I sat next the Chancellor at the Duchess-Countess of Sutherland's dinner. He was very genial, and invited me to drink the toast of the day, the 14th of July. "At dessert," I replied, well knowing that his restless mind would forget all about it. As a matter of fact, the matter quite slipped his memory. I could not, in any case, have drunk the toast, for this date, which has already such unhappy associations, was certainly not purified yesterday.
The Chancellor asked me if I had seen Lord Grey and if I was not struck with his simplicity, which he said was such that he could conceal, dissemble and contain nothing. "He is a child in candour and thoughtlessness, and he yields to the impressions of every moment." "His is a very noble nature," I replied. "Yes, yes, no doubt," said he, "it is the nature of a very nice child, which reminds me that Mr. Hare, a friend of Mr. Fox as well as of Fitzpatrick and Grey, used always to call him 'Baby Grey.'"
There is no doubt that Don Carlos is gone. Some say he embarked on the Thames when he was supposed to be at the Opera, and that he will land in Spain at one of the points where he is supposed to have a following. Others, and among them M. de Miraflorès, say that he has gone viâ France; that M. Calomarde managed the whole thing from Paris, instigated by him (Miraflorès) in order to entrap Don Carlos. Anyhow, he is gone, and whatever be the result of his enterprise it cannot be without effect.
London, July 16, 1834.—Lord Melbourne's successor at the Home Office is known; it is Lord Duncannon, who has been transferred from the Woods and Forests, which he leaves to Sir John Cam-Hobhouse. The latter is celebrated for his friendship with Lord Byron, his Eastern travels, and his very liberal opinions, in which, however, he is less extreme than Lord Duncannon, who is said to be quite violent. This shows that the Cabinet has taken on a more decidedly revolutionary character.
Yesterday it was certain that Don Carlos had left London; to-day his arrival in Spain is equally beyond doubt. The Tories say he has got to Navarre after having crossed all France; and this, too, is the version of M. de Miraflorès, who now perhaps regrets having boasted of having deceived the Prince and surrounded him with spies who were to deliver him up to the first Spanish outpost, while as a matter of fact he has arrived safe and sound among his own people, by whom, it is said, he has been enthusiastically received.
The English Ministry yesterday admitted knowing of Don Carlos's arrival in Spain, which is believed to have taken place on the 9th, but they say that he landed at a port in Biscaya attended only by a single Frenchman, and that his partisans eagerly welcomed him. It is asserted that he only went to Spain because the Northern provinces invited him, and threatened that they would declare their independence and constitute themselves a Republic if their natural leader did not come to them. It is clear that there must have been great hopes on the one hand and much to lose on the other before a man so timid and so incapable as Don Carlos could have been persuaded to run such a risk. Moreover, his conversation with the Duke of Wellington, which I set down above, shows that his mind has for several weeks been occupied with this plan of going to Spain.
London, July 17, 1834.—The friends of the new Ministry are wearing themselves out with assertions that the policy of the French alliance will not be altered in any way. I believe this is true; but, in the interests of both countries, I should have preferred that the alliance had been founded on social order and had not depended for its continuance on revolutionary sympathies, which give just cause for anxiety to the rest of Europe, and may bring about conflicts in which it would be difficult to predict who will be the victor.
We are more and more decided to return to France immediately after Parliament rises, and perhaps even sooner.
Our more distant future is not yet to be foreseen, but Lord Grey's example is another proof that the great figures of history should themselves choose the circumstances of their retirement, and should not wait till it is imposed upon them by the mistakes or the perfidy of others.
Yesterday we received the two first volumes of a book, entitled M. de Talleyrand. I have hardly looked at it, but M. de Talleyrand has read it. He says that nothing could be more stupid, false, tedious, and ill-imagined, and that he would not pay five shillings to have it suppressed. I admit that I am less philosophic, and that on occasions of this sort—which in a libellous age like ours are so numerous—I always remember a saying of La Bruyère's, which seems to me remarkably true. "Excessive calumny," he says, "like excessive praise, always leaves a trace behind." As a matter of fact, the world is divided into the foolish and the malevolent, and so there are always people who will believe what is improbable, especially about an opponent.