CHAPTER X--PSEUDO-RADICALS
About Wellington, then, he says, that he believes him at the present dayto be infinitely overrated. But there certainly was a time when he wasshamefully underrated. Now what time was that? Why, the time ofpseudo-Radicalism, par excellence, from '20 to '32. Oh! the abuse thatwas heaped on Wellington by those who traded in Radical cant--yournewspaper editors and review writers! and how he was sneered at then byyour Whigs, and how faintly supported he was by your Tories, who werehalf ashamed of him; for your Tories, though capital fellows asfollowers, when you want nobody to back you, are the faintest creaturesin the world when you cry in your agony, 'Come and help me!' Oh!assuredly Wellington was infamously used at that time, especially by yourtraders in Radicalism, who howled at and hooted him; said he had everyvice--was no general--was beaten at Waterloo--was a poltroon--moreover apoor illiterate creature, who could scarcely read or write; nay, aprincipal Radical paper said bodily he could not read, and devised aningenious plan for teaching Wellington how to read. Now this was toobad; and the writer, being a lover of justice, frequently spoke up forWellington, saying, that as for vice, he was not worse than hisneighbours; that he was brave; that he won the fight at Waterloo, from ahalf-dead man, it is true, but that he did win it. Also, that hebelieved he had read 'Rules for the Manual and Platoon Exercises' to somepurpose; moreover, that he was sure he could write, for that he thewriter had once written to Wellington, and had received an answer fromhim; nay, the writer once went so far as to strike a blow for Wellington;for the last time he used his fists was upon a Radical sub-editor, whowas mobbing Wellington in the street, from behind a rank of grimyfellows; but though the writer spoke up for Wellington to a certainextent when he was shamefully underrated, and once struck a blow for himwhen he was about being hustled, he is not going to join in the loathsomesycophantic nonsense which it has been the fashion to use with respect toWellington these last twenty years. Now what have those years been toEngland? Why the years of ultra-gentility, everybody in England havinggone gentility mad during the last twenty years, and no people more sothan your pseudo-Radicals. Wellington was turned out, and your Whigs andRadicals got in, and then commenced the period of ultra-gentility inEngland. The Whigs and Radicals only hated Wellington as long as thepatronage of the country was in his hands, none of which they weretolerably sure he would bestow on them; but no sooner did they get itinto their own, than they forthwith became admirers of Wellington. Andwhy? Because he was a duke, petted at Windsor and by foreign princes,and a very genteel personage. Formerly many of your Whigs and Radicalshad scarcely a decent coat on their backs; but now the plunder of thecountry was at their disposal, and they had as good a chance of beinggenteel as any people. So they were willing to worship Wellingtonbecause he was very genteel, and could not keep the plunder of thecountry out of their hands. And Wellington has been worshipped, andprettily so, during the last fifteen or twenty years. He is now a noblefine-hearted creature; the greatest general the world ever produced; thebravest of men; and--and--mercy upon us! the greatest of militarywriters! Now the present writer will not join in such sycophancy. As hewas not afraid to take the part of Wellington when he was scurvily usedby all parties, and when it was dangerous to take his part, so he is notafraid to speak the naked truth about Wellington in these days, when itis dangerous to say anything about him but what is sycophanticallylaudatory. He said, in '32, that as to vice, Wellington was not worsethan his neighbours; but he is not going to say, in '54, that Wellingtonwas a noble-hearted fellow; for he believes that a more cold-heartedindividual never existed. His conduct to Warner, the poor Vaudois, andMarshal Ney, showed that. He said, in '32, that he was a good generaland a brave man; but he is not going, in '54, to say that he was the bestgeneral, or the bravest man the world ever saw. England has produced abetter general--France two or three--both countries many braver men. Theson of the Norfolk clergyman was a braver man; Marshal Ney was a braverman. Oh, that Battle of Copenhagen! Oh, that covering the retreat ofthe Grand Army! And though he said in '32 that he could write, he is notgoing to say in '54 that he is the best of all military writers. On thecontrary, he does not hesitate to say that any Commentary of JuliusCaesar, or any chapter in Justinus, more especially the one about theParthians, is worth the ten volumes of Wellington's Despatches; though hehas no doubt that, by saying so, he shall especially rouse theindignation of a certain newspaper, at present one of the most genteeljournals imaginable--with a slight tendency to Liberalism, it is true,but perfectly genteel--which is nevertheless the very one which, in '32,swore bodily that Wellington could neither read nor write, and devised aningenious plan for teaching him how to read.
Now, after the above statement no one will venture to say, if the writershould be disposed to bear hard upon Radicals, that he would beinfluenced by a desire to pay court to princes, or to curry favour withTories, or from being a blind admirer of the Duke of Wellington; but thewriter is not going to declaim against Radicals, that is, realRepublicans, or their principles; upon the whole, he is something of anadmirer of both. The writer has always had as much admiration foreverything that is real and honest as he has had contempt for theopposite. Now, real Republicanism is certainly a very fine thing, a muchfiner thing than Toryism, a system of common robbery, which is,nevertheless, far better than Whiggism {368}--a compound of pettylarceny, popular instruction, and receiving of stolen goods. Yes, realRepublicanism is certainly a very fine thing, and your real Radicals andRepublicans are certainly very fine fellows, or rather were fine fellows,for the Lord only knows where to find them at the present day--the writerdoes not. If he did he would at any time go five miles to invite one ofthem to dinner, even supposing that he had to go to a workhouse in orderto find the person he wished to invite. Amongst the real Radicals ofEngland, those who flourished from the year '16 to '20, there werecertainly extraordinary characters, men partially insane, perhaps, buthonest and brave--they did not make a market of the principles which theyprofessed, and never intended to do so; they believed in them, and werewilling to risk their lives in endeavouring to carry them out. Thewriter wishes to speak in particular of two of these men, both of whomperished on the scaffold--their names were Thistlewood and Ings. {369}Thistlewood, the best known of them, was a brave soldier, and had servedwith distinction as an officer in the French service; he was one of theexcellent swordsmen of Europe; had fought several duels in France, whereit is no child's play to fight a duel; but had never unsheathed his swordfor single combat, but in defence of the feeble and insulted. He waskind and open-hearted, but of too great simplicity; he had once tenthousand pounds left him, all of which he lent to a friend, whodisappeared and never returned him a penny. Ings was an uneducated man,of very low stature, but amazing strength and resolution; he was a kindhusband and father, and though a humble butcher, the name he bore was oneof the royal names of the heathen Anglo-Saxons. These two men, alongwith five others, were executed, and their heads hacked off, for levyingwar against George the Fourth; the whole seven dying in a manner whichextorted cheers from the populace; the most of them utteringphilosophical or patriotic sayings. Thistlewood, who was, perhaps, themost calm and collected of all, just before he was turned off, said: 'Weare now going to discover the great secret.' Ings, the moment before hewas choked, was singing 'Scots wha ha' wi' Wallace bled.' Now, there wasno humbug about those men, nor about many more of the same time and ofthe same principles. They might be deluded about Republicanism, asAlgernon Sidney was, and as Brutus was, but they were as honest and braveas either Brutus or Sidney, and as willing to die for their principles.But the Radicals who succeeded them were beings of a very differentdescription; they jobbed and traded in Republicanism, and either partedwith it, or at the present day are eager to part with it for aconsideration. In order to get the Whigs into power, and themselvesplaces, they brought the country by their inflammatory language to theverge of a revolution, and were the cause that many perished on thescaffold; by their incendiary harang
ues and newspaper articles theycaused the Bristol conflagration, for which six poor creatures wereexecuted; they encouraged the mob to pillage, pull down and burn, andthen rushing into garrets looked on. Thistlewood tells the mob the Toweris a second Bastile; let it be pulled down. A mob tries to pull down theTower; but Thistlewood is at the head of that mob; he is not peeping froma garret on Tower Hill like Gulliver at Lisbon. Thistlewood and Ings sayto twenty ragged individuals, Liverpool and Castlereagh are twosatellites of despotism; it would be highly desirable to put them out ofthe way. And a certain number of ragged individuals are surprised in astable in Cato Street, making preparations to put Castlereagh andLiverpool out of the way, and are fired upon with muskets by Grenadiers,and are hacked at with cutlasses by Bow Street runners; but the twain whoencouraged those ragged individuals to meet in Cato Street are not faroff, they are not on the other side of the river, in the Borough, forexample, in some garret or obscure cellar. The very first to confrontthe Guards and runners are Thistlewood and Ings; Thistlewood whips hislong thin rapier through Smithers' lungs, and Ings makes a dash atFitzclarence with his butcher's knife. Oh, there was something in thosefellows!--honesty and courage!--but can as much be said for the incitersof the troubles of '32. No; they egged on poor ignorant mechanics andrustics, and got them hanged for pulling down and burning, whilst thehighest pitch to which their own daring ever mounted was to mobWellington as he passed in the streets.
Now, these people were humbugs, which Thistlewood and Ings were not.They raved and foamed against kings, queens, Wellington, the aristocracy,and what not, till they had got the Whigs into power, with whom they werein secret alliance, and with whom they afterwards openly joined in asystem of robbery and corruption, more flagitious than the old Tory one,because there was more cant about it; for themselves they gotconsulships, commissionerships, and in some instances governments; fortheir sons clerkships in public offices; and there you may see those sonswith the never-failing badge of the low scoundrel-puppy, the gilt chainat the waistcoat pocket; and there you may hear and see them using thelanguishing tones, and employing the airs and graces which wenches useand employ who, without being in the family way, wish to make theirkeepers believe that they are in the family way. Assuredly great is thecleverness of your Radicals of '32, in providing for themselves and theirfamilies. Yet, clever as they are, there is one thing they cannotdo--they get governments for themselves, commissionerships for theirbrothers, clerkships for their sons, but there is one thing beyond theircraft--they cannot get husbands for their daughters, who, too ugly formarriage, and with their heads filled with the nonsense they have imbibedfrom gentility novels, go over from Socinus to the Pope, becoming sistersin fusty convents, or having heard a few sermons in Mr. Platitude's'chapelle,' seek for admission at the establishment of mother S---, who,after employing them for a time in various menial offices, and makingthem pluck off their eyebrows hair by hair, generally dismisses them onthe plea of sluttishness; whereupon they return to their papas to eat thebread of the country, with the comfortable prospect of eating it still inthe shape of a pension after their sires are dead. Papa (ex uno disceomnes) living as quietly as he can; not exactly enviably it is true,being now and then seen to cast an uneasy and furtive glance behind, evenas an animal is wont who has lost by some mischance a very sightlyappendage; as quietly however as he can, and as dignifiedly, a greatadmirer of every genteel thing and genteel personage, the Duke inparticular, whose 'Despatches,' bound in red morocco, you will find onhis table. A disliker of coarse expressions and extremes of every kind,with a perfect horror for revolutions and attempts to revolutionize,exclaiming now and then, as a shriek escapes from whipped and bleedingHungary, a groan from gasping Poland, and a half-stifled curse fromdown-trodden but scowling Italy, 'Confound the revolutionary canaille,why can't it be quiet!' In a word, putting one in mind of the parvenu inthe 'Walpurgis Nacht.' The writer is no admirer of Gothe, but the ideaof that parvenu was certainly a good one. Yes, putting one in mind ofthe individual who says:
'Wir waren wahrlich auch nicht dumm, Und thaten oft was wir nicht sollten; Doch jetzo kehrt sich alles um und um, Und eben da wir's fest erhalten wollten.'
('We were no fools, as every one discern'd, And stopp'd at nought our projects in fulfilling; But now the world seems topsy-turvy turn'd, To keep it quiet just when we were willing.')
Now, this class of individuals entertain a mortal hatred for 'Lavengro'and its writer, and never lose an opportunity of vituperating both. Itis true that such hatred is by no means surprising. There is certainly agreat deal of difference between Lavengro and their own sons; the onethinking of independence and philology, whilst he is clinking away atkettles, and hammering horse-shoes in dingles; the others stuck up atpublic offices with gilt chains at their waistcoat-pockets, and givingthemselves the airs and graces of females of a certain description. Andthere certainly _is_ a great deal of difference between the author of'Lavengro' and themselves--he retaining his principles and his brush;they with scarlet breeches on, it is true, but without theirrepublicanism and their tails. Oh, the writer can well afford to bevituperated by your pseudo-Radicals of '32!
Some time ago the writer was set upon by an old Radical {371} and hiswife; but the matter is too rich not to require a chapter to itself.
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