"Longwood, 9th September, 1816.
"GENERAL,
"I have received your two letters of the 30th August; there is one of
them which I have not communicated. Count Bertrand and myself have had
the honour of telling you several times, that we could not take charge
of any thing which would be contrary to the august character of the
emperor. You know better than any one, Sir, how many letters have been
sent from the post-office to Plantation House; you have forgotten that,
upon the representations which we have made to you repeatedly, you
answered, that your instructions obliged you to let nothing go to
Longwood, either letter, book, or pamphlet, unless those articles had
passed the scrutiny of your government. The lieutenant of the Newcastle
having been the bearer of a letter to Count Lascases, you kept that
letter, but the officer deeming his delicacy compromised, you
transmitted it thirty days after it had reached this island, &c. We are
sure that our families and our friends write to us often; hitherto we
have received very few of their letters. But it is by virtue of the same
principle, that you this day disavow that you have retained the books
and pamphlets that have been addressed to you, and yet you keep them.
"Your second letter of the 30th August, Sir, is no answer to that which
I had the honour to write to you, to remonstrate against the changes
effected by you in the course of that month, and which demolish all the
basis of our establishment in this country.
"1. 'There is no part of my written instructions more definite, or to
which my attention is more pointedly called, than that no person
whatever should hold any communication with (the emperor) except through
my agency.' You give a Judaical interpretation to your instructions;
there is nothing in them which justifies or authorizes your conduct.
Those instructions your predecessor had; you had them for three months
previous to the changes which you effected a month ago. In short, it was
not difficult for you to reconcile your different duties.
"2. 'I have already acquainted (the emperor) personally of this.'
"3. 'In addressing all strangers and other persons, except those whose
duty might lead them to Longwood, in the first instance to Count
Bertrand, (or asking myself) to ascertain whether (the emperor) would
receive their visit, and in not giving passes, except to such persons as
had ascertained this point, or were directed to do it, I conceive,' &c.
"4. 'It is not, Sir, in my power to extend such privilege, as you
require, to Count Bertrand,' &c.
"I am obliged to declare to you, Sir, 1st, That you have communicated
nothing to the emperor. 2nd. For more than two months you have had no
communication with Count Bertrand. 3rd. We require of you no privilege
for Count Bertrand, since I only ask a continuation of that state of
things which existed for nine months.
"5. 'I regret to learn that (the emperor) has been incommoded with the
visits,' &c. This is bitter irony.
"Instead of endeavouring to reconcile your different duties, Sir, you
seemed determined to persist in a system of continual vexations. Will
this do honour to your character? Will it merit the approbation of your
government and your nation? Permit me to doubt it.
"Several general officers, who arrived in the Cornwallis, desired to be
presented at Longwood. If you had referred them to Count Bertrand, as
you had hitherto referred all strangers presenting themselves in the
island, they would have been received. You have doubtless your reasons
for preventing persons of some distinction from coming to Longwood;
allege, if you choose, as you commonly do, the tenour of your
instructions; but do not misrepresent the intentions of the emperor.
"The younger Lascases and Capt. Pionkowski were yesterday in the town.
An English lieutenant accompanied them thither, and then, conformably to
orders existing until that day, left them at liberty to go and see what
persons they wished. Whilst young Lascases was talking with some young
ladies, the officer came, and, with extreme pain at being charged with
so disagreeable a commission, declared that your orders were not to lose
sight of him. This is contrary to what has taken place heretofore. It
would, I think, be proper that you should make known to us the changes
you are effecting. This is forbidding us every visit to town, and thus
violating your instructions[88:A]. Yet you know that scarcely one of
the persons at Longwood goes to the town once a month, and there is no
circumstance which can authorize you to change the established order.
This is carrying persecution very far! I cannot conceive what has
occasioned your letter of the 8th of September; I refer, Sir, to the
postscript of my letter of the 23rd August. The emperor is ill, in
consequence of the bad climate and privations of all kinds, and I have
not made known to him all the fastidious details that have been made to
me on your part. All this has been going on for two months, and should
have been terminated long ago, as the postscript of my letter of the
23rd August is explicit. It is now high time that the thing should be
ended; but it appears to be a text from which to insult us.
"I have the honour to be, General,
"Your very humble and obedient servant,
(Signed) "The Gen. C{te}. DE MONTHOLON."
[88:A] However tyrannical the orders of Lord Castlereagh might
have been, we cannot help remarking on the petty pleasure Sir
Hudson took in executing them, even to the very letter. It was
this kind of conduct in Napoleon's jailer that gave rise to
the following distich:
"Sir Hudson Lowe, Sir Hudson Lowe,
By name, and ah! BY NATURE SO!"
Napoleon himself said of this governor, "I have had to do with
men of all countries; I never saw any who had so bad a
physiognomy, and a more execrable conversation. He writes with
the intention of being amicable. That is a contrast to the
ignoble vexations that are daily imagined. There is something
sinister in all this." Without contradicting the repeated
asseverations of Sir Hudson Lowe, that he only acted according
to instructions, we must say, that any man of honour should
rather have resigned his office than have executed them; for
they were not only unnecessary to the security of Napoleon,
but they were also ILLEGAL. But Sir Hudson did not possess
moral courage; he was captious and mistrustful, and was not at
all calculated for the delicate offices he had to perform; he
created his own fears, and lost his understanding in
endeavouring to foresee misfortune. Count Lascases thus writes
of him:
"The noble-minded English beside us," says the Count, "as well
as those who merely visited the island, used to say that our
treatment would experience a great and blessed change when the
new governor appeared, &c. &c. This new Messiah at length
came; but, gracious God!--the word escapes involuntarily from
my pen,--it was an executioner, a _gens-d'arme_, whom they had
sent. On his appearance, every thing assumed a dark and gloomy
aspect; every appearance of external respect, and all the
forms prescribed by a due regard to decency, which had
hitherto been observed, at once disappeared; every day since
has been to us a day of greater pain and more insulting
treatment; he has narrowed still farther the boundaries
prescribed to us, and even endeavoured to interfere with our
domestic economy; he has strictly interdicted all intercourse
with the natives, and even prohibited all society with
officers of his own nation; he has ordered our residence to be
surrounded with ditches and palisades; he has increased the
number of soldiers, and endeavoured to make prisons within
prisons; he has surrounded us with objects of affright, and
reduced us to close custody. The emperor remains almost always
in his prison, and no longer leaves his apartment. The few
audiences which he has given to that officer have been highly
disagreeable and oppressive to him; he has put an end to them,
and determined not to see the governor any more. 'I had just
grounds,' he observed, 'to complain of the Admiral, though he
had at least a heart; but this man has not even a vestige of
the character of an Englishman, he is nothing but a low
Sicilian _sbirro_.' Sir Hudson Lowe pleads the instructions of
his minister in justification of himself, with respect to all
these complaints; if this justification is well founded, his
instructions are most barbarous; but he can bear witness, at
the same time, that he endeavours to carry them into execution
in a barbarous manner."
Count Lascases also felt so indignant at the treatment which his noble
master experienced, that he reproached the governor, in no very measured
terms, with his want of common humanity, and boldly asked him, "Do you
or do you not wish to kill the emperor?" For this, and writing
complaints to his friends, all his private papers were seized, and
himself dismissed the island. The following farewell letter was written
to him, on this occasion, by the emperor:
"MY DEAR COUNT LASCASES,
"My heart sensibly feels what you endure; torn away fifteen days ago
from my presence, you were shut up during that period in secret,
without my being able to receive, or give you, any news, without your
having communicated with any one, French or English; deprived even of
the servant of your choice.
"Your conduct at St. Helena has been, like your life, honourable, and
without reproach: I love to tell you so.
"Your letter to one of your friends, a lady in London, has nothing in it
that is reprehensible; you there pour forth your whole heart into the
bosom of friendship. That letter is like eight or ten others, which you
have written to the same person, and which you have sent unsealed. The
commandant of this place, having had the delicacy to sift out the
expressions which you confide to friendship, has reproached you with
them. Latterly he threatened to send you away from the island, if your
letters contained any more complaints against him. He has, by so doing,
violated the first duty of his place, the first article of his
instructions, and the first sentiment of honour. He has thus authorized
you to seek the means of conveying the effusions of your feelings to the
bosom of your friends, and of acquainting them with the culpable conduct
of the commandant. But you have been very artless: it has been very easy
to take your confidence by surprise.
"They were waiting for a pretext to seize your papers; but your letter
to your London friend could not authorize a police visit to you; for it
contains no plot, no mystery; it is simply the expression of a noble and
frank heart. The illegal and precipitate conduct pursued on this
occasion bears the stamp of a very base personal hatred.
"In countries the least civilized, exiles, prisoners, and even
criminals, are under the protection of the laws, and of the magistrates.
The persons appointed to guard them have chiefs, either in the
administrative or judicial order, who superintend them. Upon this rock,
the man who makes the most absurd regulations executes them with
violence, transgresses all laws, and there is no one to restrain the
excesses of his temper.
"They envelop Longwood with a mystery, which they would wish to render
impenetrable, in order to conceal a criminal conduct; and this leaves
room for suspecting the most criminal intentions!!
"By some rumours artfully spread, it was wished to mislead the officers,
strangers, inhabitants, and even the agents who are said to be
maintained by Austria and Russia in this place; doubtless, the English
government is deceived in the same way by adroit and fallacious
statements.
"Your papers, among which it was known that there were some belonging to
me, have been seized without any formality, near my apartment, with a
marked and ferocious exultation. I was apprized of this a few moments
afterwards: I looked through the window, and saw that they were taking
you away. A numerous staff was parading round the house; I could fancy I
saw so many South Sea islanders dancing round the prisoners whom they
were going to devour.
"Your society was necessary to me; you alone read, spoke, and understood
English. How many nights have you sat up, during my fits of sickness!
Yet I enjoin you, and, if need be, I order you, to request the
commandant of this place to send you back to the Continent. He cannot
refuse that, since he has no controul over you, but by the voluntary act
which you have signed. It will be a great consolation to me to know,
that you are on your way to more fortunate countries.
"On arriving in Europe, whether you go to England, or return home,
dismiss the remembrance of the ills which they have made you suffer;
boast of the fidelity which you have shewn me, and of the great
affection which I bear you.
"If you should one day see my wife and my son, embrace them. For two
years, I have not heard from them, directly or indirectly. There has
been for six months in this place a German botanist who saw them in the
garden of Schoenbrunn, some months before his departure; the barbarians
have carefully prevented him from giving me any news from them.
"My body is in the power of the hatred of my enemies; they forget
nothing which can glut their vengeance. They are killing me by inches.
But the insalubrity of this devouring climate, the want of every thing
that sustains life, will, I feel, put a speedy end to this existence,
the last moments of which will be an opprobrium on the English
character; and Europe will one day signalize with horror that crafty and
wicked man[94:A], whom true Englishmen will disown as a Briton.
"As there is every reason to think, that you will not be permitted to
come to see me before your departure, receive my embraces, the assurance
of my esteem, and my friendship. Be happy.
(Signed) "NAPOLEON."
"_11th December, 1816._"
[94:A] Sir Hudson Lowe is, doubtless, the person here alluded
to by the emperor; but he would not have dared to act as he
did if such tyrannical and unfeeling conduct had been against
Lord Castlereagh's approbation.
We might add many other proofs of the inhumanity exercised towards
Napoleon, were it necessary to our purpose. Let our readers look over
the writings of O'Meara, Lascases[94:B], and numerous other persons now
living, both French and English, who bear the most heart-rending
testimony to all that was done to torture and to put an end to the life
of this great man.
[94:B] Particularly his eloquent and manly "Appeal to the
Parliament of Great Britain, on the case of the Emperor
Napoleon."
The inhuman conduct pursued towards the captive emperor at length became
the subject of parliamentary inquiry. A motion to this effect was
introduced to the House of Peers by Lord Holland, in the month of March,
1817. Of the motives by which this noble lord was actuated, it is
difficult to award sufficient praise. He declared, "My chief motive in
bringing forward this motion is to rescue parliament and the country
from the stain that will attach to them, if any harsh or ungenerous
treatment has been used towards Napoleon." Such an anxiety for the
character of his country was, doubtless, a patriotic and proper motive;
but it never ought to claim precedence of the great, permanent, and
universal feelings of pity for the unfortunate, which are among the
noblest characteristics of our nature. His lordship, therefore, might
have insisted more upon the merit of a motive to which, on all
occasions, he has shewn himself to be eminently entitled. That the
praiseworthy object of Lord Holland's motion was not attained must be
matter of deep regret to every man who wishes to maintain the reputation
of his country. But the ministers shuffled over the charge by reading
partial extracts from those documents which his lordship wished to have
produced, while they refused an examination of the entire papers. This,
to say the least of it, had a very suspicious appearance. Such a mode of
proceeding was contrary to the long-established usages of the House, to
the laws of evidence, and to the common course of practice in all
investigation; and, however it might answer Lord Castlereagh's purpose,
was little calculated to dispel the doubts of impartial inquirers, or to
make a satisfactory case to the world and to posterity. What judgment
would a foreigner form of this matter, who might have heard the
blessings of our happy administration of justice extolled to the skies?
A captive, the most illustrious ever classed under that head, complained
of the unnecessary rigour of his treatment. A British peer made a motion
in parliament to inquire into the truth of these allegations, and for
the production of papers connected with and tending to elucidate the
subject. The secretary of state contended, that the assertions of the
complainant were groundless, read partial extracts from the papers in
question, but refused their entire production, and negatived the motion
for them, without assigning any sufficient reason. If Lord Castlereagh
thought the inference to be drawn from such a garbled statement would be
favourable to his cause, he must have built his logic, not upon the
REASON of the matter, but upon the VOTES OF HIS PENSIONED ADHERENTS,--a
mode of conclusion not at all uncommon or unnatural to this minister.
His lordship, indeed, considered his conduct to Napoleon as meritorious,
on account of that great man having been the enemy of England! But does
it follow that, because the uncertain events of war had placed the
French emperor in a situation to claim the protection of our laws as a
private individual, that his lordship was justified in betraying his
misplaced confidence, or in treating him with the same spirit of
hostility when he was a helpless captive, as when he was a powerful
general arrayed in arms against the whole of Europe? A doctrine, more
repugnant to humanity, more dangerous in its consequences to society,
cannot be conceived. From what code of morality, or from what system of
religion, did his lordship borrow such a principle? Much has been said
of Lord Castlereagh's kindness of heart; but what a dark scroll of
evidence does the treatment of Napoleon at St. Helena exhibit against
such an assertion! To commiserate a fallen foe, to be moved by the sad
spectacle of his fortunes, is the natural propensity and inseparable
concomitant of every man possessing "PERSONAL COURAGE," or "KINDNESS OF
HEART:"
"The truly brave
Will valorous actions prize,
Respect a great and noble mind,
Albeit in enemies;"
while to oppress an adversary in your power, whether among nations or
individuals, is not only considered _cowardly_, but abject, ungenerous,
and savage. There is no circumstance which reflects so much disgrace on
the national character of the Romans as their behaviour to Hannibal. The
treatment which he received has been stigmatized as an act of
complicated meanness, cruelty, and injustice. In modern times, the case
of Napoleon seems most closely to resemble that of Hannibal, both in the
splendour of his achievements while he was victorious, and in the sad
similitude of fortune after his being defeated and betrayed into the
hands of his enemies. It is true that Napoleon did not "play the Roman"
and kill himself, as Hannibal did[97:A]; but a portion of the words
which the Carthaginian general used on that occasion might have been
aptly repeated by Napoleon, with merely an alteration of names: "The
victory which Flamininus gains over a man, disarmed and betrayed, will
not do him much honour. This single day will be a lasting testimony of
the great degeneracy of the Romans. They have deputed a person of
consular dignity to spirit up Prusias impiously to murder one who is his
guest!" It is curious to reflect that, in the annals of the world, the
same action, according to circumstances, at one time is a crime,--at
another, an act of heroism! The same man is at one time a Claudius,--at
another, a Marcus Aurelius. Cataline is but a vile conspirator. If,
however, he had been able to found an empire, like Caesar, he would have
been esteemed a benefactor. Our Oliver Cromwell was acknowledged till
his last hour, and his protection sought by all sovereigns; but after
his death, his body was suspended on a gibbet: he only wanted a son like
himself to enable him to form a new dynasty. So long as NAPOLEON was
fortunate, Europe bowed at his footstool, while the first princes
thought it an honour to ally themselves with his family, and to obtain
his smile was esteemed a favour. As soon, however, as he fell a prey to
treachery, it was pretended that he was nothing more than a miserable
adventurer, an usurper, without talent and without courage!
[97:A] Plutarch assigns him three different deaths; but Livy
tells us, that Hannibal drank poison, which he always carried
about with him, in case he should be taken by surprise.
But, even allowing that any sufficient argument could have been urged
for the detention of Napoleon, surely all restraint beyond what was
strictly necessary for the security of his person was unjustifiable, and
every species of mortification, not only ungenerous, but absolutely
criminal. Lord Castlereagh ought, at least, in giving directions for his
custody, to have been particularly circumspect that no real or seeming
unkindnesses were exercised against the captive emperor. If the coercive
measures adopted were thought necessary, they should have been
introduced in a more conciliatory manner, and with every allowance for
the irritation and impatience which exile and imprisonment will be sure
to produce upon the most apathetic being in creation. But, when we take
into consideration the ungentlemanly and ignoble proceedings pursued
against Napoleon at St. Helena, can we feel surprised at the bursts of
indignation which now and then escaped him at the cowardly conduct of
his jailer? That he should have viewed Sir Hudson Lowe as the meanest
creature in existence, is not at all to be wondered at; for it appeared
as if
"Some demon said, 'Sir Hudson Lowe,
Although we've got the dreaded foe,
Yet here the question pinches:
How shall we crush this mighty man?'
Sir Hudson cried, 'I know the plan;
We'll make him DIE BY INCHES!'"
Neither could Napoleon help considering Lord Castlereagh as the "demon"
here alluded to. His lordship had induced him on board a British ship,
under the most sacred promises of bringing him over to this country,
that he might pass the remainder of his days under the blessings of our
so-much-boasted constitution, as being "the envy and admiration of the
whole world!" What milder appellation than "demon," therefore, did his
lordship deserve, when, violating every principle of hospitality, he
took advantage of Napoleon's faith in such promises, and seized upon the
opportunity it afforded him of arresting the emperor as a prisoner of
war, and of sending him to a barren rock, far from his wife, child, and
friends, to be a prey to an unwholesome climate, and the rude insults of
a mean and pitiful man like Sir Hudson Lowe!
"Great God of war, and was it so
That Britons crush'd a fallen foe!
Had Wellington been taken,
(And there were chances on that day)
Would Bonaparte have used his sway,
And left him thus forsaken?"
Indeed, there was once a time when this same Lord Castlereagh might have
been taken prisoner by Napoleon, which would most probably have been
done, if the French emperor had possessed no loftier ideas of justice
and honour than his lordship exhibited. This circumstance is related by
Mr. O'Meara, in Bonaparte's own words, as follows:
"When Castlereagh was at Chatillon with the ambassadors of the
allied powers, after some successes of mine, and when I had,
in a manner, invested the town, _he was greatly alarmed lest I
might seize him_ and make him _prisoner_. Not being accredited
as an ambassador, nor invested with any diplomatic character
to France, I might have taken him as an enemy. He went to
Caulincourt, to whom he mentioned that _he laboured under
considerable apprehensions that I should cause violent hands
to be laid upon him_, as he acknowledged I had a right to do.
It was impossible for him to get away without falling in with
my troops. Caulincourt replied, that as far as his opinion
went, he would say that I should not meddle with him; but that
he could not answer for what I might do. Immediately after, he
(Caulincourt) wrote to me what Castlereagh had said, and his
answer. I signified to him in reply, that he was to tell
Castlereagh to make his mind easy, and stay where he was: that
I would consider him as an ambassador. At Chatillon,
(continued Bonaparte) when speaking about the liberty enjoyed
in England, Castlereagh observed, in a contemptuous manner,
that it was not the thing most to be esteemed in England; that
it was an USAGE they were obliged to put up with; but that it
had become an abuse, and would not answer for other
countries."
It will thus be seen that GRATITUDE, at least, ought to have prompted
different conduct in Lord Castlereagh towards Napoleon; instead of
which, the charges brought against Sir Hudson Lowe by Mr. O'Meara
were not only deemed unworthy of inquiry, but his lordship actually
dismissed the accuser from the British service. Thus a deserving and
generous-minded officer was ruined, without even a hearing, for merely
attempting to do an act of justice to the exiled Emperor of France! The
charges against Sir Hudson Lowe, however, remained the same, and this
summary mode of revenge inflicted on Mr. O'Meara was not at all
calculated to acquit Lord Castlereagh from sharing in the accusation of
wantonly oppressing Napoleon. Could any thing tend more to criminate his
lordship than the sudden punishment of the accuser, while in the act of
preferring his complaint? Grant that Mr. O'Meara had misconducted
himself, and that he had thus given his employer a right to dismiss
him, surely he ought not, in common honesty, to have done so till he had
first given him every opportunity of making good his charges. His
lordship's readiness to stigmatize, and even silence him, in this
manner, wore any appearance but that of an honourable anxiety to meet
and to defy his adversary. We cannot devote space sufficient to bring
forward the charges of Mr. O'Meara; but the inquirer will find himself
amply repaid for his trouble by their perusal. As Sir Hudson Lowe can
only be looked upon as a cowardly ruffian, who scrupled not to _execute_
the orders of his superiors in office, however unjust they might be, the
real odium of Napoleon's treatment and death must rest upon the
government, of which Lord Castlereagh was the most active member. Mr.
O'Meara was appointed medical attendant upon the emperor by this
government, and his professional ability and private worth have never
been questioned. If Lord Castlereagh, therefore, willed not the death of
Napoleon, it was his duty to have removed those causes of complaint
which Mr. O'Meara emphatically pointed out "would render Bonaparte's
PREMATURE DEATH as inevitable as if it were to take place under the
hands of the EXECUTIONER!" The public are aware how fatally this
prediction was fulfilled; but the whole evidence of Mr. O'Meara would
carry conviction to the mind of any man who had not previously
determined to disbelieve truth. Indeed, he has been confirmed in many
essential points of his statements by the admissions of either the
governor's advocates or the governor himself. One of these advocates
stated that Mr. O'Meara was discharged for disobeying orders; but of
what nature were those orders? The governor wanted him to act as a spy
upon the emperor, and to sign false reports of the state of his health!
Consequently, Mr. O'Meara did indignantly refuse to perform such a base
and cruel service; and what man of honour and principle would not have
done the same? A refusal of this kind reflects no disgrace upon Mr.
O'Meara, but will rather hand his name down to posterity as one
deserving better treatment than he unfortunately experienced.
In contemplating the manifold deprivations to which Napoleon ultimately
fell a victim, we cannot help remarking upon one peculiar trait of the
human mind,--that of being more moved by fiction than reality; for a
tale of imaginary woe will excite more exquisite feeling, more real
sympathy, than the severest reverses of fortune which may have occurred
in our time, or which may be even present to our view! If Napoleon, for
instance, had been an ideal personage, and the history of his life had
been made the subject of romance or poetry, what mind so dull but would
have moralized upon the vicissitude of human affairs?--what heart so
cold but would have felt some commiseration for the captive? But when
all that a poet's fancy could have formed and blended of surprising
extremes, to raise the interest of the reader in the hero of the
tragedy, had actually occurred and been signally manifested in this
extraordinary man,--when he, who at one time was raised to an elevation
and possessed a power never enjoyed by any other individual, was hurled
headlong from his height to the abyss of humiliation, was imprisoned,
exiled, captive, and forlorn,--how happened it that the feelings of our
nature were not to take their accustomed course, that the sources of
sympathy were to be dried up, and compassion, which had hitherto been
considered amongst the most amiable of virtues, was all at once to lose
its very essence and property, and not only not to be numbered amongst
our weaknesses, but catalogued amongst our crimes? For the prevalence of
this disposition,--which, alas! was too observable even among those
classes in whom education and the intercourse of enlightened society
would have naturally led to an expectation of better feelings and
sounder conclusions on the subject,--it is difficult to account; unless
it be true in morals, as in mechanics, that the motion may be continued
when the impulse has ceased, and that to this we must refer the state of
national feeling at the time Napoleon was suffering an accumulation of
indignities at St. Helena. Since his death, however, the injustice and
inhumanity of his treatment have been freely acknowledged and severely
commented on; and there is every reason to believe that his great name
will be finally rescued from that misrepresentation which interested
writers have endeavoured to surround all his actions.
From the affinity between fear and hatred, there is no wonder that when
Napoleon was arrayed as our enemy, we joined hatred with hostility. But,
at the time of his seizure on board the Bellerophon, he was no longer
formidable; he was then in our hands. Upon what principle, then, did
active hatred continue when both hostility and apprehension had ceased?
Did a consciousness of inclemency (to use the mildest term that the
occasion will admit) towards the object of it sufficiently account for
the continuance of this hatred? It had been better, indeed, if Lord
Castlereagh, as well as his coadjutors at that period, who cherished
this inextinguishable species of enmity, had considered whether the
world and posterity might not be apt to ascribe the meanest and most
wicked of motives to such conduct. And let all the detracters of
Napoleon recollect, that the illiberal invectives in which they have so
freely indulged against him will, instead of making any lasting
impression upon his fame, only serve to perpetuate their own disgrace
and that of his ignoble persecutors. While his figure will stand
conspicuous through history, the crowd of monarchs and ministers, who
have alternately crouched to and calumniated, truckled to or trampled
upon him, can only escape oblivion as they make the group which shade
the back ground of the picture, and give a force, _by forming a
contrast_, to the grandeur of the leading figure. Lord Castlereagh will
assuredly form one of this back-ground group; but we envy him not in
_such fame_. The conduct of his lordship to Napoleon, instead of
displaying that dignified sentiment and enlightened understanding which
should adorn the character of a nobleman, and which we should naturally
be led to expect from a "secretary of state for foreign affairs," has
degraded his name to the level of the meanest of the mean. We will not
say that we had rather been a chimney-sweeper than have been guilty of
his lordship's treachery to Napoleon; but, considering it as a
deliberate exposition of the wickedness of his heart and his abandonment
of every honourable feeling, which will be put on record, and handed
down to posterity, we certainly will say, that all the wealth and titles
of Lord Londonderry, together with his immense political power and the
smiles bestowed on him by his despotic patrons, should never have
induced us to have done the like.
Would that it were in our power here to close the catalogue of crimes,
which are written in characters of blood, against the Marquis of
Londonderry. The death of Napoleon was followed by the persecutions of
an innocent and noble-minded WOMAN,--"the injured Queen of England!" But
this self-important man had been so hardened in iniquity, that it was by
no means a difficult task to persuade him to assist in her ruin. Her
majesty was too well acquainted with the SECRETS OF STATE to be allowed
the free exercise of her rights; and as his lordship had lent his
assistance to prevent many of these disreputable secrets from being
made public[107:A], self-preservation might have operated as a further
inducement for him to enter the lists of her most bitter enemies. How
fatally the Marquis of Londonderry and his colleagues succeeded in their
diabolical plans have been already explained. But the inglorious triumph
added not to his lordship's peace of mind; for, from that period, he was
observed to exhibit "a conscience ill at ease." And it was a very
remarkable fact, that the marquis should have selected the precise time
of the year, only twelve months after, for his own destruction as that
in which his royal mistress met her fate! A circumstance of this
singular nature should operate as a great moral lesson for the
consideration of mankind generally, though Providence might have
designed it as a warning to the "titled wickedness" of our land. Such is
the condition of our nature, that we cannot mortgage either our moral or
our physical energies so as always to repel the accusations of our own
hearts, which are sure, eventually, to reprove us for evils committed.
"O then beware;
Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves:
Omission to do what is necessary
Seals a commission to a blank of danger;
And danger, like an ague, subtly taints
Even then when we sit idly in the sun!"
On what a slender thread hangs human life, and how worthless are titles
and wealth, if all is not at peace within! On what a "beetling ledge"
the favourite of royalty tracks his uncertain way! By what a fragile
tenure the courtier holds the rewards of his servility, on which he is
so accustomed to pride himself! The suicide of the gay and puissant
Marquis of Londonderry was, indeed, a memento full of lessons of
humility to the fawning parasites of power.
[107:A] More particularly the affair of the bondholders. His
lordship also strenuously exerted himself to prevent any
public inquiry into the cruel death of the Princess Charlotte.
In the October of this year, Mr. Henry Nugent Bell, of whom we have
before had occasion to speak, died at his house, Whitehall Place, in the
30th year of his age. This individual merits a little commiseration,
notwithstanding the disgraceful part he took in the Manchester murders,
and other similar missions of Lord Sidmouth; because, though the tool of
despotic ministers, he made some amends to the public by _betraying_ his
base employers. The newspapers generally reported his death to have
proceeded from a _natural cause_; but this was not the case. We can
POSITIVELY state that he died UNFAIRLY; but whether from his own hand,
or from the design of an enemy, we are not able to determine. Mr. Bell
appears never to have forgiven himself for his dereliction from the path
of virtue, and only urged, in extenuation of his conduct, the _cruel
necessity_ he was under to oblige his patron. Once enlisted under the
banners of Sidmouth, the unfortunate man soon found out the necessity of
not being over-scrupulous in his actions. One crime succeeded another;
and thus a man of education and talent was made the victim of unjust
and diabolical proceedings.
After a great deal of ministerial manoeuvring, Mr. Canning succeeded in
his suit for the foreign secretaryship. The situation of the Marquis of
Londonderry had long been the darling, though for many years the
unattainable, object of this gentleman's intrigues or importunities. The
country, however, had no cause to rejoice in the appointment of Mr.
Canning to an office of such conspicuous importance, and many people
felt considerable surprise at so unexpected a promotion, as the right
honourable gentleman had been previously selected as the new
governor-general of India. It was a well-known fact, that Mr. Canning
had fallen into personal disgrace with his majesty, and all his
vacillating conduct with respect to our ill-treated queen had not been
able to restore him to royal favour. There have, however, been instances
where a minister has been forced upon the king by public opinion, as was
the case with the _first_ Mr. Pitt, in the reign of George the Second.
This Mr. Pitt was in high favour with the PEOPLE of England, acquired
through his known attachment to freedom, and through the irresistible
ascendency of his upright and unbending character. George the Second,
notwithstanding, showed great opposition to the appointment of this
worthy man, who was hated by his king _only_ because he feared his
politics; yet Mr. Pitt was finally made secretary of state, and proved
himself worthy of the popularity with which the PEOPLE had invested
him. But the case of Mr. Canning was of a widely different nature. In
him, the PEOPLE took no interest, except that which leads all men to
watch their enemy's motions. He had not the _honour_ of being disliked
at court for his politics,--they were of the most accommodating
character; he had given a _personal_ offence to the "first gentleman of
the land." By the country, on the other hand, it was his political
principles, history, and character, that were held in the most
disrepute. Placed in such circumstances, the public must have been aware
that this political adventurer would not be _very patriotic_ in his
endeavours to obtain pardon for his crime against the "puissant prince;"
and how far, therefore, such a man could be entrusted with power was a
question not difficult to solve. As for the nation generally, they
regarded Mr. Canning but in the nature of an HIRED ADVOCATE, retained
for the mean purpose of palliating the weaknesses or transgressions of a
cabinet, the great majority of whose members he excelled in making witty
or fallacious speeches. His countrymen recollected his conduct through
life too well to imagine that he was made foreign secretary to introduce
any real improvement into the policy or councils of the nation. They
felt convinced of his being chosen as the apologist of bad measures, not
the author of good ones; and that he held the language of one of
Shakespeare's heroes to be good sentiment: "A plague of opinion!--a man
may wear it on both sides, like a leather jerkin!"
Mr. Canning was, indeed, known to be a fit agent for the "Holy
Alliance;" he was the sworn antagonist of every reform in church and
state; and wheresoever a grievance or an abuse appeared, there stood he,
arrogantly to charge as public enemies all who testified to the
existence of either. Even the unfortunate country gentlemen, reduced as
they now were, by their blind support of Mr. Canning's system, to a
state bordering on pauperism, could hardly have hoped, from such a
rooted foe to liberty, for any shadow of relief or of assistance. "Be
quiet, gentlemen," was the self-important style of his addresses, "see
what an example the poor have set you; be patient, as they are, and you
will soon be prosperous, like me!" From a minister of this description,
no consolatory expectations could possibly be formed by any class or
party. We might certainly look for a few better speeches than Lord
Londonderry made; for his were, indeed, but poor maudlin affairs. The
new acts would only have a better chance of being varnished over, while
we might expect them to be much worse in their nature than they had
been; because, as ministers had no intention to reform the system, it
must, of necessity, become more vicious every day. The only measure on
which Mr. Canning had ever taken any particularly active part, was the
emancipation of the Catholics; and our readers will form some opinion of
his SINCERITY on this subject, and of the IMPORTANCE which Mr. Canning
attached to it, when we inform them that the _honourable_ gentleman
actually promised the Earl of Liverpool not to discuss the matter if he
might only be allowed to retain the foreign secretaryship! The conduct
of the Earl of Liverpool, also, leads to an observation which reflects
any thing but honour on the character of his lordship. We know that the
power of this premier over the king was omnipotent, owing to his being
in possession of SECRETS, of the most vital importance to his majesty
and the royal family. By his lordship threatening to be no longer prime
minister, he could, at almost any time, have forced his own schemes of
policy upon the vitiated court. By the admission of Mr. Canning to
office, he had driven his royal master to the wall, and compelled him to
do that which all the world had before supposed would have been more
unpalatable to his proud feelings than the admission of even the Whigs
to office. If Lord Liverpool could, therefore, bring in a minister so
personally disliked as Mr. Canning notoriously was by his majesty, could
he not also have prevented that odious and atrocious measure, commonly
called the "Queen's TRIAL,"--Mr. Canning's declared disapprobation of
which created the very difficulty which had just been overcome? That
disgraceful proceeding against an injured woman, with all its horrid
consequences, it now became indisputably evident, might have been
avoided, had Lord Liverpool but only have shown as much pertinacity in
the CAUSE OF INNOCENCE as he had now done in that of PARTY. His personal
power in the cabinet was, however, much increased by the nomination of
Mr. Canning. There was a tacit, though well-understood, separation of
interests during the life of Lord Londonderry, who usually headed one
division of the ministers, with the Duke of Wellington in the number of
the subalterns of his party, while Lord Liverpool led the other wing of
Tory pensioners. There was nothing now, therefore, to stand against the
first lord of the Treasury, unless Mr. Canning's inveterate spirit of
intrigue should possess him (a thing by no means unlikely) to see a
rival in his benefactor, and to undermine Lord Liverpool, as he had done
one of his former colleagues.
What an enviable opportunity to enter office did this period afford to
any man having the real welfare of his country at heart; for all the
blessings that had been promised from the "glorious battle of
Waterloo,"--that wind-up of a war against the liberties of Europe,--were
yet to come: taxation remained undiminished; the liberties of the
subject were gradually declining; the commerce of England was almost at
an end; and her people poor and unhappy. Here, then, was a wide field
for a patriotic minister to display his abilities, by restoring the
country to its wonted prosperity! But, while Mr. Canning and his
colleagues were indulging in luxury at the expense of the nation, the
just complaints of the public were designated "the cries of a faction,"
and the miserable victims of their misrule said to betray an "ignorant
impatience" when they prayed for relief. After years of peace, the
expenditure of government exceeded the income of the Treasury, and our
visionary and delusive system of finance required to be bolstered up by
additions to our already overwhelming debt; strength of council was
superseded by strength of army; all public discussion, however peaceably
conducted, was opposed; acts of coercion were encouraged and abetted;
and England, once the pride of nations, became desolated by the worst
complication of ignorance and obstinacy that ever disgraced a cabinet!
To whatever department of the state we turned our eyes, the same
indifference to its prosperity seemed manifest. The ARMY, preponderating
beyond all precedent in time of peace, had become an overgrown source of
profligacy and barter; commissions and promotions, instead of being
rewards for service and merit, were sold to the best bidder, and the
produce applied to pamper the vitiated appetite of royalty. In the NAVY,
once our bulwark and our boast, the services of effeminate lordlings
seemed more courted than those of bluff and able seamen, commissioners
more important than shipwrights, and large expensive establishments kept
up on shore, while our fleets were rotting in the docks. Our TRADE was
neglected, while pirates infested the seas, and destroyed our
merchantmen. In our FOREIGN POLICY, all was danger and uncertainty; the
calm of peace was only prolonged by our unexampled apathy and puerile
forbearance. Foreign powers owed us money that we dare not demand;
nations were struggling for liberty and independence that we must not
assist; and outrages committed that we could not avenge. In the past, a
long and sanguinary war, in which were sacrificed an incalculable number
of lives and immense treasure; while in the future was exhibited the
most dreary prospect of our declining power. At home, our decay was
still more apparent: the sacred flame of liberty, to which we were
indebted for our preference over other nations, was attacked on all
sides by every means that treachery could devise; the malignity of the
ministers visited faithful servants with dismissal without inquiry or
hearing; the sovereign was recommended and advised to treat his subjects
with contumely and neglect; while the constitution itself was assailed
by spies and informers, who first created and abetted the commission of
the crimes which they afterwards denounced! This was, indeed, a fearful
state of affairs; but history will justify us in the picture we have
drawn. Though these and ten thousand other evils were evidently the
results of imbecility, folly, and knavery, which had mainly been
assisted by bribery, lavishly bestowed on those who had possessed
themselves of those secrets of state recorded in our volumes, yet he who
dared to hint at such an unpleasant truth, or even to doubt the honesty
of ministers, was sure to be denounced a traitor. But, thank heaven! the
power of the Tories now received a check. The manly stand made by a few
members of the House of Commons, during the previous session of
parliament, had opened the eyes of the long-blinded public, and the late
acts of oppression[116:A], with which the Londonderry cabinet had
disgraced itself, furnished fresh cause for censure and new inducements
for perseverance. The ministry, therefore, which Mr. Canning joined were
humbled and degraded before he became one of its members; but, instead
of raising it from the disgrace into which it had fallen, his
underhanded conduct only aggravated matters, and rendered him a greater
object of suspicion to patriotic men than even their avowed enemies.
[116:A] The treatment and death of Napoleon, the funeral of
the late queen, the conduct of the ministers and soldiers on
that occasion, the murders at Cumberland Gate, the dismissal
of Sir Robert Wilson for an attempt to stop the scene of
bloodshed, formed but a portion of the black catalogue of
their misdeeds.
Various royal diversions and exhibitions were displayed throughout this
year, and the "first gentleman in the world" was too often made to
appear the "first knave on the stage of life." George the Fourth's means
had been bestowed so bounteously, that he had become arrogant, and
considered THE PEOPLE merely in the light of SLAVES, created only to
administer to his passions and caprices. He could hardly be said to know
the nation, except by the representation of his hirelings. Neither did
he care to know the subjects from whom his strength was derived, because
they sometimes exhibited more independence than suited his princely
ideas of decorum. Indeed, he not unfrequently found the popular voice
rather formidable against the attainment of some of his wishes; and it
would have been well if parliament had taken a lesson from former and
better times in this particular. In the works of our oldest honest
historians, we find very plain language used by parliaments to their
kings, and the latter generally receiving the sharpest rebukes for their
vanity and partiality,--not as designed affronts, but as wholesome
chastisements. Matthew Paris tells us, when Henry the Third asked for
money to defray the expenses of a foreign expedition, "which his people
thought did not at all concern England," that his parliament told him,
"It was very imprudent in him to ask money for any such purposes, and
thereby impoverishing his subjects at home, by his squandering it in
idle expeditions, and that they flatly refused supplying him on any such
account." Upon thus remonstrating, "that he had engaged his royal word
to go abroad in person that year, and that he must have a supply," they
asked him, "What has become of all the money your majesty has had
already, and how it comes to be lavished without this kingdom being one
shilling the better?" But the freedom with which the people treated
their sovereigns in those days was not confined to remonstrances. One of
the greatest and most victorious of our princes, Edward the First, had
an inordinate desire of making, in person, a campaign in Flanders, that
he might support a confederacy he had entered into, to reduce the power
of France, and had demanded an extraordinary supply for that purpose.
The people, conceiving the quarrel to be very indifferent to England,
strongly opposed his leaving the kingdom upon any such idle expedition.
"The people of England," said the parliament, "do not think it proper
for you to go to Flanders, unless you can secure out of that country
some equivalent, which may indemnify us for the expense." We have a like
instance in the reign of that great and powerful king, Henry the Second.
This prince being strongly tempted to make an expedition abroad, in
person, became so fond of the proposal that he laid it before his
parliament, with a most earnest request for their consent, "it being the
sole and darling purpose of his heart!" But his parliament, honest to
the people, thought that he had no business abroad, and "that it was
much better for him to keep the money at home." Accordingly, the
question was put and carried, for "An address to the king to keep within
his own dominions, according to his duty." Edward the Third likewise
received several mortifications of the like kind; and it appears from
the whole tenor of history, that the great care of our ancestors was to
root from the breast of their kings every principle of vain glory,
which, the more ridiculous it is, becomes generally the more expensive
to the nation. What an amazing contrast, then, does all this offer to
the proceedings of the parliament of George the Fourth, who generally
addressed him in the most adulatory language, and gave him money to
gratify all his inordinate vanity. But the House of Commons, during his
reign, spoke not the sentiments of the PEOPLE.