Politics of Romanticism 

            Great Britain has enjoyed a rich history of political diversity and debate since the English Reformation.  Televised sessions of Parliament, known as “Question Time,” air weekly.  These sessions, in which incensed Members of Parliament pepper the Prime Minister with outlandish questions about everything from Scottish separatism to the price of tea.  While Question Time is invariably more hilarious than anything on television in America, it reveals exactly how much politics has permeated British society.  The late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries were filled with political upheaval that dwarfs today’s commotion: Europe’s borders were constantly shifting, wars were erupting in colonial holdings all over the world, and the heads of kings were rolling.  These events could hardly go unnoticed by the writers of the era.  Hannah More’s “Village Politics,” Maria Edgeworth’s Castle Rackrent, Jane Austen’s Persuasion, and Lord Byron’s Sardanapalus all deal with the political problems of the day.  They all reveal the wide array of attitudes in British politics in the Romantic period toward revolutions and hierarchy.

            The Romantic Period in Britain began around the same time that the French Revolution was building up steam on the Continent.  The French Revolution Timeline gives more detailed information about the progression of the Revolution.  To some in Britain, the idea that a nation could rise up, topple their king, and then execute him was abhorrent.  These conservative Tories, it would seem, have a selective memory, as the British had done exactly the same thing themselves only a hundred and fifty years earlier.  In any case, conservatives rallied around Edmund Burke, who vehemently denounced the actions of the Revolutionaries in France.  Hundreds of responses to Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France were drafted, most famous among them from Mary Wollstonecraft and Thomas Paine who both supported the Revolution.  All of these tirades, however, were either direct addresses to Burke or else geared toward the upper-class: people with the same level of education as a Member of Parliament.  The common people of Britain were left out of the loop.

            Hannah More sought to remedy this in 1793.  She published a fictional dialogue between two working-class Englishmen addressed specifically to “all the mechanics, journeymen, and labourers in Great Britain.”  This piece of Tory propaganda was titled “Village Politics,” a quaint title that evokes images of churchyard meetings attended by plain, but sensible working-class people.  The dialogue is between Jack the Blacksmith, a staunch proponent of maintaining the monarchy, and Tom the Mason, whose gloomy outlook on the current state of Britain makes him quite as depressed as Eeyore.  The tone of “Village Politics” resembles that many of Plato’s Socratic dialogues: some poor fool comes to seek Socrates’ advice, and Socrates, in his infinite wisdom, answers with much bravado and condescension.  Throughout the piece, Tom spouts off common Revolutionary themes like “constitution” and “equalization” without really knowing what they mean or why the people like Wollstonecraft and Paine prefer these over the status quo.  Jack, however, seems to have all of the answers: the freedom in France is mere anarchy, the British are protected by due process of law, and the working man’s place is to work and not question authority.  The image below shows one of the seemingly arbitrary executions of the Reign of Terror.  Two men in civilian dress place a third in the guillotine while a military officer watches, either unable or unwilling to stop it.  This is exactly the sort of deplorable activity that Jack warns comes from revolutionary thinking.     

            Maria Edgeworth’s novel Castle Rackrent also deals with revolution, but from a very different perspective.  Published in 1800 on the eve of the Act of Union that finally brought Ireland fully into the United Kingdom along with England, Scotland, and Wales, the novel satirizes the Irish nobility as they prepare to assimilate into English society.  Once again, the Irish Union Timeline gives more historical context for this political union.  The years leading up to 1801 were fraught with violence as the British imposed martial law on the island and a French invasion force sought to assist Irish revolutionaries such as Wolfe Tone.

            Edgeworth’s novel, while not overtly supporting one side or the other, has some pro-Union undertones.  She portrays the several generations of Rackrent nobles as frivolous landlords, throwing money away on hopeless pursuits.  Edgeworth seems to be allegorically arguing that only with help from the British can Ireland become economically stable.  The character “Honest” Thady Quirk represents how Edgeworth feels Ireland should behave in the upcoming union with Britain: “Edgworth’s performance as the loyal servant reveals hidden fears of a destabilizing force in the Anglo-Irish Ascendancy” (Egenolf 47).  At the start of the novel, Thady is unwaveringly loyal to the Rackrent family, to the point of being sycophantic.  As the Rackrent estate passes through the generations, Thady becomes more critical of the family’s activities, particularly the women they marry.  Finally, when the Rackrents go bankrupt, Thady openly disdains the family, dropping any pretense of loyalty.  By using Thady’s character as an allegory, Edgeworth advocates for a parasitic relationship with Britain; the union will allow for Ireland to build its economy up, while Britain slowly crumbles from its “evil” alliances with Protestant princes in Germany.  Once Britain has fallen into the dust, Ireland will be able to exert its own will once more.  Her revolutionary fervor, while just as intense as the supporters of the French Revolution, is much more calculated, tempered by cool rationality.

            Jane Austen’s Persuasion also contains some political references to the Irish union, but from the perspective of the English.  The Lady Dalrymple and her daughter represent the upper echelons of the Irish nobility, while Sir Walter Elliot is a baronet, the lowest rank of the English peerage.  While the Elliot family was still financially stable, Sir Walter found no need to correspond with the Dalrymples, even failing to send a letter of condolence following the death of Lady Dalrymple’s husband.  Once the Elliot fortune is endangered, however, Sir Walter and Elizabeth become obsessed with making sure everyone in Bath knows that their family is related with the aristocratic Dalrymples.  It is possible that the Dalrymples in Persuasion are following Edgeworth’s prescription of leeching off the British.  Now able to take up residence in Britain and still retain her title, Lady Dalrymple now enjoys the ability to exert her influence on Sir Walter and his peers.  At the same time, English Sir Walter is now nearly bankrupt, signaling that the Irish Dalrymples are now the strongest member of the union.

            Persuasion also deals quite heavily with military matters.  Four major characters in the novel are members of the Royal Navy, with Croft occupying the highest rank of Admiral.  The prevalence of military figures in the novel reflects Britain’s move toward imperialism in Austen’s day.  Captain Wentworth’s success in the Napoleonic Wars show how a lowly sailor of modest birth and financial status can rise to prominence by taking the spoils of war.  Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington exemplifies this by rising from an obscure Irish childhood to become Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.   Beginning at this time, wealth and war became fundamentally linked.  In addition to young officers becoming wealthy from capturing enemy vessels and prisoners, Britain stood to gain immense treasures by conquering exotic lands in the East.  This lure of wealth played at least a partial role in Britain’s decision to enter the Crimean War; Russia’s invasion of the Ottoman provinces of Moldavia and Wallachia threatened “Ottoman Empire’s territorial integrity because this would diminish the area over which they [the British] themselves wielded influence” (Saab 141).  These attitudes of British imperialism can still be found today in the renewed tensions over the Falkland Islands.

            Lord Byron’s play Sardanapalus continues the theme of military might, but in the context of the role of a king as commander-in-chief of the armed forces.  The king of Assyria, Sardanapalus, devotes his time to fashion and enjoying the concubines of his extensive harem, putting matters of state aside.  The king’s brother-in-law Salemenes frequently attempts to turn Sardanapalus into a ruler of the same vein as his grandmother Semiramis, “the Man-Queen.”  Semiramis is cast as a Homeric hero, winning epic battles as far afield as India and securing the glory and wealth of the Assyrian Empire.  Byron attributes to Semiramis the same values of imperial Britain: waging war to win wealth.  Sardanapalus rejects this lifestyle, preferring instead to laze about. The image below shows his lethargy even as his servants set fire to his chamber.

 Sardanapalus justifies his position by claiming that the people should be happy about the period of peace that accompanies his rule, as he is not forcing his armies to die in vain conquests.  Strangely, Byron seems to forgo making Sardanapalus into his standard Byronic hero, opting instead for an effeminate ruler incapable of an original thought.  Captain Wentworth from Persuasion fits the mold better, signifying that an empire is meant to be ruled by a warrior figure.  Sardanapalus’ failure to take charge of his army leads to his demise as he commits suicide in the face of an armed rebellion led by Arbaces. 

            Politics in the Romantic era was fraught with questions about the role of the monarchy and the role of Britain in the world.  Was a revolution in the style of France desirable?  Was it possible for Britain to gain economic strength without imperialist wars?  Was it even desirable that Britain have the strongest economy in the world?  Hannah More, Maria Edgeworth, Jane Austen, and Lord Byron have tackled these issues with differing opinions.  Yet there seems to be some things that all seem to agree on to some extent: that a strong monarch is the ideal person to run a global empire, that the union with Ireland is of a parasitic nature, and that war is the fast-track to wealth.  These ideals make the politics of the age distinctly British.

            I saw a session of Question Time earlier this year in which an MP’s question was prefaced with a century-by-century summary of some policy or other.  As the MP began to outline the nineteenth century’s take on the policy, he was drowned out by the groans of bored Englishmen and angry Scotsmen.  Order had to be restored by the Speaker of the House of Commons with the whiny admonition: “I want to hear the Honourable Gentleman’s views on the nineteenth century!”  Now, I can’t help but wonder how the nineteenth century Romantics would react to the politics of the twenty-first century.

Works Cited

Egenolf, Susan B.  The Art of Political Fiction in Hamilton Edgeworth, and Owenson.  Bodmin, United Kingdon: MPG Books Ltd.  2009.

Saab, Ann Pottinger.  The Origins of the Crimean Alliance.  Charlottesville, Virginia: University of Virginia Press.  1977.