Maxims and Opinions of Field-Marshal His Grace the Duke of Wellington Part 4

The Duke's acknowledgement, was simple, according to his character, and modest as became his position. He said, "The n.o.ble lord, who I hope will allow me to call him my n.o.ble friend, has stated to you with great truth, that there are times and circ.u.mstances in which, and under which, all feelings of party, all party animosity, all descriptions of political feelings must be laid aside. I must do my n.o.ble and learned friend the justice to say, that for years and years there has been nothing of that description in social life as between him and me, notwithstanding which it is certainly true that I have had the misfortune of differing in opinion with my n.o.ble and learned friend upon many points of internal and possibly of other descriptions of policy.

But I am afraid that, notwithstanding my most anxious wish to co-operate with all of you in the public service in which we have all been employed, I may happen (I know it does happen) to differ with some of you upon subjects of political interest to the country. But my n.o.ble and learned friend judges of you correctly when he says that such feelings of difference would not prevent you--as they have not prevented you--from doing me the honour of inviting me to this festival, and of bringing here to meet me not only the whole of this interesting county, but persons from all parts of the kingdom and even from abroad.

Therefore my n.o.ble and learned friend does you as well as himself justice when he states that there are occasions--occasions in relation to individuals as well as in relation to public interests and services--in which all feelings of party politics and opinions must be laid aside, in order to carry on the public service to the greatest point of advantage to the public interest. I have had sufficient experience in public life to know that this must be the case. I am convinced that it is that feeling which has induced you to pay this tribute of respect to the person holding the situation of Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, in order that you might encourage others hereafter to perform their duty honestly and conscientiously in the same honourable office."

On the 18th November, the same year, the Duke had an attack of epilepsy, which for a short time alarmed the public greatly for his safety, on account of his advanced age. Sir Astley Cooper and Dr. Hume were down at Walmer with him for a week, at the end of which time he recovered, greatly to the joy of the whole nation. It turned out that the Duke had brought on the attack adopting, to cure himself of a slight illness, a mode of treatment which would not be the most wise in a man of twenty-five, but was most dangerous to one so advanced in years. The Duke is very determined on such points--can never be persuaded that he is not the same man in point of const.i.tution that he was when in the Peninsula; and still preserves all the hardy habits of a soldier's life.

On this occasion he had sought to cure himself by fasting and cold bathing: he then, while under this treatment, followed the hounds, the consequence of which was that he fainted, and was soon afterwards seized as described.

On the return of Sir Robert Peel to power, in 1841, the Duke of Wellington again joined him; but this time he took no office, though accepting a seat in the cabinet. He still continued to lead in the lords, where his influence is fully felt, and where he constantly astonishes the house and silences his detractors by displaying a degree of knowledge on all legislative subjects scarcely compatible with his military education, and an activity and attention to business that would be admirable in any one, but which are still more praiseworthy as the voluntary service of a man who has conferred such distinguished benefits on his country.

Few men have been so blessed by fortune as to have been enabled to achieve a first-rate reputation in arms, and afterwards to arrive at as great distinction in the arts of peace. Rarely, at long intervals in the lapse of time, such opportunities have been afforded to great men; but still more rarely have even the greatest men been able to use them. To the Duke of Wellington, in our own time, has this high honour been especially vouchsafed; and no man ever yet lived who shewed himself more worthy the distinction, or more able to fulfill the demands of his country, whether in peace or in war. His youth and prime were spent in achieving victories: to preserve to posterity the fruits of those victories, in steady government, together with free inst.i.tutions; to make England such an example for foreign nations as would render all such victories unnecessary hereafter; this has been the still more glorious task of his declining years.

The military reputation of the Duke of Wellington rests on so firm a basis, that it will never be shaken. So long as military science is necessary in the world, so long will his system of tactics be followed by commanders responsible in their own hearts for the lives of their soldiers, and to their country for the conduct of their enterprises.

Of the military value of his dispositions and movements, military critics have recorded, almost universally, their unqualified praise. To civilians, it is left to admire the constant and watchful care of the Duke, whether in India or the Peninsula, in securing the due provision for his troops, while he at the same time maintained the strictest honour towards the natives who supplied them; and to respect the clearness of his perception, the sagacity of his decisions, and, above all, the firmness and determination of purpose which sustained him amidst every drawback and difficulty, until by his success he compelled his detractors to yield themselves captive to his judgment. It is only necessary to read the dispatches and general orders of the Duke of Wellington, in order to be convinced that he is not a mere soldier winning battles by superior tactics, but that he is also a man of a very high order of general talent, with an unusual insight into human nature, and possessing almost an instinctive knowledge of how mankind are to be governed. By that wonderful exposition of the comprehensive, wise, and philanthropic mind of the man, even his enemies were subdued.

Much controversy has been spent upon the demeanour of the Duke towards his soldiers, which has been stigmatised as cold, distant, at times harsh, and even selfish. For the charges of coldness and distance there appears to be some foundation. Unlike Napoleon, the Duke of Wellington never appealed to the enthusiasm of his soldiers; but he always relied upon their sense of duty. He regarded his army, organized by discipline, as a perfect machine, upon the performance of which he could calculate with precision, and as he never expected it to do more than it ought, so he never looked to see it do less. The idea of duty, of absolute responsibility and subordination from rank to rank, seems to have been that to which he was always content to appeal. Accordingly, his troops never failed him. Their rock-like steadfastness and constant unimpulsive bravery, it was that enabled him to carry out his plans with such certainty.

The contrast to Napoleon is no Where more seen than in the dispatches of the one and the bulletins of the other. In his demeanour to his men, the Duke was reserved; in his language, curt and laconic. If his troops felt the moral certainty that he was leading them to victory, and honoured him accordingly, it was not from personal enthusiasm, such as the wild love the emperor inspired in those around him, but from a deep respect for his character and a reliance on his talents. Nor did he condescend to charlatantism or bombast, as his great rival too often did. There is not the slightest trace of vanity about him. Compare the speech of the one to his army, beneath the Pyramids, with the simple, "Up, guards, and at them!" of the other. In these trifles, we find the key to the real minds of great men.

The political character of the Duke, and his services as a civilian, have never been sufficiently appreciated by the great ma.s.s of his countrymen. His brilliant military reputation cast into the shade his sterling but un.o.btrusive services as a senator and as a minister. It was even the fas.h.i.+on, for a long time, to a.s.sert that his taking office at all was a sign of defective judgment. Indeed, when he declared, in the House of Lords, that he would be "worse than mad to think of such a thing," he gave a colour to the supposition. His subsequent a.s.sertion, after he had become prime minister, that he had done so "because n.o.body else would," conveyed, in all probability, the simple truth. The Duke did not know his own capacity for government, until it was tried.

Another reason why his positive worth, as a politician, has not been so universally admitted as his military merit, is that, in the imaginations of a large portion of the public, he has been identified with a party.

This, in a country where party spirit is so strong and so universal, would alone be sufficient to secure his being misunderstood by all those who are not of the party to which he is alleged to be devoted. But it is a mistake to call the Duke of Wellington a party man; that is to say, in the ordinary sense of the word. It is true that, during the greater part of his life he has acted with what is called the conservative party, because in England no man can expect to serve his country efficiently, unless he enlists under some political banner or other. But there is a great difference between acting generally with a party, and the adoption of all its animosities and prejudices: and this difference the Duke of Wellington appears always to have perceived and acted upon.

Wherever the choice has lain between the opinions of his party and the general good of his country, the Duke has always preferred his country to his party; and if that is the character of a party man, may all politicians be speedily imbued with the same sentiments!

Notwithstanding this distinction, however, it is certain that the known opinions of the Duke of Wellington, and his ultimately taking office as the prime minister of the tory party, did lead to the belief that he was a party man, and directed towards him all those animosities and all that depreciating rancour which party spirit engenders, and which party tactics perpetuate; so that during a period of some four or five years his distinguished reputation as a soldier was obscured in the minds of many millions of his country, who,--and this remark applies more particularly to the years 1829, 1830, and 1831,--laid themselves open to the charge of being guilty of that meanest and basest of all crimes, ingrat.i.tude.

Happily, within the last ten years, a total change has come over the public mind. Those ill-grounded animosities are forgotten: the long and unparalleled services of the Duke are remembered: and a re-action, produced by a sense of shame acting upon early affections, has made him more popular, more beloved, more admired than ever he was before.

Look at the course of business in the House of Lords during the last few years, and you will observe that the Duke of Wellington has been the presiding spirit of that a.s.sembly. Nothing was done--nothing could be done without him; for he carries with him the proxies of so many of the thinking, experienced, far-seeing, influential of his countrymen.

It has been argued, that the Duke of Wellington possesses all this influence by virtue of his leaders.h.i.+p of a powerful party. Of course this means that any other leader of the conservatives could possess as much, or it means nothing. It is a fallacy. The Duke of Wellington's claims are almost entirely personal. It is to himself alone that all this silent homage is paid. Even were he to retire from active life to-morrow, still would he be followed into his retirement by political pupils, eager to imbibe those distillations of practical wisdom which his sagacity extracts from his vast stores of experience.

The fundamental basis of this power is his high military reputation; though that alone could not have secured it, unless accompanied by his firm principles and habits of observation. England differs from France in this respect,--that while our neighbours are more ready to elevate talent above property than we are, they are less choice as to the degree of the talent which they exalt. But if the English once know that they possess a first-rate man, they place him from that hour securely on an eminence, whence he may look down as from the heavens, upon wealth, rank, blood, and every earthly distinction. The Duke of Wellington is a first-rate man; and his countrymen acknowledge it with pride. But his mind is _sui generis_. His qualities are eminently useful: he could never have condescended to be brilliant. His mind is that of iron mould that defies alike warping, meretricious polish, or demolition.

It is a conviction of the thorough and unflinching honesty of his views and principles, and of the clear perception, the fruitful experience, and sound practical sense which regulate his opinions, that makes the Duke of Wellington the governing spirit in the House of Peers. There is no man in that house, be his talents or his services what they may, whose opinion carries so much weight with it; for there is no other man so independent of party. All the others, however moderate their natures or honest their intentions, have been compelled to give in at some time or other to the spirit of party. But the Duke is above party. He entered the House of Peers with an overpowering reputation, which enabled him from the first to take high ground. He does not need to curry favour with any man; nor does he fear to offend even the most powerful of his supporters, when his cause is just.

But the Duke's ascendancy in the House of Peers is not to be referred to the foregoing causes alone. Had he none of that personal influence derived from services and character to which we have referred, his abilities and information alone would enable him to take high rank. His claims in these respects are much, underrated by those who are opposed to him in politics. His reasoning is so simple, clear and palpable--so much in the character of what is called common sense--and his style of speaking so unpretending and free from ornament, that superficial observers have set him down as a mere blunt soldier, with a few fixed ideas, and a disposition dogmatically to insist on their adoption. This is altogether a mistake. The Duke of Wellington has as much of the true spirit of the statesman as any man who now affects the destinies of this country. There is scarcely a subject that has come before parliament since the commencement of his political career into which he has not fully entered. The character of his mind is to grasp every question.

Less than mastery of it--so far as the formation of a decided opinion according to the lights afforded to or by his mind--will not satisfy him. With the exception of one or two questions of high const.i.tutional principle, the "_cui bono?_" is the view his mind naturally takes. He is a practical utilitarian, seeking in every measure the utmost quant.i.ty of good of which it is capable; not always as much as he would perhaps wish to see, but as much as circ.u.mstances allow the hope of securing.

This mode of dealing with subjects is not well calculated for oratorical display, or for the parade of extensive information, even if the unaffected character of the Duke of Wellington would allow him to avail himself of them. They are cast aside, in pursuit of a less brilliant, but more useful, mode of treatment. Accordingly, the speeches of the Duke are brief, clear, pointed, and in one sense dogmatical.

After having canva.s.sed details, and brought to bear upon them his long and varied experience, he states his conclusions, accompanying them with the general principles that have guided their formation, in a few brief authoritative sentences. He is very careless about catching stray listeners, or drawing in his train the prejudiced or the inexperienced; but rather addresses himself to those whose age and wisdom ent.i.tle them to antic.i.p.ate consequences, or to those to whom experience of the value of his opinions may have taught a pre-disposed deference.

At other times, however--for instance, when making ministerial statements on matters connected with finance, or foreign policy, or important changes in the law--this short, abrupt, devil-may-care style is changed for one eminently adapted to the object. No one can then complain of a want of the proper information. All the historical facts, or figures, or principles, or general details, are then marshalled forward with a regularity and precision only to be equalled by the military arrangements of the Duke. There is not a word too much or too little: you are made thoroughly to comprehend the whole bearings of the question, without being overburthened with the useless details that so often figure in the speeches of orators of the red-tape school. The natural superiority of the Duke's mind is never more exhibited than in the masterly way in which he separates the wheat from the chaff, and weaves a clear and connected statement from ma.s.ses of facts, on subjects so foreign to the military pursuits of his youth and manhood.

To many, this praise of the Duke of Wellington, in a character in which he is so little known to the great ma.s.s of the public, will appear exaggerated; but those who have been accustomed to observe him in the House of Peers, will not be surprised to hear the estimation in which he is held by his political contemporaries of all parties. Those who have not heard and seen him in his character of politician and statesman, will scarcely continue sceptical (even if they are so), after having read the extracts contained in the following pages.

Much, however, as the independent spirit of self-reliance of the Duke, fortified by his character and experience, has secured him sway in the House of Lords, we must not blind ourselves to the fact, that this ill.u.s.trious man has sometimes, in the a.s.sertion of his opinions (unconsciously, we believe, and unintentionally) fallen into a practice of dogmatising, of calling on the House of Peers and the public to adopt his views, not so much on account of reasons urged in their support, as because they are stated by him. Rarely, however, have such instances occurred, and in extenuation of what, in a country of free discussion, would justly be deemed a dangerous innovation, we must bear in mind that where a man's opinions are the result of vary long experience and very extensive observation, it is not always possible to make the general mind aware of the process by which particular principles or views have been arrived at. The greatest men have often been compelled to content themselves with the simple a.s.sertion of opinions not pleasing to the mult.i.tude, and to appeal to time as the only test of their truth.

The Duke of Wellington looks to the practical common-sense bearing of every subject brought under his notice. His first aim is the public good; his next, how to attain that good with the least departure from established principles of policy. This practical turn of mind, joined as it is to a far-seeing and prophetic spirit, has contributed to confirm in the minds of his countrymen the admiration and influence which his military genius and success first created. They repose the utmost confidence in his sagacity; he is a party in himself. Whatever is essential to the national reputation, the welfare of the whole people, and, above all, to the stability of property, is sure to be originated, or, at all events, warmly supported by him.

For this reason a revolution never could have occurred under the government of the Duke; he has too intense a horror of the evils of civil contention, ever to have allowed matters to come to that pa.s.s.

This, it will be admitted, is a quality rarely to be found in a soldier, and a soldier, too, of such an inflexible cast as the Duke. Not less intense is his regard for national faith and honour. He would maintain the honour of the state at any expense, even of his own personal prejudices on home politics; for the Duke, like all strong-minded men, has his prejudices. He has vanquished, and obtained the mastery of the spirit of change, by showing that he can curb it, while he does not affect to play the tyrant over it. He knows when to be firm and when to yield. Many acts of the Duke of Wellington, in the course of his political career, that have called forth unlimited censure, have been based upon calculations which only so well-tutored and so well-stored a mind could have made.

It is an intellectual treat of the highest order to see the Duke of Wellington's demeanour in the House of Lords. It is essentially different from that of every other man there. He is almost the only unfettered man in the house. Others are fettered by obstacles which they create for themselves, in various ways, by the too eager pursuit of personal or party objects. But the Duke of Wellington's high reputation and standing place him above all such considerations. He can afford to speak the truth, and he does speak it on all occasions fearlessly. While other speakers, on either side of the house, have been wasting their powers in fruitless eloquence (mere personal display), or in perverting the truth for the purpose, either of unfair attack or unfair defence, the Duke of Wellington has appeared to be paying not the slightest attention to the proceedings. He has sat absorbed in thought, or at least in seeming indifference. You would almost suppose that, overcome by fatigue, or indisposition, he was sleeping, so perfectly motionless and silent is he, reclining, with folded arms, his legs stretched out to their full length, and his hat over his brow. The question has been discussed, argued, disputed upon for hours. No result seems to have been come to, and you are as ignorant of the object and scope of the measure as when the debate began; nor have you any clear idea what will become of the bill.

At length, the Duke of Wellington rises, advances abruptly to the table, wraps the tails of his coat, like a dressing-gown, over his legs, and plunges at once _in medias res_. There is an undivided attention while he speaks, indeed, it is sometimes absolutely necessary, for, when indisposed, he is often with difficulty heard, even by those near to him, as, indeed, he himself hears with difficulty, from being deaf on one side. But in a moment you see that his mind is still as vigorous as ever. His keen intelligence pierces at once to the very core of the subject; no fallacy can blind or deceive the Duke of Wellington. He knows why the measure was introduced, what it is, what it will do, and what will become of it. He grapples with it in the spirit of a statesman. He is a guardian of the interests of the nation; he is the parliamentary trustee of the people; he is bound to look to their interests as a whole, for by the people he understands, not those who bawl the loudest about their rights, but those also who trust the maintenance of their privileges and their interests to parliament, in silent faith. He never forgets the _salus populi_.

On the other hand, the chap-trap maxims of liberalism, foreign or domestic, meet from him with just as much credence and attention as they deserve; he never allows enthusiasm to intrude among political considerations. He measures the length, breadth, and thickness of the bill before him; calculates with his unerring precision and practical wisdom, the effect which it will have, either on the happiness of the people, or on the social or political const.i.tution of the country.

According to its value for good or for evil, does the Duke of Wellington support or oppose it; and from that hour its fate is usually decided.

Why? because the unbending unflinching honesty of the man, and his political sagacity, have created him a character unprecedented in the annals of his country.

The Duke's style of speaking is what might be expected from his character, plain, simple, straightforward. His sentences are short and pithy, his language clear and lucid; his delivery abrupt. When he makes a point, it falls on the mind with the force of a sledge-hammer. His voice reminds one of that of an officer giving the word of command; he lays emphasis, short and somewhat harsh, on the leading words of the sentence, and speaks the rest in an under tone. Although, however, in consequence of his age and the gradual approach of infirmity, his utterance is not so clear as it used to be, yet you can always understand immediately his whole meaning. He uses the plainest language of every-day colloquy. His style is impressive from its doric simplicity. You never entertain a doubt of his sincerity; and although you may not always agree with him in opinion, you have, at least, the satisfaction of knowing that his propositions are the true result of his feelings or his thoughts; and are not merely put forward to answer the purposes of party, or to secure a triumph in debate.

For the same reason, the Duke never attempts to impose on the house a fict.i.tious enthusiasm, or a pretended excitement. If he gets excited, (and he will sometimes get into a terrible pa.s.sion at any infringement of const.i.tutional integrity or breach of discipline), there is no mistaking it for a mere prepared climax to a speech; he is completely possessed by the demon. The only action he ever uses is on such occasions, and then it is almost convulsive. His arms and legs seem no longer to be under control, they quiver, and shake, and tremble: and the clenched fist, violently and frequently struck upon the table, denotes that some very potent feeling of indignation is, for the time, mastering the usual calmness of this self-possessed man.

Yet though at times he is thus carried away by his feelings, his ultimate judgment of a measure is not impaired by it. He can cauterise or cut out the cankered part, and yet preserve all that was not offensive to his sense of right and wrong.

Those who have read the speeches of the Duke, will have remarked the intensely British feeling that pervades them. He is like the old Romans in his admiration and love for his country and her inst.i.tutions. The same feeling breathes in all his speeches. The same magnanimous brevity that marked the public declarations of that haughty people, dignifies the addresses of the Duke of Wellington. Some of his sayings, as, for instance, "that a great nation can never wage a little war," will he embalmed in history. His denunciations are like the alarum of a war trumpet. The same character of simplicity which marks the Duke's speeches pervades his whole conduct, public and private. Though no man is more capable of enjoying the refinements of modern society, luxury has not enervated his mind or his manners. His dress, his equipage, his habits, all partake of the same indifference to effect--all have a cast of the hardy self-denial of the camp. A mattress bed, constant horse exercise, rising with the lark, not unfrequently remaining up twenty hours out of the twenty-four, and the daily use of cold shower baths, winter and summer,--these contradictions to the usual habits of men, when their age approaches to fourscore, bespeak no ordinary carelessness of ease, and a singular determination of purpose. Well, indeed, has he been named the Iron Duke.

MAXIMS AND OPINIONS OF HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

INDIA.

To offer a public reward, by proclamation, for a man's life, and to make a secret bargain to have it taken away, are very different things; the one is to be done, the other, in my opinion, cannot by an officer at the head of the troops.

_Dispatch, July 8, 1800._

As for the wishes of the people, particularly in this country (India), I put them out of the question. They are the only philosophers about their governors that ever I met with, if indifference const.i.tutes that character.

_Dispatch, August 20, 1800._

In military operations time is everything.

_Dispatch, June 30, 1800._

Articles of provision are not to be trifled with, or left to chance; and there is nothing more clear than that the subsistence of the troops must be certain upon the proposed service, or the service must be relinquished.

_Dispatch, Feb. 18, 1801._