FRANCE AND ENGLAND.
[Illustration: Buckingham Palace.]
It is necessary now to look at the relations of our Government with
other nations, and in particular with France, whose fortunes just at
this time had a clearly traceable effect on our own.
For several years the Court of England had been on terms of
unprecedented cordiality with the French Court. The Queen had
personally visited King Louis Philippe at the Château d'Eu--an event
which we must go back as far as the days of Henry VIII to
parallel--and had contracted a warm friendship for certain members of
his family, in particular for the Queen, Marie Amélie, for the
widowed Duchess of Orleans, a maternal cousin of Prince Albert, and
for the perfect Louise, the truthful, unselfish second wife of
Leopold, King of the Belgians, and daughter of the King of the
French. It was a rude shock to all the warm feelings which our Queen,
herself transparently honest, had learnt to cherish for her royal
friends when the French King and his Minister, Guizot, entered into
that fatal intrigue of theirs, "the Spanish marriages." Isabella, the
young Queen of Spain, and her sister and heiress presumptive, Louisa,
were yet unmarried at the time of the visit to the Château d'Eu; and
about that time an undertaking was given by the French to the English
Government that the Infanta Louisa should not marry a French prince
until her sister, the actual Queen, "should be married and have
children." The possible union of the crowns of France and Spain was
known for a dream of French ambition, and was equally well known to
be an object of dislike and dread to other European Powers. The
engagement which the French King had now given seemed therefore well
calculated to disarm suspicion and promote peace; but the one was
reawakened and the other endangered when it became known that he had
so used his power over the Spanish court as to procure that the royal
sisters of Spain should be married on one day--Isabella, the Queen,
to the most unfit and uncongenial of all the possible candidates for
her hand; Louisa to King Louis Philippe's son, the Duke of
Montpensier. The transaction on the face of it was far from
respectable, since the credit and happiness of the young Spanish
Queen seemed to have hardly entered into the consideration of those
who arranged for her the _mariage de convenance_ into which she was
led blindfold; but when regarded as a violation of good faith it was
additionally displeasing. Queen Victoria, to whom the scheme was
imparted only when it was ripe for execution, through her personal
friend Louise, Queen of the Belgians, replied to the communication in
a tone of earnest, dignified remonstrance; but apparently the King
was now too thoroughly committed to his scheme to be deterred by any
reasoning or reproaches, and the tragical farce was played out. It
had no good results for France; England was chilled and alienated,
but the Spanish crown never devolved on the Duchess of Montpensier.
Within two little years from her marriage that princess and all the
French royal family fled from France, so hastily that they had
scarcely money enough to provide for their journey, and appeared in
England as fugitives, to be aided and protected by the Queen, who
forgot all political resentment, and remembered only her personal
regard for these fallen princes.
The overthrow of the Orleans dynasty in 1848 was a complete surprise,
and men have never ceased to see something disgraceful in its amazing
suddenness. Here was a great king, respected for wisdom and daring,
and supposed to understand at every point the character of the land
he ruled, his power appearing unshaken, while it was known to be
backed with an army one hundred thousand strong. And almost without
warning a whirlwind of insurrection against this solid power and this
able ruler broke out, and in a few wild hours swept the whole fabric
into chaos. Nothing caused more surprise at the moment than the
extreme bitterness of animosity which the insurgents manifested
towards the king's person, unless it were the tameness with which he
submitted to his fate and the precipitancy of his flight. There was
something rotten in the state of things, men said, which could thus
dissolve, crushed like a swollen fungus by a casual foot. And indeed,
whether with perfect justice or not, Louis Philippe's Administration
had come to be deemed corrupt some time ere his fall. The free-spoken
Parisians had openly flouted it as such: witness a mock advertisement
placarded in the streets: "_A nettoyer, deux Chambres et une Cour_":
"Two _Chambers_ and a _Court_ to clean." A French Government that had
been crafty, but not crafty enough to conceal the fact, that was
rather contemned for plotting than dreaded for unscrupulous energy,
was already in peril. The still unsubdued revolutionary spirit,
working under the smooth surface of French society, was the element
which accomplished the destruction of this discredited Government.
The outbreak in France acted like a spark in a powder magazine; ere
long great part of Europe was shaken by the second great
revolutionary upheaval, when potentates seemed falling and ancient
dynasties crumbling on all sides--a period of eager hope to many,
followed by despair when the reaction set in, accompanied in too many
places by repressive measures of pitiless severity. The contemptuous
feeling with which many Englishmen were wont to view such Continental
troubles is well embodied in the lines which Tennyson put into the
mouth of one of his characters, speaking of France:
"Yonder, whiff! there comes a sudden heat,
The gravest citizen seems to lose his head,
The king is scared, the soldier will not fight.
The little boys begin to shoot and stab,
A kingdom topples over with a shriek
Like an old woman, and down rolls the world
In mock-heroics--
Revolts, republics, revolutions, most
No graver than a schoolboy's barring out;
Too comic for the solemn things they are,
Too solemn for the comic touches in them."
In this wild year 1848, which saw Revolution running riot on the
Continent, England too had its share of troubles not less painfully
ridiculous; the insurrection headed by Smith O'Brien, a chief of the
"Young Ireland" party, coming to an inglorious end in the affray
that took place at "the widow McCormick's cabbage-garden,
Ballingarry," in the month of July; the greatly dreaded Chartist
demonstration at Kennington Common on April 10th by its conspicuous
failure having done much to damp the hopes and spirits of the party
of disorder generally.
It would be easy now to laugh at the frustrated designs of the
Chartist leaders and at the sort of panic they aroused in London: the
vast procession, which was to have marched in military order to
overawe Parliament, resolving itself into a confused rabble easily
dispersed by the police, and the monster petition, that should have
numbered six million signatures, transported piecemeal to the House,
and there found to have but two million names appended, many
fictitious; the Chartist leader, completely cowed, thanking the Home
Office for its lenient treatment; or, on the other hand, London and
its peaceful inhabitants, distracted with wild rumours of combat and
bloodshed, apprehending a repetition of Parisian madnesses, and
unaware how thoroughly the Duke of Wellington, entrusted with the
defence of the capital and its important buildings, had carried out
all needful arrangements. The two hundred thousand special constables
sworn in to aid in maintaining law and order on that day were visible
enough, and had their utility in conveying a certain impression of
safety; the troops whom the veteran commander held in readiness were
kept out of sight till wanted. These rebellious spirits imagining
themselves formidable and free, when caught in an invisible iron
network--these terrified citizens, protected all unconsciously to
themselves against the impotent foe whom they dreaded--might furnish
food for mirth if we did not remember the real, deep, and widespread
misery which found inarticulate but piteous expression in the
movement now coming to confusion under the firm assertion of
necessary authority. The disturbances must needs be quieted; but
hitherto it has been the glory of our Victorian statesmen to have
understood that the grievances which caused them must also be dealt
with. Now that all which could be deemed wise and good in Chartist
demands has been conceded, orderly and quietly, the name "Chartism"
has utterly lost its dread significance.
[Illustration: Napoleon III.]
No cruelly vindictive measures of reprisal followed the collapse of
the agitation; none indeed were needed. The revolutionary epidemic,
which had spread hitherward from France, found our body politic in
too sound a condition, and could not fasten on it; and the subsequent
convulsions which shook our great neighbour hardly called forth an
answering thrill in England. The strange transactions of December
1851, by means of which Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, Prince-President of
the new French republic, succeeded in overthrowing that republic and
replacing it by an empire of which he was the head, did indeed excite
displeasure and distrust in many minds; and though it was believed
that his high-handed proceedings had averted much disorder, the
English Government was not prepared at once to accept all the
proffered explanations of French diplomacy; but the then foreign
Secretary, Lord Palmerston, by the rash proclamation of his
individual approval, committed the Ministry of which he was one to a
recognition of the _de facto_ Monarch of France. This step was but
the last of many instances in which Palmerston had acted without due
reference to the premier's or the Sovereign's opinion--a course of
conduct which had justly displeased the Queen, and had drawn from her
grave and pointed remonstrances. The final transgression led to his
resignation; but its effects on our relations with France remained.
Meanwhile the Emperor's consistent and probably sincere display of
goodwill towards England, the apparent complacency with which the
French nation acquiesced in his rule, and the outward prosperity
accompanying it, did their natural work in conciliating approval, and
in making men willing to forget the obscure and tortuous steps by
which he had climbed to power. One day he and France were to pay for
these things; but meanwhile he was a popular ruler, accepted and
approved by the nation he governed, anxious for its prosperity, and
earnest in keeping it friendly with Great Britain, which he had found
a hospitable home in the days of his obscurity, which was again to
offer an asylum to him in a day of utter disaster and overthrow, and
where his life, chequered by vicissitudes stranger than any known to
romance, was to come to a quiet close. It has been the singular
fortune of Her Majesty to receive into the sacred shelter of her
realm two dethroned monarchs, two fallen fortunes, two dynasties cast
out from sovereign power, while her own throne, "broad-based upon her
people's will, and compassed by the inviolate sea," has stood firm
and unshaken, even by a breath. And it has been her special honour to
cherish with affection, even warmer in their adversity, the friends
who had gained her regard when their prosperity seemed as bright and
their great position as assured as her own. Visiting the Emperor
Napoleon in his splendid capital, fêted and welcomed by him and his
Empress with every flattering form of honour that his ingenuity could
devise or his power enable him to show, she did not forget the
Orleans family and their calamities, but frankly urged on her host
the injustice of the confiscations with which he had requited the
supposed hostility of those princes, and endeavoured to persuade him
to milder measures. She visited in his company the tomb of the
lamented Duke of Orleans; and her first care on returning to England
was to show some kindly attention to the discrowned royalties who
were now her guests. In the same spirit, in after years, she extended
a friendly hand to the exiled Empress Eugénie, escaping from new
revolutionary perils to English safety, and altogether declined to
consider her personal regard for the lady, whose attractions had
deservedly gained it in brighter days, as being in any sense
complicated with matters political. The resolute loyalty with which
she at once maintained her private friendships and kept them entirely
apart from her public action compelled toleration from the persons
most inclined to take umbrage at it.
An instance of successful and courageous enterprise on Her Majesty's
part may well close this brief notice of the internal and external
convulsions which for a time shook, though they did not shatter, the
peace of our realm. In the late summer of 1849 a royal visit to
Ireland, now just reviving from its misery, was planned and carried
out with complete success; the wild Irish enthusiasm blazed up into
raptures of a loyal welcome, and the Sovereign, who played her part
with all the graceful perfection that her compassionate heart and
quick intelligence suggested, was delighted with the little tour,
from which those who shared in it prophesied "permanent good" for
Ireland. At least it had a healing, beneficial effect at the moment;
and perhaps more could not have been reasonably hoped. Later royal
visits to the sister isle have been less conspicuous, but all fairly
successful.