CONCLUSION--AN APPEAL TO ENGLISHMEN.
The difficulty of understanding the case of Ireland is proverbial.
Its most enlightened friends in England and Scotland are often charged
with 'gross ignorance of the country.' They might excuse themselves by
answering, that when they seek instruction from Irishmen, one native
instructor is sure to contradict the other. Yet there must be some
point of view from which all sides of the Irish question can be seen,
some light in which the colours are not confused, the picture is not
exaggerated, the features are not distorted. Every nation has its
idiosyncrasy, proceeding from race, religion, laws, institutions,
climate, and other circumstances; and this idiosyncrasy may be the
key of its history. In Ireland three or four nationalities are bound
together in one body politic; and it is the conflict of their several
idiosyncrasies which perplexes statesmen, and constitutes the main
difficulty of the Irish problem. The blood of different races is
mingled, and no doubt greatly modified by ages of intercourse.
But _religion_ is an abiding force. The establishment of religious
equality in Ireland is a glorious achievement, enough in itself to
immortalise any statesman. It is a far greater revolution than was
effected by the Emancipation Act, and more to the credit of the chief
actor; because, while Mr. Gladstone did spontaneously what he
firmly believed to be right in principle. Sir Robert Peel did, from
necessity, what he as firmly believed was wrong in principle. But no
reasonable man expected that the disestablishment of the Church would
settle all Irish questions; in fact, it but clears the way for the
settlement of some of the most important and urgent. It makes it
possible for Irishmen of every creed to speak in one voice to
the Government. Their respective clergy, hitherto so intent on
ecclesiastical claims and pretensions, will no longer pass by on the
other side, but turn Samaritans to their bleeding country, fallen
among the thieves of Bigotry and Faction. There are many high
Protestants--indeed, I may say all, except the aristocracy--who, while
firmly believing in the vital importance of the union of the three
kingdoms, earnestly wishing that union to be real and perpetual,
cannot help expressing their conviction that Ireland has been greatly
wronged by England--wronged by the legislature, by the Government,
and most of all by the crown. In no country in the world has loyalty
existed under greater difficulties, in none has it been so ill
requited, in none has so much been done as if of set purpose to
starve it to death. In the reign of Elizabeth the capricious will of
a despotic sovereign was exerted to crush the national religion, while
the greatest military exploits of her ablest viceroys consisted of
predatory excursions, in which they slaughtered or carried away the
horses and cattle, burned the crops and houses, and laid the country
waste and desolate, in order to create famines for the wholesale
destruction of the population, thus spoiled and killed as a punishment
for the treason of their chiefs, over whom they had no control.
In the reigns of James I. and Charles I. there was a disposition among
the remnant of the people--
To fly from petty tyrants to the throne.
But the Stuarts appealed to Irish loyalty merely for the support of
their dynasty, and William III. laid the laurels won on the banks of
the Boyne upon the altar of English monopoly. In the reigns of Anne
and the three Georges, law was made to do the work of the sword, and
the Catholics of Ireland, constituting the mass of the nation,
knew their sovereign only as the head of an alien power, cruel and
unrelenting in its oppression. They were required to love a German
prince whom they had never seen. He called himself the father of
his subjects; and he had millions of subjects on the other side of a
narrow channel, whom he never knew, and never cared to know. When at
length the dominant nation relented, and wished to strike the penal
chains from the hands of her sister, the king forbade the act of
mercy, pleading his conscience and his oath as a bar to justice and to
freedom, but yielding at last to English state necessity, and robbing
concession of its grace, of all its power to conciliate. From the
battle of the Boyne to Catholic emancipation, the king of Ireland had
never set foot on Irish soil, except in the case of George IV., whose
visit was little better than a melodramatic exhibition, repaid by
copious libations of flattery, which however failed to melt his
bigotry, or to persuade him to redeem his solemn promises and pledges,
until, nine years later, he was compelled to yield by the fear of
impending civil war.
Ireland may get from her sister, England, everything but that for
which the heart yearns--affection--that which alone 'can minister to
a mind diseased, can pluck from the memory its rooted sorrow, and rase
out the written troubles from the brain.' That is just what Ireland
needs above all things. She wants to be kept from brooding morbidly
over the dismal past, and to be induced to apply herself in a cheerful
spirit to the business of life. The prescriptions of state physicians
cannot fully reach the root of the disease. Say that it is a
sentimental malady--a delusion. What is gained by saying _that_,
if the sentiment or the delusion makes life wretched, unfits for
business, produces suicidal propensities, and renders _keepers_
necessary?
In theory, Ireland is one with England; in practice, she is hourly
made to feel the reverse. _The Times_, and all the journals which
express the instincts of the dominant nation, constantly speak of the
Irish people as '_the subjects of England_, whom Englishmen have
a right to control. They are the subjects of the Queen only in a
secondary sense--_as_ the Queen of England, and reigning over them
through England. Every sovereign, from Queen Elizabeth to Queen
Victoria, was sovereign of Ireland merely in this subordinate sense,
even when there was an Irish parliament. The King of _Ireland_ could
speak to his Irish parliament only as he was advised by his English
ministers; and their advice was invariably prompted by English
interests. Her king was not _hers_ in the true sense. His _heart_ and
his company were wholly given to another, to whose pride, power,
and splendour she was made to minister. That state of things
still continues in effect, and while it lasts Ireland can never be
contented. Her heart will always be disquieted within her. Something
bitter will ever be bubbling up from the bottom of that troubled
fountain.
Nor let it be supposed that this is due to a peculiar idiosyncrasy
in Ireland--to some unhappy congenital malformation, or some original
taint in the blood. It has been often asked whether England would have
submitted to similar treatment from Ireland if their relations were
reversed. Englishmen have not answered that question because they
cannot understand it. They find it difficult to apply the Divine
maxim, 'Do as you would be done by.' in their dealings with other
nations. But they can scarcely conceive its application to their
dealings with Ireland, any more than the American planter could have
conceived the duty of fraternizing with his negroes. If we draw from
this fact the logical inference, we shall be at a loss to discern
whether the Celt or the Saxon suffers more from the moral perversity
of his nature. The truth is, both are perverted by their unnatural
relations, which are a standing outrage on the spirit of Christianity.
The Emperor of Austria long laboured to govern one nation through
another and for another, in right of conquest, and we know the result
in Italy and Hungary. Lombardy, though well cultivated and materially
prosperous, could never be reconciled to Austrian rule. Even the
nobility could not be tempted to appear at court. Venetia was more
passionately and desperately hostile, and was consequently crushed by
military repression, till the country was turned into a wilderness,
and the capital once so famous for its commerce and splendour, became
one of the most melancholy scenes of ruin and desolation to be found
in the world. The Austrians, and those who sympathised with Austria
as the great conservative power of the Continent, ascribed all this
to the perversity of the Italian nature, and to the influence of
agitators and conspirators. Austria was bountiful to her Italian
subjects, and would be more lenient if she could, but their vices of
character and innate propensity to rebellion, rendered necessary
a system of coercion. Hence the prisons were full of political
offenders; the soldier and the executioner were constantly employed in
maintaining law and order. All the Emperor wanted was that his Italian
provinces should be so thoroughly amalgamated with Austria, as to form
one firmly united empire, and that the inhabitants should be content
with their position as _Austrian_ subjects, ruled by Austrian
officials. But this was precisely what they could not or would not
be. 'They smiled at the drawn dagger and defied its point.' They would
sacrifice their lives, but they would not sacrifice their nationality
at the bidding of an alien power.
This illustrates the force of the national sentiment, and the
tremendous magnitude of the calamities to which its persistent
violation leads. But the case of Hungary is still more apposite as an
illustration of the English policy in Ireland. The Hungarians had
an ancient constitution and parliament of their own. The Emperor of
Austria was their legitimate king, wearing the crown of Hungary. In
this capacity the Hungarians were willing to yield to him the most
devoted loyalty. But he wanted to weld his empire into a compact
unity, and to centralise all political power at Vienna, so that
Austria should be the head and heart of the system, and the other
provinces her hands and her feet. Hungary resisted, and revolted. The
result was a desolating civil war, in which she was triumphant, till
the Czar came to the rescue of his brother despot, and poured his
legions in overwhelming numbers into the devoted country. Hungary was
now at the feet of her sovereign, and Austria, the dominant state,
tried to be conciliatory, in order to bring about the desired
amalgamation and consolidation of the empire. She did so, with
every apparent prospect of success, and it was generally considered
throughout Europe that there was an end of the Hungarian kingdom.
But Hungarian nationality survived, and still resisted Austrian
centralisation. The Hungarians struggled for its recognition
constitutionally, manfully, with admirable self-control, moderation,
and wisdom, until at length they achieved a peaceful victory. Their
sovereign reigns over them as King of Hungary; he and the empress
dwell among them, without Austrian guards. Their children are born
among them, and they are proud to call them natives of Hungary. The
Hungarians, as subjects of _Austria_, were discontented, miserable,
incurably disaffected. As subjects of their own king (though he is
also Emperor of Austria) they are intensely loyal. They are prosperous
and happy, because they are free. And though they have their
distinctions of race and religion, they are united. The Magyars of
Hungary correspond very nearly to the Protestants of Ireland. Though
a minority, their energy, their education, their natural talent
for organisation and government, their love of freedom, their frank
recognition of the rights of conscience, enable them to lead without
inspiring jealousy, just as the Protestants of Ireland were enabled to
lead in 1782, notwithstanding the existence of Protestant Ascendancy.
Religious equality is not a cause of tranquillity in itself. It
tranquillises simply because it implies the absence of irritation.
It takes a festering thorn out of the side of the unestablished
community--a thorn which inflames the blood of every one of its
members. Let worldly interest, political power, and social precedence
cease to be connected with the profession of religion, and religious
differences would cease to produce animosity and intolerance. If the
Magyars had been the Hungarian party of Protestant ascendancy, and if
the Protestant interest had also been the Austrian interest; if the
mission of the Magyars had been to act as a garrison, to keep down the
Roman Catholic majority, their cause could never have triumphed till
Protestant ascendancy should be abolished. But Hungarian Protestantism
did not need such support, although the Pope has as much authority in
Hungary as in Ireland. Of course the cases of Hungary and Ireland
are in many respects dissimilar. But they are alike in this: their
respective histories establish the great fact that the most benevolent
of sovereigns, and the wisest of legislatures, can never produce
contentment or loyalty in a kingdom which is ruled _through_ and _for_
another kingdom.
We can easily understand that when the light of royalty shines upon a
country _through a conquering nation still dominant_, the medium is of
necessity dense, cold, refracting, and discolouring. Of this the
best illustration is derived from the relations between Austria and
Hungary, now so happily adjusted to the unspeakable advantage of
both nations. Austrian rule was unsympathetic, harsh, insolent,
domineering, based upon the arrogant assumption that the Hungarians
were incapable of managing their own affairs without the guidance
of Austrian wisdom and the support of Austrian steadiness. But the
Hungarians, united among themselves, putting their trust, not in
boastful, vapouring, and self-seeking agitators, but in honest,
truthful, high-minded, and capable statesmen, persevered in a course
of firm, but temperate and constitutional, national self-assertion,
until the Austrians were compelled to put away from them their
supercilious airs of natural superiority, and to concede the principle
of international equality and the right of self-government.
What sickens the reader of Irish history most of all is the anarchy
of the old clan system, the everlasting alternation of outrages
and avenging reprisals. One faction, when it felt strong and had a
favourable opportunity, made a sudden raid upon another faction, taken
at a disadvantage, plundering and killing with reckless fury. The
outraged party treasured up its anger till it had power to retaliate,
and then glutted its vengeance without mercy in the same way. When
this fatal propensity to mutual destruction was restrained by law, it
broke out from time to time in other ways. What was wanted to cure it
effectually was a strong, steady, central government, such as England
enjoys herself. But the very system which is most calculated to foster
factiousness is the one which has reigned for centuries in Dublin
Castle. The British sovereign knows no party, and, whatever other
sovereigns have done, Queen Victoria has never forgotten this
constitutional principle. But the Irish lord-lieutenant is always a
party-man, and is always surrounded by party-men. They were Whigs or
Tories, Liberals or Conservatives, often extreme in their views and
violent in their temper. The vice of the old clan system was its
tendency to unsettle, to undo, to upset, to smash and destroy. Instead
of counteracting that vice (which still lingers in the national
blood), by a fixed, unchanging system of administration, based on
principles of unswerving rectitude, which knows no distinction
of party, no favouritism, England ruled by the alternate sway of
factions.
_The Times_, referring to the debate on the Irish Church, remarked
that the viceroyalty was more and more 'a mere ornament.' It is
really nothing more. The viceroy has no actual power, and if he has
statesmanship, it is felt to be out of place. He can scarcely give
public expression to his sentiments on any political questions without
offending one party or the other, whereas the estate of the realm
which he represents is neutral and ought to keep strictly to neutral
ground. As to the effect of the office in degrading the national
spirit among the nobility and gentry, we could not have a better
illustration than the fact that the amiable Lord Carlisle was
accustomed, at the meeting of the Royal Dublin Society, to tell its
members that the true aim, interest, glory, and destiny of Ireland was
to be a pasture and a dairy for England,--a compliment which seemed to
have been gratefully accepted, or was at all events allowed to pass.
But even as an 'ornament' the viceregal system is a failure. The
Viceroy with his family ought to be the head of society in Ireland,
just as the Queen is in England. The royal family are the same to all
parties and classes, showing no partiality on the ground of politics,
but smiling with equal favour and recognition upon all. In Ireland,
however, a liberal lord lieutenant is generally shunned by the
Conservative portion of the aristocracy, which forms the great
majority of the class. On the other hand the Conservatives flock in
large numbers to the court of a Tory Viceroy, while Liberals stand
aloof. Instead therefore of being a centre of union to all sections
of the best society, and bringing them together, so that they may know
one another, and enjoy the advantages due to their rank, the viceregal
court operates as a source of jealousy and division. So that, looking
at the institution as a mere ornament of society, as a centre of
fashionable life and refining influences, facilitating intercourse
between ranks and classes, bringing the owners of land and the men
of commerce more in harmony, it is not worth preserving. On the other
hand it produces some of the worst features of conventionalism. It
cultivates flunkeyism and servility, while operating as a restraint
upon the manly expression of opinion. It fosters a spirit of spurious
aristocracy, which shows itself in contempt for men who prefer honest
industry to place-hunting and insolvent gentility.
But while I thus speak of the viceregal court as at present
constituted, I still maintain that, like Hungary, this country is
so peculiarly situated, and is animated by so strong a spirit of
nationality, that it ought to have a court of its own, and a sovereign
of its own. The case of Hungary shows how easily this great boon might
be granted, and how gratifying the results would be to all the parties
concerned. The Queen ought to reside in Ireland for some portion of
the year. A suitable palace should be provided for the royal family.
The Prince of Wales, during her majesty's reign, ought to be the
permanent Viceroy, with the necessary addition to his income. The
office would afford an excellent training for his duties as king. The
attraction of the Princess of Wales would make the Irish court very
brilliant. It would afford the opportunity of contact with real
royalty, not the shadowy sort of thing we have had--reflected through
Viceroys very few of whom were ever _en rapport_ with the Irish
nation. Not one of them could so speak to the people as to elicit a
spark of enthusiasm. Of course they could not have the true ring of
royalty, for royalty was not in them. But they could not play the part
well. One simple sentence from the Queen or the Prince of Wales, or
even from Prince Arthur, would be worth all the theatrical pomp
they could display in a generation. Those noblemen had no natural
connection with the kingdom, fitting them to take the first place
in it. They were not hereditary chiefs. They were not elected by the
people. They were mere 'casual' chief-governors; and they formed
no ties with the nation that could not be broken as easily as the
spider's thread. The _hereditary principle_ has immense force in
Ireland. The landlords are now seeking to weaken it; or rather they
are ignoring it altogether, and substituting the commercial principle
in dealing with their tenants, preferring not the most devoted
adherents of the family, but the man with most money. But I warn them
that they are doing so at the peril of their order. A prince who was
_heir presumptive to the throne as Viceroy_, and who, when he ascended
the throne, should be crowned King of _Ireland_, as well as King of
Great Britain, crowned in his own Irish palace, and on the _Lia Fail_
or stone of destiny, preserved at Westminster, would save many a
million to the British exchequer, for it would be no longer necessary
to support a large army of occupation to keep the country. If the
throne of Queen Victoria stood in Dublin, there is not a Fenian in
Ireland who would not die in its defence. Standing in Westminster it
is doubtful whether its attraction is sufficient to retain the
hearts even of Orangemen. There, it is the _English_ throne. So the
_Englishman_ regards it with instinctive jealousy. He feels it is his
own; but, say what we may, the Irish loyalist, when he approaches it,
is made to feel, by a thousand signs, that he is a stranger and an
intruder. He returns to his own bereaved country with a sad heart,
and a bitter spirit. Can he be _Anglicised_? Put this question to
an English philosopher, and he will answer with Mr. Froude--'Can the
Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots?' We can bridge
the channel with fast steamers; but who will bridge the gulf, hitherto
impassable, which separates the English Dives from the Irish Lazarus?
'We have,' said Canning, 'for many years been erecting a mound--not to
assist or improve, but to thwart nature; we have raised it high above
the waters, and it has stood there, frowning hostility and effecting
separation. In the course of time, however, the necessities of man,
and the silent workings of nature, have conspired to break down this
mighty structure, till there remains of it only a narrow isthmus,
standing
Between two kindred seas,
Which, mounting, viewed each other from afar,
And longed to meet.
What then, shall be our conduct? Shall we attempt to repair
the breaches, and fortify the ruins? A hopeless and ungracious
undertaking! Or shall we leave them to moulder away by time and
accident--a sure but distant and thankless consummation; or, shall
we not rather cut away at once the isthmus that remains, allow free
course to the current which has been artificially impeded, and float
upon the mingling waves the ark of our glorious constitution?'
Much has been done since Canning's time to remove the narrow isthmus.
Emancipation cut deep into it. The disestablishment of the Irish
Church submerged an immense portion of it. If Mr. Gladstone's land
bill be equally effective, a breach will be made through which the
two kindred seas will meet, and, in their commingling flux and reflux,
will quickly sweep away all minor obstacles to their perfect union. A
just settlement of the land question will reconcile the two races, and
close the war of seven centuries. That is the rock against which the
two nationalities have rushed in foaming breakers, lashed into fury
by the storms of faction and bigotry. Remove the obstruction, and the
world would hear no more the roaring of the waters. Then would
float peacefully upon the commingling waves the ark of our common
constitution, in which there would be neither Saxon nor Celt, neither
English nor Irish, neither Protestant nor Catholic, but one united,
free, and mighty people. Then might the Emperor of the French mark the
epoch with the announcement--'England has done justice to Ireland!'
LONDON: PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE AND
PARLIAMENT STREET
End of Project Gutenberg's The Land-War In Ireland (1870), by James Godkin