Committee of which I was a member, but in which Mr. Whitbread was chief
director, adviser, and agent, was opened in October. So rose within
the compass of a year an age’s work—a glorious theatre. Mr. Whitbread
somewhat incautiously advertised for a competition of addresses to
be spoken at the opening, with a promise of £100 to the successful
candidate, and of entire impartiality in the selection.[161] We received
many dozen copies of verses. One was worse than the other, and not one
fit to be delivered. In this emergency, for it was no less, I applied to
Lord Byron; and observed that nothing but such a prologue as he alone
could write, and the authority of so great a poetical name as his,
could extricate us from our distress and excuse us with the public for
breaking faith with the poetasters. He kindly undertook the task. His
verses, though not particularly adapted to stage recitation nor equal to
some of his happiest effusions, will always be read for their poetry, and
fully justified the expectation we had formed of them. He was singularly
good-humoured and even docile in correcting, curtailing, or lengthening
any passage at my request; but he earnestly and emphatically conjured me,
when once “those fellows the actors” had touched or even seen them, not
to allow so much as a comma to be displaced. We offered him a concealed
place in the theatre to hear them delivered, but he vehemently exclaimed:
“I would not be within fifty miles of the place, on that night, for the
universe.” It was well he was not. Mr. Elliston[162] recited them in a
manner to drive an author mad.
When first Lord Byron agreed to write this address, he said to me, “I
will try, but how shall I avoid that d—d Phœnix? We must not for the
world have a feather of that rare bird, which is become as commonplace
as a turtledove.” Mr. Whitbread, in doubt whether Lord Byron would
comply, composed an address himself of more than fifty lines, in which
the burning and rebuilding of the theatre were very elaborately compared
to the death and revival of the Phœnix, whose plumage, appearance,
and natural history were very minutely described. I mentioned this
circumstance to Mr. Sheridan, with the obvious remark that Byron felt
about his task like a poet, and Whitbread like a schoolboy. “Like a
schoolboy!” exclaimed Sheridan, who had seen the copy. “No, rather like
a poulterer.” There was no great harm and there was much pleasantry in
this sarcasm on Mr. Whitbread’s bad taste; but in many of Sheridan’s
observations on his benefactor and friend there was such malignity as too
clearly showed that he was of a nature which, uneasy under the weight of
an obligation, made him bitterly hate the man who had conferred it. His
pride was mortified at the success of that interference of Mr. Whitbread,
which he had himself solicited.[163] He rejected the offer of a private
box, and I believe he never set his foot in the new theatre.
To the Russian campaign Napoleon had directed the efforts of his vast
Empire; and to the diversion of his attention and forces towards that
quarter, as well as to the spirit of the Spanish people, to the skill
of Lord Wellington, and to the improving valour and discipline of the
English armies, our great successes in the Peninsula are mainly to be
ascribed. But the scene for which he prepared such sacrifices exhibited
yet more dreadful disasters to his army. The French, after a course of
victories more or less disputed, had advanced to Moscow, which they
entered on September 14, 1812. Soon afterwards a large portion of that
immense city was burnt to the ground, whether by accident or by design is
still perhaps a problem, but, in either case, by the Russian inhabitants
and not by the foreign invaders. For a time, however, the deed was
imputed to the French, and the heartless and horrid sacrifice of so
many lives and so much property was stigmatised, with great parade of
humanity, by our writers and politicians. When, however, the consequences
of the conflagration were perceived to be injurious to the invading army
as well as ruinous to the inhabitants, and when it was known that the
French had made every exertion to extinguish, not to spread, the flames,
then the incendiaries (whoever they were) changed into patriots; and
whether the act was perpetrated as a desperate military expedient by the
Cabinet of Russia, or (as indeed is most probable) was the resource of an
unprincipled band of robbers, with the hopes of plunder and impunity, it
was extolled as an heroic exploit, an instance of self-devotion almost
unparalleled in history. Such is the justice of public opinion during
war. All sense of right and wrong is confounded; passion, self-interest,
and national prejudice govern the world.
The ravages of the fire certainly rendered the French occupation of
Moscow insecure and inconvenient. They abandoned it in October, and cold
weather setting in unusually early that season, many hardships of their
retreat were known in England, and more disasters confidently expected
at the meeting of the new Parliament in November. The House and the
country were too much elated to listen to any recommendation of peace.
Mr. Canning was said to have prepared a triumphant answer to the pacific
language which he was persuaded that Mr. Whitbread would not fail to
adopt in a speech and an amendment. That gentleman, having some inkling
of the intentions of his opponent and rival, prudently gave up all
thoughts of any motion, and concealed himself during the earlier part of
the debate. He did not quit his retreat till Mr. Canning, impatient of
his absence and fearful of the question being put, had actually commenced
his harangue. He then, by walking up the House with a complacent smile,
somewhat disconcerted Mr. Canning, who, between the invectives he had
prepared and the more temperate tone which the state of the debate seemed
to enjoin, produced little or no effect on the House, disappointed the
young members by a bad specimen of his eloquence, and conciliated no
party by his ill-timed oration. But though the successes on the Continent
furnished no opportunity of triumph to Mr. Canning over the friends
of peace in the House of Commons, they strengthened the Ministry, and
revived hopes long relinquished in the Court and the country.
A sum of money was voted by Parliament for the relief of the sufferers
in Russia. Such a measure, as an indication of national feeling, might
have some effect on the opinion of people on the Continent. Even if not
judicious to propose it, it would have been invidious to oppose it.
It was said, however, to mortify the pride rather than conciliate the
goodwill of the Russian Government. It was, moreover, so much diverted
from its destination in its progress to the sufferers, that it enriched
agents and jobbers in a much larger proportion than it relieved the
objects of compassion.
Napoleon, in his rapid march to Moscow and his subsequent delay in
and about that capital, reckoned, from his personal knowledge, on the
irresolute character of the Emperor Alexander, his inexperience in
war, his distrust and suspicions of his own generals. Such qualities,
he very reasonably argued, might induce him to submit to peace, rather
than prolong a contest which must end in his utter ruin or in his
being rescued by skill and experience which would render some of his
subjects too powerful for their Sovereign. But in acting on such views,
Napoleon risked the consequences of a great military fault on a political
speculation, which a little foresight might have shown him was an
uncertain one, and which events proved to be a fallacious one. In his
notions of the want of firmness of Alexander he was not mistaken; but
he miscalculated his power, and overlooked the dangers which, on the
other side, might operate on that very want of firmness, and did, in
fact, counteract the first inclinations of the Czar, which were such
as Napoleon foresaw. It required, in truth, as much resolution to make
peace as to persevere in war. The spirit of the army,[164] the interest
of the nobles, and the vanity of the Russian nation all conspired to
deprecate any ignominious treaty; and their remonstrances were, I have
been told, in a character which a Russian Sovereign well knows how to
decipher and is seldom disposed to neglect. These circumstances and the
representations of Bernadotte, the Crown Prince of Sweden, over-ruled
Alexander’s wavering disposition, and made him a patriot and a conqueror
in despite of his own judgment and in defiance of nature, which, though
it had bestowed on him some little talent and dexterity, had denied him
that energy of character which is generally the most requisite ingredient
in the composition of a warrior and a hero.
The language of our Ministers at the end of 1812, if not pacific, was
to the full as moderate as the temper of Parliament or of the country,
and even more so than that of some of our Whig connections. Some
manufacturing districts in the heart of the kingdom did, indeed, show a
disposition to petition for peace; but there was no ground to suppose
that our Government would insist on very unreasonable terms, and there
was some reason to apprehend that an earnest clamour for peace out of
doors might so far revive the spirit of Napoleon as to lead him to reject
conditions to which he might with honour submit. I, accordingly, informed
such of the petitioners as applied to me that I was “friendly to the
object of their prayer, eager and anxious to promote it, but that I had
some doubts of the policy of petitioning for it at that period, and could
not engage, should I present their petitions, to found any motion upon
them. I was apprehensive that such public demonstrations of the necessity
of peace might raise the terms of the enemy, and I was not certain that
our Ministers were not actually negotiating to obtain peace. If, however,
I found that they took no steps for that purpose, I should ere long be
anxious that the people by their earnest remonstrances might compel them
to do so.” In most instances the petitioners acquiesced in my advice.
Some few insisted on my presenting their petitions, but they were not
sufficient either in number or weight to place the friends of peace in
any awkward predicament, or to provoke the adverse party to sound their
war whoop in Parliament with any effect.
In the meanwhile petitions of a different nature seemed to occupy the
people. Several meetings had been called, both in towns and counties, to
petition Parliament against any concession to the Roman Catholics. The
friends of the measure, if not lukewarm, were timid. A strong persuasion
that the sense of the country was decidedly hostile induced them to
let many meetings pass without opposition, and to confine all their
exertions for the cause within the walls of Parliament. Lord Lansdowne,
however, and myself determined to meet the anti-Catholics in one of their
fastnesses, Wiltshire. We attended a meeting at Devizes, and partly, we
flattered ourselves, by argument, but chiefly by the assistance of the
Protestant Dissenters and the Methodists, succeeded in defeating the
projected petition. I claimed on that occasion from the active agents
of the Methodists that assistance in favour of other Christians, which
in 1811 they had promised me.[165] They fulfilled their promise most
faithfully, and not only zealously co-operated with us at Devizes, but
handsomely furnished me and others with the admirable and well-organised
facilities which they have at their command, for disseminating such
tracts and arguments as we deemed serviceable to the general cause of
religious liberty and to Catholic Emancipation in particular.
The temperate conduct of Mr. Grattan and the argumentative eloquence
of Mr. Plunket[166] had their weight with the House of Commons, who, on
March 2, 1813, in a House of 488 members, passed, by a majority of 40,
a resolution to take the claims of the Roman Catholics into immediate
consideration and refer them to a Committee. After much consultation out
of doors, in which Mr. Grattan, Mr. Canning, Mr. Ponsonby, Mr. Whitbread,
Mr. Elliot,[167] Lord Grey, Lord Grenville, Lord Lansdowne, and myself
took a part, a bill, founded on the mistaken principle of exacting
different securities for the allegiance of Catholics and of Protestants,
and in some other respects ill-framed, was brought into the House of
Commons, and after various discussions passed the first stages and was
committed on May 24.
The Speaker, Mr. Abbot,[168] a pragmatical man of some talents for
detail, but alike incapable of great views and generous feelings, moved
to omit the clause admitting Roman Catholics to Parliament, and effected
his intolerant purpose by a majority of four. Mr. Ponsonby somewhat
hastily declared the boon, so limited, not to be worth the acceptance
of the Catholics nor beneficial to the service of the country, and,
moving that the Chairman should leave the chair, relinquished the bill
altogether. The question was not brought forward that year in the
Lords. At the termination of the Session Mr. Abbot, in an unusual and
unparliamentary manner, thought proper to mention in his speech at
the bar of the House of Lords the relinquishment of the measure in a
Committee, as a firm determination to support our establishments. Lord
Morpeth informed him privately before he withdrew from the House of
Lords that he would in the ensuing Session bring his conduct before
the Commons;[169] and when in a few years afterwards he retired from
the chair, Lord William Russell objected to the usual vote of thanks,
and founded his resistance to them on this very act of irregularity,
originating in adulation and servility to the Crown, and rewarded, as it
should seem, by a pension and a peerage.
In April, 1813, died my maternal uncle, General FitzPatrick,[170] one of
the dearest friends I ever had. He was, I think, the most agreeable man I
ever conversed with. One or two of his contemporaries might vie with him
in wit and exceed him _perhaps_ in some mental endowments, _certainly_
in knowledge and learning; but none united with an equal portion of such
qualifications his evenness of temper and spirits, his polished manners,
pure taste, sound judgment, and worldly experience. His conversation
was delightful in all seasons, situations, and societies, in the hour
of confidence and affliction, and in the moments of relaxation and
carelessness. He shone equally as a friend, an adviser, or a companion.
He had been the associate of Mr. Fox from their first entrance into
life, and was to the close of it the man on whose friendship he most
implicitly relied in private, in whose conversation he most delighted,
and on whose judgment and advice he most depended in all grave and public
affairs. He had as much scorn of a Court, and as much disdain of all
petty objects of avarice and ambition, as Mr. Fox himself; he was, too,
full as inflexible, where principle or high spirit required firmness. He
had, however, less ardour in his pursuits; he had perhaps less popular
feeling, though not less party honour; in short, he was less susceptible
of that glorious enthusiasm which stimulates genius into action, than his
friend. He sometimes allayed the impetuosity, and yet more frequently
checked the too unbounded confidence, which the sanguine and artless
disposition of Mr. Fox was inclined to repose on the efficacy of a just
cause and the co-operation of accidental connections.
He had, at an early period, been active in public life, and, both as
Secretary in Ireland with the Duke of Portland and Secretary at War in
1784,[171] had shown much firmness and talents for business and even some
powers of application. But he was constitutionally indolent, and habitual
indulgence of his passion for women and play increased that infirmity so
much, that in the Administration of 1806 he was a cypher in Parliament.
The death of Mr. Fox extinguished the few sparks of ambition that
remained in him; and although to preserve the Russell interest in
Bedfordshire he obligingly consented to be brought forward for that
county, he took little interest in politics after losing the friend
of his youth and the leader of his party. The gout, and yet more the
remedies taken to relieve it, weakened his constitution. Without any
actual depression of spirits, his exertions in the intercourse of private
society grew fainter and fainter, and the charms of his conversation
were often questioned by those of his new acquaintance who were not at
the pains to draw them forth. As a poet he was best known for his share
in the _Rolliad_ and other political pieces—a species of composition
in which nobody but Sir Charles Hanbury Williams ever excelled him;
but there are many other light poems of his writing extant, both in
manuscript and in print, which for ease, sprightliness, feeling, and
harmony would bear comparison with the happiest effusions of Prior. They
should some day be collected and published. I found the following lines
among his papers, entitled,
MY OWN EPITAPH
Whose turn is next? This monitory stone
Replies, “Vain Passenger, perhaps thy own.”
If idly curious thou shouldst seek to know,
Whose relics mingle with the dust below,
Enough to tell thee that his destined span
On Earth he dwelt, and like thyself was Man.
Nor distant far th’ inevitable day,
When thou, poor Mortal, shalt, like him, be clay.
Thro’ life he walked, unemulous of fame,
Nor wished beyond it to preserve a name,
Content so friendship on his humble bier
Dropped but the heartfelt tribute of a tear,
Tho’ countless ages should unconscious glide
Nor learn that he has ever lived or died.
His illness and death prevented my attendance in Parliament for some
weeks during the spring of 1813. Lord Grenville during that time
supported the inroads made on the monopoly of the East India Company on
the occasion of the renewal of their Charter, in a very able speech.[172]
He took this line without consulting Mr. Tierney, the President of the
Board of Control in his Administration. Mr. Tierney was perhaps too much
wedded to the narrow policy which usually governed the Company, and
he was certainly nettled at this mark of want of confidence from Lord
Grenville. He, on the other hand, had not been pleased at Mr. Tierney’s
twice declining an offer from the Marquis of Buckingham to bring him into
Parliament. Such personal estrangements produced no quarrel in the party;
but when in 1818 and 1819 difference of opinion on public matters led
to a separation, they diminished the regret of individuals, and perhaps
accelerated an inevitable event.
The conduct of Mr. Whitbread on the business of the Princess of Wales
yet more naturally excited feelings of resentment in different members
of the party. I do not wish to relate at length any of the transactions
connected with that lady’s conduct, case, or fortunes. The documents are
all preserved and published; and the whole business, though it agitated
the public at various periods, in 1806[173] and 1813, in 1820 and 1821,
was at all times degrading to the national character, disgusting and
tiresome to those who viewed public affairs with any philosophy, nearly
devoid of interest to me, and entirely devoid of it to posterity.
Suffice it to say that the Regent, on the death of Mr. Perceval, wished
once more to revive inquiries into the conduct of the Princess, with
the prospect of getting rid of her; while she, availing herself of the
hopes excited by the increasing importance of the heir-presumptive,
her daughter, was studious to court popularity and pity for the
purpose of gratifying her resentment and mortifying her husband and
persecutor. Hence he referred all the documents and papers relating to
the investigation of 1806, together with suggestions of new matter of
suspicion, to his Ministers and Privy Council; and she, on hearing the
rumour thereof, wrote to the Speaker of the House of Commons and to the
Prince Regent himself. She consulted Mr. Brougham professionally; and Mr.
Whitbread, secretly instigated by Mr. Creevey, eagerly espoused her cause
both prospectively and retrospectively.
He[174] thereby involved Sir Samuel Romilly, Lord Erskine, and Lord
Ellenborough, and indeed the whole Ministry of 1806 and the leaders
of the party with whom he was acting, in one sweeping charge of base
servility to the Prince and injustice to a persecuted and innocent woman.
In a yet more unfriendly manner he concealed his intentions from those
he was so ready to suspect and accuse. So far from seeking any private
explanation before he made a public attack, he walked down to the House
of Commons with Lord Grey on March 17, and never consulted him on the
communications he had received from Mrs. Lisle,[175] which he read
that very day in his place; though they, and yet more the remarks of
Mr. Whitbread upon them, tended to inculpate the Commissioners and the
Cabinet of 1806 in a transaction which they alone could explain and of
which he himself was utterly ignorant. The statements he made were in
themselves incorrect, the inferences he drew unfair, and the impression
he laboured to produce most injurious to the character of persons he
professed to respect. The four Commissioners, Lord Ellenborough, Lord
Erskine, Lord Spencer, and Lord Grenville, vindicated themselves on
a subsequent day in the House of Lords; but the intemperate language
of Lord Ellenborough, who nicknamed Whitbread “Folly,” and said his
assertions were “as false as Hell,” somewhat diverted attention from the
rashness of the popular orator to the violence of the Chief Justice,
and divided the censure and indignation of the Whig party pretty
equally between the two injudicious combatants. The result of the whole
affair was to recognise the right in the Prince Regent to regulate all
intercourse with his daughter, to convey a strong public censure of any
revival of proceedings against the Princess, and to show that the power
to which her husband had been raised, and in the exercise of which he
was so strongly supported in Parliament, had not diminished one tittle of
his personal unpopularity.
Before the Princess of Wales made her appeal to Parliament and the
public, her counsel solemnly but secretly conjured her not to proceed, if
on recollection she could charge herself with any impropriety or levity
of conduct, much less with anything approaching to criminality[176]; but
she, with that courage which characterised her throughout and supplied
the place, if it did not imply the reality, of innocence, was all for
defiance. Her advisers had, perhaps, not so much confidence in her
veracity as admiration of her intrepidity, and were not entirely relieved
from their anxiety about the consequences by her boldness in facing
them. But shortly afterwards all their fears were unexpectedly allayed
by a manœuvre of Lord Moira. In the hope of alarming Mr. Whitbread with
the consequences of any serious investigation about the conduct of the
Princess, that zealous but injudicious friend of the Prince spontaneously
communicated all the charges and, if I mistake not, all the evidence that
had been prepared against Her Royal Highness, to her immediate friends
and advisers, _viz._, Mr. Whitbread, Mr. Creevey, and Mr. Brougham. From
that time they knew the extent of the case against their client, and,
deeming it insufficient, proceeded in good heart, without hesitation or
delay.
In the course of these transactions, and yet more in those which ensued,
relating to the pecuniary provision for Her Royal Highness and her
departure from England in 1814, they had opportunities of discovering
in the character of their royal client many qualities less respectable
than that courage which was termed by her friends intrepidity, and to
which her enemies gave a harsher name. She showed a total disregard of
truth, and a want of all gratitude, justice, or feeling to those who
served her. As I do not wish to revert to this subject, I shall here
mention my notion of the real solution of all the conduct of this exalted
but uninteresting lady. I am satisfied that she was always in a state
bordering on insanity, and sometimes actually insane. I should add,
however, that this persuasion of a contemporary is founded on a knowledge
of her actions and language _as repeated by others_, not on any personal
observation.[177]