July 10th, 1829
I dined with the Duke of Wellington yesterday; a very large party for Mesdames the Duchesse d’Escars and Madame du Cayla; the first is the widow of the Duc MADAME DU CAYLA. d’Escars, who was Premier Maître d’Hôtel of Louis XVIII., and who was said to have died of one of the King’s good dinners, and the joke was, ‘Hier sa Majesté a eu une indigestion, dont M. le Duc d’Escars est mort.’ Madame du Cayla23 is come over to prosecute some claim upon this Government, which the Duke has discovered to be unfounded, and he had the bluntness to tell her so as they were going to dinner. She must have been good-looking in her youth; her countenance is lively, her eyes are piercing, clear complexion, and very handsome hands and arms; but the best part about her seemed to be the magnificent pearls she wore, though these are not so fine as Lady Conyngham’s. All king’s mistresses seem to have a rage for pearls; I remember Madame Narischkin’s were splendid. Madame du Cayla is said to be very rich and clever.
Vois ce coeur faux, que cherchent tes caresses,
De tous les siens n’aimer que ses aïeux;
Charger de fer les muses vengeresses,
Et par ses moeurs nous révéler ses dieux.
Peins-nous ces feux, qu’en secret tu redoutes,
Quand sur ton sein il cuve son nectar,
Ces feux dont s’indignaient les voûtes
Où plane encor l’aigle du grand César.
It is curious that in 1829 the last mistress of a King of France should have visited London under the reign of the last mistress of a King of England.]
After dinner the Duke talked to me for a long time about the King and the Duke of Cumberland, and his quarrel with the latter. He began about the King’s making Lord Aberdeen stay at the Cottage the other day when he had engaged all the foreign Ambassadors to dine with him in London. Aberdeen represented this to him, but his Majesty said ‘it did not matter, he should stay, and the Ambassadors should for once see that he was King of England.’ ‘He has no idea,’ said the Duke, ‘of what a King of England ought to do, or he would have known that he ought to have made Aberdeen go and receive them, instead of keeping him there.’ He said the King was very clever and amusing, but that with a surprising memory he was very inaccurate, and constantly told stories the details of which all his auditors must know to be false. One day he was talking of the late King, and asserted that George III. had said to himself, ‘Of all the men I have ever known you are the one on whom I have the greatest dependence, and you are the most perfect gentleman.’ Another day he said ‘that he recollected the old Lord Chesterfield, who once said to him, “Sir, you are the fourth Prince of Wales I have known, and I must give your Royal Highness one piece of advice: stick to your father; as long as you adhere to your father you will be a great and a happy man, but if you separate yourself from him you will be nothing and an unhappy one;” and, by God (added the King), I never forgot that advice, and acted upon it all my life.’ ‘We all,’ said the Duke, ‘looked at one another with astonishment.’ He is extremely clever and particularly ingenious in turning the conversation from any subject he does not like to discuss.
‘I,’ added the Duke of Wellington,
‘remember calling upon him the day he received the news of the battle of Navarino. I was not a Minister, but Commander-in-Chief, and after having told me the news he asked me what I thought of it. I said that I knew nothing about it, was WELLINGTON’S ANECDOTES OF GEORGE IV. ignorant of the instructions that had been given to the admiral, and could not give any opinion; but “one thing is clear to me, that your Majesty’s ships have suffered very much, and that you ought to reinforce your fleet directly, for whenever you have a maritime force yours ought to be superior to all others.” This advice he did not like; I saw this, and he said, “Oh, the Emperor of Russia is a man of honour,” and then he began talking, and went on to Venice, Toulon, St. Petersburg, all over the Continent, and from one place and one subject to another, till he brought me to Windsor Castle. I make it a rule never to interrupt him, and when in this way he tries to get rid of a subject in the way of business which he does not like, I let him talk himself out, and then quietly put before him the matter in question, so that he cannot escape from it. I remember when the Duke of Newcastle was going to Windsor with a mob at his heels to present a petition (during the late discussions) I went down to him and showed him the petition, and told him that they ought to be prevented from coming. He went off and talked upon every subject but that which I had come about, for an hour and a half. I let him go on till he was tired, and then I said, “But the petition, sir; here it is, and an answer must be sent. I had better write to the Duke of Newcastle and tell him your Majesty will receive it through the Secretary of State; and, if you please, I will write the letter before I leave the house.” This I did, finished my business in five minutes, and went away with the letter in my pocket. I know him so well that I can deal with him easily, but anybody who does not know him, and who is afraid of him, would have the greatest difficulty in getting on with him. One extraordinary peculiarity about him is, that the only thing he fears is ridicule. He is afraid of nothing which is hazardous, perilous, or uncertain; on the contrary, he is all for braving difficulties; but he dreads ridicule, and this is the reason why the Duke of Cumberland, whose sarcasms he dreads, has such power over him, and Lord Anglesey likewise; both of them he hates in proportion as he fears them.’
I said I was very much, surprised to hear this, as neither of these men were wits, or likely to make him ridiculous; that if he had been afraid of Sefton or Alvanley it could have been understood. ‘But,’ rejoined the Duke,
‘he never sees these men, and he does not mind anybody he does not see; but the Duke of Cumberland and Lord Anglesey he cannot avoid seeing, and the fear he has of what they may say to him, as well as of him, keeps him in awe of them. No man, however, knows the Duke of Cumberland better than he does; indeed, all I know of the Duke of Cumberland I know from him, and so I told him one day. I remember asking him why the Duke of Cumberland was so unpopular, and he said, “Because there never was a father well with his son, or husband with his wife, or lover with his mistress, or a friend with his friend, that he did not try to make mischief between them.” And yet he suffers this man to have constant access to him, to say what he will to him, and often acts under his influence.’
I said, ‘You and the Duke of Cumberland speak now, don’t you?’
‘Yes, we speak. The King spoke to me about it, and wanted me to make him an apology. I told him it was quite impossible, “Why,” said he, “you did not mean to offend the Duke of Cumberland, I am sure.” “No, sir,” said I; “I did not wish to offend him, but I did not say a word that I did not mean. When we meet the Royal Family in society, they are our superiors, and we owe them all respect, and I should readily apologise for anything I might have said offensive to the Duke; but in the House of Lords we are their peers, and for what I say there I am responsible to the House alone.” “But,” said the King, “he said you turned on him as if you meant to address yourself to him personally.” “I did mean it, sir,” said I, “and I did so because I knew that he had been here, that he had heard things from your Majesty which he had gone and misrepresented and misstated in other quarters, and knowing that, I meant to show him that I was aware of it. I am sorry that the Duke is offended, but I cannot help it, and I cannot make him an apology.” ’
The Duke went on,
‘I was so afraid he would tell the DUKES OF WELLINGTON AND CUMBERLAND. Duke that I was sorry for what I had said, that I repeated to him when I went away, “Now, sir, remember that I will not apologise to the Duke, and I hope your Majesty will therefore not convey any such idea to his mind.” However, he spoke to him, I suppose, for the next time I met the Duke he bowed to me. I immediately called on him, but he did not return my visit. On a subsequent occasion [I forget what he said it was] I called on him again, and he returned my visit the same day.’
The Duke then talked of the letter which the Duke of Cumberland had just written (as Grand Master of the Orange Lodges) to Enniskillen, which he thought was published with the most mischievous intentions. However, he said,
‘I know not what he is at, but while I am conscious of going on in a straightforward manner I am not afraid of him, or of anything he can do,’
which I was surprised to hear, because it looked as if he was afraid of him. I asked him whether, with all the cleverness he thought belonged to the King, he evinced great acuteness in discussing matters of business, to which he replied, ‘Oh, no, not at all, the worst judgment that can be.’ This was not the first time I had heard the Duke’s opinion of the King. I remember him saying something to the Duke of Portland about him during the Queen’s trial indicative of his contempt for him.
In the meantime the Duke of Cumberland, instead of returning to Berlin, has sent for the Duchess and his son, and means to take up his abode in this country, in hopes of prevailing upon the King to dismiss his Ministers and make a Government under his own auspices; but however weak the Government may be, he will not succeed, for the King has an habitual reliance upon the Duke [of Wellington] which overcomes the mortification and dislike he feels at being dependent upon him; and, besides, the materials do not exist out of which a Government could be formed that would have the support of the House of Commons. The great want which this Administration experiences is that of men of sufficient information and capacity to direct the complicated machinery of our trade and finances and adjust our colonial differences. Huskisson, Grant, and Palmerston were the ablest men, and the two first the best informed in the Government. Fitzgerald knows nothing of the business of his office, still less of the principles of trade; he is idle, but quick. Of Murray I know nothing; he is popular in his office, but he has neither the capacity nor the knowledge of Huskisson.
Notes
23 [Madame du Cayla had been the soi-disant mistress of Louis XVIII., or rather the favourite of his declining years. ‘Il fallait une Esther,’ to use her own expression, ‘à cet Assuérus.’ She was the daughter of M. Talon, brought up by Madam Campan, and an early friend of Hortense Beauharnais. Her marriage to an officer in the Prince de Condé’s army was an unhappy one; and she was left, deserted by her husband, in straitened circumstances. After the assassination of the Duc de Berry, M. de la Rochefoucauld, one of the leaders of the ultra-Royalist party, contrived to throw her in the way of Louis XVIII., in the hope of counteracting the more Liberal influence which M. de Cazes had acquired over the King. Madame du Cayla became the hope and the mainstay of the altar and the throne. The scheme succeeded. The King was touched by her grace and beauty, and she became indispensable to his happiness. His happiness was said to consist in inhaling a pinch of snuff from her shoulders, which were remarkably broad and fair. M. de Lamartine has related the romance of her life in the thirty-eighth book of his ‘Histoire de la Restauration,’ and Béranger satirised her in the bitterest of his songs—that which bears the name of ‘Octavie’:—
Sur les coussins où la douleur l’enchaîne
Quel mal, dis-tu, vous fait ce roi des rois?
Vois-le d’un masque enjoliver sa haine
Pour étouffer notre gloire et nos lois.