CHESTERFIELD IN DUBLIN CASTLE.
[Sidenote: 1746--Chesterfield in Dublin Castle]
The Jacobite rebellion had compelled the Government to withdraw some of
their troops from the continent. France for a while was flattered and
fluttered by a series of brisk successes which left almost the whole of
the Austrian Netherlands in her possession at the end of the campaign
of 1746. The battle of Lauffeld, near Maestricht, in Holland, in the
summer of 1747, in which the allied Austrian, Dutch, and English armies
were defeated, especially exhilarated the French Jacobites. The French
were commanded by Marshal Saxe, the victor of Fontenoy. The English
troops were under the command of Cumberland, and Lauffeld was therefore
regarded by them as in some sort avenging Culloden. The victory was
largely due at Lauffeld, as it had been at Fontenoy, to the desperate
courage of the Irish Brigade, who, in the words of one of their
enemies, "fought like devils," and actually came very near to capturing
Cumberland himself. But the tide of victory soon turned for France on
land and sea, and she became as anxious to make a peace as any other of
the belligerent powers could be. The French were sick of the war.
Henry Pelham was writing to the Duke of Cumberland to tell him that no
more troops were to be had by England, and that, if they were to be
had, there was no more money wherewith to pay them.
Political life in England had, during all this time, been passing
through a very peculiar period of transition. When we speak of
political life we are speaking merely of the life that went on in St.
James's Palace, in the House of Lords, and in the House of Commons.
The great bulk {240} of the middle classes, and the whole of the poorer
classes all over Great Britain, may be practically counted out when we
are making any estimate of the movement and forces in the political
life of that time. The tendency, however, was even then towards a
development of the popular principle. The House of Lords had ceased to
rule; the Commons had not yet begun actually to govern. But the
Commons had become by far the more important assembly of the two; and
if the House of Commons did not govern yet, it was certain that the
King and the Ministry could only govern in the end through the House of
Commons. The sudden shuffle of the cards of fate which had withdrawn
both Walpole and Pulteney at one and the same moment from their place
of command at either side of the field, brought with it all the
confusion of a Parliamentary transformation scene. Nothing could have
been more strictly in the nature of the burlesque effects of a
Christmas pantomime than Walpole and Pulteney shot up into the House of
Lords, and Wilmington and Sandys set to carry on the government of the
country.
[Sidenote: 1743--"The drunken Administration"]
Yet a little, and poor, harmless, useless Wilmington was dead. He died
in July, 1743. Then came the troubling question, who is to be
Prime-minister? The Ministerialists were broken into utter schism.
The Pelhams, who had for some time been secretly backed up by Walpole's
influence with the King, were struggling hard for power against
Carteret, and against such strength as Pulteney, Earl of Bath, still
possessed. Carteret had made himself impossible by the way in which he
had conducted himself in the administration of foreign affairs. He had
gone recklessly in for a thoroughly Hanoverian policy. He had made
English interests entirely subservient to the interests of Hanover; or
rather, indeed, to the King's personal ideas as to the interests of
Hanover. Carteret had the weakness of many highly cultured and highly
gifted men; he believed far too much in the supremacy of intellect and
culture. The great rising wave of popular opinion was unnoticed by
him. He did not see that {241} the transfer of power from the
hereditary to the representative assembly must inevitably come to mean
the transfer of power from the representatives to the represented.
Carteret in his heart despised the people and all popular movements.
Fancy being dictated to by persons who did not know Greek, who did not
know German, who did not even know Latin and French! He was fully
convinced for a while that with his gifts he could govern the people
through the House of Commons and the House of Commons through the King.
He was not really a man of much personal ambition, unless of such
personal ambition as consists in the desire to make the most brilliant
use of one's intellectual gifts. The effort to govern the House of
Commons through the King interested him, and called all his dearest
faculties into play. He scorned the ordinary crafts of party
management. If he thought a man stupid he let the man know it. He was
rude and overbearing to his colleagues; insulting to people, however
well recommended, who came to him to solicit office or pension. All
that sort of thing he despised, and he bluntly said as much. "Ego et
rex meus" was his motto, as we may say it was the motto of Wolsey. Not
Wolsey himself made a more complete failure. The King fought hard for
Carteret; but the stars in their courses were fighting harder against
him.
Carteret's term of office was familiarly known as "the drunken
Administration." The nickname was doubtless due in part to Carteret's
love of wine, which made him remarkable even in that day of
wine-drinking statesmen. But the phrase had reference also to the
intoxication of intellectual recklessness with which Carteret rushed at
and rushed through his work. It was the intoxication of too confident
and too self-conscious genius. Carteret was drunk with high spirits,
and with the conviction that he could manage foreign affairs as nobody
else could manage them. No doubt he knew far more about continental
affairs than any of his English contemporaries; but he made the fatal
mistake which other brilliant foreign {242} secretaries have made in
their foreign policy: he took too little account of the English people
and of prosaic public opinion at home. In happy intoxication of this
kind he reeled and revelled along his political career like a man
delighting in a wild ride after an exciting midnight orgy. He did not
note the coming of the cold gray dawn, and of the day when his
goings-on would become the wonder of respectable and commonplace
observers.
The cold gray dawn came, however, and the day. The public opinion of
the country could not be kept from observing and pronouncing on the
doings of Carteret. Carteret felt sure that he was safe in the favor
and the support of the King. He did not remember that the return of
every cold gray dawn was telling more and more against him. The King,
who, with all his vagaries and brutalities, had a considerable fund of
common-sense, was beginning to see that, much as he liked Carteret
personally, the time was fast approaching when Carteret would have to
be thrown overboard. The day when the King could rule without the
House of Commons was gone. The day when the House of Commons could
rule without the Sovereign had not come.
In truth, the Patriots were now put at a sad disadvantage. It is a
great triumph to overthrow a great Ministry, but the triumph often
carries with it a responsibility which is too much for the victors to
bear, and which turns them into the vanquished before long. So it
fared with the Patriots. While they were in opposition they had
promised, as Sallust says Catiline and his friends did, seas and
mountains. Now the time had come to show what they really could do;
and, behold, they could do nothing. An opposition has a safe time of
it which, being directly adverse on some distinct question, principle,
or policy to the party in power, it is able to say, "Let us come into
office and we will do the very opposite; we will try to undo all that
the present ministers have been doing," and is able to carry out the
pledge. But the opposition to Walpole had lived and flourished by
finding {243} fault with everything he did merely because it was he who
did it, and with his way of doing everything merely because it was his
way. Nothing can be easier than for a group of clever and unscrupulous
men to make it hot for even the strongest minister if they will only
adopt such a plan of action. This was the plan of action of the
Patriots, and they carried it out boldly, thoroughly, brilliantly, and
successfully. But now that they had come into office they found that
they had not come into power. The claim to power had still to be
earned for them by the success of their administration; and what was
there for them to do? Nothing--positively nothing--but just what their
defeated opponents had been trying to do. Hanoverian policy,
Hanoverian subsidies, foreign soldiers, standing armies--these were the
crimes for which Walpole's administration had been unsparingly
assailed. But now came Carteret, and Carteret was on the whole rather
more Hanoverian than the King himself. Pulteney? Why, such influence
as Pulteney still had left was given to support Newcastle and Pelham,
Walpole's own pupils and followers, in carrying out Carteret's
Hanoverian policy.
[Sidenote: 1743--An irreparable mistake]
Carteret set up Lord Bath as leader of the Administration. The two
Pelhams--the Duke of Newcastle and his brother, Henry Pelham--were
tremendously strong in family influence, in money, in retainers,
led-captains, and hangers-on of all kinds. Pulteney, who had always
held a seat nominally in the Cabinet, although he had hitherto clung to
his determination not to take office, now suddenly thought fit to
change his mind. Probably he already regretted deeply the fatal
mistake which had made him refuse to accept any office on the fall of
Walpole. Perhaps he had fancied that the country and the Government
never could get on without him, and that he would have been literally
forced to withdraw his petulant self-denying ordinance. But the
mistake was fatal, irreparable. The country did not insist on having
him back at any price; the country did not seem to have been thinking
about him at all. Now, when there seemed to be {244} something like a
new opportunity opening for him on the death of Lord Wilmington, he had
the weakness to consent to be put up as a candidate for the position of
Prime-minister. The effort proved a failure. The Pelhams were not
only powerful in themselves, but they were powerful also in the support
of Walpole. Walpole still had great influence over the King, and he
naturally threw all that influence into the scale of the men who
represented his own policy, and not into the scale of those who
represented the policy of his enemies. Walpole and the Pelhams carried
the day; Henry Pelham became Prime-minister, and from that time the
power of Carteret was gone. This was in 1743--we are now going back a
little to take up threads which had to be dropped in order to deal with
the events springing out of the continental war, and especially the
rebellion in Scotland--and in November, 1744, Carteret was driven to
resign his office. He had just become Earl Granville by the death of
his mother, and was exiled to the House of Lords.
The King, however, still kept up his desire to get back Lord Granville
and to get rid of the Pelhams. George had sense enough to despise the
two brothers, and sense enough also to see when he could not do without
them. During the February of 1746, while the Stuart rebellion was
still aflame, a ministerial crisis came on. The Pelhams wished to
bring Pitt into the Ministry; the King blankly refused. But the King
did more than that: he began to negotiate privately with Lord Granville
and Lord Bath. The Pelhams knew their strength. They at once threw up
their offices; the whole Ministry resigned in a body. The King found
that Carteret could not possibly form an administration which would
have any support worth a moment's consideration in either House of
Parliament. The fortunes of Charles Stuart were still looking bright
in the north, and the King found himself without a Ministry. There was
no course open to him but one, and that was to recognize the strength
of the Pelhams and their followers, and to take back Newcastle and his
{245} brother on any terms the conquerors might be pleased to dictate.
The Pelhams came back to what might almost be called absolute power.
The King was not likely soon again to trouble them with any hostile
intervention. Thus these two men, one stupid beyond sounding, the
other of only fair abilities, rising a little above mediocrity, had
gone into battle with some of the greatest statesmen and orators of the
age, and had come out victorious.
[Sidenote: 1743-1746--The "Broad-bottomed Ministry"]
Henry Pelham's administration was known by the slang nickname of the
"Broad-bottomed Ministry." It is known by that nickname in history
still; will doubtless always keep the title. The great overmastering
passion of the Pelhams was the desire to keep office and power in their
hands at any price. Of the two brothers Henry Pelham was by far the
abler man. His idea was to get around him all the really capable
administrators and debaters of every party, and thus make up a Ministry
which should be all-powerful, and of which all the power should be in
his hands. Like his brother, the Duke of Newcastle, he had a sort of
half good-natured cynicism which never allowed him to doubt that if the
offices were offered to the men, the men would on any conditions accept
the offices. The events that he had lately seen had not induced him in
any way to modify his opinion. He had heard Pitt thundering away
against Carteret in exactly the same strain as Pitt and Carteret used
to thunder against Walpole. He had heard Pitt denounce Carteret as "an
execrable, a sole minister, who had ruined the British nation, and
seemed to have drunk of the potion described in poetic fiction which
made men forget their country." He had seen the policy of Walpole
quietly carried out by the very men who had bellowed against Walpole,
and had succeeded at last in driving him from office forever. He knew
that no one now among those who used to call themselves "the Patriots"
cared one straw whether Spain did or did not withdraw her claim to the
Right of Search. His idea, therefore, was to get all the capable men
of the various parties together, form them {246} into an
administration, and leave them to enjoy their dignity and their
emoluments while the King and he governed the country. It was in this
spirit and with this purpose that he set himself to form the
"Broad-bottomed Ministry." He was not, like his royal master,
tormented or even embarrassed by personal dislikes; he would take into
his Ministry any one who could be of the slightest use to him. He
would have kept Lord Carteret if Carteret had not made himself
impossible.
[Sidenote: 1745--The Chesterfield of Dublin Castle]
The time had already come when Chesterfield had to be taken into the
Administration again. He had made himself so particularly disagreeable
to the King when out of office, he had raked the Government, and even
the Court, so hotly with satire and invective in the House of Lords,
that George reluctantly admitted that it was better to try to live with
such a man, seeing that it began to be impossible to live without him.
So it was settled that some place should be found for Chesterfield, and
at the same time it was very desirable that a place should be found
which would not bring him much into personal association with the King.
The condition of Continental Europe, the fluctuations of the war,
suggested a natural opportunity for making use of Chesterfield's
admitted genius for diplomacy, and accordingly he was sent back to his
old quarters at the Hague. He rendered some good service there; and
then suddenly the office of Viceroy of Ireland became vacant, and
Chesterfield was called from the Hague and sent to Dublin Castle in
1745. He had known nothing of Ireland; he had never before been put in
any position where his gift of governing could be tried. The gift of
governing is of course something entirely different from the gift of
managing diplomatic business; and Chesterfield had as yet had no chance
of proving any capacity but that of a parliamentary orator and a
diplomatist. "Administration," according to Aristotle, "shows the
man." Every one remembers the superb and only too often quoted Latin
sentence which tells of one who by the consent of all would have been
declared capable {247} of ruling if only he had not ruled.
Administration was to show the real Chesterfield. He was just the sort
of person to whom one would have expected the Latin saying to apply.
What a likely man, everybody might have said, to make a great
administrator, if only he had not administered! Chesterfield's record,
however, must be read the other way. If he had never had the chance of
administering the affairs of Ireland, how should we ever have known
that he had a genius for governing men?
For, in the minds of all who understand these times and those,
Chesterfield's short season of rule in Ireland was by far the greatest
period of his career. The Chesterfield of Dublin Castle was as high
above the Chesterfield of the House of Lords as Goldsmith the poet is
above Goldsmith the historian, or Blackstone the constitutional lawyer
is above Blackstone the poet. Judging of Chesterfield's conduct in the
Irish Viceroyalty by Chesterfield's past career, men would have been
entitled to assume that his sympathies would go altogether with the
governing race in Ireland. With them were the wealth, the rank, the
fashion, the elegance, the refinement. With them was the easy-going
profession of State religion--just the sort of thing that suited
Chesterfield's ways. What sympathy could such a man as he have with
the Celtic and Catholic Irishman? Why should he care to be popular
with such a population? Even such gifted, and, on the whole, patriotic
Protestants as Swift only sympathized with the Catholic Celts as an
Englishman living in Virginia, in the old plantation days, might have
sympathized with the population of negro slaves. Chesterfield might
have entered on his formal task in the temper of graceful levity and
high-bred languid indifference. He might have allowed the cultured and
respectable gentlemen who were his permanent officials to manage things
as they had long been doing before his time, pretty much in their own
way. He might have given them politely to understand that so long as
they spared him any trouble in his unthankful task he would back them
up in anything they did. He {248} might have made it plain to the
Protestant gentry and the Castle folk that his sympathies were all with
them; that he desired only to mix with them; and that it really did not
much matter what the outer population in Ireland thought of him or of
them. Thus he would easily have become the darling of Dublin Castle;
and to most Irish Viceroys the voice of Dublin Castle was the voice of
Ireland; at all events, the only voice in Ireland to which they cared
to listen.
[Sidenote: 1745--The state of Ireland]
What did Chesterfield find in Ireland when he came to undertake the
task of government in Dublin Castle? He found a people oppressed
almost beyond endurance by a cruel and barbarous system of penal laws
directed against the profession and the practice of the faith to which
they were passionately devoted. No people in the world's history, not
even the Scottish Covenanters, were more absolutely absorbed by the
zeal of their faith than the Irish Catholic Celts. The Penal Laws were
devised and were being worked with the avowed intention of extirpating
either the faith or the race--or, better still, the faith and the race.
"The Irish," said Dr. Johnson, "bursting forth," as his biographer
tells us, "with a generous indignation," "are in a most unnatural
state, for we see there the minority prevailing over the majority.
There is no instance, even in the ten persecutions, of such severity as
that which the Protestants of Ireland have exercised against the
Catholics." The Revolution, which had brought liberty of worship to
England, had only brought harsher and more cruel repressive legislation
against liberty of worship in Ireland. Where Chesterfield got the
ideas which he carried out from the first in his government of Ireland
it is hard to understand. He must have had that gift of spontaneous
sympathy which is the very instinct of genius in the government of a
people among whom one has not been born, among whom one has scarcely
lived. His mind seems to have taken in at a glance the whole state of
things. Talleyrand said of Alexander Hamilton, the great American
statesman, that {249} he had "divined Europe." Chesterfield had
apparently divined Ireland.
The twin curses of Ireland at the time were the Penal Laws and the
corrupt administration of Dublin Castle. Chesterfield determined to
strike a heavy blow at each of these evil things. He saw that the
baneful class ascendency which was engendered by the Penal Laws was as
bad in the end for the oppressors as for the oppressed. He saw that it
was poisoning those who were administering it as well as those against
whom it was administered. He could not abolish the Penal Laws or get
them repealed. No man in his senses could have hoped to get the
existing Parliament either of England or of Ireland to do anything then
with the Penal Laws, except perhaps to try to make them a little more
severe and more tormenting. Chesterfield did not waste a thought on
any such device. He simply resolved that he would not put the Penal
Laws into action. It has been said of Chesterfield's administration in
Ireland that it was a policy which, with certain reservations, Burke
himself might have originated and owned. Chesterfield took the
government entirely into his own hands. He did his very best to
suppress the jobbery which had become a tradition in the officialism of
Dublin Castle. He established schools wherever he could. He tried to
encourage and foster new branches of manufacture, and to give a free
way to trade, and a stimulus to all industrial arts and crafts. He
showed himself a strong man, determined to repress crime and outrage,
but he showed himself also a just and a merciful man, determined not to
create new crimes in the hope of repressing the old offences. The
curse of Irish repressive government has always been its tendency to
make fresh crimes, crimes unknown to the ordinary law. Chesterfield
would have nothing of the kind. More than that, he would not recognize
as offences the State-made crimes which so many of his predecessors had
shown themselves ruthless in trying to repress. The confidence of the
people began to revive under his rule. The Irish {250} Catholic began
to find that although the Penal Laws still existed, in all their
blood-thirsty and stupid clauses, he might profess and practise his
religion without the slightest fear of the informer, the prison, the
transport ship, or the hangman. Chesterfield asked for no additional
troops from England. On the contrary, he sent away some of the
soldiers in Ireland to help the cause of the empire on the Continent.
He was buoyant with a well-grounded confidence; and there was something
contagious in his fearless generosity and justice. The Irish people
soon came to understand him, and almost to adore him. He was
denounced, of course, by the alarmists and the cowards; by the Castle
hacks and the furious anti-Catholic bigots. Chesterfield let them
denounce as long and as loudly as seemed good to them. He never
troubled himself about their wild alarms and their savage clamor.
[Sidenote: 1745-1746--Chesterfield's recall]
Probably no Irishman who ever lived was a more bitter and
uncompromising enemy of English rule in Ireland than John Mitchel, the
rebel of 1848. His opinion, therefore, is worth having as to the
character of Chesterfield's rule in Dublin Castle. In his "History of
Ireland," a book which might well be more often read in this country
than it is, Mitchel says of Chesterfield: "Having satisfied himself
that there was no insurrectionary movement in the country, and none
likely to be, he was not to be moved from his tolerant courses by any
complaints or remonstrances. Far from yielding to the feigned alarm of
those who solicited him to raise new regiments, he sent four battalions
of the soldiers then in Ireland to reinforce the Duke of Cumberland.
He discouraged jobs, kept down expenses. . . . When some savage
Ascendency Protestant would come to him with tales of alarm, he usually
turned the conversation into a tone of light badinage which perplexed
and baffled the man. One came to seriously put his lordship on his
guard by acquainting him with the fact that his own coachman was in the
habit of going to mass. 'Is it possible?' cried Chesterfield: 'then I
will take care the fellow shall not drive me there.' A {251} courtier
burst into his apartment one morning, while he was sipping his
chocolate in bed, with the startling intelligence that the Papists were
rising in Connaught. 'Ah,' he said, looking at his watch, ''tis nine
o'clock--time for them to rise!' There was evidently no dealing with
such a viceroy as this, who showed such insensibility to the perils of
Protestantism and the evil designs of the dangerous Papists. Indeed he
was seen to distinguish by his peculiar admiration a Papist beauty,
Miss Ambrose, whom he declared to be the only 'dangerous Papist' he had
met in Ireland." Chesterfield himself has left an exposition of his
policy which we may well believe to be genuine. "I came determined,"
he wrote many years after, "to proscribe no set of persons whatever,
and determined to be governed by none. Had the Papists made any
attempt to put themselves above the law, I should have taken good care
to have quelled them again. It was said that my lenity to the Papists
had wrought no alteration either in their religious or their political
sentiments. I did not expect that it would; but surely that was no
reason for cruelty towards them."
[Sidenote: 1745-1746--Chesterfield's recall]
It is true that Lord Chesterfield's conduct in Ireland has been found
fault with by no less devoted a friend of Ireland than Burke. In his
letter to a peer of Ireland on the Penal Laws against the Irish
Catholics, Burke says: "This man, while he was duping the credulity of
Papists with fine words in private, and commending their good behavior
during a rebellion in Great Britain--as it well deserved to be
commended and rewarded--was capable of urging penal laws against them
in a speech from the Throne, and of stimulating with provocatives the
wearied and half-exhausted bigotry of the then Parliament of Ireland."
But Burke was a man whose public virtue was too high and unbending to
permit him to make allowance for the political arts and crafts of a
Chesterfield. It is quite true that Chesterfield recommended in his
speech that the Irish Parliament should inquire into the working of the
Penal Laws in order to find out if they needed any {252} improvement.
But this was a mere piece of stage-play to amuse and to beguile the
stupidity and the bigotry of the Irish Parliament of those days. It
was not a stroke of policy which a man like Burke would have
condescended to or could have approved; but it must have greatly
delighted the cynical humor of such a man as Chesterfield. At all
events it is certain that during his administration Chesterfield
succeeded in winning the confidence and the admiration of the Catholics
of Ireland--that is to say, of five-sixths of the population of the
country. He was very soon recalled; perhaps the King did not quite
like his growing popularity in Ireland; and when he left Dublin he was
escorted to the ship's side by an enthusiastic concourse of people, who
pressed around him to the last and prayed of him to return soon to
Ireland. Chesterfield did not return to Ireland. He was made one of
the Secretaries of State, and the Dublin Castle administration went on
its old familiar way. But there is even still among the Irish people a
lingering tradition of the rule of Lord Chesterfield, and of the new
system which he tried for a while to establish in the government of
their island.
{253}