No More Learning

There be thirty chosen prophets,
The wisest of the land,
Who alway by Lars Porsena
Both morn and evening stand;
Evening and morn the Thirty
Have turned the verses o'er,
Traced from the right on linen white
By mighty seers of yore.
And with one voice the Thirty
Have their glad answer given:-
"Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena;
Go forth, beloved of Heaven;
Go, and return in glory
To Clusium's royal dome;
And hang round Nurscia's altars
The golden shields of Rome. "
And now hath every city
Sent up her tale of men;
The foot are fourscore thousand,
The horse are thousands ten.
Before the gates of Sutrium
Is met the great array:
A proud man was Lars Porsena
Upon the trysting day.
-


## p. 9425 (#449) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
XVI-590
For all the Etruscan armies
Were ranged beneath his eye
And many a banished Roman,
And many a stout ally;
And with a mighty following
To join the muster came
The Tusculan Mamilius,
Prince of the Latian name.
But by the yellow Tiber
Was tumult and affright:
From all the spacious champaign
To Rome men took their flight.
A mile around the city,
The throng stopped up the ways;
A fearful sight it was to see
Through two long nights and days.
For aged folks on crutches,
And women great with child,
And mothers sobbing over babes
That clung to them and smiled,
And sick men borne in litters
High on the necks of slaves,
And troops of sunburned husbandmen
With reaping-hooks and staves,
And droves of mules and asses
Laden with skins of wine,
And endless flocks of goats and sheep,
And endless herds of kine,
And endless trains of wagons
That creaked beneath the weight
Of corn sacks and of household goods,
Choked every roaring gate.
Now, from the rock Tarpeian,
Could the wan burghers spy
The line of blazing villages
Red in the midnight sky.
The Fathers of the City,
They sat all night and day,
For every hour some horseman came
With tidings of dismay.
9425


## p. 9426 (#450) ###########################################

9426
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
To eastward and to westward
Have spread the Tuscan bands;
Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote
In Crustumerium stands.
Verbenna down to Ostia
Hath wasted all the plain;
Astur hath stormed Janiculum,
And the stout guards are slain.
Iwis, in all the Senate,
There was no heart so bold,
But sore it ached and fast it beat,
When that ill news was told.
Forthwith up rose the Consul,
Up rose the Fathers all;
In haste they girded up their gowns,
And hied them to the wall.
They held a council standing
Before the River-Gate:
Short time was there, ye well may guess,
For musing or debate.
Out spake the Consul roundly:-
"The bridge must straight go down;
For since Janiculum is lost,
Naught else can save the town. "
Just then a scout came flying,
All wild with haste and fear:-
"To arms! to arms! Sir Consul:
Lars Porsena is here. "
On the low hills to westward
The Consul fixed his eye,
And saw the swarthy storm of dust
Rise fast along the sky.
And nearer fast and nearer
Doth the red whirlwind come;
And louder still and still more loud,
From underneath that rolling cloud,
Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud,
The trampling, and the hum.
And plainly and more plainly
Now through the gloom appears,


## p. 9427 (#451) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
9427
Far to left and far to right,
In broken gleams of dark-blue light,
The long array of helmets bright,
The long array of spears.
And plainly and more plainly,
Above that glimmering line,
Now might ye see the banners
Of twelve fair cities shine;
But the banner of proud Clusium
Was highest of them all,
The terror of the Umbrian,
The terror of the Gaul.
And plainly and more plainly
Now might the burghers know,
By port and vest, by horse and crest,
Each warlike Lucumo.
There Cilnius of Arretium
On his fleet roan was seen;
And Astur of the fourfold shield,
Girt with the brand none else may wield,
Tolumnius with the belt of gold,
And dark Verbenna from the hold
By reedy Thrasymene.
Fast by the royal standard,
O'erlooking all the war,
Lars Porsena of Clusium
Sat in his ivory car.
By the right wheel rode Mamilius,
Prince of the Latian name;
And by the left false Sextus,
That wrought the deed of shame.
But when the face of Sextus
Was seen among the foes,
A yell that rent the firmament
From all the town arose.
On the housetops was no woman
But spat towards him and hissed;
No child but screamed out curses,
And shook its little fist.
But the Consul's brow was sad,
And the Consul's speech was low,


## p. 9428 (#452) ###########################################

9428
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
And darkly looked he at the wall,
And darkly at the foe.
"Their van will be upon us
Before the bridge goes down;
And if they once may win the bridge,
What hope to save the town? "
Then out spake brave Horatius,
The captain of the gate:—
"To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his gods;
"And for the tender mother
Who dandled him to rest;
And for the wife who nurses
His baby at her breast;
And for the holy maidens
Who feed the eternal flame,
To save them from false Sextus
That wrought the deed of shame?
"Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,
With all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me,
Will hold the foe in play.
In yon strait path a thousand
May well be stopped by three:
Now who will stand on either hand.
And keep the bridge with me? ”
Then out spake Spurius Lartius-
A Ramnian proud was he:
"Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
And keep the bridge with thee. "
And out spake strong Herminius —
Of Titian blood was he:
"I will abide on thy left side,
And keep the bridge with thee. "
"Horatius, quoth the Consul,
"As thou sayest, so let it be. "


## p. 9429 (#453) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
9429
And straight against that great array
Forth went the dauntless Three.
For Romans in Rome's quarrel
Spared neither land nor gold,
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life,
In the brave days of old.
Then none was for a party;
Then all were for the State;
Then the great man helped the poor,
And the poor man loved the great:
Then lands were fairly portioned;
Then spoils were fairly sold:
The Romans were like brothers
In the brave days of old.
Now Roman is to Roman
More hateful than a foe,
And the Tribunes beard the high,
And the Fathers grind the low.
As we wax hot in faction,
In battle we wax cold;
Wherefore men fight not as they fought
In the brave days of old.
Now while the Three were tightening
Their harness on their backs,
The Consul was the foremost man
To take in hand an axe;
And Fathers mixed with Commons
Seized hatchet, bar, and crow,
And smote upon the planks above,
And loosed the props below.
Meanwhile the Tuscan army,
Right glorious to behold,
Came flashing back the noonday light,
Rank behind rank, like surges bright
Of a broad sea of gold.
Four hundred trumpets sounded
A peal of warlike glee,
As that great host, with measured tread,
And spears advanced, and ensigns spread,
Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head,
Where stood the dauntless Three.


## p. 9430 (#454) ###########################################

9430
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
The Three stood calm and silent,
And looked upon the foes,
And a great shout of laughter
From all the vanguard rose:
And forth three chiefs came spurring
Before that deep array;
To earth they sprang, their swords they drew,
And lifted high their shields, and flew
To win the narrow way:
Aunus from green Tifernum,
Lord of the Hill of Vines;
And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves
Sicken in Ilva's mines;
And Picus, long to Clusium
Vassal in peace and war,
Who led to fight his Umbrian powers
From that gray crag where, girt with towers,
The fortress of Nequinum lowers
O'er the pale waves of Nar.
Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus
Into the stream beneath;
Herminius struck at Seius,
And clove him to the teeth;
At Picus brave Horatius
Darted one fiery thrust,
And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms
Clashed in the bloody dust.
Then Ocnus of Falerii
Rushed on the Roman Three;
And Lausulus of Urgo,
The rover of the sea;
And Aruns of Volsinium,
Who slew the great wild boar
The great wild boar that had his den
Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen,
And wasted fields, and slaughtered men,
Along Albinia's shore.
Herminius smote down Aruns;
Lartius laid Ocnus low:
Right to the heart of Lausulus
Horatius sent a blow.


## p. 9431 (#455) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
9431
"Lie there," he cried, "fell pirate!
No more, aghast and pale,
From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark
The track of thy destroying bark.
No more Campania's hinds shall fly
To woods and caverns when they spy
Thy thrice accursed sail. "
But now no sound of laughter
Was heard among the foes;
A wild and wrathful clamor
From all the vanguard rose.
Six spears'-lengths from the entrance
Halted that deep array,
And for a space no man came forth
To win the narrow way.
But hark! the cry is "Astur! »
And lo! the ranks divide;
And the great Lord of Luna
Comes with his stately stride.
Upon his ample shoulders
Clangs loud the fourfold shield,
And in his hand he shakes the brand
Which none but he can wield.
He smiled on those bold Romans
A smile serene and high;
He eyed the flinching Tuscans,
And scorn was in his eye.
Quoth he, "The she-wolf's litter
Stand savagely at bay;
But will ye dare to follow,
If Astur clears the way? »
Then, whirling up his broadsword
With both hands to the height,
He rushed against Horatius,
And smote with all his might.
With shield and blade Horatius
Right deftly turned the blow.
The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh:
It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh;
The Tuscans raised a joyful cry
To see the red blood flow.


## p. 9432 (#456) ###########################################

9432
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
He reeled, and on Herminius
He leaned one breathing-space:
Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds,
Sprang right at Astur's face;
Through teeth, and skull, and helmet,
So fierce a thrust he sped,
The good sword stood a hand-breadth out
Behind the Tuscan's head.
And the great Lord of Luna
Fell at that deadly stroke,
As falls on Mount Alvernus
A thunder-smitten oak.
Far o'er the crashing forest
The giant arms lie spread;
And the pale augurs, muttering low,
Gaze on the blasted head.
On Astur's throat Horatius
Right firmly pressed his heel,
And thrice and four times tugged amain,
Ere he wrenched out the steel.
"And see," he cried, "the welcome,
Fair guests, that waits you here!
What noble Lucumo comes next
To taste our Roman cheer? "
But at his haughty challenge
A sullen murmur ran,
Mingled of wrath, and shame, and dread,
Along that glittering van.
There lacked not men of prowess,
Nor men of lordly race;
For all Etruria's noblest
Were round the fatal place.
But all Etruria's noblest
Felt their hearts sink to see
On the earth the bloody corpses,
In the path the dauntless Three:
And from the ghastly entrance
Where those bold Romans stood,
All shrank, like boys who unaware,
Ranging the woods to start a hare,
Come to the mouth of the dark lair


## p. 9433 (#457) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
9433
Where, growling low, a fierce old bear
Lies amidst bones and blood.
Was none who would be foremost
To lead such dire attack;
But those behind cried "Forward! "
And those before cried "Back! "
And backward now and forward
Wavers the deep array;
And on the tossing sea of steel,
To and fro the standards reel;
And the victorious trumpet-peal
Dies fitfully away.
Yet one man for one moment
Stood out before the crowd;
Well known was he to all the Three,
And they gave him greeting loud:-
"Now welcome, welcome, Sextus!
Now welcome to thy home!
Why dost thou stay, and turn away?
Here lies the road to Rome. "
Thrice looked he at the city;
Thrice looked he at the dead;
And thrice came on in fury,
And thrice turned back in dread;
And, white with fear and hatred,
Scowled at the narrow way
Where, wallowing in a pool of blood,
The bravest Tuscans lay.
But meanwhile axe and lever
Have manfully been plied;
And now the bridge hangs tottering
Above the boiling tide.
"Come back, come back, Horatius! "
Loud cried the Fathers all.
"Back, Lartius! back, Herminius!
Back, ere the ruin fall! »
Back darted Spurius Lartius;
Herminius darted back:
--
And as they passed, beneath their feet.
They felt the timbers crack.


## p. 9434 (#458) ###########################################

9434
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
But when they turned their faces,
And on the farther shore
Saw brave Horatius stand alone,
They would have crossed once more.
But with a crash like thunder
Fell every loosened beam,
And like a dam, the mighty wreck
Lay right athwart the stream:
And a long shout of triumph
Rose from the walls of Rome,
As to the highest turret-tops
Was splashed the yellow foam.
And like a horse unbroken
When first he feels the rein,
The furious river struggled hard,
And tossed his tawny mane,
And burst the curb, and bounded,
Rejoicing to be free,
And whirling down, in fierce career,
Battlement and plank and pier,
Rushed headlong to the sea.
Alone stood brave Horatius,
But constant still in mind;
Thrice thirty thousand foes before,
And the broad flood behind.
"Down with him! " cried false Sextus,
With a smile on his pale face.
"Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena,
"Now yield thee to our grace. "
Round turned he, as not deigning
Those craven ranks to see;
Naught spake he to Lars Porsena,
To Sextus naught spake he:
But he saw on Palatinus
The white porch of his home;
And he spake to the noble river
That rolls by the towers of Rome.
"O Tiber! father Tiber!
To whom the Romans pray;
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms
Take thou in charge this day! "


## p. 9435 (#459) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
9435
So he spake, and speaking sheathed
The good sword by his side,
And with his harness on his back,
Plunged headlong in the tide.
No sound of joy or sorrow
Was heard from either bank;
But friends and foes, in dumb surprise,
With parted lips and straining eyes,
Stood gazing where he sank;
And when above the surges
They saw his crest appear,
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry,
And even the ranks of Tuscany
Could scarce forbear to cheer.
But fiercely ran the current,
Swollen high by months of rain:
And fast his blood was flowing;
And he was sore in pain,
And heavy with his armor,
And spent with changing blows:
And oft they thought him sinking,
But still again he rose.
Never, I ween, did swimmer,
In such an evil case,
Struggle through such a raging flood.
Safe to the landing-place;
But his limbs were borne up bravely
By the brave heart within,
And our good father Tiber
Bore bravely up his chin.
"Curse on him! " quoth false Sextus;
"Will not the villain drown?
But for this stay, ere close of day
We should have sacked the town! "
"Heaven help him! " quoth Lars Porsena,
"And bring him safe to shore;
For such a gallant feat of arms
Was never seen before. "
And now he feels the bottom;
Now on dry earth he stands;
Now round him throng the Fathers
To press his gory hands;


## p. 9436 (#460) ###########################################

9436
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
And now, with shouts and clapping,
And noise of weeping loud,
He enters through the River-Gate,
Borne by the joyous crowd.
They gave him of the corn-land,
That was of public right,
As much as two strong oxen
Could plow from morn till night;
And they made a molten image,
And set it up on high,
And there it stands unto this day
To witness if I lie.
It stands in the Comitium,
Plain for all folk to see,-
Horatius in his harness,
Halting upon one knee;
And underneath is written,
In letters all of gold,
How valiantly he kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.
And still his name sounds stirring
Unto the men of Rome,
As the trumpet-blast that cries to them
To charge the Volscian home;
And wives still pray to Juno
For boys with hearts as bold
As his who kept the bridge so well
In the brave days of old.
And in the nights of winter,
When the cold north winds blow,
And the long howling of the wolves
Is heard amidst the snow;
When round the lonely cottage
Roars loud the tempest's din,
And the good logs of Algidus
Roar louder yet within;
When the oldest cask is opened,
And the largest lamp is lit;
When the chestnuts glow in the embers,
And the kid turns on the spit;
When young and old in circle
Around the firebrands close;


## p. 9437 (#461) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
When the girls are weaving baskets,
And the lads are shaping bows;
When the goodman mends his armor,
And trims his helmet's plume;
When the goodwife's shuttle merrily
Goes flashing through the loom ;-
With weeping and with laughter
Still is the story told,
How well Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.
9437
THE BATTLE OF IVRY
[Henry the Fourth, on his accession to the French crown, was opposed by
a large part of his subjects under the Duke of Mayenne, with the assistance
of Spain and Savoy. In March 1590 he gained a decisive victory over that
party at Ivry. Before the battle, he addressed his troops -"My children, if
you lose sight of your colors, rally to my white plume: you will always find
it in the path to honor and glory. " His conduct was answerable to his prom-
ise. Nothing could resist his impetuous valor, and the Leaguers underwent a
total and bloody defeat. In the midst of the rout, Henry followed, crying,
"Save the French! " and his clemency added a number of the enemies to his
own army. ]
Now
ow glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are!
And glory to our Sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre!
Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance,
Through thy cornfields green and sunny vines, O pleasant land of
France!
And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters,
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters.
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy,
For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.
Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war;
Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and King Henry of Navarre!
Oh, how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day,
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array,
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers,
And Appenzell's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears.
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land;
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand:
And as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood,
And good Coligny's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood;


## p. 9438 (#462) ###########################################

9438
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war,
To fight for his own holy name and Henry of Navarre.
The King is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest,
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest;
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye;
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high.
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing,
Down all our line, in deafening shout, "God save our lord, the King! "
"And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may,—
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray,—
Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war,
And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre. "
Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin!
The fiery Duke is pricking fast across St. André's plain,
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.
Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,
Charge for the golden lilies now-upon them with the lance!
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest,
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest;
And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star,
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.
Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein;
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter; the Flemish Count is slain;
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale;
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags and cloven mail.
And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van,
"Remember St. Bartholomew," was passed from man to man:
But out spake gentle Henry then, "No Frenchman is my foe;
Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go. "
Oh! was there ever such a knight in friendship or in war,
As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre!
Right well fought all the Frenchmen who fought for France that
day;
And many a lordly banner God gave them for a prey.
But we of the Religion have borne us best in fight,
And our good lord of Rosny hath ta'en the cornet white.
Our own true Maximilian the cornet white hath ta'en-
The cornet white with crosses black, the flag of false Lorraine.
Up with it high; unfurl it wide, that all the world may know
How God hath humbled the proud house that wrought his Church
such woe.


## p. 9439 (#463) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
9439
Then on the ground, while trumpets peal their loudest point of war,
Fling the red shreds, a foot-cloth meet for Henry of Navarr
Ho, maidens of Vienna! ho, matrons of Luzerne!
Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return.
Ho! Philip, send for charity thy Mexican pistoles,
That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls.
Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright;
Ho! burghers of St. Généviève, keep watch and ward to-night:
For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave,
And mocked the counsel of the wise and valor of the brave.
Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are;
And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre!


## p. 9440 (#464) ###########################################

9440
JUSTIN MCCARTHY
(1830-)
LTHOUGH Justin McCarthy is not without reputation as a Home
Rule politician, he is primarily a literary man; his adventures
into the fields of history and fiction having preceded his
Parliamentary career. He is perhaps a novel-writer rather than a
historian in the strict sense of the term. His histories are clever
and astute accounts of comparatively recent events, but bear little
evidence of the patient scholarship, the critical research, which are
characteristic of modern historical scholarship. Yet the 'History of
Our Own Times' (a record of English
political and social life in this century),
the Four Georges,' and the Epoch of
Reform,' are not without the value and
interest attached to the writings of a man
of affairs whose dramatic sense is well de-
veloped. Mr. McCarthy writes of the first
Reform Bill, of Lord Grey, of Lord Palm-
erston, of Disraeli, of Gladstone, of Home
Rule politics, in the spirit of one who has
been in the swing of the movements which
he describes, and who has known his heroes
in person or by near repute. Mr. McCar-
thy's talents as a novelist are of use to him
as a historian. He is quick to grasp the

JUSTIN MCCARTHY
salient features of character, and he is sensitive to the dramatic
elements in individuality. His 'Leo XIII. ,' and his 'Modern Lead-
ers, a series of biographical sketches, are successful portraits of
their kind. That Mr. McCarthy does not always see below the sur-
face in his estimates of famous contemporaries detracts little from the
picturesque character of his biographies. He is capable of giving to
his reader in a sentence or two a vivid if general impression of a
personality or of a literary work; as when he says that "Charlotte
Bronté was all genius and ignorance, and George Eliot is all genius
and culture"; or when he says of Carlyle's 'French Revolution' that
it is "history read by lightning. "
Justin McCarthy has been a journalist as well as a writer of fic-
tion and of history. Born at Cork in 1830, he connected himself with
the Liverpool press in 1853, and in 1860 became a member of the


## p. 9441 (#465) ###########################################

JUSTIN MCCARTHY
944I
staff of the Morning Star. In 1864 he became chief editor.
His
newspaper experience has had not a little influence upon his style
and methods of literary composition, as his political life has guided
him in his treatment of historical subjects. Since 1879 he has repre-
sented Longford in Parliament as a Home-Ruler.
Since that year,
also, many of his novels have been written. They show the quick
observation of the man of newspaper training, and his talents as a
ready and clever writer. Mr. McCarthy's novels, like his histories and
biographies, are concerned mainly with the England of his own day.
Occasionally the plot is worked out against the background of Par-
liamentary life, as in 'The Ladies' Gallery' and 'The Right Honor-
able. ' Among his other novels-he has written a great number-
are 'Miss Misanthrope,' 'A Fair Saxon,' 'Lady Judith,' 'Dear Lady
Disdain,' The Maid of Athens,' and 'Paul Massie. ' Mr. McCarthy's
style is crisp, straightforward, and for the most part entertaining. Of
all his works, the 'History of Our Own Times' will perhaps retain
its value longest as a vivid, anecdotal, and stimulating record of
English national development in the nineteenth century.
THE KING IS DEAD-LONG LIVE THE QUEEN
From A History of Our Own Times>
BⓇ
EFORE half-past two o'clock on the morning of June 20th,
1837, William IV. was lying dead in Windsor Castle, while
the messengers were already hurrying off to Kensington
Palace to bear to his successor her summons to the throne. The
illness of the King had been but short, and at one time, even
after it had been pronounced alarming, it seemed to take so
hopeful a turn that the physicians began to think it would pass
harmlessly away. But the King was an old man— was an old
man even when he came to the throne; and when the dangerous
symptoms again exhibited themselves, their warning was very
soon followed by fulfillment. The death of King William may
be fairly regarded as having closed an era of our history. With
him, we may believe, ended the reign of personal government
in England. William was indeed a constitutional king in more
than mere name. He was to the best of his lights a faithful
representative of the constitutional principle. He was as far in
advance of his two predecessors in understanding and acceptance
of the principle as his successor has proved herself beyond him.
Constitutional government has developed itself gradually, as
XVI-591


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JUSTIN MCCARTHY
everything else has done in English politics. The written prin-
ciple and code of its system it would be as vain to look for as
for the British Constitution itself. King William still held to
and exercised the right to dismiss his ministers when he pleased,
and because he pleased. His father had held to the right of
maintaining favorite ministers in defiance of repeated votes of
the House of Commons. It would not be easy to find any
written rule or declaration of constitutional law pronouncing deci-
sively that either was in the wrong. But in our day we should
believe that the constitutional freedom of England was outraged,
or at least put in the extremest danger, if a sovereign were
dismiss a ministry at mere pleasure, or to retain it in despite of
the expressed wish of the House of Commons. Virtually there-
fore there was still personal government in the reign of William
IV. With his death the long chapter of its history came to an
end. We find it difficult now to believe that it was a living
principle, openly at work among us, if not openly acknowledged,
so lately as in the reign of King William.
The closing scenes of King William's life were undoubtedly
characterized by some personal dignity. As a rule, sovereigns
show that they know how to die. Perhaps the necessary conse-
quence of their training, by virtue of which they come to regard
themselves always as the central figures in great State pageantry,
is to make them assume a manner of dignity on all occasions
when the eyes of their subjects may be supposed to be on
them, even if dignity of bearing is not the free gift of nature.
The manners of William IV. had been, like those of most of his
brothers, somewhat rough and overbearing. He had been an
unmanageable naval officer. He had again and again disregarded
or disobeyed orders; and at last it had been found convenient to
withdraw him from active service altogether, and allow him to
rise through the successive ranks of his profession by a merely
formal and technical process of ascent. In his more private
capacity he had, when younger, indulged more than once in un-
seemly and insufferable freaks of temper. He had made himself
unpopular, while Duke of Clarence, by his strenuous opposition
to some of the measures which were especially desired by all the
enlightenment of the country. He was, for example, a deter-
mined opponent of the measures for the abolition of the slave
trade. He had wrangled publicly in open debate with some of
his brothers in the House of Lords; and words had been inter-


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JUSTIN MCCARTHY
9443
changed among the royal princes which could not be heard in
our day even in the hottest debates of the more turbulent House
of Commons. But William seems to have been one of the men
whom increased responsibility improves. He was far better as a
king than as a prince. He proved that he was able at least to
understand that first duty of a constitutional sovereign, which to
the last day of his active life his father, George III. , never could
be brought to comprehend,- that the personal predilections and
prejudices of the king must sometimes give way to the public
interest.
Nothing perhaps in life became him like the leaving of it.
His closing days were marked by gentleness and kindly consid-
eration for the feelings of those around him. When he awoke
on June 18th he remembered that it was the anniversary of the
Battle of Waterloo. He expressed a strong, pathetic wish to live.
over that day, even if he were never to see another sunset. He
called for the flag which the Duke of Wellington always sent him.
on that anniversary; and he laid his hand upon the eagle which
adorned it, and said he felt revived by the touch. He had him-
self attended since his accession the Waterloo banquet; but this
time the Duke of Wellington thought it would perhaps be more
seemly to have the dinner put off, and sent accordingly to take
the wishes of his Majesty. The King declared that the dinner
must go on as usual; and sent to the Duke a friendly, simple
message, expressing his hope that the guests might have a pleas-
ant day. He talked in his homely way to those about him, his
direct language seeming to acquire a sort of tragic dignity from
the approach of the death that was so near.
He had prayers
read to him again and again, and called those near him to wit-
ness that he had always been a faithful believer in the truths of
religion. He had his dispatch-boxes brought to him, and tried
to get through some business with his private secretary.
It was
remarked with some interest that the last official act he ever
performed was to sign with his trembling hand the pardon of a
condemned criminal. Even a far nobler reign than his would
have received new dignity if it closed with a deed of mercy.
When some of those around him endeavored to encourage him
with the idea that he might recover and live many years yet, he
declared with a simplicity which had something oddly pathetic in
it that he would be willing to live ten years yet for the sake of
the country.
The poor King was evidently under the sincere


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9444
JUSTIN MCCARTHY
conviction that England could hardly get on without him. His
consideration for his country, whatever whimsical thoughts it
may suggest, is entitled to some at least of the respect which
we give to the dying groan of a Pitt or a Mirabeau, who fears
with too much reason that he leaves a blank not easily to be
filled. "Young royal tarry-breeks," William had been jocularly
called by Robert Burns fifty years before, when there was yet a
popular belief that he would come all right and do brilliant and
gallant things, and become a stout sailor in whom a seafaring
nation might feel pride. He disappointed all such expectations;
but it must be owned that when responsibility came upon him
he disappointed expectation anew in a different way, and was a
better sovereign, more deserving of the complimentary title of
patriot-king, than even his friends would have ventured to antici-
pate.
There were eulogies pronounced upon him after his death,
in both Houses of Parliament, as a matter of course. It is not
necessary, however, to set down to mere court homage or parlia
mentary form some of the praises that were bestowed upon the
dead King by Lord Melbourne and Lord Brougham and Lord
Grey. A certain tone of sincerity, not quite free perhaps from
surprise, appears to run through some of these expressions of
admiration. They seem to say that the speakers were at one
time or another considerably surprised to find that after all, Will-
iam really was able and willing on grave occasions to subordi-
nate his personal likings and dislikings to considerations of State
policy, and to what was shown to him to be for the good of the
nation. In this sense at least he may be called a patriot-king.
We have advanced a good deal since that time, and we require
somewhat higher and more positive qualities in a sovereign now
to excite our political wonder. But we must judge William by
the reigns that went before, and not the reign that came after
him; and with that consideration borne in mind, we may accept
the panegyric of Lord Melbourne and of Lord Grey, and admit
that on the whole he was better than his education, his early
opportunities, and his early promise.
William IV. (third son of George III. ) had left no children
who could have succeeded to the throne; and the crown passed
therefore to the daughter of his brother (fourth son of George),
the Duke of Kent. This was the Princess Alexandrina Victoria,
who was born at Kensington Palace on May 24th, 1819. The


## p. 9445 (#469) ###########################################

JUSTIN MCCARTHY
9445
princess was therefore at this time little more than eighteen years
of age.
The Duke of Kent died a few months after the birth of
his daughter, and the child was brought up under the care of
his widow. She was well brought up: both as regards her intel-
lect and her character her training was excellent. She was taught
to be self-reliant, brave, and systematical. Prudence and economy
were inculcated on her as though she had been born to be poor.
One is not generally inclined to attach much importance to what
historians tell us of the education of contemporary princes or
princesses; but it cannot be doubted that the Princess Victoria.
was trained for intelligence and goodness.
"The death of the King of England has everywhere caused the
greatest sensation. . . . Cousin Victoria is said to have shown
astonishing self-possession. She undertakes a heavy responsi-
bility, especially at the present moment, when parties are so
excited, and all rest their hopes on her. " These words are an
extract from a letter written on July 4th, 1837, by the late Prince
Albert, the Prince Consort of so many happy years. The letter
was written to the Prince's father, from Bonn. The young Queen
had indeed behaved with remarkable self-possession. There is a
pretty description, which has been often quoted, but will bear
citing once more, given by Miss Wynn, of the manner in which
the young sovereign received the news of her accession to a
throne. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Howley, and the
Lord Chamberlain, the Marquis of Conyngham, left Windsor for
Kensington Palace, where the Princess Victoria had been resid-
ing, to inform her of the King's death. It was two hours after
midnight when they started, and they did not reach Kensington
until five o'clock in the morning. "They knocked, they rang,
they thumped for a considerable time before they could rouse the
porter at the gate; they were again kept waiting in the court-
yard, then turned into one of the lower rooms, where they seemed
forgotten by everybody. They rang the bell, and desired that
the attendant of the Princess Victoria might be sent to inform
her Royal Highness that they requested an audience on busi-
ness of importance. After another delay, and another ringing to
inquire the cause, the attendant was summoned, who stated that
the princess was in such a sweet sleep that she could not venture
to disturb her. Then they said, 'We are come on business of
State to the Queen, and even her sleep must give way to that. '
It did; and to prove that she did not keep them waiting, in a


## p. 9446 (#470) ###########################################

9446
JUSTIN MCCARTHY
few minutes she came into the room in a loose white nightgown
and shawl, her nightcap thrown off, and her hair falling upon her
shoulders, her feet in slippers, tears in her eyes, but perfectly
collected and dignified. " The Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne,
was presently sent for, and a meeting of the Privy Council sum-
moned for eleven o'clock; when the Lord Chancellor administered
the usual oaths to the Queen, and Her Majesty received in re-
turn the oaths of allegiance of the Cabinet ministers and other
privy councillors present. Mr. Greville, who was usually as little
disposed to record any enthusiastic admiration of royalty and
royal personages as Humboldt or Varnhagen von Ense could have
been, has described the scene in words well worthy of quotation.
"The King died at twenty minutes after two yesterday morning,
and the young Queen met the Council at Kensington Palace at
eleven. Never was anything like the first impression she produced,
or the chorus of praise and admiration which is raised about her
manner and behavior, and certainly not without justice.
It was
very extraordinary, and something far beyond what was looked for.
Her extreme youth and inexperience, and the ignorance of the world
concerning her, naturally excited intense curiosity to see how she
would act on this trying occasion, and there was a considerable
assemblage at the palace, notwithstanding the short notice which
was given. The first thing to be done was to teach her her lesson,
which, for this purpose, Melbourne had himself to learn. . . . She
bowed to the lords, took her seat, and then read her speech in a
clear, distinct, and audible voice, and without any appearance of fear
or embarrassment. She was quite plainly dressed, and in mourning.
After she had read her speech, and taken and signed the oath for
the security of the Church of Scotland, the privy councillors were
sworn, the two royal dukes first by themselves; and as these two
old men, her uncles, knelt before her, swearing allegiance and kissing
her hand, I saw her blush up to the eyes, as if she felt the contrast
between their civil and their natural relations,—and this was the only
sign of emotion which she evinced. Her manner to them was very
graceful and engaging; she kissed them both, and rose from her
chair and moved towards the Duke of Sussex, who was farthest from
her, and too infirm to reach her. She seemed rather bewildered
at the multitude of men who were sworn, and who came, one after
another, to kiss her hand, but she did not speak to anybody, nor did
she make the slightest difference in her manner, or show any in
her countenance, to any individual of any rank, station, or party. I
particularly watched her when Melbourne and the ministers, and the


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JUSTIN MCCARTHY
9447
She went through
Duke of Wellington and Peel, approached her.
the whole ceremony, occasionally looking at Melbourne for instruction
when she had any doubt what to do,-which hardly ever occurred,—
and with perfect calmness and self-possession, but at the same time
with a graceful modesty and propriety particularly interesting and
ingratiating. "
Sir Robert Peel told Mr. Greville that he was amazed "at her
manner and behavior, at her apparent deep sense of her situa-
tion, and at the same time her firmness. " The Duke of Welling-
ton said in his blunt way that if she had been his own daughter
he could not have desired to see her perform her part better.
"At twelve," says Mr. Greville, "she held a Council, at which
she presided with as much ease as if she had been doing nothing
else all her life; and though Lord Lansdowne and my colleague
had contrived between them to make some confusion with the
Council papers, she was not put out by it. She looked very well;
and though so small in stature, and without much pretension to
beauty, the gracefulness of her manner and the good expression
of her countenance give her on the whole a very agreeable ap-
pearance, and with her youth inspire an excessive interest in all
who approach her, and which I can't help feeling myself.
•
In short, she appears to act with every sort of good taste and
good feeling, as well as good sense; and as far as it has gone,
nothing can be more favorable than the impression she has
made, and nothing can promise better than her manner and con-
duct do; though," Mr. Greville somewhat superfluously adds, “it
would be rash to count too confidently upon her judgment and
discretion in more weighty matters. "
The interest or curiosity with which the demeanor of the
young Queen was watched was all the keener because the world
in general knew so little about her. Not merely was the world
in general thus ignorant, but even the statesmen and officials in
closest communication with court circles were in almost absolute
ignorance. According to Mr. Greville (whose authority, however,
is not to be taken too implicitly except as to matters which he
actually saw), the young Queen had been previously kept in such
seclusion by her mother-"never," he says, "having slept out
of her bedroom, nor been alone with anybody but herself and
the Baroness Lehzen "-that "not one of her acquaintances, none
of the attendants at Kensington, not even the Duchess of North-
umberland, her governess, have any idea what she is or what


## p. 9448 (#472) ###########################################

9448
JUSTIN MCCARTHY
she promises to be. " There was enough in the court of the two
sovereigns who went before Queen Victoria to justify any strict-
ness of seclusion which the Duchess of Kent might desire for
her daughter. George IV. was a Charles II. without the edu-
cation or the talents; William IV. was a Frederick William of
Prussia without the genius. The ordinary manners of the society
at the court of either had a full flavor, to put it in the softest
way, such as a decent tap-room would hardly exhibit in a time
like the present. No one
can read even the most favorable
descriptions given by contemporaries of the manners of those
two courts, without feeling grateful to the Duchess of Kent for
resolving that her daughter should see as little as possible of
their ways and their company.
It was remarked with some interest that the Queen sub-
scribed herself simply "Victoria," and not, as had been expected,
"Alexandrina Victoria. " Mr. Greville mentions in his diary of
December 24th, 1819, that "the Duke of Kent gave the name
of Alexandrina to his daughter in compliment to the Emperor of
Russia. She was to have had the name of Georgiana, but the
duke insisted upon Alexandrina being her first name. The Regent
sent for Lieven [the Russian ambassador, husband of the famous
Princess de Lieven], and made him a great many compliments,
en le persiflant, on the Emperor's being godfather; but informed
him that the name of Georgiana could be second to no other in
this country, and therefore she could not bear it at all. " It was
a very wise choice to employ simply the name Victoria, around
which no ungenial associations of any kind hung at that time,
and which can have only grateful associations in the history of
this country for the future.
It is not necessary to go into any formal description of the
various ceremonials and pageantries which celebrated the acces-
sion of the new sovereign. The proclamation of the Queen,
her appearance for the first time on the throne in the House of
Lords when she prorogued Parliament in person, and even the
gorgeous festival of her coronation,— which took place on June
28th, in the following year, 1838,—may be passed over with a
mere word of record. It is worth mentioning, however, that at
the coronation procession one of the most conspicuous figures
was that of Marshal Soult, Duke of Dalmatia, the opponent of
Moore and Wellington in the Peninsula, the commander of the
Old Guard at Lützen, and one of the strong arms of Napoleon at


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JUSTIN MCCARTHY
9449
Waterloo. Soult had been sent as ambassador extraordinary to
represent the French government and people at the coronation
of Queen Victoria; and nothing could exceed the enthusiasm with
which he was received by the crowds in the streets of London
on that day. The white-haired soldier was cheered wherever a
glimpse of his face or figure could be caught. He appeared in
the procession in a carriage the frame of which had been used
on occasions of state by some of the princes of the House of
Condé, and which Soult had had splendidly decorated for the
ceremony of the coronation. Even the Austrian ambassador,
says an eye-witness, attracted less attention than Soult, although
the dress of the Austrian, Prince Esterhazy, "down to his very
boot-heels sparkled with diamonds. " The comparison savors now
of the ridiculous, but is remarkably expressive and effective.
Prince Esterhazy's name in those days suggested nothing but
diamonds. His diamonds may be said to glitter through all the
light literature of the time. When Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
wanted a comparison with which to illustrate excessive splendor
and brightness, she found it in "Mr. Pitt's diamonds. " Prince
Esterhazy's served the same purpose for the writers of the early
years of the present reign. It was therefore, perhaps, no very
poor tribute to the stout old moustache of the Republic and the
Empire to say that at a London pageant his war-worn face drew
attention away from Prince Esterhazy's diamonds. Soult himself
felt very warmly the genuine kindness of the reception given to
him. Years after, in a debate in the French Chamber, when M.
Guizot was accused of too much partiality for the English alliance,
Marshal Soult declared himself a warm champion of that alliance.
"I fought the English down to Toulouse," he said, "when I
fired the last cannon in defense of the national independence:
in the mean time I have been in London; and France knows
the reception which I had there. The English themselves cried
'Vive Soult! '-they cried, 'Soult forever! ' I had learned to
estimate the English on the field of battle; I have learned to esti-
mate them in peace: and I repeat that I am a warm partisan of
the English alliance. " History is not exclusively made by cab-
inets and professional diplomatists. It is highly probable that
the cheers of a London crowd on the day of the Queen's corona-
tion did something genuine and substantial to restore the good
feeling between this country and France, and efface the bitter
memories of Waterloo.


## p. 9450 (#474) ###########################################

9450
JUSTIN MCCARTHY
It is a fact well worthy of note, amid whatever records of
court ceremonial and of political change, that a few days after
the accession of the Queen, Mr. Montefiore was elected Sheriff
of London (the first Jew who had ever been chosen for that
office), and that he received knighthood at the hands of her
Majesty when she visited the City on the following Lord Mayor's
day. He was the first Jew whom royalty had honored in this
country since the good old times when royalty was pleased to
borrow the Jew's money, or order instead the extraction of his
teeth. The expansion of the principle of religious liberty and
equality, which has been one of the most remarkable characteris-
tics of the reign of Queen Victoria, could hardly have been more
becomingly inaugurated than by the compliment which sovereign
and city paid to Sir Moses Montefiore.
A MODERN ENGLISH STATESMAN
From A History of Our Own Times'
"UN
N-ARM, Eros: the long day's task is done, and we must
sleep! " A long, very long day's task was nearly done.
A marvelous career was fast drawing to its close. Down
in Hertfordshire Lord Palmerston was dying. As Mirabeau said
of himself, so Palmerston might have said: he could already hear
the preparations for the funeral of Achilles. He had enjoyed life
to the last as fully as ever Churchill did, although in a different
sense. Long as his life was, if counted by mere years, it seems
much longer still when we consider what it had compassed, and
how active it had been from the earliest to the very end. Many
men were older than Lord Palmerston; he left more than one
senior behind him. But they were for the most part men whose
work had long been done,-men who had been consigned to the
arm-chair of complete inactivity. Palmerston was a hard-working
statesman until within a very few days of his death. He had
been a member of Parliament for nearly sixty years. He entered
Parliament for the first time in the year when Byron, like him-
self a Harrow boy, published his first poems. He had been in
the House of Commons for thirty years when the Queen came to
the throne. He used to play chess with the unfortunate Caroline
of Brunswick, wife of the Prince Regent, when she lived at


## p. 9451 (#475) ###########################################

JUSTIN MCCARTHY
9451
Kensington as Princess of Wales. In 1808, being then one of
the Lords of the Admiralty, he had defended the Copenhagen
expedition of the year before, and insisted that it was a stroke
indispensable to the defeat of the designs of Napoleon. During
all his political career he was only out of office for rare and brief
seasons. To be a private member of Parliament was a short
occasional episode in his successful life. In the words of Sadi,
the Persian poet, he had obtained an ear of corn from every
harvest. .
No man since the death of the Duke of Wellington had filled
so conspicuous a place in the public mind. No man had enjoyed
anything like the same amount of popularity. He died at the
moment when that popularity had reached its very zenith.