QUEEN VICTORIA’S ADVISERS
“Conservatism stands on man’s confessed limitations; reform
on his indisputable infinitude; conservatism on circumstance;
liberalism on power.”--_Emerson._
Among the deputations that came to wish the new Queen well was one from
the Society of Friends, led by Joseph Sturge. Asked afterwards if he
kissed the Queen’s hand, he answered; “Oh, yes, and found that act of
homage no hardship, I assure thee. It was a fair, soft, delicate little
hand.” He added that Her Majesty was “a nice, pleasant, modest little
woman, graceful though a little shy, and, on the whole, comely.”
Among the investitures that took place was that of the Duke of
Leiningen, Queen Victoria’s half-brother, who was invested with the
Order of the Garter; Prince Esterhazy, that lover of jewels, was
invested with the Military Order of the Bath, and the Queen held a
Chapter for the purpose, wearing the mantle of the Order, the ribbon
and the badge. All the Knights Grand Cross appeared on this splendid
occasion.
Queen Victoria had probably no wish to change her Parliament, but
custom decreed that it should be prorogued, and she decided to
prorogue it in person, much to the alarm of the Duchess her mother, who
begged her not to do so, fearing the effect that the excitement might
have on her health. But the child was already three weeks away from her
leading-strings; she was beginning to feel the glories of independence,
and she would no longer submit blindly to the will of another. The word
excitement displeased her, and she is said to have answered: “That is
a word I do not like to hear; all these successive ceremonies interest
and please me, but have no such effect on my mind as that which I
understand by excitement.”
So the Queen went in State to the House of Lords, where the old Throne
devoted to the use of old Sovereigns was banished, and replaced by a
new one bedizened with the Royal Arms in gold, and the words “Victoria
Regina” also in gold. With girlish delight in her new state, Her
Majesty donned “a white satin kirtle embroidered in gold, a robe of
crimson velvet trimmed with ermine stripes and gold lace, confined
at the waist and shoulders with gold cord, and having an ermine cape
attached (this was in July!) a stomacher of diamonds, a tiara and
bracelets of diamonds, the Garter round her arm, and the Ribbon of the
Garter over her shoulder completed the outward attire.” One evening
paper commented upon the Queen and her dress as follows: “Her emotion
was plainly discernible in the rapid heaving of her bosom and the
brilliancy of her diamond stomacher, which sparkled out occasionally
from the dark recess in which the throne was placed, like the sun on
the swell of the smooth ocean as the billows rise and fall.” The
earliest Victorian journalists knew something of the gentle art of high
falutin’!
The Queen acquitted herself well in this trying position, and we are
told that the Duchess of Kent wept tears of joy on seeing the way in
which “her august daughter” acquitted herself. Other tears seem also
to have been shed, for Lord Grey declared that he actually cried from
pleasure at the Queen’s voice and speech; and he added that, after
seeing and hearing three Sovereigns of England, the latest surpassed
them all, easily, in every respect.
One of the sentimentalists of the day wrote concerning the Duchess and
her daughter, “the first separation that had ever taken place between
Her Majesty and her Royal mother was decreed by the immutable (?) laws
of Royal etiquette on this occasion, and doubtless it was felt as no
slight trial by both.” Yet they were both in the same room!
Another contemporary tells us that the impertinent old Lady Jersey took
powerful opera-glasses with her to the House of Lords, and through them
fixed her eyes relentlessly on the Queen, which, according to the laws
of etiquette in those days, was a direct personal affront if applied to
people of high rank.
While King William was ill, there had been many private conferences
among members of the Government as to the right course to pursue when
the Princess came to the throne. Sir Robert Peel had given it as his
opinion that the young Queen should retain Lord Melbourne as her chief
adviser and rely frankly on his guidance, and the Duke of Wellington
(also a Tory) was strongly in favour of the same course. Victoria was
probably but obeying her uncle Sussex’s promptings when on the morning
after the King’s death she sent for Melbourne and put herself in his
hands.
One of the first things to be considered was the formation of the
Royal Household, and in this matter the Queen had something to say.
She uttered a wish on the 20th of June that Lady Lansdowne should be
her principal lady, either as Mistress of the Robes or as First Lady
in Waiting. Lady Lansdowne accepted the post of First Lady in Waiting,
and two days later Victoria invited the Duchess of Sutherland to become
Mistress of the Robes, and asked Lady Tavistock to be one of her Ladies.
Inquiry had been made into the Household of Queen Anne, and it was
found that she had had eleven Ladies of the Bedchamber, but Victoria
thought that this was too cumbrous an attendance, and eventually
decided upon one Mistress of the Robes, seven Ladies in Waiting, and
eight Women of the Bedchamber. Lady Portman, Lady Lyttelton, and
the Countess of Durham were among the Ladies, while Miss Davys, her
preceptor’s daughter, was appointed Resident Woman of the Bedchamber,
including in her duties those of private secretary in so far as private
correspondence was concerned. The Queen and Miss Davys had been friends
for years, and once when Victoria’s opinion was asked on some subject
discussed by that lady, she replied: “If you really wish me to speak my
mind I must say I perfectly agree with Miss Davys. How, indeed, should
I do otherwise, for have we not both been educated by her father?”
Thus some of her ladies were chosen from among those whom she liked,
while others were recommended to her by Melbourne or her uncle, but
the result was that they were all, or nearly all, related to the
Whigs. Croker touched upon this subject in the _Quarterly Review_
for July, 1837, pointing out that it was impolitic that the Queen
should be surrounded with many members of the same families, “however
respectable,” and also that it was neither constitutional in principle
nor convenient in practice that her private life should be exposed
to the fluctuations of political change, or that political changes
should be either produced or prevented by private favour or personal
attachments; meaning thereby that her ladies should be chosen from both
parties, so that when the Government was changed her Household should
be to a certain extent stable. However, the mistake was made, and in
1839 it had to be paid for.
As to her Lords in Waiting, Queen Victoria retained five gentlemen who
had been Lords of the Bedchamber to King William, and added to them
three from the supporters of Lord Melbourne.
Others besides Croker discussed the formation of the Household, only
they did not content themselves with philosophical disquisitions
or allude chiefly to the future. One paper said that “the indecent
usurpation of nominating Her Majesty’s Household--of surrounding
her person by a female brigade of political spies--had in _one
instance_ produced a dignified and determined resistance.” Alluding
probably to the fact that the Countess of Rosebery had declined to
serve. They declared that Her Majesty’s wishes had been “most sternly
thwarted, even where they ought in kindness and courtesy to have been
deemed supreme--so far is the distribution of offices from affording
any index of the Queen’s opinions”; and averred that Victoria wished
to make the Duchess of Northumberland, a Tory, who had resigned her
position a few months earlier, her Mistress of the Robes, only the
Duchess of Kent and “the Irish bombardier, Sir John Conroy,” thought
otherwise, so the honour fell to the Marchioness of Lansdowne. The more
volatile Tory papers begged her piteously to dismiss the Whigs, and the
_Age_ went on its knees to her in the following and many other
effusions:--
“If your Majesty would reign in the hearts of your subjects, nor hold
a barren sceptre in your hand, you will enquire for the confidential
advisers of your family (and you will not find _them_ among your
present Ministers), solicit their advice, and learn from them the
real nature of your Royal office, the _true_ state of your loyal
subjects, the present position of your dominions in all their political
relations--internal, foreign, and commercial.”
An early matter for discussion was whether Her Majesty should be
allowed a private secretary, after the example of the two last
Sovereigns. George III. had done all his own work until 1805, when he
became blind, and, much to the disgust of politicians, paid Colonel
Herbert Taylor out of funds at the disposal of the Crown to be his
private secretary. When the Prince Regent made Colonel McMahon his
secretary, and asked that his salary should be paid out of the public
funds, Parliament opposed the suggestion to such an extent that the
salary had to be paid from the Privy Purse. The appointment itself
was attacked in Parliament, the contention being that it was highly
unconstitutional, for the secrets of State would thus pass through a
third party--other than the King and the Ministers--and that a private
secretary would constitute a Court of Revision above the Cabinet.
Fortunately, the Ministers defended the appointment. Prior to this the
poor Monarch had had personally to sign thousands of documents every
year, and in the absence of the secretary had to seal and address the
communications; thus the services of an assistant were absolutely
essential if the Sovereign were not to become a sort of automatic
machine for doing mechanical work.
[Illustration: KING LEOPOLD OF THE BELGIANS.
From the Drawing by Sir Thomas Lawrence, P.R.A.]
William IV. made Sir Herbert Taylor his secretary; but when Victoria
came to the throne, the duties of this servant were so misunderstood
that she was allowed no secretary; all alike being afraid lest the
servant should become the master and adviser. The Queen wished to
appoint Baron Stockmar, but fortunately for everyone Melbourne would
not consent to this, for as Stockmar was practically the agent of King
Leopold, the nation would have been indignant at his being put into so
important a position. Leopold had had the prudence not to hurry over
to England as soon as his niece became Queen, which was wise of him,
for had he come he would have been accused of desiring to rule the
country through her, and, besides, discord must have arisen between him
and his sister the Duchess. What he did was to send the Baron over, who
for some years had been occupied in training Prince Albert for the high
position his uncle intended him to hold. The Baron’s unacknowledged
post about the Queen was that of theoretic political tutor rather than
actual adviser, for he had been brought up in the midst of German
theories, and never seemed to understand the difference between the
English and German system of governing. That he gave Queen Victoria
much excellent advice, and that a profound and trusting regard existed
between them, cannot be doubted, but he was another foreigner added to
those already about the Throne, and his name was instantly connected
with those who were still known as the Kensington Camarilla. There
were naturally many who distrusted the Baron. Abercromby, the Speaker,
said that he felt it his duty to call attention in Parliament to the
unconstitutional position of the foreigner Stockmar; a course which,
however, he never followed. Melbourne himself, much as he was said to
approve of the German, occasionally felt a certain uneasiness about
him, which was expressed as follows:--
“King Leopold and Stockmar are very good and intelligent people, but I
dislike very much to hear it said that I am influenced by them. We know
it is not true, but still I dislike to hear it said.”
A general report _was_ spread abroad that the Baron was acting
in the important position of secretary to the Queen, and Melbourne
in a letter to a colleague wrote: “There is, of course, no truth in
Stockmar’s appointment. It should be quietly contradicted.” While this
matter was being discussed, Victoria sent for Sir Herbert Taylor to
get his advice, and he asked, “Is your Majesty afraid of the work?”
which drew from her the reply, “I mean to work.” “Then don’t have a
secretary,” he retorted, which was silly, seeing that without one the
Queen would have to spend all her time doing secretarial work.
In the end Melbourne arranged to act as secretary to her Majesty on
matters of state, which entailed seeing her every day, and the Baroness
Lehzen undertook at first personal and domestic affairs, and there were
more than hints that she really did fill the post of adviser so dreaded
by those in Parliament.
The name of the Baroness Lehzen raised the fury of the more intemperate
of political writers, for they had always suspected her of acting,
not against the interest of England so much as against the interest
of party. This may or may not have been the case, but there can be no
doubt whatever concerning her intense love for her one-time pupil, and
it was probably this as well as her enmity to Conroy that helped to
make a breach between her and the Duchess; for two people loving the
same person are very likely to get different ideas concerning that
person’s good, and to quarrel over each other’s methods. Baroness
Lehzen, as has been said, was a real German, stolid, conventional,
sensible, and, like many of her countrywomen, showing little
imagination. She may have had as much influence as the Duchess or King
Leopold in debarring the girl from all imaginative literature and from
all fiction. When Victoria became Queen she had never read a novel,
and there seems to be no evidence that she had ever touched literature
or anything beyond lessons or history books. This, of course, may have
been caused by a certain system of education, or it may have been
that those in authority had no taste for _belles lettres_ or
intellectual exercise. It was the day in which it was thought dangerous
for a woman to use her brains, and when a certain limited knowledge
of facts was regarded as education. I notice that when the Duchess
asked the Bishops of London and Lincoln to “examine” the Princess in
1830, they mention only the subjects of Christian Religion, Scripture,
History, Geography, Arithmetic, and the Latin Grammar, and expressed
themselves entirely satisfied. Of course, this was a fairly good
education for the period, but it was all a matter of memory, and, apart
from history, left little place for the exercise of the mind.
By the time Victoria had been Queen for a year she had read three
novels, and had struggled through two books of memoirs, but it was
possible that what she had lost in her youthful training could never
be regained. However, her daily habits were impeccable. She had been
brought up in simplicity both in dress and food, regularity in meals,
work, play, and sleep, and punctuality, being punctual herself and
demanding it of others. She was also taught never to half-learn or
half-do anything, but always to finish that which she began. One story
of her punctuality is told by several writers, but the irrepressible
Creevy gives it in an amusing form, so I quote it here.
“A word or two about Vic. She is as much idolised as ever, except by
the Duchess of Sutherland, who received a very proper snub from her two
days ago. She was half an hour late for dinner, so little Vic. told her
that she hoped it might not happen another time; for, tho’ she did not
mind in the least waiting herself, it was very unpleasant to keep her
company waiting.”
Lady Georgiana Grey had the Baroness by her side at dinner one day,
and heard from her high laudations of Her Majesty, such as that she
was absolutely perfect, that she worked from morning to night, and
that she would be surrounded with dispatch boxes while her maid was
doing her hair. There was an earlier occasion on which Lehzen let her
heart overflow about the perfections of her charge, saying, among other
things, that, though she would never be a beautiful or grand-looking
woman, she would certainly be one of the greatest Monarchs of
Europe--“great, not in beauty nor in stature, but great in intellect
and as a wife and in motherly love to her children, and greater still
as mother of England.” To this she added, “I know all about her, and I
feel she will live to be idolised, and leave a name behind her such as
none of her predecessors have left.”
If these words were so uttered, and not amplified by uncertain memory,
it seems that there was at least one person who thought that she knew
the character of the Princess. Stockmar is said to have come to
the same judgment when he first saw her in 1836. “England will grow
great and famous under her rule!” was his remark. It is added that
these words being repeated to the King, drew from him the answer, “If
Stockmar said that, I cease regretting that I have no children to whom
to hand down the crown.”
It was a pity that between the two women who had done most towards
forming the mind of the young Queen there should have arisen an abiding
coolness. Sir John Conroy was the one person in whom the Duchess
reposed her confidence, and whose advice she sought before taking any
action; but Lehzen hated Conroy, and had probably inspired her pupil
with the same sentiment. It was more than likely that Conroy, as well
as the Duchess, was perfectly aware of her feelings, for the Baroness
considered that they did not use her well. Then, too, judging from
after events, it is very possible that Lehzen had already acquired an
undue influence over Victoria, and had raised the bitter jealousy of
the Duchess. However, the whole little circle kept up appearances, and
the people forming it were outwardly on cordial terms. Victoria was
devoted to her Lehzen, and when at home apparently always required her
company; for the Ministers who had occasion to see Her Majesty would
often, on entering a room by one door, see the Baroness disappearing by
another, and as soon as the audience was over she would return to the
Queen.
The one thing about Victoria’s new home which must astonish all who
think about it is, that from the time she became Queen, her mother
went into the background. This proud woman, who had fought Kings
and Princes that she might give her child the best that she knew;
she who by the asperity of her temper and haughty pride had become a
personage distinct from all other members of the Royal family, now
that that beloved child was in the highest position in the land, sank
into nothingness. She was never consulted, she did not always know
what was happening, no word of State affairs reached her ears; the old
companionship was gone, for alas! in the old days she had drawn the
rein too tightly, so that when once the young creature was free she
feared the restraining hand too much to trust it again.
One of Victoria’s first acts must have given her mother much pain,
though it is likely that she had had warning of what would occur. Sir
John Conroy, who had been right-hand man both to the Duke and to the
Duchess, had fallen into the faults so common to long service. He was
too sure of his ground, too ready to assume responsibility, and he
had never troubled to look upon the Princess as a force with which he
should reckon. Thus he was entirely disliked by her, and she determined
that in her new household she would be freed from a man who, whatever
his merits, was personally obnoxious to herself.
So long as Her Majesty remained at Kensington, that is, until July
13th, Conroy was a member of the Household, and he perhaps did not
believe that the young Queen would at once and so effectually grasp her
power. He had not yet learned to discriminate between the past and the
present, and followed his usual course as master of the servants. Thus
one day a groom who had been in constant attendance upon Victoria could
not be found, and on inquiries being made it was explained that Conroy
had dismissed him. That is said to have brought matters to a head. The
Queen sent for Sir John--so runs one account--and asked him to name the
reward he expected for his services to her parents. His reply was that
he desired the Red Ribband, an Irish Peerage, and a pension of £3,000
a year. The Queen answered that the first two lay with her Ministers,
and she could not promise for them, but the pension he should have. In
another account we learn that she made him a baronet in addition to
bestowing the pension, but that all connection with the Palace ceased,
and that he was never distinguished by the slightest mark of personal
favour; “so that nothing can be more striking than the contrast between
the magnitude of the pecuniary bounty and the complete personal
disregard of which he is the object.”
“Conroy goes not to Court, the reason’s plain,
King John has played his part and ceased to reign”
sung a flippant paragraphist.
Under these circumstances the Duchess lost the daily companionship of
the friend upon whom, judiciously or otherwise, she was accustomed
to lean, a matter which rankled long and bitterly in the poor lady’s
mind. However, the Queen was still her well-beloved child, and it was
a long time before she could forget to exercise her motherly desire
to guide events; thus she watched with alarm the brilliant life now
led by the girl, who for eighteen years had been carefully guarded
from late hours, luxurious food, and social excitement of every sort.
Now the emancipated girl filled long days with business engagements,
with public pageants, with theatres and balls, and other amusements.
She was enjoying to the full the consciousness of being the centre of
things, she was beginning to appreciate her power, and was punctilious
in carrying out any settled plan. When her mother urged her to remain
quietly at home she laughed at her fears, and showed no disposition
to go back to the nursery _régime_ of Kensington. So the Duchess
made an ally of the doctor--probably Sir James Clark, who played so
unfortunate a part two years later. He remonstrated with Her Majesty
upon the life of excitement that she was experiencing, saying that it
must be injurious to her.
“Say too much amusement rather than excitement,” replied the Queen.
“I know not what the future will bring, but I have met with so much
affection, so much respect, and every act of sovereignty has been made
so light, that I have not yet felt the weight of the Crown.”
Then the doctor changed his complaint, and remarked upon the enormous
dinner parties she gave, saying that their size must make them very
fatiguing. But Victoria was ready with her answer.
“These dinner parties amuse me. If I had a small party I should have
to exert myself to entertain my guests, but with a large one they are
called upon to amuse me, and then I become personally acquainted with
those who surround the throne.”
There was one disquieting person who was partially removed from
Victoria’s life upon her accession, and that was the Duke of
Cumberland, who became King of Hanover on the death of his brother.
William had in 1833 granted a liberal constitution with representative
government to his Hanoverian dominions, where his brother, the Duke
of Cambridge, was Viceroy. On William’s death Cambridge returned to
England, and Cumberland left England to harass his new subjects. One
of his first acts was to reverse all that his brother had done, to
abolish the constitution, make himself arbitrary King, and prosecute
the Liberal Professors of Göttingen. This was not done in spite, but
from a sincere conviction that reform of any sort was wrong. He was
a Tory of the Tories, but, I believe, quite honest in his politics.
He really thought that England was going to destruction--a myth which
is cherished by some up to the present day--the first step downwards
being the repeal of the Corporation and Test Act in 1828, the next the
Catholic Emancipation Act, while the climax of our ruin was the Reform
Bill. It was in his private and social life that King Ernest was so
odious. His wife, who admired him as a man of intellect, was terrified
by his fits of ungovernable temper; his sister in Hanover said that the
loss of her brother Cambridge nearly killed her, “the whole thing is so
changed one’s mind is quite overset;” while his lax ideas of morality
really made him detestable. The papers abounded in announcements that
he was unpopular. At the coronation of William IV. _The Times_
drew a gentle contrast between the way in which the Duke and the
Ministers were received: “The Duke of Cumberland experienced in the
course of yesterday proofs, we dare say not unexpected by His Royal
Highness, of the extraordinary estimation in which most Englishmen hold
him. The Duke of Wellington whom, if he had never been a politician,
his countrymen would gladly, gratefully, and for ever have recognised
as an illustrious military chief, was treated respectfully by the
spectators in the Abbey; but Lord Grey and Lord Brougham received every
testimony of the warmest and most eager approbation.” In turning to the
article in the Dictionary of National Biography, I find a very partial
account given of the Duke of Cumberland, the impression made being that
he was a brave, clever man, much maligned by the Whigs and Radicals.
This, however, was not exactly the case, the Duke’s delinquencies being
recorded by every shade of opinion, and though it is most likely that
those opposed to him in politics shouted the loudest, the undoubted
fact remains that all joined in the cry.
In the election of July, 1837, the Whigs were returned to power,
having lost in the counties but gained elsewhere; this confirmed Lord
Melbourne in his place as Prime Minister, and put him into the position
of guardian to Her Majesty. Melbourne must in some ways have been a
wonderful man for that position. He was then in his fifty-eighth year,
a man of the world, somewhat sceptical, “but honourable, well-meaning,
honest, clever, highly educated, and a moderate Liberal.” He was a
peace lover, and perhaps sometimes was inclined to say, like the
over-indulgent parent, “anything for peace!”--one of his favourite
utterances being, “Damn it! why can’t everyone be quiet?” He was
constitutionally incapable of sustaining a quarrel, for he had no
jealousy or rancour in his disposition, a dispute bored him, and he
felt no interest in getting the better of an argument; he could easily
forgive, and do so without humiliating the aggressor. With these good
qualities went indolence and a certain amount of carelessness. But that
he was neither a place-hunter nor a flatterer is amply proved by the
fact that at first everyone approved of his position with the Queen. No
one could suggest any other course to pursue, and it was not until a
little later that the Tories saw how entirely they had given the Crown
into the hands of the Whigs.
Melbourne’s sufferings in life came from the fact that he was in
advance of his age in one respect. To-day no one could have had any
excuse for trying to blackmail him or to damage his reputation. Eighty
years ago matters were different, and no man could make a friend of a
charming lady, go to see her as often as he pleased, and expect to be
free from danger. As Melbourne did this sort of thing, he naturally had
to account for it.
In 1828 Lord Brandon, who was a Doctor of Divinity, found letters which
seemed to prove that there was a too warm friendship between his wife
and Mr. William Lamb, which was Melbourne’s name before he came into
his title. The parson-peer thereupon wrote to his wife telling her what
he had found, and what conclusion he drew from it. Then he added that
if she would use her influence with Mr. Lamb to procure him a Bishropic
he would overlook the offence and give her back the letters. To this
the lady replied that she would neither degrade herself nor Mr. Lamb by
such a course, and that the letter just received from him she should
show to the latter gentleman. The result was a suit for divorce brought
by Lord Brandon, which he lost through insufficient evidence; the
production of his letter would, however, have been sufficient to make a
jury decide against him.
A few years later Melbourne met again the Hon. Mrs. Norton, whom he
had known in her childhood. She was both beautiful and clever, and
being a grand-daughter of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, had inherited
a shade of his genius. Unfortunately when she was but nineteen, she
had married a man named George Norton, a younger brother of Fletcher
Norton, third Lord Grantley, who was also an unsuccessful barrister of
twenty-seven, coarse in disposition, greedy and brutal, though, like
most young people, he managed to hide his faults from the girl he wooed
until after the marriage. Mrs. Norton was a poet, clever rather than
spontaneous, and she published a little volume called “The Sorrows of
Rosalie: A Tale, with Other Poems.” This was Byronic in style, and the
praise poured upon it effectually opened a literary career for its
author. From that time her labours practically kept her household
going, with the exception that, having begged Lord Melbourne to do
something for her husband, George Norton was given a Metropolitan
police magistracy in 1831. Norton was anything but satisfactory at his
work, and thus a coolness arose between him and Melbourne; but the
latter still visited at his house, feeling a kindly friendship for Mrs.
Norton, whose lively Irish mind and conversation charmed him.
[Illustration: THE HON. MRS. NORTON.]
Norton was scarcely the man to make home a pleasant place, and at last
matters between husband and wife came to an open rupture. Upon this,
it was said that a little plot was hatched. Everyone knew that before
long a young Queen would be upon the throne, and everyone also knew
the integrity and strict sentiments of the Duchess of Kent. From these
the conclusion was drawn by “some of the less reputable members of the
Opposition,” that if Melbourne were publicly discredited he would never
be Prime Minister under the new rule. “The Court is mighty prudish,
and between them our off-hand Premier will find himself in a ticklish
position.” Thus, remembering the former case against Lord Melbourne,
and remembering that mud is likely to stick closest the more frequently
it is flung, George Norton was incited to institute a divorce case
against his wife, with Melbourne as co-respondent.
Lord Melbourne had this thunder-cloud hanging over him for months,
and in spite of his brave words to Mrs. Norton, it at last made him
absolutely ill.
“Since first I heard that I was to be proceeded against, I have had
neither sleep nor appetite, I have suffered more intensely than I ever
did in my life, and I attribute the whole of my illness (at least
the severity of it) to the uneasiness of my mind. Now what is this
uneasiness for? Not for my own character, because, as you justly say,
the imputation upon me is as nothing. It is not for the political
consequences to myself, although I deeply feel the consequences which
my indiscretion may bring upon those who are attached to me and follow
my fortunes. The real and principal object of my anxiety is you,
and the situation in which you have been so unjustly placed.” Again
he writes: “I hope you will not take it ill if I implore you to try
at least to be calm under these trials. You know what is alleged is
utterly false, and what is false can rarely be made to appear true.”
The case was talked of for months before it came to trial, and all
the newspapers had their comments to make, facetiously writing of
“Mrs. Norton and her Lamb.” On the whole, however, they preached
the innocence of the Premier; even the _Age_, ultra-Tory and
scandalous as it was, honestly said that it believed him to be wrongly
accused; though, later, that paper was anything but kind to him. It
was the 22nd of June, 1836, when Justice Tindal sat in the Court of
Common Pleas to decide upon the moral conduct of Viscount Melbourne and
the Hon. Mrs. Norton, and also to decide whether it would be just to
award Mr. Norton damages to the value of £10,000. Sir William Follett
led for the plaintiff, and unwisely admitted that he had not advised
his going to trial, adding, however, that he certainly expected to
secure a verdict. However, he managed to ask of his client a most
unfortunate question, whether it was true that Mr. Norton had ever
walked with his wife to Lord Melbourne’s house and left her there.
Upon Norton admitting that he had done so, Follett replied that that
was the end of the case. The only witnesses were servants, mostly of
damaged character, discarded from the Norton household, some of them
several years earlier. These had been nursed for some time quietly at
Lord Grantley’s country seat, yet in spite of their kindly treatment
none of them could swear to any occurrences which had taken place
within the preceding three years. At the close of the plaintiff’s case
the jury refused an adjournment, so the judge analysed the evidence,
and a verdict of acquittal was returned, drawing loud cheers from the
onlookers, which were echoed by those waiting outside the Court. The
news was carried immediately to the House of Commons, where it was
received with acclamation; and King William cordially congratulated
his Minister the next day on having “baffled the machinations which he
did not doubt had their origin in sinister aims fomented by the meaner
animosities of party.” Other congratulations poured in from every
quarter, and the paragraphist made his harvest out of the case, one
comment running:--
“This Crim. con. case, complex and ramified since it commenced,
Prove that meek Melbourne’s still a Lamb,
The fair one sinn’d against.”
Lord Wynford, uncle to George Norton, noted as one of the violent
Tories, and the Duke of Cumberland were openly spoken of as the
foster-fathers of this charge, but when it failed both men assured
Melbourne on their honour that they knew nothing about it. Lord Wynford
said that he had not heard of the case until four days after it was
commenced, and had not seen “that unfortunate young man” (Norton) for
two or three years. The impression, however, remained that the case
had its origin in political scheming, and Greville (a Tory himself)
certainly believed this, for on the 27th of June he wrote:--
“Great exultation at the verdict on the part of his (Melbourne’s)
political adherents, great disappointment on that of the mob of low
Tories, and a creditable satisfaction among the better sort; it was a
triumphal acquittal. The wonder is how with such a case Norton’s family
ventured into Court, but (although it is stoutly denied) there can be
no doubt that old Wynford was at the bottom of it and persuaded Lord
Grantley to urge it on for some political purposes. There is pretty
conclusive evidence of this. Fletcher Norton, who is staying in town,
was examined on the trial, and Denison, who is Norton’s neighbour, and
who talked to Fletcher Norton’s host, was told that Fletcher Norton had
shown him the case on which they were going to proceed, and that he had
told him he thought it was a very weak one, to which he had replied so
did he, but he expected it would produce a very important political
effect.”
In 1837 Lord Melbourne became political adviser to the Queen. As her
Prime Minister he had to see her every day, as her Secretary he had
to spend an hour or two with her daily in going through her State
correspondence. Thus before many months were passed, the Opposition
began to make stringent remarks upon Melbourne at Windsor, but the
Duke of Wellington, satisfied with his actions and his treatment
of the Queen, said, “I wish he were always there!” This continued
companionship raised a warm feeling of friendship in the minds of
both; Melbourne became devoted to his Queen, and received from her an
almost filial confidence. George Villiers, who was once on a visit to
Windsor, was greatly impressed with the relationship between the two,
remarking:--
“Lord Melbourne’s attitude to the Queen is so parental and anxious,
but always so deferential and respectful; hers, indicative of such
entire confidence, such pleasure in his society. She is continually
talking to him; let who will be there, he always sits next her at
dinner, and evidently by arrangement, because he always takes in the
lady in waiting, which necessarily places him next her, the etiquette
being that the lady in waiting sits next but one to the Queen. It is
not unnatural, and to him it is peculiarly interesting. I have no
doubt he is passionately fond of her as he might be of his daughter
if he had one, and the more because he is a man with a capacity for
loving without having anything in the world to love. It has become his
province to educate, instruct, and form the most interesting mind in
the world. No occupation was ever more engrossing or involved greater
responsibility. I have no doubt that Melbourne is both equal to and
worthy of the task, and that it is fortunate she has fallen into his
hands, and that he discharges this great duty wisely, honourably,
and conscientiously. There are, however, or rather may be hereafter,
inconveniences in the establishment of such an intimacy, and in a
connection of so close and affectionate a nature between the young
Queen and her Minister; for whenever the Government, which hangs by
a thread, shall be broken up, the parting will be painful, and their
subsequent relations will not be without embarrassment to themselves,
nor fail to be the cause of jealousy in others. It is a great proof
of the discretion and purity of his conduct and behaviour, that he is
admired, respected, and liked by all the Court.”
There were, however, to the Viscount some small inconveniences caused
by his constant attendance at Court. He possessed very courtier-like
instincts, it is true, but in general his attitudes were anything
but those of a courtier, for he loved to lounge and sprawl, while
his language was distinctly unparliamentary, being interlarded with
Damns. Someone writes that when Brougham’s own irresponsibility made it
impossible to trust him again with the Great Seal, Melbourne made the
emphatic remark:
“G--d d--n you, I tell you I can’t give you the Great Seal, and there’s
an end of it!” When Brougham was a second time disappointed of place,
he is reported to have said to his former chief, who was very anxious
not to hurt his feelings more than could be helped:
“Why don’t you say again what you said before, and damn me for wanting
the Seal?”
On one occasion Melbourne went with Lady Grant Duff, Mrs. Norton, and
Henry Reeve to see “Every Man in his Humour,” and before the curtain
rose he remarked that it would be a dull play with no kudos in it.
Between the acts he exclaimed in a stentorian voice, heard across the
pit:
“I knew this play would be dull, but that it would be so damnably dull
as this I did not suppose!”
These things Melbourne had to alter; he had to soften his laugh, keep
a guard upon his tongue, and sit uprightly in his chair; all of which
he accomplished, though it is recorded that when in 1846 Peel made a
_volte face_ on the repeal of the Corn Laws, Melbourne, though
seated at the Queen’s table, burst out with:
“It’s a damned dishonest act, Ma’am, a damned dishonest act.” One
account of this relates that the Queen only laughed, while the others
around the table did not know how or where to look, as the Court was in
favour of Repeal and Peel was its trusted Minister; but another story
goes that Melbourne was so excited that Her Majesty had to say firmly:
“Never mind, Lord Melbourne; we will discuss this at another time.”
This change of opinion on the part of Peel, by the way, caused many
hard words to be showered upon him, the Duke of Wellington saying, with
a side allusion to the Irish famine:
“Rotten potatoes have done it; they put Peel in his damned fright”;
while Lord Alvanley declared that Peel ought not to die a natural death.
It is probable that Melbourne’s upright regard for his own principles
attracted Victoria more sincerely than some of his other good
qualities, for her rank never inclined him to assent to her wishes if
he thought them injudicious.