THE FESTIVAL OF PEACE AND THE _COUP D’ÉTAT_.
The World’s Fair--Carping Critics--Churlish Ambassadors Rebuked by
the Queen--Opening of the Great Exhibition--A Touching Sight--The
Queen’s Comments on “_soi-disant_ Fashionables”--The Duke of
Wellington’s Nosegay--Prince Albert among the Missionaries--The
Queen’s Letter to Lord John Russell--Her Pride in her Husband--The
London Season--The Duke of Brunswick’s Balloon
“Victoria”--Bloomerism--The Queen at Macready’s Farewell
Benefit--The Queen’s Costume Ball--The Spanish Beauty--An Ugly
“Lion”--The Queen at the Guildhall Ball--Grotesque Civic
Festivities--Royal Visits to Liverpool and Manchester--A
Well-Dressed Mayor--The Queen on the “Sommerophone”--The _Coup
d’État_--The Assassins of Liberty--The Appeal to France--The
Queen’s Last Quarrel with Palmerston--Palmerston’s Fall--Outcry
against the Queen--A “Presuming” Muscovite--The Queen’s
Vindication.
During the greater part of the Session of 1851 the English people, to
use a phrase of Mr. Disraeli’s, “were not up to politics.” It was the
year of the marvellous World’s Fair, or Great International Exhibition,
and the keen interest which it aroused diverted public attention from
Ministerial blundering. But though the interest of the country in the
Exhibition was strong, it was feeble compared with that which the Queen
and Prince Albert took in it. In spring, when the Court returned to
London, the Prince concentrated all his energies on the labour of
organising the arrangements for the opening of the Crystal Palace. All
through March and April he worked night and day, undaunted by the
carping criticisms of those who predicted that the direst calamities
would spring from the Exhibition. These foolish persons asserted that
the Exhibition Commissioners were simply organising a foreign invasion
of London. To attract to the capital dense crowds of foreigners, they
declared, would lead to riot, to the spread of revolutionary doctrines,
to the introduction of pestilence and of foreign forms of immorality,
and to the ruin of British trade, the secrets of which would be revealed
to our competitors in the markets of the world. Colonel Sibthorp, in the
Debate on the Address, actually implored Heaven to destroy the Crystal
Palace by hail or lightning, and others declared that the Queen would
most surely be assassinated by some foreign conspirators, on the opening
day of the great show.
The diplomatic body in London also behaved churlishly to the promoters
of the scheme, arguing that foreigners, by coming in contact with the
democratic institutions of England, would lose their taste for
Absolutism. When Prince Albert proposed that the Ambassadors should have
an opportunity of taking part in the proceedings by presenting an
Address to the Queen, M. Van de Weyer, as senior member of the
diplomatic body in London, privately asked the opinion of his colleagues
on the subject. They all gave their assent with one exception, Baron
Brunnow, who was “not at home” when M. Van de Weyer called on him. But
at a meeting of the diplomatic body it was decided by a majority of them
not to present any Address to her Majesty. This decision was arrived at
mainly by the influence of Brunnow, who said he could not permit the
Russian nation or people to be mentioned in an Address of this kind. He
was also jealous of allowing M. Van de Weyer or any other Ambassador to
speak for the Russian Government. The Queen was chagrined at this
incivility, and instructed M. Van de Weyer to tell his colleagues that
of course she could not compel them “to accept a courtesy which anywhere
else would be looked on as a favour.” Brunnow, however, held out. In the
end it was agreed that the Ambassadors should present no Address, but
merely be formally presented to the Queen at the opening function, and,
having bowed, that they should file away to the side of the platform,
where they certainly did not cut an imposing figure during the ceremony
of inauguration.
[Illustration: SIR JOSEPH PAXTON.]
On the 29th of April the Queen made a private visit to the Exhibition,
and returned from it saying that her eyes were positively dazzled with
“the myriads of beautiful things” which met her view. Though some of the
Royal Family, like the Duke of Cambridge, were afraid that there might
be a riot on the opening day, the Queen was not affected in the least by
their warnings, asserting that she had the completest faith in the good
sense, good humour, and chivalrous loyalty of her people. Nor was this
confidence misplaced. On the day of the opening, she was received with
passionate demonstrations of loyal enthusiasm from the crowds, amounting
in the aggregate to about 700,000 persons, who came forth to see her
pass. As for those who entered the building, they seemed awestruck with
astonishment at the brilliant scene, radiant with life and colour, which
lay before their eyes. At half-past eleven on the 1st of May the Royal
_cortège_ left the Palace, and filed along in a stately procession
through the enormous crowds who swarmed in the Green Park and in Hyde
Park. “A little rain fell,” writes the Queen, “just as we started, but
before we came near the Crystal Palace the sun shone and gleamed upon
the gigantic edifice, upon which the flags of all the nations were
floating. We drove up Rotten Row, and got out at the entrance on that
side. The glimpse of the transept through the iron gates, the waving
palms, flowers, statues, myriads of people filling the galleries and
seats around, gave us a sensation which I can never forget, and I felt
much moved. We went for a moment to a little side room, where we left
our shawls, and where we found Maria and Mary [now Princess of Teck],
and outside which were standing the other Princes. In a few seconds we
proceeded, Albert leading me, having Vicky at his right hand and Bertie
[Prince of Wales] holding mine.... The tremendous cheers, the joy
expressed in every face, the immensity of the building, the mixture of
palms, flowers, trees, statues, fountains, the organ (with 200
instruments and 600 voices, which sounded like nothing), and my beloved
husband, the author of this ‘Peace-Festival,’ which united the industry
of all nations of the earth--all this was moving indeed, and it was and
is a day to live for ever.”[39] When the National Anthem had been sung,
Prince Albert, at the head of the Commissioners, read their Report to
the Queen. She in turn read a short reply. A brief prayer was offered by
the Archbishop of Canterbury, and then the “Hallelujah Chorus” was sung.
The grand State procession of all the dignitaries was then formed, and
walked along the whole length of the crowded nave amidst deafening
cheers. “Every one’s face,” writes the Queen in her Diary, “was bright
and smiling, many with tears in their eyes. Many Frenchmen called out
‘Vive la Reine!’.... The old Duke and Lord Anglesey walked arm in arm,
which was a touching sight.” When the procession returned to the point
from which it started, Lord Breadalbane proclaimed the Exhibition open
in the name of the Queen, whereupon there was a flourish of trumpets and
more cheering. “Everybody,” writes the Queen,
[Illustration: OPENING OF THE GREAT EXHIBITION, HYDE PARK.
(_After the Picture by Eugène Lamé._)]
“was astonished and delighted. Sir George Grey (Home Secretary) in
tears.” On the way home her Majesty again met with a magnificent
reception. After entering the Palace, she and the Prince showed
themselves on the balcony and bowed their adieus to the vast throng,
whose loyal shouts rent the air. The most perfect order was maintained,
and, writes the Queen, “the wicked and absurd reports of dangers of
every kind which a set of people, namely, _soi-disant_ fashionables and
the most violent Protectionists spread, are silenced.... I must not,”
she adds, “omit to mention an interesting episode of this day, namely,
the visit of the good old Duke on this his eighty-second birthday to his
little godson, our dear little boy.[40] He came to us both at five, and
we gave him a golden cup and some toys, which he himself had chosen, and
Arthur gave him a nosegay.” From every quarter congratulations on the
complete success of the day poured in upon the Queen, and though 700,000
spectators lined the route between the Exhibition and the Palace, no
accidents and not a single police case could be traced to this enormous
gathering of sightseers.
One result of the Exhibition was the celebration of the one hundred and
fiftieth anniversary of the Society for Propagating the Gospel in
Foreign Parts. It was thought that the great gathering of foreigners
offered a fitting occasion for celebrating an event of the kind, and
Prince Albert was asked to preside over the commemoration. His Royal
Highness agreed, but stipulated that the celebration was to have no
denominational or sectarian turn. Representatives of all parties,
therefore, were invited; and the Prince’s speech, which he prepared with
unusual care, was marked by broad catholicity of feeling, and was
admirably in harmony with the great festival of civilisation which he
himself had organised. Lord John Russell was so deeply impressed with
the speech, that he wrote to the Queen congratulating her on the effect
that it had produced. In reply the Queen wrote as follows:--“We are both
much pleased at what Lord John Russell says about the Prince’s speech of
yesterday. It was on so ticklish a subject, that we could not feel
certain beforehand how it might be taken.” At the same time, the Queen
felt sure that the Prince would say the right thing, from her entire
confidence in his great tact and judgment. The Queen, at the risk of not
appearing sufficiently modest (and yet why should a wife ever be modest
about her husband’s merits?), must say that she thinks Lord John Russell
will admit now that the Prince is possessed of very extraordinary powers
of mind and heart. She feels so proud of being his wife, that she cannot
refrain from herself paying a tribute to his noble character.”[41]
As might have been expected, the London season of the Exhibition year
was an exceptionally brilliant one. It was marked by a strange
combination of eccentricity and gaiety. The Duke of Brunswick kept the
town talking with sufficient volubility, and his voyage to France in a
balloon, the “Victoria,” with Mr. Green, the aëronaut, was a nine days’
wonder. In midsummer “Bloomerism” whetted the wits of Londoners. The
votaries of “Bloomerism” took their name from the wife of a gallant
American officer. This lady invented a new costume for women, consisting
of loose trousers gathered at the ankles, a short, full skirt, and a
broad hat. Adventuresses and “advanced” ladies tried to popularise the
costume, but failed. Ridicule killed their cause, and when barmaids in
public-houses and “fast” women generally began to adopt “Bloomerism,”
its doom was sealed. The season of 1851 was, indeed, clouded with but
one dismal fact; the aristocracy were somewhat pinched because
agricultural prices were low, and yet the nobility bore their part in
the great vortex of hospitality, which the World’s Fair had set
whirling, bravely enough. London swarmed with distinguished foreigners,
and balls and routs and dinner-parties went on without ceasing.
[Illustration: ST. GEORGE’S HALL, LIVERPOOL.]
The first striking event of the season was the withdrawal of Macready
from the stage on the 1st of February, and from the Memoirs of that
great actor we find that the Queen made a point of being present at his
farewell performance on the 26th of February at Drury Lane--the scene of
his triumphs, not only as an actor but as a manager, who had restored
Shakespeare’s plays to the stage in their fullest integrity. Nor was
this the only performance which her Majesty honoured with her presence.
Writing on May 17th, Lord Malmesbury records that “Lady Londonderry
appeared at the Duke of Devonshire’s play in a gown trimmed with green
birds, small ones round the body and down the sides, and large ones down
the centre. The beak of one of the birds caught in the Queen’s dress,
and was some time before it could be disentangled.” On the 12th of June
there was a grand fancy ball at the Palace, the period chosen for
illustration being the time of Charles II. The nobility and gentry
appeared in the characters of their ancestors. The high officers of
State donned the costumes of their predecessors in the reign of the
“Merry Monarch.” “We went to the Queen’s Ball,” writes Lord Malmesbury;
“it is said that her Majesty received 600 excuses out of 1,400
invitations, and that she did not fill up their places. I thought it
very inferior to the first two. Most of the fancy dresses shabby, as if
they had been got up cheap.”
[Illustration: THE ROYAL VISIT TO WORSLEY HALL: THE STATE BARGE ON THE
BRIDGWATER CANAL.]
This was the season during which “the Spanish beauty,” Mademoiselle de
Montijo, afterwards Empress of the French, shone meteor-like in London
Society, and divided the honours with Narvaez, “an ugly, little fat man,
with a vile expression of countenance,” according to Lord Malmesbury,
and who, after being Prime Minister of Spain, and having headed many
pronunciamientos, uttered one famous _bon mot_ on his deathbed. When he
was asked by the priest to forgive his enemies, he answered, “I have
none, as I always got rid of them.”[42]
On the 9th of July, however, the most remarkable event of the season
took place. It was the gorgeous ball given at Guildhall by the Lord
Mayor and Corporation of the City of London to celebrate the success of
the Great Exhibition. That success was now assured. The weekly takings
at the gates had never been less than £10,298. In one week they had
amounted to £22,189, and already Prince Albert was discussing, with his
confidential advisers, what they should do with the large surplus which
they were certain they would have in hand. The crowning triumph of the
undertaking was therefore celebrated by the City magnates with more than
their usual display of lavish magnificence. The Queen and Prince Albert
accepted invitations, and when they started in their State carriage from
Buckingham Palace, they drove through dense crowds of people, amidst
shouts of congratulations delivered in all sorts of tongues. Nay, when
they left the Guildhall on the morning of the 10th of July, at daybreak,
they were amazed to find loyal crowds still waiting to cheer them, with
no diminution of enthusiasm as they drove home. “A million of people,”
writes the Prince to Baron Stockmar on the 14th of July, “remained till
three in the morning in the streets, and were full of enthusiasm towards
us.” He says, also, that the ball passed off “brilliantly,”[43] but with
this must be read, as a mild corrective, the description given by Lord
Malmesbury in his Diary, which is as follows:--“July 10th.--Went in the
evening to Madame Van de Weyer’s. I hear the ball to the Queen at the
Guildhall was extremely amusing. People very ridiculous. The ladies
passed her at a run, never curtseying, and then returned to stare at
her. Some of the gentlemen passed with their arms round the ladies’
waists, others holding them by the hand at arm’s length, as if they were
going to dance a minuet. One man kissed his hand to the Queen as he went
by, which set her Majesty off in a fit of laughter.” The ball, however,
marked the beginning of the end of this splendid season. “To-night,”
writes Prince Albert to Baron Stockmar in the letter just alluded to,
“we have our last ball. The day after to-morrow I come back here to dine
with the Agricultural Society.... On the 18th we return to Osborne for
good.” It was not, however, till the 28th of July that the Court removed
to Osborne, and on the 18th they visited the Crystal Palace once more.
This visit the Queen describes in a letter to Stockmar, in which she
says:--“The immense number of manufacturers with whom we have spoken
have gone away delighted. The thousands who are at the Crystal Palace
when we are leaving are all so loyal and so gratified, many never having
seen us before. All this will be of a use not to be described. It
identifies us with the people, and gives them an additional cause for
loyalty and attachment.”
On the 27th of August the Queen, Prince Albert, and their family left
Osborne for Balmoral, which had now been purchased by the Prince from
its owner. On the journey northwards they were received at Peterborough
by the venerable Bishop of that see, who had been her Majesty’s tutor,
and a touching interview took place between the Queen and her old
preceptor. At Boston and Doncaster loyal addresses were presented, the
party passing the night at the Angel Inn, Doncaster, much to the delight
of the inhabitants of that town. On the 28th they reached Edinburgh,
where they occupied the State apartments at Holyrood, and drove through
the town in the evening. Next day they arrived at Balmoral, where they
remained till the 7th of October. During this holiday the Queen and her
husband devoted themselves to the rural occupations that always while
away the autumn in the Highlands--the Queen walking, driving, riding,
sketching, and visiting the cottages of the poor people in her
neighbourhood, with whom she had become an especial favourite--the
Prince pursuing his favourite sport of deer-stalking, with even more
than his wonted ardour. They also entertained many distinguished guests,
among whom may be mentioned Hallam the historian, and Liebig the
chemist, who were both charmed with the welcome which they received, and
with the easy simplicity of the Queen’s life in her northern home.
On the 8th of October they proceeded to Edinburgh, and met with one or
two adventures by the way which brought vividly to the Queen’s mind the
hazards of railway travelling. When nearing Forfar the axle of a
carriage truck became overheated by friction, and the train was stopped
till the truck was uncoupled. At Kirkliston there was an explosion of
steam in one of the feeder-pipes of the engine, which delayed the train
for an hour, and prevented the Royal party from reaching Edinburgh till
eight o’clock at night. Next morning they resumed their journey. At
Lancaster, where they stopped for luncheon, the Queen and her children
went to view John of Gaunt’s ancient castle, and she was presented with
its keys at the gateway of the stronghold--two addresses being read to
her, which she herself has said were “very prettily worded.” In the
afternoon the Royal party reached Croxteth Park, the seat of the Earl of
Sefton. Next morning they started to visit Liverpool, calling on Lord
Derby at Knowsley Park on the way.
They would have been welcomed with a splendid reception from the Mayor
and Corporation and inhabitants of the great northern seaport, had not
the weather broken, and had not torrents of rain poured down without
ceasing, veiling everything and everybody in the densest fog. Still the
Queen persisted in proceeding with the appointed programme, and,
good-naturedly determined to make the best of the unpropitious elements,
she visited the eastern and southern districts of the town, inspected
the docks by land, viewed them from the Mersey from the deck of the
_Fairy_, and made a return progress through the central and northern
streets, which by this time were one sea of mud, where, however, patient
and loyal crowds stood waiting to cheer their Sovereign and her family
as they passed. “We proceeded,” writes her Majesty, “to the Council
Room, where we stood on a throne, and received the addresses of the
Mayor and Corporation, to which I read an answer, and then knighted the
Mayor, Mr. Bent, a very good man.” What seems to have pleased the Queen
most was her visit to St. George’s Hall, a building which she
enthusiastically described as “being worthy of ancient Athens.” Here she
had to step out on the balcony and stand in the rain bowing her
acknowledgments to the vast crowd who stood cheering with undamped
ardour in the street below. From Liverpool the Queen and her party,
attended by Lady Ellesmere, the Duke of Wellington, Lord and Lady
Westminster, and Lord and Lady Wilton, proceeded in a barge along the
Bridgwater Canal to Worsley Hall, the seat of Lord Ellesmere. The barge
was towed by four horses, and whilst one half was covered in, over that
part which was open an awning was stretched. “The boat,” writes the
Queen, “glided along in a most noiseless and dream-like manner amidst
the cheers of the people who lined the sides of the canal.” At Worsley
Hall the Queen met Mr. Nasmyth, the inventor of the steam-hammer, and
she seems to have been greatly delighted with his conversation, and
fascinated by his drawings and maps explaining his investigations into
the geography of the moon. The evening, indeed, was devoted mainly to
scientific conversation, this ascetic turn being given to it by the
arrival of the news that the first great submarine telegraph cable had
been successfully laid between Dover and Calais. Next day, the 10th of
October, the weather brightened, and the Royal party visited Manchester,
the working people of the town turning out in holiday garb to welcome
their Sovereign. “A very intelligent but painfully unhealthy-looking
population they all were, men as well as women”--such is the Queen’s
description of her hosts. In the Peel Park, Salford, her reception by
82,000 school children of all sects and creeds, and their singing of the
National Anthem, appear to have surprised and impressed her profoundly.
She also remarked “the beautifully dressed” Mr. Potter, the Mayor of
Manchester, “the Mayor and Corporation of which town,” writes the Queen,
“had till now been too Radical to have robes.” Mr. Potter was duly
knighted for his courtesy and kindness to the Royal party, and the Queen
expressed herself as especially delighted with the order and good
behaviour of the crowds who followed. She notes, however, in her Diary
“that there are no really fine buildings” in Manchester--an observation
which serves to mark the progress made by this now splendid city since
1851. Next day the Royal party left Worsley Hall, passed again through
Manchester, and through Stockport, Crewe, Stafford, Rugby, Weedon,
Wolverton, and Watford, where their carriages were found waiting for
them ready to post to Windsor, which they reached at half-past seven in
the evening.
On the 14th of October the Queen paid her final visit to the Great
Exhibition, and she records the fact that “an organ, accompanied by a
fine and powerful brass instrument, the Sommerophone, was being played,
and it nearly upset me.” The Sommerophone had a compass of five octaves,
and
[Illustration: THE QUEEN’S ARRIVAL IN PEEL PARK: CHILDREN OF THE
MANCHESTER AND SALFORD SCHOOLS SINGING THE NATIONAL ANTHEM.]
when played by its inventor, Herr Sommer--the only performer who could
make it discourse music--was one of the marvels of a year singularly
full of the marvellous. Next day the grand show was closed with somewhat
scant ceremony, the Queen writing in her Diary, “How sad and strange to
think that this great and bright time has passed away like a dream,
after all its triumph and success.” It is curious to observe that in the
contemporary expressions of public feeling which were prompted by the
wind-up of the Exhibition, the same note of melancholy is sounded, as if
there were abroad a half-conscious foreboding that the Festival of Peace
was only too likely to be followed by War.
These forebodings were justifiable. Affairs abroad began to assume a
threatening aspect. It has been shown how the enthusiastic
demonstrations with which Louis Kossuth had been honoured in England had
caused the Queen many anxious moments. Her mind was sadly troubled,
also, by the ostentatious display of sympathy which Lord Palmerston
extended to the Hungarian patriot, and by the veiled threat of Austria
to recall her Ambassador if these demonstrations continued. Mr. Greville
has somewhat maliciously said that the Queen’s feelings on this subject
were caused by jealousy. Kossuth’s reception at Manchester, he observes,
had been even more enthusiastic than her own. _Hinc illæ lacrymæ._ Here
Mr. Greville does her Majesty a gross injustice. The abhorrence of the
English Court for Austrian Absolutism was strong and unstinted, and most
forcible expression is given to it in many letters from Prince Albert to
Stockmar. England, however, was at peace with Austria, and had no
interest in going to war with her. But the Queen argued that it would be
impossible to keep up even the semblance of friendly relations with
foreign States, if her Foreign Secretary were to pose as the friendly
protector of every rebel leader who had attempted to upset their
Government, or received addresses in which their rulers were stigmatised
as “odious assassins.” Her anger against Lord Palmerston was not to be
appeased by his apologists, who reminded her that he was taking a
popular and democratic line, which was sure to win for the Queen the
affection of the people, thereby more than compensating her for the loss
of Austria’s goodwill. Her answer, penned by herself in a vigorous
letter to Lord John Russell on the 21st of November, was:--“It is no
question with the Queen whether she pleases the Emperor of Austria or
not, but whether she gives him a just ground of complaint or not. And if
she does so she can never believe that this will add to her popularity
with her own people.”[44] We have already[45] described the action which
was taken by the Cabinet in relation to this business, and it now
remains to record the next quarrel which her Majesty had with Lord
Palmerston, and which ultimately led to his expulsion from the Ministry.
On the morning of the 4th of December the Queen was at Osborne, and
there she was informed of the _coup d’état_ in Paris on the 2nd inst.
The Prince-President, Charles Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, though he had
sworn to protect the Republic, had, in concert with a clique of
conspirators,[46] long before the 1st of December determined to restore
the Empire. The first thing to do was to win over the army. The next to
disgust the nation with Parliamentary institutions. The former task was
easily accomplished. The latter, however, was somewhat more difficult,
and the manner in which the conspirators set about it was most
ingenious. Every newspaper that directed attention to the dangerous
drift of the Prince-President’s policy was suppressed. He began to
conspire, says Alexis de Tocqueville, “from November 10th, 1848. His
direct instructions to Oudinot, and his letter to Ney only a few months
after his election, showed his determination not to submit to
Parliamentary Government. Then followed his dismissal of Ministry after
Ministry, until he had degraded the office to a clerkship. Then came the
semi-royal progress, then the reviews of Satory, the encouragement of
treasonable cries, the selection for all the high appointments in the
army of Paris of men whose infamous character fitted them to be tools.
Then he publicly insulted the Assembly at Dijon, and at last, in
October, we knew his plans were laid. It was then only that we began to
think what were our means of defence, but that was no more a conspiracy
than it is a conspiracy in travellers to look for their pistols when
they see a band of robbers advancing.”[47]
Two powerful motives urged the Prince-President forward. The time for
the revision of the Constitution was approaching, a fundamental law of
which was that he was ineligible for re-election at the expiry of his
term of office. This law virtually forced him to choose between
usurpation and obscurity, unless he could get it revised in his
interests. But it was evident to him that it would not be so revised,
unless popular pressure were put upon the Assembly, by some imposing
demonstration of the masses in his favour. To win their sympathies he
demanded the abolition of the Electoral Law of May 31st, 1850. That law
imposed a three years’ residential qualification on the voter, and in
practice it reduced the electorate from 10,000,000 to 7,000,000
electors. The electoral law of May 31st was therefore the
Prince-President’s moral weapon against the Assembly. The Assembly,
however, refused to further his policy on both points, and endeavoured
to protect itself against reprisals by authorising its President to
exercise such control over the army as he might deem necessary for its
protection. This in turn was resented by the Prince-President as an
attack on the prerogatives of the Executive, and Cabinet after Cabinet
fell in the course of the struggle between the Chief of the State and
the Parliament. But the end was within sight when a Bill
[Illustration: THE COUP D’ÉTAT: LANCERS CHARGING THE CROWD IN THE
BOULEVARDS OF PARIS.]
determining the responsibility of the Prince-President and his Ministers
was brought forward. It provided for the punishment and trial of
Ministers and of the Prince-President in the event of their violating
the Constitution, and it was the last measure of importance which the
Chamber was permitted to consider. On the night of the 1st of December
the Prince-President and his coadjutors secretly printed a number of
decrees, which were posted before daybreak on the walls of Paris. These
announced the dissolution of the National Assembly and of the Council of
State; the abrogation of the law of May 31st, 1850; the convocation of
the French electoral colleges from the 14th to the 21st of December; and
the proclamation of a state of siege in Paris. The Prince-President
further submitted to the electors a new programme, of which the chief
points were (1), a responsible chief named for ten years; (2), Ministers
dependent on the Executive alone; (3), a Council of State; (4), a
Legislature elected by universal suffrage without _scrutin de liste_,
and (5), a Second Assembly, or Senate, filled with all the illustrious
persons of the nation. In a word, he proposed to revive the system under
which the First Consul transformed France into a military Empire.
Proclamations appealing to the army
[Illustration: PRINCE CHARLES LOUIS NAPOLEON.]
were also issued. As for the Chamber, its members were arrested when
they attempted to offer a protest. All prominent men who might have
organised opposition among the masses were suddenly captured and thrown
into prison. At the first show of popular resistance, the troops, who
had been plied with strong drink for the occasion, fired on the
people--in fact, the army seized France, and, having gagged and bound
her, laid her at the feet of the Bonapartists. When Mr. Senior asked M.
de Tocqueville if he did not think that the contest had been virtually
forced on by the Assembly, we have said that the French statesman denied
the charge. M. de Tocqueville contended that the proposition to put the
army under the orders of the President of the Chamber was absurd,
because it was impracticable, and need not have alarmed the
Prince-President. The army had been so corrupted that it would not have
obeyed the orders of the Chamber. As for the law of responsibility, that
was not meant as a step in a conspiracy to crush the Prince-President.
This law, M. de Tocqueville assured Mr. Senior, was sent up to the
Chamber by the Council of State, who had been two years at work on it,
and the Committee of the Chamber, fearing lest it might provoke a
collision with the President, actually refused to declare it urgent.
“Though I have said,” observed De Tocqueville, “that he (the
Prince-President) has been conspiring since his election, I do not
believe that he intended to strike so soon. His plan was to wait till
next March, when the fears of May, 1852, would be most intense. Two
circumstances forced him on more rapidly. One was the candidature of the
Prince de Joinville. He thought him the only dangerous competitor. The
other was an agitation set on foot by the Legitimists in the _Conseils
Généraux_ for the repeal of the law of May 31st. That law was his moral
weapon against the Assembly, and he feared that if he delayed, it might
be repealed without him.”[48] The brutality displayed by the police who
dispersed the Legislative Assembly, and by the soldiery who fired in the
most wanton manner on the 3rd of December, without any justification
whatever, on the houses, and on peaceful passers-by along the boulevards
of Paris, was stigmatised by the public opinion of England as barbarous
and outrageous. It set the educated classes in France without
distinction of party against the Prince-President to such an extent,
that it became a mark of social and intellectual distinction to refuse
to recognise or serve under the new _régime_. In the provinces the
Prince-President’s tactics of repression were equally successful, and
some 10,000 persons were seized and transported to penal settlements,
without being convicted by any form of legal trial. The papers of the
distinguished statesmen and generals who were alleged to have been
conspiring against the Prince-President were ransacked; but no trace of
evidence was found against them, and they were accordingly never brought
to trial at all. Having thus destroyed the Constitution by the sword,
Prince Charles Louis Bonaparte appealed for a vote of indemnity to a
nation which had no alternative but to choose between him and anarchy.
The result of this appeal was a vote of 7,439,000 votes in his favour,
and 640,737 against him--M. de Montalembert, to the grief and surprise
of the educated classes, being among those who joined the majority.
What was the attitude of the Queen to these events? On the 5th of
December, Lord Palmerston sent a despatch to Lord Normanby, the British
Ambassador at Paris, stating that “it is her Majesty’s desire that
nothing should be done by her Ambassador at Paris which could wear the
appearance of an interference of any kind in the internal affairs of
France.” Lord Normanby accordingly called on M. Turgot, Minister of
Foreign Affairs, to communicate this instruction, and apologised for his
delay in making the communication. M. Turgot sarcastically replied that
the delay was not of importance, as he had two days before that heard
from M. de Walewski, the French Envoy in London, that Lord Palmerston
had approved of the deeds of the Prince-President. When the despatch
from Lord Normanby recording this interview reached the Queen, she sent
it to Lord John Russell, pointing out that Lord Palmerston’s approval of
the _coup d’état_ was not only a defiance of her own personal wishes,
but also of a resolution of the Cabinet. Lord John Russell complained to
Lord Palmerston about the matter, but instead of expressing regret, the
latter sent to Lord Normanby a despatch strongly approving of the _coup
d’état_, which, however, he concealed from the Prime Minister and the
Queen. It was not till the 18th of December that Lord John Russell was
able to inform the Queen that he had at last received from Lord
Palmerston an explanation, which was so unsatisfactory that he had been
compelled to write to that turbulent Minister “in the most decisive
terms.” In plain English, Lord John called on Palmerston to resign. He
sent in his resignation promptly enough, excusing himself by saying that
his approval of the _coup d’état_ was but the expression of a personal
and not of an official opinion. The whole correspondence was submitted
to the Queen, who accepted the resignation of the Foreign Secretary with
alacrity. “It was quite clear to the Queen,” writes Prince Albert in a
letter to the Prime Minister, “that we were entering on most dangerous
times, in which Military Despotism and Red Republicanism will for some
time be the only powers on the Continent, to both of which the
Constitutional Monarchy of England will be equally hateful.” The
calmative influence of England, her Majesty thought, should be used to
assuage and not embitter the conflicts abroad which produce such a
perilous state of things. But this influence, she held, had “been
rendered null by Lord Palmerston’s personal manner of conducting the
foreign affairs, and the universal hatred which he has succeeded in
inspiring on the Continent.”
On the 22nd of December a Cabinet Meeting unanimously condemned
Palmerston’s conduct, and the post vacated by him was accepted by Lord
Granville, who was installed at the Foreign Office on the 27th of
December. Lord Palmerston’s friends forthwith began to fill the Press
with foolish reports, that he had been dismissed because foreign Courts
had influenced the Queen against him. These insinuations were utterly
unjust. For when Baron Brunnow asked Lord John Russell to contradict
these rumours, the Queen wrote to Lord John as follows:--“Baron
Brunnow’s letter is in fact very presuming, as it insinuates the
possibility of changes of government in this country taking place at the
instigation of Foreign Ministers, and the Queen is glad that Lord John
gave him a dignified answer.” Palmerston’s dismissal, in truth, was due
to his incurable recklessness, and his inveterate habit of not only
compromising both the Queen and the Cabinet without consulting them, but
of acting contrary to the course which had been definitely adopted by
Queen and Cabinet alike, in grave and delicate affairs. Louis Napoleon
was the only personage of distinction who regretted his fall. “So long
as he was in office,” remarked the Prince-President cynically, “England
would have no allies.”
[Illustration: DIANA FOUNTAIN, BUSHEY PARK.]