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Authors: Christine Trent
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reminded Charles Francis, it was time to make peace in this conversation before it became a heated discussion over the North’s chances against a belligerent South.
“So tell me, Lord Russell, what of Lord Palmerston? I hear he is most unusual. What can we expect when we meet him?”
Charles Francis had discovered a good diversion point. The foreign secretary smiled, all other thoughts forgotten as he delved into the topic of the notorious Viscount Palmerston, prime minister of Great Britain.
“That old reprobate.” He said it with more affection than revulsion. “Palmerston and I have had many differences over the years in our struggle for supremacy over one another. In fact, back in the late forties, I was prime minister and it was Palmerston who was foreign secretary. We’ve continuously ousted one another from various offices.
“He and I have never seen eye to eye on much of anything. I dismissed him as foreign secretary in 1851 for recognizing Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte’s regime in France. What was the man thinking? Last year I introduced a bill to reduce the qualification for the franchise to ten pounds in counties and six pounds in towns in order to offer more people suffrage. Palmerston didn’t support it, of course, so it died. He’s supposed to be a good Whig, but has never cared much for our principles. He treated his tenants in Ireland abominably during the famine and has never seen a relief bill he couldn’t block.” Lord Russell poured himself another glass of Cabernet Franc.
“But we’ve patched up our differences now that Palmerston has formed a truly liberal cabinet. I must tell you that we are in agreement that Great Britain will remain neutral in your country’s affairs.”
They were wandering back into uncomfortable territory again. But Charles Francis had not been a lawyer for years without knowing how to maneuver through a murky, polluted river and emerge as clean as a hound’s tooth.
“Speaking of affairs, are the rumors about Lord Palmerston true?”
Lord Russell’s face lit up in amusement. “Beyond your wildest imaginings. Another way in which he and I are quite different. They call him ‘Lord Cupid’ for all of his wanderings with other men’s wives, and he’s seventy-six years old. ‘Lord Lecher’ is more like it.”
Father and son respectfully laughed again at Russell’s joke. “How does the queen view Lord Palmerston’s . . . activities?” Charles Francis asked.
“Despises him. Early in her reign, he attempted to seduce by force one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting by entering the lady’s bedroom while staying as a guest at Windsor Castle. She fought him off and her screams woke the household and brought everyone running.
“The queen is a very strict observer of morals, as you know. He was nearly removed from office then, but it was his support for the French emperor, an autocrat just like his uncle, Napoleon Bonaparte, that did him in. Queen Victoria abhors his foreign policy as much as his loose morals, but finds him admirable in domestic matters. I do not entirely find him admirable in such matters, but nonetheless we are getting on well enough now.”
“Does the queen agree with your—and Lord Palmerston’s—as-sessment that Southern secession is an accomplished fact?”
Lord Russell paused before replying. “Prince Albert does not condone the acts of a slave-holding nation, and the queen is in full agreement with the prince’s viewpoint, although it is not a matter of great moment at Windsor,” he said evenly.
Ah, Lord Russell was also demonstrating his credentials as a politician. Charles Francis fought the urge to clap the man on the shoulder and say, “Well done!” for his deftly worded statement.
Instead, he pretended Lord Russell had just made a statement implying that the queen fully supported the North’s case. He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “May I ask, then, Lord Russell, if the queen sees a problem with a
“So tell me, Lord Russell, what of Lord Palmerston? I hear he is most unusual. What can we expect when we meet him?”
Charles Francis had discovered a good diversion point. The foreign secretary smiled, all other thoughts forgotten as he delved into the topic of the notorious Viscount Palmerston, prime minister of Great Britain.
“That old reprobate.” He said it with more affection than revulsion. “Palmerston and I have had many differences over the years in our struggle for supremacy over one another. In fact, back in the late forties, I was prime minister and it was Palmerston who was foreign secretary. We’ve continuously ousted one another from various offices.
“He and I have never seen eye to eye on much of anything. I dismissed him as foreign secretary in 1851 for recognizing Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte’s regime in France. What was the man thinking? Last year I introduced a bill to reduce the qualification for the franchise to ten pounds in counties and six pounds in towns in order to offer more people suffrage. Palmerston didn’t support it, of course, so it died. He’s supposed to be a good Whig, but has never cared much for our principles. He treated his tenants in Ireland abominably during the famine and has never seen a relief bill he couldn’t block.” Lord Russell poured himself another glass of Cabernet Franc.
“But we’ve patched up our differences now that Palmerston has formed a truly liberal cabinet. I must tell you that we are in agreement that Great Britain will remain neutral in your country’s affairs.”
They were wandering back into uncomfortable territory again. But Charles Francis had not been a lawyer for years without knowing how to maneuver through a murky, polluted river and emerge as clean as a hound’s tooth.
“Speaking of affairs, are the rumors about Lord Palmerston true?”
Lord Russell’s face lit up in amusement. “Beyond your wildest imaginings. Another way in which he and I are quite different. They call him ‘Lord Cupid’ for all of his wanderings with other men’s wives, and he’s seventy-six years old. ‘Lord Lecher’ is more like it.”
Father and son respectfully laughed again at Russell’s joke. “How does the queen view Lord Palmerston’s . . . activities?” Charles Francis asked.
“Despises him. Early in her reign, he attempted to seduce by force one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting by entering the lady’s bedroom while staying as a guest at Windsor Castle. She fought him off and her screams woke the household and brought everyone running.
“The queen is a very strict observer of morals, as you know. He was nearly removed from office then, but it was his support for the French emperor, an autocrat just like his uncle, Napoleon Bonaparte, that did him in. Queen Victoria abhors his foreign policy as much as his loose morals, but finds him admirable in domestic matters. I do not entirely find him admirable in such matters, but nonetheless we are getting on well enough now.”
“Does the queen agree with your—and Lord Palmerston’s—as-sessment that Southern secession is an accomplished fact?”
Lord Russell paused before replying. “Prince Albert does not condone the acts of a slave-holding nation, and the queen is in full agreement with the prince’s viewpoint, although it is not a matter of great moment at Windsor,” he said evenly.
Ah, Lord Russell was also demonstrating his credentials as a politician. Charles Francis fought the urge to clap the man on the shoulder and say, “Well done!” for his deftly worded statement.
Instead, he pretended Lord Russell had just made a statement implying that the queen fully supported the North’s case. He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “May I ask, then, Lord Russell, if the queen sees a problem with a
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