opportunity enough to learn all the ordinary business of his profession.
He actually is, and always has been, a professional soldier--not
nominally an officer, as the late Prince Albert was, or as the Prince of
Wales is, or as the Princess Victoria (Crown Princess of Prussia) may be
said for that matter to be, the lady holding, I believe, an appointment
as colonel of some regiment, and being doubtless just as well acquainted
with her regimental duties as her fat and heavy brother. The Duke of
Cambridge was made a colonel at the age of eighteen, and he did the
ordinary barrack and garrison duties of his place. He used when young to
be rather popular in garrison towns. In Dublin, for example, I think
Prince George of Cambridge, as he was then called, was followed with
glances of admiration by many hundred pairs of bright eyes. On the death
of his father (whose after-dinner eloquence used to afford "Punch" a
constant subject for mirth) Prince George became in 1850 Duke of
Cambridge. He holds some appointments which I presume are sinecures to
him; among the rest he is keeper of some of the royal parks (I don't
know the precise title of his office), and the name of "George" may be
seen appended to edicts inscribed on various placards on the trees and
gates near Buckingham Palace. Nothing in particular was known about him
as a soldier until the Crimean war. Indeed, up to that time there had
been for many years as little chance for an English officer to prove his
capacity as there was for a West Point man to show what he was worth in
the period between the Mexican war and the attack on Fort Sumter. When
the Crimean war broke out the Duke was appointed to the command of the
first division of the army sent against the Russians. I believe it is
beyond all doubt that he proved himself unfit for the business of war.
He "lost his head," people say; he could not stand the sights and sounds
of the battle-field. It required on one occasion--at Inkerman, I
believe--the prompt and sharp interference of the late Lord Clyde, then
Sir Colin Campbell, to prevent his Royal Highness from making a sad mess
of his command. It is not likely that he wanted personal courage--few
princes do; but his nerves gave way, and as he could be of no further
use to anybody he was induced to return home. France and England each
sent a fat prince, cousin of the reigning sovereign, to the Crimean war,
and each prince rather suddenly came home again with the invidious
whispers of the malign unpleasantly criticising his retreat from the
field. After the Duke's return the corporation of Liverpool gave him
(why, no man could well say) a grand triumphal entry, and I remember
that an irreverent and cynical member of one of the local boards
suggested that among the devices exhibited in honor of the illustrious
visitor, a white feather would be an appropriate emblem. There the
Duke's active military career began and ended. He had not distinguished
himself. Perhaps he had not disgraced himself; perhaps it was really
only ill-health which prevented him from proving himself as genuine a
warrior as his relative, the Crown Prince of Prussia. But the English
people only saw that the Duke went out to the war and very quickly came
back again. Julius Caesar or the First Napoleon or General Sherman might
have had to do the same thing under the same circumstances; but then
these more lucky soldiers did not have to do it, and therefore were able
to prove their military capacity. One thing very certain is, that
without such good fortune and such proof of capacity neither Caesar,
Napoleon, nor Sherman would ever have been made commander-in-chief, and
therein again they were unlike the Duke of Cambridge. For it was not
long after the Duke's return home that on the death or resignation (I
don't now quite remember which) of Viscount Hardinge, our heavy "George"
was made Commander-in-Chief of the British army. I venture to think
that, taking all the conditions of the time and the appointment into
consideration, no more unreasonable, no more unjustifiable instance of
military promotion was ever seen in England.
For observe, that the worst thing about the appointment of the Duke of
Cambridge is not that an incompetent person obtains by virtue of his
rank the highest military position in the State. If this were all, there
might be just the same thing said of almost every other European
country--indeed, of almost every other country. The King of Prussia was
Commander-in-Chief of the armies of North Germany, but no one supposed
that he was really competent to discharge all the duties of such a
position. Abraham Lincoln was Commander-in-Chief of the Federal army, by
virtue of his office of President; but no one supposed that his military
knowledge and capacity would ever have recommended him to such a post.
The appointment in each case was only nominal, and as a matter of
political convenience and propriety. It did not seem wise or even safe
that the supreme military authority should be formally intrusted to any
one but the ruler or the President. It was thoroughly understood that
the duties of the office were discharged by some professional expert,
for whose work the King or the President was responsible to the nation.
But the office of Commander-in-Chief of the English army is something
quite different from this. It is understood to be a genuine office, the
occupant actually doing the work and having the authority. In the
lifetime of the Duke of Wellington the country had the services of the
very best Commander-in-Chief England could have selected. The sound and
wise principle which dictated that appointment is really the principle
on which the office is based in England. The Commander-in-Chief is not
regarded, as on the Continent, in the light of an ornamental president
of a great bureau whose duties are done by others, but as the most
efficient military officer, the man best qualified to do the work.
Marlborough was Commander-in-Chief, and so was Schomberg, and so was
General Seymour Conway. When in 1828 the Duke of Wellington became Prime
Minister, and therefore resigned the command of the army, Lord Hill was
placed at the head of military affairs. The Duke of Wellington resumed
the command in 1842 and held it to his death, when it was given to
Viscount Hardinge, a capable man. The title of the office was not, I
believe, actually "Commander-in-Chief," but "General
Commanding-in-Chief." It was, if I remember rightly, owing to the
disasters arising out of military mismanagement in the Crimea, that the
changes were made which created a distinct Secretary of War and gave to
the office of Commander-in-Chief its present title. Therefore it will be
seen that the intrusting the command of the army to the Duke of
Cambridge is not even justifiable on the ground that it follows an old
established custom. It is, on the contrary, an innovation, and one which
illustrates the worst possible principle. There is nothing to be said
for it. No necessity justified or even excused it. When Viscount
Hardinge died, if the principle adopted in his case--that of appointing
the best man to the place--had been still in favor, there were many
military generals in England, any one of whom would have filled the
office with efficiency and credit. But the superstition of rank
prevailed. The Duke of Wellington is believed to have once recommended
that on his death Prince Albert, the Queen's husband, should be created
Commander-in-Chief. Ridiculous as the suggestion may seem, it would
probably have been a far better arrangement than that which was more
recently adopted. Prince Albert could hardly have been called a
professional soldier at all; and this would have been greatly in his
favor. For he would have filled the place merely as the King of Prussia
does; he would have intrusted the actual duties to some qualified man,
and being endowed with remarkable judgment, temper, and discretion, he
would doubtless have found the right man for the work. But the Duke of
Cambridge, as a professional soldier, although a very indifferent one,
is expected to perform and does perform the duties of his office, after
his own fashion. He is too high in rank to be openly rebuked,
contradicted, or called to account; he is not high enough to be accepted
as a mere official ornament or figurehead. He is too much of a
professional general to become willingly the pupil and instrument of a
more skilled subordinate; too little of a professional general to render
his authority of any real value, or to be properly qualified for any
high military position. So the Duke of Cambridge did actually direct the
affairs of the army, interfered in everything, was supreme in
everything, and I think it is not too much to say mismanaged everything.
He stood in the way of all useful reforms; he sheltered old abuses; he
was as dictatorial as though he had the military genius of a Wellington
or a Von Moltke; he was as independent of public opinion as the Mikado
of Japan. The kind of mistakes which were made and abuses which were
committed under his administration were not such as to attract much of
the attention or interest of the newspapers. In England the press,
moreover, is not supposed to be at liberty to criticise princes. Of late
some little efforts at daring innovation are made in this direction; but
as a rule, unless a prince does something very wrong indeed, he is
secure from any censure or even criticism on the part of the newspapers.
There was, besides, one great practical difficulty in the way of any one
inclined to criticise the military administration of the Duke of
Cambridge. The War Department in England had grown to be a kind of
anomalous two-headed institution. There is a Secretary of War, who sits
in the House of Lords or the House of Commons, as the case may be, and
whom every one can challenge, criticise, and censure as he pleases.
There is the Commander-in-Chief. Which of these two functionaries is the
superior? The theory of course is that the Secretary of War is supreme;
that he is responsible to Parliament, and that every official in the
department is responsible to him. But everybody in England knows that
this is not the actual case. There stands in Pall Mall, not far from the
residence of the Prince of Wales, a plain business-like structure, with
a statue of the late Lord Herbert of Lea (the Sidney Herbert of Crimean
days) in front of it; and this is the War Office, where the Secretary of
War is in power. But there is in Whitehall another building far better
known to Londoners and strangers alike; an old-fashioned, unlovely,
shabby-looking sort of barrack, with a clock in its shapeless cupola and
two small arches in its front, in each of which enclosures sits all day
a gigantic horseman in steel cuirass and high jack-boots. The country
visitor comes here to wonder at the size and the accoutrements of the
splendid soldiers; the nursery-maid loves the spot, and gazes with open
mouth and sparkling eyes at the athletic cavaliers, and too often, like
Hylas sent with his urn to the fountain, "_proposito florem praetulit
officio_," prefers looking at the gorgeous military carnation blazing
before her to the duty of watching her infantile charge in the
perambulator. This building is the famous "Horse Guards," where the
Commander-in-Chief is enthroned. I suppose the theory of the thing was,
that while the army system was to be shaped out and directed in the War
Office, the actual details of practical administration were to be
managed at the Horse Guards. But of late years the relations of the two
departments appear to have got into an almost inextricable and hopeless
muddle, so that no one can pretend to say where the responsibility of
the War Office ends or the authority of the Horse Guards begins. The
Duke of Cambridge, it is said, habitually acts upon his own authority
and ignores the War Office altogether. Things are done by him of which
the Secretary for War knows nothing until they are done. The late Sidney
Herbert, a man devoted to the duties of the War Department, over which
he presided for some years, once emphatically refused during a debate in
the House of Commons to evade the responsibility of some step taken at
the Horse Guards, by pleading that it was made without the knowledge of
the War Office. He declared that he considered himself, as War
Secretary, responsible to Parliament for everything done in any office
of the War Department. But it was quite evident from the tone of his
speech that the thing had been done without his knowledge or consent,
and that if anybody but the Queen's cousin had done it there would have
been a "row in the building." Now Sidney Herbert was an aristocrat of
high rank, of splendid fortune, of unsurpassed social dignity and
influence, of great political talents and reputation. If he then could
not attempt to control and rebuke the Queen's cousin, how could such an
attempt be expected from a man like Mr. Cardwell, the present War
Secretary? Mr. Cardwell is a dull, steady-going, respectable man, who
has no pretension to anything like the rank, social influence, or even
popularity of Sidney Herbert. In fact, the War Secretaries stand
sometimes in much the same relation toward the Duke of Cambridge that a
New York judge occasionally holds toward one of the great leaders of the
bar who pleads before him and is formally supposed to acknowledge his
superior authority. The person holding the position nominally superior
feels himself in reality quite "over-crowed," to use a Spenserian
expression, by the influence, importance, and dignity of the other. Let
any stranger in London who happens to be in the gallery of the House of
Lords, observe the astonishing deference with which even a pure-blooded
marquis or earl of antique title will receive the greeting of the Duke
of Cambridge; and then say what chance there is of a War Secretary, who
probably belongs to the middle or manufacturing classes, venturing to
dictate to or rebuke so tremendous a _magnifico_. Lately an audacious
critic of the Duke has started up in the person of a clever, vivacious
young member of Parliament, George Otto Trevelyan, son of one of the
ablest Indian administrators and nephew of Lord Macaulay. Trevelyan once
held, I think, some subordinate place in the War Department, and he has
lately been horrifying the conservatism and veneration of English
society by boldly making speeches in which he attacks the Queen's
cousin, declares that the latter is an injury and nuisance to the army
system, that he stands in the way of all improvement, and that he ought
to be abolished. But although most people do profoundly and potently
believe what this saucy Trevelyan says, yet his words find little echo
in public debate, and his direct motions in the House of Commons have
been unsuccessful. The Duke, I perceive, has lately, however, descended
so far from his position of supreme dignity as to defend himself in a
public speech, and to claim the merit of having always been a
progressive and indeed rather daring army reformer. But I do not believe
the English Government or Parliament would ever have ventured to take
one step to lessen the Duke of Cambridge's power of doing harm to the
military service, were it not for the pressure of events with which
England had nothing directly to do, and which nevertheless have proved
too strong for the resistance even of princes and of vested interests.
The practical dethronement of the Duke of Cambridge I hold to be as
certain as any mortal event still in the future can well be declared.
The anomaly, the inconvenience, the degradation which English
Governments and Parliaments would have endured forever if left to
themselves, may be regarded as destined to be swept away by the same
flood which overwhelmed the military organization of France, and washed
the Bonapartes off the throne of the Tuileries. The Duke of Cambridge
too had to surrender at Sedan.
For with the overwhelming successes of Prussia and the unparalleled
collapse of France, there arose in England so loud and general a cry for
the reorganization of the decaying old army system that no Government
could possibly attempt to disregard it. Mr. Gladstone's Cabinet had the
sense and spirit to see that no middle course of reform would be worth
anything. _In medio tutissimus ibis_ would never apply to this case. Any
reform must count on the obstinate opposition of vested interests--a
tremendous power in English affairs; and the only way to bear down that
opposition would be by introducing a reform so thorough and grand as to
carry with it the enthusiasm of popular support. Therefore the
Government have undertaken a new work of revolution, certainly not less
bold than that which overthrew the Irish Church, and destined perhaps to
have a still more decisive influence on the political organization of
English society. One of the many changes this measure will
introduce--and it is certain to be carried, first or last--will be the
extinction of the anomaly now represented by the position of the Duke of
Cambridge. I shall not inflict any of the details of the measure upon my
readers in THE GALAXY, and shall even give but slight attention to such
of its main features as are of purely military character and import. But
I shall endeavor briefly to make it clear that some of the changes it
proposes to introduce will have a profound influence on the political
and social condition of England, and are in fact steps in that great
English revolution which is steadily marching on under our very eyes.
First comes the abolition of the purchase system as regards the
commissions held by military officers. Except in certain regiments, and
certain branches of the service outside England itself, the rule is that
an officer obtains his commission by purchase. Promotion can be bought
in the same way. A commission is a vested interest. The owner has paid
so much for it, and expects to sell it for an equal sum. The regulation
price recognized by law and the Horse Guards is by no means the actual
price of the article. It is worth ever so much more to the holder, and
he must of course have its real, not its regulation value. The pay in
the English army is, for the officers, ridiculously small. The habits of
the army, among officers, are ridiculously expensive. An officer is not
expected to live upon his pay. Whether expected to do so or not, he
could hardly accomplish the feat under any conditions; under the common
conditions of an officers' mess-room the thing would be utterly
impossible. Now let any reader ask himself what becomes of a department
of the public service where you obtain admission by payment, and where
when admitted you receive practically no remuneration? Of course it
becomes a mere club and association for the wealthy and aristocratic; a
brotherhood into which admission is sought for the sake of social
distinction. Every man of rank in England will, as a matter of course,
have one of his sons in the army. It is the right sort of thing to do,
like hunting or going into the House of Commons. Then, on the other
hand, every person who has made money sends one of his sons into the
army, because thereby he acquires a stamp of gentility. Poverty and
merit have no chance and no business there. It certainly is not true, as
is commonly believed here, that promotion from the ranks never takes
place; but speaking of the system as a whole, one may fairly say that
promotion from the ranks is opposed to the ordinary regulation, and
occurs so rarely that it need hardly be taken into our consideration
here. Therefore the English army became an essentially aristocratic
service. To be an officer was the right of the aristocratic, the luxury,
ambition, and ornament of the wealthy. One is almost afraid now to
venture on saying anything in praise of the French military system; but
it had, if I do not greatly mistake, one regulation among others which
honorably distinguished it from the English. I believe it was not
permitted to a wealthy officer to distinguish himself from his fellows
while in barracks by extravagance of expenditure. He had to live as the
others lived. But the English system allowed full scope to wealth, and
the result was that certain regiments prided themselves on luxury and
ostentation, and a poor man, or even a man of moderate means, could not
live in them. Add to all this that while the expenses were great and the
pay next to nothing, there were certain valuable prizes, sinecures, and
monopolies to be had in the army, which favoritism and family influence
could procure, and which therefore rendered it additionally desirable
that the control of the military organization should be retained in the
hands of the aristocracy. John Bright described the military and
diplomatic services of England as "a gigantic system of outdoor relief
for the broken-down members of the British aristocracy." This was
especially true of the military service, which had a large number of
rich and pleasant prizes to be awarded at the uncontrolled discretion of
the authorities. It might be fairly said that every aristocratic family
had at least one scion in the army. Every aristocratic family had
likewise one in the House of Commons; sometimes two, or three, or four
sons and nephews. The mere numerical strength of the military officers
who had seats in the House of Commons was enough to hold up a tremendous
barrier in the way of army reform or political reform. It was as clear
as light that a popular Parliament would among its very first works of
reformation proceed to throw open the army to the competition of merit,
independently of either aristocratic rank or moneyed influence. So the
military men in the House of Commons were, with some few and remarkable
exceptions, steady Tories and firm opponents of all reform either in the
army or the political system. Year after year did gallant old De Lacy
Evans bring forward his motion for the abolition of the purchase system
in vain. He was always met by the supposed practical authority of the
great bulk of the military members and by the dead weight of
aristocratic influence and vested interests. The army, as then
organized, was at once the fortress and the trophy of the English
aristocracy. At last the effort at reform seemed to be given up
altogether. Though humane reformers did at last succeed in getting rid
of the detestable system of flogging in the army, the practice of
trafficking in commissions seemed safer than ever. One difficulty in the
way of its abolition was always pressed with special emphasis by persons
who otherwise were prodigal enough of the public money--the cost such a
measure would entail on the people of England. It would be impossible,
of course, to abolish such a system without compensating those who had
paid money for the commissions which thenceforward could be sold no
more. The amount of money required for such compensation would be some
forty millions of dollars. Moreover, when commissions are given away
among all classes according to merit, the pay of officers will have to
be raised. It would indeed be a cruel mockery to give poor Claude
Melnotte an officer's rank if he does not at the same time get pay
enough to enable him to live. Therefore for once the English aristocrats
and Tories were heard to raise their voices in favor of the saving of
public money; but they were only assuming the attitude of economists for
the sake of upholding their own privileges and defending their vested
interests. There will, of course, be a fierce and long fight made even
still against the change, but the change, I take it, will be
accomplished. The English army will cease to be an army officered
exclusively from among the ranks of the aristocracy and the wealthy. Our
time has seen no step attempted in English political affairs more
distinctly democratic than this. I can hardly realize to my mind what
England will be like when commissions and promotions in its military
service are the recognized prizes of merit in whatever rank of life, and
are won by open competition.
Next, the English Government, approaching rather delicately the
difficulty about the Commander-in-Chief, propose to unite the two
departments of the service under one roof. The Commander-in-Chief and
his staff and offices will be transferred from the Horse Guards in
Whitehall to the War Office in Pall Mall, and placed more directly under
the control of the Secretary of War. This change must inevitably bring
about the end at which it aims--the abolition of the embarrassing and
injurious dualism of system now prevailing. It must indeed reduce the
General commanding-in-chief to his proper position as the executive
officer of the War Secretary, who is himself the servant of Parliament.
Such a position would entail no restriction whatever on the military
capacity or genius of the Commander-in-Chief were he another
Marlborough; but it would make him responsible to somebody who is
himself responsible to the House of Commons. I think it may be taken for
granted that this will come to mean, sooner or later, the shelving of
the Duke of Cambridge. It may be hoped that he will not consider it
consistent with his dignity as a member of the royal family to remain in
a position thus made virtually that of a subordinate. Some other place
perhaps will be found for the cousin of the Queen. I have already heard
some talk about the possibility and propriety of sending his Royal
Highness as Lord Lieutenant to govern Ireland. Why not? There is a _vile
corpus_ convenient and ready to hand for any experiment. It would be
quite in keeping with all the traditions of English rule, with the
practice which was illustrated only a few years ago when the noisy and
brainless scamp Sir Robert Peel, whom "Punch" christened "The Mountebank
Member," was made Irish Secretary, if the Duke of Cambridge were allowed
to soothe his offended dignity by practising his skilful hand on the
government of Ireland.