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‌Irish Affairs

SINCE her attack on Lady Holland in Glenarvon, Caroline Lamb had not been seen at Holland House. But her husband was there as often as before – nowhere, he thought, could you find better company – and Lady Holland’s letters gave news of her from time to time. In 1824, after a drunken scene at Whitehall, in which she threatened to fight the sergeant on duty and tried to kill the servants who were restraining her, she was confined at the Melbourne family home, Brocket Hall in Hertfordshire, attended by two women from a mad doctor. ‘She is kept low, which means being limited to one bottle of sherry daily,’ wrote Lady Holland to Henry. ‘There is something horrid in such a termination to a person one has known so intimately from infancy; but she never had a particle of ‌good in her whole composition.’¹

‘Ly C. is again turned loose,’ she reported a few weeks later. ‘The physicians will not sign for her being mad enough to be confined. They say she is only ‌wicked from temper and brandy.’²

In 1825, William Lamb, worn out by constant scenes and dramas, at last decided on a separation from his wife. She continued to live at Brocket, drunken and miserable, but in the autumn of 1827 she developed dropsy and it became clear that she was dying. Perhaps Lady Holland sent some kindly message to her – she was after all the daughter of her oldest friend – for a letter from Caroline in the Holland House papers, dated January 1828, implies that she had been in touch.

I can only write one line to thank you for your generous conduct. Will you accept from my heart my deep regret for the past – it makes me most unhappy now.

I trust I may see you – if not believe me with every affectionate and grateful feeling,

Yours

‌Caroline Lamb³

Caroline died, aged 42, on 26 January 1828, having made her peace with Lamb, who had hurried over from Ireland at the last. Through her mother Lady Bessborough and her mother-in-law Lady Melbourne, she had belonged to the second generation of that intimate group, linked by politics and marriage, at the centre of Holland House society. Her story had ended tragically but others of this second generation were coming to the fore. Lamb, who inherited the title of Lord Melbourne that summer, was still in office as Chief Secretary for Ireland. His sister, Lady Cowper, was one of the younger beauties at Holland House; so too was Caroline’s first cousin, Lady Granville, now ambassadress in Paris. Caroline’s brother, Lord Duncannon, recently elected as MP for Kilkenny, had become a quietly effective figure in Whig councils; ‘nothing could be done without Duncannon’, commented the diarist Charles Greville. Above all Lord John Russell, the Hollands’ beloved protégé, was forging ahead in the Commons as leader of the movement for parliamentary reform and a champion of religious liberties.

In February 1828, taking advantage of the confused state of the parties, Russell successfully pushed through a bill to repeal the so-called Test and Corporation Acts, by which anyone belonging to a corporation or holding public office had to pass the ‘sacramental test’ of taking Communion in the Established Church. In effect dissenters – Baptists, Methodists and others – who refused to conform were protected by a legal indemnity, so they did not suffer the same disadvantages as Catholics, but the law was anachronistic and offensive to their beliefs. Backed by a powerful pressure group, the United Committee, the dissenters had long protested against the Acts and had naturally found a sympathetic ear at Holland House. At a meeting there the previous year, with Holland and Russell presiding, they had agreed that if the bill to remove their disabilities succeeded, they would support Catholic Emancipation – a major concession since, even more than the Anglicans, they abhorred the doctrines of the Church of Rome.

Holland introduced the bill, which had already passed the Commons, in the House of Lords on 18 April. ‘Your Papa is reported on all sides to have made an admirable and impressive speech, full of knowledge, ability & talent,’ Lady Holland told Henry the next day. ‘He was even satisfied with himself. He was very nervous and afterwards could not sleep a wink… He is half afraid Ld Eldon, with his ingenuity & subtlety, will try to defeat the measure in Committee; and Newmarket on Monday carries ‌off 12 or more votes.’⁴

Eldon, the former Lord Chancellor, indeed did all he could to scotch the bill, but despite his efforts (and the absence of some race-going peers) the bill was successful in the Lords. It was a great relief to Holland who according to his wife had been ‘so dreadfully worried and anxious’ about it that he could think of nothing else. Holland House meanwhile had been crowded with dissenters of all persuasions, and an amusing scene took place when the Archbishop of York arrived unexpectedly and had to be entertained by Mary in the library till her father could get them out of the way.

The repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts, as Russell had intended, brought Catholic Emancipation one step nearer. ‘There is a general feeling that the Catholic Emancipation must ultimately be carried,’ wrote Lady Holland to Henry, ‘although the King works himself into a fury when the ‌subject is named to him.’⁵

Among the comings and goings at Holland House that spring was a visit from Sir Walter Scott, up in London on a rare trip from Scotland. The Hollands were avid readers of his novels. ‘Opinion?’ said Holland, when he was asked what he thought of Scott’s Tales of My Landlord. ‘We did not one of us go to bed all night, and ‌nothing slept but my gout.’⁶ Scott in his turn thought Holland the most agreeable man he had ever met, remarkable for his critical judgement, and with a power of language which adorned his thoughts ‘as light streaming through coloured glass heightens the brilliancy of ‌the objects it falls upon’.⁷ The fact that Scott was a diehard Tory, and Holland a Whig, made no difference to the liking between them.

Scott dined and slept at Holland House on 17 May, with Samuel Rogers as a fellow guest. The next morning the two men strolled around the grounds together. In a memorable passage from his journal Scott recorded his impressions:

The freshness of the air, the singing of the birds, the beautiful aspect of nature, the size of the venerable trees, all gave me a delightful feeling… It seemed there was pleasure even in living and breathing, without anything else. We (i.e. Rogers and I) wandered into a green lane bordered with fine trees, which might have been twenty miles from a town. It will be a great pity when this ancient house must come down and give way to brickworks and brick-houses. It is not that Holland House is fine as a building; on the contrary it has a tumbledown look; and although decorated with the bastard Gothic of James I’s time, the front is heavy. But it resembles many respectable matrons, who having been ugly during youth, acquire by age a look of dignity – though one is chiefly affected by the air of ‌deep seclusion round the domain.⁸

Scott’s visit was a pleasant interlude in the midst of a dramatic spring and summer, in which Holland was once more a power behind the scenes. In February of that year the Marquess of Anglesey, a Tory with liberal inclinations, had been appointed as Lord Lieutenant in Ireland. A distinguished soldier, who had lost a leg at Waterloo, he was on close terms with Holland, and the correspondence between them casts a fascinating light on the run-up to Catholic Emancipation the following year. Although sympathetic to the Catholics, Anglesey was indignant at the menacing tone of O’Connell and his followers: he loathed the idea of truckling to ‘overbearing catholic demagogues’, however just their cause. Holland had been at pains to convert him. ‘The longer this boon [Catholic Emancipation] is refused,’ he wrote,

the more offensive their manner of asking it is likely to become. If granted hereafter, it will probably have more the appearance and the reality too, of being extorted by force than it would now – In short we should make up our mind to grant it with as good a grace as we can even now, or be prepared for all the consequences of refusing it for ever… Surely Surely it would be hard on millions to suffer because their orators lacked ‌judgment, taste, temper or honesty.⁹

Once arrived in Ireland, it did not take long for Anglesey to realize the good sense of Holland’s view. Meanwhile the repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts had raised the hopes of the Catholic movement, and popular agitation had died down while they waited for the next move. On 8 May, a new motion in favour of Catholic Emancipation was passed by six votes in the Commons, and though it was rejected by the Lords, a statement by Wellington (who voted against it) that he was not against the measure in principle seemed a further step in the right direction. ‘Nothing,’ wrote Holland to Anglesey,

could be better for our cause… I think the general intention and spirit of our great Commander’s speech was good and he conveyed to my mind that he wished at least to bring the great question to some amicable adjustment… I do believe he wishes to occupy the high ground and is not without hope that by manoeuvre or by ‌capitulation he may reach it.¹⁰

Whether Wellington’s gradual approach would have succeeded was never put to the test, for within a few weeks a series of unexpected events brought matters to a head. A difference of opinion between Wellington and the Canningite Huskisson led to the latter’s resignation at the end of May and a number of Canningites, including Lamb and Palmerston, resigned in sympathy. In reconstituting his Cabinet after their departure Wellington appointed a liberal Irish MP, William Vesey-Fitzgerald, to fill the vacancy at the Board of Trade. According to the rules of the time, new ministers were expected to resign and stand for re-election before taking office. However, since Fitzgerald had always been a staunch supporter of Catholic Emancipation, no one expected any trouble from his constituency of County Clare.

O’Connell saw his chance. Perceiving that while it was impossible for a Catholic to take his seat as an MP there was nothing to prevent him from standing for election, he came forward as a rival candidate. The Catholic Association threw its full weight behind him, Anglesey prudently stationed troops nearby, and the election took place in an atmosphere of perfect good order. On 5 July, to the wild elation of the crowds who had gathered there, O’Connell was returned by a large majority. ‘I have made up my mind,’ Anglesey told Holland, ‘or very nearly made it up that this will be a very delightful ‌determination to the odious question.’¹¹

The government was stunned. O’Connell was elected, but there remained the question of whether he would be allowed to take his seat. If he was refused there would almost certainly be civil war in Ireland. Anglesey was convinced that immediate emancipation was the only answer. No power on earth, he told Lord Francis Gower, William Lamb’s replacement as his Chief Secretary, could arrest the progress of the Catholics: ‘There may be rebellion – you may put to death thousands – you may suppress it; but it will only be to put ‌off the day of compromise.’¹²

But Wellington was not prepared to move so fast. Parliament was in recess, giving the government breathing space. Throughout the autumn, while Ireland seethed with discontent and anti-Catholic rallies were held in England, he gave no hint of his intentions. Left in the dark by Wellington, Anglesey did his best to keep the peace. He refused to launch prosecutions against Catholic leaders and held a private meeting with O’Connell in which, while stressing his determination to put down disorder, he advised him to conciliate the duke by refraining from personal attacks on him. O’Connell listened to his advice respectfully, and ‘humbly offered his best assistance’ in keeping the peace, but both he and Anglesey knew that matters might soon be out of their control.

In the absence of any guidance from Wellington, Anglesey turned to Holland for advice. He knew he could rely on his discretion, and had fed him copies of his confidential correspondence with the government, including the minutes of his meeting with O’Connell. ‘I have no doubt that your view of O’Connel’s character is the true one,’ wrote Holland,

and as little that your language and tone with one of that character was well calculated to soothe and confirm him in all that was right and to do real good not only to the cause but to the Govt and the country. The Duke of Cumberland [the King’s anti-Catholic brother] thinks you ought to ‌be impeached for seeing him.¹³

It was the king, through his blind adherence to his coronation oath, who was still the greatest obstacle to Catholic Emancipation. Meanwhile Ireland was on the brink of anarchy. ‘And Why,’ demanded Holland.

Merely My Dear Anglesey because one man has taken it into his head not to acquiesce in a measure which every man of sense has recommended for twenty-eight years – and which is as essential to his own character and happiness as to the interests of the Empire from which he derives ‌his rank, station and enjoyments.¹⁴

Nothing, however, could be done without the king and only Wellington could bring him round. Till then, as the duke told Anglesey brusquely, it was his duty to refrain from discussing the matter, and Anglesey’s to keep order in Ireland, leaving matters of policy to the government. Anglesey’s hands were tied. Weighed down by the anxieties of his position, he seriously considered resigning and as so often sought advice from Holland. Holland was reassuring. No one else, he told him, could have managed to keep the Catholic question open for so long; he should only resign when it became impossible to continue. His advice reinforced Anglesey’s feeling that he should soldier on as best he could. He would leave the odium of recalling him to the king and government.

He did not have long to wait. Two incidents sparked off the government’s decision. First, after careful consultation with the Irish Lord Chancellor, Anglesey decided not to remove two prominent members of the Irish Association from the magistracy, though requested to do so by Peel and Wellington; secondly he stayed with a well-known supporter of the Catholic cause, Lord Cloncurry, for the Curragh races. In both cases he had a perfectly reasonable explanation but Wellington had long been looking for an excuse to dismiss him. ‘Lord Anglesey has gone mad,’ declared the duke. ‘He is ‌bit by a mad Papist.’¹⁵ On 30 December Anglesey was given notice of his dismissal. He told the members of his household that he would be leaving Ireland within the next few weeks.

Once dismissed, Anglesey saw no reason to hide his views. On 14 December the Catholic Primate of Ireland, Dr Curtis, had written to Wellington imploring him to come to a decision about Catholic Emancipation without further delay. In his reply the duke had told him that he saw no prospect of an immediate settlement, but that if he could bury the question ‘in oblivion’ for a time, he did not despair of finding one. Anglesey, who had seen the duke’s reply, had already written to Curtis privately. On New Year’s Day, two days after his dismissal, he published his letter in the Dublin Evening Post.

He had not been aware of the duke’s precise sentiments before, he wrote. But he could not agree with him about burying the Catholic question ‘in oblivion’ – firstly because the thing was impossible and secondly because, even if it had been possible, the lull might be taken as an excuse to refuse emancipation altogether, and then all the miseries of the past few years in Ireland would be renewed. He was convinced that there would be no peace in Ireland till the question had been settled; meanwhile he urged the Catholics to continue to press their case by all lawful means, trusting in the justice of their cause and the growing strength of opinion in their favour. Brute force could achieve nothing:

It is the legislature that must decide this great question; and my greatest anxiety is that it should be met by Parliament, under the most favourable circumstances, and that the opposers of Catholic Emancipation shall be disarmed by the patient forbearance, as well as by the ‌unwearied perseverance of its advocates.¹⁶

Conciliatory though it was in tone, the letter was a challenge to the party line. The duke was furious. Anglesey was ordered to leave Ireland on the spot, without waiting for the arrival of his successor. It was a public slap in the face. But Holland had nothing but praise for his initiative. ‘The excellence of your letter to Curtis which rings [through] all England from side to side,’ he wrote to Anglesey on 8 January,

would atone for a little want of caution, even if there were any… and I for one rejoice for your sake as well as for that of the country and the cause that you wrote it and it became publick at the moment when it was so well calculated to vindicate and raise you in the opinion of every sensible man and to allay the agitation into which your ‌recal[l] had thrown the country.¹⁷

Anglesey’s departure from Dublin two days later was a day of public mourning. A huge crowd, many of them weeping, gathered to bid him farewell. His dismissal seemed the end of any hopes for Catholic Emancipation in the next parliamentary session. Only Talleyrand, observing events from the other side of the Channel, was clever enough to read between the lines. ‘When M. de Talleyrand heard that Lord Anglesey was recalled,’ wrote Palmerston, ‘he saw at once that the Duke had determined on conceding the Irish catholic claims and that he did not mean anyone else to have ‌the credit of the concession.’¹⁸