(Augusta)--pleasant and prosperous sail to Greenwich, where we arrive
at twelve o'clock. The King's coaches not yet arrived, owing, as I
have since heard, to Lady ---- not being ready. She, Mrs Aston, and
Lord Claremont, came to meet the Princess. We waited at least an hour
for the carriages, and were very attentively, but awkwardly, received
by Sir W. Pattison, governor of the hospital, and his two sisters.
Lady ---- very much dissatisfied with the Princess's mode of dress,
though Mrs Harcourt had taken great pains about it, and expressed
herself in a way which induced me to speak rather sharply to her. She
also said, _she could not sit backwards_ in a coach, and hoped she
might be allowed to sit _forwards_. This, (though Mrs Harcourt was
servile enough to admit as a reason,) as it was strictly forbidden by
the King,"--[it _does_ seem, therefore, that some such difficulty had
been apprehended, and the probable conduct of Lady ----
discussed!]--"I most decidedly opposed, and told Lady ----, that, as
she must have known that riding backward in a coach disagreed with
her, she ought never to have accepted the situation of a lady of the
bedchamber, who never ought to sit forward, and that, if she really
was likely to be sick, I would put Mrs Aston into the coach with the
Princess, and have, by that means, the pleasure of Lady ----'s
company in the carriage allotted to me and Lord Claremont. _This of
course settled the business_; she and Mrs Harcourt sat backward, and
the Princess sat by herself forward. There was very little crowd, and
still less applause, on the road to London, where we arrived, and
were set down at St James's (the Duke of Cumberland's apartments,
Cleveland Row) about half-past two."
The long-expected, and probably dreaded interview was now to take place.
We may search the whole annals of marriage in vain for such another.
"Immediately notified the arrival to the King and Prince of Wales;
the last came immediately. I, according to the established etiquette,
introduced (no one else being in the room) the Princess Caroline to
him. She very properly, in consequence of my saying to her that it
was the right mode of proceeding, attempted to kneel to him. He
raised her, (gracefully enough,) and embraced her, said barely one
word, turned round, retired to a distant part of the apartment, and,
calling me to him, said--'Harris, I am not well; _pray, get me a
glass of brandy_!'
"I said, 'Sir, had you not better have a glass of water?' upon which
he, much out of humour, said with an oath--
"'No; I will go directly to the Queen,' and away he went.
"The Princess, left during this short moment alone, was in a state of
astonishment; and, on my joining her, said--'Mon Dieu! est-ce que le
Prince est toujours comme cela? Je le trouve tres gros et nullement
aussi beau que son portrait.'
"I said his Royal Highness was naturally a good deal affected and
flurried at this first interview, but she certainly would find him
different at dinner. She was disposed to further criticisms on this
occasion, which would have embarrassed me very much to answer, if
luckily the King had not ordered me to attend him."
Little comment is required upon such a scene. In charity, we shall suppose
that the Prince at the first glance was grievously disappointed with the
personal appearance of his bride--that he had formed some exaggerated
estimate of her charms, and that the reaction was so strong as to create
instantaneous antipathy. A more favourable hypothesis we cannot form; any
other must resolve itself into preconcerted insult. Still, this is no
justification for conduct which was at once mean and unmanly. There she
stood--the daughter of a sovereign prince--his own near kinswoman, whose
hand he had voluntarily solicited--young, and not devoid of some personal
beauty. Other defects he had not time to observe, and surely, on such an
occasion as this, they were not conspicuously prominent. Could any man,
with a spark of chivalrous feeling within him, have permitted himself to
manifest such tokens of disgust in the presence of a woman, who was to all
intents and purposes his wife, and whom he then for the first time beheld?
Some there were, wearing before him the princely plume of Wales, who would
rather have forfeited that honour than offered insult to a female and a
stranger--but the spirit of the Henrys and the Edwards was not there. An
interview of a minute's duration--brandy--and an oath! Rare prospects for
the felicity and continuance of the future Hymen!--Let us follow Lord
Malmesbury through the subsequent scenes.
"The drawing-room was just over. His Majesty's conversation turned
wholly on Prussian and French politics, and the only question about
the Princess was--'Is she good-humoured?'
"I said, and very truly, 'That in very trying moments I had never
seen her otherwise.'
"The King said, 'I am glad of it;' and it was manifest, from his
silence, he had seen the Queen _since_ she had seen the Prince, and
that the Prince had made a very unfavourable report of the Princess
to her. At dinner, at which all those who attended the Princess from
Greenwich assisted, and the honours of which were done by Lord
Stopford as Vice-Chamberlain, I was far from satisfied with the
Princess's behaviour. It was flippant, rattling, affecting raillery
and wit, and throwing out coarse, vulgar hints about Lady ----, who
was present, and, though mute, _le diable n'en perdait rien_. The
Prince was evidently disgusted, and this unfortunate dinner fixed his
dislike, which, when left to herself, the Princess had not the talent
to remove; but, by still observing the same giddy manners and
attempts at cleverness and coarse sarcasm, increased it till it
became positive hatred.
"From this time, though I dined frequently during the first three
weeks at Carlton House, nothing material occurred; but the sum of
what I saw there led me to draw the inferences I have just expressed.
After one of those dinners, where the Prince of Orange was present,
and at which the Princess had behaved very lightly and even
improperly, the Prince took me into his closet, and asked me how I
liked this sort of manners. I could not conceal my disapprobation of
them, and took this opportunity of repeating to him the substance of
what the Duke of Brunswick had so often said to me, that it was
expedient _de la tenir serree_, that she had been brought up very
strictly, and if she was not strictly kept, would, from high spirits
and little thought, certainly emancipate too much. To this the Prince
said--'I see it but too plainly; but why, Harris, did you not tell me
so before, or write it to me from Brunswick?'
"I replied that I did not consider what the Duke (a severe father
himself towards his children) said, of sufficient consequence; that
it affected neither the Princess's moral character nor conduct, and
was intended solely as a communication which I conceived it only
proper to notice to his Royal Highness at a proper occasion, at such
a one as now had offered; and that I humbly hoped his Royal Highness
would not consider it as casting any _real_ slur or aspersion on the
Princess; that as to not writing to his Royal Highness from
Brunswick, I begged him to recollect I was not sent on a
_discretionary_ commission, but with _the most positive commands_ to
ask the Princess Caroline in marriage, and nothing more; that to this
sole point, respecting the marriage and no other, these commands
went; any reflections or remarks that I had presumed to make, would
(whether in praise of, or injurious to her Royal Highness) have been
a direct and positive deviation from those his Majesty's commands.
They were as _limited_ as they were _imperative_. That still, had I
discovered notorious or glaring defects, or such as were of a nature
to render the union unseemly, I should have felt it as a bounden duty
to have stated them, but it must have been _directly to the King_,
and to no one else. To this the Prince appeared to acquiesce; but I
saw it did not please, and left a rankle in his mind."
We have heard some blame attributed to Lord Malmesbury, in certain
quarters, for not having communicated to the Prince his own impressions of
the bride. We are inclined to think this censure undeserved, and to look
upon his own defence, stated above, as perfectly satisfactory. Even if he
had considered it his duty to make any such representation--which it was
not--he must have done it at great personal peril. The whole odium--if the
marriage had been broken off--would have been attributed to him. Had it
gone forward, the coldness of the Prince would inevitably have been set
down as the effect of his interference. If he had been trusted with a
discretionary commission, much more would have been left in his power; but
the marriage was, in point of fact, quite concluded when he received
orders to repair to Brunswick. With regard to the Princess, he acted
throughout as a sincere and judicious friend in warning and in counselling
her. He drew no glittering or extravagant pictures to lead her imagination
astray. He prepared her to find the Court of London rather a place of
ordeal, beset with many snares and difficulties, than the site of luxury,
ease, and indulgence. He did his best to tutor her on the delicate topics
of deportment, manners, and conversation; and if he failed, it was only
because his counsel was required too late. It is said that the Prince
never forgave Lord Malmesbury for his share in this negotiation. If the
fact be so, the Prince was both unjust and ungenerous; for it is
questionable if there was one, among the other servants of the Crown, who
could have discharged so arduous a duty with half the discretion of this
accomplished and wise diplomatist. It should be remembered too, by those
who have adopted a different view, that Lord Malmesbury had little
opportunity, _at the first_, to investigate the character and habits of
the Princess. He was in daily expectation of his recall, and his time, as
his diary shows, was greatly occupied with the stirring public events of
Europe. Except himself, there was no experienced English statesman on the
Continent qualified to give advice at a period when communication with
home was hopeless. He therefore became, as it were, the adviser-general to
our ambassadors, our army, and the friendly states of Holland and of
Austria. He was the only man capable of unravelling and detecting the
tortuous policy of Prussia, and almost every moment of his time was
engrossed by these stupendous labours. It was only upon the journey
home--broken and protracted as it was--that he had the full opportunity of
ascertaining, by the use of his own faculties, the faults and
imperfections of the Princess, and surely it was then by far too late to
interfere.
Lord Malmesbury was present at the nuptials. There was little gaiety on
the occasion--none certainly in the heart of one--if not both--of the
principal actors in the scene.
"I should have said that the marriage ceremony took place late on the
evening of Wednesday, the 8th April, at St James's Chapel-Royal. The
ceremony was performed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, (Moore.) The
usual etiquette observed--we had assembled in the Queen's apartment;
from thence to the usual drawing-rooms, (very dark.) The procession,
preceded by the heralds and great officers of the court, (amongst
whom I was ordered to attend,) walked to the Chapel--very crowded.
Prince of Wales gave his hat, with a rich diamond button and loop, to
Lord Harcourt to hold, and made him a present of it. After the
marriage, we returned to the Queen's apartment. The King told me to
wear the Windsor uniform, and have the _entrees_. The Prince very
civil and gracious; but I thought I could perceive he was not quite
sincere, _and certainly unhappy; and as a proof of it, he had
manifestly had recourse to wine or spirits_." Lord Malmesbury remarks
in conclusion--"It is impossible to conceive or foresee any comfort
from this connexion, in which I lament very much having taken any
share, purely passive as it was."
Such is the secret history of the commencement of this ill-starred union,
which was destined at a future, and even more perilous period, to form one
of the most dangerous points of discord between the crown and people of
these realms. At the lapse of half a century, the appearance of these
documents is valuable, for they throw light upon many passages which
otherwise could only have been dimly conjectured. Since then, society in
the higher circles has undergone considerable reformation. More
amalgamation and friendly intercourse is yearly taking place among the
different courts of Europe; and we hail those reunions with joy, as the
best securities not only of the private happiness of those whose welfare
must always be important to their people, but of the general peace and
federal prosperity of the world.
The topics upon which we have dwelt in this article, are so interesting,
that we have occupied our space without exhausting one half of these
valuable volumes. They contain, besides, Lord Malmesbury's negotiations
with the French Directory at Paris in 1796, and at Lille in 1797, with
much of the private history of Mr Pitt during the period of the Addington
Administration. We may perhaps, on a future occasion, recur to these; at
present we shall conclude by heartily recommending this work to the
perusal of every one who desires to become thoroughly acquainted with the
diplomatic relations of the times.
GERMAN-AMERICAN ROMANCES.
THE VICEROY AND THE ARISTOCRACY, OR MEXICO IN 1812.
PART THE SECOND.
The two great colonizing nations of Europe, England and Spain, have
displayed a striking difference in their mode of treating the countries
which discovery or conquest has at various periods placed under their
rule. The constant aim of England has been to civilize the aborigines, and
elevate their moral character; to teach them the arts of life, and to
attach them to their rulers by the impartial administration of justice.
The prosperous state of British India, and the ease with which that vast
empire is governed and controlled by an insignificant number of Europeans,
prove the wisdom of the liberal and humane policy applied by Great Britain
to her Indian subjects.
The colonial system uniformly pursued by Spain has been widely and fatally
different. The establishment of her transatlantic colonies was
accomplished by the indiscriminate slaughter and plunder of the
unoffending natives. Disguise it as he may, cruelty is a distinguishing
characteristic of the Spaniard; and this moral phenomenon in the character
of a people, certainly not destitute of noble and chivalrous attributes,
may probably be traced, partly to the large admixture of Arabian blood in
the Spanish population, and partly to the long enduring and paramount
authority of a priesthood remarkable for its intolerant spirit, and for
its savage abuse of unlimited power. This propensity to deeds of cruelty
and oppression was nourished during the long contest with the Moors.
Abundant evidence of it may also be found in Spain's European wars, and
especially during the long and noble struggle of the brave Netherlanders
against the reckless and blood-thirsty soldiery of the Duke of Alva. But
the crowning atrocities of Spain were perpetrated in her American
possessions, and more particularly in Mexico, the richest and most
important of them all.
Assuming that the whole of Spanish America was a gift to the king of Spain
from God's vicegerent on earth, the Roman pontiff, and under the plea that
it was their especial duty to establish his creed, the Spaniards did not
hesitate to accomplish this end by the most lawless and cruel means. Their
unbounded greed of gold led to further oppressions on their part, and
sufferings on that of the Indians; and even the arbitrary, and for the
most part unjust, enactments of the Consejo de las Indias, a council
established for the government of Spain's colonial possessions, were
outheroded and overstepped by the cruel and mercenary individuals to whom
their enforcement was entrusted.
Fearing the eventual day of retribution, every cunning device was
practised to keep down the numbers of the unfortunate natives, and to
retard the growth of their intelligence. By a royal decree, not a town or
village could be founded, nor even a farm-house built, except in the
vicinity of a garrison, convent, or mission. The Spaniards wanted dollars,
not men, and could they have worked the rich mines of Guanaxato, Monte
Real, and elsewhere, with bullocks instead of Indians, would gladly have
seen the whole native population of Mexico exterminated. But when the
storm, which for a time had been averted, at length burst forth, they gave
a loose to their hatred of the unfortunate Mexicans. The rebellion,
premature in its outbreak, and crushed in its first great effort, was
carried on under various leaders, and with varying success, until it
terminated in the final downfall of the Spanish rule. The massacres and
cruelties perpetrated during the eleven intervening years, were beyond
conception horrible; far exceeding in extent and atrocity any thing
recorded in European history. The fearful night of St Bartholomew, the
tortures of the Inquisition, the persecutions in the Cevennes, and later,
the horrors of the French Revolution, sink into insignificance, when
compared with such wholesale massacres as those of Guanaxato and
Guadalajara, and with the sweeping destruction wrought by the Spaniards
throughout Mexico.
"Such and such towns and villages have disappeared from the face of the
earth," was no uncommon phrase in the reports and despatches of the
Spanish commanders--a phrase fully borne out by facts. Prisoners, of both
sexes and all ages, were murdered in cold blood, whole districts laid
waste with fire and sword, until not a human being or habitation was to be
seen, where previously a flourishing and numerous population existed. In a
despatch of the royalist general Morillo, dated Bagota, June 1816, he
stated that, in order to cut at the root of the rebellion, he had declared
all persons rebels who knew how to read and write, and that such were, on
detection, immediately to be put to death. Accordingly, six hundred of the
most notable persons in Bagota, both men and women, guiltless of all other
crimes but education, were strangled, and their bodies suspended naked
from gibbets. Nothing but the weariness of the executioner and his aids,
put an end to this horrid butchery.
We cannot better illustrate the state of things above referred to, than by
laying before the reader some farther extracts from _The Viceroy and the
Aristocracy_. For this purpose we will select the early portion of the
second volume, previously connecting it by some brief details with the two
chapters given in our last Number.
The five-and-twenty young noblemen who witnessed the treasonable dramatic
performance described in the second chapter of the book before us, are
sentenced, as a punishment for their offence, to serve in the army under
Calleja, the captain-general of Mexico. This is announced to their
parents, who are all Creoles of the highest rank, at a drawing-room held
by the viceroy Vanegas, where we are introduced to a certain Count San
Jago, who, as well on account of his wealth and influence, as by his high
qualities and superior intelligence, ranks first amongst the Mexican
nobility, and enjoys great consideration at the viceregal court. His
nephew, Don Manuel, and his adopted son, the Conde Carlos, were among the
spectators of the pasquinade in which King Ferdinand's private pastimes
had been so cuttingly caricatured, and they are included in the sentence
passed on all those who have thus offended. This sentence excites great
indignation amongst the Mexican nobility, who see in it a gross violation
of their _fueros_ or privileges. There is no option, however, but
obedience. The Count San Jago, who ardently desires the freedom of his
country, and even maintains a secret understanding with some of the rebel
chiefs, rejoices in the punishment awarded, deeming that the introduction
of these young men into the army may pave the way to Creole ascendancy.
The immediate expulsion of the Spaniards from Mexico is not desired by
him, or by the majority of the Creoles, as it would throw the chief power
into the hands of the Indians and castes, who are totally unfitted to
wield it. The count procures a captain's commission for Carlos, and would
willingly do the same for his nephew; but Don Manuel, although a Creole by
birth, is a Spaniard in heart, despises his own countrymen, and resolves
to proceed to Spain and take part in the struggle against the French. An
attachment has existed between him and the Countess Elvira, sister of
Carlos; but this has recently been succeeded, on the side of Manuel, by a
violent passion he has conceived for the viceroy's sister-in-law, Donna
Isabella, a haughty beauty, who only encourages the young Creole so far as
it accords with the views of Vanegas, some of whose designs would be
promoted by the absence from Mexico of the Count San Jago's nephew and
heir. Blinded by his passion, Manuel obeys the impulse artfully given to
him by Donna Isabella, resists the remonstrances of his uncle and the
tears of Elvira, and insists upon proceeding to Spain, which his
imagination paints as the fountain-head of chivalry and heroism. Count San
Jago sees through his motives, but does not choose to constrain his
inclination; and Manuel sets out, with a train of attendants befitting
his rank, for the sea-coast, where he is to embark for the mother country.
His adventures upon the road form a striking episode, to a certain extent
independent of the rest of the book, and with which we will continue our
extracts.
CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.
"What are you
That fly me thus? Some villain mountaineers?"
_Cymbeline._
About a day's journey from the capital, rises that mighty chain of
mountains called the Sierra Madre, which, after connecting the volcanoes
of Mexico with those of Puebla, takes an inland and northerly direction,
hiding within its bowels, near Monte Real and Guanaxato, that boundless
mineral wealth which excites so strongly the wonder of the naturalist. The
most important mountains of Mexico are portions of this chain, which gives
to that country a character so original, so wildly picturesque and truly
sublime, yet so cheerful and smiling, that the eye of the beholder ranges
with alternate rapture and surprise from point to point of the immense
landscape, vainly endeavouring to comprehend in one frame the
wonderfully-contrasted materials of the picture before him.
The flanks of these mountain ridges are thickly clothed with lofty oak and
pine, while the dwarf oak and the mimosa cover the shoulders; and their
rocky summits, bare of all vegetable life, are composed of granite and
porphyry. Terrific craters yawn on every side of these sombre dark-brown
masses, which appear to be still teeming with those tremendous
revolutions, that have given to this country its remarkable configuration.
Luxuriant crops of wheat and maize cover the mountain slopes; the lower
levels delight the eye with the endless variety and brilliant colours of
their exotic plants; while, still lower, the tough agave darts forth its
sharp and giant leaves, like so many sword-blades, and the plains are
intersected by vast barrancas,[31] exhibiting that wonderful opulence of
tropical fertility, which is ever at work in their deep and shady hollows.
From these ascend the roar of rushing streams, invisible to the eye, but
mighty in their influence; every slope they wash yielding a prodigality of
vegetable ornament, which the most glowing fancy would find it difficult
to paint. The flowering shrubs are linked together and covered by
numberless creepers, studded with brilliant blossoms, forming continuous
garlands of flowers, which climb on the roots to the crown, and conceal
thousands of conzontlis, cardinal birds, and madrugadores, within their
shady recesses.
It was a bright and sunny afternoon. The snowy regions of the mighty
Orizava,[32] and of the mightier Popocatepetl, hitherto resplendent as
burnished silver, now began to exhibit flickering tints of rose-colour,
which, deepening on their eastern sides into golden-yellow and bronze,
reflected every moment some fresh variety of hue. The shadows of Mount
Malinche and his brethren began to stretch over towards Tlascala. Deep
silence prevailed throughout the entire district, broken only by the
scream of the ring eagle, or the hollow howl of the coyote.[33]