Chapter X: Preface (9)

‘The Chamber of Deputies, the majority of the Commissioners of Government, and the Army, now in great strength in Paris, were _determined to resist any attempt to force the Bourbons upon them_; while the avowed opinion of Fouché and Caulincourt was, that such a determination could only lead to the destruction of Paris, and the loss of thousands of lives. They therefore sought the means of opening a communication with the Duke of Wellington, in which they might impart to him their views, and avert the calamity which they apprehended from the projects of the other parties. In the expediency of procuring an armistice for a few days, _all_ parties concurred; and Fouché, who had become acquainted with me in my interviews with him respecting King Joachim, solicited me to undertake the task of carrying on a communication between him and the Duke of Wellington. It was sufficient for me to know that the service in which I was to be engaged had for its object the prevention of a sanguinary conflict, which an attempt to take Paris by force would have occasioned, and I therefore consented to be the bearer of Fouché’s message to the Duke.

‘My feelings as an Englishman entirely influenced my conduct in this instance. I exulted in the success of our army, and in the military glory which the English name had acquired; and it appeared to me, that whatever might tend to prevent the further effusion of blood, must be highly acceptable to my country; and to be selected as an instrument, by which so humane and desirable an object might be accomplished, was highly gratifying to my mind, and I should not have thought myself at liberty to refuse to engage in it, from any opinion I might entertain of the private views of the persons by whom I should be employed. Impressed with these sentiments, I left Paris at midnight. I proceeded to the Barriere de la Villette, where I found some difficulty in getting my carriage over the different entrenchments and _abattis_, but still more from the French officers, who evinced the greatest reluctance in permitting me to pass, observing that I was probably a person sent out to treat with the enemy, and to betray them; but on my assuring them that the purport of my mission was entirely analogous to their views and interests, I was suffered to proceed without a trumpet. Before I had got beyond the French lines, I was again stopped by a picquet of cuirassiers, who refused to let me pass without an order from the officer commanding the inner posts; and while I was asserting my right to proceed, a cuirassier fortunately happened to hold a light to my face, and very respectfully accosted me with the salutation of “bon voyage Major”: his comrades immediately asked him who I was? he answered, “it’s the Major of the 9th Hussars,” for whom I suppose he had mistaken me. This was instantly believed; and, greeted by the salutations and good wishes of the whole troop, I was allowed to continue my journey.

‘The Prussian advanced posts were at less than two miles distant, and I was consequently very soon stopped by a Prussian lancer, who, upon my telling him that I was an English officer, proceeding with dispatches to the Duke of Wellington, immediately accompanied me to the next post. Here I learnt with great pleasure, that this advanced guard of cavalry was commanded by Prince William of Prussia, whose first Aid-de-camp, Baron Rochow, was my particular friend.

‘I soon arrived at the spot where Prince William and his Staff were sleeping in a field, before a large fire, under some trees. I inquired for my friend, Baron Rochow. His name was called, and I immediately had the pleasure of seeing him. After a few urgent questions, he proposed to introduce me to Prince William, who by this time had raised himself upon his mattrass. The Prince received me with the greatest politeness, and directed that I should be presented with refreshments. On my taking leave, he ordered me to be furnished with an escort to General Baron Bulow. I arrived at this General’s quarters at break of day, and was soon after introduced to him. While I was at breakfast with him, he told me that he wished me to see Prince Blucher on my way to the Duke of Wellington; and added, that he would send his Aid-de-camp with me. He then ordered his servant to call his Aid-de-camp, Baron Echardstein, to whom I was also particularly known.

‘On our arrival at Prince Blucher’s, my companion, Baron Echardstein informed him that I was going on a mission from the French Government to the Duke of Wellington; this did not seem to please the Prince, who immediately retired to rest, and left me to converse with his Chef-d’etat-Major. This gentleman, whose name I believe was Gneisenau, was very indignant on being informed of the desire of the French to treat with the Duke of Wellington; and he completely lost his temper when he observed the coolness with which I listened to his indiscreet and authoritative language.

‘On my quitting this choleric soldier, my friend Echardstein thought it necessary to apologise to me for the indelicate behaviour of his countryman. I proceeded on my journey, and soon met numerous columns of English cavalry, and found the five French Deputies, waiting for the Duke’s arrival, at a village called Fresnoy. I thought it expedient to endeavour to see the Duke before the Deputies, and therefore passed them on the road. I shortly after met the Duke, and imparted to him the purport of my mission, and delivered to him also a sealed dispatch from Fouché, upon which he desired me to accompany him to the village where the Deputies were. He asked me if I was acquainted with the nature of the mission. I told him that I knew that one part of it, at least, was to request an armistice of some days, until news could arrive from other Deputies, who had been sent to treat with the united Sovereigns.

‘On the Duke’s arrival at the village of Fresnoy, he conferred with the Deputies for five hours. They adduced, in support of their missions, the solemn declaration of the British Ministers, “that it was not the intention of the Allies to force the Bourbons, or any other government, on the French people; that they had made war against Napoleon only, and not against the nation,” &c. Their mission failed. They received for answer, that the only thing left for the Chambers to do was to proclaim Louis 18th.

‘The Duke then proceeded to Plessis, the head-quarters for that day. The Deputies remained behind. I was desired by the Duke to accompany him to Plessis, where I dined with him, and during dinner conversed with him on the object I had to propose respecting an armistice. Before I took my leave of the Duke, I requested that he would give me some answer to the remonstrances of the Commission of Government, which stated, “_that as the Allies had declared their hostility to be directed against the person of Napoleon only, it would be but just to await the result of the mission to the Sovereigns, before his Grace undertook to replace Louis 18th on the throne_.” The Duke, in the presence of Lord March, Colonels Hervey, Freemantle, Abercromby, and several other officers, replied,—“I can give no other answer than that which you know _I have just given_ to the Deputies. _Tell them (the Commission of Government) that they had better immediately proclaim the King (Louis 18th). I cannot treat till then, nor upon any other condition. Their King is here at hand: let them send their submission to him._”

We are glad the Duke is not an Englishman?[32]

‘The Duke was at this time in constant communication with King Louis and Talleyrand, who were together in the rear of the army; and I saw one of the messengers of Louis 18th at the Duke’s head-quarters.—I returned to Paris the next morning. Davoust had taken the chief command of the French army, and had fixed his head-quarters at the Barriere de la Villette, by which I entered Paris. On my being introduced to him, he demanded to know the object of my mission to the enemy, and said, that as he then held the supreme command, I must communicate to him any dispatches of which I might be the bearer? I answered him, that I had no written message; that my mission had been nearly similar to that of the Deputies; that I had been sent out by the Commission, and therefore thought it my duty to account with its members only for my proceedings. I could, however, inform him of the declaration, which, in common with the Deputies, I had received from the Duke of Wellington. Hereupon I reported to him the Duke’s _sine qua non_. He immediately declared that my intelligence was incredible, and expressed his disbelief of it in the strongest terms. Then, with the greatest emotion, and with uplifted hands and eyes, _he called heaven to witness the perfidy and arrogant injustice of the English Ministry, and of the Allies_. “_The Duke of Wellington_,” said he, “_surely could never dare to make a declaration so directly contrary to the avowed and solemnly protested intentions of the British Ministry, and of the other Allies_. _Have not they sworn that they would not impose a sovereign on the French people? However, they will find to their cost, that we are unanimous in our resolution. Napoleon can no longer be the pretext for their hostilities. We will all perish rather than submit to the hateful yoke that Lord Castlereagh would impose upon us! —— is a traitor! he was about to compromise with the enemy—I have taken his command from him—he shall never again command a corporal’s guard—we are an independent nation—England should be the last power to tyrannize over us in our choice of a government._”—He then desired me to proceed to lay before the Commission at the Thuilleries the result of my mission, adding, “they know very well that I have now with me more than 100,000 men, with 500 pieces of cannon, and 25,000 cavalry.”

‘I proceeded to the palace of the Thuilleries, where I was introduced to the Commission. Carnot immediately asked, what my errand to the enemy had been? Fouché quickly answered, that he had sent me. Quinette and Grenier looked as if they were not satisfied with this answer. Carnot continued to address me, and asked whether I had seen the Deputies at the Duke of Wellington’s head-quarters? I answered in the affirmative, and that I could give him an account of the result of their mission: upon this they became attentive, and heard my account with dismay and indignation. Carnot expressed the same sentiments that Davoust had recently done; and added, rather roughly, that he could by no means give credit to my account, either as to the Duke of Wellington’s _sine qua non_, or as to the force of the enemy in the vicinity of Paris: he further said, with a sneer, “we shall have, I hope, a very different account on the return of the Deputies.” Fouché defended me, and reproved him for so uncivilly questioning my veracity, and assured him that he might put implicit confidence in me. Carnot and Grenier then took me to a topographical map, and questioned me as to the movements of the Duke of Wellington? I answered their interrogatories to the extent to which I thought myself warranted: and it appeared that I informed them of nothing with which they were not already acquainted. Carnot then, in a polite manner, told me I might retire.

‘It would appear, that in consequence of having learned from me the nature of the communication which the Deputies would have to make to the Chambers, and dreading its discouraging effects on the members, and on the people at large, their return to Paris had been prevented. Some private orders seem to have been given to that effect; for on the same day that I entered Paris by the Barriere de la Villette, the Deputies approached that part, preceded by Colonel Latour Maubourg, who was attached to their mission, when the French out-posts fired, killed the Prussian trumpeter’s horse, and a ball grazed the epaulette of the Colonel. The Deputies turned back, and attempted to enter by the Barriere de St. Dennis, but were refused. They there received fresh instructions to treat, and it was so managed, that they did not return to Paris till after the capitulation.

‘In the mean time Fouché and his coadjutors, who opposed the views of the other parties, were in great personal danger. The three other Members of the Commission more than suspected them of duplicity and treachery; and in consequence impeached them before the Chamber of Deputies. The Duke of Wellington being acquainted with these proceedings, sent a message to the Members of the Commission, as I was informed, assuring them that if any harm befel Fouché or Caulincourt, he would infallibly _hang up the other three on his arrival in Paris_.[33]

‘It was proposed in the Chamber of Deputies, that its Members should quit Paris with the army, and rally round them all those who would oppose the enemy and the Bourbons. But this measure Fouché was particularly anxious to thwart, whilst Davoust feeling himself confident in the strength of his army, insisted on attacking Blucher and the Duke of Wellington before other reinforcements should arrive; but as I understood at the time, Fouché succeeded in somewhat softening and in giving a new direction to the policy of Carnot: and it is certain that he managed to gain over Davoust by urging the force of the enemy, and the dreadful consequences that would ensue if Paris should be taken by assault. He pleaded the reliance which might be placed _on the faith of the English_ (for with the Prussians the French would not have treated on any terms). He therefore recommended Davoust to evacuate Paris, and not to listen to the desperate suggestions of the Chambers, observing, that so long as his army remained entire, he might obtain favourable terms for all parties.

‘The day before the capitulation of Paris (2d July), I repaired to the British camp with the following memorandum, as my instructions, from Fouché to the Duke of Wellington:—

‘“The army opposes, because uneasy—assure it, it will even become devoted.

‘“The Chambers are counter for the same reason. _Assure every body you will have every body._

‘“The army sent away, the Chambers will agree, on according them the guarantee, as added to the charter and promised by the king. In order to be well understood, it is necessary to explain; therefore not to enter Paris before three days, and in the meantime every thing may be arranged.

‘“The Chambers will be gained, will believe in their independence, and will agree to every thing. Persuasion, not force, must be used with the Chambers.”

‘On my arrival at the British advanced posts, which, owing to the obstructions I met with from the French, I was not able to effect till early in the morning of the 3d July, I was informed that the most positive orders had been given by the duke, not to allow any messenger to pass from Paris without his special permission. I was therefore detained at the English advanced post of guards, commanded by Lord Saltown. I dined with the officers of the advanced piquet, among whom I well remember Captain Fairfield, of the foot guards. These gentlemen informed me that the Duke of Wellington was at Gonnesse, with Sir C. Stuart, Pozzo di Borgo, and Talleyrand. I wrote a letter to the duke, which was forwarded by Lord Saltown. In my letter, I entered into a detail of the line of conduct recommended by Fouché, and contained in the foregoing memorandum. On the receipt of my dispatch, the duke immediately proceeded to St. Cloud, General Blucher’s head-quarters; there the capitulation of Paris was signed. The duke returned to Gonnesse and dispatched Lord March to bring me to him: I arrived very early on the morning of the 4th, and found Sir C. Stuart, Talleyrand, and Pozzo di Borgo; they assembled in council, and my presence was required by the duke. Talleyrand observed to me, that _this was already settled_, and, turning to the Duke of Wellington, requested him to read to me _the capitulation that they had just concluded_. On my urging the adoption of the line of conduct which Fouché recommended towards the Chambers, the Duke of Wellington proceeded to give me his sentiments in writing, which were as follow:—

‘“_Je pense, que les Allies ayant déclaré le Gouvernment de Napoleon une Usurpation et nonlégitime, toute autorité qui émane de lui, doit être regardée comme nulle et d’aucun pouvoir.[34] Ainsi, ce qui reste à faire aux Chambres et à la commission, est, de donner de suite leur démission et de déclarer qu’ils n’ont pris sur eux les responsibilités de gouvernement, que pour assurer la tranquilité publique, et l’intégrité du royaume de S. M. Louis XVIII._”

‘Talleyrand, Sir Charles Stuart, and Pozzo di Borgo, each took a copy of this document, and each, by way of memorandum, put their names and mine to the paper, by way of recording, as I suppose, the parties present at the discussion.

‘I forthwith mounted my horse and returned to Paris; Lord March was appointed by the duke to accompany me. On our arrival at the Barriere de la Villette, we found the French soldiery perfectly frantic, and vociferating “_Vive l’Empereur!_” “_A bas les Anglais!_” “_A bas les Bourbons!_” They were on the point of firing at the Belgian trumpeter who preceded us: it was with the greatest difficulty that some French hussars, under whose escort we had approached the barriers, could prevent the soldiers from firing at Lord March as he was riding off. They were also obliged to exert themselves strenuously in my defence, as many of the infantry pointed their muskets at me, vociferating “_Vive l’Empereur!_” “_Vive Napoleon!_” “We are betrayed!” “We have been sold!” “We will fight to the last drop of our blood!” “Down with the Bourbons!” “Let us kill this traitor!” “He has assisted in selling us!” “We have seen him pass before!” The hussars took me between them, some of the infantry also assisted in parrying off the blows aimed at me, and turning aside the muzzles of the muskets. Thus, after great peril, I was fortunate enough to gain the quarters of a general officer, with only a sabre cut on my left leg. The general dispersed the men, and gave me a strong escort to conduct me to the Thuilleries.

‘In consequence of my communicating the documents and assurances I had received from Talleyrand and the Duke of Wellington, the commission of government abdicated its powers that evening; but the Chambers still refused to comply; they continued their sittings, which they declared should be permanent, till the morning of the 6th, when the doors of the Chamber were closed, and guarded by a party of the national guards.

‘On this, above one hundred and fifty of the deputies proceeded to the house of M. Lanjuinais, their president, and there framed a solemn protest against the arbitrary and illegal violence which had been used towards them, _in violation of the most solemn declarations_.

‘I have now no doubt that some extraordinary scheme had been contrived to seduce Napoleon into the measure of abdicating the throne in favour of his son. His resources were at that moment immense. The regular army in Paris alone, amounted to more than 80,000 men, every individual of which was animated with the most enthusiastic ardour. The national guard, above 30,000 strong, displayed the firmest resolution to obey the directions of the constituted authorities; numerous volunteers of all classes had taken up arms in the defence of their country. In the departments, the spirit of opposition to the invaders was still greater, particularly in the north, west, and east: in fine, Napoleon, who could not possibly be ignorant of the state of his resources, would never, I am convinced, have sheathed his sword, and abdicated the crown _even in favour of his son_, had he not been most confidently assured of the validity of the measure, and its being approved and supported by the French senate and people, and by at least _some part_ of the coalition.

‘What were the precise representations by which Napoleon was influenced to take this step, is perhaps known only to its contrivers, and their victim. Some future historian may probably unfold this mystery. As far as regards the share I had in the negociations between the provisional government, the allied armies, and Talleyrand, as minister of Louis XVIII., I feel it due to myself to declare, that _I had no suspicion of any deception or intended breach of engagements._ I was requested to open a communication between Fouché and the Duke of Wellington, for the avowed purpose of negociating an armistice, as a preliminary measure to the capitulation of Paris; and it was obvious that such a negociation might save the lives of thousands of my countrymen.’

THE PLAY IS OVER, NOW LET US GO TO SUPPER.

John Bull, John Bull, John Bull, read the above account twice over, think well of it, and then say why you should not wear the yoke, which you have put round the neck of others, round your own. Ah! John, thou art not a metaphysician: thou dost lack a concatenation of ideas!—We are not proud of the share which as Englishmen we had in the proceedings recorded by Mr. Macirone: but we have one consolation for our national pride, Fouché and Talleyrand are Frenchmen. These two pettifogging miscreants seem to have made themselves perfect in the advice of the fool in _Lear_: ‘Let go thy hold, when a great wheel runs down hill, lest it should break thy neck with following it: but the great one that goes upwards, let it draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again: I would have none but knaves follow it.’ The great wheel, however, in this instance, kicked off the two knaves, that followed the fool’s advice. One of these famous persons now writes letters of apology to the Duke of Wellington, and the other to Lord Castlereagh. They are not so well off as Murat and Berthier, one of whom was legitimately shot through the head, and the other legitimately thrown out of a window, if we are to believe Mr. Macirone, that he might die in _the good cause_—‘a master-leaver, and a fugitive.’

WAT TYLER; A DRAMATIC POEM.

THE QUARTERLY REVIEW: _Article_, ‘ON PARLIAMENTARY REFORM.’

‘So was it when my life began,
So is it now I am a man:
So shall it be when I grow old and die.
The child’s the father of the man:
Our years flow on
Link’d each to each by natural piety.’—WORDSWORTH.

_March 9, 1817._

According to this theory of personal continuity, the author of the Dramatic Poem, to be here noticed, is the father of Parliamentary Reform in the Quarterly Review. It is said to be a wise child that knows its own father: and we understand Mr. Southey (who is in this case reputed father and son) utterly disclaims the hypostatical union between the Quarterly Reviewer and the Dramatic Poet, and means to enter an injunction against the latter, as a bastard and impostor. Appearances are somewhat staggering against the legitimacy of the descent, yet we perceive a strong family-likeness remaining, in spite of the lapse of years and alteration of circumstances. We should not, indeed, be able to predict that the author of _Wat Tyler_ would ever write the article on Parliamentary Reform; nor should we, either at first or second sight, perceive that the Quarterly Reviewer had ever written a poem like that which is before us: but if we were told that both performances were literally and _bonâ fide_ by the same person, we should have little hesitation in saying to Mr. Southey, ‘Thou art the man.’ We know no other person in whom ‘fierce extremes’ meet with such mutual self-complacency: whose opinions change so much without any change in the author’s mind; who lives so entirely in the ‘present ignorant thought,’ without the smallest ‘discourse of reason looking before or after.’ Mr. Southey is a man incapable of reasoning connectedly on any subject. He has not strength of mind to see the whole of any question; he has not modesty to suspend his judgment till he has examined the grounds of it. He can comprehend but one idea at a time, and that is always an extreme one; because he will neither listen to, nor tolerate any thing that can disturb or moderate the petulance of his self-opinion. _The woman that deliberates is lost._ So it is with the effeminate soul of Mr. Southey. Any concession is fatal to his consistency; and he can only keep out of one absurdity by the tenaciousness with which he stickles for another. He calls to the aid of his disjointed opinions a proportionate quantity of spleen; and regularly makes up for the weakness of his own _reasons_, by charging others with _bad motives_. The terms _knave and fool_, _wise and good_, have undergone a total change in the last twenty years: the former he applies to all those who agreed with him formerly—the latter to all those who agree with him now. His public spirit was then a prude and a scold; and ‘his poor virtue,’ turned into a literary prostitute, is grown more abusive than ever. Wat Tyler and the Quarterly Review are an illustration of these remarks. The author of Wat Tyler was an Ultra-jacobin; the author of Parliamentary Reform is an Ultra-royalist; the one was a frantic demagogue; the other is a servile court-tool: the one maintained second-hand paradoxes; the other repeats second-hand common-places: the one vented those opinions which gratified the vanity of youth; the other adopts those prejudices which are most conducive to the convenience of age: the one saw nothing but the abuses of power; the other sees nothing but the horrors of resistance to those abuses: the one did not stop short of general anarchy; the other goes the whole length of despotism; the one vilified kings, priests, and nobles; the other vilifies the people: the one was for universal suffrage and perfect equality; the other is for seat-selling, and the increasing influence of the Crown: the one admired the preaching of John Ball; the other recommends the Suspension of the Habeas Corpus, and the putting down of the _Examiner_ by the sword, the dagger, or the thumb-screw; for the pen, Mr. Southey tells us, is not sufficient. We wonder that in all this contempt which our prose-poet has felt at different times for different persons and things, he has never felt any dissatisfaction with himself, or distrust of his own infallibility. Our differing from others sometimes staggers our confidence in our own conclusions: if we had been chargeable with as many contradictions as Mr. Southey, we suppose we should have had the same senseless self-sufficiency. A changeling is your only oracle. Those who have undergone a total change of sentiment on important questions, ought certainly to learn modesty in themselves, and moderation towards others; on the contrary, they are generally the most violent in their own opinions, and the most intolerant towards others; the reason of which we have shewn elsewhere, to the satisfaction of the proprietor of the _Old Times_. Before we have done, we shall, perhaps, do the same thing to the satisfaction of the publisher of the Quarterly Review; for the Mr. Murrays and the Mr. Walters, the patrons of the band of gentlemen-pensioners and servile authors, have ‘a sort of squint’ in their understanding, and look less to the dirty sacrifices of their drudges, or the dirtier they are ready to make, than to their standing well with that great keeper, the public, for purity and innocence. The band of gentlemen-pensioners and servile authors do not know what to make of this, and hardly believe it: we shall in time convince them.

But to proceed to our extracts:—

MORCEAU I.

_Wat Tyler._ Hob—I have only six groats in the world, And they must soon by law be taken from me.

_Hob._ Curse on these taxes—one succeeds another— Our ministers—panders of a king’s will— Drain all our wealth away—waste it in revels— And lure or force away our boys, who should be The props of our old age!—to fill their armies, And feed the crows of France! Year follows year,

And still we madly prosecute the war;— Draining our wealth—distressing our poor peasants— Slaughtering our youths—and all to crown our Chiefs With glory!—I detest the hell-sprung name.

_Tyler._ What matters me who wears the crown of France? Whether a Richard or a Charles possess it? They reap the glory—they enjoy the spoil— We pay—we bleed! The sun would shine as cheerly, The rains of heaven as seasonably fall, Tho’ neither of these royal pests existed.

_Hob._ Nay—as for that, we poor men should fare better! No legal robbers then should force away The hard-earn’d wages of our honest toil. The Parliament for ever cries _more money, The service of the State demands more money_. Just heaven! of what service is the State?

_Tyler._ Oh! ’tis of vast importance! Who should pay for The luxuries and riots of the court? Who should support the flaunting courtier’s pride, Pay for their midnight revels, their rich garments, Did not the State enforce?—Think ye, my friend, That I—a humble blacksmith, here at Deptford, Would part with these six groats—earn’d by hard toil, All that I have! to massacre the Frenchmen; Murder as enemies men I never saw, Did not the State compel me! (_Tax-gatherers pass by._) There they go, Privileg’d r——s!

MORCEAU II.

_Piers._ Fare not the birds well, as from spray to spray Blithsome they bound—yet find their simple food Scattered abundantly?

_Tyler._ _No fancied boundaries of mine and thine Restrain their wanderings_: Nature gives enough For all; but Man, with arrogant selfishness, Proud of his heaps, hoards up superfluous stores Robb’d from his weaker fellows, starves the poor, Or gives to pity what he owes to justice!

_Piers._ So I have heard our good friend John Ball preach.

_Alice._ My father, wherefore was John Ball imprisoned? Was he not charitable, good, and pious? I have heard him say that all mankind are brethren, And that like brethren they should love each other;— Was not that doctrine pious?

_Tyler._ Rank sedition— High treason, every syllable, my child! The priests cry out on him for heresy; The nobles all detest him as a rebel;

And this good man, this minister of Christ, This man, the friend and brother of mankind, Lingers in the dark dungeon!

MORCEAU III.

_Tyler._ Piers, I have not been idle, I never ate the bread of indolence— Could Alice be more thrifty than her mother? Yet but with one child, and that one, how good Thou knowest; I scarcely can provide the wants Of nature: look at these wolves of the law, They come to drain me of my hard-earn’d wages. I have already paid the heavy tax Laid on the wool that clothes me—on my leather— On all the needful articles of life! And now three groats (and I work’d hard to earn them) The Parliament demands—and I must pay them, Forsooth, for liberty to wear my head.

_Enter Tax-gatherers._

_Collector._ Three groats a-head for all your family.

_Piers._ Why is this money gathered?—’tis a hard tax On the poor labourer!—it can never be That government should thus distress the people. Go to the rich for money—honest labour Ought to enjoy its fruits.

_Col._ The State wants money. War is expensive—’tis a glorious war, A war of honour, and must be supported.— Three groats a-head.

_Tyler._ There, three for my own head, Three for my wife’s!—What will the State tax next?

_Col._ You have a daughter.

_Tyler._ She is below the age—not yet fifteen.

_Col._ You would evade the tax.—

_Tyler._ Sir Officer, I have paid you fairly what the law demands.

[_Alice and her Mother enter the Shop. The Tax-gatherers go to
her. One of them lays hold of her. She screams. Tyler goes
in._]

_Col._ You say she’s under age.

[_Alice screams again. Tyler knocks out the Tax-gatherer’s
brains. His Companions fly._]

_Piers._ A just revenge.

_Tyler._ Most just indeed; but in the eye of the law ’Tis murder—and the murderer’s lot is mine.

MORCEAU IV.—SONG.

‘When Adam delv’d and Eve span,
‘Who was then the gentleman?’

Wretched is the infant’s lot,
Born within the straw-roof’d cot!
Be he generous, wise, or brave,
He must only be a slave,
Long, long labour, little rest,
Still to toil to be oppress’d;
Drain’d by taxes of his store,
Punish’d next for being poor;
That is the poor wretch’s lot,
Born within the straw-roof’d cot.

While the peasant works—to sleep;
What the peasant sows—to reap;
On the couch of ease to lie,
Rioting in revelry:
Be he villain, be he fool,
Still to hold despotic rule,
Trampling on his slaves with scorn;
This is to be nobly born.
‘When Adam delv’d and Eve span,
‘Who was then the gentleman?’

MORCEAU V.

_John Ball._ Friends! Brethren! for ye are my brethren all; Englishmen met in arms to advocate The cause of freedom! hear me! pause awhile In the career of vengeance; it is true I am a priest; but, as these rags may speak, Not one who riots in the poor man’s spoil, Or trades with his religion. I am one Who preach the law of Christ, and in my life Would practise what he taught. The Son of God Came not to you in power:—humble in mien, Lowly in heart, the man of Nazareth Preach’d mercy, justice, love: ‘Woe unto ye, Ye that are rich:—if that ye would be saved, Sell that ye have, and give unto the poor.’ So taught the Saviour: oh, my honest friends! Have ye not felt the strong indignant throb Of justice in your bosoms, to behold The lordly baron feasting on your spoils? Have you not in your hearts arraign’d the lot That gave him on the couch of luxury To pillow his head, and pass the festive day In sportive feasts, and ease, and revelry? Have you not often in your conscience ask’d Why is the difference, wherefore should that man No worthier than myself, thus lord it over me,

And bid me labour, and enjoy the fruits? The God within your breasts has argued thus! The voice of truth has murmur’d; came he not As helpless to the world?—shines not the sun With equal ray on both?—do ye not feel The self-same winds of heaven as keenly parch ye? Abundant is the earth—the Sire of all Saw and pronounced that it was very good. Look round: the vernal fields smile with new flowers, The budding orchard perfumes the soft breeze, And the green corn waves to the passing gale. There is enough for all, but your proud baron Stands up, and, arrogant of strength, exclaims, ‘I am a lord—by nature I am noble: These fields are mine, for I was born to them, I was born in the castle—you, poor wretches, Whelp’d in the cottage, are by birth my slaves.’ Almighty God! such blasphemies are uttered! Almighty God! such blasphemies believ’d!

_Tom Miller._ This is something like a sermon.

_Jack Straw._ Where’s the bishop Would tell you truths like these?

_Hob._ There was never a bishop among all the apostles.

_John Ball._ My brethren!

_Piers._ Silence, the good priest speaks.

_John Ball._ My brethren, these are truths, and weighty ones Ye are all equal; nature made ye so. Equality is your birthright;—when I gaze On the proud palace, and behold one man In the blood-purpled robes of royalty, Feasting at ease, and lording over millions; Then turn me to the hut of poverty, And see the wretched labourer, worn with toil, Divide his scanty morsel with his infants; I sicken, and, indignant at the sight, ‘Blush for the patience of humanity.’

_Jack Straw._ We will assert our rights.

MORCEAU VI.

_Tyler._ King of England, _Petitioning for pity_ is most weak, The sovereign people ought to _demand justice_. I killed your officer, for his lewd hand Insulted a maid’s modesty; your subjects I lead to rebel against the Lord’s anointed, Because his ministers have made him odious: His yoke is heavy, and his burden grievous. Why do we carry on this fatal war,

To force upon the French a king they hate; Tearing our young men from their peaceful homes; Forcing his hard-earn’d fruits from the honest peasant; Distressing us to desolate our neighbours? Why is this ruinous poll-tax imposed, But to support your court’s extravagance, And your mad title to the crown of France? Shall we sit tamely down beneath these evils, Petitioning for pity? King of England! Why are we sold like cattle in your markets— Deprived of every privilege of man? Must we lie tamely at our tyrant’s feet, And, like your spaniels, lick the hand that beats us? You sit at ease in your gay palaces, The costly banquet courts your appetite, Sweet music sooths your slumbers; we the while, Scarce by hard toil can earn a little food, And sleep scarce shelter’d from the cold night wind: While your wild projects wrest the little from us Which might have cheered the wintry hour of age: The parliament for ever asks more money: We toil and sweat for money for your taxes; Where is the benefit, what food reap we From all the councils of your government? Think you that we should quarrel with the French? What boots to us your victories, your glory? We pay, we fight, you profit at your ease. Do you not claim the country as your own? Do you not call the venison of the forest, The birds of heaven your own?—prohibiting us, Even tho’ in want of food, to seize the prey Which nature offers?—King! is all this just? Think you we do not feel the wrongs we suffer? The hour of retribution is at hand, And tyrants tremble—mark me, King of England.

MORCEAU VII.

_Hob._ ’Twas well order’d, I place but little trust in courtly faith.

_John Ball._ We must remain embodied; else the king Will plunge again in royal luxury; And when the storm of danger is past over, Forget his promises.

_Hob._ Aye, like an aguish sinner, He’ll promise to repent when the fit’s on him; When well recover’d, laugh at his own terrors.

_Piers._ Oh! I am griev’d that we must gain so little!

Why are not all these empty ranks abolish’d, King, slave, and lord, ‘ennobl’d into MAN?’ Are we not equal all?—have you not told me, Equality is the sacred right of man, Inalienable, tho’ by force withheld?

_John Ball._ Even so; but Piers, my frail and fallible judgment Knows hardly to decide if it be right, Peaceably to return, content with little, With this half restitution of our rights, Or boldly to proceed thro’ blood and slaughter, Till we should all be equal and all happy. I chose the milder way:—perhaps I erred.

_Piers._ I fear me—by the mass, the unsteady people Are flocking homewards! how the multitude Diminishes!

MORCEAU THE LAST.

_John Ball._ Why, be it so. I can smile at your vengeance: For I am arm’d with rectitude of soul. The truth, which all my life I have divulg’d, And am now doom’d in torment to expire for, Shall still survive—the destin’d hour must come, When it shall blaze with sun-surpassing splendor, And the dark mists of prejudice and falsehood Fade in its strong effulgence. Flattery’s incense No more shall shadow round the gore-dyed throne; That altar of oppression, fed with rites More savage than the priests of Moloch taught, Shall be consumed amid the fire of Justice: The ray of truth shall emanate around, And the whole world be lighted!

This will do.

THE COURIER AND ‘THE WAT TYLER.’

Doth not the appetite alter? A man loves the meat in his youth, that
he cannot endure in his age. Shall quips and sentences, and these
paper bullets of the brain awe a man from the career of his
humour?—_Much Ado about Nothing._

_March 30, 1817._

Instead of applying for an injunction against _Wat Tyler_, Mr. Southey would do well to apply for an injunction against Mr. Coleridge, who has undertaken his defence in _The Courier_. If he can escape from the ominous patronage of that gentleman’s pen, he has nothing to fear from his own. ‘The _Wat Tyler_,’ as Mr. Coleridge has personified it, can do the author no great harm: it only proves that he was once a wild enthusiast: of the two characters, for which Mr. Southey is a candidate with the public, this is the most creditable for him to appear in. At present his reputation ‘somewhat smacks.’ A strong dose of the Jacobin spirit of _Wat Tyler_ may be of use to get the sickly taste of the Poet-laureate and the Quarterly Reviewer out of our mouths.

The best thing for Mr. Southey (if we might be allowed to advise) would be for his friends to say nothing about him, and for him to say nothing about other people. We have nothing to do with Mr. Southey ‘the man,’ or even with Mr. Southey the apostate; but we have something to do with Mr. Southey the spy and informer. Is it not a little strange, that while this gentleman is getting an injunction against himself as the author of _Wat Tyler_, he is recommending gagging bills against us, and the making up by force for his deficiency in argument! There is a want of keeping in this; but Mr. Southey and his friends delight in practical and speculative contradictions. What are we to think of a man who is ‘now a flagitious incendiary,’ (to use the epithets which Mr. Southey applies to the Editor of the _Examiner_) ‘a palliater of murder, insurrection, and treason,’ and anon a pensioned scribbler of court poetry and court politics? If the writer of the article on Parliamentary Reform thinks the Editor of this Paper ‘a flagitious incendiary,’ ‘a palliater of murder, insurrection, and treason,’ what does the Quarterly Reviewer think of the author of _Wat Tyler_? What, on the other hand, does the author of _Wat Tyler_ think of the Quarterly Reviewer? What does Mr. Southey, who certainly makes a very aukward figure between the two, think of himself? Mr. Coleridge indeed steps in to the assistance of his friend in this dilemma, and says (unsaying all that he says besides) that the ultra-jacobinical opinions advanced in _Wat Tyler_ were ‘more an honour to the writer’s heart than an imputation on his understanding?’ Be it so. The Editor of this Paper will, we dare say, agree to this statement from disinterested motives, (for he is not answerable for any ultra-jacobinical opinions) as we suppose Mr. Southey will accede to it from pure self-love. He hardly thinks that he was ‘a knave and fool’ formerly, as he calls all those who formerly agreed or now differ with him: he only thinks with Mr. Coleridge and _The Courier_, that he was not quite so ‘wise and virtuous’ then, as he is at present! Why then not extend the same charitable interpretation to those who have held a middle course between his opposite extravagances? We are sure, that to be thought _a little less wise and virtuous_ than that celebrated person thinks himself, would content the ambition of any moderate man. Will he allow of nothing short of the utmost intolerance of jacobinism or anti-jacobinism? Or will he tolerate this intolerance in nobody but himself? This seems to be his feeling: and it also seems to be Mr. Coleridge’s opinion, whose maudlin methodistical casuistry leads him to clothe Mr. Southey’s political sins with apostacy as with a garment, and to plead one excess of folly and indecency as a competent set-off against another. To be a renegado, is, with him, to be virtuous. The greater the sinner the greater the saint, says _The Courier_. Mr. Southey’s Muse is confessedly not a vestal; but then she is what is much better, a Magdalen. Now a Magdalen is a person who has returned to her first habits and notions of virtue: but Mr. Southey’s laurelled Muse is at present in high court-keeping, and tosses up her nose at the very mention of reform. Nor do we think Mr. Southey has a fairer claim to the degree of respectability good-naturedly assigned him by his friends, that of a pickpocket or highwayman turned thief-taker or king’s evidence; for he in fact belies his own character to blacken every honest principle, and takes the government reward for betraying better men than himself. There are, as _The Courier_ observes, youthful indiscretions; but there are also riper and more deliberate errors. A woman is more liable to prostitute her person at nineteen—a man is more likely to prostitute his understanding at forty. We do not see the exact parallel which _The Courier_ sets up between moral repentance and political profligacy. A man, says _The Courier_, may surely express an abhorrence of his past vices, as of drunkenness. Yes; and he may also express a great abhorrence of his present vices, because his own opinion, as well as that of all impartial persons, condemns his conduct; but it would be curious if a man were to express a great abhorrence of his present opinions, and it is only a less degree of absurdity for a man to express a great abhorrence of his past opinions; for if he was not a hypocrite, he must have held those opinions, as he holds his present ones, because he thought them right. A man is at liberty to condemn his errors in practice as much as he pleases: it is a point agreed upon. But he is not at liberty to condemn his errors in theory at the same unmerciful rate, because many people still think them right; because it is the height of arrogance in him to assume his own forfeited opinion as the invariable standard of right and wrong, and the height of indecency to ascribe the conclusions of others to bad motives, by which he can only arraign his own. Certainly, all the presumption of indirect and dishonest motives lies against Mr. Southey’s unlooked-for conversion, and not against his original principles. Will he deny this himself? He must then retract what he says in the Quarterly Review; for he there says, that ‘the late war was so popular for three and twenty years together, that for any one to be against it,’ (and much more, to be a Jacobin, as he was, half that time,) ‘exposed him to contempt, insult, persecution, the loss of property, and even of life.’ The odds, we grant, were against Mr. Southey’s pure reason; they proved too much for it. According, however, to the new theory of political integrity, to be a steady, consistent, conscientious Whig or Tory, is nothing. It is the change of opinion that stamps its value on it; and the more outrageous the change, the more meritorious the stigma attached to it. It is the sacrifice of all principle, that is the triumph of corruption; it is the shameless effrontery of a desertion of the people, that is the chief recommendation to the panders of a court; it is the contempt, the grinning scorn and infamy, which is poured on all patriotism and independence, by shewing the radical baseness and fickleness of its professors in the most startling point of view, that strengthens the rotten foundations of power, by degrading human nature. Poor Bob Southey! how they laugh at him! What are the abuse and contumely which we are in the habit of bestowing upon him, compared with the cordial contempt, the flickering sneers, that play round the lips of his new-fangled friends, when they see ‘the Man of Humanity’ decked out in the trappings of his prostitution, and feel the rankling venom of their hearts soothed by the flattering reflection that virtue and genius are mere marketable commodities! What a squeeze must that be which Mr. Canning gives the hand that wrote the Sonnet to Old Sarum, and the Defence of Rotten Boroughs in the Quarterly Review! Mr. Canning was at first suspected of being the author of this last article: no one has attributed _Wat Tyler_ to the classical pen of that glib orator and consistent anti-jacobin. Yet what are the pretensions of that gentleman’s profligate consistency opposed to Mr. Southey’s profligate versatility; what a pitiful spectacle does his sneaking, servile adherence to a party make, compared with Mr. Southey’s barefaced and magnanimous desertion of one! Mr. Canning has indeed served a cause; Mr. Southey has betrayed one. Mr. Canning threw contempt on the cause of liberty by his wit; Mr. Southey has done it by his want of principle. ‘This, this is the unkindest blow of all.’ We should not mind any thing but that;—that is the reflection that stabs us:

—— —— —— ——‘That the law
By which mankind now suffers, is most just.
For by superior energies; more strict
Affiance with each other; faith more firm
In their unhallow’d principles; the bad
Have fairly earned a victory o’er the weak,
The vacillating, inconsistent good.’

Mr. Coleridge thinks that this triumph over himself and the Poet-laureate is a triumph to us. God forbid! It shews that he knows as little about us as he does about himself. This question of apostacy may be summed up in a very few words:—First, if Mr. Southey is not an apostate, we should like to know who ever was? Secondly, whether the term, apostate, is a term of reproach? If it has ceased to be so, it is another among the triumphs of the present king’s reign, and a greater proof than any brought forward in the Quarterly Review, of the progress of public spirit and political independence among us of late years! A man may change his opinion. Good. But if he changes his opinion as his interest or vanity would prompt, if he deserts the weak to go to the stronger side, the change is a suspicious one! and we shall have a right to impute it rather to a defect of moral principle than to an accession of intellectual strength. Again, no man, be he who he may, has a right to change his opinion, and to be violent on opposite sides of a question. For the only excuse for dogmatical intolerance is, that the person who holds an opinion is totally blinded by habit to all objections against it, so that he can see nothing wrong on his own side, and nothing right on the other; which cannot be the case with any person who has been sincere in the opposite opinion. No one, therefore, has a right to call another ‘the greatest of scoundrels’ for holding the opinions which he himself once held, without first formally acknowledging that he himself was the greatest of hypocrites when he maintained those opinions. When Mr. Southey subscribes to these conditions, we will give him a license to rail on whom and as long as he pleases: but not—_till then_! Apostates are violent in their opinions, because they suspect their truth, even when they are most sincere: they are forward to vilify the motives of those who differ from them, because their own are more than suspected by the world! We proceed to notice the flabby defence of ‘the _Wat Tyler_,’ from the well-known pen of Mr. Coleridge, which, as far as we can understand it, proceeds upon the following assumptions:—

1. _That Mr. Southey was only 19 when he wrote it, and had forgotten, from that time to this, all the principles and sentiments contained in it._