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Architecture
Patterns
with Python
Enabling Test-Driven Development,
Domain-Driven Design, and Event-Driven
Microservices

Harry J.W. Percival

& Bob Gregory
Architecture Patterns with Python
Enabling Test-Driven Development,
Domain-Driven Design, and
Event-Driven Microservices

Harry Percival and Bob Gregory

Beijing Boston Farnham Sebastopol Tokyo

Architecture Patterns with Python
by Harry Percival and Bob Gregory
Copyright © 2020 Harry Percival and Bob Gregory. All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America.
Published by O’Reilly Media, Inc., 1005 Gravenstein Highway North, Sebastopol, CA 95472.
O’Reilly books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use. Online editions are
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March 2020: First Edition

Revision History for the First Edition

2020-03-05: First Release

See http://oreilly.com/catalog/errata.csp?isbn=9781492052203 for release details.

The O’Reilly logo is a registered trademark of O’Reilly Media, Inc. Architecture Patterns with Python, the
cover image, and related trade dress are trademarks of O’Reilly Media, Inc.
The views expressed in this work are those of the authors and do not represent the publisher’s views.
While the publisher and the authors have used good faith efforts to ensure that the information and
instructions contained in this work are accurate, the publisher and the authors disclaim all responsibility
for errors or omissions, including without limitation responsibility for damages resulting from the use of
or reliance on this work. Use of the information and instructions contained in this work is at your own
risk. If any code samples or other technology this work contains or describes is subject to open source
licenses or the intellectual property rights of others, it is your responsibility to ensure that your use
thereof complies with such licenses and/or rights.

978-1-492-05220-3
[LSI]
 Table of Contents

Preface. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix

Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xvii

Part I. Building an Architecture to Support Domain Modeling

1. Domain Modeling. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
What Is a Domain Model? 6
Exploring the Domain Language 9
Unit Testing Domain Models 10
Dataclasses Are Great for Value Objects 15
Value Objects and Entities 17
Not Everything Has to Be an Object: A Domain Service Function 19
Python’s Magic Methods Let Us Use Our Models with Idiomatic Python 20
Exceptions Can Express Domain Concepts Too 20

2. Repository Pattern. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
Persisting Our Domain Model 24
Some Pseudocode: What Are We Going to Need? 24
Applying the DIP to Data Access 25
Reminder: Our Model 26
The “Normal” ORM Way: Model Depends on ORM 27
Inverting the Dependency: ORM Depends on Model 28
Introducing the Repository Pattern 31
The Repository in the Abstract 32
What Is the Trade-Off? 33
Building a Fake Repository for Tests Is Now Trivial! 37

iii
 What Is a Port and What Is an Adapter, in Python? 37
Wrap-Up 38

3. A Brief Interlude: On Coupling and Abstractions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41

Abstracting State Aids Testability 43
Choosing the Right Abstraction(s) 46
Implementing Our Chosen Abstractions 47
Testing Edge to Edge with Fakes and Dependency Injection 49
Why Not Just Patch It Out? 51
Wrap-Up 53

4. Our First Use Case: Flask API and Service Layer. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55

Connecting Our Application to the Real World 57
A First End-to-End Test 57
The Straightforward Implementation 58
Error Conditions That Require Database Checks 60
Introducing a Service Layer, and Using FakeRepository to Unit Test It 61
A Typical Service Function 63
Why Is Everything Called a Service? 66
Putting Things in Folders to See Where It All Belongs 67
Wrap-Up 68
The DIP in Action 68

5. TDD in High Gear and Low Gear. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71

How Is Our Test Pyramid Looking? 72
Should Domain Layer Tests Move to the Service Layer? 72
On Deciding What Kind of Tests to Write 73
High and Low Gear 74
Fully Decoupling the Service-Layer Tests from the Domain 75
Mitigation: Keep All Domain Dependencies in Fixture Functions 76
Adding a Missing Service 76
Carrying the Improvement Through to the E2E Tests 78
Wrap-Up 79

6. Unit of Work Pattern. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81

The Unit of Work Collaborates with the Repository 83
Test-Driving a UoW with Integration Tests 84
Unit of Work and Its Context Manager 85
The Real Unit of Work Uses SQLAlchemy Sessions 86
Fake Unit of Work for Testing 87
Using the UoW in the Service Layer 88
Explicit Tests for Commit/Rollback Behavior 89

iv | Table of Contents
 Explicit Versus Implicit Commits 90
Examples: Using UoW to Group Multiple Operations into an Atomic Unit 91
Example 1: Reallocate 91
Example 2: Change Batch Quantity 91
Tidying Up the Integration Tests 92
Wrap-Up 93

7. Aggregates and Consistency Boundaries. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95

Why Not Just Run Everything in a Spreadsheet? 96
Invariants, Constraints, and Consistency 96
Invariants, Concurrency, and Locks 97
What Is an Aggregate? 98
Choosing an Aggregate 99
One Aggregate = One Repository 102
What About Performance? 104
Optimistic Concurrency with Version Numbers 105
Implementation Options for Version Numbers 107
Testing for Our Data Integrity Rules 109
Enforcing Concurrency Rules by Using Database Transaction
Isolation Levels 110
Pessimistic Concurrency Control Example: SELECT FOR UPDATE 111
Wrap-Up 111
Part I Recap 113

Part II. Event-Driven Architecture

8. Events and the Message Bus. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117
Avoiding Making a Mess 118
First, Let’s Avoid Making a Mess of Our Web Controllers 118
And Let’s Not Make a Mess of Our Model Either 119
Or the Service Layer! 120
Single Responsibility Principle 120
All Aboard the Message Bus! 121
The Model Records Events 121
Events Are Simple Dataclasses 121
The Model Raises Events 122
The Message Bus Maps Events to Handlers 123
Option 1: The Service Layer Takes Events from the Model and Puts Them on
the Message Bus 124
Option 2: The Service Layer Raises Its Own Events 125
Option 3: The UoW Publishes Events to the Message Bus 126

Table of Contents | v
 Wrap-Up 130

9. Going to Town on the Message Bus. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133

A New Requirement Leads Us to a New Architecture 135
Imagining an Architecture Change: Everything Will Be an Event Handler 136
Refactoring Service Functions to Message Handlers 137
The Message Bus Now Collects Events from the UoW 139
Our Tests Are All Written in Terms of Events Too 141
A Temporary Ugly Hack: The Message Bus Has to Return Results 141
Modifying Our API to Work with Events 142
Implementing Our New Requirement 143
Our New Event 143
Test-Driving a New Handler 144
Implementation 145
A New Method on the Domain Model 146
Optionally: Unit Testing Event Handlers in Isolation with a Fake Message
Bus 147
Wrap-Up 149
What Have We Achieved? 150
Why Have We Achieved? 150

10. Commands and Command Handler. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151

Commands and Events 151
Differences in Exception Handling 153
Discussion: Events, Commands, and Error Handling 155
Recovering from Errors Synchronously 158
Wrap-Up 160

11. Event-Driven Architecture: Using Events to Integrate Microservices. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161

Distributed Ball of Mud, and Thinking in Nouns 162
Error Handling in Distributed Systems 165
The Alternative: Temporal Decoupling Using Asynchronous Messaging 167
Using a Redis Pub/Sub Channel for Integration 168
Test-Driving It All Using an End-to-End Test 169
Redis Is Another Thin Adapter Around Our Message Bus 170
Our New Outgoing Event 171
Internal Versus External Events 172
Wrap-Up 172

12. Command-Query Responsibility Segregation (CQRS). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175

Domain Models Are for Writing 176
Most Users Aren’t Going to Buy Your Furniture 177

vi | Table of Contents
 Post/Redirect/Get and CQS 179
Hold On to Your Lunch, Folks 181
Testing CQRS Views 182
“Obvious” Alternative 1: Using the Existing Repository 182
Your Domain Model Is Not Optimized for Read Operations 183
“Obvious” Alternative 2: Using the ORM 184
SELECT N+1 and Other Performance Considerations 184
Time to Completely Jump the Shark 185
Updating a Read Model Table Using an Event Handler 186
Changing Our Read Model Implementation Is Easy 188
Wrap-Up 189

13. Dependency Injection (and Bootstrapping). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191

Implicit Versus Explicit Dependencies 193
Aren’t Explicit Dependencies Totally Weird and Java-y? 194
Preparing Handlers: Manual DI with Closures and Partials 196
An Alternative Using Classes 197
A Bootstrap Script 199
Message Bus Is Given Handlers at Runtime 201
Using Bootstrap in Our Entrypoints 203
Initializing DI in Our Tests 204
Building an Adapter “Properly”: A Worked Example 205
Define the Abstract and Concrete Implementations 206
Make a Fake Version for Your Tests 206
Figure Out How to Integration Test the Real Thing 207
Wrap-Up 209

Epilogue. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211

A. Summary Diagram and Table. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229

B. A Template Project Structure. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231

C. Swapping Out the Infrastructure: Do Everything with CSVs. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239

D. Repository and Unit of Work Patterns with Django. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245

E. Validation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 255

Index. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265

Table of Contents | vii

 Preface

You may be wondering who we are and why we wrote this book.
At the end of Harry’s last book, Test-Driven Development with Python (O’Reilly), he
found himself asking a bunch of questions about architecture, such as, What’s the
best way of structuring your application so that it’s easy to test? More specifically, so
that your core business logic is covered by unit tests, and so that you minimize the
number of integration and end-to-end tests you need? He made vague references to
“Hexagonal Architecture” and “Ports and Adapters” and “Functional Core, Impera‐
tive Shell,” but if he was honest, he’d have to admit that these weren’t things he really
understood or had done in practice.
And then he was lucky enough to run into Bob, who has the answers to all these
questions.
Bob ended up a software architect because nobody else on his team was doing it. He
turned out to be pretty bad at it, but he was lucky enough to run into Ian Cooper, who
taught him new ways of writing and thinking about code.

Managing Complexity, Solving Business Problems

We both work for MADE.com, a European ecommerce company that sells furniture
online; there, we apply the techniques in this book to build distributed systems that
model real-world business problems. Our example domain is the first system Bob
built for MADE, and this book is an attempt to write down all the stuff we have to
teach new programmers when they join one of our teams.
MADE.com operates a global supply chain of freight partners and manufacturers. To
keep costs low, we try to optimize the delivery of stock to our warehouses so that we
don’t have unsold goods lying around the place.
Ideally, the sofa that you want to buy will arrive in port on the very day that you
decide to buy it, and we’ll ship it straight to your house without ever storing it.

ix
Getting the timing right is a tricky balancing act when goods take three months to
arrive by container ship. Along the way, things get broken or water damaged, storms
cause unexpected delays, logistics partners mishandle goods, paperwork goes miss‐
ing, customers change their minds and amend their orders, and so on.
We solve those problems by building intelligent software representing the kinds of
operations taking place in the real world so that we can automate as much of the busi‐
ness as possible.

Why Python?
If you’re reading this book, we probably don’t need to convince you that Python is
great, so the real question is “Why does the Python community need a book like
this?” The answer is about Python’s popularity and maturity: although Python is
probably the world’s fastest-growing programming language and is nearing the top of
the absolute popularity tables, it’s only just starting to take on the kinds of problems
that the C# and Java world has been working on for years. Startups become real busi‐
nesses; web apps and scripted automations are becoming (whisper it) enterprise
software.
In the Python world, we often quote the Zen of Python: “There should be one—and
preferably only one—obvious way to do it.”1 Unfortunately, as project size grows, the
most obvious way of doing things isn’t always the way that helps you manage com‐
plexity and evolving requirements.
None of the techniques and patterns we discuss in this book are new, but they are
mostly new to the Python world. And this book isn’t a replacement for the classics in
the field such as Eric Evans’s Domain-Driven Design or Martin Fowler’s Patterns of
Enterprise Application Architecture (both published by Addison-Wesley Professional)
—which we often refer to and encourage you to go and read.
But all the classic code examples in the literature do tend to be written in Java or
C++/#, and if you’re a Python person and haven’t used either of those languages in a
long time (or indeed ever), those code listings can be quite…trying. There’s a reason
the latest edition of that other classic text, Fowler’s Refactoring (Addison-Wesley Pro‐
fessional), is in JavaScript.

1 python -c "import this"

x | Preface
TDD, DDD, and Event-Driven Architecture
In order of notoriety, we know of three tools for managing complexity:

1. Test-driven development (TDD) helps us to build code that is correct and enables
us to refactor or add new features, without fear of regression. But it can be hard
to get the best out of our tests: How do we make sure that they run as fast as pos‐
sible? That we get as much coverage and feedback from fast, dependency-free
unit tests and have the minimum number of slower, flaky end-to-end tests?
2. Domain-driven design (DDD) asks us to focus our efforts on building a good
model of the business domain, but how do we make sure that our models aren’t
encumbered with infrastructure concerns and don’t become hard to change?
3. Loosely coupled (micro)services integrated via messages (sometimes called reac‐
tive microservices) are a well-established answer to managing complexity across
multiple applications or business domains. But it’s not always obvious how to
make them fit with the established tools of the Python world—Flask, Django,
Celery, and so on.

Don’t be put off if you’re not working with (or interested in) micro‐
services. The vast majority of the patterns we discuss, including
much of the event-driven architecture material, is absolutely appli‐
cable in a monolithic architecture.

Our aim with this book is to introduce several classic architectural patterns and show
how they support TDD, DDD, and event-driven services. We hope it will serve as a
reference for implementing them in a Pythonic way, and that people can use it as a
first step toward further research in this field.

Who Should Read This Book

Here are a few things we assume about you, dear reader:

• You’ve been close to some reasonably complex Python applications.

• You’ve seen some of the pain that comes with trying to manage that complexity.
• You don’t necessarily know anything about DDD or any of the classic application
architecture patterns.

We structure our explorations of architectural patterns around an example app,

building it up chapter by chapter. We use TDD at work, so we tend to show listings of
tests first, followed by implementation. If you’re not used to working test-first, it may

Preface | xi
feel a little strange at the beginning, but we hope you’ll soon get used to seeing code
“being used” (i.e., from the outside) before you see how it’s built on the inside.
We use some specific Python frameworks and technologies, including Flask, SQL‐
Alchemy, and pytest, as well as Docker and Redis. If you’re already familiar with
them, that won’t hurt, but we don’t think it’s required. One of our main aims with this
book is to build an architecture for which specific technology choices become minor
implementation details.

A Brief Overview of What You’ll Learn

The book is divided into two parts; here’s a look at the topics we’ll cover and the chap‐
ters they live in.

Part I, Building an Architecture to Support Domain Modeling

Domain modeling and DDD (Chapters 1 and 7)
At some level, everyone has learned the lesson that complex business problems
need to be reflected in code, in the form of a model of the domain. But why does
it always seem to be so hard to do without getting tangled up with infrastructure
concerns, our web frameworks, or whatever else? In the first chapter we give a
broad overview of domain modeling and DDD, and we show how to get started
with a model that has no external dependencies, and fast unit tests. Later we
return to DDD patterns to discuss how to choose the right aggregate, and how
this choice relates to questions of data integrity.
Repository, Service Layer, and Unit of Work patterns (Chapters 2, 4, and 5)
In these three chapters we present three closely related and mutually reinforcing
patterns that support our ambition to keep the model free of extraneous depen‐
dencies. We build a layer of abstraction around persistent storage, and we build a
service layer to define the entrypoints to our system and capture the primary use
cases. We show how this layer makes it easy to build thin entrypoints to our sys‐
tem, whether it’s a Flask API or a CLI.
Some thoughts on testing and abstractions (Chapters 3 and 6)
After presenting the first abstraction (the Repository pattern), we take the oppor‐
tunity for a general discussion of how to choose abstractions, and what their role
is in choosing how our software is coupled together. After we introduce the Ser‐
vice Layer pattern, we talk a bit about achieving a test pyramid and writing unit
tests at the highest possible level of abstraction.

xii | Preface
Part II, Event-Driven Architecture
Event-driven architecture (Chapters 8–11)
We introduce three more mutually reinforcing patterns: the Domain Events,
Message Bus, and Handler patterns. Domain events are a vehicle for capturing the
idea that some interactions with a system are triggers for others. We use a mes‐
sage bus to allow actions to trigger events and call appropriate handlers. We move
on to discuss how events can be used as a pattern for integration between services
in a microservices architecture. Finally, we distinguish between commands and
events. Our application is now fundamentally a message-processing system.
Command-query responsibility segregation (Chapter 12)
We present an example of command-query responsibility segregation, with and
without events.
Dependency injection (Chapter 13)
We tidy up our explicit and implicit dependencies and implement a simple
dependency injection framework.

Addtional Content
How do I get there from here? (Epilogue)
Implementing architectural patterns always looks easy when you show a simple
example, starting from scratch, but many of you will probably be wondering how
to apply these principles to existing software. We’ll provide a few pointers in the
epilogue and some links to further reading.

Example Code and Coding Along

You’re reading a book, but you’ll probably agree with us when we say that the best
way to learn about code is to code. We learned most of what we know from pairing
with people, writing code with them, and learning by doing, and we’d like to re-create
that experience as much as possible for you in this book.
As a result, we’ve structured the book around a single example project (although we
do sometimes throw in other examples). We’ll build up this project as the chapters
progress, as if you’ve paired with us and we’re explaining what we’re doing and why at
each step.
But to really get to grips with these patterns, you need to mess about with the code
and get a feel for how it works. You’ll find all the code on GitHub; each chapter has its
own branch. You can find a list of the branches on GitHub as well.

Preface | xiii
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
 CHAPTER XIX
Waterloo
(1815)

“The history of a battle is not unlike the history of a ball. Some

individuals may recollect all the little events of which the great result is
the battle lost or won; but no individual can recollect the order in which,
or the exact moment at which they occurred, which makes all the
difference as to their value or importance.”
Wellington.

T
he British General had already sent word to Blücher that he
was prepared to fight Napoleon if the Prussian Commander
could see his way to send him one army-corps, the
assistance of which he deemed imperative. He did not receive a
reply until the early hours of the 18th, and it was in the affirmative.
He promised Bülow’s corps, which would march at daybreak against
Napoleon’s right, followed by that of Pirch. Those of Thielmann and
Ziethen would also be sent provided the presence of Grouchy did not
prevent. As events turned out, Thielmann’s corps was sufficient for
this purpose of defending the Dyle against the French Marshal. The
first report from Grouchy received by Napoleon on the 18th was sent
from Gembloux, and contained news up to 10 o’clock on the
previous night, namely, that part of the Prussians had retired
towards Wavre, that Blücher with their centre had fallen back on
Perwez, and a column with artillery had moved in the direction of
92
Namur.
 From another source Napoleon gathered that three bodies of the
Prussians were concentrating at Wavre, vital information which, for
some inexplicable reason, he did not dispatch to Grouchy until 10
a.m. We have it on the authority of Foy, who had fought in Spain,
that at daybreak Napoleon was told that the junction of Wellington
and Blücher was possible. This he refused to believe, stating that
such an event could not take place before the 20th. Grouchy was
ordered to keep up his communications with Napoleon, pushing
before him “those bodies of Prussians which have taken this
direction and which may have stopped at Wavre.” In addition, he
was to “follow those columns which have gone to your right.” Dr
Holland Rose pronounces these instructions as far from clear:
“Grouchy was not bidden to throw all his efforts on the side of
Wavre; and he was not told whether he must attack the enemy at
that town, or interpose a wedge between them and Wellington, or
support Napoleon’s right. Now Napoleon would certainly have
prescribed an immediate concentration of Grouchy’s force towards
the north-west for one of the last two objects, had he believed
Blücher about to attempt a flank march against the chief French
army. Obviously it had not yet entered his thoughts that so daring a
step would be taken by a foe whom he pictured as scattered and
93
demoralized by defeat.”
As Houssaye, one of the most painstaking of historians, says, “It
is necessary to walk over the ground, to perceive its constantly
undulating formation, similar to the billows of a swelling sea.” I have
followed his advice for the purposes of the present volume. The
configuration of the land near the ridge, which was at first the right
centre of the Allies, has been altered somewhat by the excavation of
earth for the celebrated but unsightly Lion Mound, otherwise the
field is much the same as it was in 1815. Major Cotton, who fought
at Waterloo, tells us that on the day of the battle there were
“splendid crops of rye, wheat, barley, oats, beans, peas, potatoes,
tares, and clover; some of these were of great height. There were a
few patches of ploughed ground.” Exactly the same is true now. The
soil which covers the mouldering bones of many a hero yields a
mighty harvest. Practically every inch of it is either pasture or under
cultivation.
By far the most interesting point is the château and farm-house
of Hougoumont. The buildings were then over two centuries old, and
were erected with a view to defence, the garden being strongly
walled on the south and east sides. In 1815 it was replete with
orchard, outbuildings, banked-up hedges, and a chapel. Additional
loop-holes were made by Wellington’s orders, a scaffold was erected
so that the troops could discharge their muskets over the wall, and
the flooring over the south gateway hastily taken up “to enable our
men to fire down upon the enemy should they force the gate which
had been blocked up.” This strong strategic position before the right
flank of the allied line was admirably defended by the light
companies of the second battalions of Coldstream and Foot Guards.
The battle began with a protracted but successful attack by
Napoleon’s brother, Jerome, on the Nassauer and Hanoverian troops,
which held the wood in front of the château. Proud of his triumph,
and contrary to the Emperor’s orders, three attempts to assault the
grim building were made and failed. At length Napoleon made up his
mind to bombard Hougoumont, which he did to some effect, the
chapel and barn blazing fiercely, but its brave defenders never
surrendered. Four days after the battle, Major W. E. Frye visited the
spot. “At Hougoumont,” he says, “where there is an orchard, every
tree is pierced with bullets. The barns are all burned down, and in
the courtyard it is said they have been obliged to burn upwards of a
thousand carcases, an awful holocaust to the War-Demon.”
On one of the outside walls of the little chapel, within which
many gallant soldiers breathed their last, is a bronze tablet erected
in 1907, “to the memory of the brave dead by His Britannic Majesty’s
94
Brigade of Guards and by Comte Charles van der Burch.” The
sacred building has been thoroughly repaired, and the interior white-
washed. The latter is to be regretted, but was incumbent owing to
the vandalism of visitors whose one aim in life apparently is to carve
or scrawl their names upon monuments and buildings.
 Within easy distance is the farm of La Haye Sainte, still used for
the purpose for which it was originally built. If the thick wall which
abuts the road to the Belgian capital is not so strong as it was—and
there are signs of recent repair—the most cursory examination is
sufficient to prove that it offered a strong resistance. La Haye Sainte
was the key of the allied position. It was Napoleon’s ambition to
secure it, together with the farm of Mont St Jean, so that the
enemy’s communications with Brussels and Blücher might be cut off.
Wellington had unwisely left the defence of La Haye Sainte to a
mere handful of men, 376 in all, of the King’s German Legion. The
buildings were attacked on all sides during the eventful day, and it
was not until 6.30 p.m., or thereabouts, when ammunition was
exhausted, that the place fell. Professor Oman points out that the
Emperor should have sent the Guard “to the front en masse” the
moment that happened. This he did not do, and a golden
opportunity was irretrievably lost.
 1. Farm of Mont St. Jean
2. Château of Hougoumont
3. La Belle Alliance Inn
4. Farm of La Haye Sainte
Photographs by C. Hamilton, Hornsey

A little farther up the road, and on the opposite side, is a long,

white-washed building known as the farm of Mont St Jean, the
hamlet of that name being the centre of the position. This was the
chief hospital of the Allies, and once a monastery of the Knights
Templar. Near here the Iron Duke drew up the second line of his
reserve, with three reserve batteries. Napoleon’s headquarters were
on the Belle Alliance height, where he spent the greater part of the
day, and where he kept the Imperial Guard, nick-named “The
Immortals,” in reserve until after 7 p.m. It was not until evening had
given place to night that the French troops were routed.
When you enter La Belle Alliance Inn you are shown “the
historical chamber of Napoleon.” But let me warn visitors who
admire the grotesque painting of “Wellington Meeting Blücher,”
which is nailed to the outside wall, against believing that this is the
scene of the memorable incident. Mutual congratulations took place
before La Belle Alliance was reached, the Duke turning off the high
road leading to the village of Waterloo to meet the rugged old
soldier when he descried him surrounded by his staff.
Within a few hundred yards of the inn is a memorial “to the last
combatants of the Grand Army.” It is by far the most artistic and
apposite of the several monuments on the field. With shattered
wings the French eagle guards the tattered standard of “The
Immortals” on the ground where the last square of Napoleon’s
famous Guard was cut down. “It was a fatality,” said the fallen
Emperor of the West, “for in spite of all, I should have won that
battle.”
Having glanced at the chief objects of interest on the field of
Waterloo, we must now turn our attention to the leading features of
the fight. It is not proposed to enter into minute details, or to
discuss the many vexed points which have been raised from time to
time. Sir Harry Smith, who took part in the battle, issued a word of
warning years ago, which we shall endeavour to bear in mind.
“Every moment was a crisis,” he said, “and the controversialists had
better have left the discussion on the battle-field.”
The morning of Sunday, the 18th June 1815, was dismal, foggy,
and wet. No “Sun of Austerlitz” pierced the low clouds that scudded
across the sky. The state of the weather being then, as now, a
universal topic of conversation and record, we have abundant
documentary evidence on the subject. After this uninteresting, but
not unimportant, fact, our witnesses, to a large extent, break down.
It would be much easier to detail what we do not know about the
battle of Waterloo than to put down in black and white what may be
regarded as indisputable truth. For instance, there is an amazing
disparity between the times at which eye-witnesses assert the first
cannon was fired. The Duke says eleven o’clock, Napoleon two hours
later. Alava mentions half-past eleven, Ney one o’clock. Lord Hill,
who used a stop-watch, avers with some semblance of authority,
11.50 a.m. The Emperor certainly delayed giving battle. Soult issued
an order between 4 and 5 a.m. for the army to be “ready to attack
at 9 a.m.” At 11 o’clock Napoleon stated that the soldiers were to be
“in battle array, about an hour after noon.” Scores of volumes and
thousands of pages have been devoted to the subject of the conflict
which concluded Napoleon’s military career. It seems fairly
reasonable to suppose that after the lapse of one hundred years any
further research, although it may throw valuable sidelights on the
battle, will not solve the problem. We have the Duke’s assurance
that “it is impossible to say when each important occurrence took
place, nor in what order.” To a would-be narrator he wrote, “I
recommend you to leave the battle of Waterloo as it is,” to another,
“the Duke entertains no hopes of ever seeing an account of all its
details which shall be true,” and again, “I am really disgusted with
and ashamed of all that I have seen of the battle of Waterloo.” That
being so, it is not purposed to view it from a critical standpoint, but
merely to detail the leading events of the day as these are generally
accepted.
The ridge on which Napoleon posted his forces in three lines,
with a reserve of 11,000 troops behind the centre, was opposite
Mont St Jean, with the farm of La Belle Alliance, on the high road
from Charleroi to Brussels, in the centre. The number of troops at
his immediate disposal was 74,000, and they occupied a front of
about two miles. The spectacle as the French troops deployed “was
magnificent,” Napoleon afterwards averred, not without a touch of
imagination, “and the enemy, who was so placed as to behold it
down to the last man, must have been struck by it: the army must
have seemed to him double in number what it really was.”
Just before the conflict began there was scarcely a mile between
the French and Wellington’s 67,000 troops, who were posted across
the high roads leading respectively from Charleroi and Nivelles to
Brussels, just in front of Mont St Jean, where they cross. His right
extended to Merbe Braine, and his left, which he considered was
protected by the advancing Prussians, was to the westward of the
high road. The army was drawn up in two lines, the second of which
was composed entirely of cavalry under Lord Uxbridge. To the left
Wellington held the villages of La Haye, Papelotte, and Smohain;
Hougoumont was before his right, La Haye Sainte in front of the
centre, and all were occupied by his troops. His reserves, numbering
about 17,000, were unseen by the enemy owing to the formation of
the ground, and were posted behind his centre and right. At the rear
was the forest of Soignes, through which he could retreat if
necessary. At Hal, nine miles away, the corps of Prince Frederick of
Orange and two brigades of Colville’s division, some 14,000 men in
all, were stationed. They took no part in the battle. Their presence
at so great a distance was due to the somewhat unnecessary anxiety
of Wellington, as after events proved, regarding the right flank. The
Allies’ guns numbered 156, those of the French 246.
Wellington displayed extraordinary activity, and commanded in
person. Napoleon relied on his subordinates far more than was usual
with him, and seemed to take little direct interest in the fighting. He
sat in a chair; his antagonist rode about throughout the day. “It is
hardly possible,” says Lord William Lennox, one of his aides-de-
camp, “to describe the calm manner in which the hero gave his
orders and watched the movements and attacks of the enemy. In
the midst of danger, bullets whistling close about him, round shot
ploughed the ground he occupied, and men and horses falling on
every side, he sat upon his favourite charger, Copenhagen, as
collectedly as if he had been reviewing the Household Troops in
Hyde Park.”
Although it would be foolish to endeavour to accurately divide
the battle in different parts as one would do a sum, for the simple
reason that fighting was going on all the time and the entire armies
of the combatants were not used in any given moment, there were
five more or less distinct attacks made by the French which may be
useful as keys, viz.: (1) the diversion against Hougoumont, which
opened the battle; (2) the attack against Wellington’s left-centre; (3)
the cavalry attack on the right-centre; (4) a second attempt with
infantry and cavalry having a similar object, and an infantry attack
against the enemy’s left; (5) the charge of the Imperial Guard.

The Desperate Stand of the Guards at Hougoumont

R. Caton Woodville
 The main attack was against the British left and centre, but by
way of diversion an attempt was first made on the wood of
Hougoumont, which was carried after so determined a resistance
that Alison, the historian, afterwards counted no fewer than twenty-
two shots in a tree less than six inches in diameter; fairly conclusive
evidence of the death-dealing shower faced by the Nassauers and
Hanoverians defending the copse and of the vigour of the enemy.
The château was then attacked, contrary to orders, by Jerome
Bonaparte, and brilliantly repulsed by the light companies of the
95
second battalions of Coldstream and Foot Guards. Several
attempts were afterwards made to secure the place, and dead
bodies lay piled in heaps, but those within held it from the beginning
to the end of the battle, although Wellington found it necessary to
reinforce the men who were upholding Britain’s honour so
determinedly. The orchard was captured and regained, howitzers
battered the stout walls, the building was set on fire, the door of the
courtyard was burst open and shut in the face of the French. These
deeds were performed by the fellows of whom Napoleon had spoken
earlier in the day as “breakfast for us!”
It was not until about half-past one o’clock, when a black,
moving mass was seen on the wooded heights of St Lambert that
the Emperor really bestirred himself. Napoleon looked through his
glass in the direction of the object on which nearly all eyes were
strained. Some of his officers thought it a body of troops, some
suggested Prussians, others Grouchy. “I think,” remarked Soult, “it is
five or six thousand men, probably part of Grouchy’s army.” In reality
it was the advanced guard of Bülow’s troops, and the Emperor
shortly afterwards heard from the lips of a prisoner that at least
30,000 men were approaching to assist Wellington. However, some
light horsemen were sent towards Frischermont to observe the
96
Prussians, and a postscript was added to a dispatch already
penned to Grouchy, begging him to “lose not an instant in drawing
near and joining us, in order to crush Bülow, whom you will catch in
the very act.”
 Without delay Napoleon launched D’Erlon’s corps in four columns
totalling nearly 20,000 men against the enemy’s left-centre, Ney in
command. They were supported by far too few cavalry. The
Emperor’s idea was to take La Haye Sainte, break through the Allied
line, and gain Mont St Jean. This operation, if successful, would
compel Wellington to abandon his communications with the Belgian
capital and change his formation. In addition, it would place the
French between his army and the Prussians. Bylandt’s Dutch-
Belgians, who were nearest to the enemy and consequently more
exposed to the covering fire of seventy-eight guns and the shots of
the skirmishers, took to their heels as D’Erlon’s divisions, frantically
97
yelling “Vive l’Empereur!” approached the front line. The brigades
of Pack and Kempt were at once brought forward by Picton. They
stood firm and poured death into the oncoming columns, receiving
them, as they appeared on the crest of the ridge, with fixed
bayonets.
The Earl of Uxbridge, who was in command of the cavalry,
realizing that the position was still one of considerable danger, then
ordered Ponsonby’s Union Brigade—the 1st Royal Dragoons, Scots
Greys, and Inniskillings—to charge. It burst upon the French with
tremendous force and decided the issue.
Several thousands of the enemy were killed or wounded, 8000
taken prisoners, a number of guns silenced, and two eagles
captured.
The story of how the colours of the French 45th Regiment were
secured by Serjeant Ewart, a magnificent specimen of a man, over
six feet in height, who served in the Greys, is best told in his own
modest language. “It was in the charge I took the eagle from the
enemy,” he says; “he and I had a hard contest for it; he made a
thrust at my groin, I parried it off and cut him down through the
head. After this a lancer came at me; I threw the lance off by my
right side, and cut him through the chin and upwards through the
teeth. Next, a foot-soldier fired at me, and then charged me with his
bayonet, which I also had the good luck to parry, and then I cut him
down through the head; thus ended the contest. As I was about to
follow my regiment, the General said, ‘My brave fellow, take that to
the rear; you have done enough till you get quit of it.’ I took the
eagle to the ridge, and afterwards to Brussels.”
We have also the record of Captain Clark Kennedy, of the Royal
Dragoons, regarding the capture of the eagle of the 105th Regiment.
“I was,” he relates, “in command of the centre squadron of the Royal
Dragoons in this charge; while following up the attack, I perceived a
little to my left, in the midst of a body of infantry, an eagle and
colour, which the bearer was making off with towards the rear. I
immediately gave the order to my squadron, ‘Right shoulders
forward!’ at the same time leading direct upon the eagle and calling
out to the men with me to secure the colour; the instant I got within
reach of the officer who carried the eagle, I ran my sword into his
right side, and he staggered and fell, but did not reach the ground
on account of the pressure of his companions: as the officer was in
the act of falling, I called out a second time to some men close
behind me, ‘Secure the colour, it belongs to me.’ The standard
coverer, Corporal Styles, and several other men rushed up, and the
eagle fell across my horse’s head against that of Corporal Styles’s. As
it was falling, I caught the fringe of the flag with my left hand, but
could not at first pull up the eagle: at the second attempt, however,
I succeeded. Being in the midst of French troops, I attempted to
separate the eagle from the staff, to put it into the breast of my
coatee, but it was too firmly fixed. Corporal Styles said, ‘Sir, don’t
break it’; to which I replied, ‘Very well; carry it off to the rear as fast
as you can.’ He did so.”
Unfortunately the victors were too eager, and instead of
returning they continued until they were in the French lines, thus
enabling Napoleon to “turn the tables.” His reserve squadrons
robbed the British ranks of 1000 brave men, including Ponsonby.
More would have fallen had not Vandeleur’s Light Cavalry Brigade
checked the enemy.
 Picton was dead, shot at the head of his men. “When you hear
of my death,” the latter had previously remarked to a comrade, “you
will hear of a bloody day.” He had “fallen gloriously at the head of his
division, maintaining a position which, if it had not been kept, would
98
have altered the fate of the day.”
The following account of the magnificent charge of Ponsonby’s
Union Brigade, from the pen of James Armour, Rough-rider to the
Scots Greys, who took part in it, gives some idea of the work
performed:
“Orders were now given that we were to prepare to charge. We
gave our countrymen in front of us three hearty huzzas, and waving
our swords aloft in the air, several swords were struck with balls
while so doing; and I must not forget the piper—

The piper loud and louder blew,

The balls of all denominations quick and quicker flew.

The Highlanders were then ordered to wheel back—I think by

sections, but I am not certain: infantry words of command differ
from the cavalry. When they had, and were wheeling back
imperfectly, we rushed through them; at the same time they
huzzaed us, calling out, ‘Now, my boys—Scotland for ever!’ I must
own it had a thrilling effect upon me. I am certain numbers of them
were knocked over by the horses: in our anxiety we could not help
it. Some said ‘I didna think ye wad hae sair’d me sae’—catching hold
of our legs and stirrups, as we passed, to support themselves. When
we got clear through the Highlanders (92nd) we were now on the
charge, and a short one it was. A cross road being in our way, we
leaped the first hedge gallantly; crossed the road, and had to leap
over another hedge. At this time the smoke from the firing on both
sides made it so that we could not see distinctly. We had not
charged far—not many yards, till we came to a column. We were
pretty well together as yet, although a great number fell about that
cross road. We were in the column in a very short time (making
pretty clean work). We still pushed forward, at least as many as
could—a number had dropped off by this time—and soon came to
another column. They cried out, ‘Prisoners!’ and threw down their
arms, and stripped themselves of their belts (I think it is part of the
French discipline to do so), and ran to our rear. Ay, they ran like
hares. We still pushed on, and came upon another column; and
some of them went down on their knees, calling out ‘Quarter!’ in a
very supplicatory way....
“We now got amongst the guns, the terrible guns, which had
annoyed us so much. Such slaughtering!—men cut down and run
through, horses houghed, harness cut, and all rendered useless.
Some, who were judges of such work, reckoned we had made a very
good job of it. Amongst the guns—I think six or seven in number, all
brass—that I was engaged with, mostly all the men were cut down,
and the horses, most of them, if not all, were houghed. While we
were at work amongst these guns, never thinking but, when we
were done with it, we would have nothing to do but to return from
where we came; but I must own I was very much surprised, when
we began to retrace our steps, when what should we behold coming
away across betwixt us and our own army but a great number of
these cuirassiers and lancers, the first I ever beheld in my life, who
were forming up in order to cut off our retreat; but, nothing
daunted, we faced them manfully. We had none to command us
now, but every man did what he could. ‘Conquer or die!’ was the
word. When the regiment returned from the charge mentioned, the
troops that I belonged to did not muster above one or two sound
men (unwounded) belonging to the front rank. Indeed the whole
troop did not muster above a dozen; there were upwards of twenty
of the front rank killed, and the others wounded.”
Meanwhile the farm of La Haye Sainte, held by a detachment of
the German Legion under Major Baring, had been the object of
assault by a French division detached for that purpose, and the
defenders were driven from the orchard. Reinforcements were sent
forward by Wellington, followed by additional cavalry by Napoleon.
The cuirassiers were met by Lord Edward Somerset’s Brigade, led by
the Earl of Uxbridge, and driven back after a furious struggle for
supremacy. Not until the last pinch of powder was spent and several
determined attempts had been made to secure the place, did the
brave fellows vacate their position to D’Erlon’s infantry, between six
and seven o’clock.
Towards the close of the afternoon Milhaud’s cuirassiers,
supported by light cavalry and dragoons, attacked the British right-
centre. Wellington at once formed his troops in squares. When the
crash came they stood firm and unbroken.
The Commander-in-Chief lost not a moment. The heavy brigade
of Lord Edward Somerset was flung against the Frenchmen and
99
drove them from the ridge. The artillery flamed destruction.
Charge followed charge, thirteen in all, but the British squares
remained steady, although continually reduced. Nearly all
Wellington’s cavalry were pressed into service, and with the
exception of a solitary Dutch-Belgian division, all his infantry reserve
was employed. An officer who served in Halkett’s brigade has left a
vivid account of this part of the battle.
“Hougoumont and its wood,” he writes, “sent up a broad flame
through the dark masses of smoke that overhung the field; beneath
this cloud the French were indistinctly visible. Here a waving mass of
long red feathers could be seen; there, gleams as from a sheet of
steel showed that the cuirassiers were moving; 400 cannon were
belching forth fire and death on every side; the roaring and shouting
were indistinguishably commixed—together they gave me an idea of
a labouring volcano. Bodies of infantry and cavalry were pouring
down on us, and it was time to leave contemplation, so I moved
towards our columns, which were standing up in square.... As I
entered the rear face of our square I had to step over a body, and
looking down, recognised Harry Beere, an officer of our Grenadiers,
who about an hour before shook hands with me, laughing, as I left
the columns.... The tear was not dry on my cheek when poor Harry
was no longer thought of. In a few minutes after, the enemy’s
cavalry galloped up and crowned the crest of our position. Our guns
100
were abandoned, and they formed between the two brigades,
about a hundred paces in our front. Their first charge was
magnificent. As soon as they quickened their trot into a gallop, the
cuirassiers bent their heads so that the peaks of their helmets looked
like vizors, and they seemed cased in armour from the plume to the
saddle. Not a shot was fired till they were within thirty yards, when
the word was given, and our men fired away at them. The effect
was magical. Through the smoke we could see helmets falling,
cavaliers starting from their seats with convulsive springs as they
received our balls, horses plunging and rearing in the agonies of
fright and pain, and crowds of the soldiery dismounted, part of the
squadron in retreat, but the more daring remainder backing their
horses to force them on our bayonets. Our fire soon disposed of
these gentlemen. The main body re-formed in our front, and rapidly
and gallantly repeated their attacks. In fact, from this time (about
four o’clock) till near six, we had a constant repetition of these brave
but unavailing charges. There was no difficulty in repulsing them,
but our ammunition decreased alarmingly. At length an artillery
wagon galloped up, emptied two or three casks of cartridges into the
square, and we were all comfortable....
“Though we constantly thrashed our steel-clad opponents, we
found more troublesome customers in the round shot and grape,
which all this time played on us with terrible effect, and fully
avenged the cuirassiers. Often as the volleys created openings in our
square would the cavalry dash on, but they were uniformly
unsuccessful. A regiment on our right seemed sadly disconcerted,
and at one moment was in considerable confusion. Halkett rode out
to them, and seizing their colour, waved it over his head, and
restored them to something like order, though not before his horse
was shot under him. At the height of their unsteadiness we got the
order to ‘right face’ to move to their assistance; some of the men
mistook it for ‘right about face,’ and faced accordingly, when old
Major M‘Laine, 73rd, called out, ‘No, my boys, its “right face”; you’ll
never hear the right about as long as a French bayonet is in front of
you!’”
At Planchenoit, in the rear of the French centre, Lobau and his
10,000 men were doing their upmost to prevent Bülow with three
times that number of troops from succouring Wellington. The French
held the village for two hours, and then saw it fall into the hands of
the enemy, but only for a time. Some of the Young Guard and three
batteries of artillery had been sent by the Emperor to support Lobau,
and when they arrived the scales again turned in favour of the
French. While this body was held in check, Napoleon’s infantry had
suffered near Hougoumont, but La Haye Sainte had fallen, as
already noticed. Had Napoleon sent reinforcements to Ney he might
have won the battle, but he hesitated to use his remaining reserves.
Before anything further was done, Wellington had made fresh
dispositions, and Ziethen’s men, who had marched by way of Ohain,
were on the field.
 Charge of the Scots Greys at Waterloo
R. Caton Woodville

Six battalions of the Middle Guard and two battalions of the Old
101
Guard were at last sent forward. As they crossed the open ground
between Hougoumont and the high road the artillery played sad
havoc with some of them, but behind the crest of the ridge was
Maitland’s brigade of the Foot Guards, led by Wellington, himself.
“Up, Guards, and make ready!” he shouted, and ere the first column
was upon them the British infantry had dealt a deadly fire into its
ranks which made it pause. The second column was caught in flank
by Adam’s Brigade. Then two brigades of British cavalry charged,
and although the celebrated Imperial Guards endeavoured to hold
their own they were forced back. Blücher, who had arrived at a most
opportune moment, carried the position occupied by the French right
at Papelotte and La Haye with Ziethen’s corps. The whole Allied line
then advanced, the heights were carried, and Napoleon’s last army,
on the victory of which he had staked his all, was scattered. The
battle of Waterloo was won. “My plan,” said the Commander-in-
Chief, “was to keep my ground until the Prussians appeared, and
then to attack the French position; and I executed my plan.”
Throughout the night the Prussians followed up the defeated
legions, which got across the Sambre on the 19th. Some 30,000 of
Napoleon’s men were killed or wounded, and 13,000 of the Allied
army, more than half of whom were British. On the 22nd June 1815,
the fallen Emperor abdicated in favour of his son; on the 7th July the
Allies entered Paris in triumph, and eight days later Napoleon
surrendered to Captain Maitland, of H.M.S. Bellerophon.

The Desolator desolate!

The Victor overthrown!
The Arbiter of others fate
A Suppliant for his own!
Byron.
 CHAPTER XX
Wellington the Statesman
(1815–52)

“It is the duty of all to look our difficulties in the face and to lay the
ground for getting the better of them.”
Wellington.

W
hile the good folk of London were listening to the guns of
the Tower and of the Park, which told of the Waterloo
victory, and the joyful news was percolating to the
smallest hamlet, Wellington was fighting a battle in which neither
sword nor gun was involved. It was one of diplomacy, and he proved
the conqueror. Blücher, armed with the Declaration of the 13th
March 1815 to the effect that “Napoleon Bonaparte is put beyond
the pale of social and civil relations, and as enemy and disturber of
the repose of the world, he is delivered over to public vengeance,”
was for seizing the fallen Emperor and shooting him as an outlaw at
102
Vincennes, the scene of the Duc d’Enghien tragedy. The
bloodthirsty Prussian asked for Wellington’s views on the matter. He
received them without delay, and expressed in such a way that
Blücher must have felt thoroughly ashamed of himself, if only for a
passing moment. “They had both acted too distinguished a part in
the recent transactions to become executioners,” the Duke wrote.
This single sentence reveals the sterling uprightness of the man and
his hatred of unnecessary bloodshed. Even supposing that he had
received authority for the carrying out of such a measure, it is
extremely doubtful whether Wellington would have concurred in his
colleague’s wish. Blücher sneered—and accepted the decision.
Wellington also found himself in disagreement with the Prussian
view regarding the bridge of Jena at Paris, which commemorated the
crushing Prussian defeat of October 1806. Blücher, with true patriotic
zeal as it seemed to him, was for blowing it to pieces. Wellington
regarded the idea as foolish, and he carried his point. It would have
been a bitter day for the Capital had Blücher been allowed to work
his will. The Prussian Commander insisted on levying a contribution
on the city of Paris of 100,000,000 francs. Wellington upset the
scheme by insisting that the question was one for the Allied
sovereigns to arrange. For the third time vindictive Blücher had to
give in.

When the Provisional Government appealed to the Duke with

reference to Napoleon’s successor, he bluntly told them that “the
best security for Europe was the restoration of the King,” namely,
Louis XVIII, and that he should be recalled “without loss of time, so
as to avoid the appearance of the measure having been forced upon
them by the allies.”
When the Exile King returned to Paris the enormous demands of
certain of the Powers, particularly of Austria and Prussia, had to be
discussed. Had it not been for the resistance of Castlereagh,
Wellington, and Nesselrode, extensive partitions undoubtedly would
have resulted. As finally settled by the Second Treaty of Paris,
concluded on the 20th November, the territory of France was
reduced to practically the limits of 1790, an indemnity of
700,000,000 francs was determined for the expenses of the war, and
an army of occupation not exceeding 150,000 troops under the Duke
was to garrison the chief frontier fortresses, including Valenciennes,
Cambray, Quesnoy, Maubeuge, and Landrecy, for a maximum period
of five years, the expense being met by the French Government. The
magnificent art treasures, which Napoleon had gloried in plundering,
were to be returned to their rightful owners. That is why the
celebrated bronze horses of St Mark may be seen on the great
Venetian Cathedral to-day, and the wonderful “Descent from the
Cross,” by Rubens, admired in the Cathedral of Antwerp, from
whence it had been taken to find a temporary resting-place in the
Louvre.
An excellent account of the Army of Occupation is given by a
Scotsman who visited Paris shortly after the battle of Waterloo.
There were comparatively few Austrians, the majority of them being
in the south of France, but those seen by the writer of Paul’s Letters
to his Kinsfolk were “bulky men” who “want the hardy and athletic
look of the British, Russians, or Prussians.” The Russian infantry
were “fine, firm, steady-looking men, clean, handsome, but by no
means remarkable for stature.” The artillery were “in the highest
possible order,” the cavalry “remarkably fine men,” the appearance of
the Cossacks “prepossessing.” The Prussians, while never having
been accused of “gross violence,” succeeded in wrecking the
Château de Montmorency, where a large body of them was
quartered. Camp-kettles were boiled with picture-frames, and the
furniture stripped by female camp followers. Paul notes that the
Prussian officers were the principal customers of the expensive
restaurants and theatres, but that many British officers of rank had
gone so far as to decline the quarters appointed them in private
houses. He bestows much praise on Wellington for his discipline and
justice: “The strong sense and firmness for which the Duke is as
much distinguished as for skill in arms and bravery in the field of
battle, easily saw that the high and paramount part which Britain
now holds in Europe, that preeminence which, in so many instances,
has made her and her delegates the chosen mediators when
disputes occurred amongst the allied powers, depends entirely on
our maintaining pure and sacred the national character for good
faith and disinterested honour. The slightest complaint, therefore, of
want of discipline or oppression perpetrated by a British officer or
soldier has instantly met with reprehension and punishment, and the
result has been the reducing the French to the cruel situation of
hating us without having any complaint to justify themselves for
doing so, even in their own eyes.... The soldiers, without exception,
both British and foreigners, conduct themselves in public with civility,
are very rarely to be seen intoxicated, though the means are so
much within reach; and, considering all the irritating circumstances
that exist, few quarrels occur betwixt them and the populace. Very
strong precautions are, however, taken in case of any accidental or
premeditated commotion.”
Wellington threw the whole weight of his influence on the side of
moderation. Prussia was all for partition, for getting her territorial
“pound of flesh,” but the calmer statesmanship of the diplomatists
already mentioned, especially of Wellington, won the day. The
Duke’s policy is clearly outlined in his dispatch of the 11th August,
which, in the opinion of Dr Holland Rose, “deserves to rank among
his highest titles to fame.”
Wellington states that while France has been left “in too great
strength for the rest of Europe, weakened as all the powers of
Europe have been by the wars in which they have been engaged
with France,” his objection to the demand of a “great cession from
France upon this occasion is, that it will defeat the object which the
Allies have held out to themselves in the present and the preceding
wars.” He then proceeds to detail what were, in his opinion, the
various causes which led to so much bloodshed: “to put an end to
the French Revolution, to obtain peace for themselves and their
people, to have the power of reducing their overgrown military
establishments, and the leisure to attend to the internal concerns of
their several nations, and to improve the situation of their people.
The Allies took up arms against Buonaparte because it was certain
that the world could not be at peace as long as he should possess,
or should be in a situation to attain, supreme power in France; and
care must be taken,” he adds, “in making the arrangements
consequent upon our success, that we do not leave the world in the
same unfortunate situation respecting France that it would have
been in if Buonaparte had continued in possession of his power.”
 The Duke then goes on to review the situation. If Louis XVIII
were to refuse the cession of territory, his people would undoubtedly
support him, and the Allies “might take the fortresses and provinces
which might suit them, but there would be no genuine peace for the
world, no nation could disarm, no Sovereign could turn his attention
from the affairs of this country.” If the King consented to the
partition, “which, from all that one hears, is an event by no means
probable, the Allies must be satisfied, and must retire; but I would
appeal to the experience of the transactions of last year for a
statement of the situation in which we should find ourselves.” France
was then reduced to her limits of 1792, and “the Allies were obliged
to maintain each in the field half of the war establishment stipulated
in the treaty of Chaumont, in order to guard their conquests, and
what had been ceded to them.” In France “the general topic of
conversation was the recovery of the left bank of the Rhine as the
frontier of France.” Wellington therefore preferred “the temporary
occupation of some of the strong places, and to maintain for a time
a strong force in France, both at the expense of the French
Government, and under strict regulation, to the permanent cession
of even all the places which in my opinion ought to be occupied for a
time. These measures will not only give us, during the period of
occupation, all the military security which could be expected from
the permanent cession, but, if carried into execution in the spirit in
which they are conceived, they are in themselves the bond of
peace.”
During the remainder of his stay in France, broken by a short
visit to England in 1816, Wellington was far from popular, and one or
two attempts were made on his life. It was scarcely to be expected
that a man who had been pre-eminently successful in the field
against the nation’s armies would be lauded as a popular hero, but,
as we have seen, he had helped to save the country from a bitter
and vindictive humiliation. He finally returned home in 1818, when
the Army of Occupation evacuated France with the consent of the
Powers at the request of its Commander-in-Chief. He never again
drew his sword in warfare, but he maintained a commanding
position in the affairs of Great Britain until the close of his long life.
His honours and orders were now varied and many. England and
foreign countries honoured themselves by honouring him. Parliament
voted him £200,000 for the erection or purchase of Strathfieldsaye,
Hampshire, and the estate granted to him as Prince of Waterloo by
the King of the Netherlands was valued at £4000 per annum. On his
return to England he became Master of the Ordnance, which entitled
him to a seat in the Cabinet.
In 1821 Wellington revisited the scene of his most famous battle
with George IV, and afterwards proceeded to Verona to represent,
with Lord Strangford, Great Britain at the Congress about to be held
there to determine the attitude of England, France, Russia, Austria,
and Prussia regarding various matters, including the insurrection in
Greece and the relations of Russia and Turkey in the matter, the
evacuation of Piedmont and Naples by the Austrian troops, the slave
trade, and more particularly the unhappy state of affairs in Spain,
which country was then in a state of civil war. Should the five Powers
send armed assistance to Ferdinand, whom Wellington’s victories in
the Peninsula had replaced on the throne? Answering for his own
country the Duke maintained the principle of non-interference
excepting in a case of necessity. In this matter Great Britain stood
alone, and the Duke had to run the gauntlet of fierce criticism on his
return to England.
His next continental journey was in 1826, when he was sent on
a special mission to Petersburg on the accession of the Emperor
Nicholas, with the object of arriving at a satisfactory settlement of
the projected Russian attack on Turkey over the Greek difficulty. In
this he was not entirely successful, for after events proved that he
had only succeeded in staving off the evil day.
On the death of the Duke of York in the following year,
Wellington was appointed Commander-in-Chief, retaining his other
office, which controlled merely the artillery and engineers.
 A month later Canning became Prime Minister, and the Duke was
asked to continue as a member of the Cabinet. This request he not
only declined, but surrendered his two important offices as well.
Mutual suspicion seems to have been the cause of this unexpected
event, certainly not jealousy, for Wellington said that he should be
“worse than mad if he had ever thought of it for a moment,” the “it”
referring to his possible appointment as First Lord of the Treasury.
Canning did not live long to enjoy the sweets of office, for he died
on the following August, and was succeeded by “Prosperity”
Robinson, otherwise Lord Goderich, who resigned at the beginning
of 1828.
The Duke, once again Commander-in-Chief, was sent for by
George IV, and requested to form a Ministry. He obeyed with the
instinct of a soldier when ordered by his superior officer, rather than
as a keen politician about to have his highest ambition gratified.
Wellington was a Tory, and the political freedom of the Roman
Catholics and the reform of Parliament were the burning questions
of the hour. The Duke was uncertain as to the practical utility of
either, but he was not prepared to go against the known wishes of
the nation so far as the religious question was concerned. After
navigating a sea of difficulties, the Roman Catholic Relief Bill passed
both Houses in the early days of 1829. One of his opponents, the
Earl of Winchilsea, charged Wellington with “breaking in upon the
Constitution of 1688 in order that he might the more effectively,
under the cloak of some outward show of zeal for the Protestant
religion, carry on his insidious designs for the infringement of our
liberties, and the introduction of Popery in every department of the
State.” The Premier requested an apology, which was not
forthcoming, whereupon the former demanded “satisfaction,” in
other words, a duel. Sir Henry Hardinge for Wellington and Lord
Falmouth for Winchilsea were the respective seconds.
103
The meeting took place in Battersea Fields. “Now then,
Hardinge,” said the Duke, “look sharp and step out the ground. I
have no time to waste. Don’t stick him up so near the ditch. If I hit
him he will tumble in.” The signal was given to fire. Noting that his
opponent did not level his pistol on the command being given, the
Duke purposely fired wide, and an instant afterwards Winchilsea
fired in the air. The latter then produced a written sheet which he
called an apology, which had to be altered before it met with
Wellington’s approval. “Good morning, my Lord Winchilsea; good
morning, my Lord Falmouth,” cried the Duke as he saluted with two
fingers, and, mounting his horse, cantered off.
The Duke had a most thankless task during his administration,
so much so that we find him writing, “If I had known in January
1828, one tithe of what I do now, and of what I discovered one
month after I was in office, I should never have been the King’s
Minister, and so have avoided loads of misery. However, I trust God
Almighty will soon determine that I have been sufficiently punished
for my sins and will relieve me from the unlucky lot which has
befallen me. I believe there never was a man who suffered so much
for so little purpose.”
He had almost as much trouble with the King as had Pitt with
George III, and many of his old supporters were indignant with him
over the Relief Bill. Wellington vehemently opposed Parliamentary
Reform in the face of public opinion, with the result that his Ministry
rode to a fall in November 1830.
Two months before he had taken part in the opening ceremony
of the Manchester and Liverpool Railway, the first line to cater for
passenger traffic in the British Empire. He rode in one of the two
trains which made the initial journey, and the fact that they both
went in the same direction was the cause of a lamentable accident
which deprived one of Wellington’s friends of his life. The incident
occurred at Parkside, where the engines stopped to obtain a supply
of water. While the trains were at a standstill, Mr Huskisson, formerly
President of the Board of Trade, got out of the carriage in which he
had been travelling and sought Wellington. A minute or two later the
train on the opposite line started. One of the open doors knocked
him down, and his right leg was crushed by the locomotive. The
Duke and several others ran to the injured man’s assistance, but his
injuries were such that he only survived a few hours.
Wellington was succeeded as First Lord of the Treasury by Earl
Grey, whose Government was speedily defeated by the Reform Bill
which it introduced being rejected by the Lords. Riots broke out in
London and the provinces; William IV “was frightened by the
appearance of the people outside of St James’s”; the celebrated Dr
Arnold wrote that his “sense of the evils of the times, and to what
purpose I am bringing up my children, is overwhelmingly bitter.” The
King implored the Ministers not to hand in their resignation, the
House of Commons carried by a large majority a vote of confidence
in the Government, and the nation showed that it bitterly resented
the action of the Lords. There was an attempt at compromise, but
the concessions were so trivial from Wellington’s point of view that
he declined to take part in the negotiations. After further angry
scenes in the following session Grey resigned on the 9th May 1832.
It was during this trying period of our national history that the
window-panes of Apsley House were stoned and the Duke’s life was
104
threatened.
Once again the King requested Wellington to form a new
administration, and several meetings were held with that idea in
view, but to no purpose. He had to confess that the task was
absolutely impossible: “I felt that my duty to the King required that I
should make a great sacrifice of opinion to serve him, and to save
his Majesty and the country from what I considered a great evil.
Others were not of the same opinion. I failed in performing the
service which I intended to perform....” Several resident members of
Oxford University, including Professor the Rev. John Keble, impressed
by the Duke’s devotion, raised funds for the purpose of a bust to
commemorate his self-denying conduct. This appreciation of
approval greatly pleased Wellington, who announced his intention of
sitting for Chantrey, the celebrated sculptor, or whoever else the
committee might choose, “with the greatest satisfaction.” When Grey
resumed office the Reform Bill was read for a third time and passed,
a number of peers having declared “that in consequence of the
present state of affairs they have come to the resolution of dropping
their further opposition to the Reform Bill, so that it may pass
without delay as nearly as possible in its present shape.” Wellington
quietly left the House. He was no more kindly disposed towards the
Irish Reform Bill, and subjected it to a fire of criticism which did not,
however, preclude it from passing.
One of the most remarkable events of the Duke’s crowded life
occurred in November 1834. When Earl Grey resigned in July 1834,
on which occasion his opponent made a graceful speech to the
effect that there had been no personal hostility in his opposition, the
retiring statesman recommended Lord Melbourne as his successor.
This suggestion met with the King’s approval, but the reign of the
new Administration lasted only until the middle of the following
November. His Majesty sent for Wellington at six in the morning. The
latter refused to form a Cabinet, and recommended Sir Robert Peel,
who was then in Rome. The Duke promised to carry on the
Government during the interim, with the result that he held the
offices of First Lord of the Treasury, Home Secretary, Foreign and
Colonial Secretary, and Secretary at War for nearly a month. On
Peel’s return he appointed his industrious ally Foreign Secretary, a
position he held until the following April, when the Government
resigned. In 1841, in Peel’s second Administration, he occupied a
seat in the Cabinet, without office, and in the following year he was
created Commander-in-Chief for life by patent under the great seal.
During the Chartist agitation Wellington was asked who was to
command the forces in London, where a riot was expected. He
answered, “I can name no one except the Duke of Wellington.” He
organized the arrangements with his usual thoroughness, disposing
his troops to keep them out of sight, and taking prompt measures to
protect important public buildings. Fortunately the excitement died
down, and armed force was not required.
The Duke frequently spent several hours a day at the Horse
Guards. “Speaking from the experience which I had of him,” says
General Sir George Brown, G.C.B., “I should say that the Duke was a
remarkably agreeable man to do business with, because of his clear
and ready decision. However much I may have seen him irritated
and excited, with the subjects which I have repeatedly had to bring
under his notice, I have no recollection of his ever having made use
of a harsh or discourteous expression to me, or of his having
dismissed me without a distinct and explicit answer or decision in
the case under consideration. Like all good men of business, who
consider well before coming to a decision, his Grace was accustomed
to adhere strictly to precedent; to the decisions he may have
previously come to on similar cases. This practice greatly facilitated
the task of those who had to transact business with him, seeing that
all we had to do in concluding our statement of any particular case
was to refer to his decision or some similar one.”
“Everybody writes to me for everything,” he once remarked to
Stanhope. “They know the Duke of Wellington is said to be a good-
natured man, and so at the least they will get an answer.” The Earl,
astonished at the amount of the Duke’s correspondence, ventured to
say that his host might expect to be allowed some rest and
recreation while he was at Walmer. “Rest!” cried the Duke. “Every
other animal—even a donkey—a costermonger’s donkey—is allowed
some rest, but the Duke of Wellington never! There is no help for it.
As long as I am able to go on, they will put the saddle upon my back
and make me go.”
Georgiana, Lady De Ros, who was a frequent visitor at Walmer
Castle and at Strathfieldsaye, relates an incident which has a direct
bearing on this point. “Wellington,” she says, “would tell a story
against himself sometimes, and amused us all quite in his latter days
by the account of various impostures that had been practised upon
him; for years he had helped an imaginary officer’s daughter, paid
for music lessons for her, given her a piano, paid for her wedding
trousseau, for her child’s funeral, etc., etc. At last it came out that
one man was the author of these impostures, ‘and then,’ the Duke
said, ‘an Officer from the Mendicity Society called on me and gave
me such a scolding as I never had before in my life!’”
 In a book inscribed as “A Slight Souvenir of the Season 1845–6”
we find a delightful little glimpse of “the hero of a hundred fights” as
a country gentlemen. “What can be a finer sight than to see the
Duke of Wellington enter the hunting field?” the author asks. “Not
one of those gorgeous spectacles, it is true, such as a coronation, a
review, the Lord Mayor’s Show, or a procession to the Houses of
Parliament—not one of those pompous Continental exhibitions called
a chasse, where armed menials keep back the crowd, and brass
bands proclaim alike the find and finish; but what can be a finer
sight—a sight more genial to the mind of a Briton—than the mighty
Wellington entering the hunting field with a single attendant, making
no more fuss than a country squire? Yet many have seen the sight,
and many, we trust, may yet see it. The Duke takes the country
sport like a country gentleman—no man less the great man than this
greatest of all men; affable to all, his presence adds joy to the
scene. The Duke is a true sportsman, and has long been a supporter
of the Vine and Sir John Cope’s hounds. He kept hounds himself
during the Peninsular War, and divers good stories are related of
them and their huntsman (Tom Crane), whose enthusiasm used
sometimes to carry him in the enemy’s country, a fact that he used
to be reminded of by a few bullets whizzing about his ears.”
Wellington was now the trusted friend of Queen Victoria, who
ever held him in the highest esteem. He was one of the first
105
persons, perhaps actually the first, outside the Royal family and
the medical attendants to see the baby who afterwards became
Edward VII. According to one account he was met outside
Buckingham Palace by Lord Hill, who was informed “All over—fine
boy, very fine boy, almost as red as you Hill.”
Two days after the first anniversary of the birthday of Edward
Albert, Prince of Wales, the Queen and the Prince Consort,
accompanied by the Royal children, journeyed to Walmer Castle to
pay the Duke a visit. An even greater honour was reserved for the
veteran warrior, for on the birth of her Majesty’s third son on the 1st
May 1850, it got noised abroad that the infant was to be called