I recently finished reading The Man Who Broke Napoleon’s Codes, by Mark Urban. This very readable book recounts the progress of one Major George Scovell both as Wellington battled his way across Spain, and as George battled something called the Great Paris Cipher (code) while serving under Wellington as an assistant quartermaster. Wellington won in large part because George won first, but His Grace was parsimonious in praising Scovell. When peace meant Scovell fell on hard times, Wellington apparently did not even acknowledge his cryptographer’s one plea to his old boss for help.
Wellington had a bias against any military system that promoted officers based on merit, and most particularly against officers who had come up through ranks on the basis of outstanding performance. When Scovell widgied his way into an officer’s billet, he had left behind the august position of tailor’s apprentice.
Wellington’s argument was that elevating men who had no connection “with the land,” (meaning ownership of real property), would result in revolution. Exhibit one, of course, was France. Give these base-born guys a taste for power and authority, inure them to violence, and next thing you know, the scum of earth, as Wellington referred to his largely Scottish and Irish recruits, will be breaking down the palace gates.
Throughout the Peninsular campaign, Wellington had first-hand evidence that officers drawn from the peerage could be disastrous in command, and officers risen through the ranks quite talented (and somewhat conversely). Still, he did not change his mind about who should be an officer, and how they should get the job (essentially by buying in). The fact that the French army, with its merit promotion scheme, was pretty much beating the breeches off everybody else was also insufficient to give His Grace pause.
Nothing changed Wellington’s mind, no matter how deadly the bungling of his less competent aristocratic officers (much less his own bungling) became, no matter how great the contribution of his officers from humbler origins.
I contrast Wellington’s intransigence with an exchange I had on social media, on the topic of Wellington’s traffic cones. In downtown Glasgow, you will find an equestrian statue of His Grace, and usually, somebody has put a traffic cone on the duke’s head. His horse gets a few from time to time as well, and sometimes, as many as eight cones will be stacked atop the ducal bean. The constables regularly remove the cones, and in the dark of night, somebody replaces the duke’s millinery.
A commenter was offended that anybody who risked his life to defend his country (Wellington, and he absolutely was in mortal danger on many occasions) should be the subject of ridicule, When it was explained (by me) that this was a Scottish context, that serving under Wellington was much riskier than being Wellington, and in point of fact, the Scots had always been deployed to the scenes of the worst fighting and taken horrible casualties under His Grace… well, the commenter modified her stance. She still didn’t find any humor in the tradition, but she understood why, from a Scottish perspective, traffic cones might have some validity.
She changed her mind. Not radically, not on a major issue, but she could admit of more than one valid perspective.
On the one hand, I don’t expect I will change my values very easily–be kind, tell the truth. You won’t get me to budge very far off that prime directive. But my opinions? My theories of human behavior? My cherished prejudices? I would like to be more like my Facebook friend, who could yield a little in the face of new data, who could accept that reasonable people can differ.
When was the last time you changed your mind? Have you succeeded in changing a mind set on some fixed belief?
PS: A Gentleman in Search of a Wife goes on sale at the retail sites Friday!