This closed the correspondence; and it is needless to add that the Duke
continued to hold aloof from the new administration.
The Duke's explanation in the House of Lords related to two branches of
charge. The first was a charge of want of personal courtesy to Mr.
Canning, as exhibited in the foregoing correspondence; the second was a
general charge of hostility to the new premier, founded on personal
jealousy, and on every other ground, probable or improbable, which the
malice of party could suggest. The Duke began by observing, that the
House of Lords was scarcely the proper place to enter on such subjects,
but that his only excuse was the necessity of vindicating his character
against what had been said in another place, to say nothing of the
manner in which he had been treated by a corrupt press, which if not in
the pay, was under the control of the government. He then proceeded to
meet the first charge, that of personal discourtesy. It was said, that
his asking in reply to Mr. Canning's first letter, "who was to be at the
head of the new government?" was intended as an insult to Mr. Canning.
This he denied. The letter of Mr. Canning, he said gave no information
who were to form the new cabinet, or what members of the old one had
resigned, or were expected to resign. Nor was he invited, as he found
the other ministers had been, to receive personal explanations on the
subject. Under those circumstances the inquiry was made. But that was
not the first communication that had passed between them on the subject.
Early in the month of April, continued the Duke, he had had a
conversation with Mr. Canning, in which, anticipating the possibility of
his being called upon to reconstruct the government, one of his plans
was to recommend that Mr. Robinson (now the Earl of Ripon) should be
raised to the peerage and be made premier. Of this plan the Duke at the
time approved, and it was with this in his mind that he wrote the first
answer, which gave Mr. Canning so much offence. Precedent, also, he
contended, was against Mr. Canning; for it appeared that in 1812, when
Lord Liverpool, by command of the Prince Regent, waited on Mr. Canning,
to know whether he would form part of the proposed administration, the
first question Mr. Canning asked of the noble earl (then in the same
position Mr. Canning was in now) was, "who was to be at the head of the
new administration?" The Duke's letter was written on the 10th, and Mr.
Canning only kissed hands as minister on the 12th; so that, even in that
point of view, the Duke's question was, he contended, necessary.
It may be said that there is enough on the face of this communication to
show that the Duke of Wellington took a narrow, and, so to speak,
technical, view of the relative positions of himself and Mr. Canning;
that the latter expected a more conventional and generous construction
of his position and proposal from one with whom he was on terms of
intimate friendship.
In answer to this, it may be as well to remind the reader that, where
the slightest movements of public men may be construed into a compromise
of public principles, a rigid attention to etiquette becomes a matter of
duty. Many acts of the Duke of Wellington, not merely as a civilian, but
even as a military commander, have been misjudged, because this obvious
principle has been overlooked.
In answer to the second charge--that of hostility to the new
administration on personal grounds--the Duke referred to the known
opinions of Mr. Canning on the Catholic question. How could he be in
office under a minister whom he must oppose on, at least, one vital
question of domestic policy? How could he give the right honourable
gentleman that fair support which one member of a cabinet had a right to
expect from another? The principles of the new government could not be
those of that of the Earl of Liverpool. The principle of the latter was
to maintain the existing laws; of the former, to change them in a
fundamental particular. The absurd calumny that he had threatened the
king to resign, unless he were prepared to make him prime minister,
hardly deserved an answer; and then came his celebrated _nolo
episcopari_ speech, which created against him in a year after, so much
ridicule and rancour. He said--"Was it likely that he would resign the
office of commander-in-chief," a situation so consonant to his feelings
and his habits, "for the mere empty ambition of being placed at the head
of the government. I know," continued the Duke, "I am disqualified for
any such office; and I, therefore, say, that, feeling as I do with
respect to the situation which I recently filled at the head of the
army; liking it as I did from the opportunity it gave me to improve the
condition of my old comrades in arms; knowing my own capacity for
filling that office, and my incapacity for filling the post of first
minister, I should have been mad, and worse than mad, if I had ever
entertained the insane project which certain individuals, for their own
base purposes, have imputed to me."
His reason for retiring from the command of the army was founded on the
peculiar circumstances of his dispute with Mr. Canning. "No political
opinions would have prevented him," he said, "under ordinary
circumstances, from continuing either at the Horse Guards or at the head
of the army in the field; but, from the tone and tenor of the
communication he had received from his majesty; from the nature of the
invitation to join the administration, contained in Mr. Canning's post
letter, and from the contents of the last letter he received from Mr.
Canning, by his majesty's commands, he saw it would be impossible to
continue his relations with that gentlemen, either with service to the
country or credit to himself. His resolution had been adopted after the
most mature deliberation."
The foregoing is the substance of the Duke of Wellington's explanation
of his own share in the general resignation of the chief members of Lord
Liverpool's cabinet.
Another circumstance occurred a few days afterwards, which still further
increased the public belief that there was a serious quarrel between the
Duke and the new premier. The former moved an amendment in committee on
the corn bill, which had the effect of defeating the new government on
that measure. This was regarded as an act of hostility on the part of
the Duke, and, shortly after, a correspondence was made public between
him and Mr. Huskisson, then President of the Board of Trade, in which
it appeared clear that the Duke had moved the amendment in the belief
that the government had agreed to it through Mr. Huskisson, and equally
clear that the Duke had been mistaken. There were not wanting those who
asserted roundly that the Duke had taken advantage of an ambiguity in
Mr. Huskisson's letters, in order to have a pretext for inflicting this
injury on the government. And, unhappily, Mr. Canning himself, carried
out of parliamentary decorum by an irritability of temper, springing
from the difficulties of his position and from his advancing illness,
went so far as publicly to declare that the Duke of Wellington, great
man as he was, had been but in instrument in the hands of others.
History, he said, afforded parallel the actions of other great men.
The Duke maintained a dignified silence with respect to this attack;
but, in the following year, long after Mr. Canning's death, and when he
had himself become prime minister, he took an opportunity of
disclaiming, in strong language, the existance of any personal hostility
on his part to the deceased statesman.
On the formation of the new administration, under Lord Goderich, the
Duke of Wellington resumed the command of the army. This was on August
the 27th.
Early in January, 1828, this administration fell to pieces, and the Duke
of Wellington was called on by the king to form another. He was at first
reluctant to do so, but ultimately gave way. He rallied round him Mr.
Peel, and most of those who had seceded on the accession of Mr. Canning;
so that his administration was nearly identical with that of the Earl of
Liverpool, except that Mr. Huskisson and some two or three of the
coalitionary whigs, were retained.
In the following May, these were got rid of. Mr. Huskisson gave a vote
on the East Retford Bill, adverse to those of his colleagues; and on
leaving the house, sat down (at two in the morning), and wrote a letter
to the Duke, which was construed into a positive resignation of office.
An amusing correspondence took place between the two statesmen, Mr.
Huskisson declaring he never meant to resign, and the Duke as positively
adhering to his original construction of the first letter. Mr.
Huskisson's place was filled up, and he resented that proceeding by
declaring in the House of Commons his belief that he had been sacrificed
as a peace-offering to gain the support of some of the old tories.
The whole of the Duke's share in this correspondence is highly
characteristic; and it was in the course of negotiations for the return
of Mr. Huskisson that the Duke uttered the sentence so often quoted of
him: "It is no mistake; it can be no mistake; and it shall be no
mistake!" Strange to say, although the Duke's mode of proceeding to Mr.
Huskisson was somewhat arbitrary, it gained him a sort of popularity, on
account of the firmness with which he stuck to his point. The laugh was
fairly on his side; and many of the vessels in the Thames hoisted flags,
and exhibited other signs of rejoicing at Mr. Huskisson's dismissal.
On his appointment to be Prime Minister, the Duke again resigned the
command of the army (Feb. 14th).
The first important measure, during the Duke's administration, was the
repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts. In giving his support to that
bill, the Duke met an argument, that it was a step towards Roman
Catholic emancipation, by a declaration that, though he voted for the
measure, no man could be a more determined opponent of those claims than
he; and he added, "Until I see a great change in that question, I shall
certainly oppose it." In the June following, however, the commons having
in the meanwhile passed a resolution indicating favour to emancipation,
the Duke declared that he looked on the question as one of expediency;
and concluded his speech by recommending that the public mind should be
allowed to rest. In the end, it might be possible to do something; for
he was most desirous of seeing the subject brought to an amicable
conclusion.
Causes altogether independent of parliamentary majorities or discussions
had in the mean time been at work, and had proposed this change in the
tone of ministers. Mr. O'Connell, although a Catholic, had been returned
to parliament as member for the county of Clare; and during the summer
and autumn, the whole of the Catholic population had become so
organized, under the Catholic Association, as seriously to threaten the
continuance of the existing system in Ireland. These events produced
their effects upon English statesmen on either side of the question; and
the more moderate of the Conservative party began to think that some
concession to the Catholics would be inevitable.
Still, however, the government gave no sign of yielding. On the
contrary, a circumstance occurred, in the month of December, which led
to an opposite inference. Dr. Curtis, a Roman Catholic prelate, who had
been on terms of personal acquaintance with the Duke of Wellington at
Salamanca, wrote a letter to him on the position of the Catholic
question, to which the Duke wrote an answer, which seemed to deny all
hope of a speedy settlement. It was immediately made public by Dr.
Curtis through the Catholic Association. The effect of the letter was to
make that body redouble their efforts.
In a few days after, the Marquis of Anglesea, the lord lieutenant, who
had always been the avowed supporter of the Catholics, also addressed a
letter in reply to one he received from Dr. Curtis, in which he gave the
Catholics advice as to the best mode of proceeding in order to attain
emancipation. This conduct on the part of the viceroy, together with the
open countenance he gave to the leading catholics in Dublin, gave the
strongest offence to the king, and amounted to such a breach of duty
that the Duke of Wellington was compelled to recall the marquis from
Ireland.
The public mind was now in the greatest perplexity. On the one hand, the
state of Ireland seemed to render some measure of concession inevitable,
while on the other there was the letter to Dr. Curtis, and the dismissal
of the lord lieutenant--facts which seemed to discountenance all hope.
The year 1829 was the most eventful in the civil career of the Duke of
Wellington. He had been throughout his life the opponent of Roman
Catholic emancipation: he was now to come before the public in the new
character of a prime minister prepared to grant, as a measure of free
grace, that which he had hitherto denounced as inconsistent with the
safety of the Protestant constitution.
Up to within a few days of the opening of parliament, however, the
design of the government was wholly concealed, but in the speech from
the throne parliament was recommended to entertain the question. In the
debate on the address the Duke of Wellington announced it as the
intention of the government to introduce a measure for the emancipation
of the Catholics. And now arose a political storm almost unparalleled in
the history of party, from the effects of which we are scarcely yet
recovered.
The Duke and Mr. Peel were immediately made the objects of the most
unrelenting hostility by the opponents of emancipation. Seeing the
favour in which the two statesmen are now held by their party, it would
be almost impossible to believe that such abusive language as was then
poured forth could have been used towards them, were it not on record.
The Duke especially was charged with a treble treachery; to Mr. Canning,
on account of the transactions previously referred to; towards the
Protestant party, of whom he had been the chosen leader, and whom he was
about to betray; and lastly a personal treachery in the concealment of
his design until the moment of execution, by which he prevented others
from coming forward and taking the station he had abandoned, as leader
of the opponents of emancipation.
The Duke's replies to all these charges will be found at length in the
following pages. But the charge of personal treachery was afterwards put
in a shape which compelled the Duke of Wellington to take a very
different notice of it. The Earl of Winchelsea wrote a letter to the
secretary of King's College, in which, after adverting to the support
which the Duke had given on Protestant principles to that institution,
he stated that he now believed that the Duke's conduct had been only a
blind to the high church party, and that he was about, under the cloak
of the Protestant religion, to carry into effect his insidious designs
for the infringement of our liberties, and the introduction of Popery
into every department of the state. This letter the Duke found himself
bound to notice; but the earl refused to retract. A correspondence took
place, which ended in a duel. Neither party was hurt, and the earl
subsequently made a public apology for the original expressions.
In the meanwhile the Emancipation Bill was steadily progressing. On the
19th of February, in introducing the bill for the suppression of
dangerous associations, the Duke of Wellington declared that there had
been no previous bargain or compact with the Roman Catholic party while
the Emancipation Bill was in the House of Commons. Short discussions
took place almost every night in the House of Lords upon its merits, in
which whenever the Duke joined he did so with the greatest reluctance.
At length, on the 2nd of April, he moved the second reading of the bill
in the House of Lords, in a speech which reflected credit upon him for
moral courage, if not for consistency.
In fact, great moral courage is one of the most striking features in the
character of the Duke of Wellington. Some of his supporters will doubt
this assertion; and will point to the Emancipation Act as a proof that
the Duke wanted the firmness to act up to his avowed principles. This
involves a wrong assumption. It is one thing obstinately to adhere to an
opinion in defiance of its impracticability: another to retract that
opinion so soon as its impracticability is demonstrated. Whether the
Duke was right or wrong in his opinions, no one will deny that it
required great moral courage for him to stand up in the face of the
country, braving the anger of his old associates, and declare that he
could no longer resist the force of public opinion.
It was in the course of the speech introducing the Emancipation Bill
that the Duke made his well-known declaration "that he would sacrifice
his life to prevent one month of civil war."
One fruit of the angry passions excited during the progress of the
Emancipation Bill was a series of prosecutions against the _Morning
Journal_ for libels on the Duke of Wellington, the Lord Chancellor, and
the government collectively. These prosecutions were conducted with
unusual acrimony by Sir James Scarlet, the Attorney-General; and the
Duke of Wellington came in for a very considerable share of public
censure for having authorised such prosecutions. Probably the Duke
intended to inflict another "great moral lesson," as he has always set
his face against the unrestrained license of the press; but, looking
back with calmer feelings to the events of that excited period, and
admitting that the language used by the editor was certainly too strong,
though faithfully representing the feelings of a large class of the
public, it is certainly difficult to avoid now coming to the conclusion
that Mr. Alexander, when sentenced to twelve months' imprisonment in
Newgate and heavy fines, was treated with a severity scarcely
justifiable. It is probable that the Duke of Wellington, acting on his
rigid notions of the division of responsibility, after ordering the
prosecution, left the affair to Sir James Scarlet, and from that moment
declined to interfere.
Among the discussions to which the prosecutions gave rise, an amusing
speech of Sir Charles Wetherell, on the 2nd of March, 1830, in the House
of Commons, will repay perusal.
In a debate which took place in the House of Lords on the first night of
the session, upon the state of the country, the Duke of Wellington
delivered a speech upon the causes of the existing distress, which
proved (allowances being made for differences of opinion) that his
qualifications to deal with the most intricate questions involved in
civil government were very little inferior to his military talents.
Passages from that speech will be found in the following pages. At the
time many of his views were ridiculed by those political economists who
were destined so soon to rise to power under shelter of the reform
question; but it will be seen that the improved experience of the
country after ten years' undisputed sway of those gentlemen, confirms
many of the chief conclusion to which the astute and practical mind of
the Duke of Wellington then led him. That speech, however, raised a
hornet's nest around him in the House of Commons. Among others, Sir
Francis Burdett made a personal attack on the Duke, in which he said
that his administration showed how correct was his estimate of his own
powers when he said he would be mad to think of being prime minister.
That illustrious individual, he said, had been treated with much
tenderness, because he had conferred the greatest benefits on his
country; but if his services had been great his recompense had been
great also. Mr. Brougham, also, made a most personal attack on the Duke
on the day before parliament closed.
In the mean while, George the Fourth died (on the 26th of June), and
parliament was dissolved. The new parliament, called by William the
Fourth, was opened by the king in person on November the 2nd. It was
decidedly unfavourable to the ministry, against whom were arrayed a most
talented and unscrupulous opposition. They swayed with almost absolute
power the great mass of the people, who hoped everything from
parliamentary reform, and had not as yet had experience of the
extravagance of such hopes. A part of the tactics of the whig leaders
was to excite personal animosity against the Duke of Wellington, who was
libelled as a sort of would-be military dictator, seeking to introduce
in civil affairs the iron discipline of the camp, and to ride rough shod
over a free people.
With the clamour for reform out of doors and in the commons, it was not
to be supposed that even the impassible Duke of Wellington could avoid
referring to the subject in the debate on the address. This he did, with
more candour than prudence, by his well-known declaration against
reform, and in favour of the existing system. It will be found at length
elsewhere. The excitement it produced was enormous: so great, that in
three days afterwards ministers advised William the Fourth not to
proceed to the City to visit the Lord Mayor, lest there should be
tumults.
On the 15th, they were defeated in the House of Commons, upon a motion
of Sir Henry Parnell, for a committee to inquire into the civil list;
and on the following day the Duke of Wellington and his colleagues
resigned; being apprehensive that the same majority would vote for the
principle of parliamentary reform in a day or two after, and not wishing
to virtually give up that question by going out after being beaten on it
in the House of Commons.
During the year 1831, while the discussions on the Reform Bill were
going on, the Duke made frequent speeches against the measure, and led
the opposition in the House of Lords in a manner quite consistent with
his declaration in November. In a speech he made on the 28th March,
explanatory of the causes of his resignation, he distinctly denied that
the reform fever was owing to that declaration, and asserted that it
was to be attributed to the effect on the public mind of the revolutions
in France and Belgium.
On the 10th of October, after the Reform Bill had been thrown out in the
House of Lords, the Duke of Wellington was insulted by a mob on his way
to the house. In the evening, the windows of his mansion at Hyde
Park-corner were broken. It is to be lamented that any class of
Englishmen were to be found so degraded as to be guilty of this
ingratitude.
Fortunately, the worst of the evil was averted, by the total
indifference of the Duke to all such demonstrations. The greatest men
have been despisers of mankind, of the swaying multitude, that is to
say, the unthinking, the headstrong, and the violent--not of necessity
merely, from that intrinsic superiority and natural antagonism which
forbid their commingling; but also, and with a more hearty potency, from
the experience which they, alternately the adored or the scorned, have
had of the inconstancy of the giddy people. In this light estimation,
indeed, of the judgment of their less worthy fellows, lies the secret of
their greatness and their strength. They ride towards their goal while
the stream tends that way, and when the course of the current is
diverted, they are not dismayed. Their scorn of the means leads them to
pass on by their own strength, or to rest secure on the foundation-rock
of our moral nature--principle, and the consciousness of duty done.
In April, 1832, on the motion for the second reading of the new Reform
Bill in the House of Lords, the Duke made a speech, characterised by
unqualified opposition to the measure, at a time when many of the
conservative peers (called "waverers,") were for giving it a qualified
support. But, after a defeat of ministers in committee, on Lord
Lyndhursts motion of the 7th of May, followed by their resignation, and
when the king, rather than agree to create peers, called on the Duke of
Wellington to form an administration, he expressed his readiness to do
so upon the principle of moderate reform.
This sudden inconsistency the public could not understand; the Duke's
avowed reason was that when called on by his sovereign he could not
leave him alone in his difficulty. However, the Duke's efforts were
brought to a summary conclusion by the refusal of Sir Robert Peel to
join in the attempt.
It is amusing to see the opposite Views these two statesmen took of
their duties to their king. Sir Robert Peel considered that "his
acceptance of office pledged to carry an efficient Reform Bill, he being
a determined enemy to such a measure, would be a political immorality
which would not allow him to enter on his services with a firm step, a
light heart, and an erect attitude." The Duke said, "if he had refused
to assist his majesty, because he had hitherto given his opposition to
parliamentary reform, he would not have been able to show his face in
the streets for shame of having deserted his sovereign in circumstances
so painful and alarming." The result of Sir Robert's refusal was, that
the Duke gave up the attempt, and Earl Grey was recalled.
During the sessions of 1833 and 1834, the Duke was the leader of the
opposition in the House of Lords; always at his post, and always ready
to grapple with the different questions brought before the peers. On the
9th of June, 1834, took place his installation as Chancellor of the
University of Oxford;--a brilliant scene, at which some of the most
distinguished men of the day assisted.
In November, 1834, on the death of Lord Spencer, and the dismissal of
the whig ministry, the king called on the Duke of Wellington to form an
administration. The Duke recommended his majesty to entrust that office
to Sir Robert Peel, who, however, was then at Rome. During the interval
that elapsed before his arrival, the Duke accepted, provisionally, the
office of First Lord of the Treasury, and the seals of the three
secretaryships of state. On Sir Robert Peel's arrival, he gave up the
government, with the exception of the office of Secretary for Foreign
Affairs, which (December 9th) he retained.
Much clamour was at this time raised against the Duke by the whigs, on
the old score of dictatorship, and also as to a supposed insult offered
to Lord Melbourne.
On the meeting of parliament in the following February (on the 24th),
the Duke gave an explanation of his conduct (inserted in this volume),
sufficient to clear him in all impartial eyes of all the charges then
urged against him by party spirit.
On the 8th of April following, in consequence of the repeated defeats
sustained in the House of Commons by Sir Robert Peel, the conservative
ministry resigned, and with them of course the Duke of Wellington. From
that time until the re-accession of Sir Robert Peel to power, in 1841,
the Duke continued to lead, with his accustomed vigour and unpretending
ability, the opposition in the House of Lords. In this position, he
exercised the utmost forbearance towards the government; never using his
power except when circumstances absolutely required its exercise.
One of these instances occurred at the opening of the session of 1836,
when the principles of a particular measure were recommended in a speech
from the throne. To the address the Duke moved an amendment,
condemnatory of the practice of thus pledging the sovereign in a speech
from the throne to the principles of any measure. The amendment was
agreed to by the whigs.
During the whole interval between 1833 and 1841, the Duke is to be found
occasionally speaking in the upper house, in his capacity of leader of
opposition. The same sound practical sense which has been already
attributed to him, characterised his whole proceedings. It is needless
to particularise the different important debates in which he took part.
In August, 1839, a grand banquet was given to the Duke at Dover, as Lord
Warden of the Cinque Ports. A splendid pavilion was erected for the
occasion, in which two thousand persons, including some most
distinguished men, sat down to dinner. The gallery was filled with
ladies. The most interesting point in the day's proceedings, was when
Lord Brougham, the most active and distinguished civilian of his age,
rose to propose the health of the Duke of Wellington, the most
illustrious military commander. Eulogium could scarcely he carried
farther than it was by Lord Brougham in these words:--
"Although no man," said the noble and learned lord, "on such an
occasion, is entitled to entertain any personal feelings on his own
behalf, it would be affectation--it would be insolent ingratitude--were
I not to express the sentiments which glow within my bosom, at being
made the instrument of making known those feelings which reign
predominant in yours. Enough, however, of myself--now for my mighty
subject.--But the choice you have made of your instrument--of your
organ, as it were, on this occasion--is not unconnected with that
subject; for it shows that on this day, on this occasion, all personal,
all political feelings are quelled--all strife of party is hushed--that
we are incapable, whatever be our opinions, of refusing to acknowledge
transcendant merit, and of denying that we feel the irresistible impulse
of unbounded gratitude; and I am therefore asked to do this service, as
if to show that no difference of opinion upon subjects, however
important--no long course of opposition, however contracted upon public
principles--not even long inveterate habits of public opposition--are
able so far to stifle the natural feelings of our hearts, so far to
obscure our reason, as to prevent us from feeling as we ought--boundless
gratitude for boundless merit. Neither can it pluck from our minds that
admiration proportioned to the transcendant genius, in peace and in war,
of him who is amongst us to-day; nor can it lighten or alleviate the
painful, the deep sense which the untried mind never can get rid of when
it is overwhelmed by a debt of gratitude, too boundless to be repaid.
Party--the spirit of party--may do much, but it cannot operate so far as
to make us forget those services; it cannot so far bewilder the memory,
and pervert the judgment, and eradicate from our bosoms those feelings
which do us the most honour, and are the most unavoidable, and, as it
were, dry up the kindly juices of the heart; and, notwithstanding all
its vile and malignant influence on other occasions, it cannot dry up
those juices of the heart so as to parch it like very charcoal, and make
it almost as black. But what else have I to do? If I had all the
eloquence of all the tongues ever attuned to speak, what else could I
do? How could a thousand words, or all the names that could be named,
speak so powerfully--ay, even if I spoke with the tongue of an angel, as
if I were to mention one word--Sir Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington,
the hero of a hundred fields, in all of which his banner was waved in
triumph; who never, I invoke both hemispheres to witness--bear witness
Europe, bear witness Asia--who never advanced but to cover his arms with
glory; the captain who never advanced but to be victorious; the mightier
captain who never retreated but to eclipse the glory of his advance, by
the yet harder task of unwearied patience, indomitable to lassitude, the
inexhaustible resources of transcendant skill, showing the wonders, the
marvels of a moral courage never yet subdued. Despising all who thwarted
him with ill-considered advice--neglecting all hostility, so he knew it
to be groundless--laughing to scorn reviling enemies, jealous
competitors, lukewarm friends, ay, hardest of all, to neglect despising
even a fickle public, he cast his eye forwards as a man might--else he
deserves not to command men--cast forward his eye to a time when that
momentary fickleness of the people would pass away, knowing that in the
end the people are always just to merit."
The Duke's acknowledgement, was simple, according to his character, and
modest as became his position. He said, "The noble lord, who I hope will
allow me to call him my noble friend, has stated to you with great
truth, that there are times and circumstances in which, and under which,
all feelings of party, all party animosity, all descriptions of
political feelings must be laid aside. I must do my noble and learned
friend the justice to say, that for years and years there has been
nothing of that description in social life as between him and me,
notwithstanding which it is certainly true that I have had the
misfortune of differing in opinion with my noble and learned friend upon
many points of internal and possibly of other descriptions of policy.
But I am afraid that, notwithstanding my most anxious wish to co-operate
with all of you in the public service in which we have all been
employed, I may happen (I know it does happen) to differ with some of
you upon subjects of political interest to the country. But my noble and
learned friend judges of you correctly when he says that such feelings
of difference would not prevent you--as they have not prevented
you--from doing me the honour of inviting me to this festival, and of
bringing here to meet me not only the whole of this interesting county,
but persons from all parts of the kingdom and even from abroad.
Therefore my noble and learned friend does you as well as himself
justice when he states that there are occasions--occasions in relation
to individuals as well as in relation to public interests and
services--in which all feelings of party politics and opinions must be
laid aside, in order to carry on the public service to the greatest
point of advantage to the public interest. I have had sufficient
experience in public life to know that this must be the case. I am
convinced that it is that feeling which has induced you to pay this
tribute of respect to the person holding the situation of Lord Warden of
the Cinque Ports, in order that you might encourage others hereafter to
perform their duty honestly and conscientiously in the same honourable
office."
On the 18th November, the same year, the Duke had an attack of epilepsy,
which for a short time alarmed the public greatly for his safety, on
account of his advanced age. Sir Astley Cooper and Dr. Hume were down at
Walmer with him for a week, at the end of which time he recovered,
greatly to the joy of the whole nation. It turned out that the Duke had
brought on the attack adopting, to cure himself of a slight illness, a
mode of treatment which would not be the most wise in a man of
twenty-five, but was most dangerous to one so advanced in years. The
Duke is very determined on such points--can never be persuaded that he
is not the same man in point of constitution that he was when in the
Peninsula; and still preserves all the hardy habits of a soldier's life.
On this occasion he had sought to cure himself by fasting and cold
bathing: he then, while under this treatment, followed the hounds, the
consequence of which was that he fainted, and was soon afterwards seized
as described.
On the return of Sir Robert Peel to power, in 1841, the Duke of
Wellington again joined him; but this time he took no office, though
accepting a seat in the cabinet. He still continued to lead in the
lords, where his influence is fully felt, and where he constantly
astonishes the house and silences his detractors by displaying a degree
of knowledge on all legislative subjects scarcely compatible with his
military education, and an activity and attention to business that would
be admirable in any one, but which are still more praiseworthy as the
voluntary service of a man who has conferred such distinguished benefits
on his country.
* * * * *
Few men have been so blessed by fortune as to have been enabled to
achieve a first-rate reputation in arms, and afterwards to arrive at as
great distinction in the arts of peace. Rarely, at long intervals in the
lapse of time, such opportunities have been afforded to great men; but
still more rarely have even the greatest men been able to use them. To
the Duke of Wellington, in our own time, has this high honour been
especially vouchsafed; and no man ever yet lived who shewed himself more
worthy the distinction, or more able to fulfill the demands of his
country, whether in peace or in war. His youth and prime were spent in
achieving victories: to preserve to posterity the fruits of those
victories, in steady government, together with free institutions; to
make England such an example for foreign nations as would render all
such victories unnecessary hereafter; this has been the still more
glorious task of his declining years.
The military reputation of the Duke of Wellington rests on so firm a
basis, that it will never be shaken. So long as military science is
necessary in the world, so long will his system of tactics be followed
by commanders responsible in their own hearts for the lives of their
soldiers, and to their country for the conduct of their enterprises.
Of the military value of his dispositions and movements, military
critics have recorded, almost universally, their unqualified praise. To
civilians, it is left to admire the constant and watchful care of the
Duke, whether in India or the Peninsula, in securing the due provision
for his troops, while he at the same time maintained the strictest
honour towards the natives who supplied them; and to respect the
clearness of his perception, the sagacity of his decisions, and, above
all, the firmness and determination of purpose which sustained him
amidst every drawback and difficulty, until by his success he compelled
his detractors to yield themselves captive to his judgment. It is only
necessary to read the dispatches and general orders of the Duke of
Wellington, in order to be convinced that he is not a mere soldier
winning battles by superior tactics, but that he is also a man of a
very high order of general talent, with an unusual insight into human
nature, and possessing almost an instinctive knowledge of how mankind
are to be governed. By that wonderful exposition of the comprehensive,
wise, and philanthropic mind of the man, even his enemies were subdued.
Much controversy has been spent upon the demeanour of the Duke towards
his soldiers, which has been stigmatised as cold, distant, at times
harsh, and even selfish. For the charges of coldness and distance there
appears to be some foundation. Unlike Napoleon, the Duke of Wellington
never appealed to the enthusiasm of his soldiers; but he always relied
upon their sense of duty. He regarded his army, organized by discipline,
as a perfect machine, upon the performance of which he could calculate
with precision, and as he never expected it to do more than it ought, so
he never looked to see it do less. The idea of duty, of absolute
responsibility and subordination from rank to rank, seems to have been
that to which he was always content to appeal. Accordingly, his troops
never failed him. Their rock-like steadfastness and constant unimpulsive
bravery, it was that enabled him to carry out his plans with such
certainty.
The contrast to Napoleon is no Where more seen than in the dispatches of
the one and the bulletins of the other. In his demeanour to his men, the
Duke was reserved; in his language, curt and laconic. If his troops felt
the moral certainty that he was leading them to victory, and honoured
him accordingly, it was not from personal enthusiasm, such as the wild
love the emperor inspired in those around him, but from a deep respect
for his character and a reliance on his talents. Nor did he condescend
to charlatantism or bombast, as his great rival too often did. There is
not the slightest trace of vanity about him. Compare the speech of the
one to his army, beneath the Pyramids, with the simple, "Up, guards, and
at them!" of the other. In these trifles, we find the key to the real
minds of great men.
The political character of the Duke, and his services as a civilian,
have never been sufficiently appreciated by the great mass of his
countrymen. His brilliant military reputation cast into the shade his
sterling but unobtrusive services as a senator and as a minister. It was
even the fashion, for a long time, to assert that his taking office at
all was a sign of defective judgment. Indeed, when he declared, in the
House of Lords, that he would be "worse than mad to think of such a
thing," he gave a colour to the supposition. His subsequent assertion,
after he had become prime minister, that he had done so "because nobody
else would," conveyed, in all probability, the simple truth. The Duke
did not know his own capacity for government, until it was tried.
Another reason why his positive worth, as a politician, has not been so
universally admitted as his military merit, is that, in the imaginations
of a large portion of the public, he has been identified with a party.
This, in a country where party spirit is so strong and so universal,
would alone be sufficient to secure his being misunderstood by all those
who are not of the party to which he is alleged to be devoted. But it
is a mistake to call the Duke of Wellington a party man; that is to say,
in the ordinary sense of the word. It is true that, during the greater
part of his life he has acted with what is called the conservative
party, because in England no man can expect to serve his country
efficiently, unless he enlists under some political banner or other. But
there is a great difference between acting generally with a party, and
the adoption of all its animosities and prejudices: and this difference
the Duke of Wellington appears always to have perceived and acted upon.
Wherever the choice has lain between the opinions of his party and the
general good of his country, the Duke has always preferred his country
to his party; and if that is the character of a party man, may all
politicians be speedily imbued with the same sentiments!
Notwithstanding this distinction, however, it is certain that the known
opinions of the Duke of Wellington, and his ultimately taking office as
the prime minister of the tory party, did lead to the belief that he was
a party man, and directed towards him all those animosities and all that
depreciating rancour which party spirit engenders, and which party
tactics perpetuate; so that during a period of some four or five years
his distinguished reputation as a soldier was obscured in the minds of
many millions of his country, who,--and this remark applies more
particularly to the years 1829, 1830, and 1831,--laid themselves open to
the charge of being guilty of that meanest and basest of all crimes,
ingratitude.
Happily, within the last ten years, a total change has come over the
public mind. Those ill-grounded animosities are forgotten: the long and
unparalleled services of the Duke are remembered: and a re-action,
produced by a sense of shame acting upon early affections, has made him
more popular, more beloved, more admired than ever he was before.
Look at the course of business in the House of Lords during the last few
years, and you will observe that the Duke of Wellington has been the
presiding spirit of that assembly. Nothing was done--nothing could be
done without him; for he carries with him the proxies of so many of the
thinking, experienced, far-seeing, influential of his countrymen.
It has been argued, that the Duke of Wellington possesses all this
influence by virtue of his leadership of a powerful party. Of course
this means that any other leader of the conservatives could possess as
much, or it means nothing. It is a fallacy. The Duke of Wellington's
claims are almost entirely personal. It is to himself alone that all
this silent homage is paid. Even were he to retire from active life
to-morrow, still would he be followed into his retirement by political
pupils, eager to imbibe those distillations of practical wisdom which
his sagacity extracts from his vast stores of experience.
The fundamental basis of this power is his high military reputation;
though that alone could not have secured it, unless accompanied by his
firm principles and habits of observation. England differs from France
in this respect,--that while our neighbours are more ready to elevate
talent above property than we are, they are less choice as to the degree
of the talent which they exalt. But if the English once know that they
possess a first-rate man, they place him from that hour securely on an
eminence, whence he may look down as from the heavens, upon wealth,
rank, blood, and every earthly distinction. The Duke of Wellington is a
first-rate man; and his countrymen acknowledge it with pride. But his
mind is _sui generis_. His qualities are eminently useful: he could
never have condescended to be brilliant. His mind is that of iron mould
that defies alike warping, meretricious polish, or demolition.
It is a conviction of the thorough and unflinching honesty of his views
and principles, and of the clear perception, the fruitful experience,
and sound practical sense which regulate his opinions, that makes the
Duke of Wellington the governing spirit in the House of Peers. There is
no man in that house, be his talents or his services what they may,
whose opinion carries so much weight with it; for there is no other man
so independent of party. All the others, however moderate their natures
or honest their intentions, have been compelled to give in at some time
or other to the spirit of party. But the Duke is above party. He entered
the House of Peers with an overpowering reputation, which enabled him
from the first to take high ground. He does not need to curry favour
with any man; nor does he fear to offend even the most powerful of his
supporters, when his cause is just.
But the Duke's ascendancy in the House of Peers is not to be referred
to the foregoing causes alone. Had he none of that personal influence
derived from services and character to which we have referred, his
abilities and information alone would enable him to take high rank. His
claims in these respects are much, underrated by those who are opposed
to him in politics. His reasoning is so simple, clear and palpable--so
much in the character of what is called common sense--and his style of
speaking so unpretending and free from ornament, that superficial
observers have set him down as a mere blunt soldier, with a few fixed
ideas, and a disposition dogmatically to insist on their adoption. This
is altogether a mistake. The Duke of Wellington has as much of the true
spirit of the statesman as any man who now affects the destinies of this
country. There is scarcely a subject that has come before parliament
since the commencement of his political career into which he has not
fully entered. The character of his mind is to grasp every question.
Less than mastery of it--so far as the formation of a decided opinion
according to the lights afforded to or by his mind--will not satisfy
him. With the exception of one or two questions of high constitutional
principle, the "_cui bono?_" is the view his mind naturally takes. He is
a practical utilitarian, seeking in every measure the utmost quantity of
good of which it is capable; not always as much as he would perhaps wish
to see, but as much as circumstances allow the hope of securing.
This mode of dealing with subjects is not well calculated for
oratorical display, or for the parade of extensive information, even if
the unaffected character of the Duke of Wellington would allow him to
avail himself of them. They are cast aside, in pursuit of a less
brilliant, but more useful, mode of treatment. Accordingly, the speeches
of the Duke are brief, clear, pointed, and in one sense dogmatical.
After having canvassed details, and brought to bear upon them his long
and varied experience, he states his conclusions, accompanying them with
the general principles that have guided their formation, in a few brief
authoritative sentences. He is very careless about catching stray
listeners, or drawing in his train the prejudiced or the inexperienced;
but rather addresses himself to those whose age and wisdom entitle them
to anticipate consequences, or to those to whom experience of the value
of his opinions may have taught a pre-disposed deference.
At other times, however--for instance, when making ministerial
statements on matters connected with finance, or foreign policy, or
important changes in the law--this short, abrupt, devil-may-care style
is changed for one eminently adapted to the object. No one can then
complain of a want of the proper information. All the historical facts,
or figures, or principles, or general details, are then marshalled
forward with a regularity and precision only to be equalled by the
military arrangements of the Duke. There is not a word too much or too
little: you are made thoroughly to comprehend the whole bearings of the
question, without being overburthened with the useless details that so
often figure in the speeches of orators of the red-tape school. The
natural superiority of the Duke's mind is never more exhibited than in
the masterly way in which he separates the wheat from the chaff, and
weaves a clear and connected statement from masses of facts, on subjects
so foreign to the military pursuits of his youth and manhood.
To many, this praise of the Duke of Wellington, in a character in which
he is so little known to the great mass of the public, will appear
exaggerated; but those who have been accustomed to observe him in the
House of Peers, will not be surprised to hear the estimation in which he
is held by his political contemporaries of all parties. Those who have
not heard and seen him in his character of politician and statesman,
will scarcely continue sceptical (even if they are so), after having
read the extracts contained in the following pages.
Much, however, as the independent spirit of self-reliance of the Duke,
fortified by his character and experience, has secured him sway in the
House of Lords, we must not blind ourselves to the fact, that this
illustrious man has sometimes, in the assertion of his opinions
(unconsciously, we believe, and unintentionally) fallen into a practice
of dogmatising, of calling on the House of Peers and the public to adopt
his views, not so much on account of reasons urged in their support, as
because they are stated by him. Rarely, however, have such instances
occurred, and in extenuation of what, in a country of free discussion,
would justly be deemed a dangerous innovation, we must bear in mind
that where a man's opinions are the result of vary long experience and
very extensive observation, it is not always possible to make the
general mind aware of the process by which particular principles or
views have been arrived at. The greatest men have often been compelled
to content themselves with the simple assertion of opinions not pleasing
to the multitude, and to appeal to time as the only test of their truth.
The Duke of Wellington looks to the practical common-sense bearing of
every subject brought under his notice. His first aim is the public
good; his next, how to attain that good with the least departure from
established principles of policy. This practical turn of mind, joined as
it is to a far-seeing and prophetic spirit, has contributed to confirm
in the minds of his countrymen the admiration and influence which his
military genius and success first created. They repose the utmost
confidence in his sagacity; he is a party in himself. Whatever is
essential to the national reputation, the welfare of the whole people,
and, above all, to the stability of property, is sure to be originated,
or, at all events, warmly supported by him.
For this reason a revolution never could have occurred under the
government of the Duke; he has too intense a horror of the evils of
civil contention, ever to have allowed matters to come to that pass.
This, it will be admitted, is a quality rarely to be found in a soldier,
and a soldier, too, of such an inflexible cast as the Duke. Not less
intense is his regard for national faith and honour. He would maintain
the honour of the state at any expense, even of his own personal
prejudices on home politics; for the Duke, like all strong-minded men,
has his prejudices. He has vanquished, and obtained the mastery of the
spirit of change, by showing that he can curb it, while he does not
affect to play the tyrant over it. He knows when to be firm and when to
yield. Many acts of the Duke of Wellington, in the course of his
political career, that have called forth unlimited censure, have been
based upon calculations which only so well-tutored and so well-stored a
mind could have made.
It is an intellectual treat of the highest order to see the Duke of
Wellington's demeanour in the House of Lords. It is essentially
different from that of every other man there. He is almost the only
unfettered man in the house. Others are fettered by obstacles which they
create for themselves, in various ways, by the too eager pursuit of
personal or party objects. But the Duke of Wellington's high reputation
and standing place him above all such considerations. He can afford to
speak the truth, and he does speak it on all occasions fearlessly. While
other speakers, on either side of the house, have been wasting their
powers in fruitless eloquence (mere personal display), or in perverting
the truth for the purpose, either of unfair attack or unfair defence,
the Duke of Wellington has appeared to be paying not the slightest
attention to the proceedings. He has sat absorbed in thought, or at
least in seeming indifference. You would almost suppose that, overcome
by fatigue, or indisposition, he was sleeping, so perfectly motionless
and silent is he, reclining, with folded arms, his legs stretched out
to their full length, and his hat over his brow. The question has been
discussed, argued, disputed upon for hours. No result seems to have been
come to, and you are as ignorant of the object and scope of the measure
as when the debate began; nor have you any clear idea what will become
of the bill.
At length, the Duke of Wellington rises, advances abruptly to the table,
wraps the tails of his coat, like a dressing-gown, over his legs, and
plunges at once _in medias res_. There is an undivided attention while
he speaks, indeed, it is sometimes absolutely necessary, for, when
indisposed, he is often with difficulty heard, even by those near to
him, as, indeed, he himself hears with difficulty, from being deaf on
one side. But in a moment you see that his mind is still as vigorous as
ever. His keen intelligence pierces at once to the very core of the
subject; no fallacy can blind or deceive the Duke of Wellington. He
knows why the measure was introduced, what it is, what it will do, and
what will become of it. He grapples with it in the spirit of a
statesman. He is a guardian of the interests of the nation; he is the
parliamentary trustee of the people; he is bound to look to their
interests as a whole, for by the people he understands, not those who
bawl the loudest about their rights, but those also who trust the
maintenance of their privileges and their interests to parliament, in
silent faith. He never forgets the _salus populi_.
On the other hand, the chap-trap maxims of liberalism, foreign or
domestic, meet from him with just as much credence and attention as
they deserve; he never allows enthusiasm to intrude among political
considerations. He measures the length, breadth, and thickness of the
bill before him; calculates with his unerring precision and practical
wisdom, the effect which it will have, either on the happiness of the
people, or on the social or political constitution of the country.
According to its value for good or for evil, does the Duke of Wellington
support or oppose it; and from that hour its fate is usually decided.
Why? because the unbending unflinching honesty of the man, and his
political sagacity, have created him a character unprecedented in the
annals of his country.
The Duke's style of speaking is what might be expected from his
character, plain, simple, straightforward. His sentences are short and
pithy, his language clear and lucid; his delivery abrupt. When he makes
a point, it falls on the mind with the force of a sledge-hammer. His
voice reminds one of that of an officer giving the word of command; he
lays emphasis, short and somewhat harsh, on the leading words of the
sentence, and speaks the rest in an under tone. Although, however, in
consequence of his age and the gradual approach of infirmity, his
utterance is not so clear as it used to be, yet you can always
understand immediately his whole meaning. He uses the plainest language
of every-day colloquy. His style is impressive from its doric
simplicity. You never entertain a doubt of his sincerity; and although
you may not always agree with him in opinion, you have, at least, the
satisfaction of knowing that his propositions are the true result of
his feelings or his thoughts; and are not merely put forward to answer
the purposes of party, or to secure a triumph in debate.
For the same reason, the Duke never attempts to impose on the house a
fictitious enthusiasm, or a pretended excitement. If he gets excited,
(and he will sometimes get into a terrible passion at any infringement
of constitutional integrity or breach of discipline), there is no
mistaking it for a mere prepared climax to a speech; he is completely
possessed by the demon. The only action he ever uses is on such
occasions, and then it is almost convulsive. His arms and legs seem no
longer to be under control, they quiver, and shake, and tremble: and the
clenched fist, violently and frequently struck upon the table, denotes
that some very potent feeling of indignation is, for the time, mastering
the usual calmness of this self-possessed man.
Yet though at times he is thus carried away by his feelings, his
ultimate judgment of a measure is not impaired by it. He can cauterise
or cut out the cankered part, and yet preserve all that was not
offensive to his sense of right and wrong.
Those who have read the speeches of the Duke, will have remarked the
intensely British feeling that pervades them. He is like the old Romans
in his admiration and love for his country and her institutions. The
same feeling breathes in all his speeches. The same magnanimous brevity
that marked the public declarations of that haughty people, dignifies
the addresses of the Duke of Wellington. Some of his sayings, as, for
instance, "that a great nation can never wage a little war," will he
embalmed in history. His denunciations are like the alarum of a war
trumpet. The same character of simplicity which marks the Duke's
speeches pervades his whole conduct, public and private. Though no man
is more capable of enjoying the refinements of modern society, luxury
has not enervated his mind or his manners. His dress, his equipage, his
habits, all partake of the same indifference to effect--all have a cast
of the hardy self-denial of the camp. A mattress bed, constant horse
exercise, rising with the lark, not unfrequently remaining up twenty
hours out of the twenty-four, and the daily use of cold shower baths,
winter and summer,--these contradictions to the usual habits of men,
when their age approaches to fourscore, bespeak no ordinary carelessness
of ease, and a singular determination of purpose. Well, indeed, has he
been named the Iron Duke.