Book Review: Wellington and the Fortunes of Peace, Rory Muir

In terms of scholarship and writing quality, volume two of Rory Muir's epic Wellington is on a par with volume one, and therefore a five bicorne affair. However, I'm not convinced by his stated reasons for his choice to split the book in two before Waterloo. [1] And, although I do find some of the post Waterloo stuff interesting, by and large it's nowhere near as compelling to me as the stuff that leads up to and includes Wellington's role as Napoleon's most effective adversary.

An iconic image.

Wellington and Blücher 'floging' [sic.] Boney.

At the time of starting this review I was with Wellington in post-Waterloo occupied France. And, with the sound of the cannon of Waterloo ringing in ones ears, it's still interesting, if not quite as exciting as events up to and including June 18th, 1815. Muir has already mentioned a monument to the fallen of Waterloo that was never actually built; I wonder what coverage there might be of Capt. Siborne's travails, and Wellington's role in relation to the latter's researches, and his famous Waterloo dioramas?

Wellington's way with the ladies and his 

relations with Ireland lampooned.

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It's now some time later, and I'm really struggling to keep up sufficient interest in the book, in which for much of the recent narrative, e.g. about the trials, literally and metaphorically, of the government with the king and his wife, Caroline, Wellington is more or less a peripheral figure. Albeit an admittedly important and influential one. Consequently chunks of the book read more like a general history of the period, in feel, than anything specifically Wellingtonian.

Some of the topics covered, such as the Catholic Emancipation business are, I suppose, of historic interest. Although as a rational materialist I find all this religious tomfoolery worse than tiresome. And even then, to the degree in which I am interested, I'm more inclined towards enjoying such caricatures as are shown here, all three of which immediately below relate to the Catholic business, than to trudging through the arcana that Muir sedulously covers.

Wellington's duel with Winchelsea. [2]

William Heath depicts Wellington as the King's coachman.

Wellington & Peel attack Mrs Constitution, letting Popery in the back door.

I admire Muir's obvious passion for his subject, and the amount of work he's done. And even more, perhaps, how he shares the fruits of his labours not only in commercial book form, but via his website (see below). And he obviously and unquestionably has great skill and flair as a writer. But none of this, alas, changes the fact that for me, Wellington is most interesting in relation to Napoleon. Once Napoleon disappears from the picture, it all feels a bit mundane.

Wellington as PM, and Ass!

'Majesty & Grace'...

Wellington fell from his horse, at a review, May 29th, 1829. [4]

And whilst this book and the first volume help add depth and nuance to my understanding of Wellington, and show him to be above all a practical man. Nevertheless, they don't fundamentally change the view I already had, which is that in the long run I'm on the side of 'enlightenment' - not, I must make clear, with violent revolution (I'd say I'm more conservative in some ways than most capital C Conservatives) - but I do agree with Paine that 'monarchy ... is the popery of government'.

Wellington, for all his pragmatism, wasn't a fan of enlightenment thinking. He was emphatically a church and king man, and I'm most definitely neither. So, whilst I have yet to finish volume two, and can't therefore give a full and complete judgement, as things stand: I found volume one intensely enjoyable, and essential reading. Aside from Waterloo and the immediate aftermath, I find volume two significantly less interesting or compelling, and therefore certainly not essential reading. Unless, perhaps, you're a Wellington nut?

I'm not. So I'm far from certain as to whether I'll be willing to invest the time to finish this book, as excellent as it may be.

'The Royal Shambles', by Cruikshank. [5]

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NOTES:

First of all I should mention Muir's Life of Wellington website. There's a wealth of information here, as well as links to other sources.

[1] A cynic, indeed, the cynic in me, might say - does say - that having Waterloo in part two was actually done to ensure better sales for a second volume that otherwise might not fare as well as the first, commercially.

[2] Wellington fought a duel, despite being the prime minister, with the Earl of Winchelsea, at Battersea Fields, South London, on 23rd March, 1829. I've not yet read what Muir has to say on the matter. But it's not an event that fits with the otherwise cool-headed pragmatism he describes as Wellington's normal m.o. And it was Wellington who called out Winchelsea, not vice versa.

[3] In 'Burking' Mrs C. Peel and Wellington are compared with Burke and Hare!

[4] In Hyde Park.

[5] George IV holds Wellington's sword, the latter calming the monarch, saying 'as long as you keep hold of my sword, you'll be ok', or words to that effect. I.e. the king is only able to stay in power thanks to the backing of Wellington and the army.

Book Review: Wellington, The Path To Victory, 1769-1814 - Rory Muir

In Napoleon's Wars, historian Charles Esdaile asked whether Napoleon was proof of the 'great man' view of history. Rather frustratingly, he seemed to answer both yes and no. There was no such equivocal fudging in Wellington's own estimate of himself: 'It's a fine thing to be a great man, is it not?' is how he put it to Lady Shelley, as the crowds lionised him in 1814.

Nor is Rory Muir stinting in his praise, in Wellington, The Path To Victory, when he observes that 'When every other allowance has been made for the contributions of others, Wellington remains the central, indispensable, animating figure in explaining the allied success in the Peninsula.' Or, to state it even more strongly, whilst even many of Wellington's most capable subordinates 'could have been replaced without any great change in the course of affairs. Wellington, by contrast, was quite simply irreplaceable – the essential ingredient of victory.' 

Rory Muir's Wellington, The Path To Victory is only the first part of a two-volume biography. Three decades in the making, and with an online commentary (www.lifeofwellington.co.uk) that the author says is almost as big as the two-volume work itself, Muir displays a passionate interest in his subject which his book successfully communicates.

Hoppner, Arthur Wesley, (c. 1795). The complete image from which Muir's cover is derived.

I already have a much shorter and as yet unread Wellington biog, by Elizabeth Longford (actually this is itself a much-reduced version of another two-volume biography of the 'Iron Duke'!). But, for a number of reasons, I've always kind of avoided Wellington, and, even more self-consciously, the Peninsular Campaign, the war that really made him, and the campaign which, in many respects, forms the backbone of this volume. 

Sutherland, after Heath, The Battle of Talavera, 28 July 1809 (1815). A portion of this image decorates the spine and back-cover of Muir's book.

Despite this self-imposed prohibition on things British and Wellingtonian I've always allowed myself the latitude to indulge a Waterloo fixation, as that was the battle that begat my interest in the Napoleonic era. But even when I read what I believe was my first piece of writing on that subject - a feature in an Eagle annual on Ensign Ewart's capture of the Eagle of the 45th - it was the French that had the real mystique for me. And my subsequent reading in things Napoleonic has focussed mainly on Napoleon and his major campaigns, from Egypt and Italy to his continual scraps with Austria, Prussia and Russia.

Britain's part in the Napoleonic Wars, outside of Trafalgar and Waterloo, had always seemed to me, like our physical position in Europe, peripheral. Certainly for the most part Napoleon, to his cost, treated Wellington's activities in the Peninsula as a sideshow. And then there's something about the anti-Enlightenment stance that runs through the British anti-Jacobin and then Boney-phobic stance of the era - so beautifully illustrated in the prints of Gillray et al - that always rankled. As did a nagging image of the English elite as the paymaster war-pimps of Ancien Regime Europe, continually bankrolling never-ending coalitions that sought to reverse the effects of the French Revolution, and restore a supposedly 'legitimate' Bourbon to the French throne.

Boney and his cronies chopping down the 'Royal Oak', and supplanting it with The New Dynasty. Establishment propaganda from the master caricaturist of the age, Gillray.

As part of this general position, my sceptical views about Wellington were largely confirmed, and perhaps even strengthened, by such brushes with him as hearing the Wellington vs Napoleon episode of In Our Time, or reading Peter Hofschröer's fascinating book, Wellington's Smallest Victory. But there's really no getting away from it: love him, loathe him, or whatever you may feel, Britain's role in Napoleon's downfall, and Wellington's crucial part in that, as the most potent military instrument of British diplomatic will, is, as Muir so adroitly confirms in this book, inescapable. 

But I didn't yet know, or rather fully appreciate this, as I stood in the wonderful military history section of Ely's Topping Books a couple of weeks ago, deliberating on what little literary treat a recent and unexpected utility-bill refund windfall might allow me. After long deliberation I settled on this rather fat tome, and I've been glued to it ever since. 

A nice aquatint depicting British troops escorting French prisoners into the city after the battle of Salamanca. This is not one of the images in this well-illustrated book.

Although Goya's Portrait of the Duke of Wellington, as Muir observes, doesn't sit well amidst most other portraits of him, it does, I think, capture something of the colder, haughtier and perhaps even war-wearied side of his character.

Wellington was in his lifetime sometimes controversial, and not always greatly loved, and Muir's portrait, whilst backlit by a clear and understandable admiration for the man and his achievements, is no hagiography. One key insight for me is that Muir attributes Wellington's key motivation not to egomania, although he did suffer from this to some degree, but vocation: in India he discovered he had military and diplomatic talents, and he moved back to Europe to further pursue and enlarge upon these. 

Muir also paints Wellington as a pragmatist, not a theorist, and in both judgements I'd agree, and observe that these qualities give him a different but still very powerful charisma: he knew what he excelled in, and he pursued it. This is not the same as the romantic hero/adventurer charisma - although Wellington was undoubtedly both these things in many ways - of Napoleon. But as Muir drily observes, one Napoleon is enough for any generation!

As well as Wellington's impressive track record as a master of strategy and tactics, I share Muir's admiration for his interest in logistics, and, in connection with that, his concern, both humane and eminently pragmatic (far more sustainable than Napoleon's 'war must pay for war' idea) that the costs of war shouldn't be borne unduly by the civil population in theatres of conflict. As cold a fish as many may have found him on a personal level, these things speak for an underlying humanity that subsequent military theorists and practitioners have very largely abandoned. 

Atkinson, Baggage Wagon, 1807. Like Wellington, I'm fascinated by the importance of logistics in this era. If only I also had his talent, drive, and connections!

As well as the unofficial camp followers, their was also the Royal Wagon Train, as depicted in this contemporary print.

I still don't find Wellington as charismatic, intriguing or, speaking frankly, romantically appealing as Napoleon. But then neither, according to Muir, did many of Wellington's own staff. That he was admired, respected and followed with great devotion is certain, but it seems not many found him easy to love; not even his wife (although to be fair to her she certainly tried [1]). But the story of his rise to prominence, via Irish politics, as an MP in England, a 'Sepoy General' in India, and culminating in his expert handling of the British Army and it's allies in the long Peninsular campaign, is a fascinating one, which Muir tells very well.

Volumes 1 & 2 of Muir's impressive set.

Longford's two volumes were entitled The Years Of The Sword, and Pillar Of State. I haven't read either, nor yet even the much truncated single volume edition I have. But Muir has chosen to end his first Wellington volume, not in 1815, with the perhaps more obvious military marker of Waterloo, but in 1814, with the end of the campaign that saw Napoleon finally abdicating. 

The cynic in me wonders if Muir has done this (either on his own cognisance, or at a crafty editors bidding), so as to ensure that military buff types - us fellows - buy the second volume, to get our Waterloo fix. If the divide was post-Warerloo, I must confess that, as interested as I am in history generally, volume one may have been all I felt I needed!

Writing for The New Statesman, Simon Heffer enthuses 'The second volume - to judge by his first - cannot come soon enough.' Well, I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed this, and fairly breezed through the near-600 pages. Waterloo is tempting, to an addict like me. But will I need the remaining 500 pages of volume two? Hmm!? A difficult call!

Two views of Vimeiro, above and below. The first of Wellington's many significant victories in the Peninsular, it was, rather unfortunately, eclipsed by the opprobrium generated by the subsequent Convention of Cintra, which Wellington signed.

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NOTES:

[1] One has to feel a little sorry for Wellington's wife, who he courted whilst still a (relatively) poor and prospect-less aristocrat. Their eventual marriage, which initially looked like a romantic dream come true, proved anything but, Wellington more or less abandoning 'Kitty', only a few years into their marriage, preferring to go a-soldiering. He was pretty much the only senior figure not to go home on leave (he did return once, due to the fall-out from the Cintra affair, but even then barely saw his wife) for a period of between four and five years of continuous campaigning. 

But it can be striking when someone as charming and well-loved as David Attenborough makes only the very rarest of mentions of his wife in his Life On Air autobiogrpahy (the sudden mention of her on her demise comes as something of a narrative shock, in amongst all the natural history and other media-related stuff!). Some men's public lives are perhaps their raison d'être, becoming all-consuming. And sometimes we all benefit from what, in an 'ordinary soul', might be seen as a lopsided character, and certainly makes the individual in question anything but ordinary.

The Author.

Ely Book Haul

My wife and I recently moved, and our local city is no longer Cambridge, but Ely. This weekend we've been into Ely every day, four days on the trot! And today we'll have both been in once during the day (separately) and once again in the evening (together).

Over the course of these several trips I acquired a few interesting books and some model-making oddments. On Friday I treated myself - due to a very rare utility bill refund windfall  - to volume one of Rory Muir's epic Wellington biog, a brand new paperback, from the splendid Topping Books.

Then on Saturday I bought two secondhand books, at the delightful Octagon Books: The Napoleonic Soldier, and the old Blandford publication Army Uniforms of WWII. The latter was a book I'd seen at my grandparents' house, as a kid (poss belonging to my uncle, Terry?), and been mesmerised by. Even now I still find Malcolm MacGregor's illustrations hugely satisfying to contemplate.

The Napoleonic Soldier is another uniformology book. But it's unusual in that it is illustrated entirely by modern day re-enactors, photographed wearing their splendid costumes. 

Having arrived too late at our favourite tea-room (Teacock's Pearoom, as Teresa once called it), on Saturday, we went back Sunday. On both occasions we had a mooch about in the neighbouring Waterside Antiques shop, an old three-storey place chock-full of stuff, including lots of books. 

It was there that I found a book called The Anatomy of Nelson's Ships. This title is slightly odd, in that the book seems to me to be entirely devoted to HMS Victory.

I've been looking online and elsewhere for stuff to help me with the rigging of my Dutch Gunboat, and although this book is devoted to a British First Rate, it's got lots of detailed stuff - including some terrific illustrations - on naval rigging.

Better still, as I perused this wonderful tome, I further discovered that the book is by a modeller, and is as much about building a very detailed replica of Victory as it is about the ship herself. And to cap it all off, there are several extraordinarily beautiful fold-out diagrams, delicately drawn and highly detailed, illustrating all manner of details about the Victory. 

One of these folding diagrams was slightly damaged, and the book was without its original dust jacket. But the price I paid reflected this, and seemed fair to me, being a lot less than a new copy (£45!), and a fair bit less than any used copies I could find on Amazon.