Monday, Jan. 4.—At luncheon, Mr. Gladstone recalled the well-known story of Talleyrand on the death of Napoleon. The news was brought when T. chanced to be dining with Wellington. “Quel événement!” they all cried. “Non, ce n'est pas un événement,” said Talleyrand, “c'est une nouvelle”—'Tis no event, 'tis a piece of news. “Imagine such a way,” said Mr. G., “of taking the disappearance of that colossal man! Compare it with the opening of Manzoni's ode, which makes the whole earth stand still. Yet both points of view are right. In one sense, the giant's death was only news; in another, when we think of his history, it was enough to shake the world.” At the moment, he could not recall Manzoni's words, but at dinner he told me that he had succeeded in piecing them together, and after dinner he went to his room and wrote them down for me on a piece of paper. Curiously enough, he could not recall the passage in his own splendid translation.[295]
Talk about handsome men of the past; Sidney Herbert one of the handsomest and most attractive. But the Duke of Hamilton bore away the palm, as glorious as a Greek god. “One day in Rotten Row, I said this to the Duchess of C. She set up James Hope-Scott against my Duke. No doubt he had an intellectual element which the Duke lacked.” Then we discussed the best-looking man in the H. of C. to-day....
Duke of Wellington.—Somebody was expatiating on the incomparable position of the Duke; his popularity with kings, with nobles, with common people. Mr. G. remembered [pg 486] that immediately after the formation of Canning's government in 1827, when it was generally thought that he had been most unfairly and factiously treated (as Mr. G. still thinks, always saving Peel) by the Duke and his friends, the Duke made an expedition to the north of England, and had an overwhelming reception. Of course, he was then only twelve years from Waterloo, and yet only four or five years later he had to put up his iron shutters.
Approved a remark that a friend of ours was not simple enough, not ready enough to take things as they come.
Mr. G.—Unless a man has a considerable gift for taking things as they come, he may make up his mind that political life will be sheer torment to him. He must meet fortune in all its moods.
Tuesday, Jan. 5.—After dinner to-day, Mr. G. extraordinarily gay. He had bought a present of silver for his wife. She tried to guess the price, and after the manner of wives in such a case, put the figure provokingly low. Mr. G. then put on the deprecating air of the tradesman with wounded feelings—and it was as capital fun as we could desire. That over, he fell to his backgammon with our host.
Wednesday, Jan. 6.—Mrs. Gladstone eighty to-day! What a marvel....
Léon Say called to see Mr. G. Long and most interesting conversation about all sorts of aspects of French politics, the concordat, the schools, and all the rest of it.
He illustrated the ignorance of French peasantry as to current affairs. Thiers, long after he had become famous, went on a visit to his native region; and there met a friend of his youth. “Eh bien,” said his friend, “tu as fait ton chemin.” “Mais oui, j'ai fait un peu mon chemin. J'ai été ministre même.” “Ah, tiens! je ne savais pas que tu étais protestant.”
I am constantly struck by his solicitude for the well-being and right doing of Oxford and Cambridge—“the two eyes of the country.” This connection between the higher education and the general movement of the national mind engages his profound attention, and no doubt deserves such attention [pg 487]