The dispute between France and England over the Spanish marriages, the personal quarrel between Lord Normanby, the English Ambassador at Paris, and M. Guizot, and the deep distrust of Lord Palmerston, which poisoned the mind of Louis Philippe, bore bad fruits. Lord Normanby allied himself more closely than ever with M. Thiers and the leaders of the Opposition in the French Chambers, who harried the Government with their attacks. M. Guizot began to lean for support on the Northern Powers, and he cultivated the fatal friendship of Metternich. His policy was thus one under which revolution naturally ripened. The unsatisfactory state of our foreign relations rendered the Duke of Wellington most anxious about the defence of the country; in fact, he was, says Charles Greville, “haunted” by it night and day. Lord Clarendon and Lord Palmerston[80] were with the Duke. The Chancellor of the Exchequer was against him; as for Lord John Russell, he was neutral.
In January, 1848, the Duke of Wellington, however, startled the country by a letter which he had addressed to General Sir John Burgoyne early in 1847 on the unfortified state of England. At that moment, he averred, the fleet was the only defence the nation possessed. He doubted if 5,000 men of all arms could be sent into the field, unless we left those on duty, including the Royal Guards, without any reliefs whatever. He pleaded for the organisation of a militia force at least 150,000 strong, and for strengthening the defences of the South Coast from the North Foreland to Portsmouth. This letter was a private one. Lady Burgoyne and her daughters, however, had distributed copies of it among their friends, and one Pigou, “a meddling zealot,” says Mr. Greville, “who does nothing but read Blue Books and write letters to the Times,” got hold of a copy and printed it in the newspapers, much to the annoyance of the Duke and Lord John Russell. The Duke of Wellington all through the latter half of the year had indeed given the Ministry and the Queen some uneasiness, and this might have had serious consequences, but for the fine tact and delicate social diplomacy of her Majesty. Enfeebled by age and anxious as to the defences of the country, which the Government persisted in neglecting, the “Great Captain” querulously threatened to resign—a step which the Queen dreaded because she considered that it would greatly reduce public confidence in the Government. A statue in the worst possible taste had been put up on the archway opposite Apsley House—the first equestrian statue, indeed, ever erected in England to a subject. It was put there only provisionally, but the Duke held that to take it down would be an insult to him, and this further strengthened his resolution to retire. The Queen, however, was “excessively kind to him,” and her winning courtesies soothed the irritated veteran. “On Monday,” says Mr. Greville, writing on the 19th of June, “his granddaughter was christened at the Palace, and the Queen dined with him in the evening. She had written him a very pretty letter, expressing her wish to be godmother to the child, saying that she wished her to be called Victoria, which name was so peculiarly appropriate to a granddaughter of his.” After that the country was no longer disturbed by rumours of the Duke’s impending resignation.
Of Court life outside the sphere of politics, in this year of distress, we gain some interesting glimpses in the Memoirs and Diaries of the period. In February wheat was selling at 102 shillings a quarter, and in May the Queen herself says she had been obliged to limit the allowance of bread to every one in the Palace to one pound a day, “and only secondary flour to be used in the Royal kitchen.” Still a generous but not ostentatious hospitality was dispensed by her Majesty all through this dismal season. The Baroness Bunsen says, in her Diary, on the 1st of March, 1847:—“We dined at Buckingham Palace
PRINCE METTERNICH.
on Monday, where there was a ball in the evening—that is, a small dancing party, only Lady Rosebery and the Ladies Primrose coming in the evening, in addition to those at dinner. The Queen danced with her usual spirit and activity, and that obliged other people to do their best, and thus the ball was a pretty sight, inspirited by excellent music.”
Another description of a Royal dinner-party at this time is given by Lord Campbell, in his Autobiography.[81] Writing to his brother, Sir George
