Sunday, 18th September.—Baron Moncorvo brought yesterday the distressing news that the same unfortunate revolution which took place in Spain, has likewise taken place in Portugal, and that the Queen was forced to proclaim the constitution of 1820 similar to the one of 1812.[239] It happened between Friday the 9th and Saturday the 10th, in the night. I do so feel for poor dear Ferdinand in this trying moment, as also for the poor good Queen. The difference between this and the one in Spain was: that in Portugal they behaved respectfully towards dear Ferdinand and Donna Maria, and in Spain they almost insulted the Queen Regent. In Portugal, thank God! no blood has been shed. As soon as the Empress heard what had happened, or rather what would happen, she hastened to the Palace de Necessidades, where Ferdinand and the Queen were, arrived there at 3 o’clock in the night, and remained there till all was over. The Princess Isabella, the Queen’s Aunt (and the former Regent), also came and remained with them. Uncle Leopold was much shocked and distressed when he heard it, as were we also, I am sure.... Dear Uncle came up for a minute and brought us 3 letters which Van de Weyer had written to him, giving a detailed account of these horrid transactions at Lisbon. Van de Weyer’s conduct throughout this dreadful business, when everybody else seems to have lost their heads and senses, was most courageous, prudent and judicious; and if his and Ferdinand’s advice had been followed, the Queen would not have been obliged to sign the Promulgation of the Constitution of 1820. Van de Weyer says that all was given up “avec la plus affreuse lâcheté!” without a struggle or attempt, when all might yet have been saved....
Wednesday, 21st September.— ... Dear Uncle came up and fetched us down to breakfast, as he has done already once before, and twice for dinner. He always accompanied us upstairs when we went to bed. It was our last breakfast with him; I sat, as usual, near him and General Goblet.[240] To hear dear Uncle speak on any subject is like reading a highly instructive book; his conversation is so enlightened, so clear. He is universally admitted to be one of the first politicians now extant. He speaks so mildly, yet firmly and impartially, about Politics. Uncle tells me that Belgium is quite a pattern for its organisation, industry and prosperity; the finances are in the greatest perfection. Uncle is so beloved and revered by his Belgian subjects, that it must be a great compensation for all his extreme trouble. He is so mild, gentle and kind, and so clever and firm....
Mme Malibran
from recollection
P.V. del. Bentest[?]
Sept. 1836.
MADAME MALIBRAN.
From a sketch by Princess Victoria.
Monday, 26th September.— ... Read in the Morning Post of today the melancholy and almost incredible news of the death of—Malibran![241] which took place at Manchester on Friday night at 12 o’clock, at the early age of 28. She had gone there for the festival which took place the week before last, and only sang on Tuesday the 13th instant, and tried to do so on the Wednesday but was unable, after which she was taken so alarmingly ill that all singing was over. On Saturday the account in the papers was that she was out of danger, but the improvement was only transient and on Friday night this wonderful singer and extraordinary person was no more. She will be, and is, a very great loss indeed; for, though I liked and admired Grisi by far more than Malibran, I admired many parts of the latter’s singing very much, in particular those touching and splendid low notes which gave one quite a thrill. In point of cleverness and genius there is not a doubt that Malibran far surpassed Grisi; for she was not proficient alone in singing and acting, she knew Spanish (her own language), Italian, French, English, and German perfectly, as also various Italian patois. She composed very prettily, drew well, rode well on horseback, danced beautifully, and enfin climbed well, as General Alava told us, who knew her very well; he said you could speak with her on any subject and she was equally à son aise. She was born in 1808 at Paris, and is the daughter of a famous Spanish singer called Garcia; she married first an old French merchant called Malibran, from whom she was divorced; and secondly this spring the incomparable violinist De Bériot. Mamma saw her make her debut as Maria Garcia, only 16 years old, in Il Crociato, at the Italian Opera in London, as “un giovinetto Cavalier.” There is something peculiarly awful and striking in the death of this great Cantatrice, undoubtedly the second in the world, (Grisi being the first in my opinion). To be thus cut off in the bloom of her youth and the height of her career, suddenly, is dreadful!...
Wednesday, 28th September.— ... The news from Lisbon are far from good, I am sorry to say. Mamma received a letter from Van de Weyer this morning, dated 11th Sept., in which he said that there had been another émeute the afternoon before, which however had been dissipated, and that both dearest Ferdinand and Donna Maria showed great calmness and dignity. It is a great trial for poor dear Ferdinand and for the good Queen. Van de Weyer says they are all in a very uncomfortable situation....
Friday, 30th September.— ... Read in The Times last night a distressing account of the details of poor Malibran’s illness and death. Poor young creature! she seems to have been neglected at a time when her life might perhaps still have been saved; for she complained of head-ache and shivering the same afternoon she arrived (Sunday 11th Sept.). On the Wednesday night after singing that fine but now painful Duo “Vanne se alberghi in petto,” she was taken so very very ill. Notwithstanding all this she got up on Thursday morning and was dressed with the assistance of Mrs. Richardson, landlady of the Mosely Arms Hotel at Manchester, for she had no female attendant, a man-servant of De Bériot’s being (as is said in the newspapers, for all what I have hitherto related about her illness and death is taken from the newspapers) their only servant. In spite of every effort to prevent her, the poor dying Malibran insisted upon going to the Oratorio that morning, and was accordingly carried to her carriage; but being seized with hysterics she was instantly taken back. She never left her room, and scarcely her bed, from that time till her death. Dr. Belluomini, her own Physician, only arrived on Sunday the 18th, though other physicians had attended her (from Manchester) before. She was perfectly insensible when she died; as also two or 3 days before her death. De Bériot was distracted and overpowered on learning of her death, in another room whither they had compelled him to retire when it was drawing to a close. He never saw her afterwards, and left the place 2 hours after all was over. It is the most melancholy end that could be imagined! To come to an inn in a foreign land with nobody to nurse her, and die there! What a sad and tragical end to her bright career! I can still hardly believe it possible that she, whom I can see before me as she was at our own concert, dressed in white satin, so merry and lively, and whose pathetic voice when speaking I can hear, is now in the silent tomb; for the funeral was to take place at 10 o’clock this morning with great splendour. And so today, all, all is over with poor Malibran!...
Sunday, 9th October.— ... We went to the church at Ramsgate with Lady Catherine and Lehzen. Mr. Harvey preached. The text was from the 5th chapter of the 2nd Epistle to Cor., 10th verse: “For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ; that every man may receive the things done in his body according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad.” Came home at 20 minutes to 1. Wrote my journal. Copied out music. At a ¼ to 3 we went to the chapel with Lady Catherine and dear Lehzen, &c. The service was read by Mr. Lewis, and Dr. Longley (late Master of Harrow School) preached, and most beautifully; so mildly and emphatically; his voice is very good, his pronunciation very pure, his delivery calm and impressive, his language beautiful yet simple, and his appearance very pleasing. He must be between 30 and 40, I should say. The text was from the 3rd chapter of Daniel, 16th, 17th, and 18th verses: “Shadrach, Meshech, and Abed-nego answered and said to the King, O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful to answer thee in this matter. If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and He will deliver us out of thine hand, O King. But if not, be it known unto thee, O King, that we will not serve thy gods nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.” It was a most beautiful sermon in every way, and I was very much pleased and impressed with it. Dr. Longley is to be Bishop of Ripon....[242]
Thursday, 27th October.— ... Read in The Conquest of Granada while my hair was doing. At 9 we breakfasted. Wrote a letter to my brother. At 10 came the Dean till ½ p. 11. Read with him in the N.T., in The Life of Colonel Hutchinson, and in Paley. The Life of Colonel Hutchinson is written by his wife, who wrote it for her children after their father’s death. Colonel Hutchinson lived in the time of Charles I., the Commonwealth, and even of Charles II. He was on the Puritanical side, and though a very good man, signed the King’s death-warrant, being very strong on his side, which is to be seen by Mrs. Hutchinson’s writings; his and her feelings being totally opposite to Clarendon’s, render it interesting, though it is more a private account of his life than any public History of the Times, but of course a good deal of history will be mixed up in it as Col. Hutchinson had a good deal to do in the wars. Mrs. Hutchinson’s style is remarkably quaint and ancient, indeed in some parts so much so as to render it almost ridiculous, but there are again some very pretty feeling parts in it (indeed feeling and pious throughout it), one of which, in which she speaks of her husband and herself I shall quote; before I do so, however, I must say that the editor, a descendant of the family, has left the orthography just as she wrote it, which is very antiquated and imperfect: “The greatest excellence she (Mrs. Hutchinson) had was the power of apprehending and the vertue of loving his (Col. H.’s) soe as his shadow, she waited on him every where, till he was taken into that region of light, which admits of none, and then she vanisht into nothing.” There is likewise another passage speaking of a son she lost: “... call’d by his owne name John, who liv’d scarce six yeares, and was a very hopefull child, full of his father’s vigor and spiritt, but death soone nipt that blossome.” Lehzen of course still continues reading to me while I dress, the delightful letters of Mme. de Sévigné; we are now in the middle of the 10th vol., and I like them more and more, they are so beautiful, so easy, they show the character of the person who wrote them so perfectly, you become acquainted with her and hers, and there are such tender and beautiful feelings expressed in them, towards that daughter who was her all & all; and the style is so elegant and so beautiful. I shall quote a passage relating to a vexation she had about not procuring the “députation” for her son M. de Sévigné: “Ne faut-il point être juste et se mettre à la place des gens? c’est ce qu’on ne fait jamais.” How true this is. Then how pretty this is, in writing to Mme. de Grignan: “Vous me louez trop de la douce retraite que je fais ici; rien n’y est pénible que votre absence.” There is certainly nothing so beautiful of the kind, in any language as these letters. I shall just quote two passages from the extracts in The Edinburgh Review of Sir James Mackintosh’s life, about Mme. de Sévigné: “In the midst of all the rage felt at Paris against King William, the admirable good-sense and natural moderation of Mme. de Sévigné catches a glimpse of his real character, through the mists of Rome and Versailles: ‘Le prince n’a pas songé à faire périr son beau-père. Il est à Londres, à la place du Roi, sans en prendre le nom, ne voulant que rétablir une religion qu’il croit bonne, et maintenir les loix du pays sans qu’il en coûte une goutte de sang.... Pour le Roi d’Angleterre il y (St. Germains) parait content,—et c’est pour cela qu’il est là.’ Observe the perfect good-sense of the last remark, and the ease and liveliness with which it is made. Tacitus and Machiavel could have said nothing better; but a superficial reader will think no more of it than the writer herself seems to do.”—Again, further on: “The style of Mme. de Sévigné is evidently copied not only by her worshipper Walpole, but even by Gray; who notwithstanding the extraordinary merits of his matter, has the double stiffness of an imitator and of a college recluse....”