Young bloods

Chapter 53

As soon as the news of the assault on the Bastille reached Dublin, Arthur sent an anxious letter to his former mentor at the Academy in Angers. Marcel de Pignerolle did not reply to Arthur's letter until late in the year. He thanked his former pupil for asking after his health and safety, and assured Arthur that the events in Paris had, as yet, failed to make a significant impact on life at Angers. Some of the students had been withdrawn and the director was considering advising those that remained to return home to their families while public life in France was disrupted. They might return if things settled down, although the director had little hope that the King and the deputies of the new National Assembly would eventually come to their senses and abandon this mad experiment with radical democracy that seemed to have infected the heart of the Paris mob.

The fall of the Bastille and the grisly aftermath seemed to have awakened people to the danger of events running out of control. King Louis had wisely ordered the regiments that had been slowly gathering round Paris to return to their barracks. In October, in order to remove some of the tension between the people of Paris and the deputies representing the whole of France who had gathered at Versailles, the King and the National Assembly had moved to the Tuileries Palace in the heart of Paris. While Marcel de Pignerolle approved of this development, he could not help wondering if the King had not been a little unwise in trusting to the protection of the National Guard units of Paris, who seemed to answer only to the municipal authorities.

While life at the academy was quiet the director had taken the opportunity of visiting some relatives in Paris with his wife and was disquieted by the changes since his previous visit. And here, Arthur noted, the tone of the letter shifted to a more serious, anxious description of events:

My dear Arthur, you can little imagine the alteration in civil manners of the common people. Since the so-called National Assembly published their Declaration of Human Rights in August, the common man has taken this measure as permission to excuse him from all manner of incivility and immorality.The Districts of Paris answer to no one but themselves, and petty demagogues are free to whip up the feelings of the herd so that mobs pillage the premises of innocent bakers and merchants, or beat to death or hang those they proclaim to be enemies of the people. But if the Paris mobs are little more than barbarians, they take their lead from the representatives of their class at the National Assembly. A more venal house of petty jealousy and unbridled ambition is hard to conceive of. They meet in what was once the riding school of the Tuileries and one can not help but wonder if the former occupants of the building were better educated and mannered than the crude mouthpieces of the third estate.Worse still, of course, are those with breeding who play traitor to their class and have abandoned the first and second estates to descend into the ranks of the third. It is only with their support that the demagogues have managed to remove all manner of privileges to our class, and strip the Church of her right to the financial support of the people. It is this wretched Godlessness in the hearts of those who are destroying the old order that distresses me most.What is happening is evil, and I pray that the majority of the people apprehend the gathering darkness and act against it before it is too late.

Arthur, I fear we may never see the old days again. Our class teeters on the edge of oblivion in France.Take heed of our fate and do what you can to ensure that all that is fine and good in the nobility of England is spared from the fate of France.

Your friend, Marcel de Pignerolle

Arthur folded the letter and set in down on his desk. He turned and looked out of his window, across the roof tiles of Dublin, glistening in the desultory rain that had closed in over the city since the start of December. It was more than two weeks since he had last seen clear blue sky. Nearly three years had passed since he had taken up the post of an aide at Dublin Castle. He was still a mere lieutenant with little prospect of promotion in the army and little hope for advancement outside of it. The wild social life amongst the young officers of the castle now held little attraction for him. He had had enough of being drunk, of seeking out mischief and getting into trouble. The courtesans of the better clubs now all seemed the same: painted faces with painted-on passion, whose conversation seldom extended beyond platitudes and politely presented reminders of the pecuniary nature of their relations with Arthur. Even his companions now seemed to bore him. Dancing Jack was well on the road to nuptial incarceration, while Buck Whaley and the others drank and duelled and shagged, and placed puerile bets on the outcomes of any of the first three pursuits.

Arthur was honest enough to admit that there was much pleasure to be had from such a life, provided one had sufficient income that the costs need never impinge upon the enjoyment of it. But in his case, there was never enough income. Debt would inevitably overwhelm him – unless he was more responsible in his financial affairs, or he concentrated on improving his prospects. Neither option appealed to Arthur. Something must be done about the situation, and soon.

His thoughts flicked back to events in France. From the letter and the reports he had read, it seemed that the old regime of France was crashing down and no force seemed able to prevent it.The people had seized control and had set about dismantling all the best and finest qualities that had endured for centuries. And what would follow in its wake, Arthur wondered bitterly. A social order founded on the basest qualities that defined mankind. How could it be otherwise now that power was in the hands of lawyers, doctors, merchants and other common demagogues?

What was even worse, even more frightening, was the comfort that people in Ireland seemed to be drawing from the anarchy in France. On the occasions when Arthur had sat in the gallery at the Irish parliament and listened to the debates he had been horrified by the radical views expressed by some of the members. Men, like Henry Grattan, who had supported measures to remove restrictions on Catholics, were now openly espousing the democratic aspirations of the French radicals. What was happening in France was not democracy, but mob rule, and it was causing great alarm amongst those who wished to maintain order in Britain and Ireland. Grattan was a fool, Arthur decided. Ireland was like a tinderbox, thanks to the simmering tensions between the classes, and he dreaded the consequences. Every time that Grattan gave one of his inflammatory public speeches Arthur was reminded of Lord Gordon. This was no time to provoke the authorities and stir up the baser emotions of the people. Reform, if it was to come, must wait for less troubled times when cooler heads could debate the issues in a responsible manner. Otherwise there would be insurrection, and the blood of the innocent would be on the hands of Grattan and his followers when the government was obliged to use force to prevent anarchy.

Arthur decided to join William at the family's house in Merrion Street for Christmas. The meal was an understandably mute affair and after the final course had been eaten, and the dishes removed by silent servants, the two brothers settled into some chairs beside the wavering glow of a fire and opened a bottle of brandy.

William eased himself back and looked into the amber glow of his glass. 'As I mentioned to you before, I have decided to follow Richard to the English parliament.There's more scope for a man of my promise there. Indeed, any man with ambitions to serve the state at the highest level should make for England.You might bear that in mind, when the time comes.There's little hope of achieving anything of note in Ireland. But it does adequate service as a training ground for men with an eye to the future.To which end, I think you should stand as the member for Trim when I quit the seat.'

'Me?' Arthur looked amused. 'Me, a member of parliament?'

'Why not? The family has held the seat for years. No point in abandoning it yet. Besides, in the current fevered climate the electors might just be tempted to elect some damn radical. It's not a demanding role, Arthur. Even you can cope with the less-than-onerous duties of being a member of parliament.You just have to turn up to vote for those who speak in favour of the Crown and the lord-lieutenant. Be vocal in your support of them, and suitably rude to those that oppose the King's men, and you'll do fine. Keep it up for a few years and you'll be rewarded with some sinecure or other for your troubles. May not be much but it will help to keep the debt collectors at bay. Speaking of which, as I said before, you might want to move in here, since I'm leaving for London. Now then, do you think you are up to the job?'

Arthur thought for a moment. It seemed an interesting enough prospect – something that might provide a welcome change from the growing ennui of the life as one of the officers of the lord-lieutenant's court at Dublin Castle.Who knew, politics might even be interesting. He looked up at his brother and smiled. 'Very well, I'll do it.'

'Good.' William raised his glass. 'To the next member of parliament for Trim.'