Maxims And Opinions Of Field Marshal His Grace The Duke Of Wellington, Selected From His Writings And Speeches During A Public Life Of More Than Half A Century by Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington

A >> Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington >> Maxims And Opinions Of Field Marshal His Grace The Duke Of Wellington, Selected From His Writings And Speeches During A Public Life Of More Than Half A Century

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Of the military value of his dispositions and movements, military
critics have recorded, almost universally, their unqualified praise. To
civilians, it is left to admire the constant and watchful care of the
Duke, whether in India or the Peninsula, in securing the due provision
for his troops, while he at the same time maintained the strictest
honour towards the natives who supplied them; and to respect the
clearness of his perception, the sagacity of his decisions, and, above
all, the firmness and determination of purpose which sustained him
amidst every drawback and difficulty, until by his success he compelled
his detractors to yield themselves captive to his judgment. It is only
necessary to read the dispatches and general orders of the Duke of
Wellington, in order to be convinced that he is not a mere soldier
winning battles by superior tactics, but that he is also a man of a
very high order of general talent, with an unusual insight into human
nature, and possessing almost an instinctive knowledge of how mankind
are to be governed. By that wonderful exposition of the comprehensive,
wise, and philanthropic mind of the man, even his enemies were subdued.

Much controversy has been spent upon the demeanour of the Duke towards
his soldiers, which has been stigmatised as cold, distant, at times
harsh, and even selfish. For the charges of coldness and distance there
appears to be some foundation. Unlike Napoleon, the Duke of Wellington
never appealed to the enthusiasm of his soldiers; but he always relied
upon their sense of duty. He regarded his army, organized by discipline,
as a perfect machine, upon the performance of which he could calculate
with precision, and as he never expected it to do more than it ought, so
he never looked to see it do less. The idea of duty, of absolute
responsibility and subordination from rank to rank, seems to have been
that to which he was always content to appeal. Accordingly, his troops
never failed him. Their rock-like steadfastness and constant unimpulsive
bravery, it was that enabled him to carry out his plans with such
certainty.

The contrast to Napoleon is no Where more seen than in the dispatches of
the one and the bulletins of the other. In his demeanour to his men, the
Duke was reserved; in his language, curt and laconic. If his troops felt
the moral certainty that he was leading them to victory, and honoured
him accordingly, it was not from personal enthusiasm, such as the wild
love the emperor inspired in those around him, but from a deep respect
for his character and a reliance on his talents. Nor did he condescend
to charlatantism or bombast, as his great rival too often did. There is
not the slightest trace of vanity about him. Compare the speech of the
one to his army, beneath the Pyramids, with the simple, "Up, guards, and
at them!" of the other. In these trifles, we find the key to the real
minds of great men.

The political character of the Duke, and his services as a civilian,
have never been sufficiently appreciated by the great mass of his
countrymen. His brilliant military reputation cast into the shade his
sterling but unobtrusive services as a senator and as a minister. It was
even the fashion, for a long time, to assert that his taking office at
all was a sign of defective judgment. Indeed, when he declared, in the
House of Lords, that he would be "worse than mad to think of such a
thing," he gave a colour to the supposition. His subsequent assertion,
after he had become prime minister, that he had done so "because nobody
else would," conveyed, in all probability, the simple truth. The Duke
did not know his own capacity for government, until it was tried.

Another reason why his positive worth, as a politician, has not been so
universally admitted as his military merit, is that, in the imaginations
of a large portion of the public, he has been identified with a party.
This, in a country where party spirit is so strong and so universal,
would alone be sufficient to secure his being misunderstood by all those
who are not of the party to which he is alleged to be devoted. But it
is a mistake to call the Duke of Wellington a party man; that is to say,
in the ordinary sense of the word. It is true that, during the greater
part of his life he has acted with what is called the conservative
party, because in England no man can expect to serve his country
efficiently, unless he enlists under some political banner or other. But
there is a great difference between acting generally with a party, and
the adoption of all its animosities and prejudices: and this difference
the Duke of Wellington appears always to have perceived and acted upon.
Wherever the choice has lain between the opinions of his party and the
general good of his country, the Duke has always preferred his country
to his party; and if that is the character of a party man, may all
politicians be speedily imbued with the same sentiments!

Notwithstanding this distinction, however, it is certain that the known
opinions of the Duke of Wellington, and his ultimately taking office as
the prime minister of the tory party, did lead to the belief that he was
a party man, and directed towards him all those animosities and all that
depreciating rancour which party spirit engenders, and which party
tactics perpetuate; so that during a period of some four or five years
his distinguished reputation as a soldier was obscured in the minds of
many millions of his country, who,--and this remark applies more
particularly to the years 1829, 1830, and 1831,--laid themselves open to
the charge of being guilty of that meanest and basest of all crimes,
ingratitude.

Happily, within the last ten years, a total change has come over the
public mind. Those ill-grounded animosities are forgotten: the long and
unparalleled services of the Duke are remembered: and a re-action,
produced by a sense of shame acting upon early affections, has made him
more popular, more beloved, more admired than ever he was before.

Look at the course of business in the House of Lords during the last few
years, and you will observe that the Duke of Wellington has been the
presiding spirit of that assembly. Nothing was done--nothing could be
done without him; for he carries with him the proxies of so many of the
thinking, experienced, far-seeing, influential of his countrymen.

It has been argued, that the Duke of Wellington possesses all this
influence by virtue of his leadership of a powerful party. Of course
this means that any other leader of the conservatives could possess as
much, or it means nothing. It is a fallacy. The Duke of Wellington's
claims are almost entirely personal. It is to himself alone that all
this silent homage is paid. Even were he to retire from active life
to-morrow, still would he be followed into his retirement by political
pupils, eager to imbibe those distillations of practical wisdom which
his sagacity extracts from his vast stores of experience.

The fundamental basis of this power is his high military reputation;
though that alone could not have secured it, unless accompanied by his
firm principles and habits of observation. England differs from France
in this respect,--that while our neighbours are more ready to elevate
talent above property than we are, they are less choice as to the degree
of the talent which they exalt. But if the English once know that they
possess a first-rate man, they place him from that hour securely on an
eminence, whence he may look down as from the heavens, upon wealth,
rank, blood, and every earthly distinction. The Duke of Wellington is a
first-rate man; and his countrymen acknowledge it with pride. But his
mind is _sui generis_. His qualities are eminently useful: he could
never have condescended to be brilliant. His mind is that of iron mould
that defies alike warping, meretricious polish, or demolition.

It is a conviction of the thorough and unflinching honesty of his views
and principles, and of the clear perception, the fruitful experience,
and sound practical sense which regulate his opinions, that makes the
Duke of Wellington the governing spirit in the House of Peers. There is
no man in that house, be his talents or his services what they may,
whose opinion carries so much weight with it; for there is no other man
so independent of party. All the others, however moderate their natures
or honest their intentions, have been compelled to give in at some time
or other to the spirit of party. But the Duke is above party. He entered
the House of Peers with an overpowering reputation, which enabled him
from the first to take high ground. He does not need to curry favour
with any man; nor does he fear to offend even the most powerful of his
supporters, when his cause is just.

But the Duke's ascendancy in the House of Peers is not to be referred
to the foregoing causes alone. Had he none of that personal influence
derived from services and character to which we have referred, his
abilities and information alone would enable him to take high rank. His
claims in these respects are much, underrated by those who are opposed
to him in politics. His reasoning is so simple, clear and palpable--so
much in the character of what is called common sense--and his style of
speaking so unpretending and free from ornament, that superficial
observers have set him down as a mere blunt soldier, with a few fixed
ideas, and a disposition dogmatically to insist on their adoption. This
is altogether a mistake. The Duke of Wellington has as much of the true
spirit of the statesman as any man who now affects the destinies of this
country. There is scarcely a subject that has come before parliament
since the commencement of his political career into which he has not
fully entered. The character of his mind is to grasp every question.
Less than mastery of it--so far as the formation of a decided opinion
according to the lights afforded to or by his mind--will not satisfy
him. With the exception of one or two questions of high constitutional
principle, the "_cui bono?_" is the view his mind naturally takes. He is
a practical utilitarian, seeking in every measure the utmost quantity of
good of which it is capable; not always as much as he would perhaps wish
to see, but as much as circumstances allow the hope of securing.

This mode of dealing with subjects is not well calculated for
oratorical display, or for the parade of extensive information, even if
the unaffected character of the Duke of Wellington would allow him to
avail himself of them. They are cast aside, in pursuit of a less
brilliant, but more useful, mode of treatment. Accordingly, the speeches
of the Duke are brief, clear, pointed, and in one sense dogmatical.
After having canvassed details, and brought to bear upon them his long
and varied experience, he states his conclusions, accompanying them with
the general principles that have guided their formation, in a few brief
authoritative sentences. He is very careless about catching stray
listeners, or drawing in his train the prejudiced or the inexperienced;
but rather addresses himself to those whose age and wisdom entitle them
to anticipate consequences, or to those to whom experience of the value
of his opinions may have taught a pre-disposed deference.

At other times, however--for instance, when making ministerial
statements on matters connected with finance, or foreign policy, or
important changes in the law--this short, abrupt, devil-may-care style
is changed for one eminently adapted to the object. No one can then
complain of a want of the proper information. All the historical facts,
or figures, or principles, or general details, are then marshalled
forward with a regularity and precision only to be equalled by the
military arrangements of the Duke. There is not a word too much or too
little: you are made thoroughly to comprehend the whole bearings of the
question, without being overburthened with the useless details that so
often figure in the speeches of orators of the red-tape school. The
natural superiority of the Duke's mind is never more exhibited than in
the masterly way in which he separates the wheat from the chaff, and
weaves a clear and connected statement from masses of facts, on subjects
so foreign to the military pursuits of his youth and manhood.

To many, this praise of the Duke of Wellington, in a character in which
he is so little known to the great mass of the public, will appear
exaggerated; but those who have been accustomed to observe him in the
House of Peers, will not be surprised to hear the estimation in which he
is held by his political contemporaries of all parties. Those who have
not heard and seen him in his character of politician and statesman,
will scarcely continue sceptical (even if they are so), after having
read the extracts contained in the following pages.

Much, however, as the independent spirit of self-reliance of the Duke,
fortified by his character and experience, has secured him sway in the
House of Lords, we must not blind ourselves to the fact, that this
illustrious man has sometimes, in the assertion of his opinions
(unconsciously, we believe, and unintentionally) fallen into a practice
of dogmatising, of calling on the House of Peers and the public to adopt
his views, not so much on account of reasons urged in their support, as
because they are stated by him. Rarely, however, have such instances
occurred, and in extenuation of what, in a country of free discussion,
would justly be deemed a dangerous innovation, we must bear in mind
that where a man's opinions are the result of vary long experience and
very extensive observation, it is not always possible to make the
general mind aware of the process by which particular principles or
views have been arrived at. The greatest men have often been compelled
to content themselves with the simple assertion of opinions not pleasing
to the multitude, and to appeal to time as the only test of their truth.

The Duke of Wellington looks to the practical common-sense bearing of
every subject brought under his notice. His first aim is the public
good; his next, how to attain that good with the least departure from
established principles of policy. This practical turn of mind, joined as
it is to a far-seeing and prophetic spirit, has contributed to confirm
in the minds of his countrymen the admiration and influence which his
military genius and success first created. They repose the utmost
confidence in his sagacity; he is a party in himself. Whatever is
essential to the national reputation, the welfare of the whole people,
and, above all, to the stability of property, is sure to be originated,
or, at all events, warmly supported by him.

For this reason a revolution never could have occurred under the
government of the Duke; he has too intense a horror of the evils of
civil contention, ever to have allowed matters to come to that pass.
This, it will be admitted, is a quality rarely to be found in a soldier,
and a soldier, too, of such an inflexible cast as the Duke. Not less
intense is his regard for national faith and honour. He would maintain
the honour of the state at any expense, even of his own personal
prejudices on home politics; for the Duke, like all strong-minded men,
has his prejudices. He has vanquished, and obtained the mastery of the
spirit of change, by showing that he can curb it, while he does not
affect to play the tyrant over it. He knows when to be firm and when to
yield. Many acts of the Duke of Wellington, in the course of his
political career, that have called forth unlimited censure, have been
based upon calculations which only so well-tutored and so well-stored a
mind could have made.

It is an intellectual treat of the highest order to see the Duke of
Wellington's demeanour in the House of Lords. It is essentially
different from that of every other man there. He is almost the only
unfettered man in the house. Others are fettered by obstacles which they
create for themselves, in various ways, by the too eager pursuit of
personal or party objects. But the Duke of Wellington's high reputation
and standing place him above all such considerations. He can afford to
speak the truth, and he does speak it on all occasions fearlessly. While
other speakers, on either side of the house, have been wasting their
powers in fruitless eloquence (mere personal display), or in perverting
the truth for the purpose, either of unfair attack or unfair defence,
the Duke of Wellington has appeared to be paying not the slightest
attention to the proceedings. He has sat absorbed in thought, or at
least in seeming indifference. You would almost suppose that, overcome
by fatigue, or indisposition, he was sleeping, so perfectly motionless
and silent is he, reclining, with folded arms, his legs stretched out
to their full length, and his hat over his brow. The question has been
discussed, argued, disputed upon for hours. No result seems to have been
come to, and you are as ignorant of the object and scope of the measure
as when the debate began; nor have you any clear idea what will become
of the bill.

At length, the Duke of Wellington rises, advances abruptly to the table,
wraps the tails of his coat, like a dressing-gown, over his legs, and
plunges at once _in medias res_. There is an undivided attention while
he speaks, indeed, it is sometimes absolutely necessary, for, when
indisposed, he is often with difficulty heard, even by those near to
him, as, indeed, he himself hears with difficulty, from being deaf on
one side. But in a moment you see that his mind is still as vigorous as
ever. His keen intelligence pierces at once to the very core of the
subject; no fallacy can blind or deceive the Duke of Wellington. He
knows why the measure was introduced, what it is, what it will do, and
what will become of it. He grapples with it in the spirit of a
statesman. He is a guardian of the interests of the nation; he is the
parliamentary trustee of the people; he is bound to look to their
interests as a whole, for by the people he understands, not those who
bawl the loudest about their rights, but those also who trust the
maintenance of their privileges and their interests to parliament, in
silent faith. He never forgets the _salus populi_.

On the other hand, the chap-trap maxims of liberalism, foreign or
domestic, meet from him with just as much credence and attention as
they deserve; he never allows enthusiasm to intrude among political
considerations. He measures the length, breadth, and thickness of the
bill before him; calculates with his unerring precision and practical
wisdom, the effect which it will have, either on the happiness of the
people, or on the social or political constitution of the country.
According to its value for good or for evil, does the Duke of Wellington
support or oppose it; and from that hour its fate is usually decided.
Why? because the unbending unflinching honesty of the man, and his
political sagacity, have created him a character unprecedented in the
annals of his country.

The Duke's style of speaking is what might be expected from his
character, plain, simple, straightforward. His sentences are short and
pithy, his language clear and lucid; his delivery abrupt. When he makes
a point, it falls on the mind with the force of a sledge-hammer. His
voice reminds one of that of an officer giving the word of command; he
lays emphasis, short and somewhat harsh, on the leading words of the
sentence, and speaks the rest in an under tone. Although, however, in
consequence of his age and the gradual approach of infirmity, his
utterance is not so clear as it used to be, yet you can always
understand immediately his whole meaning. He uses the plainest language
of every-day colloquy. His style is impressive from its doric
simplicity. You never entertain a doubt of his sincerity; and although
you may not always agree with him in opinion, you have, at least, the
satisfaction of knowing that his propositions are the true result of
his feelings or his thoughts; and are not merely put forward to answer
the purposes of party, or to secure a triumph in debate.

For the same reason, the Duke never attempts to impose on the house a
fictitious enthusiasm, or a pretended excitement. If he gets excited,
(and he will sometimes get into a terrible passion at any infringement
of constitutional integrity or breach of discipline), there is no
mistaking it for a mere prepared climax to a speech; he is completely
possessed by the demon. The only action he ever uses is on such
occasions, and then it is almost convulsive. His arms and legs seem no
longer to be under control, they quiver, and shake, and tremble: and the
clenched fist, violently and frequently struck upon the table, denotes
that some very potent feeling of indignation is, for the time, mastering
the usual calmness of this self-possessed man.

Yet though at times he is thus carried away by his feelings, his
ultimate judgment of a measure is not impaired by it. He can cauterise
or cut out the cankered part, and yet preserve all that was not
offensive to his sense of right and wrong.

Those who have read the speeches of the Duke, will have remarked the
intensely British feeling that pervades them. He is like the old Romans
in his admiration and love for his country and her institutions. The
same feeling breathes in all his speeches. The same magnanimous brevity
that marked the public declarations of that haughty people, dignifies
the addresses of the Duke of Wellington. Some of his sayings, as, for
instance, "that a great nation can never wage a little war," will he
embalmed in history. His denunciations are like the alarum of a war
trumpet. The same character of simplicity which marks the Duke's
speeches pervades his whole conduct, public and private. Though no man
is more capable of enjoying the refinements of modern society, luxury
has not enervated his mind or his manners. His dress, his equipage, his
habits, all partake of the same indifference to effect--all have a cast
of the hardy self-denial of the camp. A mattress bed, constant horse
exercise, rising with the lark, not unfrequently remaining up twenty
hours out of the twenty-four, and the daily use of cold shower baths,
winter and summer,--these contradictions to the usual habits of men,
when their age approaches to fourscore, bespeak no ordinary carelessness
of ease, and a singular determination of purpose. Well, indeed, has he
been named the Iron Duke.

MAXIMS AND OPINIONS OF HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

* * * * *

INDIA.

To offer a public reward, by proclamation, for a man's life, and to make
a secret bargain to have it taken away, are very different things; the
one is to be done, the other, in my opinion, cannot by an officer at the
head of the troops.

_Dispatch, July 8, 1800._

* * * * *

As for the wishes of the people, particularly in this country (India), I
put them out of the question. They are the only philosophers about their
governors that ever I met with, if indifference constitutes that
character.

_Dispatch, August 20, 1800._

* * * * *

In military operations time is everything.

_Dispatch, June 30, 1800._

Articles of provision are not to be trifled with, or left to chance;
and there is nothing more clear than that the subsistence of the troops
must be certain upon the proposed service, or the service must be
relinquished.

_Dispatch, Feb. 18, 1801._

* * * * *

_Indignant rejection of a proffered Bribe._

You inform me that the Rajah, or Dessaye of Kittoor, has expressed a
wish to be taken under the protection of the British Government; and has
offered to pay a tribute to the company, and to give you a bribe of 4000
pagodas, and me one of 10,000 pagodas, provided this point is arranged
according to his wishes.

I cannot conceive what can have induced the Rajah of Kittoor to imagine
that I was capable of receiving that or any other sum of money, as an
inducement to do that which he must think improper, or he would not have
offered it. But I shall advert to that point more particularly
presently.

The Rajah of Kittoor is a tributary of the Mahratta Government, the head
of which is an ally, by treaty, of the honourable company. It would be,
therefore, to the full as proper, that any officer in command of a post
within the company's territories, should listen to and enter into a plan
for seizing part of the Mahratta territories, as it is for you to listen
and encourage an offer from the Rajah of Kittoor to accept the
protection of, and transfer his allegiance and tribute to the honourable
company's government. In case you should hear anything further upon
this subject from the Rajah of Kittoor, or in future from any of the
chiefs of the Mahrattas on the frontier, I desire that you will tell
them what is the fact, that you have no authority whatever to listen to
such proposals, that you have orders only to keep up with them the usual
intercourse of civility and friendship, and that if they have any
proposals of that kind to make, they must be made in a proper manner to
our superiors. You may, at the same time, inform them that you have my
authority to say that the British government is very little likely to
take advantage of the misfortunes of its ally, to deprive him, either of
his territories or of the allegiance or tribute due to him by his
tributaries.

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