereign, which led him to give up much for her sake. Some malicious writer tried to make a joke with a sting in it upon the Prime Minister and his constant attendance upon Victoria, heading it “Royal Quip.” It ran as follows:—“Some days ago the dinner-seeking Premier, on a drawing-room lounge, was endeavouring to render himself as amiable as possible to his Royal Mistress. Among other questions she was asked whether or not she had read Lady Blessington’s last charming work, ‘The Idler in Italy.’ Her reply was in the negative; ‘I know not,’ archly continued our youthful Sovereign, ‘what may have been the exploits of the Idler in Italy, but I am convinced that the Idler at Home is a great bore.’ Mel. instantly took leave of Her Majesty. We note, however, that matters have since been satisfactorily arranged, seeing that the Premier had his feet under the Royal mahogany on Wednesday last.”