A Popular History of England, From the Earliest Times to the Reign of Queen Victoria; Vol. IV

by François Guizot

It was a sad and unheard of spectacle to see a sovereign publicly arraigning his wife before the supreme tribunal. A great multitude besieged the environs of Westminster, insulting those ministers and peers that they knew were opposed to the accused queen, and saluting her defenders with acclamations. Popular passion had judged well the doubts and uncertainties which enveloped the principal facts and the formal accusations; it closed its eyes, however, to the license of life and language which the corrupt and contradictory testimony of foreigners reluctantly revealed.

The burning eloquence and the wonderful management of Brougham carried the enthusiasm of the multitude to the highest pitch. In summing up the evidence, he said: "Such, my Lords, is the case now before you, and such is the evidence by which it is attempted to be upheld. It is evidence—inadequate, to prove any proposition; impotent, to deprive the lowest subject of any civil right; ridiculous, to establish the least offence; scandalous, to support a charge of the highest nature; monstrous, to ruin the honor of the Queen of England. My Lords, I call upon you to pause. You stand on the brink of a precipice. If your judgment shall go out against your queen, it will be the only act that ever went out without effecting its purpose; it will return to you upon your own heads. Save the country—save yourselves. Rescue the country; save the people of whom you are the ornaments; but severed from whom, you can no more live than the blossom that is severed from the root and tree on which it grows. Save the country, therefore, that you may continue to adorn it—save the crown, which is threatened with irreparable injury—save the aristocracy, which is surrounded with danger—save the altar, which is no longer safe when its kindred throne is shaken. You see that when the Church and the throne would allow of no church solemnity in behalf of the queen, the heartfelt prayers of the people rose to Heaven for her protection. I pray Heaven for her; and I here pour forth my fervent supplications to the throne of mercy, that mercies may descend on the people of this country, richer than their rulers have deserved, and that your hearts may be turned to justice."

So much eloquence and oratorical passion, together with the intense earnestness of public opinion, had, as might be expected, a great effect upon the House of Lords. The majority in favor of the bill, which at first was quite considerable, diminished day by day. On the third reading, it was but nine. Lord Liverpool rose and said, that, in the presence of a majority so small, he did not think it advisable to continue the discussion. On the 10th of November, 1820, the bill was withdrawn, to the intense delight of the people. Catherine of Brunswick had gained her cause; she remained the wife of George IV. and Queen of England.

It was one of those triumphs, which cost so dear to the victors, and which accelerates their fall. In passing through the crowded streets about Westminster, Lord Mulgrave was threatened by the multitude, who demanded that he should join in the cry: "Long live the queen!" He turned towards the populace and said, "Very well, long live the queen, and all you women that resemble her." Something of this bitter sarcasm began to penetrate slowly into the minds of the people, but lately carried away, without reflection, in the defence of a wife outraged by him who had set her so fatal an example. The resolution shown by the ministers in the conduct of their painful task, and the perils they had braved, led to a sincere reaction in their favor. A diabolical plot that has been called "the Cato street conspiracy"—after the name of the street where its principal author, Arthur Thistlewood, resided, had threatened the lives of all the members of the cabinet; they were to be assassinated en masse, in the dining-room of Lord Harrowby, in Grosvenor Square. The plot was discovered, and the conspirators suffered the penalty of their crime on the 1st of May, 1820.

Almost at the same moment grave disorders broke out in Scotland and the north of England. The energy of their repression equalled the violence of the attempts. The honest mass of the nation rose as one man against those misguided wretches that threatened to annihilate social order. "Among those who are here," said Sir Walter Scott, in a public meeting at Edinburgh, "there are persons who are able, by uniting their forces, to raise an army of fifty thousand men."

Notwithstanding that the government of George IV. had shared in the great unpopularity of the sovereign, it finally regained the favor of the nation. The majority which sustained it in Parliament became each day more decided and more united. "In six months the king will be the most popular man in the realm," said Lord Castlereagh, with a just and disdainful appreciation of the violence of popular reaction.

When on the 19th of July, 1821, Queen Caroline appeared at the doors of Westminster Abbey, in an open carriage drawn by six horses, claiming her right to witness the coronation of the king, admission into the church was peremptorily refused. Fearing an outbreak of the passions so recently excited in her favor, the display of military force was great; but few of the populace saluted her. She withdrew, wounded to the death in her pride and in her resentment. Fifteen days later she expired. She had directed that her body should be taken back to her native country and deposited in the tomb of her ancestors, with this inscription: "Here lies Caroline of Brunswick, the injured Queen of England." For a moment only public sentiment was re-awakened in favor of the queen. The funeral escort, which accompanied the remains to the port of embarkation, had been ordered to avoid the streets of London; a mob, however, compelled the procession to proceed through the city. Two men were killed. A distinguished officer, Sir Robert Wilson, severely reprimanded the soldiers for having fired upon the people. He was cashiered, and the magistrate who had yielded to the demands of the mob, in changing the route, was dismissed.

Queen Caroline was forgotten, and her royal spouse was in Ireland receiving the enthusiastic homage of a people who had not for long years enjoyed the honor of a royal visit. "My heart has always been Irish," said George IV., addressing the multitude which crowded around the Viceroy's palace; "from the day it first beat, I have loved Ireland. Rank, station, honors are nothing; but to feel that I live in the hearts of my Irish subjects is to me the most exalted happiness." A similar reception awaited George IV. in his Electorate of Hanover.

In the midst of this triumph of their party, the ministers, more sincerely and more rigidly Tory than Pitt had ever been, yet realized the need of energetic and effectual support. Since his accession to office. Lord Sidmouth had cleverly and sagaciously directed internal affairs, but he now was old and worn out. Mr. Peel, Secretary for Ireland since 1812, brilliantly replaced him. A certain number of moderate Whigs allied themselves to the government, without however changing either its attitude or its complexion. Superficial minds are astonished at this long continued power of the Tories. Peace and pacific governments were established in Europe; the perils within and without which had threatened England no longer existed. The causes which had permitted them to hold the reins of power so firmly, were removed or greatly diminished: it seemed that that power ought to be relaxed; but the effects long survived the causes; if the Tory government was not indispensable at this time, the Tory party at least was the victorious and dominant party, everywhere possessing the preponderance, and powerfully organized to preserve it. The relations of England with the absolute monarchies of the continent, were of the most cordial character. Her counsellors had contracted during the severe trials of the coalition those lines of thought, of interest, and of habit which create common interests and common success; her external policy weighed upon her internal policy; and Lord Castlereagh was more inclined to assimilate with the Prince Metternich than to distinguish himself. Unhappily for the new-born spirit of liberty, the revolutionary spirit also reappeared, spreading its virus in public institutions as well as in individual hearts, alarming everywhere the governments. During the first twelve years of the peace, England found her government more alarmed, more immovable, more inaccessible to all reform and all liberal innovation, than it had been in the midst of the war, during her greatest struggles and greatest dangers.