William IV. is quite at one with his friend, the last speaker—“Whatever you say, John, I will agree to; for your will is my pleasure.”
Before the new parliament assembled, the Cabinet received some damaging assaults from the press. The nature of this concealed warfare is explained by HB in his sketch of “A Masked Battery” (October 4, 1830). The assailant is Henry Brougham: in his legal guise, entrenched behind the “Result of the General Election,” with the Edinburgh Review for a screen, he is bespattering his opponents, the beleaguered “Ins,” with ink. The Tory Cabinet is suffering severely: Wellington is to the front, trying to ward off the shower from Brougham’s inkstand-battery; in his hand is a damaging attack on paper,—“The Duke of Wellington and the Whigs.” Sir Robert Peel is endeavouring to shelter himself behind his chief. Lords Bathurst, Ellenborough, Lyndhurst, and Aberdeen are all suffering from the assault.
When the House met, we get a prospect of the prime minister reviewing his forces—“A Cabinet Picture” (November 5, 1830). Wellington, with his colleagues, Lords Aberdeen, Lyndhurst, Bathurst, Rosslyn, Melville, and others, whom the chief is thus addressing:—
“Having been obliged to recognize the King of the French, we must, as a set-off—acknowledge our friend Miguel. The Belgians—poor people!—not knowing how to take care of themselves, must be protected from the evils of independence! So much for foreign affairs, now for domestic. I say that our present system is the very perfection of systems, and consequently admits of no improvement; I will go further, and say that, while I have power, no species of reform shall take place! and now—having said it—if Peel will but manage the new Police, Hardinge Ireland, Goulburn [Chancellor of the Exchequer] abstain from projects of finance, and Ellenborough hold his tongue, we may manage to keep our seats for another session.”
After the elections it was evident that things out-of-doors were moving antagonistically to the interests of the Wellington Cabinet, but the “Old Campaigner” still hoped by stratagem to keep in power, although resolute in asserting that while he kept office no species of reform should take place. The premier’s optimist confidence “that his ministry might keep their places for another session” is shown to be misplaced, for the defeat of his ministry was clearly foreshadowed: “Guy Fawkes, or the Anniversary of the Popish Plot” (November 9, 1830), shows that destruction was abroad; and this cartoon is a late exemplification of the old British institution of burning in effigy a minister when out of favour. The political Guy is, of course, Wellington, the hero of a hundred fights, reproduced in straw, tied to a rickety chair, and is gaily borne to the bonfire by a rejoicing mob of statesmen, his political antagonists. Lord Lansdowne leads the way, with a blazing torch to fire the fatal pyre; the bearers are the Duke of Cumberland and Prince George (Duke of Cambridge), Lords Holland, Sidmouth, Eldon, etc.; Aberdeen, Stanhope, and the Duke of Newcastle bring up the rear in a high state of exaltation;—these were the peers who “sapped the Tory defences.”
Wellington was evidently losing popularity, and the lustre he gained in the field was being clouded in the Cabinet; John Bull has to come to his rescue against the rabble, and the valiant captain is once more shown sheltered under the king’s mantle. It appears the lord mayor’s banquet was threatened with a hostile demonstration, and the city magistrate, “Don Key,” was thrown into a deadly state of apprehension by the alleged prospect of being received with “cold indifference.” This cartoon is entitled “The False Alarm; or, Much Ado about Nothing.”
The Wellington tenure of power was doomed, and, like Cæsar’s, his fatal stab was to come from the hand of a colleague, on the inopportune revival of the Eastern Question. “Scene from the suppressed Tragedy, entitled the Turco-Greek Conspiracy,” shows the minister (wearing his well-earned laurels) done to death by the Peers at the foot of Canning’s statue in the forum; the Senators being armed with deadly speeches wherewith to accomplish this tragic immolation. “Et tu Brute” are the hero’s closing words addressed to his past comrade, Lord Londonderry, who is giving the coup de grâce.
W. Heath, who was employed by McLean at the time Doyle’s sketches were making their appearance, has given many versions of events during George IV.’s somewhat oppressive reign. At the close of 1830, with the advent to the throne of a more constitutionally-minded sovereign, the artist sums up the dismissal of a Cabinet whose actions he had frequently criticized from a pictorially satirical point of view. In the version of “His Honour the Beadle Driving the Wagabonds Out of the Parish,” November 28, 1830, Heath has impressed Sir David Wilkie’s well-known picture of “The Parish Beadle” into the service of parody. King William IV., as the Bumble of the situation, is making a clean sweep of the relics of the past reign: “Come, be off: no hangers behind—out with you all! I’ll let you see I represent the aristocracy of the parish!” John Bull, who may be considered to have generally endorsed his friend William’s policy with hearty goodwill, is giving his approval: “That’s right, Master Beadle, do your duty and clear the parish of the varments; they’ve been a pest ever since they’ve been here.” The chancellor Lyndhurst, Lord Ellenborough, Goulburn (late chancellor of the exchequer), and the rest, are making a hasty retreat. Peel, dragging his “new police” monkey attached to a string, is hardly reconciled to his banishment from office: “Vell, ve did all ve could to kick up a row afore ve vent!” Wellington, as the “hurdy-gurdy” woman, dressed in the faded splendours of an old soldier’s coat, is making all the noise of which the instrument is capable while retreating with his face to the foe.
The results of the general election of 1830 culminated within a month of the reassembling of parliament in the substitution of a Whig for a Tory ministry, and William IV.’s tenure of the throne was inaugurated by the early adoption of that liberal progress which developed into the larger measure of reform within two years, the most memorable act of his reign. Doyle shows the ensuing distribution of offices, and sketches one of the intrigues for place—Henry Brougham, as “The Coquet,” being tempted by Lord Grey to a political allegiance, and courted on the woolsack with the bait of the chancellor’s wig. After the preliminary skirmishing and cementing of necessary alliances, the end was short, sharp, and decisive, and is embodied by HB with his customary point and felicity, as “Examples of the Laconic Style” (November 26, 1830). The king is “standing at attention;” he has sent for Lord Grey. “Your conditions?” The coming premier answers, “Retrenchment, Reform, and Peace.” “Done!” says the king, holding out his hand on the bargain. The Duke of Wellington, on the left, is stepping off the scene, while John Bull, to the right, is not reluctantly giving his late commander the order, “Right about face, march!”
| Lord Chancellor Lyndhurst. | Scarlett. | Lord Ellenborough. | Goulburn, Chancellor of Exchequer. |