The advocates of Catholic Emancipation could not be expected to be
content with mere social pleasures, and the ministry decided to try a
diplomat in the difficult post. The duke having resigned in 1813, Lord
Whitworth, an experienced diplomatist and a strong anti-Catholic, took
his place. The duke and duchess, after their experience of Brussels
and Waterloo, consented to govern British North America, as Canada was
then termed, and in 1819 the duke died of hydrophobia in the town of
Richmond.
Students of Napoleonic history will be able to recall the early career
of the man chosen to foil the attempts of the popular party to force
their policy of Catholic Emancipation on the Government. Whitworth,
who had been born without a title or great wealth, was a self-made man
as far as it was possible for one who owed his opportunities to the
generosity of well-disposed patrons. He was first a soldier, and then,
through the influence of the Duke of Dorset, a diplomat, representing
England in Poland, Russia, and France. As Ambassador in Paris he came
into contact with Napoleon, and it was Whitworth who demanded his
passports from the Corsican {217} when the Peace of Amiens was broken
and all Europe plunged into war.
Lord Whitworth was a man who took advantage of his opportunities, and
from 1785 to 1803 fortune was very kind to him, but following his
sudden withdrawal from Paris he seemed to lose his powers, and for ten
years he chafed in obscurity. In 1801 he had married the widow of his
first great patron, and the Duchess of Dorset, a woman whose egotism
was matched by her greed, brought him a large fortune and some
influence. This was increased by the marriage of her mother to Lord
Liverpool, and when that nobleman had been at the head of the
Government for about a year he succumbed to the importunities of his
ambitious stepdaughter and appointed her husband to succeed the Duke of
Richmond.
[Sidenote: The haughty duchess]
To a woman of the temperament that distinguished the Duchess of Dorset
the acme of human bliss was the impersonation of royalty. She revelled
in the rites attendant upon the state the viceroy maintained, and as
the haughty duchess she was known throughout the country. Lord
Whitworth, past sixty and somewhat bored, was a tool in the hands of
his wife, who never forgot the fact that he was her late husband's
protege and, therefore, to some extent hers also. She personally
supervised the list of those who had the _entree_ to the Castle, and
her censorship of her predecessor's list caused a vast amount of
ill-feeling. Wives of respectable professional men found themselves
relegated to the position occupied by their prototypes fifty years
before, while {218} the intrepid duchess even attacked those who had
married into plebeian families, and, therefore, forfeited her regard.
It was due to her efforts that her relative, Lord Liverpool, conferred
an earldom on Whitworth, though she retained her ducal title throughout
her life.
The viceregal pair were not unpopular, but Whitworth was scarcely the
man to understand Irish affairs. To a large extent the ruler of the
country was Sir Robert Peel, the chief Secretary until 1818. The
Duchess of Dorset did not always approve of Peel, but, recognizing that
he saved her husband a considerable amount of work, she delegated the
task of maintaining the usual official correspondence with the ministry
in London to him. Peel was a strong--soon to become the
strongest--opponent of the Catholic claims. The viceroy was of the
same opinion on this important matter, and, backed by an enormous
English army, they defied public opinion.
[Illustration: Earl Talbot]
In the autumn of 1817 it was decided to replace Whitworth by Lord
Talbot, and accordingly, on October 9, the new viceroy was sworn in,
Peel taking a prominent part in the ceremony. Talbot and Whitworth
were old friends, having first met during the latter's embassy in
Russia, when the younger nobleman was an attache in the diplomatic
service, and he owed his selection to the good offices of the outgoing
viceroy and his wife. That he was opposed to Catholic Emancipation was
another point in his favour, while the Government were not unimpressed
by the fact that Lady {219} Talbot was an Irish lady, the daughter of a
County Meath gentleman.
[Sidenote: Visit of George IV.]
Lord and Lady Talbot made a determined effort to win the good-will of
the country. Daniel O'Connell's raging, tearing propaganda was
disturbing, and ever threatened a revolution, but Talbot thought that
by devoting some of his time to the patronage of agriculture he might
gain more adherents to the Government's policy. The farmers were not
ungrateful, but Lord Talbot must have realized before he was a year in
the country that the solution of the Irish question was not so easy as
he had thought it to be. Peel, summoned to London for more important
duties, still maintained his opposition to O'Connell and the Catholic
claims. Then, in 1821, the Cabinet had a brilliant idea which resolved
itself into this--that all Irish problems should be solved by a State
visit from George IV. Hitherto English kings had been accustomed to
visit Ireland in the role of fugitives, but George IV. was to come as a
great monarch, the first gentleman in Europe--and, as Thackeray had
said, 'the biggest blackguard'--and Irish loyalty was to be aroused
from its dormant condition.
The king carried out the plans laid down for him, and he had no cause
to regret making the acquaintance of his Irish subjects. He
scrutinized everything he saw in Ireland with the air and interest of a
schoolboy visiting a waxworks show. English uniforms seemed to
fascinate him when worn by Irish soldiers, and he hummed and hawed
question after question from the beginning to the end of his visit.
{220}
'Who is that magnificent-looking officer?' he asked the viceroy,
indicating the figure of Sir Philip Crampton, the celebrated surgeon.
'Oh, that is a general of the Lancers, sir,' was the witty reply, and
the king passed on to something else.
The most humorous incident of his visit arose out of His Majesty's
desire to witness some racing at the Curragh. In great state he
travelled down, and every preparation was made to supply the royal
visitor with a magnificent lunch. The pantries of Dublin and London
were searched for dainties, and everything possible pressed into
service.
It happened to be a very wet day, and the races did not prove very
exciting, but the king chivalrously maintained his interest as long as
he could. When he retired to his room, where gorgeous flunkeys of all
ranks waited breathlessly for the king to name his refreshment, George
IV. did not keep them long in doubt--he wanted a cup of tea.
A simple request, and one easily granted, for in the royal pavilion
were the choicest teas, the finest sugar and cream, and, of course,
plenty of hot water. Then someone called for a cup and saucer. Great
consternation ensued when it was discovered that those simple
requisites had been forgotten. There was absolutely nothing in which
to serve the tea to the royal visitor!
With prayers that the king might not get impatient, a score of scouts
were despatched to search the countryside for a cup and saucer, and
{221} one of them proved successful, finding in a poor peasant's
ramshackle cabin a twopenny blue cup and saucer. They were hastily
polished up, and with remarkable celerity the tea was served to the
thirsty king.
One of the caterers afterwards visited the owner of the cup and saucer,
and gave her a guinea for them. Needless to say, these precious
articles were treasured by the caterer's family.
"A clod--a piece of orange-peel--
An end of a cigar--
Once trod on by a princely heel,
How beautiful they are!"
[Sidenote: Lord Talbot, K.P.]
He was received in Ireland with a courtesy that often swelled into
enthusiasm, and Dublin, the centre of the local administration, went
into ecstasies over the royal visitor. Lord Talbot was installed a
Knight of St. Patrick amidst a splendour that contrasted with horrible
distinctness with the terrible misery and poverty that prevailed in the
very environs of Dublin Castle itself. The king must have seen the
shadows of famine and desolation that lurked behind the gaudy trappings
that did their best to make the city fit for a king, but he
conveniently ignored them. Monarchs have only a distant acquaintance
with human nature, and so King George, flattered by attentions denied
him in London except by his satellites, left the country convinced that
the demand for Catholic Emancipation was an artificial one created by
O'Connell, and that in reality Ireland was a most contented and
prosperous nation.
But the ills of humanity cannot be cured by a {222} display of royal
dignity, and Talbot discovered that pressing social evils could not be
eradicated by the bestowal of ribbons and orders. It may have seemed
unaccountable to him that when the country demanded bread it should be
dissatisfied with the sight of the king. Lady Talbot was feeding with
'cake' the 'upper ten' of Dublin society, but Ireland was dissatisfied.
The country was not progressing, the cities presented a squalid and
lifeless appearance, and even Dublin, favoured by the being the
residence of the well-paid official set and the home of the Government,
scarcely looked the prosperous place it had been during the last
quarter of the previous century.
Talbot advised stringent measures against O'Connell, but by now the
ministry was beginning to feel doubtful of its ready-made Irish policy,
and soon rumours reached Talbot that he was to be succeeded by the
Marquis Wellesley, a great Irishman, and an avowed Emancipationist.
The viceroy resigned at once and left Ireland. He died in 1849, five
years after Peel had rewarded his Free Trade allegiance by giving him
the garter.
[Sidenote: Lord Wellesley]
The Marquis Wellesley, an Emancipationist by conviction, was sent to
Ireland with promises the ministry did not intend to fulfil. Peel,
Goulburn, the Irish secretary, and the rest of his colleagues, were
opposed to the granting of complete relief to the followers of the
popular religion, and their selection of Lord Wellesley was merely an
attempt to blind the eyes of the patriotic party. When in the last
months of 1821 it was declared officially that Wellesley was to succeed
Lord {223} Talbot, the joy of the Catholics knew no bounds. To them
the new viceroyalty promised a speedy attainment of all their hopes,
for they knew that Wellesley was a strong man, and one likely to have
his own way. Quite apart from political and sectarian reasons, Ireland
welcomed Wellesley. He was an Irishman by birth, and although Harrow,
Eton, and Oxford in turn educated him, he had learnt the rudiments of
the three R's in the town of Trim. It was recalled that the
Lord-Lieutenant in his younger days had been the friend of Henry
Grattan, and as the result of thirty years' brilliant service on behalf
of the Crown, no man--with the exception of his brother, the Duke of
Wellington--commanded greater respect or admiration in the two
kingdoms, while so far as Ireland was concerned, the marquis was vastly
more popular than the duke, who had a constitutional objection to
Catholicism in any form. For eight years Lord Wellesley had acted as
Governor-General of India, and during the Peninsular War he was
Ambassador to Spain--one brother conquering the French and the other
reaping the not less important diplomatic victories, made possible by
the great battles. From the foreign secretaryship under Percival
Wellesley might have had the premiership, but his views on Ireland were
unpopular, and his failure to form a ministry prepared the way for Lord
Liverpool to assume the leadership for a period of nearly fifteen
years. Despite his opinions, Wellesley could have had the viceroyalty
of Ireland in 1812, but he declined it.
{224}
When a young man of twenty-four, Wellesley--then the Earl of
Mornington--contracted an irregular alliance with a Parisian girl of
remarkable beauty, Hyacinthe Gabrielle Roland, and for nine years they
lived together. She bore him children, and they appear to have been
happy. Wellesley, however, was growing in public importance, and it
was represented to him privately that his domestic relations might
interfere with his chances of promotion. To end an impossible
situation, he married his mistress in 1793, and from the day of the
marriage they seemed to lose their mutual affection. Gabrielle Roland
was modest in her demands, and content to look after her children; as
Countess of Mornington she pestered her husband to compel society to
recognize her new status. He was helpless, of course, and quarrels
ensued, but they lived together until 1797, when he was appointed
Governor-General of India. At first Lady Mornington wished to
accompany him, but he was able to persuade her to remain at home.
India at the time had a reputation for cruelty and treachery created by
the episode of the Black Hole of Calcutta, and Lady Mornington,
thinking doubtless of her children and not herself, consented to remain
behind, and enjoy the generous allowance her husband proposed to make
her. For the rest of her life--which lasted until 1816--husband and
wife saw little of each other; she failed to provide him with a
legitimate heir, and at the time it seemed likely that Lord Wellesley
would be Prime Minister he lived alone in London. It was said {225}
that he refused the viceroyalty in 1812 because it would mean taking
'the Frenchwoman to Dublin,' though a close examination of the existing
records points to the fact that Wellesley was unwilling to leave the
centre of political interest at such a critical period in the history
of England.
[Sidenote: Lord-Lieutenant assaulted]
The coming of Wellesley to Dublin Castle roused the enthusiasm of the
Catholic party and the animosity of the governing minority. In 1822 a
great public meeting voted an address of congratulation to the marquis,
the motion being proposed by O'Connell and seconded by Richard Lalor
Sheil. Meetings all over the country followed suit, and the squeakings
of the Orange lodges were drowned in the popular welcome. There was a
temporary lull in the formation of secret societies, and the Whiteboys,
the Orangemen, the Ribbonmen, and other associations for doing evil by
stealth, waited for a sign from the Lord-Lieutenant. He gave it by
abolishing the annual Orange decoration of King William's statue, and
instantly the Orangemen flew to 'arms.' Wellesley attended a gala
performance at the theatre, and an infuriated Orangeman entered a
practical protest by hurling a bottle at his head. It missed its mark
by inches, and the culprit was arrested. The Grand Jury, unanimously
anti-Catholic, threw out the bill, and the powerful minority followed
up this blow by inspiring a debate in the House of Commons, in which a
vote of censure on the Lord-Lieutenant was rejected with the utmost
difficulty. It was only too evident that the {226} Orangemen were
determined to contest every inch of ground with the viceroy.
[Illustration: Marquis Wellesley]
The general opinion regarding the Marquis Wellesley, when it was known
that he had no power to grant relief to the Catholics, was summed up in
the lines by Furlong, the Irish poet:
'Who that hath viewed him in his past career
Of hard-earned fame could recognize him here?
Changed as he is in lengthened life's descent
To a mere instrument's mere instrument;
Crippled by Canning's fears and Eldon's rules,
Begirt with bigots and beset with fools.
A mournful mark of talents misapplied,
A handcuffed leader and a hoodwinked guide;
The lone opposer of a lawless band,
The fettered chieftain of a fettered land.'
[Sidenote: The Catholic Association]
In 1824 Daniel O'Connell, realizing that the Lord-Lieutenant could not
force the hand of his superiors in London, founded the Catholic
Association, and it is no exaggeration to say that the people clamoured
for admission to it. Every town and village throughout the country had
its branch, and within twelve months it was the real authority in the
land. The English Government was superseded, and O'Connell was the
virtual ruler of Ireland. Wellesley, who did not approve of the aims
and methods of the Association, was devoting his attention to the
suppression of the secret societies, while the Cabinet in London wrote
imploring him to deal effectively with O'Connell's society. But the
marquis was helpless. There was no secrecy about the Catholic
Association, and its objects were, academically speaking, lawful, and
its methods legal. Further alarm was caused by the statement in some
English papers that {227} every Irish soldier was a member of the
association. Wellesley was asked for his opinion--he repeated again
and again that the only way to make the country peaceful was to grant
Catholic Emancipation. Three Prime Ministers--Liverpool, Canning, and
Goderich--in succession rejected the advice so disinterestedly given,
and when a turn of Fortune's wheel placed the great Duke of Wellington
in power, he intimated to his brother that as their views did not
coincide, it would be better if the Marquis of Anglesey, an old friend
of both, should replace him in the Government as Lord-Lieutenant of
Ireland. Lord Wellesley resigned without demur. He was well aware
that they differed widely on many important topics, and Wellington had
never forgotten that if Wellesley's views on foreign policy had
prevailed, there would have been no Waterloo and less glory. In the
House of Lords the marquis rose to denounce the Irish policy of his
brother, but they never made the blunder of carrying their quarrel into
private life. Lord Wellesley had in 1825 married an American lady,
Mrs. Patterson of Baltimore, the grand-daughter of one of the
signatories to the document that recorded the independence of the
United States of America, and she brought him a happiness he had never
known before. Witty, beautiful, and rich, the American marchioness
held her own in London society, and Wellesley was content for her to
remain out of political affairs, save when his seat in the House of
Lords enabled him to speak against the Government. Lady Wellesley, who
{228} was a devout Catholic, was always escorted by a troop of dragoons
to the Roman Catholic Provincial Cathedral in Marlborough Street,
Dublin, when her husband was viceroy.
In the Lower House Sir Robert Peel, now Home Secretary, was affirming
his unalterable determination never to surrender to the O'Connellites,
and his leader was also giving a display of the Iron Will. But even
Iron Dukes can unbend when they have been tempered by experience. It
was the Wellington Ministry that granted Catholic Emancipation, and it
was Sir Robert Peel who sounded the note of surrender. The collapse
was caused by the historic Clare election of 1828, within a few months
of the appointment of Lord Anglesey.
There was, of course, considerable humour, intentional and otherwise,
introduced during the agitation for and against Catholic Emancipation.
Once King George IV. was heard to murmur plaintively:
'Wellington is King of England, O'Connell is King of Ireland, and I am
supposed to be the Dean of Windsor.'
Lord Eldon presented to the House of Lords a petition of the tailors of
Glasgow against the surrender to the Catholics.
'What?' exclaimed Lord Lyndhurst, 'do tailors bother themselves about
such measures?'
'No wonder,' answered Eldon; 'you cannot suppose that tailors would
like turncoats.'
{229}