Where an intelligent and cultivated though superficial traveller to
recount his impressions of England in 1815, when the Prince of Wales was
regent of the kingdom and Lord Liverpool was prime minister, he probably
would note his having been struck with the splendid life of the nobility
(all great landed proprietors) in their palaces at London, and in their
still more magnificent residences on their principal estates. He would
have seen a lavish if not an unbounded expenditure, emblazoned and
costly equipages, liveried servants without number, and all that wealth
could purchase in the adornment of their homes. He would have seen a
perpetual round of banquets, balls, concerts, receptions, and garden
parties, to which only the _élite_ of society were invited, all dressed
in the extreme of fashion, blazing with jewels, and radiant with the
smiles of prosperity. Among the lions of this gorgeous society he would
have seen the most distinguished statesmen of the day, chiefly peers of
the realm, with the blue ribbon across their shoulders, the diamond
garter below their knees, and the heraldic star upon their breasts.
Perhaps he might have met some rising orator, like Canning or Perceval,
whose speeches were in every mouth,--men destined to the highest
political honors, pets of highborn ladies for the brilliancy of their
genius, the silvery tones of their voices, and the courtly elegance of
their manners; Tories in their politics, and aristocrats in their
sympathies.
The traveller, if admitted as a stranger to these grand assemblages,
would have seen but few lawyers, except of the very highest distinction,
perhaps here and there a bishop or a dean with the paraphernalia of
clerical rank, but no physician, no artist, no man of science, no
millionaire banker, no poet, no scholar, unless his fame had gone out to
all the world. The brilliancy of the spectacle would have dazzled him,
and he would unhesitatingly have pronounced those titled men and women
to be the most fortunate, the most favored, and perhaps the most happy
of all people on the face of the globe, since, added to the distinctions
of rank and the pride of power, they had the means of purchasing all the
pleasures known to civilization, and--more than all--held a secure
social position, which no slander could reach and no hatred
could affect.
Or if he followed these magnates to their country estates after the
"season" had closed and Parliament was prorogued, he would have seen the
palaces of these lordly proprietors of innumerable acres filled with a
retinue of servants that would have called out the admiration of Cicero
or Crassus,--all in imposing liveries, but with cringing manners,--and a
crowd of aristocratic visitors, filling perhaps a hundred apartments,
spending their time according to their individual inclinations; some in
the magnificent library of the palace, some riding in the park, others
fox-hunting with the hounds or shooting hares and partridges, others
again flirting with ennuied ladies in the walks or boudoirs or gilded
drawing-rooms,--but all meeting at dinner, in full dress, in the carved
and decorated banqueting-hall, the sideboards of which groaned under the
load of gold and silver plate of the rarest patterns and most expensive
workmanship. Everywhere the eye would have rested on priceless pictures,
rare tapestries, bronze and marble ornaments, sumptuous sofas and
lounges, mirrors of Venetian glass, chandeliers, antique vases,
_bric-à-brac_ of every description brought from every corner of the
world. The conversation of these titled aristocrats,--most of them
educated at Oxford and Cambridge, cultivated by foreign travel, and
versed in the literature of the day,--though full of prejudices, was
generally interesting; while their manners, though cold and haughty,
were easy, polished, courteous, and dignified. It is true, most of them
would swear, and get drunk at their banquets; but their profanity was
conventional rather than blasphemous, and they seldom got drunk till
late in the evening, and then on wines older than their children, from
the most famous vineyards of Europe. During the day they were able to
attend to business, if they had any, and seldom drank anything stronger
than ale and beer. Their breakfasts were light and their lunches simple.
Living much in the open air, and fond of the pleasures of the chase,
they were generally healthy and robust. The prevailing disease which
crippled them was gout; but this was owing to champagne and burgundy
rather than to brandy and turtle-soups, for at that time no Englishman
of rank dreamed that he could dine without wine. William Pitt, it is
said, found less than three bottles insufficient for his dinner, when he
had been working hard.
Among them all there was great outward reverence for the Church, and few
missed its services on Sundays, or failed to attend family prayers in
their private chapels as conducted by their chaplains, among whom
probably not a Dissenter could be found in the whole realm. Both
Catholics and Dissenters were alike held in scornful contempt or
indifference, and had inferior social rank. On the whole, these
aristocrats were a decorous class of men, though narrow, bigoted,
reserved, and proud, devoted to pleasure, idle, extravagant, and callous
to the wrongs and miseries of the poor. They did not insult the people
by arrogance or contumely, like the old Roman nobles; but they were not
united to them by any other ties than such as a master would feel for
his slaves; and as slaves are obsequious to their masters, and sometimes
loyal, so the humbler classes (especially in the country) worshipped the
ground on which these magnates walked. "How courteous the nobles are!"
said a wealthy plebeian manufacturer to me once, at Manchester. "I was
to show my mill to Lord Ducie, and as my carriage drove up I was about
to mount the box with the coachman, but my lord most kindly told me
to jump in."
So much for the highest class of all in England, about the year 1815.
Suppose the attention of the traveller were now turned to the
legislative halls, in which public affairs were discussed, particularly
to the House of Commons, supposed to represent the nation. He would have
seen five or six hundred men, in plain attire, with their hats on,
listless and inattentive, except when one of their leaders was making a
telling speech against some measure proposed by the opposite party,--and
nearly all measures were party measures. Who were these favored
representatives? Nearly all of them were the sons or brothers or cousins
or political friends of the class to which I have just alluded, with
here and there a baronet or powerful county squire or eminent lawyer or
wealthy manufacturer or princely banker, but all with aristocratic
sympathies,--nearly all conservative, with a preponderance of Tories;
scarcely a man without independent means, indifferent to all questions
except such as affected party interests, and generally opposed to all
movements which had in view the welfare of the middle classes, to which
they could not be said to belong. They did not represent manufacturing
towns nor the shopkeepers, still less the people in their rugged
toils,--ignorant even when they could read and write. They represented
the great landed interests of the country for the most part, and
legislated for the interests of landlords and the gentry, the
Established Church and the aristocratic universities,--indeed, for the
wealthy and the great, not for the nation as a whole, except when great
public dangers were imminent.
At that time, however, the traveller would have heard the most
magnificent bursts of eloquence ever heard in Parliament,--speeches
which are immortal, classical, beautiful, and electrifying. On the front
benches was Canning, scarcely inferior to Pitt or Fox as an orator;
stately, sarcastic, witty, rhetorical, musical, as full of genius as an
egg is full of meat. There was Castlereagh,--not eloquent, but gifted,
the honored plenipotentiary and negotiator at the Congress of Vienna;
the friend of Metternich and the Czar Alexander; at that time perhaps
the most influential of the ministers of state, the incarnation of
aristocratic manners and ultra conservative principles. There was Peel,
just rising to fame and power; wealthy, proud, and aristocratic, as
conservative as Wellington himself, a Tory of the Tories. There were
Perceval, the future prime minister, great both as lawyer and statesman;
and Lord Palmerston, secretary of state for war. On the opposite benches
sat Lord John Russell, timidly maturing schemes for parliamentary
reform, lucid of thought, and in utterance clear as a bell. There, too,
sat Henry Brougham, not yet famous, but a giant in debate, and
overwhelming in his impetuous invectives. There were Romilly, the law
reformer, and Tierney, Plunkett, and Huskisson (all great orators), and
other eminent men whose names were on every tongue. The traveller,
entranced by the power and eloquence of these leaders, could scarcely
have failed to feel that the House of Commons was the most glorious
assembly on earth, the incarnation of the highest political wisdom, the
theatre and school of the noblest energies, worthy to instruct and guide
the English nation, or any other nation in the world.
From the legislature we follow our traveller to the Church,--the
Established Church of course, for non-conformist ministers, whatever
their learning and oratorical gifts, ranked scarcely above shopkeepers
and farmers, and were viewed by the aristocracy as leaders of sedition
rather than preachers of righteousness. The higher dignitaries of the
only church recognized by fashion and rank were peers of the realm,
presidents of colleges, dons in the universities, bishops with an income
of £10,000 a year or more, deans of cathedrals, prebendaries and
archdeacons, who wore a distinctive dress from the other clergy. I need
not say that they were the most aristocratic, cynical, bigoted, and
intolerant of all the upper ranks in the social scale, though it must be
confessed that they were generally men of learning and respectability,
more versed, however, in the classics of Greece and Rome than in Saint
Paul's epistles, and with greater sympathy for the rich than for the
poor, to whom the gospel was originally preached. The untitled clergy of
the Church in their rural homes,--for the country and not the city was
the paradise of rectors and curates, as of squires and men of
leisure,--were also for the most part classical scholars and gentlemen,
though some thought more of hunting and fishing than of the sermons they
were to preach on Sundays. Nothing to the eye of a cultivated traveller
was more fascinating than the homes of these country clergymen,
rectories and parsonages as they were called,--concealed amid
shrubberies, groves, and gardens, where flowers bloomed by the side of
the ivy and myrtle, ever green and flourishing. They were not large but
comfortable, abodes of plenty if not of luxury, freeholds which could
not be taken away, suggestive of rest and repose; for the favored
occupant of such a holding, supported by tithes, could neither be
ejected nor turned out of his "living," which he held for life, whether
he preached well or poorly, whether he visited his flock or buried
himself amid his books, whether he dined out with the squire or went up
to town for amusement, whether he played lawn tennis in the afternoon
with aristocratic ladies, or cards in the evening with gentlemen none
too sober. He had an average stipend of £200 a year, equal to £400 in
these times,--moderate, but sufficient for his own wants, if not for
those of his wife and daughters, who pined of course for a more exciting
life, and for richer dresses than he could afford to give them. His
sermons, it must be confessed, were not very instructive, suggestive, or
eloquent,--were, in fact, without point, delivered in a drawling
monotone; but then his hearers were not used to oratorical displays or
learned treatises in the pulpit, and were quite satisfied with the
glorious liturgy, if well intoned, and pious chants from surpliced
boys, if it happened to be a church rich and venerable in which they
worshipped.
Not less imposing and impressive than the Church would the traveller
have found the courts of law. The House of Lords was indeed, in a
general sense, a legislative assembly, where the peers deliberated on
the same subjects that occupied the attention of the Commons; but it was
also the supreme judicial tribunal of the realm,--a great court of
appeals of which only the law lords, ex-chancellors and judges, who were
peers, were the real members, presided over by the lord chancellor, who
also held court alone for the final decision of important equity
questions. The other courts of justice were held by twenty-four judges,
in different departments of the law, who presided in their scarlet robes
in Westminster Hall, and who also held assizes in the different counties
for the trial of criminals,--all men of great learning and personal
dignity, who were held in awe, since they were the representatives of
the king himself to decree judgments and punish offenders against the
law. Even those barristers who pleaded at these tribunals quailed before
the searching glance of these judges, who were the picked men of their
great profession, whom no sophistry could deceive and no rhetoric could
win,--men held in supreme honor for their exalted station as well as for
their force of character and acknowledged abilities. In no other
country were judges so well paid, so independent, so much feared, and so
deserving of honors and dignities. And in no other country were judges
armed with more power, nor were they more bland and courteous in their
manners and more just in their decisions. It was something to be a judge
in England.
Turning now from peers, legislators, judges, and bishops,--the men who
composed the governing class,--all equally aristocratic and exclusive,
let us with our traveller survey the middle class, who were neither rich
nor poor, living by trade, chiefly shopkeepers, with a sprinkling of
dissenting ministers, solicitors, surgeons, and manufacturers. Among
these, the observer is captivated by the richness and splendor of their
shops, over which were dark and dingy chambers used as residences by
their plebeian occupants, except such as were rented as lodgings to
visitors and men of means. These people of business were rarely
ambitious of social distinction, for that was beyond their reach; but
they lived comfortably, dined on roast beef and Yorkshire pudding on
Sunday, with tolerable sherry or port to wash it down, went to church or
chapel regularly in silk or broadcloth, were good citizens, had a horror
of bailiffs, could converse on what was going on in trade and even in
politics to a limited extent, and generally advocated progressive and
liberal sentiments,--unless some of their relatives were employed in
some way or other in noble houses, in which case their loyalty to the
crown and admiration of rank were excessive and amusing. They read good
books when they read at all, educated their children, some of whom
became governesses, travelled a little in the summer, were hospitable to
their limited circle of friends, were kind and obliging, put on no airs,
and were on the whole useful and worthy people, if we can not call them
"respectable members of society." They were, perhaps, the happiest and
most contented of all the various classes, since they were virtuous,
frugal, industrious, and thought more of duties than they did of
pleasures. These were the people who were soon to discuss rights rather
than duties, and whom the reform movement was to turn into political
enthusiasts.
Such was the bright side of the picture which a favored traveller would
have seen at the close of the Napoleonic wars,--on the whole, one of
external prosperity and grandeur, compared with most Continental
countries; an envied civilization, the boast of liberty, for there was
no regal despotism. The monarch could send no one to jail, or exile him,
or cut off his head, except in accordance with law; and the laws could
deprive no one of personal liberty without sufficient cause, determined
by judicial tribunals.
And yet this splendid exterior was deceptive. The traveller saw only
the rich or favored or well-to-do classes; there were toiling and
suffering millions whom he did not see. Although the laws were made to
favor the agricultural interests, yet there was distress among
agricultural laborers; and the dearer the price of corn,--that is, the
worse the harvests,--the more the landlords were enriched, and the more
wretched were those who raised the crops. In times of scarcity, when
harvests were poor, the quartern loaf sold sometimes for two shillings,
when the laborer could earn on an average only six or seven shillings a
week. Think of a family compelled to live on seven shillings a week,
with what the wife and children could additionally earn! There was rent
to pay, and coals and clothing to buy, to say nothing of a proper and
varied food supply; yet all that the family could possibly earn would
not pay for bread alone. And the condition of the laboring classes in
the mines and the mills was still worse; for not half of them could get
work at all, even at a shilling a day. The disbanding of half a million
of soldiers, without any settled occupation, filled every village and
hamlet with vagrants and vagabonds demoralized by war. During the war
with France there had been a demand for every sort of manufactures; but
the peace cut off this demand, and the factories were either closed or
were running on half-time. Then there was the dreadful burden of
taxation, direct and indirect, to pay the interest of a national debt
swelled to the enormous amount of £800,000,000, and to meet the current
expenses of the government, which were excessive and frequently
unnecessary,--such as sinecures, pensions, and grants to the royal
family. This debt pressed upon all classes alike, and prevented the use
of all those luxuries which we now regard as necessities,--like sugar,
tea, coffee, and even meat. There were import duties, almost
prohibitory, on many articles which few could do without, and worst of
all, on corn and all cereals. Without these it was possible for the
laboring class to live, even when they earned only a shilling a day; but
when these were retained to swell the income of that upper class whose
glories and luxuries I have already mentioned, there was inevitable
starvation.
To any kind of popular sorrow and misery, however, the government seemed
indifferent; and this was followed of course by discontent and crime,
riots and incendiary conflagrations, murders and highway robberies,--an
incipient pandemonium, disgusting to see and horrible to think of. At
the best, what dens of misery and filth and disease were the quarters of
the poor, in city and country alike, especially in the coal districts
and in manufacturing towns. And when these pallid, half-starved miners
and operatives, begrimed with smoke and dirt, issued from their
infernal hovels and gathered in crowds, threatening all sorts of
violence, and dispersed only at the point of the bayonet, there was
something to call out fear as well as compassion from those who lived
upon their toils.
At last, good men became aroused at the injustice and wretchedness which
filled every corner of the land, and sent up their petitions to
Parliament for reform,--not for the mere alleviation of miseries, but
for a reform in representation, so that men might be sent as legislators
who would take some interest in the condition of the poor and oppressed.
Yet even to these petitions the aristocratic Commons paid but little
heed. The sigh of the mourner was unheard, and the tear of anguish was
unnoticed by those who lived in their lordly palaces. What was desperate
suffering and agitation for relief they called agrarian discontent and
revolutionary excess, to be put down by the most vigorous measures the
government could devise. _O tempora! O mores!_ the Roman orator
exclaimed in view of social evils which would bear no comparison with
those that afflicted a large majority of the human beings who struggled
for a miserable existence in the most lauded country in Europe. In their
despair, well might they exclaim, "Who shall deliver us from the body of
this death?"
I often wonder that the people of England were as patient and orderly
as they were, under such aggravated misfortunes. In France the oppressed
would probably have arisen in a burst of frenzy and wrath, and perhaps
have unseated the monarch on his throne. But the English mobs erected no
barricades, and used no other weapons than groans and expostulations.
They did not demand rights, but bread; they were not agitators, but
sufferers. Promises of relief disarmed them, and they sadly returned to
their wretched homes to see no radical improvement in their condition.
Their only remedy was patience, and patience without much hope. Nothing
could really relieve them but returning prosperity, and that depended
more on events which could not be foreseen than on legislation itself.
Such was the condition, in general terms, of high and low, rich and
poor, in England in the year 1815, and I have now to show what occupied
the attention of the government for the next fifteen years, during the
reign of George IV. as regent and as king. But first let us take a brief
review of the men prominent in the government.
Lord Liverpool was the prime minister of England for fifteen years, from
1812 (succeeding to Perceval upon the latter's assassination) to 1827.
He was a man of moderate abilities, but honest and patriotic; this chief
merit was in the tact by which he kept together a cabinet of
conflicting political sentiments; but he lived in comparatively quiet
times, when everybody wanted rest and repose, and when he had only to
combat domestic evils. The lord chancellor, Lord Eldon, had been seated
on the woolsack from nearly the beginning of the century, and was the
"keeper of the king's conscience" for twenty-five years, enjoying his
great office for a longer period than any other lord chancellor in
English history. He was doubtless a very great lawyer and a man of
remarkable sagacity and insight, but the narrowest and most bigoted of
all the great men who controlled the destinies of the nation. He
absolutely abhorred any change whatever and any kind of reform. He
adhered to what was already established, and _because_ it was
established; therefore he was a good churchman and a most reliable Tory.
The most powerful man in the cabinet at this time, holding the second
office in the government, that of foreign secretary, was Lord
Castlereagh,--no very great scholar or orator or man of business, but an
inveterate Tory, who played into the hands of all the despots of Europe,
and who made captive more powerful minds than his own by the elegance of
his manners, the charm of his conversation, and the intensity of his
convictions. William Pitt never showed greater sagacity than when he
bought the services of this gifted aristocrat (for he was then a Whig),
and introduced him into Parliament. He was the most prominent minister
of the crown until he died, directing foreign affairs with ability, but
in the wrong direction,--the friend and ally of Metternich,
Chateaubriand, Hardenberg, and the monarchs whom they represented.
But foremost in genius among the great statesmen of the day was George
Canning, who, however, did not reach the summit of his ambition until
the latter part of the reign of George IV. But after the death of
Castlereagh in 1822, he was the leading spirit of the cabinet, holding
the great office of foreign secretary, second in rank and power only to
that of the premier. Although a Tory,--the follower and disciple of
Pitt,--it was Canning who gave the first great blow to the narrow and
selfish conservatism which marked the government of his day, and entered
the first wedge which was to split the Tory ranks and inaugurate reform.
For this he acquired the greatest popularity that any statesman in
England ever enjoyed, if we except Fox and Pitt, and at the same time
incurred the bitterest wrath which the Metternichs of the world have
ever cherished toward the benefactors of mankind.
Canning was born in London, in the year 1770, in comparatively humble
life,--his father being a dissipated and broken-down barrister, and his
mother compelled by poverty to go upon the stage. But he had a wealthy
relative who took the care of his education. In 1788 he entered Christ
Church College, where he won the prize for the best Latin poem that
Oxford had ever produced. After he had graduated with distinguished
honors, he entered as a law student at Lincoln's Inn; but before he wore
the gown of a barrister Pitt had sought him out, as he had Castlereagh,
having heard of his talents in debating societies. Pitt secured him a
seat in Parliament, and Canning made his first speech on the 31st of
January, 1794. The aid which he brought to the ministry secured his
rapid advancement. In a year after his maiden speech he was made
under-secretary of state for foreign affairs, at the age of twenty-five.
On the death of Pitt, in 1806, when the Whigs for a short period came
into power, Canning was the recognized leader of the opposition; and in
1807, when the Tories returned to power, he became foreign secretary in
the ministry of the Duke of Portland, of which Mr. Perceval was the
leading member. It was then that Canning seized the Danish fleet at
Copenhagen, giving as his excuse for this bold and high-handed measure
that Napoleon would have taken it if he had not. It was through his
influence and that of Lord Castlereagh that Sir Arthur Wellesley,
afterward the Duke of Wellington, was sent to Spain to conduct the
Peninsular War.
On the retirement of the Duke of Portland as head of the government in
1809, Mr. Perceval became minister,--an event soon followed by the
insanity of George III. and the entrance of Robert Peel into the House
of Commons. In 1812 Mr. Perceval was assassinated, and the long ministry
of Lord Liverpool began, supported by all the eloquence and influence of
Canning, between whom and his chief a close friendship had existed since
their college days. The foreign secretaryship was offered to Canning;
but he, being comparatively poor, preferred the Lisbon embassy, on the
large salary of £14,000. In 1814 he became president of the Board of
Control, and remained in that office until he was appointed
governor-general of India. On the death of Castlereagh (1822) by his own
hand, Canning resumed the post of foreign secretary, and from that time
was the master spirit of the government, leader of the House of Commons,
the most powerful orator of his day, and the most popular man in
England. He had now become more liberal, showing a sympathy with reform,
acknowledging the independence of the South American colonies, and
virtually breaking up the Holy Alliance by his disapprobation of the
policy of the Congress of Vienna, which aimed at the total overthrow of
liberty in Europe, and which (under the guidance of Metternich and with
the support of Castlereagh) had already given Norway to Sweden, the
duchy of Genoa to Sardinia, restored to the Pope his ancient
possessions, and made Italy what it was before the French Revolution.
The most mischievous thing which the Holy Alliance had in view was
interference in the internal affairs of all the Continental States,
under the guise of religion. England, under the leadership of
Castlereagh, would have upheld this foreign interference of Russia,
Prussia, and Austria; but Canning withdrew England from this
intervention,--a great service to his country and to civilization. In
fact, the great principle of his political life was non-intervention in
the internal affairs of other nations. Hence he refused to join the
great Powers in re-seating the king of Spain on his throne, from which
that monarch had been temporarily ejected by a popular insurrection. But
for him, the great Powers might have united with Spain to recover her
lost possessions in South America. To him the peace of the world at that
critical period was mainly owing. In one of his most famous speeches he
closed with the oft-quoted sentence, "I called the New World into
existence to redress the balance of the Old."
Canning, like Peel,--and like Gladstone in our own time,--grew more and
more liberal as he advanced in years, in experience, and in power,
although he never left the Tory ranks. His commercial policy was
identical with that of his friend Huskisson, which was that commerce
flourished best when wholly unfettered by restrictions. He held that
protection, in the abstract, was unsound and unjust; and thus he opened
the way for free-trade,--the great boon which Sir Robert Peel gave to
the nation under the teachings of Cobden. He also was in favor of
Catholic emancipation and the repeal of the Test Act, which the Duke of
Wellington was compelled against his will ultimately to give to
the nation.
At the head of all this array of brilliant statesmen stood the king, or
in this case the regent, who was a man of very different character from
most of the ministers who served him.
It was in January, 1811, that the Prince of Wales became regent in
consequence of the insanity of his father, George III.; it was during
the Peninsular War, when Wellington, then Sir Arthur Wellesley, was
wearing out the French in Spain. But the reign of this prince as regent
is barren of great political movements. There is scarcely anything to
record but riots and discontent among the lower classes, and the
incendiary speeches and writings of demagogues. Measures of relief were
proposed in Parliament, also for parliamentary reform and the removal of
Catholic disabilities; but they were all alike opposed by the Tory
government, and came to nothing. Four years after the beginning of the
regency saw the overthrow of Napoleon, and the nation was so wearied of
war and all great political excitement that it had sunk to inglorious
repose. It was the period of reaction, of ultra conservatism, and hatred
of progressive and revolutionary ideas, when such men as Cobbett and
Hunt (Henry) were persecuted, fined, and imprisoned for their ideas.
Cobbett, the most popular writer of the day, was forced to fly to
America. Government was utterly intolerant of all political agitation,
which was chiefly confined to men without social position.
But of all the magnates who were opposed to reform, the prince regent
was the most obstinate. He was wholly devoted to pleasure. His court at
the Carleton palace was famous for the assemblage of wits and beauties
and dandies, reminding us of the epicureanism which marked Versailles
during the reign of Louis XV. It was the most scandalous period in
England since the times of Charles II. The life of the regent was a
perpetual scandal, especially in his heartless treatment of women, and
the disgraceful revels in which he indulged.
The companions of the prince were mostly dissipated and ennuied
courtiers, as impersonated in that incarnation of dandyism who went by
the name of Beau Brummell,--a contemptible character, who yet, it seems,
was the leader of fashion, especially in dress, of which the prince
himself was inordinately fond. This boon companion of royalty required
two different artists to make his gloves, and he went home after the
opera to change his cravat for succeeding parties. His impertinence and
audacity exceeded anything ever recorded of men of fashion,--as when he
requested his royal master to ring the bell. Nothing is more pitiable
than his miserable end, deserted by all his friends, a helpless idiot in
a lunatic asylum, having exhausted all his means. Lord Yarmouth,
afterward the Marquis of Hertford, infamous for his debaucheries and
extravagance, was another of the prince's companions in folly and
drunkenness. So was Lord Fife, who expended £80,000 on a dancer; and a
host of others, who had, however, that kind of wit which would "set the
table on a roar,"--but all gamblers, drunkards, and sensualists, who
gloried in the ruin of those women whom they had made victims of their
pleasures.
But I pass by the revelries and follies of "the first gentleman" in the
realm, as he was called, to allude to one event which has historical
importance, and which occupied the attention of the whole country,--and
that was the persecution of his wife, who was also his cousin, Caroline
Amelia Elizabeth, daughter of the Duke of Brunswick. He drove her from
the nuptial bed, and from his palace. He sought also to get a divorce,
which failed by reason of the transcendent talents and eloquence of
Brougham and Denman, eminent lawyers whom she employed in her defence,
and which brought them out prominently before the eyes of the
nation,--for the great career of Brougham, especially, began with the
trial of Caroline of Brunswick, the unhappy woman whom the Prince of
Wales married to get relief from his pecuniary necessities, and whom he
insulted as soon as he saw her, although she was a princess of
considerable accomplishments, and as amiable as she was beneficent. The
only palliation of his infamous treatment of this woman was that he
never loved her, and was even disgusted with her. No sooner was the
marriage solemnized, than she was treated on every occasion with studied
contumely, and scarcely had she recovered from illness incident to the
birth of the Princess Charlotte, when the "first gentleman of the age"
was pleased to intimate that it suited his disposition that they should
hereafter live apart. Never allowed to be crowned as queen, driven from
the shelter of her husband's roof, surrounded with spies, accused of
crimes of which there was no proof, even excluded from the public
prayers, and finally forced into exile, she sank under her accumulated
wrongs, and was carried off by a fatal illness at the age of
fifty-three.
On the death of the old king in 1820, the Prince of Wales became George
IV., after having been regent for nine years. As he was inflexibly
opposed to all reforms, no great measures had been carried through
Parliament except from urgent necessity and fear of revolution. But the
State was being prepared for reforms in the next reign. In 1820 the
agitation, which finally ended in the Reform Bill, set in with great
earnestness. Henry Brougham had become a great power in the House of
Commons, and poured out the vials of his wrath on the Tory government.
Lord John Russell busily employed himself in forging the weapons by
which he, more than any other man, afterward broke the power of the
Tories. The voice of Wilberforce was also heard in demanding the
abolition of negro slavery. Romilly was advocating a reform in criminal
law. Macaulay was making those brilliant speeches which would have
elevated him to the highest rank among debaters had he not cherished
other ambitions.
The only things which stand out as memorable and of political importance
in this reign were a change in the foreign policy of England, the
discontents and agitations of the people, the removal of Catholic
disabilities, and the repeal of the Test Acts.
On the first I shall not dwell, since I have already alluded to it as
the great work of Canning. As foreign minister he divorced England from
the Holy Alliance, and insisted on maintaining non-intervention in the
internal affairs of other nations, and a peace policy which raised his
country to the highest pinnacle of power she ever attained, and brought
about a development of wealth and industry entirely unprecedented. Had
he lived he would have carried out those reforms that later were the
glory of Lord John Russell and Sir Robert Peel, for he was emancipated
from the ideas which made the Tories obnoxious. His spirit was liberal
and progressive, and hence he incurred bitter hostilities. The
government, however, could not be carried on without him, and the king
was forced unwillingly to accept him as minister. His magnificent
services as foreign secretary had mollified the hostilities of George
IV., who became anxious to retain him in power at the head of the
foreign department, after the retirement of Lord Liverpool. But Canning
felt that the premiership was his due, and would accept nothing short of
it, and the king was forced to give it to him in spite of the howl of
the Tory leaders. He enjoyed that dignity, however, but two months,
being worn out with labors, and embittered by the hostilities of his
political enemies, who hounded him to death with the most cruel and
unrelenting hatred. His sensitive and proud nature could not stand
before such unjust attacks and savage calumnies. He rapidly sank, in the
prime of his life and in the height of his fame. Canning's death in 1827
was a marked event in the reign of George IV.; it filled England with
mourning, and never was grief for a departed statesman more sincere and
profound. He was buried with great pomp in Westminster Abbey. The
sculptor Chantry was intrusted with the execution of his statue,--a
memorial which he did not need, for his fame is imperishable. The day
after the funeral his wife was made a peeress, an annuity was granted to
his sons, and every honor that it was possible for a grateful nation to
bestow was lavished on his memory.
Canning left only £20,000,--a less sum than he had received from his
wife upon his marriage. His domestic life was singularly happy. He was
also happy in the brilliant promises of his sons, one of whom became
governor-general of India, and was created a peer for his services. His
only daughter married the Marquis of Clanricarde. His children thus
entered the ranks of the nobility,--a distinction which he himself did
not covet. It was his chief ambition to rule the nation through the
House of Commons.
Some authorities have regarded Canning as the greatest of English
parliamentary orators; but his speeches to me are disappointing,
although elaborate, argumentative, logical, and full of fancy and wit.
They were too rhetorical to suit the taste of Lord Brougham. Rhetorical
exhibitions, however brilliant, are not those which posterity most
highly value, and lose their charm when the occasions which produced
them have passed away. Canning's presence was commanding and dignified,
his articulation delicate and precise, his voice clear and musical;
while the curl of his lip and the glance of his eye would silence almost
any antagonist. In cabinet meetings he was habitually silent, having
already made up his mind. He could not gracefully bear contradiction,
and made many enemies by his pride and sarcasm. In private life he was
courteous and gentlemanly, fond of society, but fonder of domestic life,
pure in his moral character, devoted to his family,--especially to his
mother, whom he treated with extraordinary deference and affection.
The next subject of historical importance in the reign of George IV. was
the perpetual agitation among the people growing out of their misery and
discontent. There were no great insurrections to overturn the throne, as
in Spain and Italy and France; but there was a fierce demand for the
removal of evils which were intolerable; and this was manifested in
monster petitions to Parliament, in incendiary speeches like those made
by "Orator Hunt" and other agitators, in such political tracts as
Cobbett wrote and circulated in every corner of the land, in occasional
uprisings among agricultural laborers and factory operatives, in angry
mobs destroying private property,--all impelled by hunger and despair.
To these discontents and angry uprisings the government was haughty and
cold, looking upon them as revolutionary and dangerous, and putting them
down by sheriffs and soldiers, by coercion bills and the suspension
of the Act of _habeas corpus_. Some speeches were made in
Parliament in favor of education, and some efforts in behalf of law
reforms,--especially the removal of the death penalty for small
offences, more than two hundred of which were punishable with death.
Numerous were the instances where men and boys were condemned to the
gallows for stealing a coat or shooting a hare; but the sentences of
judges were often not enforced when unusually severe or unjust.
Moreover, large charities were voted for the poor, but without
materially relieving the general distress.
On the whole, however, the country increased in wealth and prosperity in
consequence of the long and uninterrupted peace; and the only great
drawback was the mercantile crisis of 1825, resulting from the mania of
speculation, and followed by the contraction of the currency,--the
effect of which was the failure of banks and the ruin of thousands who
had calculated on being suddenly enriched. Alison estimates the
shrinkage of property in Great Britain alone as at least £100,000,000.
Men worth £100,000 could not at one time raise £100. The banks were
utterly drained of gold and silver. Nothing prevented universal
bankruptcy but the issue of small bills by the Bank of England. There
was a lull of political excitement after the trial of Queen Caroline,
and Parliament confined itself chiefly to legal, economical, and
commercial questions; although occasionally there were grand debates on
the foreign policy, on Catholic emancipation, and on the
disfranchisement of corrupt boroughs. Ireland obtained considerable
parliamentary attention, owing to the failure of the potato crop and its
attendant agricultural distress, which produced a state bordering on
rebellion, and to the formation of the Catholic Association.
But the great event in the political history of England during the reign
of George IV. was unquestionably the removal of Catholic
disabilities,--ranking next in importance and interest with the Reform
Bill and the repeal of the Corn Laws. Catholic disability had existed
ever since the reign of Elizabeth, and was the standing injustice under
which Ireland labored. Catholic peers were not admitted to the House of
Lords, nor Catholics to a seat in the House of Commons,--which was a
condition of extremely unequal representation. In reality, only the
Protestants were represented in Parliament, and they composed only about
one tenth of the whole population.
In addition to this injustice, the Irish, who were mostly Roman
Catholics, were ground down by such oppressive laws that they were
really serfs to those landlords who owned the soil on which they toiled
for a mere pittance,--about fourpence a day,--resulting in a general
poverty such as has never before been seen in any European country, with
its attendant misery and crime. The miserable Irish peasantry lived in
mud huts or cabins, covered partially with thatch, but not enough to
keep out the rain. No furniture and no comforts were to be seen in these
huts. There were no chairs or tables, only a sort of dresser for laying
a plate upon; no cooking utensils but a cast-metal pot to boil
potatoes,--almost the only food. There were no bedsteads, and but few
blankets. The people slept in their clothes, the whole family generally
in one room,--the only room in the cabin. For fuel they burned peat. In
order to pay their rent, they sold their pigs. Beggars infested every
road and filled every village. No one was certain of employment, even at
twopence a day. Everybody was controlled by the priests, whose power
rested on their ability to stimulate religious fears, and who were
supported by such contributions as they were able to extort from the
superstitious and ignorant people,--by nature brave and generous and
joyous, but improvident and reckless. It was the wonder of O'Connell how
they could remain cheerful amid such privations and such wrongs, with
the government seemingly indifferent, with none to pity and few to help.
Nor could they vote for the candidates for any office whatever unless
they had freeholds, or life-rent possessions, for which they paid a rent
of forty shillings. The landlords of this wretched tenantry, unable to
face the misery they saw and which they could not relieve, or fearful of
assassination, left the country to spend their incomes in the great
cities of Europe, not being united with their people by any ties, social
or religious.
What wonder that such a wretched people, urged by the priests, should
form associations for their own relief, especially when famine pressed
and landlords exacted the uttermost farthing,--when the crimes to which
they were impelled by starvation were punished with the most inexorable
severity by Protestant magistrates in whose appointment they had
no hand!
The result was the rise of the Catholic Association, the declared object
of which was to forward petitions to Parliament, to support an
independent Press, to aid emigration to America,--all worthy, and
unobjectionable on the surface, but with the real intent (as affirmed by
the Tories and believed by a large majority of the nation) of securing
the control of elections, of bringing about the repeal of the Union with
England (which, enacted in 1801, had done away with the separate Irish
parliament), the resumption of the Church property by the Catholic
clergy, and the restoration of the Catholic faith as the dominant
religion of the land. Such an Association, embracing most of the Roman
Catholic population, was regarded with great alarm by the government;
and they determined to put it down as seditious and dangerous, against
the expostulation of such men as Brougham, Mackintosh, and Sir Henry
Parnell. Then arose the great figure of O'Connell in the history of
Ireland (whose eloquence, tact, and ability have no parallel in that
country of orators), defending the cause of his countrymen with masterly
power, leading them like a second Moses according to his will,--in fact,
uniting them in a movement which it was hopeless to oppose except with
an army bent on the depopulation of the country; so that George IV. is
reported to have said, with considerable bitterness, "Canning is king of
England, O'Connell is king of Ireland, and I am Dean of Windsor."
Such, however, was the hostility of Parliament to the Irish Catholics
that a bill was carried by a great majority in both Houses to suppress
the Association, supported powerfully by the Duke of York as well as by
the ministers of the crown, even by Canning himself and Sir Robert Peel.
Then followed renewed disturbances, riots, and murders; for the
condition of the Roman Catholics in Ireland was desperate as well as
gloomy. The Association was dissolved, for O'Connell would do nothing
unlawful; but a new one took its place, which preached peace and unity,
but which meant the repeal of the Union,--the grand object that from
first to last O'Connell had at heart. Of course, this scheme was utterly
impracticable without a revolution that would shake England to its
centre; but it was followed by an immense emigration to America,--so
great that the population of Ireland declined from eight and a half to
four and a half millions. The Irish Catholics, however, were
comparatively quiet during the administration of Mr. Canning, whose
liberal tendencies had given them hope; but on his death they became
more restive. The coalition ministry under Lord Goderich was much
embarrassed how to act, or was too feeble to act with vigor,--not for
want of individual abilities, but by reason of dissensions among the
ministers. It lasted only a short time, and was succeeded by that of the
Duke of Wellington, with Sir Robert Peel for his lieutenant; both of
whom had shown an intense prejudice and dislike of the Irish Catholics,
and had voted uniformly for their repression. On the return of the
Tories to power, the Irish disturbances were renewed and increased.
Hitherto the landlords had directed the votes of their tenantry,--the
forty-shilling freeholders; but now the elections were determined by the
direction of the Catholic Association, which was controlled by the
priests, and by O'Connell and his associates. In addition, O'Connell
himself was elected to represent in the English Parliament the County of
Clare, against the whole weight of the government,--which was a bitter
pill for the Tories to swallow, especially as the great agitator
declared his intention to take his seat without submitting to the
customary oath. It was in reality a defiance of the government, backed
by the whole Irish nation. The Catholics became so threatening, they
came together so often and in such enormous masses, that the nation was
thoroughly alarmed. The king and a majority of his ministers urged the
most violent coercive measures, even to the suspension of
_habeas corpus_.
O'Connell was not admitted to Parliament; but his case precipitated an
intense turmoil, which settled the question forever; for then the great
general who had defeated Napoleon, and was the idol of the nation,
seeing the difficulties of coercion as no other statesman did, and
influenced by Sir Robert Peel (for whom he had unbounded respect), made
one of his masterly retreats, by which he averted revolution and
bloodshed. Wellington hated the Catholics, and was a most loyal member
of the Church of England; moreover, he was a Tory and an
ultra-conservative. But at last even his eyes were opened, not to the
injustices and wrongs which ground Ireland to the dust, but to the
necessity of conciliation. Like Peel, he could face facts; and when his
path was clear he would walk therein, whatever kings or ministers or
peers or people might think or say. He resolved to emancipate the
Catholics, as Sir Robert Peel afterward repealed the Corn Laws, against
all his antecedents and affiliations and sympathies, and more than all
against the declared wishes and resolutions of the monarch whom he
nominally served, yet whom he controlled by his iron will. Sir Robert
Peel, as obstinate a Tory as his chief, had been for some time convinced
of the necessity of conciliation, and at once resigned his seat as the
representative of Oxford University, which he felt he could no longer
honorably hold. In March, 1829, he brought forward his bill for the
removal of Catholic disabilities, which was read the third time, and
passed the Commons by a majority of 178. In the House of Peers, it was
carried by a majority of 104,--so great was the influence of Wellington
and Peel, so impressed at last were both Houses of the necessity for
the measure.
The difficulty now was to obtain the signature of the king, although he
had promised it as the probable alternative of revolution,--a great
State necessity, which his ministers had made him at last perceive, but
to which he reluctantly yielded. He was somewhat in the position of Pope
Clement XIV. when obliged, against his will and against the interests of
the Catholic Church, to sign the bull for the revocation of the charter
of the Jesuits. _Compulsus feci! compulsus feci!_ he exclaimed, with
mental agony. George IV. could have said the same. He procrastinated; he
lay all day in bed to avoid seeing his ministers; he talked of his
feelings; he threatened to abdicate, and go to Hanover; he would not
violate his conscience; he would be faithful to the traditions of his
house and the memory of his father,--and so on, until the patience of
Wellington and Peel was exhausted, and they told him he must sign the
bill at once, or they would immediately resign. "The king could no
longer wriggle off the hook," and surrendered. O'Connell was instantly
re-elected, and took his seat in Parliament,--a position which he
occupied for the rest of his life. George IV. was the last of the
monarchs of England who attempted to rule by personal government.
Henceforward the monarch's duty was simply to register the decrees of
Parliament.
But the admission of Catholics to Parliament did not heal the disorders
of Ireland as had been hoped. The Irish clamored for still greater
privileges. The cry for repeal of the Union succeeded that for the
removal of disabilities. Their poverty and miseries remained, while
their monster meetings continued to shake the kingdom to its centre.
The historical importance of Catholic emancipation consists in
this,--that it was the first great victory over the aristocratic powers
of the empire, and was an entrance wedge to the reform of Parliament
effected in the next reign. It threw forty or fifty members of the House
of Commons into the ranks of opposition to the Tory side, which with a
few brief intervals had governed England for a century. "The reform
movement was the child of Catholic agitation; the anti-corn law league
that of the triumph of reform." Brougham was the legitimate successor of
O'Connell. A foresight of such consequences was the real cause of the
movement being so bitterly opposed by the king and Lord Eldon. It was
not jealousy of the Catholics that moved them,--that was only the
pretence; it was really fear of the blow aimed against Toryism. They had
sagacity enough to see the inevitable result,--the advancing power of
the Liberal party, and the impossibility of longer ruling the country
without ceding privileges to the people. The repeal of the Test Act by
the previous administration, which removed the disabilities of
Dissenters from the Established Church to hold public office, was only
another act in the great drama of national development which was to give
ascendency to the middle class in matters of legislation, rather than to
the favored classes who had hitherto ruled. The movement was political
and not religious, whatever might be the hatred of the Tories for both
Catholics and Dissenters.
Nothing further of political importance marked the administration of the
Duke of Wellington except the increasing agitations for parliamentary
reform, which will be hereafter considered. Wellington was elevated to
his exalted post from the influence and popularity which followed his
military achievements. His fame, like that of General Grant, rests on
his military and not on his civil services, although his great
experience as a diplomatist and general made him far from contemptible
as a statesman. It was his misfortune to hold the helm of state in
stormy times, amid riots, agitations, insurrections, and party
dissensions, amid famines and public distresses of every kind; when
England was going through a transition state, when there was every shade
of opinion among political leaders. The duke, like Canning before him,
was isolated, and felt the need of a friend. He was not like a
commander-in-chief surrounded with a band of devoted generals, but with
ministers held together by a rope of sand. He had no real colleagues in
his cabinet, and no party in the House of Commons. The chief troubles in
England were financial rather than political, and he had no head for
finance like Huskisson and Sir Robert Peel.
In the midst of the difficulties with which the great duke had to
contend, George IV. died, June 26, 1830. He was in his latter days a
great sufferer from the gout and other diseases brought about by the
debaucheries of his earlier days; and he was a disenchanted man, living
long enough to see how frail were the supports on which he had
leaned,--friends, pleasures, and exalted rank.
All authorities are agreed as to the character of George IV., though
some in their immeasurable contempt have painted him worse than he
really was, like Brougham and Thackeray. All are agreed that he was
selfish and pleasure-seeking in his ordinary life, though courteous in
his manners and kind to those who shared his revels. As dissipated
habits obtained the mastery over him, and the unbounded flattery of his
boon companions stultified his conscience, he became heartless and even
brutal. He was proud and overbearing; was fond of pomp and ceremony, and
ultra-conservative in all his political views. He was outrageously
extravagant and reckless in his expenditures, and then appealed to
Parliament to pay his debts. He liked to visit his favorites, and
received visits from them in return so long as his physical forces
remained; but when these were hopelessly undermined by self-indulgence,
he buried himself in his palaces, and rarely appeared in public. Indeed,
in his latter days he shunned the sight of the people altogether. His
character appears better in his letters than in the verdicts of
historians. Those written to his Chancellor Eldon, to the Duke of
Wellington, to Lord Liverpool, to Sir William Knighton, keeper of the
privy purse, and others, show great cordiality, frankness, and the utter
absence of the stiffness and pride incident to his high rank. They
abound in expressions of kindness and even affection, whether sincere or
not. They are all well written, and would do credit, from a literary
point of view, to any private person. His talents and conversation, his
wit and repartee, and his felicitous description of character are
undeniable. He is said to have had the talent of telling stories to
perfection. His powers of mimicry were remarkable, and he was fond of
singing songs at his banquets. Had he been simply a private person or an
ordinary nobleman, he would have been far from contemptible.
The latter days of George IV. were sad, and for a king he was left
comparatively alone. He had neither wife nor children to lean upon and
to cheer him,--only mercenary courtiers and physicians. His tastes were
refined, his manners affable, and his conversation interesting. He was
intelligent, sagacious, and well-informed; yet no English monarch was
ever more cordially despised. The governing principle of his life was a
love of ease and pleasure, which made him negligent of his duties; and
there never yet lived a man, however exalted his sphere, who had not
imperative duties to perform, without the performance of which his life
was a failure and a reproach. So it was with this unhappy king, who died
like Louis XV. without any one to mourn his departure; and a new king
reigned in his stead.
And yet the reign of the fourth George as king was marked by returning
national prosperity,--owing not to the efforts of statesmen and
legislators, but to the marvellous spread of commerce and manufactures,
resulting from the establishment of peace, thus opening a market for
British goods in all parts of the world.
This period of the fourth George's rule, as regent and king, was also
remarkable for the appearance of men of genius in all departments of
human thought and action. As the lights of a former generation sank
beneath the horizon, other stars arose of increased brilliancy. In
poetry alone, Byron, Scott, Rogers, Coleridge, Southey, Wordsworth,
Moore, Campbell, Keats, would have made the age illustrious,--a
constellation such as has not since appeared. In fiction, Sir Walter
Scott introduced a new era, soon followed by Bulwer, Dickens, and
Thackeray. In the law there were Brougham, Eldon, Lyndhurst,
Ellenborough, Denman, Plunkett, Erskine, Wetherell,--all men of the
first class. In medicine and surgery were Abernethy, Cooper, Holland. In
the Church were Parr, Clarke, Hampden, Scott, Sumner, Hall, Arnold,
Irving, Chalmers, Heber, Whately, Newman. Sir Humphry Davy was
presiding at the Royal Society, and Sir Thomas Lawrence at the Royal
Academy. Herschel was discovering planets. Bell was lecturing at the new
London University, and Dugald Stewart in the University of Edinburgh.
Captain Ross was exploring the Northern Seas, and Lander the wilds of
Africa. Lancaster was founding a new system of education; Bentham and
Ricardo were unravelling the tangled web of political economy; Hallam,
Lingard, Mitford, Mills, were writing history; Macaulay, Carlyle, Smith,
Lockhart, Jeffrey, Hazlitt, were giving a new stimulus to periodical
literature; while Miss Edgeworth, Jane Porter, Mrs. Hemans, were
entering the field of literature as critics, poets, and novelists,
instead of putting their inspired thoughts into letters, as bright women
did one hundred years before. Into everything there were found some to
cast their searching glances, creating an intellectual activity without
previous precedent, if we except the great theological discussions of
the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Even shopkeepers began to read
and think, and in their dingy quarters were stirred to discuss their
rights; while William Cobbett aroused a still lower class to political
activity by his matchless style. All philanthropic, educational, and
religious movements received a wonderful stimulus; while improvements in
the use of steam, mechanical inventions, chemical developments and
scientific discoveries, were rapidly changing the whole material
condition of mankind.
In 1820, when the regent became George IV., a new era opened in English
history, most observable in those popular agitations which ushered in
reforms under his successor William IV. These it will be my object to
present in another volume.