A GOSSIPING LETTER FROM THE SEASIDE TO CHRISTOPHER NORTH, ESQ. BY AN OLD
CONTRIBUTOR.
------
Near ----, England,
_October 1846_.
MY DEAR CHRISTOPHER,--Where am I? What am I doing? Why have I forgotten
you and Maga? Bless us! what a pother!--Give a man time, my revered
friend, to answer: I have _not_ forgotten either you or Maga; I am at
the seaside; and I am doing, as well as I can, _nothing_. There are your
testy questions answered: and as to divers objurgatory observations of
your's, I shall not attempt to reply to them--regarding them as the
results of some gout-twinges which have, I fear, a little quickened and
heated the temper of that "old man eloquent," who, when in good health,
plays but one part--that of a caressing father towards his children; for
as such Christopher North has ever (as far as I know) regarded his
contributors. "Why don't you _review_ something or other? There's ----,
an impudent knave!--has just sent me his ----: you will find it pleasant
to flagellate him, or ----, a Cockney coxcomb! And if you be not in that
humour, there are several excellent, and one or two admirable works,
which have appeared within the last eighteen months, and which really
have as strong a claim on Maga as she has on her truant sons,--and you,
among the rest, have repeatedly promised to take one, at least, in hand.
If you be not in the critical vein--do, for heaven's sake, turn your
hand to something else--you have lain fallow long enough!--With one of
the many articles which you have so often told me that you were
'seriously thinking of' on ----, or ----, or ----, &c., &c., &c.; and if
_that_ won't do--why, rather than do _nothing_, set to work for an hour
or two on a couple of mornings, and write me a gossiping sort of
letter--such as I can print--such as you have once before done, and I
printed,--on Things in General. Surely the last few months have
witnessed events which must have set you, and all observant men,
thinking, and thinking very earnestly. Set to work, be it only in a
simple, natural, easy way--care not you, as I care not, how
discursively--a little touch of modest egotism, even, I will forgive on
this occasion, if you find that--" Here, dear Christopher, I
recalcitrate, and decline printing the rest of the sentence; but as to
"_Things in General_"--I am somewhat smitten with the suggestion. 'Tis a
taking title--a roomy subject, in which one can flit about from gay to
grave, from lively to severe, according to the humour of the moment; and
since you really do not dislike the idea of an old contributor's gossip
on men and things, given you in his own way, I shall forthwith begin to
pour out my little thoughts as unreservedly as if you and I were sitting
together alone here. _Here_; but where? As I said before, at the
seaside; at my favourite resort--where (eschewing "Watering-places" with
lively disgust) I have spent many a happy autumn. When I first found it
out, I thought that the _lines_ had indeed _fallen_ to me in _pleasant
places_, and I still think so; but were I to tell the public, through
your pages, of this green spot, I suspect that by this time next year
the sweet solitude and primitive simplicity of the scene around me would
have vanished: greedy speculating builders, tempting the proprietors of
the soil, would run up in all directions vile, pert, vulgar,
brick-built, slate-roofed, Quakerish-looking abominations, exactly as a
once lovely nook in the Isle of Wight--Ventnor to wit--has become a mere
assemblage of eyesores, a mass of _un_favourable eruptions, so to
speak--Bah! I once used to look forward to the Isle of Wight with
springy satisfaction. Why, the infatuated inhabitants were lately
talking of having a railroad in the island!!
I quitted Babylon, now nearly eleven weeks ago, for this said sweet
mysterious solitude. London I dearly, dearly love--except during the
months of August, September, and October, when it goes to sleep, and
lies utterly torpid. When I quitted it very early in August, London life
was, as it were, at dead-low water-mark. I was myself somewhat jaded
with a year's severe exertion in my lawful calling, (what that may be,
it concerns none of your readers to know,) and my family also were in
want of change of air and scene; so that, when the day of departure had
arrived, we were in the highest possible spirits. _Our_ house would--we
reflected--within a few hours put on the dismal, dismantled appearance
which almost every other house in the street had presented for several
weeks, and we, whirling away to ----; but first of all it occurred to me
to lay in a stock of our good friend Lee's port and sherry, (for where
were we to get drinkable wine at ----?)--ditto, in respect of six pounds
of real tea--not _quasi_ tea, _i.e._, raisin-stalks and
sloe-leaves--three bottles of whisky; four of Anchovy sauce; and four of
Reading or Harvey's sauce; two pounds of mustard, and some cayenne and
curry-powder: having an eye, in respect of this last, to--hot crab! a
delicious affair! Arrangements these which we are resolved always to
make hereafter, having repeatedly experienced the inconvenience of not
doing so. Having packed up every thing, and given special orders for the
_Times_ to be provided daily, and the _Spectator_ weekly, away we
go--myself, wife, three hostages to fortune, and three other persons,
and--bless him!--Tickler; Timothy Tickler--that sagacious, quaint,
affectionate, ugly-beautiful Skye terrier, which found its way to me
from you, my revered friend--and is now lying gracefully near me,
pretending--the little rogue--to be asleep; but really watching the
wasps buzzing round him, and every now and then snapping at them
furiously, unconscious of the probable consequences of his
success,--that,
"If 'twere _done_, when 'tis done,
_Then_--'twere well it were done quickly!"
By what railway we went, I care not to say--beyond this, that it belongs
to one of that exceedingly select class, the well-conducted railways;
and we were brought to the end of that portion of our journey--whether
one hundred, two hundred, or two hundred and fifty, or three hundred
miles, signifies nothing--safely and punctually arriving two minutes
earlier than our appointed time. Then, by means of steam-boats, cars,
and otherwise, _taliter processum est_, that about eight o'clock in the
evening we reached this place, which, in the brilliant moonlight, looked
even more beautiful than I had ever seen it. Near us on our left--that
is, within a few hundred feet--was the placid silvery sea, "its moist
lips kissing the shore," as Thomas Campbell expressed it; and while
supper was preparing, we went to the shore to enjoy its loveliness. Not
a breath of wind was stirring--scarce a cloud interfered with the moon's
serene effulgence. Lofty cliffs stretched on either side of us as we
faced the sea, casting a kindly gloom over part of the shore; and on
turning towards the land, we beheld nothing but solemn groves of trees,
and one sweet cottage peeping modestly from among them, as it were a
pearl glistening half-hid between the folds of green velvet, about
half-way up the fissure in the cliffs by which we had descended. Two or
three fishing-boats were moored under the cliff, and against one of them
was leaning the fisherman, not far from his snugly-sheltered hut,
pleasantly puffing at his pipe. Near him lay extended on the shingle,
grisly even in death, a monster--viz. a shark, the victim of the
patience, pluck, and tact, which had been exhibited that afternoon by
the fisherman and his son, who had captured the marine fiend in the bay,
at less than two miles' distance from the shore. 'Twas nine feet in
length, wanting one inch;--and _its_ teeth made your teeth chatter to
look at them. Tickler inspected him narrowly, having first cautiously
ascertained by his nose that all was right, and then exclaimed, "Bow,
wow, wow!"--thus showing that even as a live ass is better than a dead
lion, so a live terrier was better than a dead shark. [As I find that
several of these hideous creatures have been lately captured here,
_quaere_ the propriety of bathing, as I had intended, from a boat, a
little way of from the land? Hem!] The only visible occupants of those
solitary sands at that moment were myself, my wife and children, the
fisherman, Tickler, and the dead shark. I remained standing alone for a
few moments after my companions had turned their steps towards our
cottage, eager for supper, and gazed upon the sequestered loveliness
around me with a sense of luxury. What a contrast this to the scene of
exciting London life in which I had happened to bear a part on the
preceding evening! The following verses of Lord Rosscommon happened to
occur to me, and chimed in completely with the tone of my feelings:--
"Hail, sacred Solitude! from this calm bay
I view the world's tempestuous sea;
And with wise pride despise
All those senseless vanities:
With pity moved for others, cast away,
On rocks of hopes and fears I see them toss'd,
On rocks of folly and of vice I see them lost:
Since the prevailing malice of the great
Unhappy men, or adverse fate
Sunk deep into the gulfs of an afflicted state:
But more, far more, a numberless prodigious train,
Whilst virtue counts them, but, alas, in vain.
Fly from her kind embracing arms,
Deaf to her fondest call, blind to her greatest charms,
And sunk in pleasures and in brutish ease,
They in their shipwrecked state themselves obdurate please.
* * * * *
Here may I always, on this downy grass,
Unknown, unseen, my easy moments pass,
Till, with a gentle force, victorious Death
My solitude invade,
And stopping for a while my breath,
With ease convey me to a better shade!"
But a sharpened appetite for supper called me away, and I quickly
followed my companions, casting a last glance around, and suppressing a
faint sigh, fraught with the reflection, "All this--_Deo volente_--will
be ours for nearly three months." Why _does_ one so often sigh on such
an occasion?
You may conceive how we enjoyed our supper to the utmost, and then all
of us retired to our respective apartments, which were so brilliantly
lit by the moon, as to make our candles pale their ineffectual fires. I
stood for a long time gazing at the beautiful scenery visible from my
little dressing-room window, and then retired to rest, grateful to the
Almighty for our being allowed the prospect of another of these
periodical intervals of relaxation and enjoyment. To me they get more
precious every year; _they do_, decidedly. But why? Let me, however,
return to this question by-and-by: 'tis one which, with kindred
subjects, has much occupied my thoughts this autumn, in many a long,
solitary stroll over the hills, and along the seashore.
I wish I could do justice to my cottage and its lovely locality. Yet why
should I try to set your's and your readers' teeth on edge? You have
some lovely nooks on your Scottish coast; but you cannot beat this. We
are about three hundred yards from the sea, of which our windows, on one
side, command a full view; while from all the others are visible dark,
high, steep downs, at so short a distance, that methinks, at this
moment, I can hear the faint--the very faint--tinkle of a sheep-bell,
proceeding from some of the little white tufts moving upon them. I am
now writing to you towards the middle of this stormy October. Its winds
have so much thinned the leaves of the huge elms which stand towards the
south-eastern parts of our house, that I can now, from my study-window,
distinctly see the church--very small, and very ancient--which, when
first we came, the thick foliage rendered totally invisible from this
point. My window looks directly upon the aforesaid downs, which at
present appear somewhat gloomy and desolate. Yet have they a certain air
of the wild picturesque, the effect of which is heightened by the
howling winds, which are sweeping down over them to us, moaning and
groaning through the trees, and round the gables of our house, (the
aspect of the sky being, at the same time, bleak and threatening.) How
it enhances my sense of snugness in the small antique, thoroughly
wind-and-weather tight room in which I am writing! A little to my left
is a vast natural hollow in the downs, from which springs a sort of
little hanging wood or copse, the mottled variegated hues of which have
a beautiful effect. Between me and the downs are small clumps of
trees--abrupt little declivities, thickly lined with shrubs, all touched
with the bronze tinting of the far-advanced autumn--two or three
intensely-green fields, in the nearest of which are browsing the two
cows belonging to the parsonage--which is, by the way, quite invisible
from any part of my house, though at only a hundred yards' or two
distance. Oh! 'tis a model--a love of a parsonage!--buried among lofty
trees, richly adorned with myrtles, laurel, and clematis--the
well-trimmed greensward immediately surrounding the long, low, thatched
house, which combines rural elegance, simplicity, and comfort in its
disposition--is bordered by spreading hydrangeas, dahlias, fuschias,
mignionette, and roses--ay, roses, even yet in full bloom! Its occupant
is my friend, a dignitary of the church, a scholar, a gentleman, and
"given to hospitality;" but I will say nothing more on this head, lest,
peradventure, I should offend his modesty, and disclose my locality. My
own house is more than sufficient for my family; 'tis a small
gentleman's cottage, delightfully situate, and containing every
convenience, (especially for a _symposium_,) and surrounded by a
luxuriant garden. Along one side of the house, and commanding an
extensive and varied sea and land view, runs a little terrace of "soft,
smooth-shaven green," made for a meditative man to pace up and down, as
I have done some thousand times--by noonday sunlight, by midnight
moonshine--buried in reverie, or charmed by contemplating the scenery
around, disturbed by no sound save the caw! caw! caw! from the parsonage
rookery, the _sough_ of the wind among the trees, and, latterly, the
sullen echoes of the sea thundering on the shore. Ah! what an
inexpressibly beautiful aspect is just given to the scene by that
transient gleam of saddening sunlight!
I can really give no account of my time for the last eleven weeks, which
have slipped away almost unperceivedly--one day so like another, that
scarce any thing can be recorded of one which would not be applicable to
every other. Breakfast over, (crabs, lobster, or prawns, and honey
indigenous, the constant racy accessaries,) all the intermediate time
between that hour and dinner, (for I am no lunch-eater,) six P.M., is
spent in sauntering along the shore, poking among the rocks, strolling
over the clefts, and clambering up and wandering about the downs; and
occasionally in pilgrimages to distant and pretty little farm-houses,
(in quest of their products for our table,) generally accompanied by
Tickler, always by a book, sometimes with my wife and children; but most
frequently _alone_, chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancies, and
always avoiding, of set purpose, any other company (even were it here to
be had) in my rambles, than as is aforesaid. 'Tis ecstacy to me to sit
alone on a rock in a sequestered part of the shore, especially when the
tide is high, and equally whether it be rough or smooth, or calm or
stormy weather: for as to this last, I have discovered a friendly nook
in the rocks, big enough to hold me only, and deep enough to give me
shelter from the wind and rain, except when they beat right in upon me.
You may laugh, perhaps, but in this retreat I have spent many an entire
day--_i.e._ from ten A.M. to six P.M., sometimes pacing to and fro on
the sands, near my hole, generally bathing about mid-day, taking with me
always the _Times_ newspaper, (which I generally got from the old
postman, whom I met on my way down to the sands,) the current number of
_Maga_, or some favourite volume, being also frequent companions. I must
acknowledge, however, that the first was my special luxury, to which I
daily addressed myself with all the eager relish of a dog with a fresh
bone in an unfrequented place--and whom I conceive to be, so
circumstanced, in a state paradisiacal;--for, indeed, to such a pass are
matters come, that no man whom I know of can miss his newspaper without
a restless, uncomfortable feeling of having slipped a day behind the
world. Surely I may here, in passing, say a word or two about
NEWSPAPERS?
And coming from one who, as you know, never had any thing to do with
newspapers, except as having been an eager and regular reader of them
for more than twenty years, I hope my testimony is worth having, when I
express my opinion that our newspaper press is a very great honour to
Great Britain, as well negatively in its abstinence from myriads of
tempting but objectionable topics, as well as positively in the varied
ability, the energy, accuracy, and amazing promptitude displayed in
dealing with the ever-changing and often-perplexing affairs of the
world. Inestimably precious is the unshackled freedom of these wondrous
organs of public opinion: infringe, though never so slightly, and but
for a moment, upon that independence, and you wound our LIBERTY in the
very apple of the eye.
Let any government unjustifiably or oppressively attack one of our
newspapers--whatever may be its politics--how indifferent even soever
its character--with an evident intention to impair its independence--and
there is not a man in the country who would not suddenly feel a stifling
sensation, as if some attempt had been made upon his immediate personal
rights. The nation may be (though fancifully) compared to a huge
monster, with myriads of _tentacles_--or whatever else you may call
them--as its organ of existence and action, every single one of which is
so sensitive, that, if touched, the whole _creature_ is instantly roused
and in motion, as if you had touched them _all_, and stimulated _all_
into simultaneous and frightful action. The public is this vast
creature--the press are these tentacles. Fancy our Prime Minister
pouncing oppressively and illegally upon the very obscurest provincial
paper going--say the "Land's End Farthing Illuminator!" Why, the whole
artillery of the press of the United Kingdom would instantly open upon
him; in doing so, being the true exponent of the universal fury of the
country--and in a twinkling where would be my Lord John, or would have
been Sir Robert, with the strongest government that ever was organised?
Extinguished, annihilated. Let some young and unreflecting Englishman
compare this state of things with that which is at this moment in
existence in Spain!--in which every newspaper daring to express itself
independently, though moderately, on a stirring political event of the
day, is instantly pounced upon by an infamous--a truly execrable
government, and silenced and suppressed; and its conductors fined and
imprisoned. We in this country cannot write or read the few words
conveying the existence of such a state of facts, without our blood
boiling. And is there no _other_ country where the press is
overawed--submits, however sullenly, to be dictated to by government, to
become the despicable organ of falsehood and deceit--and is accessible
to bribery and corruption? And what are we to say of the press of the
United States of America, pandering (with some bright exceptions) to the
vilest passions, the most depraved tastes of the most abandoned among
the people, and mercenary and merciless libellers? With scarcely more
than a single foul exception--and that, one regrets to say, in our
Metropolis, in which are published nearly forty newspapers--can any
person point out a newspaper, in town or country, indulging in, ribald
or obscene language or allusions, or--with two or three
exceptions--professed impiety, or slanderous attacks upon public or
private character. Some year or two ago there was manifested, in a
certain portion of the metropolitan press, a tendency downwards of this
sort; and how long was it before popular indignation rose, and--to use a
legal phrase--abated the nuisance? Can the chief perpetrator of the
enormities referred to, even now, after having undergone repeated legal
punishment, show himself any where in public without encountering groans
and hisses, and the risk even of personal violence? And did not the
occasion in question rouse the legislature itself into action, the
result of which was a law effectually protecting the public against
wicked newspapers, and, on the other hand, justly affording increased
protection to the freedom and independence of the virtuous part of the
press? I repeat the question--Who can point out more than one or two of
our newspapers which are morally discreditable to the country? No censor
of the press want we: the British public is its own censor. What a vast
amount of humbug, of fraud, of meanness, of corruption, of oppression,
of cruelty, and wickedness, as well in private as in public life--as
well in low as in high places--is not kept in check, and averted from
us, by the sleepless vigilance, the fearless interference, the ceaseless
denunciations of our public press! 'Tis a potent preventive to check
evil--or rather may be regarded as a tremendous tribunal, to which the
haughtiest and fiercest among us is amenable, before which, though he
may outwardly bluster, he inwardly quails, whose decrees have toppled
down headlong the most exalted, into obscurity and insignificance, and
left them exposed to blighting ridicule and universal derision. It is
true that this power may be, and has been, abused: that good
institutions and their officials have been unjustly denounced. But this
is rare: the vast power above spoken of exists not, except where the
press is unanimous, or pretty nearly so: and as the British people are a
just and truth-loving people, (with all their weaknesses and faults,)
the various organs of their various sections and parties rarely come to
approach unanimity, except in behalf of a good and just cause. Let the
most potent journal in the empire run counter to the feeling and opinion
of the country, if we could imagine a journal so obstinate and
shortsighted, and its voice is utterly ineffectual--the objects of its
deadliest animosity remain unscathed, though, it may be, for a brief
space exposed to the irritating and annoying consequences of publicity.
Let this country embark, for instance, in a just war--within a day or
two our press would have roused the enthusiasm of this country, even as
that of one man. Let it be an unjust war--and the government proposing
it, or appearing likely to precipitate it, bombarded by the artillery of
the press, will quickly be shattered to pieces. All our institutions
profit prodigiously by the wholesome scrutiny of the press. The Church,
the Army, the Navy, the Law, every department of the executive--down to
our police-offices, our prisons, our workhouses--in any and every of
them, tyranny, peculation, misconduct of every sort, is quickly
detected, and as quickly stopped and redressed. While conferring these
immense social benefits, how few are the evils, how rare--as I have
already observed--the misconduct to be set off! How very, very rare are
prosecutions for libel or sedition, or actions for libel, against the
press; and even when they do occur, how rare is the success of such
proceedings! I happen, by the way, to be able to give two instances of
the generous and gentlemanlike conduct of the conductors of two leading
metropolitan newspapers of opposite politics; one was of very recent
occurrence:--A hot-headed political friend of mine, contrary to my
advice, forwarded to _The ------_ a _fact_, duly authenticated,
concerning a person in high station, which, if it had been published,
would have exquisitely annoyed the party in question, whose politics
were diametrically opposed to those of the newspaper referred to, and
would also have afforded matter for party sarcasm and piquant gossip in
society. The only notice taken of my crestfallen friend's communication
was the following, in the next morning's "Notices to
Correspondents:"--"To [Greek: S].--The occurrence referred to is hardly
a fair topic for [or 'within the province of'] newspaper discussion."
The other case was one which occurred two or three years ago; and the
editor of the paper in question did not deign to take the least notice
whatever of the communication--not even acknowledging the receipt of it.
There is one feature of our leading London newspapers which always
appears to me interesting and remarkable: it is their leading article on
a debate, or on newly-arrived foreign intelligence. Let an important
ministerial speech be delivered in either House of Parliament on a very
difficult subject, and at a very late hour, or say at an early hour in
the morning; and on our breakfast-tables, the same morning, is lying the
speech and the editor's interesting and masterly commentary on
it--evincing, first, a thorough familiarity with the speech itself, and
with the difficult and often obscure and complicated topics which it
deals with; and, secondly, a skilful confutation or corroboration,
wherein it is difficult which most to admire, the logical acuteness,
dexterity, and strength of the writer, the vigour and vivacity of his
style, or the accuracy and extent of his political knowledge; and this,
too, after making large allowance for occasional crudity, perversion,
inconsistency, or flippancy. The same observation applies to their
articles, often equally interesting and masterly, on newly-arrived
foreign intelligence. Conceive the extent to which such a writer, such a
journal must influence public opinion, and gradually and unconsciously
bias the minds of even able and thinking readers. Engaged actively in
their own concerns all day long, they have too often neither the
inclination nor opportunity for sifting the sophistries, skilfully
intermingled with just and brilliant reasoning, and disguised under
splendid sarcasm and powerful invective. How, again, can they test the
accuracy of historical and political references and assertions, if
happening to lie beyond their own particular acquisitions and
recollections? The other side of the question, such a one is aware, will
probably be found in the _Chronicle_ or _Standard_, the _Times_ or
_Globe_, _Sun_ or _Herald_ respectively, whose business it is to be
continually on the watch for each other's lapses, to detect and expose
them. To what does all this lead but the formation of an indolent habit
of acquiescence in other men's opinions--a hasty, superficial
acquaintance with _pros_ and _cons_, upon even the gravest question
propounded by other men--a heedless, universal _taking upon trust_,
instead of that salutary jealousy, vigilance, and independence, which
insists in every thing, upon weighing matters in the balances of one's
own understanding? Many a man is reading these sentence who knows that
they are telling the truth; and doubtless he will be for the future upon
his guard, resolved not to surrender his independence of judgement, or
suffer his faculties to decay through inaction.--But, bless me! this
glorious morning is slipping away. I hear Tickler scratching at the
door. I shut up my writing-case, don my coat, hat, and walking-stick,
and away to the shore. Scarcely have I got upon the sands, when behold,
floating majestically past me, at little more than a mile's distance,
the magnificent _St Vincent_ (one hundred and twenty guns.) There's a
line-of-battle ship for you! I take off my hat involuntarily in the
presence of our Naval Majesty. I gaze after her with those feelings and
thoughts of fond pride and exultation which gush over the heart of an
Englishman looking at one of HIS MEN-OF-WAR! Well--superb St Vincent,
you have now rounded the corner, and are out of sight; but I remain
riveted to the spot with folded arms, and ask of our naval rulers, with
a certain stern anxiety, a question, which I shall throw into the
striking language of Mr Canning--"Are _you_, my Lords and Gentlemen,
_silently concentrating the force to be put forth on an adequate
occasion_?" Who can tell how soon that adequate occasion will present
itself? Is the peace of Europe at this moment so profound, is our own
position so satisfactory and impregnable, that we may wisely and safely
dismiss all anxiety from our minds? Why, has not, within these few days
past, an event occurred which is calculated to give rise to very serious
anxiety in the minds of those feeling an interest in public affairs? I
allude to the Duc de Montpensier's marriage with the Infanta Donna
Luisa, which I have just learned, was actually carried into effect at
Madrid on the 10th instant, in the teeth of the stern and repeated
protest of Great Britain. I do not take every thing for gospel which
appears on this subject in the newspapers, from which alone we have
hitherto derived all our knowledge of this affair; and, with a liberal
allowance in respect of their excusable anxiety to make the most of what
they regard as a godsend at this vapid period of the year, I would
suspend my judgment till the country shall have had full and authentic
information concerning the real state of the case. I hope it will prove
that I for one have altogether mistaken the aspect and bearings of the
affair. Discarding what may possibly turn out to be greatly exaggerated
or wholly unfounded, I take it nevertheless for granted, that, (1st,)
the youngest son of the reigning King of the French was, on the 10th
instant, married to Donna Luisa, the sister of the reigning Queen of
Spain, and heiress-presumptive to her crown; (2dly,) That this was done
after and in spite of the distinct emphatic protest of the British
government, conveyed to those of both Spain and France; (3dly,) That the
British government and the British ambassadors at Madrid and Paris had
been kept in profound ignorance of the whole affair up to the moment of
the annunciation to the world at large of the fact, that the marriage
had been finally--irrevocably determined upon. I think it, moreover,
highly probable, that (1st,) this marriage is regarded by the people of
Spain with sullen dislike and distrust; (2dly,) that there has been
cruel coercion upon the two royal girls--for such they are--the result
of an intrigue between their Mother, the notorious Christina, and Louis
Philippe; (3dly,) that an express or implied promise was personally
given, during the last year, at the Chateau d'Eu, by the French king and
his minister, to our queen and her minister, that this event should
_not_ take place;--and all this done while England was reposing in
confident and gratified security, upon the supposed "_cordial
understanding_" between herself and France; in contemptuous disregard of
England's title to be consulted in such an affair, founded upon her
stupendous sacrifices and exertions on behalf of the peace and liberty
of Spain, and in deliberate defiance--as it appears to me--of the treaty
of Utrecht! What is Louis Philippe about? On what principles are we to
account for his conduct? Has he counted the cost of obtaining his
immediate object? Has he calculated the consequences with respect to
France and to Europe generally? Is he prepared, at the proper time, to
demonstrate, that the step which he has taken is consistent with his
character for sincerity and straight-forwardness--with his personal
honour and welfare--with the honour and welfare of his family and of
France? That he has not violated any pledge, or infringed any treaty?
That England is not warranted in considering herself aggrieved,
slighted, insulted? That he could have had no sinister object in view,
and that his conduct has been consistent with his loud professions of
friendship and respect for this country and its sovereign? Let him ask
himself the startling question, whether he can afford to lose our
friendship and support towards himself or his family and dynasty, in his
rapidly declining years--or further, provoke our settled anger and
hostility? England is frank and generous, but somewhat stern and
sensitive in matters of honour and fidelity; and none is abler than
Louis Philippe to appreciate the consequences of her resentment. Is he
aware of the altered feeling towards him which his recent conduct has
generated in this country? That his name, when coupled with that
conduct, is mentioned only with the contempt and disgust due to gross
insincerity, selfishness, and treachery; and that, too, in a country
which, up to within a few months ago, gave him such unequivocal and
gratefully-recognised tokens of respect and affection? Whenever he
escaped from the hand of the assassin, where was the event hailed with
such profound sympathy as here? _Now_, his name suggests to us only that
of his execrable father, and reminds us that the blood running in his
veins is that of Philip Egalite. Surely the equipoise of European
interests has been seriously disturbed, either through the insane
recklessness of an avaricious monarch, bent on enriching every member
of his family, at all hazards, or in furtherance of a deep and
long-considered scheme, having for its exclusive and sinister object the
aggrandisement of his family and nation. Had he come to a secret
understanding beforehand with America, or any European power, to support
him throughout the consequences which might ensue? Was it his object to
crush English influence in the Peninsula, and render it at no distant
period a mere French province, and give him a right or pretext for
interference? What will the Spanish nation say to what he has done? Has
he rightly estimated the Spanish character, and foreseen the
consequences of what he has done, in perpetrating an _abduction_ of
their Infanta? What prospects has he opened for Spain? Has he considered
what a line of policy is now open to Great Britain, with reference to
Spain? Whether the northern powers of Europe will _announce_
dissatisfaction at this proceeding remains to be seen. They cannot
_feel_ satisfaction, unless their relations and policy towards this
country and France are assuming a new character. I should like to know
what M. Guizot really thinks on all these subjects, and am curious to
hear what he will say--or rather suffer his royal master to coerce him
into saying--when the time shall have arrived for public explanation. I
trust that it will speedily appear that our representatives in Spain and
France have acted, as became them, with promptitude, prudence, and
spirit, and that neither our late nor present foreign Secretary has been
guilty of neglect or bungling diplomacy, so as to place us now in a
position of serious embarrassment, or ridiculous inability for action.
If the contrary be the case--that is, if no such compromise of our
national interests have occurred, and we are now free to say and do what
we may consider consistent with our rights and character, it is to be
hoped that our government, by whomsoever carried on, will act on the one
hand with dignified and uncompromising determination, and on the other
with the utmost possible circumspection. They have to deal with a very
subtle and dangerous intriguer in Louis Philippe, who seems to have
chosen a moment for the development of his plans most convenient for
himself--viz., when our Parliament was newly prorogued, not to meet
again till he should have had the benefit of the chapter of accidents.
All will, however, assuredly come out; and if the main features of the
case prove to have been already shadowed forth truly, I do not think
that there will be found two opinions in this country upon the subject
of Louis Philippe and his Montpensier marriage. It is represented by,
_one_ of our journals as an event, the hubbub about which "will soon
blow over;" but I do not think so--it appears, on the contrary, pregnant
with very serious and far-stretching consequences--the first of which is
the undoubted conversion of the "cordial understanding" between England
and France, into a very "cordial _mis_understanding,"--with all its
embarrassing and threatening incidents. Our diplomatic relations are now
chilled and disordered; and the worst of it is, not by a temporary, but
_permanent_ cause--one which, the more we contemplate it, the more
distinctly we perceive the consequences which it was _meant_ should
follow from it. The bearing of England towards France has become one of
stern and guarded caution. In all human probability, Louis Philippe will
never look again upon the face of our Queen Victoria, or partake of her
hospitalities, or be permitted to pour his dulcet deceit into her ears.
He may affect to regard with satisfaction and exultation the fact of his
having become the father-in-law of the heiress-presumptive to the throne
of Spain: but I do not think that he can really regard what he has just
accomplished otherwise than with rapidly-increasing misgiving. "A few
months," to adopt the language of one of our most powerful journalists,
"will now probably show us how far Louis Philippe has succeeded in a
feat which foiled the undying ambition of Louis le Grand, and the
unexampled might of Napoleon; and what is the real value of the spoil
for which he has not hesitated to imperil a thirty years' peace, and
convulse the relations of Europe?" Let me return, however, to the topic
which led me into this subject, and express again my deep anxiety for
the efficient management of our navy: adding a significant fact
disclosed by the last number of _La Presse_--which announces that the
Minister of Marine has just concluded contracts for ship-timber to be
supplied to the ports of Toulon, Cherbourg, Brest, L'Orient, and
Rochefort, to the extent of upwards of 25,000,000 francs, (_i.e._
upwards of a million sterling.) Does Louis Philippe meditate leaving to
France the destructive legacy of a war with England, as a hoped-for
prevention of the civil war which he may expect to ensue upon his death?
* * * * *