Secret History of the Court of England, from the Accession of George the Third to the Death of George the Fourth, Volume 2 (of 2)
by Lady Anne Hamilton · English · Gutenberg #37571 · 488,381 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Secret History of the Court of England, from the Accession of George the Third to the Death of George the Fourth, Volume 2 (of 2)
Author: Lady Anne Hamilton
Release date: September 30, 2011 [eBook #37571]
Language: English
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complete list follows the text.
SECRET HISTORY
OF THE
=Court of England=,
FROM THE ACCESSION OF GEORGE THE THIRD TO THE
DEATH OF GEORGE THE FOURTH;
INCLUDING, AMONG OTHER IMPORTANT MATTERS,
FULL PARTICULARS OF THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH
OF THE
PRINCESS CHARLOTTE.
BY THE RIGHT HONORABLE LADY ANNE HAMILTON,
_Sister of His Grace the present Duke of Hamilton and Brandon;
and of the Countess of Dunmore._
"OF MEANER VICE AND VILLAINS, SING NO MORE,
BUT MONSTERS CROWN'D, AND CRIME ENROBED WITH POWER!
AT VICE'S HIGH IMPERIAL THRONE BEGIN,
AND BOLDLY BRAND SUCH PRODIGIES OF SIN;
WITH PREGNANT PHRASE, AND STRONG IMPARTIAL VERSE,
THE CRIMES OF LORDS AND CRIMES OF KINGS REHEARSE!"
VOL II.
LONDON:
PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM HENRY STEVENSON,
13, WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND.
1832.
SECRET HISTORY,
_&c. &c._
The coronation of George the Fourth, which had been postponed from time
to time, at length took place on the 19th of July. We think, situated as
her majesty then was, she ought to have been attended to the Abbey by
all the noblemen and gentlemen whose courage and honour had permitted
them to espouse and support her cause; and, with such a phalanx, could
she have been refused admittance? Instead of such arrangement, however,
her majesty went at an early hour, accompanied by two ladies and one
gentleman!--was refused admittance at the first door, and sought for
entrance at another, with the same ill success. It was true, her majesty
had not an imperative right to be _crowned_, though she had an undoubted
title to be present at the ceremony of her husband's coronation. Nay,
claiming her right of admission in the character of cousin to his
majesty, ought to have entitled her to very different treatment. Her
majesty would not have encroached upon another's privileges, by entering
Westminster Hall, because that might be considered the king's dining
room; and the queen was too well informed to pass the boundary of
privilege.
On the evening of the 18th of July, Lord and Lady Hood slept at
Cambridge House, and, after retiring for the night, they were disturbed
by the announcement that a messenger waited from Mr. Brougham to see
Lord Hood. His lordship saw the messenger, whose business was to say,
"If Lord Hood wanted any tickets for the coronation, he might have as
many as he pleased." Lord Hood said, "I have _my own_, and that is quite
enough; I need no more." It becomes a wise general to provide against
the inroad of an enemy, and Lord Hood _ought_, and was in duty bound, to
have accepted Mr. Brougham's offer of tickets, though that offer was
made so SECRETLY, and at _such a late hour_. Lord Hood was either not
sufficiently _firm_ in the interest of her majesty, or else some
previous understanding had existed upon the subject of these tendered
tickets; for all well-dressed ladies were admitted upon the presentation
of a ticket, and the name never required. There cannot be a doubt that
the king had positive fears of the arrival of her majesty, because his
carriage was kept in waiting to convey him to Carlton House, should the
queen be announced. Well might he say to the bearers of his train, "Hold
it wider." Yes, indeed, he required room to breathe, for CONSCIENCE is
an obtrusive monitor, as well as a privileged guest, in all companies.
In addition to the negligence of the _professed friends_ of the queen,
we are sorry to say, that the ministers had prepared means, very
demeaning, as well as perfectly _unconstitutional_. A covered boat was
in waiting at the back of the hall, on the Thames, to convey the queen
(if deemed needful) to the Tower; but, some persons of principle and
property being aware of this abuse of power, many boats were upon the
river, to render assistance, if required, to an insulted queen. Eight
regiments of soldiers were in and near London, FIVE of which were THE
DETERMINED FRIENDS OF THE QUEEN! Was it not rather a peculiar
circumstance that Alderman Wood (who was in the procession of the lord
mayor) was the loudest in his applause to the king? But, before we
conclude this work, our readers will have no reason to be surprised at
this conduct of the inconsistent and interested alderman. It was
likewise very strange, that Lord Liverpool, the then first lord of the
Treasury, was NOT PRESENT AT THE CORONATION! From whence was this
unusual non-attendance upon the monarch to be attributed? Because Lord
Liverpool, seeing the danger likely to result from the refusal of her
majesty to the coronation, had advised the king to receive his consort.
At first, his majesty consented, but shortly afterwards retracted his
promise. Lord Liverpool, however, had caused this permission of his
majesty for the queen's presence at the coronation to be made known to
her, and a plan of the interior of the Abbey was enclosed at the same
time, in which a seat was expressly ordered to be prepared for her
majesty. We can positively assure our readers of the truth of this; for,
two evenings previous to the coronation, we were sitting with one of
her majesty's private friends, when the servant brought in a note, which
that friend read with the greatest vivacity. It contained an assurance,
that the king had consented to her majesty's being received at the
banquet, and a plan was produced, exhibiting a seat, in which the queen
and her attendants were to sit. Her majesty's impression was, we can
confidently say, "That the Earl of Liverpool had advised the king to
permit her to be received, in order to prevent ill consequences; for
that, in case any riot should take place during the procession, the king
_might have been smothered in the crowd_!" The Earl of Liverpool,
however, had disobliged his majesty in the November previous, by
abandoning the Bill of Pains and Penalties; but what else could he have
done? If sentence had been passed against her, the mighty rush of public
opinion would have probably overwhelmed the whole regal circle.
Doubtless, Earl Lauderdale had given his royal master another version of
the matter, as, from _his representation_, the king _again refused_ to
see his consort; in consequence of which, the most arbitrary measures
were taken to prevent the appearance of the queen at the coronation. We
must also place upon record that, on the 24th of the same month, Lord
Lauderdale's honours (_extra_ knight of the thistle, &c.) appeared in
the Gazette, which were, no doubt, bestowed upon him for his avowed
enmity to the queen.
We are sorry that Lord Hood, her majesty's only _male_ attendant to the
coronation, did not act a little more as became his duty to his royal
mistress on this trying occasion. His lordship offered neither
resistance nor remonstrance to the insult of refusing her majesty an
admittance to the Abbey; but tamely, not to say _cowardly_, submitted to
it, as he immediately led the queen to her carriage! Yet Lord Hood was a
peer! but, gentle reader, he was also a--PENSIONER! We put the question
to every honest-hearted Englishman, what force would have dared to
oppose the queen's entry into the Abbey, if she had been properly
surrounded and attended by her legal advisers and friends? Had such been
the case, the "accomplished gentleman" would have met his injured,
basely-treated wife, whose gaze must have brought a blush upon his
guilty cheek. Such an unexpected visit had been contrary to his
royally-fixed determination, as he then _would_ have "met her in
public."
The English character has ever been proverbial for morality, gallantry,
justice, and humanity; though we cannot help thinking it suffered a
little degradation when the queen was refused admittance to the scene of
her husband's coronation. This, indeed, is a blot upon the annals of our
country, which the stream of time will never be able to wash away.
History cannot forget the conduct of the sovereign in this instance,
who, when about to enter into a solemn compact with his people, and
while calling THE OMNIPOTENT GOD to witness his faith and sincerity,
"that he will most truly deal out justice, and love mercy, in his
kingly station," at the same moment _refused_ BOTH to his own wife! Let
not such vindictive and disgraceful conduct be forgotten, when the
_taste_ and _elegant manners_ of George the Fourth are extolled!
Amongst the gay throng of fawning courtiers that attended this ceremony
was the Marquis of Londonderry, whose glittering appendages and costly
array were of an unusual quality. Yet, gorgeous as was the sight, the
absence of the queen rendered the coronation pomp an uninteresting scene
of solemn mockery in its character, and an insulting imposition to the
nation, who, while hearing the royal engagements made to them,
nationally and individually, saw the first law of nature inverted by the
very personage for whom this "mighty show" was designed. But are we not
justified in supposing that George the Fourth possessed but a weak
understanding, a frail heart, and strong prejudices, and that his
judgment was perverted by bad counsel? Had his majesty been a sensible
man, he would have perceived that all the advantages of his rank and
station were conferred upon him by his fellow-men, and would not have
squandered the national wealth upon unworthy characters. The title of
king carries no such charm with it as to exempt its possessor from any
of those infirmities which are incidental to his species; but he is
doomed to drag about with him a frail tenement of clay, sometimes well
and sometimes ill shaped, and liable every moment to be dissolved, and
reduced to a state of putrefaction, in common with all those who
contribute, by their labour, to its support. But how differently did
George the Fourth consider his title and power at this period of his
vanity! He concealed, as much as possible, the defects of his nature
from "vulgar eyes," by exhibiting himself on a public stage, in borrowed
plumes, like the jackdaw in the fable, who astonished his fellow-daws by
assuming the gaudy plumage of the peacock. Thousands of weak mortals
flocked about the royal actor, and expressed such extreme delight at the
pageant scene, that we could hardly wonder to find him and his created
nobles so inflated with pride as to consider themselves of a superior
nature to the rest of mankind, and to believe that those who so much
admired their external appendages were born to be their slaves. We
deprecate such grovelling servility in the people as much as we pity the
pride of the nobles. As well might a worm or a grub, when decorated with
the ephemeral wings of a butterfly, look contemptuously on the crawling
snail!
But a few years before the insult was offered to the queen at the
coronation, her brother, the Duke of Brunswick, had fallen in the field
of battle, while bravely fighting against Napoleon at Waterloo. Her
majesty was now, therefore, bereft of every natural connexion, save her
vindictive and cruel husband; and history hardly presents a more trying
situation than that in which the persecuted and shamefully-treated Queen
of England was placed.
The Duke of Newcastle, who _distinguished_ himself upon the queen's
trial, by pronouncing judgment against her majesty without hearing the
evidence in her favour, was the boroughmonger selected to bear the
"sword of mercy" before the king at the coronation! We ought not,
probably, to find fault with the choice of George the Fourth in this
instance; as the duke's subsequent acts have proved him so _worthy_ of
being the bearer of such an emblem,--to which the people of _Newark_ can
fully testify!
Upon her majesty's arrival at Brandenburgh House, after being refused
admittance to the coronation, she took a cup of tea, and then retired to
her room for nearly four hours. In this interval, the queen resolved to
visit Scotland; she wrote to Lord Liverpool upon the subject, and
requested his lordship to apprize the king of her intention. This letter
was received by his lordship, and answered in the usual strain, "that he
(Lord Liverpool) had laid her majesty's letter before the king, but had
not received his majesty's commands thereon." In the intermediate time,
it was announced, the king would visit Ireland; and his majesty left
Carlton House at half-past eleven o'clock, on the 31st of July, on his
way to Portsmouth for Dublin.
On the 30th of July, the evening previous to the king's departure, her
majesty visited the theatre, and was much indisposed, but would not be
persuaded to retire before the performance was concluded; indeed, it was
the queen's usual line of conduct not to disturb any public assembly by
retiring earlier than was positively needful. Before her majesty went
to the theatre, she felt indisposed, but declined remaining at home, for
fear of disappointing the people. When her majesty returned from the
theatre, she was very sick, and had much pain in her bowels the next
day. In the afternoon of this day, Dr. Holland called, apparently by
chance, and, on feeling her pulse, said she must have further advice.
She objected, as having most confidence in him, who had travelled with
her; but to satisfy his mind, her majesty said he might bring whom he
liked. Next day (Wednesday) he brought Dr. Ainslie, who desired to have
more assistance called in; and on Thursday morning, Dr. Warren
accompanied the other two, both _king's physicians_, according to
_etiquette_, we believe. _Previous to this_, she seemed much surprised
herself at her illness, and said to Dr. Holland, "DO YOU THINK I AM
POISONED?" This day she was told, they hoped things would end well; but
if she had any papers of consequence, she had better dispose of them,
as, in the event of her decease, every thing must go to the king, or the
ministers,--we forget which. At this, she astonished them all by her
greatness of mind; for her majesty did not betray the slightest
agitation, but immediately and coolly answered--"O yes, I understand
you; it shall be done." She sat up almost the whole of that night with
her maid Brunette only, burning letters, papers, and MS. books. She then
called Hyronemus (her maitre d'hotel) and made him swear to burn every
thing she gave, him in the kitchen fire. More letters, papers, and MS.
books were then given him, besides a large folio book, full, or nearly
so, of her own writing. It was about two feet long, and five or six
inches thick, and bound. This book she always said contained the whole
history of her life ever since she came to this country, together with
the characters of the different persons she had been intimate with.
Besides papers, she sorted all her little trinkets, wrapped them in
separate papers, and wrote herself the names of all her different
friends who were to have them, charging Brunette to dispose of them
after her death according to the directions; but these presents _never
reached their destination_.
From Thursday, her majesty seemed regularly to get worse, and the
inquiries after her health by the people at large were equal to the
interest she had raised in the country. It was pretty generally said
that her majesty's danger arose from a stoppage in the bowels. Various
were the remedies prescribed; and, among innumerable others, a bottle of
_Croton Oil_, with the following kind letter, was sent to an individual
of her majesty's household:
"SIR,
"I am aware that nothing but the great, the very great, danger
her majesty is in would excuse this unauthorised intrusion;
but, learning from the papers the nature of her majesty's
complaint, I have taken the liberty to forward to you, with
the view of having it handed to Doctor Maton, or Dr. Warren, a
medicine of strong aperient properties, called "Croton Oil,"
one drop of which is a dose. There is no doubt but it is known
to some of her majesty's medical advisers. It is but lately
known in this country. It may be proper to observe that Doctor
Pemberton has _himself_ taken it. I have given it to more than
one person; its operation is quick and safe. Two drops, when
made into pills with bread, usually produce alvine evacuations
in half or three quarters of an hour. It has struck me that
this medicine may be administered with success to her majesty.
At all events, I can have done no harm in taking the liberty
to suggest it. Fearful of appearing anxious to make myself
obtrusive, I have declined giving my name.
"Your's respectfully,
"A CHEMIST."
"Some suspicion may, perhaps, be attached to the circumstance
of this letter being anonymous. I can only answer, that Dr.
Warren or Dr. Maton will know the medicine to be what it is
represented; if not, the chemist at Hammersmith may be
referred to.
"GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!"
Both the medicine and the letter were referred to Dr. Pemberton, of
Great George-street, Hanover-square, who used to attend her majesty, but
had been obliged to give up practice from suffering with the "tic
douloureux." The poor old man came, though bent double with pain, saw
the remedy, and gave it as his decided opinion, "that, if a passage
cannot be obtained in any other way, I certainly would try this, which
is _sure_ to have EFFECT, as without it her majesty must die; I have,
indeed, taken two drops of it myself, therefore the queen might very
safely take one."
When the king's physicians were told Dr. Pemberton's opinion, they still
persisted that _they could not take it upon themselves to give her
majesty the medicine_!
No one was suffered to approach the queen but the king's physicians,
_except in their presence_, though her majesty most anxiously asked for
William Austin, saying, "How odd it is that he never comes near me;" in
the meanwhile, he was weeping bitterly outside the door, but was always
told, either "the queen is asleep," or else, "too ill to see him." Her
majesty's sufferings must have been dreadful, and they seemed to come on
periodically, when her cries could be heard in all the adjacent rooms,
and then it appeared that the doctors _dosed_ her with laudanum, which,
of course, added to the CONSTIPATION of her bowels, as well as rendered
her quite insensible when her friends did see her. Her majesty seemed
most partial to Dr. Holland, who sat up with her every night, till
Saturday, when she was a little better; but, being called to town, he
left her majesty under the care of Dr. Ainslie, we think. Next morning,
being Sunday, her majesty got up and dressed herself, and sat in her
chair. Either in the night or in the morning, Dr. Ainslie brought her
majesty a draught to take, which the queen dashed out of his hand, in a
very marked manner, spilt it, and said, "I am well; do you not see I am
well, Sir? I want no physic." At which, Dr. Ainslie felt somewhat
offended, as well he might.
On the Sunday before her death, her majesty said, "I should much like to
take the sacrament; and I desire that the clergyman who does the duty at
Hammersmith may be sent for to administer it." Application was
immediately made; but the gentleman said, "I cannot administer it,
without leave from the rector, who is now at Richmond." A messenger went
to Richmond, and found that the rector had gone to dine in London, and
that the clergyman must either go there to him, or solicit permission
from the king's ministers! Notwithstanding this unfeeling piece of
tyranny, her majesty said, "I do not doubt but my intentions will be
accepted by God, the same as if I had been permitted to receive it." The
queen was truly an example of patience and resignation, for she never
repined, not even in her most agonizing moments. Her majesty, alas! too
well knew she must eventually be the VICTIM OF TYRANNY.
Let every thinking being contrast the profession of Christianity with
the contemptible procedure set forth in the anecdote just related. At
the time her majesty requested to receive the sacrament, she believed
herself near death; and, in accordance with the sentiments and doctrines
of the Church of England, she very naturally desired to express her
reliance on the Saviour by receiving this ordinance; yet even this
gratification was denied her, until she was sinking into the embrace of
death! This disgraceful circumstance is almost without a parallel in the
annals of persecution. A virtuous and noble-minded queen, lying on the
bed of death, which had been prepared for her by the hand of cruel and
ill-judged Malignity, was refused this last comfort of religion; while a
felon, who may have imbued his hands in the blood of his
fellow-creature, is allowed to receive this emblem of salvation previous
to his transition from time to eternity! Here, then, is sufficient to
inform "The Many" of the policy of the "Established Church." May we not
ask how far the English clergy are removed from Popery? as it is
evident that the attentions of a rector or a bishop (under the crown)
are equally difficult to be obtained as the Catholics believe those of
St. Peter to be!
In contemplating the above exposure of malice, many questions naturally
suggest themselves; for instance, What could prevent the curate's
_immediate attention_ to the wish of the dying queen? for had even the
meanest parishioner desired it, HE MUST have attended to the request.
What was meant by asking leave of "the rector, or the king's ministers,"
who were at some distance from the abode of sorrow? Was it not intended
to add fresh insults to injuries already too deep? Did the ministry
think thereby to prevent an _encroachment_ upon his majesty's comforts
in the world to come, (as he had declared, that he never again would
meet the queen) and, by refusing the outward rites of the church, shut
the door of hope in the sufferer's face?
Her majesty, in her agony, frequently exclaimed, "I know I am
dying,--THEY HAVE KILLED ME AT LAST! but I forgive all my enemies, even
Dumont," her maid Brunette's sister, who had done her majesty the
greatest injury,--"I charge you (turning to her maid Brunette) to tell
her so." Brunette and her majesty's maitre d'hotel, Hyronemus, wished to
marry. Her majesty called them to her, and joined their hands over her
body, (one standing on each side of the couch) and charged Hyronemus to
be kind to Brunette. Her majesty then told them, she had left them all
her linen (by right, belonging to her lady in waiting) and two of her
carriages. On Tuesday, her majesty became much worse, and moaned
terribly with pain, from four o'clock till ten at night, when she
rapidly grew weaker, till Dr. Holland, with the awful watch in his hand,
feeling her pulse, at last closed her majesty's eyelids, and declared
"All is over!"
Malice and Crime had now done their worst; the fatal blow had been
struck, and Caroline, the injured and innocent Queen of England was for
ever relieved from her despicable and heartless persecutors!
"O, what a noble mind was here o'erthrown!"
Every person now left the room, except Dr. Lushington (one of the
executors) and Lady Hamilton. Dr. Lushington said, "You, my lady, or
Lady Hood, must not quit the body." Lady Hamilton replied, "Then, sir,
let it be me." Shortly afterwards, the alderman and Mrs. Wood went into
the chamber of death, the alderman offering the services of his wife to
assist in the last sad duties to the lamented queen. In the interval,
Brunette, the queen's maid, said that her majesty had desired no one
might go near her body except herself; and Dr. Lushington complied with
the request. Lady Hamilton observed, Brunette was not strong enough to
move the body; Brunette, therefore, chose the _housemaid_ to assist her.
Shortly afterwards, Dr. Lushington requested Lady Hamilton's presence
again; and, upon her appearance in the gloomy chamber, said, "Now, you
must remain here; and promise me not to lift up the sheet which covers
the body, or permit any one else to do so." Lady Hamilton promised; when
very soon afterwards Mrs. Wood went into the room, as she said, "to have
a peep." Lady Hamilton prevented it, saying, she had given her word, and
Mrs. Wood must therefore desist. The body, very speedily after life was
extinct, became much discoloured, and, though it was washed and prepared
for the grave-clothes in less than two hours after the decease, it
exhibited a very great change, as well as being much swollen. The
housemaid who assisted Brunette to prepare her majesty for the
grave-clothes, said, the body turned quite BLACK before their task was
finished, and swelled exceedingly, and on the following Thursday became
quite offensive, when the leaden coffin arrived. On the Monday after,
the rooms were lighted up, and hung with black, for her majesty _to lie
in state_! Oh! sad mockery to her persecuted remains!
The housemaid, who helped Brunette to lay her majesty out, was quite
disgusted at the unfeeling manner in which Brunette performed this sad
duty; for she tossed the body about most indecently; and, when
remonstrated with for such behaviour, said, "La! I mind her no more than
an old hen!!!" The morning after her majesty's death, Lady Anne
Hamilton's own maid went creeping into Brunette's room, expecting to
find some show of grief, at least, for the loss of so good a mistress.
What, then, was her astonishment to find her up, dressed, and in the
highest spirits! "I never was so happy," said she, "in all my life. I
can now get up when I like, go to bed when I like, and do every thing as
I like!"
Previous to the funeral, some difficulty arose from an uncertainty
_where_ the deceased queen had kept her cash; and, without any ceremony,
Mr. Wilde took up her majesty's watch, (the one presented by the
inhabitants of Coventry, and which was very valuable) and said, "I will
advance forty pounds, and return the watch when the money is paid!!!"
Yet, at the time of her majesty's death, she must have been in
possession of fourteen or fifteen hundred pounds! because Mr. Obequina
had advanced the queen, but a few days before her death, the sum of two
thousand pounds; and it was an indisputable fact, that not more than
four or five hundred pounds had been expended out of this sum. The queen
deposited this money where she always kept her trinkets, in a small blue
box. In this box also her majesty frequently kept the Coventry watch,
(which she seldom wore) as well as two miniature pictures of herself.
This identical box, the executors gave into the care of Lord Hood; but
he very properly refused to receive it, until they locked it and took
the key. Dr. Lushington promised one of the miniatures to Lady Hamilton,
and the other to William Austin, the protege of the ill-fated queen;
but, up to this period, such promise has not been fulfilled in either
case.
It is well known that the queen, in her jocular moments, used to say,
"They did not like my young bones, so they shall not have my old ones;"
and, in her last illness, her majesty unfortunately added, "and that as
soon as possible." This formed an excuse for the tools of George the
Fourth to hurry her funeral beyond all decorum; as, in one single week
after her majesty's death, did Lord Liverpool order that all the
cavalcade should be ready. The route was chalked out, and strict orders
given that, on no account, was the procession to go through the city;
but every avenue was so choked up and barricaded by overturned coaches,
carts, and rubbish, that they were _obliged_, at Piccadilly, to turn
through Hyde Park; and, at Cumberland Gate, the scene of bloodshed
commenced. We observed a pool of blood in the gateway, and a woman with
her face all over blood, and two men lying dead. The people had pulled
down the wall and railing for a hundred yards opposite Connaught-place;
and the horse-soldiers (the Blues, we think) were pursuing the unarmed
multitude down the park. A spent ball had fallen _very near the hearse_,
and a gentleman in the retinue got off his horse, picked it up, and
said, "This will be proof against them." At last Sir Robert Wilson,
being a military man, rode up to the soldiers, and contrived to end the
combat. The procession was then suffered to pass quietly along Edgeware
and the New Roads till it came opposite to Portland-road, when the same
obstructions of overturned carts, waggons, &c., prevented the cavalcade
from continuing along the City-road, or turning into _any street_
eastward, until it arrived at Temple Bar, when it turned into the city,
to the great joy and acclamations of the millions of people who had
followed, and who had lined the streets, windows, and tops of houses,
although it rained in torrents, and the well-dressed women who attended
were ancle deep in mud; nor did the people gradually drop away till the
procession had entirely left the suburbs of London.
Sir George Naylor, king at arms, had his instructions where they should
rest each night. The delays in London had been so many, that they were
obliged (to fulfil orders) to travel at _full trot_ to Ilford, where the
procession arrived a little after six o'clock in the evening, having
been more than twelve hours in performing this first stage of the
journey. We pass over the insulting orders of Lord Liverpool, in their
_minute detail_, and only advert to that part of them wherein he states
to Mr. Bailey, the undertaker, that the body was to reach Harwich the
second night. Various disgraceful altercations took place during the
several stoppages on the road; and the mourners were treated similarly
to their departed mistress. At length the sea opened upon their view;
and the most prominent object upon it was the "Glasgow" frigate,
stationed at some distance from Languard Fort. The procession arrived at
Harwich, on Thursday, at half-past eleven, at which place, not even a
single hour was allowed for retirement or repose; for the order was
almost immediately given, that the coffin should be taken to the quay,
and from thence lowered by a crane into a small barge. This was not
accomplished without great difficulty, the coffin being extremely heavy.
Four men rowed the boat to the side of the "Glasgow," which was waiting
to receive the remains of England's injured queen. Sir G. Naylor and his
secretary, with Mr. Bailey, accompanied it, and added the sad mockery of
laying a paltry crown upon the coffin. The ladies and the rest of the
suite followed in boats. At this moment, the first gun was fired from
the fort. Such was the indelicate hurry and rude touch of the persons
engaged in the removal of the royal coffin, that before it was received
on board the "Glasgow," the crimson velvet was torn in many places, and
hung in slips. When the boat reached the "Pioneer" schooner, the coffin
was hoisted on board, the crown and cushion were laid upon it, and the
pall was thrown out of the boat to a sailor on deck, by one of the three
gentlemen who had it in charge, with no more ceremony than if it had
been his cloak. Before it could possibly be announced that the corpse
was safe on deck, the sailors were busily employed in unfurling the
sails, and in less then ten minutes the "Pioneer" was under sail, to
join the "Glasgow" frigate. The body and the mourners were at length
received on board the "Glasgow," and here followed perplexity upon
perplexity. The captain had not been informed of the probable number in
this melancholy procession, and was incompetent to set before them
sufficient food, or furnish them with suitable accommodation. Corn beef
was therefore their daily fare; and hammocks, slung under the guns,
were the beds assigned to the gentlemen, while the ladies were very
little better provided for in the confined cabins. The coffin was placed
in a separate cabin, guarded by soldiers, and with lights continually
burning. On the 19th of August, the "Glasgow" appeared before the port
at Cuxhaven; and, as she drew too much water to get up the Stade, she
resigned her charge to the "Wye," commanded by Captain Fisher.
On Monday evening, the 20th, the remains of the Queen of England were
landed at Stade. The coffin, _without pall_, or _covering of any kind_,
was brought up the creek, a distance of three miles, the mourners
following in boats. On their arrival at the quay, no preparation had
been made for receiving the body on shore, and had it not been for the
sympathy of the inhabitants of the place, the coffin must have been laid
upon the _earth_; but they were so impressed with the necessity of
paying regard to decency, and so incensed against the heartless and
abominable conduct manifested towards the queen, that they, as if by one
consent, brought out their tables and chairs, to afford an elevation for
the coffin from the ground; and thus a kind of platform was raised, on
which it was protected from further injury. After a short delay, arising
from want of due notice having been given of the arrival of the
procession, the citizens of the town, headed by the magistrates and
priests, proceeded to meet it. The coffin was then taken up, and carried
into the church, which was lighted, and partially hung with black. A
solemn anthem was sung, accompanied by the deep-toned organ; after which
the numberless crowd retired, leaving the royal corpse to the care of
those who were appointed to watch over it. Early the next day the
procession departed for Buxtehude. About a quarter of a mile from this
town, it was met by the citizens and magistrates, who attended it,
bareheaded, to the church, where the royal remains were deposited for
the night. On the ensuing day, the 22nd, the procession was met on its
entrance into Saltan, by the authorities, in the same manner as before
named. On the 23d, it reached Celle, where the coffin was carried into
the great church of the city, and placed upon the tomb of the
unfortunate sister of George the Third, Matilda, Queen of Denmark. On
the 24th, the procession was met at Offau, by Count Aldenslaben, the
grand chamberlain of the court, and arrangements were made, that the
funeral should take place at midnight. The mourners were immediately to
proceed to Brunswick, and the funeral procession to follow, so as to
arrive by ten the same night at the gates of the city, there to be met
by the mourners; but further delay of interment than this was strictly
forbidden. At the appointed hour, the last stage of the cavalcade
commenced. On a near approach to the church, whose vaults were to
receive the remains of this royal victim, the children of a school
(founded and supported by a lady of truly patriotic principles) walked
before the hearse, strewing flowers on the road. Arriving at the
church, the Brunswick soldiers demanded the privilege to bear the
remains of their beloved princess through the church to the vault, in
which were deposited those of her illustrious ancestors. This being
granted, the corpse was borne by as many of them as could stand under
the coffin into the abode of death. It was then placed upon an elevation
in the centre of the vault, which had previously been prepared for its
reception, and where it will remain until another occupy its place; her
majesty's coffin will then be removed to the space appointed for it.
After an oration had been delivered in German, the curtain was drawn
over our persecuted and destroyed queen. The mourners retired, and the
assembled crowds dispersed, shortly after two o'clock.
It may possibly be asked, "Did not the nephew of the queen (the son of
her brother, the late duke) meet the funeral, and follow it to the last
abode of royalty?" To the eternal disgrace of George the Fourth, this
youth was not permitted to do so. The kingdom of Brunswick was governed
by two commissioners, under the controul of the King of England, and the
young prince had been commanded to leave Brunswick previous to the
ceremony of the interment of his aunt! The inhabitants of Brunswick had
also been ordered to keep within their houses, to shut their windows,
and not to appear upon the occasion. This imperious order was generally
attended to. One gentleman, however, was independent and noble-minded
enough to furnish flambeaux to be carried before and on each side of
the procession, until it had reached the church. Every expression of the
inhabitants indicated how much they were attached to the Princess of
Brunswick, and the more superior and well-informed part of the community
mourned that her days had been blighted by the delusive prospects held
out to her family, in her alliance to the heir-apparent of England. The
Brunswickers were afraid to express their sentiments in public
companies; but, privately, they could not suppress their opinions, that
"it was very strange not the least notice of the funeral had been
communicated to them until the evening previous to the ceremony."
These unconstitutional and vindictive arrangements for the queen's
funeral will ever be considered an indelible stain on the characters of
those who concocted them. The law enacts that the dead shall be carried
the nearest way to the place of interment; but the "notorious
government" laid all possible restrictions in this case, and, in short,
offered every indignity to the departed. If the English people had been
resolute, and the lord mayor but consented, the body might have been
taken into the Mansion-House, and the corpse EXAMINED, previous to its
being taken from London, as considerable suspicion was caused by the
unusual privacy and secrecy required immediately after her majesty's
demise. The lord mayor (Thorpe) was the acknowledged friend of the
queen, and ought not to have demurred to the generally-expressed opinion
upon this subject.
It was rather a peculiar circumstance that George the Fourth should have
_contrived_ so well to be out of the way of death, both in his
daughter's and his consort's case! But the prerogatives of royalty are
numerous as well as _unnatural_, particularly when exercised by DESPOTIC
PRINCES, who live only for their own gratification, and with whom the
good of the people is an unimportant consideration. When the tidings of
her majesty's death were communicated to her heartless husband by Lord
Londonderry, the royal yacht was lying in Holyhead roads. Etiquette
prevented the landing of the king while the unburied remains of his
consort were upon English ground; therefore, despatches were forwarded
to cause the first lord of the Treasury to press for an early removal of
the body of the queen, in order that facility might be given to the
landing of the king in Ireland.
After paying this _formal_ attention to the awful intelligence he had
received, his majesty landed at Howth, and, as soon as he had reached
the viceregal lodge, addressed the gaping multitude in the following
_eloquent_ speech:
"_My Lords and Gentlemen, and
my good Yeomanry_,
"I cannot express to you the gratification at the kind and
warm reception I have met with on this day of my landing
amongst my Irish subjects. I am obliged to you, _very much_
obliged to you; I am _particularly_ obliged by your escorting
me to my _very_ door. I may not be able to express my feelings
as I wish. I have travelled far; _that is_, I have made a long
_sea voyage_; I have sailed down the English Channel, and
sailed up the Irish Channel; and I have _landed_ from a
_steam boat_; besides which, _particular circumstances_ have
occurred, known to you all, of which it is BETTER, at present,
_not to speak_ (alluding to the queen's sudden death) upon
these subjects. I leave it to your DELICATE and _generous
hearts_ to APPRECIATE MY FEELINGS! However, I can assure you
that THIS IS THE HAPPIEST DAY OF MY LIFE! I have long wished
to visit you; my heart has always been IRISH!! From the day it
first beat, I have loved Ireland. This day has shewn me, that
I am beloved by my Irish subjects. _Rank, station, honours,
are nothing_; but to _feel_ that I _live_ in the hearts of my
_Irish subjects_ is, to me, the most _exalted happiness_!
"I must now, once more, thank you for your kindness, and bid
you farewell. Go and do by me as I shall do by you; drink my
health in a _bumper_; and I shall drink all your's in a bumper
of good _Irish whiskey_!!!"
Who that reads this address will not acknowledge his majesty's genius
for speaking was equal to his talents for ruling? Shades of Fox,
Grattan, and Sheridan, what a display of eloquence was here, delivered,
too, by the "most polished man in Europe!" We may easily account for the
rapturous admiration which the Irish people evinced for their monarch!
Naturally eloquent themselves, they knew how to appreciate the energy
and beauty of what a _king_ addressed to their taste and understanding.
When he assured them, in the _most elegant_ and _lofty_ language, that
"his heart was _entirely Irish_," and that, in proof of the sincerity of
his royal professions, he would "drink all their healths in a bumper of
good Irish whiskey," they felt, with its superiority, the exhilirating
stimulant of kingly declamation, and yielded to all the ecstacy that
forms so prominent a characteristic of their sensations. The declaration
of a _British_ king, that his heart was _wholly Irish_ was a kindness
as highly strained, with respect to them, as disheartening to the
feelings of all his other subjects. Great as was our _admiration_ of the
_nobleness_, both in matter and style, of this oratorical display, we
scarcely were able, for a time, to reconcile our startled judgment to
the perfect equity of this _sudden_ partiality for a people who had
never before experienced any mighty favours from the same quarter. But
our error, we frankly confess, was the child of our stupidity: we
understood his majesty to the simple letter, rather than in the _royal_
meaning, of what he addressed to his long-forsaken children, and were
too dull to understand his language till some time afterwards, when he
visited his German dominions. But when, after assuring his Hibernian
subjects that his heart was _wholly Irish_, he, in the same _exquisite_
style, protested that his heart was _entirely Hanoverian_, we were wise
enough to comprehend his majesty. There is a kind of ductility in this
sort of affection that soars as much above the ordinary course of human
feeling as the language in which the sentiment is conveyed surpasses the
general powers of lingual eloquence. _Such goodness_ and _such
eloquence_ may be ADMIRED, but we hope they will never be COPIED!
However gaily and flatteringly his majesty was received by his Irish
subjects, all unbiassed people were shocked at the unbecoming
incongruity of a king lost in the intoxication of mirth and wine, while
his persecuted consort's passing hearse was calling forth the tears of
his pitying people. Even under circumstances the most proper and
respectful towards her late majesty, in regard to the conveyance of her
remains to their destined place of rest, the appalling knowledge that,
while her obsequies were performing, her husband's heart and soul were
wrapped in the transports of convivial enjoyment, would have deepened
the gloom of the dismal occasion, and excited exclamations of anguish
and astonishment; but, witnessing the sordid neglect and studied insult
with which the government conducted the melancholy preparation and
procession, they combined with the sad spectacle the idea of her
husband's simultaneous joy and merriment, and felt disgusted at such
indecent and unmanly conduct. Of the qualities of the Irish character,
generally viewed, there is much to admire; they are liberal and
kind-hearted, and, in some few instances, have shewn a public spirit and
a manly sense of their political wrongs and oppressions. We cannot,
however, compliment either their delicacy, as men, in not feeling for
the _cruel death_ of an amiable woman, or their loyalty, as subjects, in
slighting the memory of their sacrificed queen. At the cold indifference
manifested by the Hibernian _ladies_, at this period, we were perfectly
amazed. Over and above the tenderness natural to their hearts, their sex
had an interest in her case, which ought to have awakened their concern,
and commanded their tears. But the whole drama of life abounds with
discordant scenes; and, without _female_ inconsistency, the piece would
be incomplete.
"All the world's a stage,
And men and women are the players!"
A tyrant drops his head upon the scaffold, and they weep!--an innocent
queen is poisoned, and they "show no sign of sorrow!"--a cruel, cowardly
yeomanry, and a brutal, sanguinary soldiery, massacre an unarmed
populace, and thanks and a subscription acknowledge and reward their
heroism!--_here_ a people are stripped of their rights and privileges,
and content themselves with complaining!--_there_ a country is
everwhelmed in penury and wretchedness, and finds a cure for all its
distresses in the casual visit of its despotic ruler, and his unmeaning
and stupid speeches!
The despicable figure which the king made at this period, and the
fulsome flatteries bestowed upon him by the Irish people, did not escape
the keen penetration of the illustrious and patriotic Lord Byron. We had
the pleasure of his lordship's acquaintance for some years before his
lamented death; and he was in the habit of sending us many brilliant
effusions of his muse, which he probably never intended for publication.
But the following verses, on the subject of which we have just been
speaking, possess so much poetical beauty and justness of expression,
that we cannot refrain from gratifying our readers by inserting them in
this place.
THE IRISH AVATER[31:A].
Ere the daughter of Brunswick is cold in her grave,
And her ashes still float to their home o'er the tide;
Lo! George the triumphant speeds over the wave
To the long-cherish'd isle, which he lov'd like his--bride.
True, the great of her bright and brief era are gone,--
The rainbow-like epoch, where freedom would pause
For the few little years out of centuries won,
Which betray'd not, or crush'd not, or wept not her cause.
True, the chains of the Catholic clank o'er his rags;
The castle still stands, and the senate's no more;
And the famine, which dwelt on her freedomless crags,
Is extending its steps to her desolate shore.
To her desolate shore,--where the emigrant stands
For a moment to gaze, ere he flies from his hearth;
Tears fall on his chain, though it drops from his hands,
For the dungeon he quits is--the place of his birth!
But he comes! the Messiah of royalty comes!
Like a goodly leviathan roll'd from his waves;
Then receive him, as best such an advent becomes,
With a legion of cooks and an army of slaves!
He comes, in the promise and bloom of three-score,
To perform in the pageant the sovereign's part;
And long live the shamrock which shadows him o'er,--
Could the green on his _hat_ be transferred to his _heart_.
Could that long-withered spot but be verdant again,
And a new spring of noble affections arise,
Then might freedom forgive thee this dance in thy chain,
And the shout of thy slavery which saddens the skies.
Is it madness or meanness which clings to thee now?
Were he God,--as he is but the commonest clay,
With scarce fewer wrinkles than sins on his brow,--
Such servile devotion might shame him away.
Age roar in his train, let thine orators lash
Their fanciful spirits to pamper his pride;
Not thus did thy GRATTAN indignantly flash
His soul o'er the freedom improved and denied.
Ever glorious Grattan! the best of the good!
So simple in heart, so sublime in the rest,
With all that Demosthenes wanted endued,
And his rival, or victor, in all he possess'd.
When TULLY arose, in the zenith of Rome,
Tho' unequalled preceded, the task was begun;
But GRATTAN sprung up like a god from the tomb!
Of ages, the first, last, the saviour, the one.
With the skill of an Orpheus to soften the brute,
With the fire of Prometheus to kindle mankind,
Even Tyranny, listening, sat melted, or mute,
And Corruption shrunk, scorch'd, from the glance of his mind.
But back to my theme; back to despots and slaves!
Feasts furnished by Famine, rejoicings by Pain;
True Freedom but welcomes, while Slavery still raves,
When a week's Saternalia has loosened her chain.
Let the poor squalid splendour thy wreck can afford
(As the bankrupt's profusion his ruin would hide)
Gild over the palace. Lo, Erin, thy lord!
Kiss his foot with thy blessing for blessings denied.
Or if freedom, past hope, be extorted at last;
If the idol of brass find his feet are of clay;
Must what terror, or policy, wring forth be class'd
With what monarchs ne'er give but as wolves yield their prey?
Each brute hath its nature,--a king's is to reign;
To reign!--in that word see, ye ages, comprised
The cause of the curses all annals contain,
From Caesar the dreaded to George the despised!
Wear, Fingal, thy trappings! O'Connell proclaim
His accomplishments!--His!!!--and thy country convince
Half an age's contempt was an error of fame,
And that "_Hal is the rascaliest, sweetest young prince!_"
Will thy yard of blue ribbon, poor Fingal, recall
The fetters from millions of Catholic limbs?
Or will it not bind thee the fastest of all
The slaves, who now hail their betrayer with hymns?
Aye, build him a dwelling; let each give his mite,
Till, like Babel, the new royal dome has arisen;
Let thy beggars and helots their pittance unite,
And a palace bestow for a poor-house and prison.
Spread, spread for Vitellius the royal repast,
Till the gluttonous despot is stuff'd to the gorge,
And the roar of his drunkards proclaim him at last
The FOURTH of the fools and oppressors,--called GEORGE!
Let the tables be loaded with feasts till they groan,--
Till they groan like thy people through ages of woe;
Let the wine flow around the old Bachanal's throne,
Like the blood which has flow'd, and which yet has to flow.
But let not his name be thine idol alone;
On his right hand, behold a SEJANUS appears!
Thine own CASTLEREAGH!--let him still be thine own!
A wretch never nam'd but with curses and jeers!
Till now, when the isle, which should blush at his birth,
Deep, deep as the gore which he shed on her soil,
Seems proud of the reptile which crawl'd from her earth,
And for _murder_ repays him with _shouts and a smile_!
Without one single ray of her genius, without
The fancy, the manhood, the fire of her race,
The miscreant, who well might plunge Erin in doubt
If she ever gave birth to a being so base.
If she did, let her long-boasted proverb be hush'd,
Which proclaims that from Erin no reptile can spring;
See, the cold-blooded serpent, with venom full flush'd,
Still warming its folds in the breast of a king!
Shout, drink, feast, and flatter! Oh, Erin, how low
Wert thou sunk by misfortune and tyranny, till
Thy welcome of tyrants hath plunged thee below
The depth of thy deep to a deeper gulph still.
My voice, though but humble, was rais'd for thy right;
My vote, as a freeman's, still voted thee free;
This hand, tho' but feeble, would arm in thy fight,
And this heart, tho' outworn, had a throb still for thee!
Yes, I love thee and thine, tho' thou art not my land;
I have known noble hearts and great souls in thy sons,
And I wept with the world o'er the patriot band
Who are gone,--but I weep them no longer as once.
For happy are they now reposing afar,
Thy GRATTAN, thy CURRAN, thy SHERIDAN,--all
Who for years were the chiefs in the eloquent war,
And redeem'd, if they have not retarded, thy fall.
Yes, happy are they in their cold English graves;
Their shades cannot start to thy shouts of to-day,
Nor the steps of enslavers and chain-kissing slaves
Be stamp'd in the turf o'er their fetterless clay.
Till now I had envied thy sons and thy shore;
Tho' their virtues were hunted, their liberties fled,
There was something so warm and sublime in the core
Of an Irishman's heart, that I envy their dead!
Or if aught in my bosom can quench for an hour
My contempt for a nation so _servile_, tho' sore,
Which, tho' trod like the worm, will not turn upon power,
'Tis the GLORY OF GRATTAN, the GENIUS OF MOORE!
[31:A] _Avater_ is the Hindoo expression for a divinity
assuming the human form, and residing on earth.
Speedily after the queen's death, Lord Sidmouth retired from office, and
was succeeded by Mr. Robert Peel. Several other changes also took place
in the ministry.
There was only _one_ occurrence that could have been more gratifying to
the people of England than the secession of Lord Sidmouth from office,
and that was--his being rendered amenable to the laws for his share in
the frequent outrages of the constitution, and his almost numberless
violations of the liberties of the subject. We had hoped that he would
have remained in office until he had received his FULL REWARD, in the
return of the days of ministerial responsibility, in spite of bills of
indemnity and venal majorities. But, for the honour of justice, we hope
yet to see the day when he shall be subject to an honest tribunal for
his political misdeeds. His name will ever awaken the liveliest
indignation in the bosoms of Englishmen; not, indeed, that his _talents_
made him formidable against the liberties of his country, but because he
so readily lent himself to the dangerous views of his _superiors_.
Personally, he was of no importance. The son of a provincial
medicine-vender, he had neither rank nor birth to command respect. The
tool of Mr. Pitt in early life, Mr. Addington had cunning enough to
stipulate for a peerage just at the time he was found unfit for a
minister. The failure of his attempt to abridge the liberties of the
dissenters covered him with disgrace. Such a design should have been
entrusted to abler hands; but it was not his lordship's fault that the
dissenters escaped religious persecution. His next exploit, however,
proved more successful; he declared eternal hatred of reform and
reformers in 1816. The seizure, the imprisonments, the tortures, and the
outrages, occasioned by the employment of his _moral friend_ Oliver
have, in the language of Pope, occasioned him to be
"Damned to everlasting fame!"
The liberation of his victims, after long confinements, ruined in
circumstances, wounded in mind, and some of them destined to premature
death, through their unwholesome confinement, complete the picture of
this nobleman's LEGISLATION! To prevent an investigation into such cruel
acts, a bill of indemnity screened his lordship, his agents, and
minions, from the tribunals of that day; but if _earthly_ justice should
never be vindicated, there is a tribunal before which he must one day
meet his victims! The part which Lord Sidmouth had in the _reward of the
Manchester massacre_ is well known, and will not be likely to add to the
quiet of his repose. This lamentable portion of his history involves the
double charge of misadvising his prince, and patronising a violation of
the laws, in the most wanton and cruel manner! No man, indeed, has been
more instrumental in the ruin of his country, and he may probably live
to reap some of the bitter fruits himself!
During this year, the _affable_ king made his pompous entrance into
Hanover, where he threw gold and silver amongst the crowd, with as much
confidence as if it had been his own!! If he had allowed some of this
said "gold and silver" to have remained in the pockets of its real
owners, it would have redounded much more to his credit.
In one single week this year, eleven persons were hung for forging Bank
of England notes. Such a sanguinary penal code of laws as our's would
really disgrace a nation of savages! Even our common laws, which ought
to be intelligible to the meanest understanding, are an unfathomable
abyss, and frequently exceed the utmost penetration of even the
"gentlemen of the long robe." Indeed, our laws appear designed to
perplex rather than to elucidate, to breed contentions rather than to
prevent them. The principal MERIT of the English jurisprudence seems to
consist in its _intricacy_, and the learned professors of it may almost
be said _to live upon the vitals of their clients_. It not unfrequently
happens that, for trivial omissions upon some useless observance of
forms, the victim is incarcerated in a prison, and, after enduring all
the horrors of these dens of thieves, expires in want, disease, and
apparent infamy!
The year
1822
was one of great interest and importance, both abroad and at home; but
to the latter we shall chiefly confine ourselves.
On the 18th of January, a cabinet council was held, at which Lord
Sidmouth was present, notwithstanding his previous resignation of the
seals of office. From this, it is evident that, though out of OFFICE in
reality, this _noble_ lord was in place _specially_.
Ireland, at this time, presented a sad appearance; outrages of every
kind were of daily occurrence, and famine, with its appalling front,
stared the lower classes in the face. Much blood was shed, and yet no
efficient means were taken to subdue the cause of these fatal
insurrections. The King of England, though he had professed so much
_love_ for his dear Irish subjects in his late _eloquent_ speech,
screened himself, under his assumed popularity, from blame on such
serious charges, while his incompetent and mean advisers, believing
their persons safe under the protection of their PUISSANT PRINCE, gave
themselves no trouble about so _insignificant_ a matter. Disgrace and
infamy, however, will ever be attached to their names for so flagrant a
dereliction of duty to the Irish people!
In April, Thomas Denman, esq., the late queen's solicitor-general, was
elected to serve the office of common-sergeant for the city of London;
and, on the 27th of May, he commenced his career with trying the unnamed
servant of a bookseller for selling an irreligious and seditious book.
Mr. Denman sentenced him to eighteen months' imprisonment in the House
of Correction and, at the end of that time, to find sureties for five
years, himself in one hundred pounds, and two others in forty pounds
each!
In narrating this circumstance, we cannot forbear expressing our
detestation of all prosecutions in matters of RELIGION. They neither
redound to the honour of Christianity, nor effect the slightest benefit
to morality. Every one has an undoubted right to entertain what
religious opinions may best accord with the dictates of that
all-powerful monitor--CONSCIENCE; and all endeavours to _force_
different opinions are only so many attempts to make men _hypocrites_.
"But," say our religious prosecutors, "the Bible must not be attacked,
or the true religion will fall into contempt." As an answer to this
argument, we say, that if the said true religion will not bear the test
of examination and argument, the sooner it falls into contempt the
better! The glorious truths of the New Testament, however, are
sufficiently manifest, and do not require the puny and adventitious
advocacy of Cant. The strong arm of the law is not requisite to uphold
Christianity, for it possesses within its own pure doctrines sufficient
to recommend it to the admiration and gratitude of mankind. When these
doctrines are attacked, let Christians endeavour, by fair and mild
reasoning, to support their beneficence and purity, and they will be
sure to make converts. But, if they once attempt to FORCE CONVICTION,
their defeat is inevitable! It is, therefore, contrary to common sense,
as well as being unjust and deplorable, that a man should be punished
for disbelieving any particular sentiment. What proof did Mr.
Denman[40:A] give of the mild and forgiving doctrines of Christianity
in his severe sentence against this man? Was it from motives of
Christian charity that he traduced him before a public tribunal? Were
the proceedings of the court at all calculated to impress the man's mind
with the true spirit of Christianity? The contrary might well be said.
For neither was the accusation distinguished by that moderation which
ought to be observed even against the worst of criminals, nor was it
very humane to imprison him eighteen months, and afterwards keep the arm
of justice suspended by binding him in sureties for five years not to so
offend again. It will be but fair to ask, whether, if the _religious_
welfare of this man had been deemed by his prosecutors worthy of the
slightest consideration, they would not have proceeded directly contrary
to what they did? But, as Dr. Watts has justly observed, when speaking
of religious prosecutors, "They are too apt to denounce damnation upon
their neighbours without either justice or mercy; and, while pronouncing
sentences of divine wrath against supposed heretics, they _add their
own human fire and indignation_!" Such prosecutions, therefore, only
tend to excite the contempt of those very persons who are expected to be
made better by them. With respect to the other count of the foregoing
indictment, "that the publication was calculated to bring the king and
his ministers into contempt," we think such an attempt of the publisher
was totally unnecessary; for both the king and his ministers were then
in the full zenith of their _fame_, and had the sincere prayers of the
greater part of the community for their speedy deliverance from--this
world!
[40:A] Mr. Denman has since been created "Sir Thomas," and, at
the period of our writing this, holds the office of
attorney-general. On the 21st of May, 1832, Lord Stormont
brought forward a motion in the House of Commons relative to a
general crusade against the press, for what his lordship
pleased to term "infamous, obscene, and scandalous libels." It
must ever be gratifying to patriots when public men openly
confess their errors; and we are, therefore, most happy to
record the following extract from Sir Thomas Denman's speech,
delivered on the above occasion, relative to the prosecution
upon which we have so freely commented:
"In May, 1822, he (Sir Thomas Denman) first sat as
common-sergeant, and was called upon to try a case
of most atrocious libel in 'The Republican:' it
contained a summing up of all the blasphemies which
had ever been promulgated in that paper, and direct
incitements to insurrection. The prosecution was
instituted by a constitutional association, which
thought the attorney-general was negligent of his
duty; but he believed that that association obtained
but little credit for thus undertaking his
functions. There were two aldermen upon the bench,
one of whom thought that two years' imprisonment was
the least that could be awarded as a punishment,
while the other thought that one year would be
sufficient. The middle course was pursued, and
the man was sentenced to _eighteen_ months'
imprisonment. Though this was the _mildest_
punishment which had been awarded on any case of a
similar description at that time, yet he (the
attorney-general) had been held up to odium as a
cruel judge. THE PUBLIC, IT WAS CLEAR, HAD REAPED NO
BENEFIT WHATEVER, and he (the attorney-general) had
experienced some pain during the whole of the
eighteen months that that man was in prison; for he
felt a strong disinclination to proceed against any
man who was fairly stating his opinions. The young
man was twenty-one years of age, and what he was
doing was certainly mischievous; _but when his
imprisonment expired, he could assure the House that
it was to himself a great comfort_. The liberty of
the press was established in this country, and that
alone was enough to induce people to publish those
opinions; and that liberty would make him extremely
cautious of prosecuting merely for opinion. During
periods of public excitement, the classes from which
juries were taken gave no encouragement to
prosecutions, and if only one juryman stood out upon
a case, the prosecution was obliged to be dropped.
He, therefore, except some very atrocious
circumstances should occur, did not think it
expedient to proceed. In striking special juries, it
was impossible to go into the heart of society, and
act as spies in families to ascertain the sentiments
of jurymen. _It was necessary to submit to a great
deal, lest by legal proceedings bad should be made
worse._ PROSECUTIONS AGAINST THE PRESS WERE BETTER
LEFT ALONE."
The last sentence of this speech contains advice which we hope
to see _practised_ by all future attorney-generals. In the
case of Sir Thomas Denman, however, it is only adopted through
_necessity_; for he freely confesses his wish to prosecute, if
he could only insure the verdict of a jury! It is, indeed, a
gratifying truth, that attorney-generals cannot controul the
decisions of juries; and it is well for the people of England
that they cannot. Were it otherwise, the press would soon
become worse than useless, and every independent writer
speedily be consigned to a prison. We cannot, consequently,
join Sir Thomas Denman in his lamentation; and we regret that
a gentleman of such lofty pretensions to liberality and
patriotism should have tarnished his fame by thus exposing
himself to the censure of his countrymen. While upon this
subject, we would give a word of advice to Lord Stormont. His
lordship has been described as a young man of considerable
natural abilities, which have been highly improved by a
liberal education. How, then, can he be so blind to the spirit
of the present age as to suppose himself capable of restoring
the very worst part of Toryism,--that of undermining the
glorious LIBERTY OF THE PRESS? His noble father (who was
educated in the Pitt school of politics) may have impressed
him with an idea of its practicability; but the people are now
changed, the age is changed, and we warn him not to expose
himself to the disgust of the English people, by making futile
attempts to destroy the grand palladium of national liberty.
As well, indeed, might he essay to execute Herod's commands to
slay the innocents, as to restore, by such means, the absolute
power which the Tories so unfortunately exercised during the
last two reigns!
In the early part of this month, an elegant service of plate was
presented to Alderman Wood, as an acknowledgement for his
_disinterested_ services in the cause of the late queen; while, strange
to say, the large service of plate subscribed for the queen by the
country, at only one shilling each, never reached its destination! The
funds for this purpose were entrusted to the care of Messrs. Wood, Hume,
and others; the amount collected was more than three thousand pounds
during the first few months of the subscription, which regularly
increased till the queen's death. The cause of the opening of this
subscription was owing to the fact of her majesty being refused all
suitable conveniences for the dinner table, as she could only have a
dinner served upon blue-and-white earthenware! To this fact, the
noblemen and gentlemen who dined at her majesty's table can fully
attest. We are inclined to think, however, that the alderman's services
to the queen have been a little overrated. That Mr. Wood was her
majesty's best and most disinterested friend, thousands were led to
believe; but that he was not so, we shall endeavour to PROVE.
When a subscription was proposed for a service of plate for her majesty,
a Scotch lady forwarded one hundred guineas towards it. Alderman Wood
had the chief management of this subscription, as of almost every thing
else that related to the queen. The alderman employed one Pearson to
collect the money. This Pearson was the fellow that cut such a figure in
the Manchester massacre; and, therefore, he was thought, we suppose, a
_very capable person_ for such an undertaking. After collecting a
considerable sum of money, Pearson was about taking his leave of this
country for America; but, intimation having been given of his perfidy,
he was stopped.
Alderman Wood said his friends also wished _him_ to have a service of
plate, but his subscription was to be raised by _half-crowns_; indeed it
was expected that four or eight friends would join, and not present the
alderman with less than a GOLDEN PIECE. Unfortunately, the poor queen
died before the money the people intended to raise for her plate was
completed. At first, her friends wished to have a monument erected to
her memory in Hammersmith; but no ground could be obtained for this
purpose, and it was feared that her enemies would treat any pillar to
her honor with the same indignity that they had treated herself.
Alms-houses were then proposed to be built, but _NOTHING HAS YET BEEN
DONE WITH THE MONEY_, (amounting to about three thousand pounds) either
principal or interest. Mr. Wood has been frequently applied to, through
the public papers, concerning this money, but no answer has ever been
given. The alderman managed the subscription for his own plate much
better; for he took good care to receive it as soon as possible! The
alderman is known now to be very _rich_ from his Cornwall mines; he has,
besides, two distant relations in Gloucester, brothers, worth a million
between them, which he may probably share, they having no relations.
When, however, he went for the queen, his mines were unprofitable, and
himself embarrassed. Be that as it may, the queen certainly, by his
urgent entreaties, employed _his_ coach-maker in South Audley-street,
and most of _his_ other tradespeople.
The ill-natured world will talk; and some people went so far as to
accuse the _disinterested_ and _patriotic_ alderman with sinister
motives in these recommendations, and that he had actually "a feeling in
every thing that came into her majesty's house!" Whether or not this was
the case, the alderman most assuredly spoke to the queen, very
animatedly, to purchase Cambridge House, opposite to his own, in South
Audley-street, though her majesty said she would never sleep in it, nor
did she. The enormous sum which Mr. Wood persuaded the queen to give for
this house was sixteen thousand pounds! but, notwithstanding her majesty
made several improvements in it, it only sold at the queen's death for
six thousand pounds!! This fact will speak volumes. Are no interested
motives to be traced here?
We do not wish to deprive Alderman Wood of any merit that may justly be
his due; but, though he accompanied her majesty to England, he certainly
did not persuade her to come over, as some people have imagined. He, nor
any one else, had any hand in that; it was the spontaneous determination
of the queen herself! That the alderman REFUSED the house, 22,
Portman-street, which was offered for the queen's accommodation till a
better could be provided cannot be denied; he preferred receiving her
majesty into his own house. It is also well known that the alderman, by
his officious and ungentlemanly, nay, we may say, IMPUDENT conduct, lost
her majesty many friends in the higher circles, who would not act with
_him_. Nor can this be wondered at when his vulgar manners to his
superiors are taken into consideration. That we may not be supposed to
assert this without reason, we will here relate a few instances, which
came immediately under our own observation.
The queen gave a dinner to the Duke of Bedford, Earl Grey, Lord
Tankerville, and other noblemen and gentlemen. His grace of Bedford
handed her majesty down the room, and sat on her right, and Earl Grey on
her left. Instead of the vice-chamberlain (according to etiquette)
sitting at the top of the table to carve, Mr. Wood seated himself
_there, above every one_, and, _grinning_, ordered her vice-chamberlain
to go to the other end opposite him, thus publicly proclaiming his
ignorance and impudence! Earl Grey is reckoned the proudest man in
England, and it was said, he observed, "It is the first, and shall be
the last, time that the alderman shall sit above me."
When the queen came from Dover to town, accompanied by this alderman and
Lady Anne Hamilton, he presumptuously seated himself by her majesty's
side, thus forcing her lady to take the seat opposite, with her back to
the horses! We need hardly offer a remark upon so great a breach of good
manners; for any individual, possessing the spirit of an Englishman,
would always give precedence to a lady.
When her majesty went to St. Paul's cathedral, Mr. Wood placed himself
at the coach door to attend her out, and kept laughing and talking to
her till they arrived near the statue of Queen Elizabeth, where the lord
mayor and his retinue met her, after coming from the church for that
purpose; but when his lordship (Thorpe, naturally a modest man)
perceived that the queen was so engaged that she never lifted up her
eyes, he and his procession were turning back in confusion to re-enter
the church, when one of the queen's followers caught firmly hold of the
officious alderman's gown, stopped them, and said, "Mr. Wood, Mr. Wood,
don't you see the lord mayor come to hand the queen?--you would not
affront the city so as not to let him?" Sir Robert Wilson, who was near,
said, "Do run and call the lord mayor back, thousands of eyes are upon
us!" His lordship turned round, and the procession proceeded into the
church, as it ought to have done from the carriage door; but Mr. Wood
was exceedingly angry, and would follow next to her majesty, though
repeatedly told that it was Lady Anne Hamilton's place, as her majesty's
lady in waiting.
At the city concert, also, Alderman Wood displayed his indecorous
conduct. The orchestra was elevated about a foot, and at the right of
the orchestra two chairs were placed, one for the queen, and the other
for her lady in waiting, who sat next the people. Alderman Wood stood
behind her majesty the whole time, laughing and whispering, in the most
intimate style, in her ear; and though her lady kept her face towards
them, wishing it to appear _to the public_ that at least she had a
_share_ in the conversation, alas! too many saw she was never spoken to
by either!
From such impudent and vulgar conduct as this, we heard a certain royal
duke observe, "I wish to serve the queen, but I will not be Mr. Wood's
cat's-paw, nor play second fiddle to him!" Similar observations were
made by noblemen of the very first rank in this country. It may be
asked, "Why did the queen allow herself to be guided so much by this
alderman?" Because her majesty thought him _honest_, and was not aware
that he kept any other persons away. "Could no one tell her majesty the
real state of things?" No! for Mr. Wood actually set her against every
one, except himself and his own creatures, in order to preserve entire
influence over her majesty. Indeed, her legal advisers could hardly
speak to the queen, without this very officious gentleman being present.
He began by prejudicing her majesty against them all; for he said, "No
lawyers are good for any thing; I esteem _myself_ above them all." _We
ourselves heard him say so._ When he had thus persuaded her majesty of
his own superiority, and introduced himself into all the consultations
of her law advisers, (unless they demanded a _private_ audience) he
began to attack the _Whigs_, and amused himself by constantly abusing
them. He has frequently been heard to say, "The Whigs are worse enemies
of your majesty than the ministers; they would sacrifice you if they
could." But, for himself, he led her to believe that he could do any
thing with the people! In the city, he conceitedly told her majesty, at
the head of her own table, (where he _usually sat_, till Lord Hood took
his place) in November, when his friend Thorp was elected mayor, that
"they wanted to elect me mayor a third time, but I would not accept the
office;" while, at this very election, there was but ONE SINGLE VOTE for
him, and that was the new lord mayor's, who could not vote for himself!
It is very lamentable to consider that her majesty was so much guided by
this one man in most of her actions, even to the fatal day of the
coronation, upon which occasion, however, he took particular care not to
attend her. There is every reason to believe, notwithstanding, that her
going at all was owing to his _secret_ advice, though he pretended to
the contrary. Those who heard him at the _king's dinner_ were disgusted
at his being the _loudest_ to applaud his majesty! Most certainly, the
coronation day did not end to her majesty as she had been led to expect;
and she discovered, or fancied so, that she had no friend or adviser in
England on whom she could rely; and, therefore, determined to visit
Scotland. It was remarked to the queen, by a _true_ friend, who sought
only her honour and happiness, that Scotland was a proud nation, and
that it would not be there thought that Alderman Wood was of sufficient
rank to attend her majesty. The queen quickly and _indignantly_ replied,
"Alderman Wood! I should never think of taking _him_! No, no; I shall
only take Lord and Lady Hood, and Lady Hamilton!" All the world knows
her majesty never named the alderman in her will; but all the world does
not know that, a short time before her death, she said, "I OWE WOOD
NOTHING!"
The alderman also seized every opportunity he could to persuade the
queen to go _abroad again_. On one of these occasions, a friend of her
majesty overheard the hypocritical adviser, and immediately said, "How
can you, Mr. Wood, pretend to be her majesty's best friend, and yet want
her to do that which would ruin her in the eyes of the whole country?"
"I do not _want_ her to go," replied he, "but if she _will_ go, I wish
to point out to her the best way of doing it." "Sir, there is _no good
way_ for the queen to quit the country, and if you should unfortunately
succeed in persuading her to do it, you will be her ruin!"
Thus it will be seen, that "all is not gold that glitters;" but Mr. Wood
ought hardly to find fault with us for stripping him of his borrowed
plumes, considering the length of time he has been allowed to wear them!
If the public had known these particulars at the time they occurred, it
is doubtful whether the alderman would have ever received _his plate_;
therefore, he owes us a little gratitude for not mentioning them before
that (to him) _golden_ opportunity!
Alderman Wood, however, we are sorry to say, was not the only false
friend her majesty had to lament. Many others "held with the hare in one
house, and ran with the hounds in another." Some of these even attended
public meetings in the quality of friends, and then wrote as enemies in
the public journals. Some inveighed against her in public, and wrote,
spoke, and acted for her cause in private. One of her judges, to our
positive knowledge, spoke admirably for her in parliament, and yet
privately, in more places than one, impugned the character of her
majesty! Even while the queen was abroad, her _presumed_ friends were
extremely negligent at home. They permitted insidious paragraphs to
appear in the newspapers, day after day, month after month, and year
after year, without either contradiction or explanation; by which
shameful neglect, the public mind became so impregnated with falsehood
and insinuation, that, had not the queen returned to this country as
she did, her name would have been recorded in history as infamous! Sure
never woman was so shamefully treated, both by friends and foes; indeed,
her majesty might well have exclaimed, with Gay,
"An open foe may prove a curse,
But a _pretended_ friend is worse!"
On the 12th of August, while his majesty was absent on a visit to
Scotland, an extraordinary excitement prevailed by the reported "sudden
death" of the Marquis of Londonderry. It is hardly necessary to enter
into the various causes assigned for so unexpected an event; it is
sufficient to know, that his lordship committed suicide, by cutting his
throat with a small knife, at his seat, Foot's Cray, and that a
coroner's inquest (either from conviction, or in kindness to his
surviving friends) returned a verdict, that his lordship inflicted the
wound while "delirious and of insane mind."
It is an obligation imposed upon every independent historian to lend his
assistance to a just and honest estimate of the character of public men.
It leads to useful, though not always to gratifying, reflections, to
examine the causes which pointed them out as objects worthy of being
entrusted with political command. By what strange union of
circumstances, then, or by what unlucky direction of power, did the
Marquis of Londonderry attain to the high and important offices which he
successively held for so long a period?--a period the most momentous
and ominous, the most fertile in change, the most wicked in court
intrigue, and the most fraught with terror, of any in our annals! We
have heard his lordship described as having been amiable in private
life; but who has denied the manifest mediocrity of his genius for the
situations he was allowed to fill? Some of his public proceedings,
however, prove him not to have possessed much of "the milk of human
kindness," as we shall presently shew. He was, indeed, only qualified to
act as a mere associate, to be put forward in the face of Europe, not as
himself a high and original power, but as a passive organ for the
expression of sentiments, or for the execution of measures, hereafter
traceable only as the opinions and actions of the "united cabinet" of a
wicked chief magistrate. The panegyrists of his lordship have also
trumpetted forth eulogiums on his "personal bravery." And if bravery
consists in fighting duels, proposing the most unconstitutional acts,
fearlessly oppressing the innocent, and in defying the power of a
justly-enraged people, Lord Londonderry assuredly possessed "personal
bravery" in an eminent degree!
His lordship was born on the 18th of June, 1769, and consequently died
in the 53rd year of his age. He commenced his career, like his patron,
Mr. Pitt, as the advocate of parliamentary reform; and, also like that
apostate minister, Lord Londonderry abandoned his early patriotic
pledges and principles for the emoluments of office, which he first
entered in 1797, as keeper of the privy seal, and, shortly after, one
of the lords of the treasury, of Ireland. In the following year, he
became secretary to the lord lieutenant. Honours and places were now
lavishly heaped upon him. In 1802, his lordship received the appointment
of the Board of Controul, and, in 1805, was raised to the high and
responsible office of minister of war! On the death of Mr. Pitt in 1806,
his lordship was obliged to resign, with all the other "clerks in
office," as the _debris_ of Mr. Pitt's cabinet were called. On the
resignation of the Grey and Grenville administration, in 1807, he
resumed his former situation of minister of war, in which he continued
till the ill-starred Walcheren expedition and his duel with Mr. Canning
drove him from office, scorned and ridiculed by the whole of Europe. The
year 1809 gave his lordship an opportunity of shewing how much he
admired the existing abuses in church and state; for, on an
investigation taking place into the Duke of York's shameful neglect of
duty, as commander-in-chief, this year, the noble marquis was peculiarly
active in his defence, and circulated a considerable sum of money in
bribing those who were likely to appear as witnesses against the royal
libertine. On the assassination of Mr. Perceval, in 1811, his lordship
was made foreign minister, in which situation he continued till his
death. Holding so high an office at a time when our foreign exertions
were the most extensive and important, and acting as our negotiator when
Europe might have been composed and re-adjusted by our councils, he had
opportunities, which few ministers have enjoyed, of benefitting his
country and the whole human race. But how did he employ these rare
opportunities? Alas! his name is only to be found in treaties and
conventions for clipping the boundaries, impairing the rights, or
annihilating the existence of independent states; and he gloried in the
opportunity of stifling liberty in all the lesser states of Europe. Even
the colonial and commercial interests of Great Britain herself were
bartered away for snuff boxes and the smiles of Continental despots! If,
however, there is one action more than another calculated to brand the
name of Castlereagh with immortal infamy, it is the mean, tyrannical,
and inglorious conduct which he exercised towards the greatest man that
ever reigned over a free and enlightened people--the Emperor NAPOLEON!
To view the career of this truly illustrious man is to look back upon
the course of a blazing star, that, drawing its fiery arch over the
concave of heaven, fixes the admiring attention of the sublunary world,
and dazzles, while it arrests, the wondering eye! What language can do
justice to the mental powers and noble daring of the man who subdued the
blood-thirsty enemies of his country, and laid Europe at his feet? In
Napoleon, we saw the triumphant opposer of all despots, and the restorer
of order to his own disorganized and distracted subjects. See him from
his bold and judicious exertions at Toulon to his assumption of the
imperial title, and the dread-inspiring attitude he presented to
terrified and retiring Russia,--then judge his gigantic energy and
valour! As first consul, he pacified Europe; and, as emperor and king,
revenged her breach of the peace. Russia, Sweden, Denmark, Holland,
Prussia, the Netherlands, Germany, Sardinia, Spain, Portugal, Italy, and
Naples, were all in arms against his power; yet--all fell before it!
The termination of the great war in Europe was not the peculiar triumph
of that cabinet of which Lord Londonderry was the most prominent tool.
The campaigns of 1813 and 1814 were guided by the skill and spirit of
Russian and German officers,--aided, to be sure, by British
soldiers,--and with the whole civilized world for their allies. The
English ministers, or rather, the MONIED INTEREST of England, were
bankers to the "Grand Alliance," and furnished the sinews of the war.
But, even with such mighty odds against him, the towering and gigantic
genius of Napoleon would have defied them all, if English money had not
BRIBED some of his generals. It was this, and this only, that completed
his downfall. To talk of the Duke of Wellington as the conqueror of
Napoleon is an insult to the understanding of any intelligent man, and
for Lord Castlereagh to have boasted of having subdued him, as his
lordship was wont to do, "was pitiful, was wonderous pitiful!" The
English cabinet, at this period, was the same "incapable" cabinet. The
men were the same satellites to Mr. Pitt, subordinates to Mr.
Perceval,--nay, even to Lord Sidmouth, of Manchester notoriety,--whom
the independent members of parliament had long known and despised.
Circumstances ruled these ministers, whose position was chosen for them,
and improved by others. They could not have resisted that universal
impulse which they had not created, but which Bonaparte himself had
provoked; for he defied the whole "Grand Alliance," and, so far, was the
author of his own reverses, which, however, he would not so soon have
experienced if Fouche, Duke of Otranto, had not suffered his avarice to
get the better of his duty. It was this wicked duke, who, dreading the
detection of his treachery, devised a plan for assassinating the Emperor
Napoleon on his road to Waterloo. But, though this diabolical intention
proved a failure, he succeeded too well in putting his illustrious
master in the power of the British government. Not content, however,
with betraying his king, Fouche, though he capitulated for Paris, gave
up the rest of France to the discretion of her enemies and the tender
mercies of the Russian cossacks! This most consummate of traitors
likewise exposed those who had assisted him to execute his diabolical
plans, and actually signed lists for their proscription! Even the treaty
for the capitulation of Paris proved a mere juggle; for none of its
provisions were properly adhered to by Lord Castlereagh. The Parisians
were here most shamefully deceived. It could never have been
contemplated by them, for instance, that the capital was to be rifled of
all the monuments of art and antiquity, whereof she had become possessed
by right of conquest. A reclamation of the great mortar in St. James'
Park, or of the throne of the King of Ceylon, would have just as much
appearance of fairness as that of Apollo by the Pope, and Venus by the
Grand Duke of Tuscany. What a preposterous affectation of justice did
our foreign secretary evince in employing _British_ engineers to take
down the brazen horses of Alexander the Great, that they might be
re-erected in St. Mark's Place at Venice,--a city to which the Austrian
emperor has no more equitable a claim than we have to Vienna! Lord
Castlereagh's authority for emptying the Louvre was not only an act of
unfairness to the French, but one of the greatest impolicy as concerned
our own countrymen, since, by so doing, he removed beyond the reach of
the great majority of British artists and students the finest models of
sculpture and of painting the world has produced. Although England was
made to bear the trouble and expense of these removals, the complacent
Castlereagh gave all the spoil to foreign potentates, whose smiles and a
few trifling presents compensated _him_ for their loss! But what will
posterity think of a British minister's violating a treaty for such
paltry gratifications?
We come now to speak of the conduct of the departed minister to the
betrayed Emperor of the French. Napoleon always declared that he gave
himself up to England, in the confidence of promises, sacredly made to
him by Lord Castlereagh, that he should be allowed to remain in this
country. "My having given myself up to you," were Napoleon's words, "is
not so simple a matter as you imagine. Before I went to Elba, Lord
Castlereagh offered me an asylum in England, and said that I should be
very well treated there, and much better off than at Elba." But how did
his lordship fulfil these promises? This will be best explained in the
language of Napoleon himself, in a protest which he wrote on board the
Bellerophon, August 4th, 1815, of which the following is a translation:
"I hereby solemnly protest, in the face of heaven and of man, against
the violence done me, and against the violation of my most sacred
rights, in forcibly disposing of my person and my liberty. I came
voluntarily on board of the Bellerophon; I am not a prisoner, I am the
guest of England. I came on board even at the instigation of the
captain, who told me he had orders from the government to receive me and
my suite, and conduct me to England, if agreeable to me. I presented
myself with good faith, to put myself under the protection of the
English laws. As soon as I was on board the Bellerophon, I was under
shelter of the British people.
"If the government, in giving orders to the captain of the Bellerophon
to receive me, as well as my suite, only intended to LAY A SNARE FOR ME,
it has forfeited its honour and disgraced its flag.
"If this act be consummated, the English will in vain boast to Europe of
their integrity, their laws, and their liberty. British good faith will
be lost in the hospitality of the Bellerophon.
"I appeal to history; it will say that an enemy, who for twenty years
waged war against the English people, came voluntarily, in his
misfortunes, to seek an asylum under their laws. What more brilliant
proof could he give of his esteem and his confidence? But what return
did England make for so much magnanimity? They feigned to stretch forth
a friendly hand to that enemy; and when he delivered himself up in good
faith, they sacrificed him.
(Signed) "NAPOLEON."
Napoleon, however, acquitted the English PEOPLE of any participation in
this crime, and said, "We must not judge of the character of a people by
the conduct of their government."
Europe should understand how little the English people are implicated in
the crimes of their king or his ministers. The PEOPLE did not vote
millions after millions for a crusade against French and American
liberty. _They_ did not commission a Wellington to interfere in the
re-enthronement of a Bourbon; _they_ did not depute a Castlereagh to
dictate the slavery of Saxony and Genoa; nor should _they_ be charged
with the gross injustice, dastardly inurbanity, and forcible
imprisonment of the greatest man and the most magnificent monarch of
modern or ancient times,--of a man whose mental superiority was
honourable to human nature, and which threw into utter darkness the
abilities of every other sovereign!
British annals have, indeed, been stained by many a dark and unsightly
spot; our volumes will exhibit divers foul and desperate deeds in the
domestic history of the last two kings: but never was an act more
_nationally_ disgraceful than the banishment of Napoleon to St. Helena!
He was never accountable to England, much less to the English
boroughmongers, for his political conduct. He had been the general, the
first consul, and the emperor of the French. He arose amidst the storms
of the revolution; he was (as he himself felt and said) the "sword-arm
of the republic," with which it chastised and humbled to the dust the
accursed confederacy of despots who had endeavoured to rivet an old,
worn-out, oppressive, and rejected dynasty on thirty millions of
Frenchmen. He conquered at first by the help of that flame of liberty
which raged with a fierceness proportioned to its long suppression; and,
latterly, having raised himself above his contemporaries by his powerful
genius, he was made emperor by his countrymen and fellow-soldiers,
partly because a large portion of the people, weary of the violent
fluctuations of an ill-constituted democracy, desired the repose even of
absolute government, and partly because he was looked upon as the
fittest instrument for foreign conquest, which had become a favourite
habit, though originating in an absolute necessity. Never let it be
forgotten, that he was chosen first consul for life (a distinction used
only for the sake of republican appearances, and known to mean king all
over Europe) by the votes of the French people at large! The question
was submitted to them in the separate departments; all voted that took
interest in the affirmative or the negative; and the result was, his
election by more than 3,500,000 voices against 374! Can the House of
Hanover say as much for their succession to the throne of the STUARTS?
NAPOLEON was not only the elected sovereign of the French people, but he
was acknowledged in that capacity by all his enemies. As first consul,
the allies, including England, made the treaty of Amiens with him. As
emperor, the Continental sovereigns not only often acknowledged, but
_flattered_, and bowed to the earth before him; and this country, at the
least, negotiated with him for peace. Whence, then, arose Lord
Castlereagh's right to treat him as an offender amenable to England?
When, by a marvellous succession of ill-fortune, he fell from his
towering height, and left for ever his post at the head of the French
government, he became a private individual; and this country had no more
business to interfere with his personal freedom than with that of
Marshal SOULT, or any other of the military men who had equally sought
to crush us. Some canting and arrogant people talked of his
_crimes_--his tyranny--his unjust aggressions in Spain and elsewhere.
But we deny that Napoleon was a tyrant. After his return from Elba, he
wished to be at peace with all mankind, and to devote the remainder of
his days to increase the happiness and prosperity of his people. Which
of his enemies could say as much? We quote the following letter in
justification of what we here advance, which the emperor addressed to
all the sovereigns of Europe:
"_Paris, April 4, 1815._
"SIRES, MY BROTHERS,--You have no doubt learnt in the course
of the last month my return to France, my entrance into Paris,
and the departure of the family of the Bourbons. The true
nature of those events must now be made known to your
majesties. They are the results of an irresistible power,--the
results of the unanimous wish of a great nation, which knows
its duties and its rights. The dynasty which force had given
to the French people was not fitted for it; the Bourbons
neither associated with the national sentiments nor manners;
France has therefore separated herself from them; her voice
called for a liberator. The hopes which induced me to make the
greatest sacrifice for her have been deceived; I came, and,
from the spot where I first set my foot, the love of my people
has borne me into the heart of my capital. The first wish of
my heart is to repay so much affection by the maintenance of
an honourable peace. The restoration of the imperial throne
was necessary for the happiness of the French people. It is my
sincere desire to render it at the same time subservient to
the maintenance of the repose of Europe. Enough of glory has
shone by turns on the colours of the various nations. The
vicissitudes of fortune have often enough occasioned great
reverse, followed by great success; a more brilliant _arena_
is now open to sovereigns, and I am the first to descend into
it. After having presented to the world the spectacles of
great battles, it will now be more delightful to know no other
rivalship in future but that resulting from the advantages of
peace, and no other struggle but the sacred one of felicity
for our people. France has been pleased to proclaim with
candour this noble object of her unanimous wish. Jealous of
her independence, the invariable principle of her policy will
be the most rigid respect for the independence of other
nations. If such then (as I trust they are) are the personal
sentiments of your majesties, general tranquillity is secured
for a long time to come, and Justice, seated on the confines
of the various states, will of herself be sufficient to guard
the frontiers.
"I am, &c.
"NAPOLEON."
If further proof be needed against his being a tyrant, it may be found
in the following extracts from the Additional Act to the Constitution of
the Empire of France, 1815:
"Rights of Citizens.--All Frenchmen are equal in the eye of
the law, whether as contributors to the public taxes and
imposts, or as to admission to civil and military employments.
No one can be prosecuted, arrested, imprisoned, or exiled,
except according to the forms prescribed by the law.
"Liberty of worship is granted to all.
"Every citizen has the right of printing and publishing his
thoughts (signing his name) without any previous censorship,
and subject only to legal responsibility after the publication,
by the verdict of juries, even where there should be no
occasion but for a correctional penalty. The right of
petitioning is secured to all citizens. Every petition is
individual.
"The French people declare moreover that, in the delegation
which they have made, and which they shall make, of their
powers, they have not intended to give, nor do they give, the
right of proposing the re-establishment of the Bourbons, or
any prince of that family, upon the throne, even in case of
the extinction of the imperial dynasty; nor the right of
re-establishing either the ancient feudal nobility, or the
feudal and signorial privileges or titles, or any privileged
and dominant worship; nor the power of making any attempt upon
the irrevocability of the sale of the national domains: they
formally interdict to the government, the chambers, and the
citizens all propositions to that effect.
"Done at Paris the 20th of April, 1815.
(Signed) "NAPOLEON.
"The Duke of BASSANO."
Nothing but their own love of tyranny, therefore, could induce these
sovereigns to wage war against a happy people, like the people of
France. But Napoleon's virtues were too luminous for their dim eyes to
look upon. The abolition of the slave-trade ought to be held in
everlasting remembrance by all the friends of justice and humanity.
"IMPERIAL DECREE.
"Napoleon, Emperor of the French. We have decreed, and do
decree, as follows:
"Art. 1.--From the date of the publication of the present
decree, the trade in negroes is abolished. No expedition shall
be allowed for this commerce, neither in the ports of France
nor in those of our colonies.
"Art. 2.--There shall not be introduced to be sold in our
colonies any negro, the produce of this trade, whether French
or foreign.
"Art. 3.--Any infraction of this decree shall be punished with
the confiscation of the ship and cargo, which shall be
pronounced by our courts and tribunals.
"Art. 4.--However, the ship-owners who, before the publication
of the present decree, shall have fitted out expeditions for
the trade may sell the produce in our colonies.
"Our ministers are charged with the execution of the present
decree.
(Signed) "NAPOLEON.
"The Duke of BASSANO."
Beside these noble examples of good government, many other advantages
were bestowed on the French people by their emperor. Their "Code
Napoleon," their "Legion of Honour," their "Central Schools," their _new
roads_, _bridges_, and _canals_, will be lasting evidences of the
gigantic powers of his mind, and of his sincere desire to serve his
country, and render himself worthy of the exalted station to which he
had been called by her gratitude for his pre-eminent military services.
Had Napoleon bounded his ambition to the glory of ruling France upon
free and liberal principles, it had been happy for himself, his
relations, and his country; but to talk of his foreign despotism, and
his _carrying_ tyranny to where, in fact, he _found_ tyranny,--tyranny
the most rank and inveterate,--is to use the language of folly or of
knavery, and to merit the contempt of every thinking mind.
But if it be even allowed that Napoleon was all that his enemies would
make him, where did our ministers get the unheard-of privilege of
setting themselves up as cosmopolite censors? By what right did the
British government constitute itself a tribunal to judge and punish, in
the last resort, delinquent monarchs? Could it by any reasoning have
made out a claim to that office, was it just or decent to make a victim
of _one_,--a man of unquestioned talent and greatness of soul,--and at
the same moment to compliment and make alliances with all the worse
tyrants, the maudlin hypocrites, and base violaters of their word? Or
did these moral Quixotes and immaculate judges only profess to "do
_justice_" upon _one_ sinner "against the spirit of the age,"--and that
one a _fallen_ enemy?
The only plausible pretence for the treatment of the abdicated emperor
was--that his surpassing genius, and his great hold on the military part
of the French character, rendered him a necessary exception to the rule
regarding prisoners of war, and made it indispensable to the safety and
repose of the world, that he should be prevented from appearing again on
the grand stage of European politics. This is confessedly on the
dangerous plan of doing positive injustice for the sake of what the
doers think safe and necessary. But we deny the necessity. We say the
argument is built on utter ignorance of human nature, and a wilful
blindness to all history and experience. Napoleon was grand in his
views, because he admired and loved greatness for its own sake. He never
sullied his conquests by partitioning and dividing the conquered. He
could afford not to weaken his enemies by petty violations of national
integrity. He encouraged every thing liberal and noble, which did not at
the same time interfere with his personal authority. He cherished
literature, art, and science; and they, in return, reflected true glory
upon him. He never insulted and mocked mankind by pretending an eternal
right in himself and his successors to trample them under his feet,
because he was an emperor. He had always a respect for liberty, though
he so often forgot it in his greater eagerness for power. He never laid
claim to _holiness_, but acknowledged himself, in his proudest moments,
sovereign, "_by the constitutions of the empire_." He was not
vindictive; his long military rule was never sullied by any act which
could be compared in infamy with the imprisonment of the unfortunate
TRENCK by that Prussian FREDERICK, whom the legitimate abusers of
NAPOLEON call "the _Great_." The prominent fault of his career as a
leader of a new and revolutionary period, was that, instead of looking
forward, he looked backward, and became an imitator instead of an
original. He evidently had the glories of former ages strongly in his
view; and was to be a great conqueror, not because the times wanted
_him_, but because there are medals and statues in the world, and
dynasties were founded by CAESAR. In the height of his prosperity, he was
a CHARLEMAGNE--another "Emperor of the West;" and, in his adversity, he
forgot the Prince Regent of England so far as to talk to him of
THEMISTOCLES[68:A]. And yet there was a romance even in this, which set
him above all ordinary conquerors. He had the poetry, as well as the
prose, of the military art about him. _He_ would never have sunk into a
mere lounger and man of pleasure, or stood behind any commonplace man
with a gold stick in his hand.
[68:A] The following is a translation of the letter above
referred to:
"Rocheford, 13th July, 1815.
"YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS,
"A victim to the factions which distract my country, and to
the enmity of the greatest powers of Europe, I have terminated
my political career, and I come, like Themistocles, to throw
myself upon the hospitality of the British people. I put
myself under the protection of their laws, which I claim from
your royal highness, as the most powerful, the most constant,
and the most generous of my enemies.
"NAPOLEON."
As a soldier, his military career has never been surpassed in
brilliancy. Quick, active, decisive, he never paused in the vigorous and
persevering execution of the plans which his genius prompted him to
undertake. He introduced a new, high, and successful mode of conquest,
by striking immediately at the centre of armies and countries; and he
was finally overthrown, both as general and sovereign, not because his
individual antagonists were greater, but because the very physical
remains of old English liberty were greater, and because public opinion
was greater than all. He possessed, in an eminent degree, the great art
of estimating and working upon the characters of his adversaries, and
the still greater art of gaining the affections of his soldiers, who
were always passionately fond of him, and who at this day adore his
memory.
As a prince and a conqueror, his master-passion was a restless ambition,
the impetuous tide of which bore him onward to his ends through many
signal acts of injustice and violence. We shall not dwell upon them:
there has been plenty of "envy, hatred, and all uncharitableness," to
ring the changes on his worst deeds, and an abundance of those feelings,
we find, survive the object that particularly roused them. Neither shall
we indulge in uselessly regretting the good he _failed_ to do, or in
reproaching him with the want of moderation and wisdom. Our business is
with the illustrious soldier as he was, not as he might have been
without his defects:
"His warlike mind, his soul devoid of fear;
His high-designing thoughts were figured there."
His character was spoilt, or at least not adapted to the purposes of
freedom, by a military education. The BOURBONS brought him up at one of
their military schools, where his head was filled with CAESAR and
ALEXANDER, and then complained of him for his ambition: that is to say,
the legitimate monarchs will let you be as ambitious and warlike as you
please, provided you assist _their_ ambition and wars; but if not, you
are a blood-thirsty conqueror and a tyrant. Some writers have attempted
to confound, on _this_ occasion, ambition with mere ordinary
selfishness. This is paltry and ridiculous. Napoleon was never so cool
as when contemplating eminent success. Those who have carried him the
news of victory have frequently supposed that he had learnt it before,
or that he did not credit them. It warmed no feature of his countenance;
it lit up no additional lustre in his eye. Yet this was not
indifference; he had acquired a habit of subduing the ordinary emotions
of mankind. Defeat and error certainly enraged him towards those who
contributed to such mortifications; but they never had power to hurry
him into any efforts to repair disaster. His intemperance never extended
itself to his plans or resources, as a general. Let us look to the
course of his feelings when the thunderbolt of his fortune was expended
at Moscow. He had recourse to no dribbling efforts on which to hang the
flame of military hope. He negotiated the plan of his retreat with all
the precision of an attorney, who leaves nothing unprovided for. Trifles
alone disturbed Napoleon. The offence of an inattention on the part of
an attendant would make him angry; but if the world had burst asunder,
and only left him a place to stand upon, he would have regarded it
through his eye-glass as an experiment in natural philosophy!
Had Napoleon lived in times of less turbulence, he would have been a
still greater statesman than a warrior. It is a fact not to be disputed,
that it was this great man who definitively freed the entire Continent
of Europe from that democratic mania, of all other tyrannies the most
cruel, savage, and unrelenting, and which was in full, though less
rapid, progress when he, by accepting the diadem of France, restored the
_principles_ of monarchy to its vigour, and, at one blow, overturned the
many-headed monster of revolution. To attain this beneficial end, HE
SPILT NO BLOOD! The decapitation of Louis, in which he could have had no
concern, completely overwhelmed the Bourbon dynasty; but Napoleon, in
one single day, re-established that monarchial form of government which
the imbecile ministers of England had, with so much expense of human
life and treasure, been for many years unsuccessfully attempting to
restore!
One of Napoleon's greatest admirers was Mr. Fox, who, speaking of him
one day, said, "If we even shut our eyes on the martial deeds of this
great man, we must allow that his _eloquence alone_ has elevated the
French people to a higher degree of civilization than any other nation
in Europe,--they have advanced a century during the last five years.
Bonaparte combines the declamation of a Cicero with the soul-stirring
philippicks of a Demosthenes; he appeals _to the head and the heart_, to
honour and to self-interest, at the same time. Had this wonderful man
turned his attention to poetry, instead of war, he would have beaten
Homer out of the field! Whatever his manner of delivery may be, and I
understand it is impressive, he is certainly the greatest orator that
the world ever produced. The soaring grandeur of his conceptions is
admirable, and his adaptation of the deeds and sayings of the heroes and
statesmen of ancient times to present circumstances, not only shows the
extent of his reading and the correctness of his taste in their
application, but also serves to assure the French people that he is as
capable of governing as he has proved himself to be in leading them
forth to conquest. But it is in his power of simplification that he
shines most; although as romantic as Ossian, he disdains all rodomontade
and circumlocution; and, by stripping his subject of all extraneous
matter, he reduces the most complex proposition down to the laconic
simplicity of a self-evident axiom."
What, then, are we to think of a British minister, who could violate his
most sacred pledges of protection to a man of this exalted description?
But Lord Castlereagh's mind was not capable of estimating the worth and
talents of Napoleon, and the mean expedient to which his lordship
resorted to gain possession of the emperor's person will ever reflect
the greatest possible disgrace upon his character, both as a man and a
minister. The petty, vexatious, and unjustifiable conduct, to which the
Emperor Napoleon was afterwards subjected at St. Helena, was equal in
meanness to his capture. When the emperor quitted the Bellerophon, on
the 8th of August, the officers and ship's company were in
consternation; they felt implicated in the shame and the injustice of
such a procedure. Napoleon traversed the deck to descend into the
sloop, with calmness and a smile upon his lips, having at his side
Admiral Keith. He stopped before Captain Maitland, charged him to
testify his satisfaction to the officers and crew of the Bellerophon,
and, seeing him extremely grieved, said to him, by way of consolation,
"_Posterity cannot, in any way, accuse you for what is taking place; you
have been deceived as well as myself._" Napoleon enjoyed, during
twenty-four days, the protection of the British flag; he sojourned in
the inner roads of Torbay and Plymouth; and it was not until after that
lapse of time, on the 8th of August, when passing on board the
Northumberland, that Admiral Keith disarmed the French,--the delivering
up of arms being one of the characteristics of prisoners of war. The
arms of the emperor, however, were not demanded.
It would be unnecessary to give a copy of the "official" regulations,
which Lord Castlereagh ordered to be observed towards the illustrious
Napoleon; their tyrannical operation will be made manifest in the
following correspondence:
LETTER FROM COUNT MONTHOLON TO THE GOVERNOR, SIR HUDSON LOWE.
"_Longwood, 23rd August, 1816._
"GENERAL,
"I have received the treaty of the 2nd August, 1815, concluded between
his Britannic Majesty, the Emperor of Austria, the Emperor of Russia,
and the King of Prussia, which was annexed to your letter of the 23rd
July.
"The Emperor Napoleon protests against the contents of that treaty. He
is not the prisoner of England: after having abdicated, into the hands
of the representatives of the nation, for the advantage of the
constitution adopted by the French people, and in favour of his son, he
repaired voluntarily and freely to England, to live there as a private
individual, in retirement, under the protection of the British laws. The
violation of all laws cannot constitute a right; in point of fact, the
person of the Emperor Napoleon is in the power of England; but in fact,
and of right, he has not been and is not in the power of Austria,
Russia, and Prussia, even according to the laws and customs of England,
who never admitted into the balance, in the exchange of prisoners, the
Russians, the Austrians, the Prussians, the Spaniards, the Portuguese,
although she was united to those powers by treaties of alliance, and
made war conjointly with them. The convention of the 2nd August, made
fifteen days after the Emperor Napoleon was in England, cannot, of
right, have any effect; it exhibits only a spectacle of a coalition of
the four great powers of Europe for the oppression of a SINGLE MAN!--a
coalition disclaimed by the opinion of all people, and at variance with
all the principles of sound morality. The Emperors of Austria and of
Russia, and the King of Prussia, not having, either in fact or of right,
any controul over the person of the Emperor Napoleon, they have had no
power to decree any thing concerning him. If the Emperor Napoleon had
been in the power of the Emperor of Austria, that prince would have
recollected the relations which religion and nature have placed between
a father and a son,--relations which are never violated with impunity.
He would have recollected, that Napoleon has four times restored him to
his throne: at Leoben, in 1797, and at Luneville, in 1801, when his
armies were under the walls of Vienna; at Presburg, in 1806, and at
Vienna, in 1809, when his armies were masters of the capital, and of
three-fourths of the monarchy. That prince would have recollected the
protestations which he made to him at the bivouac of Moravia, in 1806,
and at the interviews at Dresden, in 1812. If the person of the Emperor
Napoleon had been in the power of the Emperor Alexander, he would have
called to mind the bonds of friendship contracted at Tilsit, at Erfurt,
and during twelve years of daily intercourse. He would have remembered
the conduct of the Emperor Napoleon on the day after the battle of
Austerlitz, when, having it in his power to make him prisoner with the
wreck of his army, he contented himself with his parole, and suffered
him to operate his retreat. He would have called to mind the dangers
which the Emperor Napoleon personally braved to extinguish the
conflagration of Moscow, and preserve to him that capital. Certainly,
that prince would not have violated the duties of friendship and
gratitude towards a friend in misfortune. If the person of the Emperor
Napoleon had even been in the power of the King of Prussia, that
sovereign would not have forgotten, that it depended on the emperor,
after the day of Friedland, to place another prince on the throne of
Berlin; he would not have forgotten, in the presence of a disarmed
enemy, the protestations of devotedness and the sentiments which he
expressed to him in 1812, at the interviews of Dresden. Accordingly, it
is obvious in the Articles 2 and 9 of the said treaty of the 2nd August,
that, being unable in any way to influence the fate of the Emperor
Napoleon's person, which is not in their power, those same persons agree
to what shall be done thereon by the King of Great Britain, who
undertakes to fulfil all obligations. These princes have reproached the
Emperor Napoleon with having preferred the protection of the English
laws to their protection. The false notions which the Emperor Napoleon
had of the English laws, and of the influence which the opinion of a
great, generous, and free people had on their government, induced him to
prefer the protection of their laws to that of his father-in-law, or his
old friend. The Emperor Napoleon was ever competent to ensure what
concerned him personally, by a diplomatic treaty, either by replacing
himself at the head of the army of the Loire, or by placing himself at
the head of the army of the Gironde, which General Claus commanded. But,
seeking thenceforward only retirement, and the protection of the laws of
a free nation, either English or American, all stipulations appeared to
him unnecessary. He thought the English would be more bound by his
frank, noble, and confident procedure, than they would have been by the
most solemn treaties. He was mistaken. But this error will always make
true Britons blush; and, both in the present and in future generations,
it will be a proof of the faithlessness of the English administration.
An Austrian and a Russian commissioner have arrived at St. Helena. If
the object of their mission be the fulfilment of the duties which the
Emperors of Austria and Russia contracted by the treaty of the 2nd of
August, and to see that the English agents, in a small colony, in the
midst of the ocean, do not fail in the attentions due to a prince, bound
to them by the ties of kindred and by so many other relations, there may
be recognised in this procedure some characteristics of those
sovereigns. But you, sir, have affirmed that those commissioners had
neither the right nor the power to form any opinion as to whatever takes
place on this rock.
"The English ministry have caused the Emperor Napoleon to be transported
to St. Helena, 2000 leagues from Europe. This rock is situated in the
tropic, 900 leagues from any continent; it is subject to the consuming
heats of this latitude; it is covered with clouds and fogs during three
quarters of the year; it is at once the driest and the most humid
country in the world; such a climate is most adverse to the emperor's
health. It was hatred that dictated the choice of this abode, as well as
the instructions given by the English ministry to the officers
commanding at this place. They have been ordered to call the Emperor
Napoleon, 'General,' wishing to oblige him to acknowledge that he has
never reigned in France; and this has determined him not to assume a
name of incognito, as he had resolved to do on quitting France. As first
magistrate, for life, of the republic, he concluded the preliminaries of
London and the treaty of Amiens with the King of Great Britain; he
received, as ambassadors, Lord Cornwallis, Mr. Merry, and Lord
Whitworth, who sojourned in this quality at his court. He accredited to
the King of England Count Otto and General Andreossy, who resided as
ambassadors at the court of Windsor. When, after an interchange of
letters between the two administrations of foreign affairs, Lord
Lauderdale came to Paris, invested with full powers from the King of
England, he treated with plenipotentiaries invested with full powers
from the Emperor Napoleon, and sojourned several months at the court of
the Thuilleries. When, subsequently, at Chatillon, Lord Castlereagh
signed the ultimatum which the allied powers presented to the
plenipotentiaries of the Emperor Napoleon, he thereby recognised the
fourth dynasty. That ultimatum was more advantageous than the treaty of
Paris; but it was demanded that France should renounce Belgium and the
left bank of the Rhine, which was contrary to the propositions of
Frankfort, and to the proclamations of the allied powers, which was
contrary also to the oath by which at his coronation the emperor had
sworn to the integrity of the empire. The emperor then thought that the
natural limits were necessary to the guarantee of France, and to the
equilibrium of Europe. He thought that the French nation, in their then
existing circumstances, ought rather to incur all the chances of war
than to depart from them. France would have obtained that integrity, and
with it preserved her honour, if TREASON had not come to the aid of the
allies.
"The treaty of the 2nd August and the British bill in parliament call
the emperor, 'Napoleon Bonaparte,' and do not give him the title of
general. The title of General Bonaparte is doubtless eminently glorious;
the emperor bore it at Lodi, at Castiglione, at Rivoli, at Arcola, at
Leoben, at the Pyramids, at Aboukir; but for seventeen years he has
borne that of first consul and of emperor. It would be to allow that he
has not been either first magistrate of the republic, or sovereign of
the fourth dynasty. Those who think that nations are mere flocks, which
belong, _by divine right_, to certain families, are not in the spirit of
the age, nor even in that of the English legislature, which several
times changed the order of its dynasty, because great changes that had
taken place in opinions, in which the reigning princes did not
participate, had rendered them inimical to the welfare and to a great
majority of that nation. FOR KINGS ARE ONLY HEREDITARY MAGISTRATES, WHO
EXIST BUT FOR THE WELFARE OF NATIONS, AND NOT NATIONS FOR THE
SATISFACTION OF KINGS. It was the same spirit of hatred which ordained
that 'the Emperor Napoleon should not write or receive any letter,
unless it was opened and read by the English ministers and the officers
of St. Helena.' He has thus been denied the possibility of receiving
news from his mother, his wife, his son, his brothers; and when,
desirous of avoiding the inconvenience of seeing his letters read by
subaltern officers, he wished to send letters sealed to the Prince
Regent, the answer was, that they could only undertake to let open
letters pass; that 'such were the instructions of the ministry.' This
measure needs not be reflected on; it will give strange ideas of the
spirit of the administration which dictated it; _it would even be
disclaimed at Algiers_! Letters have arrived for general officers of the
emperor's suite; they were unsealed, and were remitted to you; you did
not communicate them, because they had not passed through the channel of
the English ministry. It was necessary to make them travel over again
4000 leagues, and those officers had the pain of knowing that there
existed on this rock, news from a wife, a mother, children, which they
were not to know for six months. The heart rises at this!! We were not
allowed to subscribe for the Morning Chronicle, the Morning Post, and
some French journals. Some odd numbers of the Times were now and then
sent to Longwood. Upon the demand made on board the Northumberland, some
books were sent, but all those relative to transactions of late years
were carefully withheld. It was afterwards wished to correspond with a
London bookseller, in order to have direct means of obtaining some books
that were wanted, and those which related to the events of the day: this
was prevented. An English author having performed a voyage in France,
and having printed it in London, took the trouble to send it you, that
it might be offered to the emperor; but you did not think yourself
empowered to transmit it to him, because it had not come to you by the
channel of your government. It is also said that other books sent by
their authors could not be transmitted, because on the title page of
some were the words 'To the Emperor Napoleon,' and on others 'To
Napoleon the Great.' The English ministry are not authorized to order
any of these vexations; the law of the British parliament, though
iniquitous, considers the Emperor Napoleon as a prisoner of war; and
prisoners of war have never been forbidden to subscribe for journals, or
to receive books which are printed. Such a prohibition is made only in
the dungeons of the inquisition.
"The isle of St. Helena is ten leagues in circumference; it is
inaccessible on all sides; the coast is surrounded by some brigs, and
there are posts placed on its verge within sight of each other, which
render all communication with the sea impracticable. There is only one
small village, James Town, where vessels arrive and depart. To prevent
an individual from quitting the island, it is sufficient to guard the
coast by sea and land. In interdicting the interior of the island,
therefore, there can only be one object, that of excluding an easy ride
of eight or ten miles, which exclusion, in the opinion of professional
men, is shortening the life of the emperor.
"The emperor has been established at Longwood, a site exposed to all
winds, a sterile tract, uninhabited, destitute of water, unsusceptible
of any culture. There is a precinct of about 1200 toises uncultivated;
at the distance of 300 or 400 toises, upon a peak, they have established
a camp; another has just been placed about the same distance, in the
opposite direction; so that, amidst the tropic heats, on whatever side
we turn, we behold nothing but camps. Admiral Malcolm, having conceived
how useful a tent would be to the emperor in such a situation, has
caused one to be pitched by his sailors, twenty paces in front of the
house; this is the only place where any shade can be found. However, the
emperor has no reason but to be satisfied with the spirit which animates
the officers and soldiers of the brave 53rd., as he also was with the
crew of the Northumberland. Longwood House was built to serve as a barn
for the Company's farm; subsequently, the lieutenant-governor of the
island had some rooms fitted up there; it served him as a country-house,
but it had none of the conveniencies of a dwelling. For a year past, men
have been constantly at work there, and the emperor has been continually
exposed to the inconvenience and insalubrity of inhabiting a house in a
state of building. The room in which he sleeps is too small to contain a
bed of ordinary dimensions: but every addition to Longwood House would
prolong the annoyance of the workmen's attendance. Yet in this miserable
island there are beautiful spots, presenting fine trees, gardens, and
pretty good houses, Plantation House among others; but the positive
instructions of the ministry prohibit you from giving that house, which
might have spared much expense from your treasure, expense employed in
building at Longwood some cottages covered with pitched paper, which are
already out of repair. You have forbidden all correspondence between us
and the inhabitants of the isle; you have in fact placed the house of
Longwood in a state of exclusion; you have even fettered the
communications of the officers of the garrison. It seems to have been a
study to deprive us of the few resources which this miserable country
affords, and we are here as we should be on the uncultivated and
uninhabited rock of Ascension. During the four months that you, Sir,
have been at St. Helena, you have deteriorated the situation of the
emperor. Count Bertrand observed to you, that you were violating even
the law of your legislature; that you were trampling under foot the
rights of general officers, prisoners of war: you answered, that you
recognised only the letter of your instructions, that they were worse
even than your conduct appeared to us.
"I have the honour to be, General,
"Your very humble and obedient Servant,
(Signed) "The General C{te}. DE MONTHOLON."
"P.S. I had signed this letter, Sir, when I received your's of the
17th. You annex to it an estimate of an annual sum of twenty thousand
pounds sterling, which you deem indispensable to meet the expenditure of
the establishment at Longwood, after all the reductions have been made
which you have judged practicable. The discussion of this statement
cannot in any manner concern us. The emperor's table is scarcely what is
strictly necessary; all the provisions are of bad quality, and four
times dearer than at Paris. You ask of the emperor a fund of twelve
thousand pounds sterling, your government allowing you only eight
thousand pounds sterling, for all these expenses. I have had the honour
to tell you that the emperor had no funds; that for a year past he had
not received or written any letter; and that he was in complete
ignorance as to what is passing or may have been passing in Europe.
Transported by violence to this rock, 2000 leagues distant, without the
power of receiving or writing any letter, he now remains entirely at the
discretion of the English agents. The emperor has always desired, and
does desire, to defray all expenses whatever himself; and he will do so
as soon as you will make it possible for him, by removing the
prohibition imposed on the merchants of the island, of forwarding his
correspondence, and by consenting that it shall not be subject to any
inquisition by you or any of your agents. As soon as the wants of the
emperor shall be known in Europe, the persons who are interested
concerning him will send the necessary funds for supplying them.
"The letter of Lord Bathurst, which you have communicated to me, gives
rise to some strange ideas. Were your ministers then ignorant that the
spectacle of a great man struggling with adversity is the sublimest of
spectacles? Were they ignorant that Napoleon at St. Helena, amidst
persecutions of all kinds, which he confronts only with serenity, is
greater, more sacred, more venerable, than on the first throne in the
world, where he was so long the arbiter of kings? Those who in this
position are wanting in what is due to Napoleon, vilify only their own
character, and the nation which they represent.
(Signed) "The Gen. C{te}. DE MONTHOLON."
FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.
"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.
At the commencement of the year
1823,
some friends of the late ill-fated queen addressed Mr. Canning upon the
subject of certain letters and papers, preserved from the period of her
majesty leaving this country in 1814. Mr. Canning, however, did not
think proper to reply to this communication. At the expiration of two
months, another respectful inquiry was submitted, but it also shared the
fate of its predecessor. A third expostulatory epistle was forwarded,
and a certain individual received an anonymous reply, saying, "Things
were changed; times were altered; and it was impossible that Mr. Canning
could serve the king and the cause of the person so much disliked by his
majesty!" This circumstance affords indubitable proof, that a man in
office can never prove himself free from the trammels of party, or
unwarped by elevation to power. Humanity and generosity were, however,
alike forgotten in this case for _interested_ motives,--a meanness which
no man of integrity would have committed. But, to any one acquainted
with the truckling arts of Mr. Canning, such conduct was no more than
might have been expected.
Early in this year, Mr. Vansittart was released from the _fatigues_ of
the financial department, and raised to the chancellorship of the duchy
of Lancaster, at the same time sinking his humble name for the more
agreeable title of Lord Bexley. Mr. Robinson succeeded him in the
Exchequer, and Mr. Huskisson was appointed president of the Board of
Trade. The latter changes gave the public much pleasure, as those
individuals were supposed to possess a manly sense of propriety, as well
as liberal opinions, from which the country hoped to reap some benefit
in financial and commercial administration.
Very soon after these political arrangements were completed, the royal
family were much annoyed by applications on behalf of the _protege_ of
her late majesty, William Austin, as the trifling income he received was
not sufficient to support him in comfort and respectability. But,
although he had been left her majesty's residuary legatee, his claims
were totally disregarded.
Notwithstanding the bold language used in memorials and private
addresses to the king at this time, the interest and happiness of the
population of this mighty empire were treated as subjects of no
consequence. The besotted "Prince of Dandies" was rioting in luxury and
adulterous embraces, and neither felt nor cared for public distress. He
was too great, _in his own estimation_, to condescend to men of low
estate; he was too mighty to listen to the cry of the destitute; and too
noble to heed the incessant petitions of the rabble, as all those who
complained of existing grievances were denominated by him and his
ministers. But the "accomplished gentleman" was not above receiving half
the peasant's loaf; and, like the locust, he made the increase of the
land his prey. It was _acknowledged_ in the House of Commons that the
coronation expenses amounted to two hundred and thirty-eight thousand
pounds! and that even the DRESS of the monarch, for whom such a mighty
show was made, cost twenty-four thousand pounds!!! This abominable
expenditure, too, was for the _honour_ of George the Fourth, whose
excesses and debaucheries would have disgraced the most debased of his
subjects,--the man who had dishonestly permitted the most valuable jewel
to be extracted from the crown of England, to bestow upon the _lusty
person_ of his mistress. A beautiful jewel, that formerly belonged to
his deceased daughter Charlotte, was also given to this same _kind_
lady. The jewel belonging to the crown was, upon compulsion only,
afterwards restored, but the other is still retained! Some celebrated
jewellers, not ten miles from Ludgate Hill, could bear testimony, that
the choicest trinkets in their possession were culled, by this "Prince
of Abominations," for presents to his mistresses and confidants. Such,
however, was the easy character of the English nation, that they
submitted to the absolute command of a tinselled despot, and became
dupes to custom.
The misrule of the year
1824
opened with the unfortunate ratification of the "movements" in Italy
and Spain, which tended to consolidate arbitrary power throughout
Europe, so that the Continent might be considered as one federal
despotism, each state possessing its peculiar coercive government, under
the controul of the "Holy Alliance," improperly so called.
The public now lost an uncompromising friend in Thomas, Lord Erskine,
who died on the 17th of January, in the 74th year of his age. His
lordship was not a favourite with the king; his sentiments were of too
liberal a cast for George the Fourth's ideas of subjection and tyranny.
Neither did Lord Erskine ever become a welcome visiter at the palace,
because the court-minions knew that he despised intrigue and villany.
The poison of the court was of too malignant a character for his
lordship. There, all direct terms were disused in discourse, and distant
insinuations supplied their place. Every shining reputation was sure to
be sullied, and the ministers, as well as the officers of the army, and
clergymen of the "Established" church, were perpetually left to the
discretion of that sort of people, who, as they could not be useful to
the state themselves, suffered none to serve it with reputation and
glory. The king himself had no informations but what were conveyed to
him by the canal of a few favourites, who acted always in concert
together, and even when they seemed to disagree in their opinions, they
were only in the province of a single person to their sovereign. A
tainted atmosphere like this was, therefore, ill-suited to the
enlightened and patriotic mind of Lord Erskine, who proved himself to
be a talented and equitable judge, an admirable statesman, and a most
accomplished and kind-hearted gentleman. The native sweetness of his
disposition inclined him to universal humanity; his unbiassed judgment
and his keen penetration well fitted him for the important situation of
Lord Chancellor; and his unclouded understanding guided him to support
beneficial measures for the people, while his indignant and noble soul
poured forth its majestic language on the oppressors of his
long-enslaved country. His lordship was ever actuated by the best of
motives, while his conduct was free from all party extremes. On the
memorable proceedings against Queen Caroline, his lordship freely
delivered his sentiments upon their unjustness and wickedness, and we
shall never forget the energy with which he closed his eloquent remarks:
"All the powers of Europe," said he, "are in array against one deserted,
betrayed, and unprotected woman! I am an old man, and have had more
experience than most of your lordships in proceedings of this kind; I
could not have interest or object in attempting to deceive or mislead
you; and, therefore, I shall ever defend myself against any imputation
which may be directed against the purity of my motives, in doing what I
thank my God I have done, and which, under similar circumstances, if
unhappily they occurred, I should repeat." The freshness and vigour of
youth glistened in his lordship's eye as these words burst from his
lips, which proclaimed him deserving of being numbered among the
venerated champions of our injured and oppressed queen.
We have also to record the death of another determined enemy of tyranny,
in the person of Lord Byron, who expired at Missolonghi, on the 19th of
April, after an illness of ten days. His lordship had rendered himself
highly popular among the Greeks by his pecuniary and personal services
in their good cause, and, to show their great respect for his worth, and
sorrow for his loss, they would not permit the celebration of their
usual festivities at Easter. His lordship's genius as a poet is freely
acknowledged; but, though he possessed many public and private virtues,
they have been but little estimated, while the tongue of Slander has
enlarged upon his frailties with much greater severity than they really
deserved. As we were personally intimate with his lordship, we may be
allowed to know something of his private sentiments and opinions, and we
willingly testify to the exalted ideas he entertained in the cause of
universal freedom and equitable government, as well as to his general
benevolence and kindness of heart. In religion, his lordship avowed
himself a free thinker, a determined enemy to pious fraud and cant, and
a despiser of all prosecutions, having for their object the stifling of
conscientious opinion. These liberal sentiments called forth the pious
rage of many ignorant and intolerant ministers of the gospel, who
attempted to darken his bright fame by their bigotted tirades against
his pretended infidelity, as well from the PULPIT as in their numerous
vituperating pamphlets. Such a system of enforcing the mild and
benevolent doctrines of Christianity, however, will work no conversions
but on those whose minds are clouded by the baneful effects of
ignorance. The gigantic power of Lord Byron's genius could not tamely
endure the thraldom of being confined to certain modes of narrow-minded
faith. He felt that he had a right to examine and to judge for himself
in matters of such vital importance to his eternal peace, and for which
no one should have condemned him. If his lordship occasionally expressed
his indignation at religious prosecutors and Pharisees, ought it,
therefore, to be inferred that he was an infidel? No real Christian, we
are convinced, would so demean himself; and from the intolerant portion
of religious professors, his lordship's fame has little to fear.
Posterity will be the best judge of such matters, as it will be sure to
discard all private acrimony and party feeling; to its award, therefore,
we shall confidently look for a removal of the stigma of "INFIDEL" from
the character of the illustrious author of "Childe Harold."
Would that it were in our power, before closing the account of this
year, to record the passing of some beneficial act for relieving the
oppressed people of England; but we cannot. Our ministers seemed as
resolutely determined as ever to plunge and flounder onward in the track
that had already procured them the detestation of the British public,
and effected the ruin and misery of our once-flourishing and happy
country. Looking backward upon their conduct, nothing could be seen but
political turpitude; the present was pregnant with wretchedness; but, in
contemplating the future, the patriot was animated to exertion by the
cheering star of Hope. The baneful influence of the cabinet over our
legislative assemblies, the time-serving politics of our church
dignitaries and their dependants, and the sycophantic spirit of all
those who came within the vortex of the court, form
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