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BLACKWOOD'S
EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
No. CCCLXVI. APRIL, 1846. VOL. LIX.
CONTENTS.
THE MARQUESS WELLESLEY, 385
LETTER TO EUSEBIUS, 408
THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. PART VI., 419
HOW THEY MANAGE MATTERS IN "THE MODEL REPUBLIC," 439
ANTONIO PEREZ, 450
RECOLLECTIONS OF A LOVER OF SOCIETY, 463
THE "OLD PLAYER," 473
THE CRUSADES, 475
THE BURDEN OF SION. BY DELTA, 493
RHYMED HEXAMETERS AND PENTAMETERS, 496
THE SURVEYOR'S TALE, 497
EDINBURGH:
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PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND HUGHES, EDINBURGH.
BLACKWOOD'S
EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
No. CCCLXVI APRIL, 1846. VOL. LIX
THE MARQUESS WELLESLEY.
The revival of noble recollections, the record of great actions, and the
history of memorable times, form one of the highest services which a
writer can offer to his country. They mould the national Character, and
upon the character depends the greatness of every nation. Why have the
mighty kingdoms of the East perished without either general reverence or
personal value, but from the absence of Character in their people; while
Greece in all its ancient periods, and Rome throughout the days of its
republic, are still the objects of classic interest, of general homage,
and of generous emulation, among all the nobler spirits of the world? We
pass over the records of Oriental empire as we pass over the ruins of
their capitals; we find nothing but masses of wreck, unwieldy heaps of
what once, perhaps, was symmetry and beauty; fragments of vast piles,
which once exhibited the lavish grandeur of the monarch, or the colossal
labour of the people; but all now mouldered and melted down. The mass
essentially wants the interest of individuality. A nation sleeps below,
and the last memorial of its being is a vast but shapeless mound of
clay.
Greece, Rome, and England give us that individuality in its full
interest. In their annals, we walk through a gallery of portraits; the
forms "as they lived," every feature distinct, every attitude preserved,
even the slight accidents of costume and circumstance placed before the
eye with almost living accuracy. Plutarch's _Lives_ is by far the most
important work of ancient literature; from this exhibition of the force,
dignity, and energy attainable by human character. No man of
intelligence can read its pages without forming a higher conception of
the capabilities of human nature; and thus, to a certain extent,
kindling in himself a spirit of enterprise.
It is in this sense that we attach a value to every work which gives us
the biography of a distinguished public character. Its most imperfect
performance at least shows us what is to be done by the vigorous
resolution of a vigorous mind; it marks the path by which that mind rose
to eminence; and by showing us the difficulties through which its
subject was compelled to struggle, and the success by which its gallant
perseverance was crowned, at once teaches the young aspirant to struggle
with the difficulties of his own career, and cheers him with the
prospect of ultimate triumph.
Of the general execution of these volumes, we do not desire to speak.
They have been professedly undertaken as a matter of authorship. We
cannot discover that the author has had any suggestion on the subject
from the family of the late Marquess, nor that he has had access to any
documents hitherto reserved from the public. He fairly enough states,
that he derived his materials largely from the British Museum, and from
other sources common to the reader. His politics, too, will not stand
the test of grave enquiry. He adopts popular opinions without
consideration, and often panegyrizes where censure would be more justly
bestowed than praise. But we have no idea of disregarding the labour
which such a work must have demanded; or of regretting that the author
has given to the country the most exact and intelligent biography which
he had the means of giving.
The Wellesley family, rendered so illustrious in our time, is of remote
origin, deriving its name from the manor of Welles-leigh, in the county
of Somerset, where the family had removed shortly after the Norman
invasion. A record in the library of Trinity College, Dublin, traces the
line up to A.D. 1239, to Michael de Wellesleigh. The family seem to have
held high rank or court-favour in the reign of Henry I., for they
obtained the "grand serjeanty" of all the country east of the river
Perrot, as far as Bristol Bridge; and there is a tradition, that one of
the family was standard-bearer to Henry I. in the Irish invasion. In
England, the family subsequently perished; the estates passing, by a
daughter, into other families.
The Irish branch survived in Sir William de Wellesley, who was summoned
to Parliament as a baron, and had a grant by patent, from Edward III.,
of the castle of Kildare. In the fifteenth century, the family obtained
the Castle of Dangan by an heiress. The _de_ was subsequently dropped
from the family name, and the name itself abridged into Wesley--an
abbreviation which subsisted down to the immediate predecessor of the
subject of this memoir; or, if we are to rely on the journals of the
Irish Parliament, it remained later still. For in 1790 we find the late
Lord Maryborough there registered as Wesley (Pole,) and even the Duke is
registered, as member for the borough of Trim, as the Honourable Arthur
_Wesley_.
Richard Colley Wesley, the grandfather of the Marquess, having succeeded
to the family estate by the death of his cousin, was in 1746 created a
peer. He was succeeded by his son Garret, who was advanced to the
dignities of Viscount Wellesley of Dangan Castle, county Meath, and Earl
of Mornington. He was a privy councillor in Ireland, and _custos
rotulorum_ of the county of Meath. He married Anne, eldest daughter of
Arthur Hill Trevor, first Viscount Duncannon, by whom he had six sons
and two daughters.
The Earl was a man of accomplished tastes; he had travelled, adopted
_dilettante_ habits, and expended more money in the decoration of his
mansion and demesne than his fortune could well bear. But he would have
been eminent if he had been compelled to make music his profession; his
glee of "Here, in cool grot and mossy cell," has no rival in English
composition for the exquisite feeling of the music, the fine adaptation
of its harmony to the language, and the general beauty, elegance, and
power of expression. He died on the 22d of May 1781.
Richard Colley Wellesley, afterwards the Marquess Wellesley, was born on
the 20th of June 1760, in Ireland. At the age of eleven he was sent to
Eton, under the care of the Rev. Jonathan Davis, afterwards head-master
and provost of Eton. He soon distinguished himself by the facility and
elegance of his Latin versification. He was sent to Oxford, and
matriculated as a nobleman at Christ Church, in December 1778. In his
second year at the college, he gained the Latin verse prize on the death
of Captain Cook. His tutor was Dr William Jackson, afterwards Bishop of
Oxford. In 1781, on the death of his father the Earl of Mornington, the
young lord was called away to superintend the family affairs in Ireland,
without taking his degree. On his coming of age, which was in the
ensuing year, his first act was to take upon himself the debts of his
father, who had left the family estates much embarrassed. His mother,
Lady Mornington, survived, and was a woman of remarkable intelligence
and force of understanding. To her care chiefly was entrusted the
education of her children; and from the ability of the mother, as has
been often remarked in the instance of eminent men, was probably derived
the talent which has distinguished her memorable family. At the period
of their father's death, the brothers and sisters of the young Earl
were, William Wellesley Pole, (afterwards Lord Maryborough,) aged
eighteen; Anne, (afterwards married to Henry, son of Lord Southampton,)
aged thirteen; Arthur, (the Duke of Wellington,) aged twelve; Gerald
Valerian, (prebendary of Durham,) aged ten; Mary Elizabeth, (Lady
Culling Smith,) aged nine; and Henry, (Lord Cowley,) eight years old.
The period at which the young Earl took his seat in the Irish House of
Lords was one of remarkable anxiety. The success of the American revolt
had filled the popular mind with dreams of revolution. The success of
opposition in the Irish Parliament had fixed the national eyes upon the
legislature; and the power actually on foot in the volunteer force of
Ireland, tempted the populace to extravagant hopes of national
independence and a separation from England, equally forbidden by sound
policy and by the nature of things. Ireland, one thousand miles removed
into the Atlantic, might sustain a separate existence; but Ireland,
lying actually within sight of England, and almost touching her coasts,
was evidently designed by nature for that connexion, which is as
evidently essential to her prosperity. It is utterly impossible that a
small country, lying so close to a great one, could have a separate
government without a perpetual war; and, disturbed as Ireland has been
by the contest of two antagonist religions, that evil would be as
nothing compared with the tremendous calamity of English invasion.
Fortunately, the peaceful contest with the English minister in the year
1780, had concluded by recognizing the resolution, "that the King's most
excellent Majesty, and the Lords and Commons of Ireland, are the only
power competent to make laws to bind Ireland." It is unnecessary now to
go further into this topic than to say, that this was a mere triumph of
words so far as substantial advantages were regarded, while it was a
triumph of evil so far as the existence of a national Parliament was a
benefit. It gained no actual advantage whatever for Ireland; for all
that Ireland wanted for progressive prosperity was internal quiet. On
the other hand, it inflamed faction, even by its nominal success; it
told the multitude that every thing might be gained by clamour, and in
consequence clamour soon attempted every thing.
The orators of Opposition will never be without a topic. Public
disturbance is the element in which they live. They must assault the
government, or perish of inanition; and they must stimulate the mob by
the novelty of their demands, and the violence of their declamation, or
they must sink into oblivion. The Irish opposition now turned to another
topic, and brought forward the Roman Catholics for the candidateship of
the legislature.
It is not our purpose to go into the detail of a decision of which
England now sees all the evil. But there can be no question whatever,
that to bring into the legislature a man all whose sentiments are
distinctly opposed to the Church and the State--who in the instance of
the one acknowledges a foreign supremacy, and in the instance of the
other anathematizes the religion--is one of the grossest acts that
faction ever committed, or that feebleness in government ever complied
with. Self-defence is the first instinct of nature; the defence of the
constitution is the first duty of society; the defence of our religion
is an essential act of obedience to Heaven. Yet the permission given to
individuals, hostile to both, to make laws for either, was the second
triumph at which Irish action aimed, and which English impolicy finally
conceded.
As an evidence of the royal satisfaction at the arrangements adopted by
the lords and commons of Ireland, the king founded an order of
knighthood, by the title of the Knights of the Illustrious Order of St
Patrick, of which the king and his heirs were to be sovereigns in
perpetuity, and the viceroys grand masters. The patent stated as the
general ground of this institution, "that it had been the custom of wise
and beneficent princes of all ages to distinguish the virtue and loyalty
of their subjects by marks of honour, as a testimony to their dignity,
and excellency in all qualifications which render them worthy of the
favour of their sovereign, and the respect of their fellow-subjects;
that so their eminent merits may stand acknowledged to the world, and
create a virtuous emulation in others to deserve such honourable
distinctions." All this may be true, and marks of honour are undoubtedly
valuable; but they can be only so in instances where distinguished
services have been rendered, and where the public opinion amply
acknowledges such services. Yet, in the fifteen knights of this order
appointed in the first instance, there was not the name of any one man
known by public services except that of the Earl of Charlemont, an
amiable but a feeble personage, who had commanded the volunteers of
Ireland. The Earl of Mornington was one of those, and he had but just
come into public life, at the age of three-and-twenty; before he had
done any one public act which entitled him to distinction, and when all
his political merits were limited to having taken his seat in the House
of Lords.
In the course of the year we find the young lord occupying something of
a neutral ground in the House, and objecting to the profusion of the
Irish government in grants of money for public improvements; those
grants which we see still about to be given, which are always clamoured
for by the Irish, for which they never are grateful, of which nobody
ever sees the result, and for which nobody ever seems to be the better.
It is curious enough to see, that one of the topics of his speech was
his disapproval of "great sums given for the ease and indolence of great
cotton manufacturers, rather than the encouragement of manufacture."
Such has been always the state of things in Ireland, concession without
use, conciliation without gratitude, money thrown away, and nothing but
clamour successful. But while he exhibited his eloquence in this
skirmishing, it was evident that he by no means desired to shut himself
out from the benefits of ministerial friendship. The question had come
to a point between the government and the volunteers. The military use
of the volunteers had obviously expired with the war. But they were too
powerful an instrument to escape the eye of faction.
Ireland abounded with busy barristers without briefs, bustling men of
other professions without any thing to do, and angry haranguers, down to
the lowest conditions of life, eager for public overthrow. The
volunteers were told by those men, that they ought not to lay aside
their arms until they had secured the independence of their country.
With the northern portion of Ireland, this independence meant
Republicanism, with the southern, Popery. The heads of the faction then
proceeded to hold an assembly in the metropolis, as a rival and
counterpoise to the parliament. This was then regarded as a most
insolent act; but the world grows accustomed to every thing; and we have
seen the transactions of the League in London, and of Conciliation Hall
in the Irish capital, regarded as matters of perfect impunity.
But more vigorous counsels then prevailed in Ireland. The volunteers
were put down by the determination of government to check their factions
and foolish assumption of power. They were thanked for their offer of
services during the war; but were told that they must not be made
instruments of disturbing the country. This manliness on the part of
government was successful, as it has always been. If, on the other hand,
government had shown any timidity, had for a moment attempted to coax
them into compliance, or had the meanness to compromise between their
sense of duty and the loss of popularity; they would have soon found the
punishment of their folly, in the increased demands of faction, and seen
the intrigues of partisanship inflamed into the violence of
insurrection. The volunteers were speedily abandoned by every friend to
public order, and their ranks were so formidably reduced by the
abandonment, that the whole institution quietly dissolved away, and was
heard of no more.
In 1784, the young nobleman became a member of the English Parliament,
as the representative of Beeralston, in Devonshire, a borough in the
patronage of the Earl of Beverley--thus entering Parliament, as every
man of eminence had commenced his career for the last hundred years; all
being returned for boroughs under noble patronage. In 1786, he was
appointed one of the Lords of the Treasury.
The period of his introduction into the English Parliament was a
fortunate one for a man of ability and ambition. The House never
exhibited a more remarkable collection of public names. He nightly had
the opportunity of hearing Pitt, Fox, Burke, Sheridan, Grey; and others,
who, if not equal, followed with vigorous emulation. He took an
occasional part in the debates, and showed at least that he benefited by
example. In 1788, he was elected for the royal borough of Windsor. The
great question of the regency suddenly occurred. The royal malady
rendered a Parliamentary declaration necessary for carrying on the
government. The question was difficult. To place the royal power in any
other hands than the King's, even for a temporary purpose, required an
Act of Parliament. But the King formed an essential portion of the
legislature. He, however, now being disabled by mental incapacity from
performing his royal functions, where was the substitute to be found?
Fox, always reckless, and transported with eagerness to be in possession
of the power which would be conferred on him by the regency of the
Prince of Wales, was infatuated enough to declare, that the Prince had
as express a right to assume the reins of government, and exercise the
powers of sovereignty, during the royal incapacity, as if the King had
actually died. This doctrine, so contrary to common sense, and even to
Whig principles, astonished the House, and still more astonished the
country. Pitt fell upon him immediately, with his usual vigour. The
leader of Opposition had thrown himself open to attack, and his
assailant was irresistible. Pitt dared him to give a reason for his
doctrine; he pronounced it hostile to the law of the land, contradictory
to the national rights, and, in fact, scarcely less than treason to the
constitution.
On the other hand, he laid down with equal perspicuity and force the
legal remedy, and pronounced, that where an unprovided difficulty of
this order arose, the right of meeting it reverted to the nation, acting
by its representatives the two Houses of Parliament, and that, so far as
personal right was in question, the Prince had no more right to assume
the throne than any other individual in the country.
Such is the blindness of party, and passion for power, that Fox, the
great advocate of popular supremacy, was found sustaining, all but in
words, that theory of divine right which had cost James II. his throne,
whose denial formed the keystone of Whig principles, and whose
confirmation would have authorized a despotism.
The decision was finally come to, that the political capacity of the
monarch was constitutionally distinguished from his personal; and that,
as in the case of an infant king, it had been taken for granted that the
royal will had been expressed by the Privy Council, under the Great
Seal; so, in the present instance of royal incapacity, it should also be
expressed by the Privy Council, under the Great Seal. The question of
right now being determined, the Chancellor was directed to affix the
Great Seal to a bill creating the Prince of Wales Regent, with limited
powers.
Those limitations were certainly formidable; and the chief matter of
surprise now is, that the Whigs should have suffered the Regent to
accept the office under such conditions. They prevented him from
creating any peerage, or granting any office in reversion, or giving any
office, pension, or salary, except during the royal pleasure, or
disposing of any part of the royal estate. They took from him also the
whole household, and the care of the King's person, his majesty being
put in charge of the Queen, with power to remove any of the household.
But the whole question has now passed away, and would be unimportant
except for its bearing on the position of Ireland.
In 1789, the zeal of the Irish opposition, and the flexibility of some
members of the Government combining, the Irish Parliament voted the
regency to the Prince without any limitation whatever. This naturally
directed the attention of ministers to the hazard of a collision between
the two Parliaments. The King's fortunate recovery prevented all
collision; but the danger was so apparent if the royal incapacity had
continued, and opinion became so strongly inflamed in Ireland, that from
this period must be dated the determination to unite both Parliaments in
one legislature. For it was justly argued, that if the Irish Parliament
might invest one individual with powers different from those intrusted
to him by the English Parliament, it might in the same manner invest a
different individual, the result of which might be a civil war, or a
separation.
This rash resolution was, however, strongly opposed. Twenty-three of the
peers, among whom was Lord Mornington, signed a protest against it, and
the viceroy, the Marquess of Buckingham, refused to transmit the address
to England. This increased the confusion: not only were the two
legislatures at variance, but the Irish legislature passed a vote of
censure on the viceroy.
The King's recovery extinguished the dissension at once, and the hand of
government fell with severe but well-deserved penalty on its deserters
in the season of difficulty. The rewards of the faithful were
distributed with equal justice. Lord Mornington's active support of the
viceroy was made known to the monarch, and he was evidently marked for
royal favour. From this period he took a share in all the leading
questions of the time. He supported Mr Wilberforce's motions for the
abolition of the slave-trade.
The bold and sagacious conduct of Pitt, in protecting the royal rights
in the Regency, had established his power on the King's recovery. The
Whigs had lost all hope of possession, and they turned in their despair
to the work of faction. Their cry was now Parliamentary Reform. No cry
was ever more insincere, more idly raised, carried on in a more utter
defiance of principle, or consummated more in the spirit of a juggler,
who, while he is bewildering the vulgar eye with his tricks, is only
thinking of the pocket. The Reform Bill has since passed, but the moral
of the event is still well worth our recollection. The Whigs themselves
had been the great boroughmongers; but boroughmongering had at length
failed to bring them into power, and they had recourse to clamour and
confederacy with the rabble. Still, in every instance when they came in
sight of power, the cry was silenced, and they discovered that it was
"not the proper time." At length, in 1830, they raised the clamour once
more; the ministry, (rendered unpopular by the Popish question,) were
thrown out; the Whigs were, for the first time, compelled to keep their
promise, and the whole system of representation was changed. But the
change was suicidal: the old champion of Reform, Lord Grey himself, was
the first to suffer. The Reform ministry was crushed by a new power, and
Lord Grey was crushed along with it. Whiggism was extinguished; the Whig
of the present day has no more resemblance to the Whig of Fox's day,
than the squatter has to the planter. The rudeness and rashness of
Radicalism supplies its place, and the stately and steady march of the
landed interest exists no more.
Lord Mornington's speech, in 1793, placed the question in its true point
of view. He declared that the consequence of the proposed measure of
Reform must be, to change the very genius and spirit of the British
government; to break up the combination of those elementary principles
of monarchy, aristocracy and democracy, which, judiciously associated,
formed the constitution. He then referred, with great force, to the
practical working of that constitution which this measure was intended
to overthrow. "Never," said he, and his language was at once eloquent
and true, "have the natural ends of society been so effectually
accomplished, as under the government which is thus to be subverted.
Under the existing constitution, the life of every individual is sacred,
by the equal spirit of the law; by the pure administration of justice;
by the institution of juries; and by the equitable exercise of that
prerogative which is the brightest ornament of the crown--the power of
mitigating the rigour of criminal judgments, and of causing justice to
be executed in mercy."
He forcibly pronounced the constitution to contain all "the principles
of stability; for it could neither be abused by the subject, nor invaded
by the crown." It provided, in an unexampled degree, for the protection
of life, liberty, and property. In its legislative action it impartially
allowed every public interest to have its representative in Parliament;
in its national action it insured the prosperity of the empire; for that
prosperity had never been so distinguished as since the constitution had
assumed full power; and, by protecting every man in the exercise of his
industry, it had given a spur to national and intellectual enterprise
and activity, of which the world had never before seen an example. And
was this all to be hazarded for the sake of gratifying a party, who
always shrank from the measure when in power, and who always renewed it
only as a means of recall from their political exile?
His biographer rashly denies the reality of those dangers, and says,
that the Reform Act has not produced any of the calamities which his
lordship then saw in such ominous prospect. But to this the natural
answer is, that the Reform Bill is little more than a dozen years old;
that though the power of property in so great a country as England, and
the voice of common sense in a country of such general and solid
knowledge, could not be extinguished at once; and though the national
character forbade our following the example and the rapidity of a French
revolution; still, that great evil has been done--that a democratic
tendency has been introduced into the constitution--that Radicalism has
assumed a place and a shape in public deliberations--that faction beards
and browbeats the legitimate authorities of public counsel--that low
agitators are suffered to carry on the full insolence of intrigue with a
dangerous impunity--and that the pressure from without too often becomes
paramount to the wisdom from within.
At the same time, we fully admit that there were abuses in the ancient
system, offensive to the natural sense of justice; that the sale of
seats was contrary to principle; and that the dependence of members on
individual patrons was a violation of legislative liberty. But whose was
the criminality? not that of the constitution, but of the faction; not
that of the enfeebled law, but of the local supremacy of Whig influence.
Property is the true, and in fact the only safe pledge of legislative
power; and if Manchester and the other great manufacturing towns had
possessed, five hundred years ago, the property which they have acquired
within the last fifty there can be no doubt that representatives would
have been allotted to them. There can be as little doubt, that in 1830,
or in a quarter of a century before, they ought to have had
representatives; but the true evil has been in the sweeping nature of
the change. Still, we will hope the best; we have strong faith in the
fortunes of England, and shall rejoice to see that our fears have been
vain.
The young senator's exertions, on this occasion, confirmed the opinion
already entertained of him in high quarters. He was shortly after sworn
in as a member of the Privy Council in England, and was made one of the
commissioners for the affairs of India. Pitt's memorable India Bill, in
1784, had appointed a board of six commissioners for Indian affairs, who
were to be privy councillors, with one of the secretaries of state at
their head. The board were to be appointed by the King, and removable at
his pleasure. They were invested with the control of all the revenue,
and civil and military officers of the Company. The directors were
obliged to lay before them all papers relative to the management of
their affairs. The commissioners were to return the papers of the
directors within fourteen days, if approved of, or if not, to assign
their reasons. The despatches so agreed on, were then to be sent to
India.
It seems not improbable that this appointment was intended as the
preparative of the Earl for higher objects in the same department. At
all events, it directed his attention to Indian topics, and gave him the
due portion of that practical knowledge, without which genius only
bewilders, and enterprise is thrown away.
We have to fight our way against this biographer, who takes a rambling
and revolutionary view of all the chief transactions of the time. In
this spirit, he denies or doubts the necessity of the French war. We
deny that it was possible to avert it. It may be true, that if England
had been faithless to her compacts, and had suffered her allies to be
trampled on, she might, for awhile, have avoided actual collision. But,
could this have been done with honour; and what is national honour but a
national necessity? Holland, the old ally of England, was actually
invaded; and the first English troops that set foot upon the Continent,
were sent in compliance with our treaty, and for the simple protection
of our ally. No one will contend, and no one has ever contended, that
England had a right to make a government for France; or that the fury of
her factions, however they might startle and disgust mankind, was a
ground for teaching morality at the point of the sword. But there can be
no more legitimate cause of war than the obligations of treaties, the
protection of the weak against the powerful, and the preservation of the
general balance of European power.
In the instance of Holland, too, there was the additional and most
efficient reason, viz. that the possession of her ports and arsenals by
France must largely increase the danger of England. But when it is
further remembered, that France declared the determination to make war
upon all monarchies, that she aimed at establishing an universal
republic, that she pronounced all kings tyrants and all subjects slaves;
and that, offering her assistance to every insurrectionary people, she
ostentatiously proclaimed her plan of revolutionizing the world--who can
doubt that national safety consisted in resisting the doctrines, in
repelling the arms, and in crushing the conspiracies which would have
made England a field of civil slaughter, and left of her glory and her
power nothing but a name?
It is, however, a curious instance of personal zeal, to find the
biographer applauding as the sentiments of his hero, the opinions which
he deprecates as the policy of England; and admitting that the war was
wise, righteous, and inevitable; that it raised the name of England to
the highest rank: and that it preserved us from "the pest of a godless,
levelling democracy."
It has been the habit of writers like the present, to conceive that the
French Revolution was hailed with general joy by England. Even before
the death of the king, the contrary is the fact: the rabble, the
factions, and the more bustling and bitter portion of the sectaries,
unquestionably exulted in the popular insurrection, and the general
weakening of the monarchy. But all the genuinely religious portion of
the people, all the honest and high-minded, all the travelled and
well-informed, adopted a just conception of the whole event from the
beginning. The religious pronounced it atheistic, the honest illegal,
and the travelled as the mere furious outburst of a populace mad for
plunder and incapable of freedom. But the death of the king excited a
unanimous burst of horror; and there never was a public act received
with more universal approbation than the dismissal of the French
ambassador, M. Chauvelin, by a royal order to quit the country within
eight days. The note was officially sent by Lord Grenville, but was
stamped with the energy of Pitt. It was as follows:--
"I am charged to notify to you, sir, that the character with which
you have been vested at this court, and the functions of which have
been so long suspended, being now utterly terminated by the fatal
death of his most Christian Majesty, you have no more any public
character here, the King can no longer, after such an event, permit
your residence here; his Majesty has thought fit to order that you
should retire from this kingdom within the term of eight days. And
I herewith transmit to you a copy of the order, which his Majesty,
in his Privy Council, has given to this effect. I send you a
passport for yourself and your suite, and I shall not fail to take
all the necessary steps, in order that you may return to France
with all the attentions which are due to the character of
minister-plenipotentiary, which you have exercised at this court. I
have the honour to be, &c.
"GRENVILLE.
"Dated Whitehall, Jan. 4, 1793."
On the opening of Parliament, in January 1794, a debate of great
importance commenced on the policy of the war. On this occasion, Lord
Mornington and Sheridan took the lead in the debate, and both made
speeches of great effect. Lord Mornington's speech was published under
his own inspection immediately after, and it still remains among the
most striking records of the republican opinions, and the mingled
follies and blasphemies of a populace suddenly affecting the powers of a
legislature. Every thing in France, at this period, was robbery; but
even the robbery exhibited the national taste for "sentiment." Their
confiscation of property was pronounced to be, "not for the sake of its
possession," but for their abhorrence of the precious metals. Lord
Mornington, in the course of his speech, read extracts of a letter from
Fouche, afterwards so well known as the minister of imperial police, but
then commissioner in the central and western departments. In this
sublime display of hypocrisy, Fouche pronounces gold and silver to have
been the causes of all the calamities of the republic. "I know not,"
says he, "by what weak compliance those metals are suffered to remain in
the hands of suspected persons. Let us degrade and vilify gold and
silver, let us fling those deities of monarchy in the dirt, and
establish the worship of the austere virtues of the republic," adding,
by way of exemplification of his virtuous abhorrence, "I send you
seventeen chests filled with gold, silver, and plate of all sorts, the
spoil of churches and castles. You will see with peculiar pleasure, two
beautiful crosiers and a ducal coronet of silver, gilt." But the portion
of his speech which attracted, and justly, the deepest attention, was
that in which he gave the proofs of the dreadful spirit of infidelity,
so long fostered in the bosom of the Gallican church. An address, dated
30th of October, from the Rector of Villos de Luchon, thus expatiates in
blasphemy:--"For my part, I believe that no religion in any country in
the world is founded on truth. I believe that all the various religions
in the world are descended from the same parents, and are the daughters
of pride and ignorance." This worthy ecclesiastic finished by declaring,
that thenceforth "he would preach in no other cause than that of liberty
and his country." The Convention decreed, that this and all similar
addresses of renunciation should be lodged with the Committee of Public
instruction, evidently as materials for training the rising generation.
A motion then followed, that all those renunciations of religion should
be "translated into the languages of all foreign countries."
Then followed a scene, which gave reality to all those hideous
declarations. The Archbishop of Paris entered the hall of the
Convention, accompanied by a formal procession of his vicars, and
several of the rectors of the city parishes. He there addressed the
Assembly in a speech, in which he renounced the priesthood in his own
name, and that of all who accompanied him, declaring that he acted thus
in consequence of his conviction, that no national worship should be
tolerated except the worship of Liberty and Equality! The records of the
Convention state, that the archbishop and his rectors were received with
universal transport, and that the archbishop was solemnly presented with
a red cap, the day concluding with the worthy sequel, the declaration of
one Julien, who told the Assembly that he had been a Protestant minister
of Toulouse for twenty years, and that he then renounced his functions
for ever. "It is glorious," said this apostate, "to make this
declaration, under the auspices of reason, philosophy, and that sublime
constitution which has already overturned the errors of superstition and
monarchy in France, and which now prepares a similar fate for all
foreign tyrannies. I declare that I will no longer enter into any other
temple than the sanctuary of the laws. Thus I will acknowledge _no other
God_ than liberty, _no other worship_ than that of my country, _no other
gospel_ than the republican constitution."
Then followed a succession of addresses and letters from the various
commissioners in the departments, blaspheming in the same atrocious
strain. The municipality of Paris, which was one of the chief governing
powers, if not the actual ruler of France, followed this declamation by
an order, that all the churches should be shut, let their denomination
of worship be what it might, and that any attempt to reopen one should
be punished by arrest. The decree was put into immediate effect. The
church of Notre Dame and all the other churches of the capital were
closed. The popular measures were now carried on in a kind of rivalry of
destruction. The "Section of the Museum," a portion of the populace,
announced that they had done execution on all Prayer-books, and burnt
the Old and New Testaments. The Council-General of Paris decreed that a
civic feast should be held in the cathedral of Notre Dame, and that a
patriotic hymn should be chanted before the statue of liberty. The
Goddess of Reason was personated by a Madame Momarro, a handsome woman
of profligate character, who was introduced into the hall of the
Convention, received with "the fraternal embrace" by the president and
secretaries, and was then installed by the whole legislature in the
cathedral, which was called the "Regenerated Temple of Reason." In this
monstrous profanation, the apostate archbishop officiated as the high
priest of Reason, with a red cap on his head, and a pike in his hand;
with this weapon he struck down some of the old religious emblems of the
church, and finished his performance by placing a bust of Marat on the
altar. A colossal statue was then ordered to be placed "on the ruins of
monarchy and religion."
This desperate profanation was emulated in the provinces. Fouche, in
Lyons, ordered a civic festival in honour of one Chalier. An ass, with a
mitre on its head, and dragging a Bible at its tail, formed a
characteristic portion of the ceremony; the Bible was finally burnt, and
its ashes scattered to the winds.
"Thus Christianity," said the noble speaker, "was stigmatized, through
the president of the Convention, amid the applauses of the whole
audience, as a system of murder and massacre, incapable of being
tolerated by the humanity of a republican government. The Old and New
Testaments were publicly burnt, as prohibited books. Nor was it to
Christianity that their hatred was confined; the Jews were involved in
this comprehensive plan. Their ornaments of public worship were
plundered, and their vows of irreligion were recorded with enthusiasm.
The existence of a future state was openly denied, and modes of burial
were devised, for the express purpose of representing to the popular
mind, that death was nothing more than an everlasting sleep; and, to
complete the whole project, doctrines were circulated under the eye of
the government, declaring that 'the existence of a Supreme God was an
idea inconsistent with the liberty of man.'"
In England, we are verging on democracy from year to year. We have begun
by unhinging the national respect for the religion of the Scriptures, in
our zeal to introduce the religion of the Council of Trent into the
constitution. The malecontents in the Established Church are
contributing their efforts to bring Protestantism into contempt, by
their adoption of every error and every absurdity of the Papist. The
bolder portion of these malecontents have already apostatized. The
Church once shaken, every great and salutary support of the constitution
will follow, and we shall have a government impelled solely by faction.
When that time arrives, the minister will be the mere tool of the
multitude; the faction in the streets will have its mouthpiece in the
faction of the legislature. Property will be at the mercy of the idle,
the desperate, and the rapacious--Law will be a dead letter--Religion a
mockery--Right superseded by violence--and the only title to possession
will be the ruffian heart and the sanguinary hand.
We are perfectly aware, that a large portion of the country cannot be
persuaded that it is necessary for them to disturb their own comfort,
quiet, and apathy, for any possible reason--that they believe all change
to be of too little moment to demand any resistance on their part; and
that, at all events, they trust that the world will go on smoothly for
their time, whatever may be the consequence of their scandalous and
contemptible apathy hereafter. But, such thinkers do not deserve to have
a country, nor to be protected, nor to be regarded as any thing but as
the cumberers of the earth. On such men no power of persuasion can act;
for no argument would convince. They wrap themselves up in their snug
incredulity, leave it to others to fight for them, and will not hazard a
shilling, nor give a thought, for the salvation of their country! Yet
even they are no more secure than the rest. The noble, the priest, and
the man of landed wealth, are not those alone on whom the heavy hand of
rabble robbery will fall. We give them, on this head, a fragment from
the report of the well-known Barrere, from the "Committee of Public
Welfare," constituting, in fact, the rule of conduct to the Republic. It
begins by declaring the "necessity of abandoning the idea of _mercy_ in
republican government." It pronounces the necessity of the law to act,
for the "arrest of _suspected_ persons." It declares every "remnant of
the _gentry_ of France to be an object of suspicion." It declares the
"_business of bankers_ to render them objects of suspicion." It declares
"their reluctance to receive assignats, and their sordid _attachment to
their own interests_," to make all merchants objects of suspicion. It
declares "all the _relatives_ of emigrants" to be objects of suspicion.
It declares "all the clergy who have refused the constitutional oath,
and all the former magistracy," to be objects of suspicion. All those
classes of society are to be sentenced at once, "_without being heard_."
Let us strike at once, says this desperate document, "_without trial_
and _without mercy_. Let us banish all compassion from our bosoms. Oh!
what innumerable mischiefs may be produced by a false sentiment of
pity?"
This decree, which made every man a victim who had any thing to lose,
instantly crowded the French prisons with the merchants, the bankers,
and the whole monied class in France. Those who could be plundered no
longer, were sent to execution. In Paris alone, within six months, a
thousand persons of the various professions had been murdered by the
guillotine. During the three years of the democracy, no less than
eighteen thousand individuals, chiefly of the middle order, perished by
the guillotine.
This frightful catalogue closed with a remark on the belligerent
propensities which such a state of society must produce. "It must be the
immediate interest of a government, founded on principles wholly
contradictory to the received maxims of all surrounding nations, to
propagate the doctrines abroad by which it subsists at home; to
assimilate every neighbouring state to its own system; and to subvert
every constitution which even forms an advantageous contrast to its own
absurdities. Such a government must, from its nature, be hostile to all
governments of whatever form; but, above all, to those which are most
strongly contrasted with its own vicious structure, and which afford to
their subjects the best security for the maintenance of order, liberty,
justice, and religion."
Sheridan made a speech, of great beauty and animation, in reply. But his
whole argument consisted in the sophism, that the French had been
rendered savage by the long sense of oppression, and that the blame of
their atrocities, (which he fully admitted,) should be visited on the
monarchy, not on the people.
Lord Mornington's was acknowledged to be the ablest speech on the
ministerial side; and though eclipsed by the richness and power of
Sheridan--and what speaker in the records of English eloquence ever
excelled him in either?--it yet maintained a distinguished superiority
in the force of its reasoning, and the fulness of its statements.
Sheridan, in his peroration, had thrown out some bitter pleasantries on
the ministerial favours, whose prospect he regarded as the only motive
of those abandonments which had left the Whig party suddenly so feeble.
"Is this a time," exclaimed the orator, "for selfish intrigues and the
little traffic of lucre? Is it intended to confirm the pernicious
doctrine, that all public men are impostors, and that every politician
has his price? Nay, even for those who have no direct object, what is
the language which their actions speak? 'The throne is in danger'--'we
will support the throne; but let us share the smiles of royalty.' 'The
order of nobility is in danger'--'I will fight for nobility,' says the
viscount. 'But my zeal would be much greater, if I were made an earl.'
'Rouse all the marquess within me!' exclaims the earl, 'and the peerage
never turned out a more undaunted champion in the cause.' 'Stain my
green riband blue,' cries out the gallant knight, 'and the fountain of
honour will have a fast and faithful servant.' But, what are the people
to think of our sincerity? What credit are they to give to our
professions? It there nothing which whispers to that right honourable
gentleman, that the crisis is too big, that the times are too gigantic,
to be ruled by the hackneyed means of ordinary corruption?"
Wyndham pronounced, that the speech of the noble lord had recapitulated
the conduct of France in a manner so true, so masterly, and so alarming,
"as to fix the attention of the House and the nation." Pitt spoke in
terms still more expressive. "The speech of my noble friend," said he,
"has been styled declamatory; on what principle I know not, unless that
every effort of eloquence, in which the most forcible reasoning was
adorned and supported by all the powers of language, was to be branded
with the epithet declamatory." This debate was decisive; two hundred and
seventy-seven voted for the vigorous prosecution of the war: for Fox's
amendment, _only_ fifty-seven. We have now to follow the career of the
noble lord to another quarter of the globe, where his presence was more
essential, and where his capabilities had a still wider field.