Lord Granville — The Due de Broglie — Position of the Duc d’Orleans — Return to England — Conservative Reaction — Sheil’s Tirade against Lord Lyndhurst — Lyndhurst as a Tory Leader — Angry Debate on Church Rates — The Government on the Brink of Resignation — Sir R. Peel’s Prospects — The King and Lord Aylmer — Death of Mrs. Fitzherbert — Ministerial Compromise — Westminster Election — Majority of the Princess Victoria — The King’s Illness — The King’s Letter to the Princess — Preparations for the Council — Sir E. Peel on the Prospects of the New Reign — Prayers ordered for the King’s Recovery — Affairs of Lord Ponsonby — Death of King William IV. — First Council of Queen Victoria — The Queen proclaimed — Character of William IV

A JOURNAL
OF THE
REIGN OF KING WILLIAM THE FOURTH

CHAPTER XXI.

Dinner at Greenwich — Monk Lewis — The King’s Letter — Lord Althorp’s Finance — Salutes to the Royal Family — Death of Lord Dover — His Character — Lyndhurst and Brougham on the Local Courts Bill — Charles Napier captures the Miguelite Fleet — The Irish Church Bill — The Duke of Wellington and the Bonapartes — Blount’s preaching — Sir Robert Peel on Political Unions — Mr. George Villiers appointed to Madrid — Duke of Richmond — Suspension Clause in Irish Church Bill — Apprenticeship Clause in West India Bill — State of House of Commons — Lucien and Joseph Bonaparte — Lord Plunket — Denis Lemarchant — Brougham and Sugden — Princess Lieven — Anecdotes of the Emperor Nicholas — Affairs of Portugal — Don Miguel at Strathfieldsaye — Prorogation of Parliament — Results of the Reform Bill.

June 29th, 1833

I am going, if not too lazy, to note down the everyday nothings of my life, and see what it looks like.

We dined yesterday at Greenwich, the dinner given by Sefton, who took the whole party in his omnibus, and his great open carriage; Talleyrand, Madame de Dino, Standish, Neumann, and the Molyneux family; dined in a room called ‘the Apollo’ at the Crown and Sceptre. I thought we should never get Talleyrand up two narrow perpendicular staircases, but he sidles and wriggles himself somehow into every place he pleases. A capital dinner, tolerably pleasant, and a divine evening. Went afterwards to the ‘Travellers,’ and played at whist, and read the new edition of ‘Horace Walpole’s Letters to Sir Horace Mann.’ There is something I don’t like in his style; his letters don’t amuse me so much as they ought to do.

A letter this morning from Sir Henry Lushington about Monk Lewis. He is rather averse to a biographical sketch, because he thinks a true account of his life and character would not do him credit, and adds a sketch of the latter, which is not flattering. Lord Melbourne told me the other day a queer trait of Lewis. He had a long-standing quarrel with Lushington. Having occasion to go to Naples, he wrote beforehand to him, to say that their quarrel had better be suspended, and he went and lived with him and his sister (Lady L.) in perfect cordiality during his stay. When he departed he wrote to Lushington to say that now they should resume their quarrel, and put matters in the ‘status quo ante pacem,’ and accordingly he did resume it, with rather more acharnement than before.

Charles Wood came into my room yesterday, and talked of the King’s letter, said he understood the Archbishop had imparted it to the seven Bishops who had voted, that nothing would come of it, for it was a private letter which nobody had a right to take up. I see the Government are not displeased at such an evidence of the King’s goodwill. The King and Taylor both love letter-writing, and both are voluminously inclined. Wood told me that last year Lord Grey got one letter from them (for Taylor writes and the King approves) of seven sheets; what a mass of silly verbiage there must have been to wade through.[1]

July 3rd, 1833

Nothing to put down these last two days, unless I go back to my old practice of recording what I read, and which I rather think I left off because I read nothing, and had nothing to put down; but in the last two days I have read a little of Cicero’s ‘Second Philippic,’ Voltaire’s ‘Siècle de Louis XIV.,’ Coleridge’s ‘Journey to the West Indies;’ bought some books, went to the opera to hear Bellini’s ‘Norma,’ and thought it heavy, Pasta’s voice not what it was. SALUTES TO THE ROYAL FAMILY. Everybody talking yesterday of Althorp’s exhibition in the House of Commons the night before (for particulars of which see newspapers and Parliamentary debates). It is too ludicrous, too melancholy, to think of the finances of this country being managed by such a man: what will not people endure? What a strange medley politics produce: a wretched clerk in an office who makes some unimportant blunder, some clerical error, or who exhibits signs of incapacity for work, which it does not much signify whether it be well or ill done, is got rid of, and here this man, this good-natured, popular, liked-and-laughed-at good fellow, more of a grazier than a statesman, blurts out his utter ignorance before a Reformed Parliament, and people lift up their eyes, shrug their shoulders, and laugh and chuckle, but still on he goes.

July 4th, 1833

At Court yesterday, and Council for a foolish business. The King has been (not unnaturally) disgusted at the Duchess of Kent’s progresses with her daughter through the kingdom, and amongst the rest with her sailings at the Isle of Wight, and the continual popping in the shape of salutes to Her Royal Highness. He did not choose that this latter practice should go on, and he signified his pleasure to Sir James Graham and Lord Hill, for salutes are matter of general order, both to army and navy. They (and Lord Grey) thought it better to make no order on the subject, and they opened a negotiation with the Duchess of Kent, to induce her of her own accord to waive the salutes, and when she went to the Isle of Wight to send word that as she was sailing about for her amusement she had rather they did not salute her whenever she appeared. The negotiation failed, for the Duchess insisted upon her right to be saluted, and would not give it up. Kemp told me he had heard that Conroy (who is a ridiculous fellow, a compound of ‘Great Hussy’ and the Chamberlain of the Princess of Navarre[2]) had said, ‘that as Her Royal Highness’s confidential adviser, he could not recommend her to give way on this point.’ As she declined to accede to the proposals, nothing remained but to alter the regulations, and accordingly yesterday, by an Order in Council, the King changed them, and from this time the Royal Standard is only to be saluted when the King