M. de Talleyrand took leave of the King the day before yesterday. The King was very gracious to him and to me, regretting that in the absence of the Queen his bachelor establishment prevented him from asking me to Windsor, where he would have been charmed to see me before I left. This is more courteous than correct, for the Princess Augusta is doing the honours of the Castle; ladies have been invited, among others Lady Grey and her daughter. But it is nicely put and in Society that is all one has a right to ask.
The King talked much about the seriousness of the situation and observed that the cards were well shuffled, on which M. de Talleyrand replied, "for our part, sir, we play with our cards on Your Majesty's table."
London, August 9, 1834.—I know nothing more embarrassing for a host than obvious mutual hostility at close quarters among his guests. Yesterday we thought we had escaped the Chancellor, but he came at dessert and prolonged our dinner, eating much at his ease in his usual dirty manner. As he ate he talked, helping himself to all subjects, as he did to all the dishes, without stopping and without restraint. We suffered agonies, especially on account of Lord and Lady Grey, and, in fact, he put us all out completely, and increased, if possible, the contempt and loathing that I feel for him.
Lord John Russell, who was dining with us, is also a little Radical, but at least he has his father's good taste and good breeding.
Speaking of popularity and of the trouble which great people should take for the less exalted classes of Society, Lord John told me yesterday that nothing could overcome the Duke of Bedford's hatred of the lesser people with whom he is surrounded. One day his steward suggested that some of them should be asked to dinner and the Duke refused. The man of business said, "But Your Grace, this civility will perhaps save you fifteen thousand pounds at next election." "Perhaps," replied the Duke, "but if by spending money I can save myself boredom and annoyance I consider it well spent. I will pay the fifteen thousand pounds, but I will not give the dinner." Yet the Duke of Bedford is very free handed, very charitable, and undertakes works on a considerable scale solely in order to give employment to the poor. However, he is not popular, and the wounded vanity of the middle classes has more weight than the gratitude of the indigent whose necessities he has relieved.
Lord and Lady Grey and their family, having, as they said, need of change of scene and surroundings, wanted to come and pay us a visit in France. But the sort of triumphal progress which would have awaited Lord Grey there struck terror into the present Ministry, who would have shrunk from the comparison of the honour done to their victim and the contempt under which they themselves languish. So Lord Grey was persuaded that if he went to France now it would look as if he went on purpose to secure an ovation, which would be an improper thing to do. Thus we shall not have the pleasure of seeing him, which I regret on his account, as I fear that in his present irritable and painful mood he may suffer real harm from solitude and ennui, and his wife also, for she is even more deeply wounded than he is himself. Lord Grey has worn himself out, morally and physically, with his labours. How much better it would have been if he had resigned six weeks sooner—at the same time as the four really distinguished and honourable members of the Cabinet? He would then have marched out with all the honours of war instead of laying down his arms!
Every one is bitten with the taste for travel, and the Lord Chancellor, like the rest, had planned a holiday to be spent in a picturesque and amorous pilgrimage on the banks of the Rhine in the train of Mrs. Peter. But it seems from what he told me yesterday himself that the King would not allow him. Since Lord Clarendon's time no Chancellor of England has quitted the country, and the precedent is not a happy one, for Lord Clarendon only went on his travels because his master was in flight. Others say that the King has nothing to do with the change in Lord Brougham's plans, but that the necessity of paying fourteen hundred pounds out of his salary to arrange for a Commission of the Seals in his absence is the real reason why he is not going.
London, August 11, 1834.—Lord Palmerston has given us a farewell dinner. This is in his line; he loves to speed the parting guest. But he did not take much trouble about it. Besides several diplomatists of the second order there was no one there but Mrs. Peter—not a single person of eminence in English Society, no one of those who are known to be our friends. It was done as a duty, or, perhaps as an atonement—nothing more. Perhaps he hates the Lievens more than he does us, but he intends to advertise equally his contempt for both.
A propos of the Flahauts, he put in an attempt at an explanation of his never accepting a single one of our invitations. On this subject, half laughingly and half bitterly, I told him a few home-truths, which went off very well. There were many hints and double meanings and sly digs in our conversation, which reminded me of those that take place at the Opera ball, where the thought is all the freer for the appearance being veiled and dissimulated. I amused myself by frightening the "young man," as Madame de Lieven called him. He thought it necessary to pretend to be most desirous of our prompt return; I took him at his word, and said that I went further, and that in my opinion M. de Talleyrand should not go away at all. He then looked very foolish and went off on the other tack, saying that a change of air was necessary and, in fact, indispensable; that one required refreshment, both physical and mental—in short, all he wanted was to see the last of us.
I looked at him closely yesterday. It is seldom that a man has a face so expressive of his character. The eyes are hard and pale, the nose turned up and impertinent. His smile is bitter, his laugh forced. There is no dignity, or frankness, or correctness either in his features or his build. His conversation is dry, but, I confess, not wanting in wit. He has on him a stamp of obstinacy, arrogance, and treachery, which I believe to be an exact reflection of his real character.