skill which, through a long series of arduous and complicated negotiations, had led to the guarantee of Belgian neutrality by the Great Powers.  His labours had been rewarded by a German barony and by the complete confidence of King Leopold.  Nor was it only in Brussels that he was treated with respect and listened to with attention.  The statesmen who governed England—­Lord Grey, Sir Robert Peel, Lord Palmerston, Lord Melbourne—­had learnt to put a high value upon his probity and his intelligence.  “He is one of the cleverest fellows I ever saw,” said Lord Melbourne, “the most discreet man, the most well-judging, and most cool man.”  And Lord Palmerston cited Baron Stockmar as the only absolutely disinterested man he had come across in life, At last he was able to retire to Coburg, and to enjoy for a few years the society of the wife and children whom his labours in the service of his master had hitherto only allowed him to visit at long intervals for a month or two at a time.  But in 1836 he had been again entrusted with an important negotiation, which he had brought to a successful conclusion in the marriage of Prince Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg, a nephew of King Leopold’s, with Queen Maria II of Portugal.  The House of Coburg was beginning to spread over Europe; and the establishment of the Baron at Buckingham Palace in 1837 was to be the prelude of another and a more momentous advance.

King Leopold and his counsellor provide in their careers an example of the curious diversity of human ambitions.  The desires of man are wonderfully various; but no less various are the means by which those desires may reach satisfaction:  and so the work of the world gets done.  The correct mind of Leopold craved for the whole apparatus of royalty.  Mere power would have held no attractions for him; he must be an actual king—­the crowned head of a people.  It was not enough to do; it was essential also to be recognised; anything else would not be fitting.  The greatness that he dreamt of was surrounded by every appropriate circumstance.  To be a Majesty, to be a cousin of Sovereigns, to marry a Bourbon for diplomatic ends, to correspond with the Queen of England, to be very stiff and very punctual, to found a dynasty, to bore ambassadresses into fits, to live, on the highest pinnacle, an exemplary life devoted to the public service—­such were his objects, and such, in fact, were his achievements.  The “Marquis Peu-a-peu,” as George IV called him, had what he wanted.  But this would never have been the case if it had not happened that the ambition of Stockmar took a form exactly complementary to his own.  The sovereignty that the Baron sought for was by no means obvious.  The satisfaction of his essential being lay in obscurity, in invisibility—­in passing, unobserved, through a hidden entrance, into the very central chamber of power, and in sitting there, quietly, pulling the subtle strings that set the wheels of the whole world in motion.  A very few people, in very high places, and exceptionally well-informed, knew that Baron Stockmar was a most important person:  that was enough.  The fortunes of the master and the servant, intimately interacting, rose together.  The Baron’s secret skill had given Leopold his unexceptionable kingdom; and Leopold, in his turn, as time went on, was able to furnish the Baron with more and more keys to more and more back doors.