Although the Duke never courted popularity, seemed indeed to shun it and to regard the satisfaction shown by some of his colleagues in the plaudits of the multitude as a sign of weakness, there can be little doubt that he felt a glow of inward pleasure, however slight, when he reflected on the good feeling displayed towards him in the closing years of his long and well-filled life. Apt to be somewhat cynical on occasion, and to think that the times were “like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh,” he was neither censorious nor vindictive. Nelson preached the gospel of Duty, but Wellington lived it and sacrificed everything to it.
Brougham, as champion of Parliamentary Reform, was an opponent of Wellington, but in middle age he took up an independent position, and has left in his “Historical Sketches of Statesmen who flourished in the Time of George III” a magnificent testimony of the Duke’s worth.
“The peculiar characteristic of this great man,” he writes, “and which, though far less dazzling than his exalted genius, and his marvellous fortune, is incomparably more useful for the contemplation of the statesman, as well as the moralist, is that constant abnegation of all selfish feelings, that habitual sacrifice of every personal, every party consideration to the single object of strict duty—duty rigorously performed in what station soever he might be called to act. This was ever perceived to be his distinguishing quality; and it was displayed at every period of his public life, and in all matters from the most trifling to the most important.”
Regarding the Reform Bill, Brougham says that Wellington’s conduct “during the whole of the debates in both sessions upon that measure was exemplary. Opposing it to the utmost of his power, no one could charge him with making the least approach to factious violence, or with ever taking an unfair advantage.... After the Bill had passed, the same absence of all factious feelings marked his conduct.”
The Duke’s modesty, his good sense, candour and fairness, love of justice, hatred of oppression and fraud are touched upon by Brougham, who closes his brief acknowledgment of his subject’s virtues by quoting a remark made by Lord Denman, “the greatest judge of the day.” It is that of all Wellington’s “great and good qualities, the one which stands first, is his anxious desire ever to see justice done, and the pain he manifestly feels from the sight of injustice.”
On the morning of the 14th September 1852 the victor of Waterloo had a paralytic stroke at Walmer Castle. At six o’clock his valet entered the Duke’s room to call him, but he complained of not feeling quite well and sent for an apothecary. In the evening he was lying dead on his camp bedstead. We are apt to use the phrase “full of years and honour” rather too glibly perhaps, but it is intensely apposite when applied to the great Duke. He was eighty-three years of age, and as for honour a glance at the following list of distinctions bestowed upon Arthur Wellesley will make the fact self evident:
He was Duke of Wellington, Marquis of Wellington, Earl of Wellington in Somerset, Viscount Wellington of Talavera, Marquis of Douro, Baron Douro of Wellesley, Prince of Waterloo in the Netherlands, Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo in Spain, Duke of Bennoy in France, Duke of Vittoria, Marquis of Torres Vedras, Count of Vimiero in Portugal, a Grandee of the First Class in Spain, a Privy Councillor, Commander-in-Chief of the British Army, Colonel of the Grenadier Guards, Colonel of the Rifle Brigade, a Field Marshal of Great Britain, a Marshal of Russia, Austria, Prussia, Spain, Portugal, and the Netherlands; a Knight of the Garter, the Holy Ghost, the Golden Fleece; a Knight Grand Cross of the Bath and of Hanover, a Knight of the Black Eagle, the Tower and Sword, St Fernando, of William of the Low Countries, Charles III, of the Sword of Sweden, St Andrew of Russia, the Annunciado of Sardinia, the Elephant of Denmark, of Maria Theresa, of St George of Russia, of the Crown of Rue of Saxony; a Knight of Fidelity of Baden, of Maximilian Joseph of Bavaria, of St Alexander Newsky of Russia, of St Hermenegilda of Spain, of the Red Eagle of Bradenburg, of St Januarius, of the Golden Lion of Hesse Cassel, of the Lion of Baden; and a Knight of Merit of Würtemburg. In addition, Wellington was Lord High Constable of England, Constable of the Tower and of Dover Castle, Warden, Chancellor and Admiral of the Cinque Ports, Lord-Lieutenant of Hampshire and of the Tower Hamlets, Ranger of St James’s Park and of Hyde Park, Chancellor of the University of Oxford, Commissioner of the Royal Military College, Vice-President of the Scottish Naval and Military Academy, the Master of Trinity House, a Governor of King’s College, a Doctor of Laws, and a Fellow of the Royal Society.
The motto on Wellington’s escutcheon, Virtutis fortuna comes—“Fortune is the companion of valour”—was exemplified in his long and eventful career, and perhaps the following words, once used by him in a dispatch, suggest how keen was his sense of responsibility: “God help me if I fail, for no one else will.” With true British inconsistency the nation spent £100,000 on the funeral of him whose habits were of Spartan simplicity, but with more appropriateness the body of the Conqueror of Napoleon was placed next to that of the Hero of Trafalgar in the crypt of St Paul’s Cathedral.
And so these two great Warriors sleep together. They were worthy of England; may England be worthy of them.