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Kitabı oku: «Historical Characters», sayfa 24
CANNING, THE BRILLIANT MAN
Part I
FROM BIRTH AND EDUCATION TO DUEL WITH LORD CASTLEREAGH
Proper time for writing a biography. – Mr. Canning born (1770). – Education at Eton and Oxford. – Early literary performances. – Brought into Parliament by Mr. Pitt. – Politics he espoused. – His commencement as a speaker. – Writes for the Anti-Jacobin. – Quits office with Mr. Pitt. – Opposes Mr. Addington. – Returns to office with Mr. Pitt. – Distinguishes himself in opposition to “All the Talents.” – Becomes Minister of Foreign Affairs on their fall. – Foreign policy. – Quarrel with Lord Castlereagh, and duel.
I
There is no period at which an eminent person is so little considered, so much forgotten and disregarded, as during the few years succeeding his decease. His name, no longer noised above that of others by the busy zeal of his partisans, or the still more clamorous energies of his opponents, drops away suddenly, as it were, from the mouths of men. To his contemporaries he has ceased to be of importance – the most paltry pretender to his place is of more; – while posterity does not exist for him, until the dead are distinctly separated from the living; until the times in which he lived, and the scenes in which he acted, have become as a distant prospect from which the eye can at once single out from amidst the mass of ordinary objects, those which were the memorials of their epoch, and are to become the beacons of after-generations.
The French, who are as fond of putting philosophy into action as we are coy of connecting theory with practice, marked out, at one moment, a kind of intermediate space between the past and the present, the tomb and the pantheon; but the interval of ten years, which they assigned for separating the one from the other, is hardly sufficient for the purpose.
We are, however, now arrived at the period that permits our considering the subject of this memoir as a character in history which it is well to describe without further procrastination. Every day, indeed, leaves us fewer of those who remember the clearly-chiselled countenance which the slouched hat only slightly concealed, – the lip satirically curled, – the penetrating eye, peering along the Opposition benches, – of the old parliamentary leader in the House of Commons. It is but here and there that we find a survivor of the old day, to speak to us of the singularly mellifluous and sonorous voice, the classical language – now pointed into epigram, now elevated into poesy, now burning with passion, now rich with humour – which curbed into still attention a willing and long-broken audience.
The great changes of the last half-century have, moreover, created such a new order of ideas and of society, that the years preceding 1830 appear as belonging to an antecedent century; and the fear now is – not that we are too near, but that we are gliding away too far from the events of that biography which I propose to sketch. And yet he who undertakes the task of biographical delineation, should not be wholly without the scope of the influences which coloured the career he desires to sketch. The artist can hardly give the likeness of the face he never saw, nor the writer speak vividly of events which are merely known to him by tradition.
II
It is with this feeling that I attempt to say something of a man, the most eminent of a period at which the government of England was passing, imperceptibly perhaps, but not slowly, from the hands of an exclusive but enlightened aristocracy, into those of a middle class, of which the mind, the energy, and the ambition had been gradually developed, under the mixed influences of a war which had called forth the resources, and of a peace which had tried the prosperity, of our country; – a middle class which was growing up with an improved and extended education, amidst stirring debates as to the height to which the voice of public opinion should be allowed to raise itself, and the latitude that should be given, in a singularly mixed constitution, to its more democratic parts.
Mr. Canning was born on the 11th of April, 1770, and belonged to an old and respectable family originally resident in Warwickshire.110 A branch of it, obtaining a grant of the manor of Garvagh, settled in Ireland in the reign of James I., and from this branch Mr. Canning descended; but the misfortunes of his parents placed him in a situation below that which might have been expected from his birth.
His father, the eldest of three sons – George, Paul, and Stratford – was disinherited for marrying a young lady (Miss Costello) without fortune; and having some taste for literature, but doing nothing at the bar, he died amidst the difficulties incidental to idle habits and elegant tastes.
Mrs. Canning, left without resources, attempted the stage, but she had no great talents for the theatrical profession, and never rose above the rank of a middling actress. Her son thus fell under the care of his uncle, Mr. Stratford Canning, a highly respectable merchant, and an old Whig, much in the confidence of the leaders of the Whig party and possessing considerable influence with them. A small inheritance of 200l. or 300l. a year sufficed for the expenses of a liberal education, and after passing through the regular ordeal of a private school, young Canning was sent to Eton, and subsequently to Christ Church, Oxford. At Eton no boy ever left behind him so many brilliant recollections. Gay and high-spirited as a companion, clever and laborious as a student, he obtained a following from his character, and a reputation from his various successes. This reputation was the greater from the schoolboy’s triumphs not being merely those of school. Known and distinguished as “George Canning,” he was yet more known and distinguished as the correspondent of “Gregory Griffin;” – such being the name adopted by the fictitious editor of the Microcosm, a publication in the style of the Spectator, and carried on solely by Eton lads. In this publication, the graver prose of the young orator was incorrect and inferior to that of one or two other juvenile contributors, but some of his lighter productions were singularly graceful, and it would be difficult to find anything of its kind superior to a satirical commentary upon the epic merits of an old ballad:
“I cannot leave this line,” says the witty commentator, “without remarking, that one of the Scribleri, a descendant of the famous Martinus, has expressed his suspicions of the text being corrupted here, and proposes, instead of ‘All on,’ reading ‘Alone,’ alleging, in the favour of this alteration, the effect of solitude in raising the passions. But Hiccius Doctius, a High Dutch commentator, one nevertheless well versed in British literature, in a note of his usual length and learning, has confuted the arguments of Scriblerus. In support of the present reading, he quotes a passage from a poem written about the same period with our author’s, by the celebrated Johannes Pastor (most commonly known as Jack Shepherd), entitled, ‘An Elegiac Epistle to the Turnkey of Newgate,’ wherein the gentleman declares, that, rather indeed in compliance with an old custom than to gratify any particular wish of his own, he is going
“‘All hanged for to be
Upon that fatal Tyburn tree.’
“Now, as nothing throws greater light on an author than the concurrence of a contemporary writer, I am inclined to be of Hiccius’ opinion, and to consider the ‘All’ as an elegant expletive, or, as he more aptly phrases it, ‘elegans expletivum.’”
The other articles to which the boyish talent of the lad, destined to be so famous, may lay claim, are designated in the will of the supposed editor, Mr. Griffin (contained in the concluding number of the Microcosm), which, amongst special bequests assigns to “Mr. George Canning, now of the college of Eton, all my papers, essays, &c., signed B.”
III
It is needless to observe that an Eton education is more for the man of the world than for the man of books. It teaches little in the way of science or solid learning, but it excites emulation, encourages and gratifies a love of fame, and prepares the youth for the competitions of manhood. Whatever is dashing and showy gives pre-eminence in that spirited little world from which have issued so many English statesmen. It developed in Canning all his natural propensities. He was the show boy at Montem days with master and student.
“Look, papa, – there, there; – that good-looking fellow is Canning – such a clever chap, but a horrible Whig. By Jupiter, how he gives it to Pitt!”
Nor was this wonderful. The youthful politician spent his holidays with his uncle, who only saw Whigs; and then, what clever boy would not have been charmed by the wit and rhetoric of Sheridan – by the burning eloquence of Fox?
The same dispositions that had shown themselves at Eton, carried to Oxford, produced the same distinctions. Sedulous at his studies, almost Republican in his principles, the pride of his college, the glory of his debating society, the intimate associate of the first young men in birth, talents, and prospects, young Canning was thus early known as the brilliant and promising young man of his day, and thought likely to be one of the most distinguished of those intellectual gladiators whom the great parties employed in their struggles for power; struggles which seemed at the moment to disorder the administration of affairs, but which, carried on with eloquence and ability in the face of the nation, kept its attention alive to national interests, and could not fail to diffuse throughout it a lofty spirit, and a sort of political education.
IV
From the University Canning went to Lincoln’s Inn. It does not appear, however, that in taking to the study of the law he had any idea of becoming a Lord Chancellor. There was nothing of severity in his plan of life – he dined out with those who invited him, and his own little room was at times modestly lit up for gatherings together of old friends, who enjoyed new jokes, and amongst whom and for whom were composed squibs, pamphlets, newspaper articles, in steady glorification of school and college opinions, which the Oxonian, on quitting the University, had no doubt the intention to sustain in the great battles of party warfare.
But events were then beginning to make men’s convictions tremble under them; and, with the increasing differences amongst veteran statesmen, it was difficult to count on youthful recruits.
At all events, it is about this time that Mr. Canning’s political career begins. It must be viewed in relation to the particular state of society and government which then existed.
From the days of Queen Anne there had been a contest going on between the two aristocratic factions, “Whig” and “Tory.” The principles professed by either were frequently changed. The Tories, such as Sir William Windham, under the guidance of Bolingbroke, often acting as Reformers; and the Whigs, under Walpole, often acting as Conservatives. The being in or out of place was in fact the chief difference between the opposing candidates for office, though the Whigs generally passed for being favourable to popular pretensions, and the Tories for being favourable to Royal authority.
In the meantime public opinion, except on an occasional crisis when the nation made itself heard, was the opinion of certain coteries, and public men were the men of those coteries. It not unfrequently happened that the most distinguished for ability were the most distinguished for birth and fortune. But it was by no means necessary that it should be so. The chiefs of the two conflicting armies sought to obtain everywhere the best soldiers. Each had a certain number of commissions to give away, or, in other words, of seats in Parliament to dispose of. They who had the government in their hands could count from that fact alone on thirty or forty. It matters little how these close boroughs were created. Peers or gentlemen possessed them as simple property, or as the effect of dominant local influence. The Treasury controlled them as an effect of the patronage or employments which office placed in its hands. A certain number were sold or let by their proprietors, and even by the Administration; and in this manner men who had made fortunes in our colonies or in trade, and were averse to a public canvass, and without local landed influence, found their way into the great National Council. They paid their 5000l. down, or their 1000l. a year, and could generally, though not always, find a seat on such terms. But a large portion of these convenient entries into the House of Commons was kept open for distinguished young men, who gave themselves up to public affairs as to a profession. A school or college reputation, an able pamphlet, a club, or county meeting oration, pointed them out. The minister, or great man who wished to be a minister, brought them into Parliament. If they failed, they sank into insignificance; if they succeeded, they worked during a certain time for the great men of the day, and then became great men themselves.
This system had advantages, counterbalanced by defects, and gave to England a set of trained and highly educated statesmen, generally well informed on all national questions, strongly attached to party combinations, connected by the ties of gratitude and patronage with the higher classes, having a certain contempt for the middle: keenly alive to the glory, the power, the greatness of the country, and sympathising little with the habits and wants of the great masses of the people.
They had not a correct knowledge of the feelings and wants of the poor man, – they understood and shared the feelings of the gentleman. Bread might be dear or cheap, they cared little about it; a battle gained or lost affected them more deeply. A mob might be massacred without greatly exciting their compassion; but the loss of a great general or of a great statesman they felt as a national calamity.
Such were the men who might fairly be called “political adventurers:” a class to which we owe much of our political renown, much of our reputation for political capacity, but which, in only rare instances, won the public esteem or merited the popular affections. Such were our political adventurers when Mr. Pitt sent for Mr. Canning, a scholar of eminence and a young man of superior and shining abilities, and offered him a seat in the House of Commons.
The following is the simple manner in which this interview is spoken of by a biographer of Mr. Canning:112
“Mr. Pitt, through a private channel, communicated his desire to see Mr. Canning; Mr. Canning of course complied. Mr. Pitt immediately proceeded, on their meeting, to declare to Mr. Canning the object of his requesting an interview with him, which was to state that he had heard of Mr. Canning’s reputation as a scholar and a speaker, and that if he concurred in the policy which the Government was then pursuing, arrangements would be made to bring him into Parliament.”
The person to whom this offer was made accepted it; nor was this surprising.
I have already said that events were about this period taking place, that made men’s convictions tremble under them; and in fact the mob rulers of Paris had in a few months so desecrated the name of Freedom, that half of its ancient worshippers covered their faces with their hands, and shuddered when it was pronounced.
But there were also other circumstances of a more personal nature, which, now that young Canning had seriously to think of his entry into public life, had, I have been assured, an influence on his resolutions.
The first incident, I was once told by Mr. John Allen, that disinclined Mr. Canning (who had probably already some misgivings) to attach himself irrevocably to the Whig camp, was the following one: Lord Liverpool, then Mr. Jenkinson, had just made his appearance in the House of Commons. His first speech was highly successful. “There is a young friend of mine,” said Mr. Sheridan, “whom I soon hope to hear answering the honourable gentleman who has just distinguished himself: a contemporary whom he knows to possess talents not inferior to his own, but whose principles, I trust, are very different from his.”
This allusion, however kindly meant, was disagreeable, said Mr. Allen, to the youthful aspirant to public honours. It pledged him, as he thought, prematurely; it brought him forward under the auspices of a man, who, however distinguished as an individual, was not in a position to be a patron. Other reflections, it is added, followed. The party then in opposition possessed almost every man distinguished in public life: a host of formidable competitors in the road to honour and preferment, supposing preferment and honour to be attainable by talent. But this was not all. The Whig party, then, as always, was essentially an exclusive party; its preferments were concentrated on a clique, which regarded all without it as its subordinates and instruments.
On the other side, the Prime Minister stood almost alone. He had every office to bestow, and few candidates of any merit for official employments. Haughty from temperament, and flushed with power, which he had attained early and long exercised without control, he had not the pride of rank, nor the aristocratic attachments for which high families linked together are distinguished. His partisans and friends were his own. He had elevated them for no other reason than that they were his. By those to whom he had once shown favour he had always stood firm; all who had followed had shared his fortunes; there can be no better promise to adherents.
These were not explanations that Mr. Canning could make precisely to the Whig leaders, but he had an affection for Mr. Sheridan, who had always been kind to him, and by whom he did not wish to be thought ungrateful. He sought, then, an interview with that good-natured and gifted person. Lord Holland, Mr. Canning’s contemporary, was present at it, and told me that nothing could be more respectful and unreserved than the manner in which the ambitious young man gave his reasons for the change he was prepared to make, or had made; nothing more warm-hearted, unprejudiced, and frank, than the veteran orator’s reception of his retiring protégé’s confession: nor, indeed, could Mr. Sheridan help feeling the application, when he was himself cited as an example of the haughtiness with which “the great Whig Houses” looked down on the lofty aspirations of mere genius. The conversation thus alluded to took place a little before Mr. Pitt’s proposals were made, but probably when they were expected. Mr. Canning, his views fairly stated to the only person to whom he felt bound to give them, and his seat in Parliament secured, placed himself in front of his old friends, whom Colonel Fitz-Patrick avenged by the following couplet:
“The turning of coats so common is grown,
That no one would think to attack it;
But no case until now was so flagrantly known
Of a schoolboy turning his jacket.”
V
There was little justice in Colonel Fitz-Patrick’s satire. Nine-tenths of Mr. Fox’s partisans, old and young, were deserting his standard when Mr. Canning quitted him. The cultivated mind of England was, as it has been said in two or three of these sketches, against the line which the Whig leader persisted to take with respect to the French Revolution – even after its excesses; and it is easy to conceive that the cause of Liberty and Fraternity should have become unfashionable when these weird sisters were seen brandishing the knife, and dancing round the guillotine. Admitting, however, the legitimacy of the horror with which the assassins of the Committee of Public Safety inspired the greater portion of educated Englishmen, it is still a question whether England should have provoked their hostility; for, after the recall of our ambassador and our undisguised intention of making war, the Republic’s declaration of it was a matter of course.
“Where could be the morality,” said Mr. Pitt’s opponents, “of bringing fresh calamities upon a land which so many calamities already desolated? Where the policy of concentrating and consolidating so formidable an internal system by an act of foreign aggression? And if the struggle we then engaged in was in itself inhuman and impolitic, what was to be said as to the time at which we entered upon it?
“The natural motives that might have suggested a French war, were – the wish to save an unhappy monarch from an unjust and violent death; the desire to subdue the arrogance of a set of miscreants who, before they were prepared to execute the menace, threatened to overrun the world with their principles and their arms. If these were our motives, why not draw the sword, before the Sovereign whose life we wished to protect had perished? Why defer our conflict with the French army until, flushed with victory and threatened with execution in the event of defeat, raw recruits were changed into disciplined and desperate soldiers? Why reserve our defence of the unhappy Louis till he had perished on the scaffold – our war against the French Republic until the fear of the executioner and the love of glory had made a nation unanimous in its defence? Success was possible when Prussia first entered on the contest: it was impossible when we subsidized her to continue it.”
The antagonists of the First Minister urged these arguments with plausibility. His friends replied, “that Mr. Pitt had been originally against all interference in French affairs; that the conflict was not of his seeking; that the conduct of the French government and the feelings of the English people had at last forced him into it; that he had not wished to anticipate its necessity; but that if he had, the minister of a free country cannot go to war at precisely the moment he would select; he cannot guard against evils which the public itself does not foresee. He must go with the public, or after it; and the public mind in England had, like that of the Ministers, only become convinced by degrees that peace was impossible.
“As to neutrality, if it could be observed when the objects at stake were material, it could not be maintained when those objects were moral, social, and religious.
“When new ideas were everywhere abroad, inflaming, agitating men’s minds, these ideas were sure to find everywhere partisans or opponents, and to attempt to moderate the zeal of one party merely gave power to the violence of the other.
“It was necessary to excite the English people against France, in order to prevent French principles, as they were then called, from spreading and fixing themselves in England.”
Such was the language and such the opinions of many eminent men with whom Mr. Canning was now associated, when, after a year’s preliminary silence, he made his first speech in the House of Commons.
VI
This first speech (January 31, 1794), like many first speeches of men who have become eminent orators, was more or less a failure. The subject was a subsidy to Sardinia, and the new member began with a scoff at the idea of looking with a mere mercantile eye at the goodness or badness of the bargain we were making. Such a scoff at economy, uttered in an assembly which is the especial guardian of the public purse, was injudicious. But the whole speech was bad; it possessed in an eminent degree all the ordinary faults of the declamations of clever young men. Its arguments were much too refined: its arrangement much too systematic: cold, tedious, and unparliamentary, it would have been twice as good if it had attempted half as much; for the great art in speaking, as in writing, consists in knowing what should not be said or written.
This instance of ill success did not, however, alienate the Premier; for Mr. Pitt, haughty in all things, cared little for opinions which he did not dictate. In 1795, therefore, the unsubdued favourite was charged with the seconding of the address, and acquitted himself with some spirit and effect.
The following passage may be quoted both for thought and expression:
“The next argument against peace is its insecurity; it would be the mere name of peace, not a wholesome and refreshing repose, but a feverish and troubled slumber, from which we should soon be roused to fresh horrors and insults. What are the blessings of peace which make it so desirable? What, but that it implies tranquil and secure enjoyment of our homes? What, but that it will restore our seamen and our soldiers, who have been fighting to preserve those homes, to a share of that tranquillity and security? What, but that it will lessen the expenses and alleviate the burdens of the people? What, but that it explores some new channel of commercial intercourse, or reopens such as war had destroyed? What, but that it renews some broken link of amity, or forms some new attachment between nations, and softens the asperities of hostility and hatred into kindness and conciliation and reciprocal goodwill? And which of all these blessings can we hope to obtain by a peace, under the present circumstances, with France? Can we venture to restore to the loom or to the plough the brave men who have fought our battles? Who can say how soon some fresh government may not start up in France, which may feel it their inclination or their interest to renew hostilities? The utmost we can hope for is a short, delusive, and suspicious interval of armistice, without any material diminution of expenditure; without security at home, or a chance of purchasing it by exertions abroad; without any of the essential blessings of peace, or any of the possible advantages of war: a state of doubt and preparation such as will retain in itself all the causes of jealousy to other states which, in the usual course of things, produce remonstrances and (if these are answered unsatisfactorily) war.”
VII
In 1796, Parliament was dissolved, and Mr. Canning was returned to Parliament this time for Wendover. He had just been named Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs; and it has been usual to refer to this appointment as a proof of his early parliamentary success. He owed the promotion, however, entirely to the Prime Minister’s favour; for though his late speech, better than the preceding one, had procured him some credit, there was still a careless impertinence in his manner, and a classical pedantry in his style, which were unsuitable to the taste of the House of Commons. Indeed, so much had he to reform in his manner, that he now remained, by, as it is said, Mr. Pitt’s advice, silent for three years, endeavouring during this time to correct his faults and allow them to be forgotten.
It does not follow that he was idle. The Anti-Jacobin, started in 1797, under the editorship of Mr. Gifford, for the purpose which its title indicates, was commenced at the instigation and with the support of the old contributor to the Microcosm, and did more than any parliamentary eloquence could have done in favour of the anti-Jacobin cause.
“Must wit,” says Mr. Canning, who had now to contend against the most accomplished humorists of his day, “be found alone on falsehood’s side?” and having established himself as the champion of “Truth,” he brought, no doubt, very useful and very brilliant arms to her service. The verses of “New Morality,” spirited, exaggerated, polished, and virulent, satisfied the hatred without offending the taste (which does not seem to have been at that time very refined) of those classes who looked upon our neighbours with almost as much hatred and disgust as were displayed in the verses of the young poet; while the “Friend of Humanity and the Knife-grinder” – almost too trite to be quoted, and yet too excellent to be omitted – will long remain one of the happiest efforts of satire in our language:
“Imitation Sapphics
“THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE KNIFE-GRINDER
“Friend of Humanity:
“Needy Knife-grinder, whither are you going?
Rough is the road, – your wheel is out of order;
Bleak blows the blast, – your hat has got a hole in’t,
So have your breeches.
“Weary Knife-grinder, little think the proud ones,
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike
Road, what hard work ’tis crying all day, ‘Knives and
Scissors to grind, O!’
“Tell me, Knife-grinder, how came you to grind knives?
Did some rich man tyrannically use you?
Was it the squire, or parson of the parish,
Or the attorney?
“Was it the squire, for killing of his game? or
Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining?
Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little
All in a lawsuit?
“Have you not read the ‘Rights of Man,’ by Tom Paine?
Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,
Ready to fall as soon as you have told your
Pitiful story.
“Knife-Grinder:
“Story! God bless you, I have none to tell, sir;
Only last night, a-drinking at the ‘Chequers,’
These poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
Torn in a scuffle.
“Constables came up for to take me into
Custody; they took me before the justice:
Justice Aldmixon put me in the parish
Stocks for a vagrant.
“I should be glad to drink your honour’s health in
A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence;
But, for my part, I never love to meddle
With politics, sir.
“Friend of Humanity:
“I give thee sixpence? I’ll see thee damn’d first.
Wretch, whom no sense of wrong can rouse to vengeance!
Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,
Spiritless outcast!”
[Exit, kicking over the wheel, in afit of universal philanthropy.]
An instance of the readiness of Mr. Canning’s Muse may be here related.
When Frere had completed the first part of the “Loves of the Triangles,” he exultingly read over the following lines to Canning, and defied him to improve upon them:
“Lo! where the chimney’s sooty tube ascends,
The fair Trochais from the corner bends!
Her coal-black eyes upturned, incessant mark
The eddying smoke, quick flame, and volant spark;
Mark with quick ken, where flashing in between,
Her much-loved smoke-jack glimmers thro’ the scene;
Mark how his various parts together tend,
Point to one purpose, – in one object end;
The spiral grooves in smooth meanders flow,
Drags the long chain, the polished axles glow,
While slowly circumvolves the piece of beef below.”
Canning took the pen, and added:
