Nothing can be more free from slander than the real Memoirs. I do not say that there are not occasional sallies of that gay and subtle malice which is so characteristic of M. de Talleyrand's wit. But there is nothing unkind, nothing insulting and less scandal than in any work of this kind. M. de Talleyrand treats women with respect or at least with politeness, restraint and indulgence though they have occupied so large a place in his social existence. It is clear that he is grateful for the charm which they have imparted to his life, and if some day serious persons find the Memoirs incomplete as history, and curious ones do not find all the revelations they expect, they may perhaps blame M. de Talleyrand's careless indolence; women at least will always be grateful to him for the good manners which inspired his reticence and deprived the cynical publicists of to-day of new weapons for calumny and evil speaking.
London, June 22, 1834. Sir Robert Peel with whom I dined yesterday pointed out to me that M. Dupin, who was also present, was much more like an American than a Frenchman. This is nearly the worst compliment which could be paid any one by an Englishman of good breeding. Sir Robert seemed to me to be in quite particularly good spirits. His careful questions about the members of the French Ministry, his insistence on his affection and admiration for M. de Talleyrand made me think that he had some idea in his mind that he would soon be in a position in which he would have direct dealings with them. I asked him whether he thought that Parliamentary manners and the tone of debate had changed since the Reform Bill was passed. He said they had up to a certain point, but that what had particularly struck him was the complete absence of any new talent, notwithstanding the accession of new members to the House of Commons.
I thought him at least as much pleased as surprised by this. He has certainly excellent reasons for not wishing that the old parliamentary celebrities should be effaced.
His house is one of the prettiest, best arranged, and best situated in London. It is full of fine pictures and valuable furniture, yet there is nothing pompous or ostentatious about it. Everything is in the best taste and nothing shows a trace of Sir Robert's humble origin. Lady Peel's modest but distinguished countenance, her quiet and amiable manner, the intelligent faces of the children, the wealth of flowers which shed their perfume through the house, the great balcony opening on the Thames, from which you can see both Westminster and St. Paul's—everything combines to make the general effect both complete and charming. Yesterday evening was fine and really hot, and the combined brilliance of a lovely moon and of the gaslight on so many bridges and buildings made one feel one's self anywhere rather than in foggy England.
London, June 23, 1834.—Lord Clanricarde, Mr. Canning's son-in-law has resigned his place in the Household because he is angry at not getting the Post Office which was given to Lord Conyngham.
The great Conservative dinner in the City the day before yesterday was signalised by the presence of the Duke of Richmond, and by his Grace's reply to the Lord Mayor when he proposed the toast of the Duke of Wellington and the Peers who were present. The Duke of Richmond made a sort of public profession of his attachment to Church and State, and when the Lord Mayor proposed the health of the Earl of Surrey, the eldest son of the Duke of Norfolk, who is a member of the House of Commons, but who is not a Conservative and who is a Catholic, the Earl replied that he was convinced that the House of Commons would not be behind the Upper Chamber in maintaining the Church, yes, the Church and the ancient constitution of the realm. The cheering was immense.
Everything, it seems, tends to bring Mr. Stanley and Sir Robert Peel closer and closer together. It is hoped that this alliance, already far advanced, will bring about the fall of the present Cabinet, but a sharp transition is not desired, for that might frighten John Bull who doesn't like Coalition Cabinets.
London, June 25, 1834.—In the large provincial towns of England there are every year what are called "Musical festivals." At these as a rule the great oratorios are given, and celebrated artists from all countries are engaged at great expense. These festivals last for several days; all the smart people from the various parts of the county come into the town where the music is performed in the churches in the mornings, the evenings being given up to diversions of a more worldly character. Next to horse racing these functions draw the greatest crowds.
In London a festival takes place only every fifty years, and yesterday was one of these anniversaries. The whole Court was present in state and will be on the three remaining days. Westminster Abbey was full, and, though less imposing than at the King's coronation, the spectacle was even more brilliant. The arrangements were excellent; there was no crowding or embarrassment; everything went very well. The number of musicians, vocal and instrumental, was enormous—seven hundred in all. Unfortunately the Abbey is so high, and constructed on principles so detrimental to all musical effect, that the prodigious numbers of voices and instruments which, it was said, was enough to bring down the building, hardly filled it. One felt this particularly during the first part of Haydn's Creation. Handel's Samson, a broader and more powerful composition, was more suited to the circumstances of the occasion. The Funeral March made a deep impression on me and the final air sung by Miss Stevens with a trumpet obbligato was very fine. But the general effect was marred by the great mistake of placing the singers so low that their voices were lost before they could rise to the roof, there to find the point from which they could re-echo. I think the organ is the only instrument which can sufficiently fill a great cathedral. In such a place all the orchestras in the world sound thin and incongruous, and I was sorry yesterday that the organ was not used in the concerted pieces as it would have made the effect richer and more impressive. I even felt that this concert music was out of place in a church. It was like the effect of an academic panegyric, however beautiful and noble, being pronounced in a pulpit instead of a funeral sermon.
London, June 26, 1834.—A propos of certain of our countrymen M. de Talleyrand remarked yesterday: "It is extraordinary how much talent vanity consumes." Nothing can be truer, especially as he applied it.