French influence had been at work in Portugal to estrange the Queen from her English alliance. The dynastic connection between the Houses of Coburg and Braganza rendered Portuguese affairs intensely interesting to Queen Victoria at this time. The King Consort of Portugal—Prince Ferdinand, son of the younger brother of the reigning Duke of Coburg—had, it was rumoured, quarrelled with the Queen, who was tempted to carry out in her dominions the arbitrary policy of the Bourbons. The people rebelled; and in view of a possible Franco-Spanish intervention, England, not uninfluenced by the views of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, stepped in between the Portuguese Sovereign and her people. English intervention was at the outset purely diplomatic. It was limited to the arrangement of a compromise between the contending parties. Ultimately our diplomacy was successful; but the proposals of the English Envoy were finally rejected by the Portuguese Junta, and a Protocol was drawn up with Portugal, Spain, and France, for the purpose of bringing the Junta to submission. The General Election was now impending in England, and it was feared that on a motion in the House of Commons, censuring the Government for interfering to coerce the Junta, a combination of Protectionists and Radicals with Lord Palmerston’s enemies would defeat the Government. Sir Robert Peel held some anxious conferences with Prince Albert on the subject; and the Queen was afraid lest a vulgar suspicion might get abroad that the policy of her Government had been dominated, not by British but by Coburg interests. Luckily, no serious coercion was needed, and the Junta finally submitted on the 30th of June.
It was on the 11th of June that Mr. Joseph Hume brought forward his motion attacking the Portuguese policy of the Government. The debate was fierce and bitter. Peel, who spoke eloquently on the side of the Ministry, privately warned Prince Albert that Mr. Hume might carry his motion. Lord John Russell wrote to the Queen, saying she must be prepared to receive his resignation by the end of the week; and in the House of Lords also the attack was led by Lord Stanley, with characteristic impetuosity. Naturally, then, everybody was amazed when, after three days’ furious wrangling, the debate ended in a count-out in the House of Commons, and the defeat of Lord Stanley in the House of Lords by a majority of twenty. This ridiculous result was due to some misunderstanding between Mr. Hume and Lord George Bentinck, who permitted the “count-out,” and it led to endless recriminations. On the 5th of July, Mr. Bernal Osborne brought Portuguese affairs before Parliament once more; and then Lord Palmerston, who had not spoken in the three days’ debate, explained his policy. His object, he said, was neither to serve the Portuguese Crown nor oppress the Portuguese nation. He found Portugal a prey to wasting anarchy. But as it was most important that Portugal should be a strong ally of England in maintaining the balance of power, he had felt justified in interfering between the Queen and her people, in order to gain for the latter the constitutional securities which by the advice of bad Councillors her Majesty had suspended. In bringing the war to a peaceful termination, in transferring the struggle from the field of battle to the arena of Parliamentary debate, the Government seems to have fairly earned, if it did not freely receive, the thanks both of England and Portugal.
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 Palmerston80 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
KING’S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE FROM THE “BACKS.”
Campbell, on the 22nd of March, 1847, he gives us a bright glimpse of Palace life. “You will see,” he says, “by the Court Circular that Mary and Loo and I dined at the Palace on Saturday. The invitation only came on Friday, and we were engaged to dine with Sir John Hobhouse. There is not much to tell to gratify your curiosity. On our arrival a little before eight, we were shown into the picture gallery, where the company assembled. Burnes, who acted as Master of the Ceremonies, arranged what gentleman should take what lady. He said, ‘Dinner is ordered to be on the table at ten minutes past eight, but I bet you the Queen will not be here till twenty to twenty-five minutes after. She always thinks she can dress in ten minutes, but she takes about double the time.’ True enough, it was nearly twenty-five minutes after eight before she appeared. She shook hands with the ladies, bowed