[Illustration: 210]
When the East India Directors recalled Lord Ellenborough, and replaced
him by Sir Henry Harding, the impression upon the public mind was,
as was natural it should be, that the course of policy adopted by the
former, was such as met not their approval, and should not be persisted
in by his successor.
To supersede one man by another, that he might perform the very same
acts in the same way, would be something too ludicrous and absurd. When
John Bull chassées the Tories, and takes to the Whigs, it is because
he has had enough of Peel, and wants to try a stage with Lord John, who
handles the ribbons differently, and drives another sort of a team; a
piebald set of screws they are, to be sure, but they can go the pace
when they are at it; and, as the road generally lies downhill, they get
along right merrily. But John would never think of a change, if the pace
were to be always the same..No; he 'd just put up with the set he
had, and take his chance. Not so your India Directors. They are quite
satisfied with everything; all is right, orderly, and proper; but still
they would rather that another man were at the head of affairs, to
do exactly what had been done before. “What are you doing,
Peter?”--“Nothing, sir.” “And you, Jem, what are you about?”--“Helping
Peter, sir.” That is precisely the case, and Sir Henry is gone out to
help Lord Ellenborough.
Such a line of proceeding is doubtless singular enough, and many
sensible people there are, who cannot comprehend the object and
intention of the wise Directors; while, by the press, severe imputations
have been thrown upon their consistency and intelligence, and some have
gone so far as to call their conduct unparalleled.
This, however, is unjust. The Old Almanack, as Lord Brougham would call
it, has registered a not inapplicable precedent; and, in the anxious
hope of being remembered by the “Old Lady,” I hasten to mention it:--
When Louis XIV. grew tired of Madame la Vallière, and desired to
replace her by another in his favour, he committed the difficult task
of explanation on the subject, to his faithful friend and confessor,
Bossuet. The worthy Bishop undertook his delicate mission with
diffidence; but he executed it with tact. The gentle La Vallière wept
bitterly; she knew nothing of the misfortune that menaced her. She
believed that her star still stood in the ascendant, and fancied (like
Lord Ellenborough) that her blandishments were never more acknowledged.
“Whence, then, this change?” cried she, in the agony of her grief. “How
have I offended him?”
“You mistake me, my daughter,” said Mons. de Méaux. “His Majesty is
most tenderly attached to you; but religious scruples--qualms of
conscience--have come upon him. 'C'est par la peur du diable,' that he
consents to this separation.”
Poor Louise dried her tears; the case was bad enough, but there was one
consolation--it was religion, and not a rival, had cost her a lover; and
so she began her preparations for departure with a heart somewhat less
heavy. On the day, however, of her leave-taking, a carriage, splashed
and travel-stained, arrived at the “petite porte” of the Palace; and as
instantaneously ran the rumour through the household that his Majesty's
new mistress had arrived: and true it was, Madame de Maintenon had taken
her place beside the fauteuil of the King.
“So, Mons. de Bossuet,” said La Vallière, as he handed her to her
carriage--“so, then, his Majesty has exiled me, 'par la peur du
diable.'”
The Bishop bowed in tacit submission and acquiescence.
“In that case,” resumed she, “c'est par complaisance au diable, that he
accepts Madame de Maintenon.”