London, September 18th.—It was at Doncaster on Wednesday morning last that I heard of the Duke of Wellington's death, which at first nobody believed, but they speedily telegraphed to London, and the answer proved that the report was correct. Doncaster was probably the only place in the kingdom where the sensation caused by this event was not absorbing and profound; but there, on the morning of the St. Leger, most people were too much occupied with their own concerns to bestow much thought or lamentation on this great national loss. Everywhere else the excitement and regret have been unexampled, and the press has been admirable, especially the 'Times,' the biographical notice and article in which paper were both composed many months ago, and shown to me. Indeed the notices of the Duke and the characters drawn of him have been so able and elaborate in all the newspapers, that they leave little or nothing to be said. Still, there were minute traits of character and peculiarities about the Duke which it was impossible for mere public writers and men personally unacquainted with him to seize, but the knowledge and appreciation of which are necessary in order to form a just and complete conception of the man. In spite of some foibles and faults, he was, beyond all doubt, a very great man—the only great man of the present time—and comparable, in point of greatness, to the most eminent of those who have lived before him. His greatness was the result of a few striking qualities—a perfect simplicity of character without a particle of vanity or conceit, but with a thorough and strenuous self-reliance, a severe truthfulness, never misled by fancy or exaggeration, and an ever-abiding sense of duty and obligation which made him the humblest of citizens and most obedient of subjects. The Crown never possessed a more faithful, devoted, and disinterested subject. Without personal attachment to any of the monarchs whom he served, and fully understanding and appreciating their individual merits and demerits, he alike reverenced their great office in the persons of each of them, and would at any time have sacrificed his ease, his fortune, or his life, to serve the Sovereign and the State. Passing almost his whole life in command and authority, and regarded with universal deference and submission, his head was never turned by the exalted position he occupied, and there was no duty, however humble, he would not have been ready to undertake at the bidding of his lawful superiors, whose behests he would never have hesitated to obey. Notwithstanding his age and his diminished strength, he would most assuredly have gone anywhere and have accepted any post in which his personal assistance might have been essential to the safety or advantage of the realm. He had more pride in obeying than in commanding, and he never for a moment considered that his great position and elevation above all other subjects released him from the same obligation which the humblest of them acknowledged. He was utterly devoid of personal and selfish ambition, and there never was a man whose greatness was so thrust upon him. It was in this dispassionate unselfishness, and sense of duty and moral obligation, that he was so superior to Napoleon Bonaparte, who, with more genius and fertility of invention, was the slave of his own passions, unacquainted with moral restraint, indifferent to the well-being and happiness of his fellow-creatures; and who in pursuit of any objects at which his mind grasped trampled under foot without remorse or pity all divine and human laws, and bore down every obstacle and scorned every consideration which opposed themselves to his absolute and despotic will. The Duke was a good-natured, but not an amiable man; he had no tenderness in his disposition, and never evinced much affection for any of his relations. His nature was hard, and he does not appear to have had any real affection for anybody, man or woman, during the latter years of his life, since the death of Mrs. Arbuthnot, to whom he probably was attached, and in whom he certainly confided. Domestic enjoyment he never possessed, and, as his wife was intolerable to him, though he always kept on decent terms with her, at least, ostensibly, he sought the pleasure of women's society in a variety of capricious liaisons, from which his age took off all scandal: these he took up or laid aside and changed as fancy and inclination prompted him. His intimate friends and adherents used to smile at these senile engouements, but sometimes had to regret the ridicule to which they would have exposed him if a general reverence and regard had not made him a privileged person, and permitted him to do what no other man could have done with impunity. In his younger days he was extremely addicted to gallantry, and had great success with women, of whom one in Spain gained great influence over him, and his passion for whom very nearly involved him in serious difficulties. His other ladies did little more than amuse his idle hours and subserve his social habits, and with most of them his liaisons were certainly very innocent. He had been very fond of Grassini, and the successful lover of some women of fashion, whose weaknesses have never been known, though perhaps suspected. These habits of female intimacy and gossip led him to take a great interest in a thousand petty affairs, in which he delighted to be mixed up and consulted. He was always ready to enter into any personal matters, intrigues, or quarrels, political or social difficulties, and to give his advice, which generally (though not invariably) was very sound and good; but latterly he became morose and inaccessible, and cursed and swore at the people who sought to approach him, even on the most serious and necessary occasions.
Although the Duke's mind was still very vigorous, and he wrote very good papers on the various subjects which were submitted for his judgement and opinion, his prejudices had become so much stronger and more unassailable, that he gave great annoyance and a good deal of difficulty to the Ministers who had to transact business with him. He was opposed to almost every sort of change and reform in the military administration, and it was a task of no small difficulty to steer between the exigencies of public opinion and his objections and resistance. As it was always deemed an object to keep him in good humour, and many considerations forbade anything like a dissension with him, or an appeal against him to the public, the late Ministers often acted, or refrained from acting, in deference to his opinions and against their own, and took on themselves all the responsibility of maintaining his views and measures, even when they thought he was wrong. His habits were latterly very solitary, and after the death of Arbuthnot he had no intimacy with any one, nor any friend to whom he could talk freely and confidentially. As long as Arbuthnot lived he confided everything to him, and those who wished to communicate with the Duke almost always did so through him.
Notwithstanding the friendly and eulogistic terms in which he spoke of Sir Robert Peel just after his death, it is very certain that the Duke disliked him, and during the latter part of their Administration he seldom had any communication with Peel except such as passed through Arbuthnot. The Duke deeply resented, and I believe never heartily forgave, Peel's refusal to have anything to do with the Administration he so unwisely undertook to form on Lord Grey's sudden resignation in 1832, in the middle of the Reform contest; but this did not prevent his advising King William to make Peel Prime Minister, and taking office under him in 1835, and again in 1841. They acted together very harmoniously during Peel's Administration, but the Duke (though he sided with Sir Robert when the schism took place) in his heart bitterly lamented and disapproved his course about the Repeal of the Corn Laws, not so much from aversion to Free Trade as because it produced a fresh and final break-up of the Conservative party, which he considered the greatest evil which could befall the country. But whatever may have been his real sentiments with regard to various public men, he never allowed any partialities or antipathies to appear in his manner or behaviour towards them, and he was always courteous, friendly, and accessible to all, especially those in office, who had recourse to him for his advice and opinion. He had all his life been long accustomed to be consulted, and he certainly liked it till the last, and was pleased with the marks of deference and attention which were continually paid to him.
His position was eminently singular and exceptional, something between the Royal Family and other subjects. He was treated with greater respect than any individual not of Royal birth, and the whole Royal Family admitted him to a peculiar and exclusive familiarity and intimacy in their intercourse with him, which, while he took it in the easiest manner, and as if naturally due to him, he never abused or presumed upon. No man was more respectful or deferential towards the Sovereign and other Royal personages, but at the same time he always gave them his opinions and counsels with perfect frankness and sincerity, and never condescended to modify them to suit their prejudices or wishes. Upon every occasion of difficulty, public or private, he was always appealed to, and he was always ready to come forward and give his assistance and advice in his characteristic, plain, and straightforward manner. If he had written his own memoirs, he might have given to the world the most curious history of his own times that ever was composed, but he was the last man to deal in autobiography. One of his peculiarities was never to tell anybody where he was going, and when my brother or his own sons wished to be acquainted with his intentions, they were obliged to apply to the housekeeper, to whom he was in the habit of making them known, and nobody ever dared to ask him any questions on the subject. He was profuse but careless and indiscriminating in his charities, and consequently he was continually imposed upon, especially by people who pretended to have served under him, or to be the descendants or connexions of those who had, and it was very difficult to restrain his disposition to send money to every applicant who approached him under that pretence. Partly from a lofty feeling of independence and disinterestedness, and partly from indifference, he was a very bad patron to his relations and adherents, and never would make any applications for their benefit. The consequence was that he was not an object of affection, even to those who looked up to him with profound veneration and respect. He held popularity in great contempt, and never seemed touched or pleased at the manifestations of popular admiration and attachment of which he was the object. Whenever he appeared in public he was always surrounded by crowds of people, and when he walked abroad everybody who met him saluted him; but he never seemed to notice the curiosity or the civilities which his presence elicited.
LETTER ON THE DEFENCES OF THE COUNTRY.
Early in the year 1848, on the eve of the great convulsion caused by the French Revolution of February, Mr. Cobden delivered a speech in Manchester in which he ridiculed armaments and attacked the Duke of Wellington for his recent attempt to call public attention to the defences of the country. This led Mr. Greville to address the following letter to Mr. Cobden, in the 'Times' of February 2, 1848:—
Sir,—I have read with regret your recent speech at Manchester, more especially your comments on the Duke of Wellington's letter to Sir John Burgoyne, which are as unworthy of yourself as they are unjust and disrespectful to that illustrious person. It is fit that the real facts concerning that letter and its publication should be made known to the world, for the exaggerations and misrepresentations which have grown out of it are both injurious to the Duke of Wellington, and the source of much mischief and error in respect to the vexed question of national defence.
The letter (which is now above a year old) was a reply to one addressed by Sir John Burgoyne to his Grace upon the defence of the country. It was an exposition of the Duke's views and opinions, written, not merely without the least notion of its ever being published, but imparted confidentially, and (as I believe) without any idea that the contents of it would ever be divulged; but, by a most extraordinary and reprehensible breach of propriety and prudence, copies were taken of this letter, which were carelessly distributed, and almost hawked about the world. Curiosity and interest soon became excited. These copies were greedily sought, and particularly by those who subscribe to the Duke's opinions on the subject. Allusions and extracts first made their appearance in a newspaper, and at length the letter was published in extenso, without the consent or knowledge, and (as those who best know his sentiments affirm) very much to the annoyance and displeasure of the Duke. It is a great mistake to deal with this letter as if it were a formal official document, taken out of a Blue Book. No man knows better than the Duke of Wellington the difference between what is desirable and what is practicable. In writing confidentially to his military colleague, he naturally imparted to him what he thought it would be expedient to do; but, in dealing practically with such a subject, we may be sure that he never loses sight of the various complex considerations which the Government must look to, and of the necessity of combining the military exigencies with the political and financial circumstances of the country.
In explaining that the Duke's letter was not intended for publication, I am far from meaning to admit that the letter itself requires any apology, though the same cannot be said of the comments you have thought fit to make upon it; you misrepresented both its matter and its spirit, and all who respect your character and admire your abilities must have lamented to hear you treat the Duke himself with a contumely unbecoming in the mouth of any one, but especially so in that of a man with the high reputation which you deservedly enjoy. In vain, too, do we look in your speech for any of that vigorous reasoning with which you fought the great battle of Free Trade. Had you not sustained that cause with more forcible arguments than you have produced on the present occasion, you would never have obtained a European celebrity, and the flag might still be flying on the citadel of Protection.
You, and those who think with you, appear to rely mainly on two propositions:—
1. That a war with France is next to impossible; so improbable as to be not worth providing against.
2. That, in case of war, our naval superiority will always protect us from invasion or insult.
So far as I can find out, the only reasons and arguments by which you maintain the former of these propositions are your own demonstration that all nations would do well and wisely to turn their swords into ploughshares, and for the future to interchange merchandise instead of blows, and the fact that some French Free Traders have been making speeches marvellously resembling your own, and abounding with the same wholesome truths. The recommendations of Messrs. Visinet and Crémieux, as well as your own, are unquestionably replete with wisdom, and happy would it be if all the world would embrace them; if, besides such admirable speeches, we could see any essential reduction in the French tariff, or if the efforts of the French Opposition were seriously directed to promote the cause of commercial reform; but although you, Sir, in your recent tour throughout Europe, have been everywhere received with all the honour which is justly due to you, and though you have abundantly scattered the seeds of sound information and advice, we have yet to learn that any one country that you have visited, or any one Government with which you communicated, has put your lessons in practice.
DEFENCES OF THE COUNTRY.But while we are invited to accept such speculative reasoning as conclusive proof of the inviolability of peace, unfortunately one page of very recent history sweeps away the whole concatenation of your logic, the narration of which may produce something both of reflexion and anticipation. I admit that a war with France is not a probable event, but the same thing might have been said (perhaps with more truth) in 1844. The present Government, indeed, is no less pacifically inclined than the last, but it is well known that the relations of the two countries are by no means so intimate now as they were at the former period; and if, by any unhappy accident, differences should now occur, the same facilities for reconciliation and adjustment might not be forthcoming. And yet, in 1844, with the entente cordiale in full force, when M. Guizot and Lord Aberdeen were knit together by the closest ties of personal as well as diplomatic friendship, we suddenly found ourselves on the very brink of war. Everybody must remember the Tahiti affair, but many may have forgotten or never known its momentous details. The English Government considered itself aggrieved by France, and demanded reparation for the alleged wrong. The French Minister refused to give us the full measure of satisfaction that our honour required. A serious, and for a long time a fruitless discussion ensued between the two Governments, pending which an adjournment of the two Houses of Parliament took place. About a month afterwards (in the beginning of September) they met again. The day was fixed for the prorogation, and still the dispute with France was unsettled. At this crisis, and at the eleventh hour, a last offer was made by the French Government. There was barely time to consider it. The Cabinet was assembled for that purpose on the afternoon of the 4th. On the result of its deliberations the question of peace or war depended. There was very little to spare, for the maximum which M. Guizot could bring himself to offer was the minimum that we could with honour accept. However, the proposal was accepted, and on the following day the speech from the Throne announced that the reconciliation was effected, but in terms which showed the magnitude of the danger from which the world had escaped. 'Her Majesty,' it ran, 'has recently been engaged in discussions with the Government of the King of the French on events calculated to interrupt the good understanding and friendly relations between this country and France; you will rejoice to learn that, by the spirit of justice and moderation which has animated the two Governments, this danger is now happily averted.' The storm blew over, the Funds rose, and the country (slightly ruffled) relapsed into its ordinary state of security and repose. For some time before this incident, the Duke of Wellington had been urging the Government to make themselves stronger, and our naval force had been considerably increased. But it is not surprising that what had recently occurred, and the narrow escape we had had of being actually at war, should have made the Duke still more anxiously alive to the situation in which the country would have been placed if a rupture had unhappily taken place. He knew that the risks to which it was exposed were incalculably great. He knew that, in spite of all the difficulties we could interpose, it was far from impossible for an able and active enemy to inflict upon us, unprepared as we were, a disastrous, and a dishonourable blow. The spirit and patriotism of the warrior and the statesman rose up within him at the degrading thought, and from that moment he has never ceased to urge the Government of the day to place the country as soon as possible in a proper posture of defence; not, as it has been falsely and foolishly asserted, to prepare in peace for the last extremity, and incur the full cost of war, but, by making our moderate establishments really efficient, and adopting those defensive precautions which his great sagacity and profound knowledge of the art of war enabled him to suggest, to place the British Islands in a state of security against any sudden attack. And for thus contemplating the possibility of a catastrophe, which all but happened not four years ago, and for warning his countrymen against the danger, and showing them how to avert it, he is held up to the derision of a great assembly as a mischievous dotard, whose age is his only excuse. Having thrust aside the Duke of Wellington, you consistently proceeded in your speech to inform your audience that of such questions as the probability of peace or war, questions depending on various complex and secret operations of international policy, 'merchants and manufacturers, shopkeepers, operatives—ay, and calico printers,' are the most competent judges. Far be it from me to speak of these classes with the contempt with which you have treated the Duke and all others who defer to his opinions. They are entitled to respect, for they constitute a large part of the intelligence of the nation. Amongst them may be found silly and conceited persons, ready to swallow such flattery as you have condescended to tickle them with, but I believe they are, for the most part, men of sober and robust minds, who will not be misled by such fallacious compliments, and form a juster estimate of their own capacities, and the matters on which their habits, pursuits, and education render them really competent to decide. I think I have shown that war is not a contingency so utterly improbable as you would have the English public believe, and that those who contemplate the possibility of such a calamity are not necessarily the dotards, cowards, and fools, that you represent them. I am satisfied that the Sovereigns, the Ministers, the Parliaments, and the people of both countries desire the maintenance of peace. But what can insure us against future Pritchards, and D'Aubignés, and Bruats? Unforeseen accidents may beget untoward events, and the sparks of a fortuitous collision falling on some combustible matter may produce an explosion of national resentment or pride which no moderation and wisdom may be sufficient to extinguish. We have been taught to believe that the life of the French King is Europe's best security for the continuation of peace. Time is rapidly stealing away that security from us; and who can say when that wise head and steady hand shall be withdrawn, how long the elements of discord and confusion will be prevented from breaking loose? Nothing is more remarkable than the exaggeration which has marked the whole course of opposition to the plans of national defence. Their advocates, the Duke of Wellington at the head of them, are taunted with the folly of proposing a war establishment in a time of profound peace. Do those critics know what it is in contemplation to propose now, and what preparations were made when an invasion was really apprehended? The present purpose is to replenish our empty arsenals, add about 2,000 men to the artillery, and gradually (by 10,000 men at a time) to call out and discipline the Militia; these, together with the completion of the fortifications already in progress, are understood to be the defensive and precautionary measures which Parliament will be invited to sanction, and against which such a clamour is raised. Look at what was done in 1803 and 1804, when war was about to break out, and the camp of Boulogne was in process of formation. To encounter the army of 150,000 men which Napoleon was marshalling on the opposite coast, we had in these islands 650,000 men in arms: there were 130,000 Regulars, 110,000 Militia, and above 400,000 Volunteers. And three years later, when all dread of invasion had vanished, when the navies of France had been utterly destroyed, our forces in England were not less than 200,000 men.
DEFENCES OF THE COUNTRY.That our naval superiority must always be our chief reliance is undoubtedly true; but here, again, we have history against speculation, and we may look to the past for instruction as to the future. In 1796 nothing but storms and tempests prevented Hoche's expedition from accomplishing the invasion of Ireland or of England, if the French had preferred such an attempt. The events of that period have been thus recorded by Mr. Alison and Mr. James:—'The results of the expedition,' says the former, 'were pregnant with important instruction to both countries: to the French as demonstrating the extraordinary risks which attend a maritime expedition, the small number of forces which can be embarked on board, even of a great fleet, and the unforeseen disasters which frequently on that element defeat the best concerted enterprise; to the English, as showing that the empire of the seas does not always afford security against invasion; that, in the face of superior maritime forces, her possessions had been for sixteen days at the mercy of the enemy, and that neither the skill of her sailors nor the valour of her armies, but the fury of the elements, had saved them from danger in the most vulnerable point of her dominions. While these considerations are fitted to abate the confidence of invasion, they are calculated to weaken our own confidence in naval superiority, and to demonstrate that the only basis on which certain reliance can be placed, even in an insular Power, is a well-disciplined army and the patriotism of its own subjects.' Mr. James says:—'That a succession of storms, such as those with which the British Channel was visited, should disperse an encumbered and ill-manned French fleet ought not to excite surprise, but that during the three or four weeks that the ships of this fleet were traversing the English and Irish Channels in every direction, neither of the two British fleets appointed to look after them should have succeeded in capturing a single ship, may certainly be noted down as an extraordinary circumstance.' Steam has now made a great revolution in naval as well as social affairs; but though, in the long run, this country is more likely to profit by it than France, it is incontestable that the accidents and unforeseen circumstances of modern warfare render this country more vulnerable than it was under the old system. The general arguments have, however, been so amply and so ably stated in publications without end, that it would be superfluous to say more on the reality of the danger, and the wisdom of making adequate provision to meet it. But it is hard for any man who cares for the dignity or safety of his country, and who honours its greatest citizen and patriot, to endure in silence such a speech as you have lately delivered. You have acquired great influence over vast multitudes of men; you may safely guide or mischievously mislead a large amount of public opinion, and those who, from the vigour and intelligence of your past career, entertained sanguine expectations of your future usefulness as a public man, must feel deep disappointment and sorrow at the very different prospect held out by your recent display.
(The 'Times,' February 2, 1848.)
LETTER ON THE ANTI-PAPAL AGITATION.
The following is the letter signed 'Carolus' which Mr. Greville addressed to the 'Times' on the subject of the Protestant Agitation, on December 9, 1850, which is referred to in the text:—
To the Editor of the 'Times.'
THE ANTI-PAPAL AGITATION.Sir,—I am one of those who think we have had enough, and more than enough, of anti-Papal agitation. All the good it can produce has been achieved, while the evil is still increasing. The good, which I do not underrate, is a manifestation of the strong and universal attachment of the people of this country to the Protestant religion. The evil, the revival of sectarian animosities, and of that intolerant zeal so alien to the true spirit of Christianity, and which has ever been the bane and the torment of every country in which it has prevailed. I refrain from commenting upon the harangues and addresses which for weeks past have been resounding through the country and filling your columns, and I only hope that in all Europe nobody reads these effusions but ourselves, for they will not exalt our national reputation. It may be a vain attempt to sprinkle some drops of reason and remonstrance upon the raging furnace of popular excitement; but, like everything in this world, abuse and ridicule of the Pope and railing against the Roman Catholic religion must at last come to an end. When all this fury has exhausted itself, and people get tired of reading or of hearing the same stale repetitions, they will begin to take a more sober and practical view of the case, and to consider what this mountain in labour is eventually to produce. We shall assuredly look exceedingly foolish if all the hubbub should turn out to have been made without some definite, reasonable, and, moreover, attainable object; and yet we appear to be in imminent danger of finding ourselves in this perplexing and mortifying predicament. We cry out that an insult has been offered by the Pope to the English Crown and nation; that the ecclesiastical constitution which he has promulgated is illegal or unconstitutional, and that it shall not be endured. When the Queen of England is insulted, or her subjects are injured by any foreign Power, she demands redress, and, failing to obtain it, she exacts it by her armies and her fleets. Are we to hold the Pope in his temporal capacity responsible for his merely spiritual acts, and deal with him by demands and threats, and by armaments to enforce them? I apprehend that no such extreme measures will be adopted. How, then, are we to deal with a Power over which we can have no control, whose authority is purely spiritual, while the visible signs of its exercise are only to be found in a voluntary obedience which no laws can reach and no Governments can prevent? Your statutes will have no more effect at the Vatican than Papal bulls in Westminster Hall. You cannot restrain the Pope from elaborating his ecclesiastical policy here, and all the lawyers in England would fail in devising prohibitory laws as to spiritual matters which the objects of them could not find means to evade. Cardinal Wiseman has said with truth that England could not complain of being taken by surprise. More than two years ago it was no secret that such measures were in contemplation. They were discussed not only in the press, but in the House of Commons; and on one occasion Lord John Russell made a speech, which was so replete with wisdom and truth, and so exactly applicable to the present occasion and to all that is passing around us, that it deserves the most attentive and general consideration. On August 17, 1848, in a debate on the Diplomatic Relations with Rome Bill, Sir Robert Inglis, after declaring that he had no objection to call Dr. Wiseman a bishop, but objected to call him Archbishop of Westminster, put certain questions with regard to the appointment of archbishops and bishops in this country without the consent of its sovereign, to which the Prime Minister replied in the following terms:—
'I do not know that the Pope has authorised in any way by any authority that he may have the creation of archbishoprics and bishoprics with dioceses in England; but certainly I have not given my consent, nor should I give my consent if I were asked to do so, to any such formation of dioceses. With regard to spiritual authority, the honourable gentleman must see, when he alludes to other States in Europe, that whatever control is to be obtained over the spiritual authority of the Pope can only be obtained by agreement for that end. You must either give certain advantages to the Roman Catholic religion, and obtain from the Pope certain other advantages in return, among which you must stipulate that the Pope shall not create any dioceses in England without the consent of the Queen; or, on the other hand, you must say you will have nothing to do with arrangements of that kind, that you will not consent in any way to give any authority to the Roman Catholic religion in England. But then you must leave the spiritual authority of the Pope entirely unfettered. You cannot bind the Pope's spiritual influence unless you have some agreement.... But though you may prevent any spiritual authority being exercised by the Pope by law, yet there is no provision, no law my honourable friend could frame that would deprive the Pope of that influence that is merely exercised over the mind, or that could preclude him from giving advice to those who choose to attend to such advice. It is quite obvious that you cannot by any means or authority prevent the Pope from communicating with the Catholics of this country. You may try to prevent such communication from being open, but I think it would be very foolish if you took any means of great vigour and energy for that purpose. If it is not open, it will be secret. So long as there are Roman Catholics in this country, and so long as they acknowledge the Pope as the head of their Church, you cannot prevent his having spiritual influence over those who belong to that communion.'
This speech, which is equally sensible and true, and the really practical view of the subject, gives a complete answer to the present agitation, and to those who are clamouring for acts of vigour and for restrictive or prohibitory laws. It is fruitless now to search into the animus or the objects of the Pope. He was ill-advised, ignorant of the state of feeling and opinion here; his pretensions were extravagant, and his hierarchy was proclaimed in an ostentatious and offensive manner. But, granting all this, and admitting our indignation to be called for, the question still recurs, 'What is it we can do?' It is easy to determine what we cannot do. We cannot compel the Pope to rescind his brief. We cannot prevent the bishops from exercising their functions within the precise limits of the jurisdictions severally assigned to them. We cannot undo territorial circumscriptions which have no tangible character, and which are nothing but local designations indicative of a defined sphere of spiritual action. We cannot abrogate the spiritual allegiance which the whole Roman Catholic hierarchy bear to the Pope, nor obstruct the free exercise of the Roman Catholic religion, in which freedom, if it is to be perfect, its episcopal constitution must be included. The people of England, to do them justice, in the utmost heat of their resentment, have evinced no disposition to violate the principle of religious liberty, and all suggestions of returning to penal laws against the Roman Catholics have been invariably repudiated. Well, then, if we cannot do any of these things, what is left for us to do? We are told that the Pope may, indeed, make bishops, but that he need not have sent any here, and that he has sent too many; and, again, that, though he might appoint bishops, he could not appoint dioceses over which they were to preside. But the Pope himself can alone judge of the necessary extent of his episcopal establishment, and if bishops are appointed at all, it is indispensable, for the mere avoidance of confusion and disputes, that each prelate should have some local attribution, and this can be nothing else but his diocese—the proper and only name for the circuit of his jurisdiction. In fact, wherever there is a bishopric there must be a diocese. But the Pope has not only created bishops, but has given them titles; and this seems to be considered the head and front of his offence, inasmuch as it is opposed to the spirit, if not to the letter of our laws, and is an audacious assumption of a power belonging only to the sovereign of this realm. I am very wise (as people often are) after the event, and can clearly see that the acts of the Pope, together with the language of some in authority under him, have been very imprudent and mischievous. But I doubt whether I should have been so wise had I been aware of his Holiness' intentions; for, though I should have deprecated his purpose, I certainly should not have anticipated an outburst of popular, or rather of national rage and resentment, which has had no parallel in England since the time of the Popish plot. Nevertheless, if we consider the matter calmly, it must be confessed that the Pope had some grounds for thinking that he might make these appointments without any danger of deeply offending this country. He had already created titular Bishops in various colonies with the concurrence and consent of the Government; and the whole hierarchy of Ireland, with their open assumption of the titles of their sees, had been rather more than winked at, the law which forbids that assumption had been advisedly suffered to be a dead letter. But besides this, in the speech of Lord John Russell, to which I have already alluded, there was an intimation that it would not be expedient to enter into agreements with the Pope for the regulation of the religious arrangements of the Roman Catholics. And as this opinion immediately followed his dictum 'that the spiritual authority of the Pope could only be controlled by agreement, and without any such agreement that it must be left entirely unfettered,' I think the Pope might not unreasonably conclude that the British Government were not inclined to communicate with him at all on these matters, and that they preferred leaving him to administer his ecclesiastical affairs in England according to his own discretion. I have ever been very strongly of opinion that the true policy of England, with her 8,000,000 or 9,000,000 of Roman Catholics, would be to communicate with the Pope as other Powers do, and to concert with the Holy See such measures as the spiritual interests of those Catholics may appear to require. This is the practice of Prussia, and why should it not be that of England? I believed at the time of its introduction that the Diplomatic Relations Bill had this object in view, for it is obvious that we never can have any important secular affairs to discuss with the Vatican, and no need, therefore, of any diplomatic relations for merely political purposes. But that Bill was a sham; its real character was not avowed; and in order to make it appear that no recognition of the Pope's de facto authority, even over Roman Catholics, was intended, and that we were not going to communicate with him in his spiritual capacity, the matter was so mismanaged that the Bill itself has been totally inoperative, and the Pope himself was offended instead of being conciliated by the transaction. The Lords began by a puerile and pedantic denial of his title as 'the Pope' or the 'Sovereign Pontiff,' and would only consent to call him 'Sovereign of the Roman State,' and this was followed up by the foolish clause prohibiting an ecclesiastic from coming here as ambassador. It was as notorious as the sun at noonday, that we had long been in communication with the Pope, upon ecclesiastical affairs, in an underhand and clandestine manner, which was equally undignified and unsatisfactory. All statesmen, particularly those who governed Ireland, were anxious that regular and open relations should be substituted, and such was the desire of the Roman Catholics and of the Pope. Between the niceness of some and the timidity or indifference of others, this project of conciliation and practical utility fell to the ground, and the nation is now convulsed by a paroxysm of wrath and indignation at measures which, if they had been concerted with our Government, and arranged in a spirit of liberality and good will, might have been carried into effect without giving umbrage to the most zealous Protestant or any semblance of invading the prerogative of the Queen. However, all this is gone by. Instead of conciliation and agreement, we are employed in vilifying and caricaturing the Pope, burning him and the Sacred College in effigy, and heaping execrations on the Roman Catholic religion. The great City of London is going up in solemn procession to lay at the foot of the Throne its superfluous protestations of allegiance, its fanciful complaints of injury, and its vague demands for redress. And how is redress to be obtained? After so much has been said, what is to be done? 'Ay, there's the rub!'
THE ANTI-PAPAL AGITATION.We cannot touch the Pope himself and we cannot unfrock his Bishops. To wage war with the dioceses would be to fight the empty air; to put any restraint on the Roman Catholic Clergy would be religious persecution: this all men eschew. Nothing that I know of remains, nothing at least that is accessible and tangible, but to make a legislative attack on the episcopal titles, either by an extension of the existing law or the enactment of a new one. This would, indeed, be but a lame and impotent conclusion to an agitation which has shaken the isle from its propriety; and before we proceed to break such flies upon the wheels of legislation, it would be advisable to consider what the thing is we are to attack, and what has already been done in reference to the very same matter. People talk of the Pope's making a Bishop of Birmingham as if it was just the same thing as the Queen's making a Bishop of London; forgetting that while the Queen bestows rank, peerage, wealth, authority, and innumerable legal privileges and immunities, the Pope confers nothing but his own delegated authority to a priest to govern spiritually those individuals within a specified and geographical limit who may be willing to submit themselves to his government, and this geographical limit being marked out for an ecclesiastical purpose only, and placed under the supervision of a Bishop, is called according to canonical custom a diocese. But the Pope's Bishop has no revenues, and in the eye of the law no authority, no privilege, no immunity whatever; the law recognises in him no power, he has no power, he has no Court into which he can cite offenders even of his own persuasion. He may be arrested for debt and tried by juries like any other citizen. Bishop of Birmingham he is and will be, in spiritual communion with the Roman Catholics of his diocese; but if Dr. Ullathorne should attempt to assume that title in the ordinary intercourse of society, he would expose himself to merited contempt, and though the Roman Catholics may acknowledge it, no Protestant will.
The Irish Roman Catholic Bishops all sign their Christian and surnames, and so entirely have time and the gradual softening of sectarian acrimony in Ireland moulded apparently irreconcileable rights and claims into harmonious custom, that while even official documents speak of 'the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Dublin,' that same prelate is content to be everywhere received and to call himself 'Archbishop Murray.' All this is the fruit of mutual but tacit concession and a sincere desire for 'peace and goodwill.' Not many years ago Dr. MacHale on some occasion or other subscribed himself 'John Tuam,' and an angry interpellation was addressed to Lord Melbourne (then Premier), to know whether Her Majesty's Government meant to prosecute this violation of the law. Lord Melbourne replied that the Government had considered the matter, and, exercising their own discretion, they did not think it expedient to make an appeal to the law. This prudent decision excited the indignation of the opposite benches, but the Duke of Wellington, with his usual good sense and superiority to party motives, rebuked the zeal of his followers and approved of the forbearance of the Government. What practical mischief resulted from the fact of the Irish prelates taking the titles of their sees? and would it have been better to indict Dr. MacHale, and that he should have been either acquitted by a jury, or convicted in a penalty of 100l., and perhaps imprisoned for refusing to pay the fine? If it was not expedient to enforce the old law then, would it be advisable to do so now, or to ask Parliament for fresh laws? Is it fit to invoke that mighty power merely to repel an impertinence?
THE ANTI-PAPAL AGITATION.I well know how perilous it is to attempt to throw cold water on the fire of popular wrath, but no such consideration shall deter me from speaking out what I believe to be the sober truth. I think the character of my countrymen, and their reputation all over the world, and in after ages, much more in jeopardy than their religion. Indeed, it is not without a feeling of shame that I see the pusillanimous terror of Popery which is so often and openly proclaimed. What, when we Protestants form nineteen out of twenty out of the population, with an incalculable superiority of wealth, influence, and learning, a richly endowed Church, all the great seminaries of education, almost the whole of the aristocracy, a vast preponderance of public opinion, and, above all, with reason, truth, and the Bible on our side, are we afraid of the Roman Catholics? and can we not defy the open efforts or the secret machinations of the Romish hierarchy? Let me not, however, be misunderstood. Although I think the prevailing agitation exaggerated, and far more than commensurate with the cause which has excited it, I do not think it unnatural or unreasonable in its origin, and notwithstanding the apology for the Pope, of which the scope of my arguments necessarily presents the appearance, I join in the general condemnation which his proceedings have elicited. They exhibit rashness, want of courtesy to the Crown, and want of consideration for the feelings of the people of England. It is impossible to expect men to distinguish accurately or to reason calmly when the passions are roused; and all the odious or offensive matter scattered through briefs, pastoral letters, and Popish sermons have been confounded together into one cumulative case against the Pope and the Roman Catholic Faith. The flourish of trumpets, the songs of triumph, the vain boasting with which those measures were proclaimed, justify a large amount of disgust and indignation; but the real injury which the honour and the policy of England are required to redress bears in my mind but a small proportion to the false assumptions and ridiculous pretensions which we might well afford to regard with a scornful indifference. I do not, indeed, believe that the Pope intended to insult the Queen, because such conduct would be inconsistent alike with his character and his interest; but he ought to have taken more pains than he did, even for the sake of the English Catholics, to ascertain how his measures would be received, and still more, to be careful that their introduction was divested of every suspicious circumstance and offensive detail. Whatever may have been his motives, he has cast a firebrand into this country, and been the primary cause of a conflagration which time and great prudence and moderation alone can quench. I cannot help looking beyond the present hour, and regarding with horror the prospect of a chronic state of religious discord and sectarian hatred. All men deprecate the renewal of penal laws, but at the same time express a vague and undefined longing to have something done. It is said, that if we do nothing we shall give the Catholics a triumph; but we shall surely give them a much greater triumph if by some piece of peddling and abortive legislation we should have the appearance of being willing without having the power to strike them. I cannot conclude without expressing the deep regret with which I have read denunciations of the Roman Catholic Church, in language which is not that of humility, or charity, or peace; nor do I think that it becomes the members of a Church, which admits its own fallibility, thus dogmatically to condemn the belief of the great majority of the Christian world.
Divines can say but what themselves believe; Strong proofs they have, but not demonstrative; For were all sure, then all sides would agree, And faith itself be lost in certainty. To live uprightly, then, is sure the best: To save ourselves, and not to damn the rest.
(The 'Times,' December 9, 1850.)