History of Dr. Hensey--Election of a Pope--Cardinal Cavalchini
excluded--Rezzonico elected--Taking of Cherbourg, and
Cape Breton--Other Events in America--Disastrous Affair
at St. Cas--The King of Prussia defeats the Russians at
Custrin--Disputes with Holland--Assassination of the King
of Portugal--Attributed to the Jesuits--The Court of
Lisbon--Discovery of the Criminals--Their Punishment--The
English Army in Germany--Prince Ferdinand and Lord George
Sackville--Defeat of the King of Prussia at Hochkirchen--Meeting
of Parliament--Addresses and Votes of Thanks--Army voted--Affair
of Dr. Shebbeare--Pitt’s behaviour to Conway--Disgrace of
Cardinal de Bernis--Character of the Author--His Impartiality.
During these operations, the Parliament of England rose; and
nothing worth notice happened but the conviction of Dr. Hensey, a
poor physician, who had been taken up in the preceding year for a
treasonable correspondence. It appeared that he was a pensioner of
France, who gave him but an hundred a year, and thought it too much;
threatening, in answer to his repeated solicitations of invasion,
that they would withdraw their allowance, unless he found means of
giving them more material intelligence. The threat had such effect,
that he gave them the first notice of the design on Rochfort. How he
obtained it I know not; but his close connexion with D’Abreu, the
Spanish Resident, whose physician he was, and who visited him often
in prison, and obtained his pardon on the very morning that he was
going to execution, made it probable that he was only a tool of that
Minister, known to wish ill to England.
The election of a Pope drew a momentary attention to Rome, which did
not use to be forgotten because Europe was embroiled. Benedict XIV.
was dead. Thirty-four Cardinals wished to raise Cardinal Cavalchini
to the Tiara: but he was disagreeable to the Court of France, which
endeavoured to deal with the Holy Ghost in the more decent way of
intrigue, to prevent his exaltation. Lanti, who had several benefices
in France, was admonished not to vote for him; but Lanti was his
intimate friend, and had the promise of being Secretary of State.
France applied, too, to the Cardinal of York, on whom they had lately
bestowed rich Abbeys: but his obstinacy always found out some virtue
to justify itself; and when they pressed his father to dissuade him
from voting for Cavalchini, young Stuart replied, “He had rather
lose his head than violate his conscience.” For twenty-four hours,
Cavalchini’s party was inflexible. The French Cardinals endeavoured
to get the nomination put off till the arrival of the German Cardinal
Roolt, who was supposed to have the secret of the Court of Vienna:
but all was in vain. The declaration was fixed; when the Cardinal de
Luynes, finding no temperate measures would have any effect, produced
a formal exclusion of Cavalchini. It occasioned great amazement and
disgust. Of late years, no such step had been practised. The friends
of Cavalchini let him for one night enjoy the dream of empire: it
was not till next morning that his friend Lanti went to his cell and
announced the fatal veto. However he received the stroke in private,
his public answer was sensible: he thanked the Court of France for
saving him from the tremendous station of being God’s Vicar upon
earth. The ostensible reason of his exclusion was his attachment to
the King of Sardinia; the true one, his being devoted to the Jesuits.
In the critical situation of religious affairs in France, it was not
thought proper to throw the weight of the Court of Rome into the
scale of those fathers, and to suffer at the head of the Church a man
who had written strongly in favour of the canonization of Cardinal
Bellarmine. It was said, that the same exclusion would have been
urged against Cardinal Durini, had he appeared on the lists before
Cavalchini. Durini’s crime was of a less public nature, but not a
more remissible one: when Nuncio in France, he had refused to visit
Madame Pompadour.
Rezzonico, a simple Venetian bigot, not at all less addicted to the
Jesuits than Cavalchini, ascended the Papal Chair. The revolution of
affairs was singular; the state of Venice had been on the point, just
when the late Pope died, of incurring the penalty of excommunication
for disobedience to the Holy See.
The English Fleet had again sailed from St. Helen’s to attack the
French coast. Prince Edward went on board Mr. Howe’s ship, and
General Blighe led the land forces. They soon anchored before
Cherbourg, landed, and the next day without opposition entered
the town. There they destroyed the bason formed at great expense,
burned some small vessels, and brought away the brass cannon and
mortars, which were reposed for some days in Hyde Park, to the high
amusement of the populace, and then with equal ostentation drawn
through the City and deposited at the Tower. But the news of a much
more considerable conquest arrived at the same time: Cape Breton
was again fallen under the power of England. Admiral Boscawen and
General Amherst, with a Fleet of one hundred and fifty sail and
fourteen thousand men, had appeared before Louisbourg on the 2nd of
June, and by the end of July made themselves masters of the place,
after destroying or taking five men-of-war that lay to cover it. The
bravery of the English and the want of spirit in the French never
appeared in greater opposition: the former making their attacks on
spots which the French deemed impregnable, threw them into utter
dismay; and dictated very quick and unjustifiable submission.
Boscawen’s rough courage was fully known before; Amherst was a cool,
sensible man, whose conduct, now first experienced in command,
shone to great advantage; and the activity of spirit in Wolfe, who
accompanied him, contributed signally to the reduction of the place.
The colours taken there were carried with great parade to St. Paul’s.
The other operations in America were not equally successful. Lord
Howe was killed in a skirmish, in which he gained the advantage,
as the Army was marching against Ticonderoga; before which place
Abercrombie was defeated with the loss of two thousand men, and
from whence he made a precipitate retreat. Colonel Bradstreet,
however, took Fort Frontenac; and General Forbes, Fort Duquesne. The
French, indeed, behaved ill everywhere. The ambitious plans of their
Government, their perfidious breach of treaties, and their airs of
superiority, were not at all supported by genius in their Ministers,
conduct in their officers, or bravery in their troops. The most
remarkable advantage they obtained against us was in an affair, in
which, though the bravery of our officers and troops was gallant and
firm beyond expectation, yet there certainly appeared neither genius
in the Ministers who directed, nor conduct in the Commanders who were
entrusted with the execution--if I may use the term execution--of an
affair, in which there was neither plan nor common sense. This was
the unhappy action at St. Cas.
The Fleet, after leaving Cherbourg, hovered about the coast of
France; and at last the troops were landed on the other side of St.
Maloes, in the bay St. Lunaire. The new Lord Howe contented himself
with setting them on shore; and the weather proving very tempestuous,
he left them there, with directions to come to him at St. Cas by
land. What he left them there to do, or why General Blighe suffered
himself to be left there, no man living could ever tell or guess.
The troops, as if landed on some new-discovered coast of America,
roved about the country for some days, even without artillery, till
they heard that the Duc d’Aiguillon, with a considerable force, was
within a few miles. A retreat to the ships was immediately ordered.
The French advanced, but keeping at a distance till their prey
was sure. Our troops were to descend the rocks; among which they
were no sooner embarrassed, than the French appeared on the rising
grounds above them; and before the Grenadier Guards, who made the
last stand to cover the embarkation, could get on board, the French
fell on them in a hollow way, and made a dreadful slaughter. Yet
the intrepidity of the soldiers and of the young officers of the
Guards was displayed in the most heroic manner--but in vain: many of
the latter fell. General Dury was shot, and fell into the sea. Sir
John Armitage, a young volunteer of fortune, was lost, and several
officers of quality and figure were made prisoners. The folly of
this exploit, the inhumanity of exposing gallant men to carnage
for no end imaginable but to satisfy the obstinate ostentation of
a Minister, who was as much determined to do something as he was
really determined to do well, was contrasted, with great severity,
on our nation, by the tender attentions, politeness, and good-nature
of the Duc d’Aiguillon, who spared his victims the moment he dared
to spare, and comforted and relieved the prisoners and wounded, as
if he had been their own Commander. Such was the conclusion of Mr.
Pitt’s invasions of France, the idleness or fruitlessness of which
took off from the judgment of his other attempts and successes;
though, while this country exists in independence, not even his own
ambition, which prompted his attempts, can detract from the merit of
his undertaking, retrieving, re-establishing, the affairs of Britain.
General Blighe, the passive tool in this Quixotism, was the only
sufferer after their return. He was so ill received, that he found
it necessary to resign his regiment and government, and saw himself
undone by being sent, when a veteran officer of Horse, to command
a naval expedition. He had been actuated, during the course of
these enterprises, by a young Lord Fitz-morrice and the adventurer
Clarke, who diverted himself from the ships with the difficulties his
comrades found in re-embarking. But he was on the point of falling
under the punishment due to his arrogance: depending on his interest
in the General, he had broken the arrest under which he had been
put, for some misdemeanour, by Cunningham, his commanding officer;
the same Cunningham, whose handsome behaviour at Minorca I have
mentioned: at his return from thence he had been preferred by the
Duke, who told him he had been misinformed of his character, and was
sorry he had not sooner known his merit. At their return from St.
Cas, Cunningham insisted on bringing Clarke before a Court-Martial.
The Princess unwisely countenanced the latter, who had made himself
odious to the Army, and who escaped; Cunningham being suddenly
ordered on the expedition to Martinico and Guadaloupe, at the latter
of which places he unfortunately died, when his services were in the
fairest train of being rewarded.
We left the King of Prussia in apprehension of seeing his own
dominions become the theatre of war. To detail his actions would
destroy the idea of their rapidity. He had flown from the siege of
Olmutz to invade Bohemia, attacking his enemies everywhere, while his
Generals could scarce preserve themselves on the defensive. Dohna was
watching the Russians rather than opposing them: Manteuffel could
scarce make a firmer stand even against the Swedes. Prince Henry was
threatened as he covered Dresden. The King, always present where the
nearest danger pressed, appeared before the ruined walls of Custrin,
gave battle to the Russians, and after a bloody contention from nine
in the morning till seven at night, obliged that savage and undaunted
people to retire. Above twenty thousand had fallen,[26] yet slaughter
seemed to inspire them with fierceness rather than with dismay; when
obliged at last to avoid a butchery which they had tempted rather
than repelled, they retired in good order, and even claimed the
honour of the day. The trifling loss suffered by the King’s troops,
and the consequences of the victory, which delivered him from those
barbarians for that campaign, contented a Prince who had been forced
into a hero, and who knew that many such successes were necessary
before he could lay aside the sword. He left Dohna to adjust the
controversy of victory, and marched to the relief of his brother. He
accomplished it by joining him, and Daun retired. The Swedes marched
back with precipitation on the defeat of the Muscovites.
About this time we were on the point of a rupture with Holland.
That country was sunk in power and reputation, laboured with
debts and factions, was influenced by no genius, and had lost all
military spirit. In such a situation, no wonder they were not
desirous of again beholding the Armies of their neighbour King on
the frontiers of Flanders; the only spot where those universal
aspirers, the French, know how to shine. Animated by no zeal of a
common cause, the Dutch, who were determined not to engage on our
side, thought the second step of prudence was to profit of our
calamities. The States winked commercially at supplies furnished
by their merchants to the French colonies, and a little more than
commercially, transported,[27] not only their commodities, but
military stores. Our privateers, as apt to infringe treaties as the
wisest Burgomaster, and who distinguished between friendship and
enmity by no rule but that which constituted contraband goods, made
very free with the ships of our friends employed by our enemies.
Those friends complained with as little modesty as if they had
acted like friends: we replied with firmness, and advised them to
avoid giving provocation. They grew more violent, without growing
more impartial. Their ships were condemned as legal captures. Their
merchants presented remonstrance after remonstrance to the Princess
Gouvernante, pressing her to proceed to more open declarations. She,
who knew that clamour was not power but in its own country, told them
she would not declare, unless they would augment their forces.
The Dutch endeavoured to draw Spain and Denmark, who had suffered in
the same manner from the same causes, though in a less degree, into
an association against what they called our piracies. The Princess
was dying: it was apprehended that her death would let loose all the
interested fury of the Dutch traders. The Duke of Newcastle ordered
Mr. Yorke to make strong promises of satisfaction to Holland: this
was without communicating with Mr. Pitt; who receiving duplicates of
complaints, empowered Mr. Yorke to give assurances of much fainter
complexion. Mr. Yorke answered, that was now too late; he had been
commissioned to give, and had accordingly given encouragement to hope
for fuller redress. Pitt, with becoming warmth, expostulated with
Newcastle, and bade him get out of the scrape as he could. More of
this dispute will appear hereafter.
While Europe was attending to the scenes of blood exhibited by most
of its formidable powers, its attention was called off by an event
very foreign to those struggles. An attempt of assassination was
made on the person of the King of Portugal. One night, as he was
returning in his chaise, with very few attendants, from an affair of
gallantry, he was attacked and shot through the arm: the assassins
thought their work completed. The King was not wounded mortally, and
recovered in a few weeks. The Court’s ignorance of the murderers,
and of the cause of the blow, prompted them to endeavour to conceal
the fact. Their Ministers in foreign Courts were ordered to give out
that the King had had a fall in his palace, had hurt his arm, and
that during his incapacity of signing papers, the Queen would assume
the reins of Government. A tale too ill-concerted, not to divulge the
secret, supposing the assassination of a King could have remained
a secret. Yet the notoriety of the fact led the public to no light
into it. Revenge was undoubtedly the groundwork: but whether the
revenge of an injured husband, of a dishonoured house, or of more
holy murderers, all the curiosity of the public could not ascertain.
The lady, supposed in question, was of illustrious blood--yet,
jealous and vindictive as Portuguese and Spaniards are, they seldom
carry their delicacy of honour so high as to think the wound
irreparable, if given by their Sovereign. But there was another order
of men, on whose ideas the generality reasoned differently: an order
not so scrupulous about receiving affronts, or of returning injuries,
where more essential interests than their honour is concerned. These
were the Jesuits: they had long assumed dominion over Paraguay, and
had established an economy of government there, which, while it
ensured their authority by endearing them to the governed, almost
made amends, by the felicity they established among the people
of that province, for the numberless mischiefs they have brought
on other countries. In short, the Jesuits alone indemnified the
Americans of that region for the loss of their liberty, and atoned
for some of the cruelties exercised by European conquerors. But the
good fathers were not content with dispensing blessings as proxies
for others: the Paraguayans must own their sceptre as well as their
beneficence.
I do not pretend to pierce the mysterious veil thrown over the
transactions of that country, nor to assert the tale of their
actually crowning one of their order. It is sufficient to say that
the Court of Lisbon had entertained the strongest jealousy of
their proceedings; had determined to break the charm by which they
excluded their own Sovereign from interfering in his own domain;
and had actually engaged that upright Pontiff, Benedict XIV.,
to discountenance their ambitious proceedings. The fathers even
apprehended severe decrees from the Vatican. At that crisis the life
of the King of Portugal was attempted--no wonder the Jesuits were
suspected.
The Court of Lisbon, which in its confusion had formed so improbable
a story to account for the disappearance of the King, did not act by
any means, in its subsequent proceedings, with equal inconsideration.
The consequences of this affair ran into the following year; but
being totally unconnected with every transaction that I propose to
relate, I shall throw the whole of this Portuguese history into
this place. The first Minister was Carvalho,[28] a bold, politic
man, who hated the Jesuits. For some months the Court observed a
total silence: nobody was apprehended, no suspicion discovered. Till
Carvalho had got a clue that led to the darkest recesses of the
mystery, it was affected to forget or treat the whole as an accident
of a private nature. How he wound himself into the secret I do not
pretend to say: there were many accounts, probably mere conjectures:
it is an anecdote never likely to be known. The first notification to
the public that the conspiracy was discovered, was made by seizing at
the same instant, at a ball, the whole families of Tavora and Aveiro,
houses of the first rank and noblest birth in Portugal, and the
chiefs of which were possessed of the greatest posts and employments
about the King. To them, till assembled in the snare, the King wore
a face of the most unsuspecting favour.
The Marchioness of Tavora was a woman of fierce and lofty spirit;
one of the married young ladies, the person beloved by the King.
And hence the whole dark plot was unravelled; and the two different
conjectures of the public on the cause of the assassination appeared
to have been both true, for they were combined together. The Jesuits
had worked on the pride and jealousy of the injured husband and his
house, till those rash noblemen thought to revenge themselves, while
they only acted the revenge of the Jesuits. Enough was confessed to
establish the guilt of both the one and the other. How far the plot
was spread, and how far its views extended, perhaps the conspirators
themselves knew not: whatever they discovered beyond their actual
guilt, and the participation of the Jesuits, was locked up in the
penetralia of the palace. The public learned enough in knowing
the latter; perhaps too much in seeing the dreadful executions of
several of the principal conspirators, and in _not_ seeing some
justice done on the most guilty, the instigators of the crime. The
old Marchioness was beheaded, and died with as heroic spirit as if
she suffered for her country. Her husband and son-in-law suffered
the most exquisite torments. A hapless youth, her son, shared her
fate, with others of his house. One of the actual assassins, a hired
bravo, or servant, was put to extreme torture. All the Jesuits and
their effects were seized, and their persons imprisoned, while leave
was demanded from Rome to punish them in a more exemplary manner. But
there the strong sense of Benedict was no longer on the throne--and
an absolute Prince, wounded by the practices of priests, did not
dare to proceed to extremities. The dress of religion guarded men,
the more guilty for violating the duties of their profession. As
the Pope’s permission to inflict capital punishments could not be
obtained, the Court of Lisbon took upon itself to embark the whole
order of Jesuits, and sent them to Rome to the patron of their
crimes; reserving only a few of the most guilty, whose fate is still
a secret.[29]
I cannot quit this subject without taking notice of the manifesto
issued by the Court on the detection of the conspiracy. The spirit
of despotic government never defined itself with so much truth, or
with less modesty, than in that singular piece: I say nothing of
the ridiculous bombast in which it is clothed; but the following
maxims of an arbitrary Court ought to be inscribed in our seats
of Legislature and of Law, by the side of the humane rules of our
Government, that we might know how justly to value the one, and
avoid whatever tends to approach it to the other. “Whereas,” says
the Portuguese manifesto, “all presumptions of the law are held for
so many every way unquestionable truths, and for so many full and
uncontrovertible proofs, and lay the person who has them against
him, under the incumbency of producing other contrary proofs of such
strength and efficacy, as may conclusively destroy them, &c.;” and
the next paragraph adds, “Whereas, the law presumes, that he who
has been once bad, will be always bad in crimes of the same species
with that he has already committed, &c.” Could one imagine that two
assertions, so repugnant to all ideas of justice, were produced
as instances of condescension and moderation? and yet, in the
beginning of the first of these paragraphs, it is maintained, that
the presumptions of the law, which condemn the ringleaders or heads
of the said conspiracy to be punished thereby with all the rigours
of the law, would amply suffice, without the proofs which the Court
had obtained. Are Lisbon and London so distant as these notions, and
our establishment of juries, and the methods by which the latter are
bound to proceed?
While our Army in Germany lay on the defensive, the fatal distempers
incident to a camp raged there, and in particular carried off the
Duke of Marlborough. The command of the English devolved on Lord
George Sackville, between whom and Prince Ferdinand there was by no
means any cordiality. Both liked to govern, neither was disposed to
be governed. Prince Ferdinand had gained an ascendant over the Duke
of Marlborough, and Lord George had lost it; sufficient groundwork
for their enmity. Lord Granby, the next in rank to Lord George,
was an honest, open-hearted young man, of undaunted spirit, and
no capacity; and if he wanted any other recommendation to Prince
Ferdinand besides these ductile qualities, he drank as profusely as
a German. Lord George’s haughtiness lost this young man, as he had
the Duke of Marlborough; Prince Ferdinand knew better how to bend in
order to domineer.
In the mean time the King of Prussia, who had performed such shining
actions in this campaign, was again reminded by Marshal Daun, that
the solid glory of generalship, if not the brilliancy, might be
disputed with him. As the King lay in the strong camp of Bautzen,
extending to Hochkirchen, covering, as he thought, Misnia, Lusatia,
and Brandenburgh, preserving a communication with his brother,
and at hand to throw succours into Silesia, Daun, marching in the
dead of the night, surprised his right wing, and the first notice
of the attack was given in the heart of the Prussian camp. There
fell Marshal Keith; and Prince Francis of Brunswick, mounting his
horse on the first alarm, lost his head by a cannon ball. In this
critical moment the King possessed himself, that is, coolness and
ardour: he flew to the thick of the contest, and after leading on
his troops four times to the most desperate service, retreated in
good order. He lost 7000 men, but scarce any ground or reputation.
Surprised in the night, he behaved with as much conduct as if he
had made the assault, and retired from the conflict as if only from
a disappointment. Twice now had he been defeated by Marshal Daun;
both times he appeared greater from his activity and resources. It
was still more extraordinary when, after his loss at Hochkirchen, he
acted in the style of conqueror. He prevented Daun from penetrating
into Silesia, and hastened into that province himself, where Neiss
and Cosel were besieged by the Austrian Generals Harsch and Deville.
On the King’s approach, both sieges were instantly raised. Daun, the
check and illustrator of Frederick’s glory, who, by beating the King,
had only precipitated his succour of his own dominions, had no choice
left, but to attack Dresden. He led a great army to besiege it, but
Schmettau, the Governor, having burned the suburbs and retired into
the city, before Daun could begin any regular operations against
the place, the King of Prussia was returned from his successes in
Silesia, and concluded the campaign with obliging his conqueror to
abandon Dresden. After this the several Armies went into winter
quarters.
Nov. 23rd the Parliament met. Pitt opened the business of the
session with art, seeming to avoid all ostentation of power, while
he assumed everything to himself but the disposition of the money.
That load he left on the Treasury, and vast, he said, it would be:
heaps of millions must be raised,--thus affecting to heighten rather
than disguise the expense and the difficulties of our situation;
we could not make the same war as the French, or as our ancestors
did, for the same money. He painted the distress of France, and
coloured high what had been done by ourselves. He called on any who
disapproved the measures taken or taking, to speak out, to discuss
them, or to propose others _then_; not to lie in wait in hopes of
distresses, and then find fault; though, for himself, he hoped he
should never be judged by events. If there were any secret Austrians
in the House, instead of dispersing pamphlets, he invited them to
speak out. This was particularly levelled at Doddington, who had
just published severe reflections on Pitt and the Prussian cause,
in a piece called, “Examination of a Letter, attributed to General
Blighe.” The Addresses of both Houses were couched in strong terms of
panegyric. Prince Ferdinand was commended by name; and Sir Richard
Grosvenor, a young converted Tory, who seconded the Address, called
Mr. Pitt a blazing star. Other thanks were moved and voted to Admiral
Boscawen and General Amherst, for the conquest of Cape Breton, of
which Sir John Philips said, he hoped no Ministry would ever rob
us. Beckford re-echoed this, and spoke on the superiority we had
now attained: all the Duke of Marlborough’s battles had given us no
real superiority. Pitt replied, it was too early to decide on what
we would or would not restore. The Duke of Marlborough had acquired
superiority; the peace of Utrecht gave it away. And then (whether
equity or flattery dictated the declaration) he protested, that at
the peace he would not give up an iota of our Allies for any British
consideration. This, it was pretended, was to satisfy the Landgrave
of Hesse, who was afraid of being abandoned. The Duke of Newcastle
had early presented an Address from the University of Cambridge, in
which that reverend body were by no means penurious of compliments
on the Hanoverian victory. It was even resented at Court that the
city of London had been more reserved--so much were times changed! a
few years before, it was thought lucky if the city did not pass some
censure even on success, if it came from that quarter. The victory
of Dettingen had been stigmatised as an escape. The prisoners now
brought from Louisburg raised the numbers of that nation captive
here to twenty-four thousand; and the King of France, to increase
the burthen of our expense, withdrew his allowance to them. Admiral
Osborn, too, received the thanks of the Commons, for the activity
with which he had guarded the Mediterranean, and by preventing
succours, contributed to the conquest of Cape Breton. He was a man of
singular modesty and bravery, and had lost an eye by the palsy during
the hardship of his service; but being allied to Admiral Byng, not
the least notice was taken of him by the King.
An army of near 95,000 British troops, and near 7000 foreigners,
were voted, and above twelve millions of money raised for the
service of the ensuing year; an enormous sum to be furnished by a
country no larger than and so indebted as England, but exceeded by
the great benefits to which it contributed. I mention these things
in gross, and very cursorily; they will be found at large in all
our common histories. Were I master of them, I should touch on them
with reluctance. The system of money, the great engine on which
all modern affairs turn, is become of so complicated a nature, and
labours with such ungracious intricacies, that no beauties of style,
scarce any clearness of expression, can reconcile it to a reader of
common indolence. How such systems would have perplexed the elegance
of Roman or Greek historians! what eloquent periods could they
have formed, encumbered with three per-cents, discounts, premiums,
South-sea annuities, and East India bonds!
Nov. 28th, Dr. Shebbear, author of several letters to the people of
England, having been tried for many treasonable expressions in the
sixth of them, was sentenced by the King’s Bench to stand in the
pillory, to be imprisoned for three years, and then to find security
of 1000_l._ for his good behaviour for seven years following--the
latter part of the sentence importing in effect perpetual
imprisonment, for both the fortune and character of the man were at
the lowest ebb. Though he had been the most open champion of the
Jacobite cause, though his libel tended to point out the mischiefs
entailed on this country by union with Hanover,[30] and though the
bitterest parts of the work were a satire on King William and King
George the First, his venom by no means flowed from principle. He
had long declared that he would write himself into a place or the
pillory, the latter of which proved his fate, as Mr. Pelham, the
purchaser of opponents, was dead, and as Shebbear’s pen, though
not without force, could not find the way to be hired by the Duke
of Newcastle. The most remarkable part of this trial was the Chief
Justice Mansfield laying down for law, that satires even on dead
Kings were punishable. Whatever obsolete statutes may pronounce, can
any thing be more foreign to the genius of English constitution, nay,
to the practice even of arbitrary countries? Why are tyrants sacred,
when once dead? Adieu! veracity and history, if the King’s Bench is
to appreciate your expressions! If the dead are not to be censured,
it is only pronouncing history a libel, and the annals of Britain
shall grow as civil things as the sermons at St. James’s.
It was a misfortune that Shebbear had gone such enormous lengths,
that the warmest friends to the liberty of the press could scarce
lament the handle taken to restrain its licentiousness. On the 5th
of December the man stood in the pillory, having a footman holding
an umbrella to keep off the rain. The mob received him with three
huzzas: he had had the confidence to disperse printed bills,
_inviting the friends of the liberty of the press and of old England
to be at Charing Cross by twelve o’clock of that day, to see the
British champion_. Colonel Robert Brudenel, a hot-headed and foolish
young officer, threatened the sheriff for the indulgence allowed to
Shebbear, and the King’s Bench afterwards actually punished him.
Insignificant as the man, and scandalous as his cause was, such
periods are often critical to liberty. The Court victorious, the
Minister popular, an arbitrary magistrate, a worthless criminal,
officers undiscerning and ready to act any violence when their master
is affronted--how little was wanted to roll the machine of Power to
any eminence!
The miscarriages at St. Maloes and St. Cas, and the slender
advantages accruing even from success at Cherbourg, had a little
opened Mr. Pitt’s eyes. He could not help seeing that the slaughter
at St. Cas was not very preferable to the bloodless return from
Rochfort. He recollected that Conway had offered to be as rash as
Blighe, though having at the same time thrown judgment into his
plan. If Blighe was punished for exposing his troops, and Mordaunt
and Conway for bringing back theirs in safety, the implication
was that Mr. Pitt would pardon nothing but victory. These or some
such reflections made him change his behaviour to Conway. Both the
brothers being in waiting at Kensington, Pitt took Lord Hertford
aside, and told him he knew the nicety of the subject on which he was
going to speak; that a new expedition being projected to the West
Indies, and Hobson appointed to the command, he (Pitt) desired to
explain to his Lordship, that no opposition from him had prevented
Mr. Conway from being employed on it, as the latter had so earnestly
solicited to be. The case had stood thus: one day finding the Duke
of Newcastle, Marshal Ligonier, and the King’s Ministers, consulting
who should command the expedition, he (Pitt) had said, “Perhaps my
presence lays you under difficulties, but I object to nobody; pray
consider who is most proper, and I shall be for him.” That he then
retired to the other end of the room, while a list was formed of
Conway, Cornwallis, Lord Albemarle, Hobson, and Moyston, which Lord
Ligonier immediately carried to the King, who chose Hobson. Pitt
added to Lord Hertford, “He was sorry things had gone so far; he
now thought of Mr. Conway as he had done formerly, though he could
not give up his private opinion about Rochfort, yet he should be
concerned if Mr. Conway was not employed.”
On these overtures Conway visited Pitt, neglecting nothing that might
procure him to be sent on action. He was soon after commissioned to
settle with the French a cartel for the exchange of prisoners, put
upon the staff, and the following summer commanded in the lines at
Chatham--but it went no farther: Pitt, unapt to forget or to forgive,
seemed to have made these acknowledgments and reparations to his own
character, not to Conway’s; and while Pitt would lend no hand to
restore him to service, the Duke of Newcastle, supposing Conway more
attached to the Duke of Cumberland than to him, was glad to keep him
down, and to let the obstructions be imputed to Pitt. It was natural
they should: Pitt took on himself the province of war and foreign
operations: the whole domestic he left to Newcastle, and, except from
foreign Ministers, would receive neither visits nor court. He lived
in the same recluse manner as when a valetudinary patriot, indulging
his own unsociable humour, and acquiring popularity, while he kept
off friends and attachments. Yet some symptoms now and then appeared
of deeper designs. Munchausen having presented an ample bill of
extraordinaries for forage, &c., Pitt affected to be much offended at
its exorbitance, said the whole should be laid before the House, and
the members should be summoned to examine and consider the estimates.
On this pretence he sent circular letters to the Tories, whom the
Treasury never used to invite to any parliamentary attendance.
Nothing could be more artful than this step. Pitt knew himself not
agreeable to the Whigs, the whole body of which were cantoned out in
attachments to the Dukes of Newcastle, Devonshire, and Bedford, and
to Fox. The Scotch were devoted to Argyle, or looked up to Lord Bute.
The Tories had no leader. This summons captivated them, and at the
same time tied up their civil gratitude from exercising any rigour
on the Hanoverian accounts. Nay, whatever was demanded, was granted
or allowed with such inconsiderate facility, that Lord Mansfield,
to stigmatise Pitt’s measures and profusion, and the Parliament’s
condescension, called it _The South-sea year_.
At the end of the year died Lord Arran, an inoffensive old man, the
last male of the illustrious House of Ormond. He was Chancellor of
Oxford, and much respected by the Jacobites, who had scarce any
partizans left in whom they might venerate even a noble name. Sir
George Lee died at the same time.
In France happened a sudden revolution, as soon forgotten as it had
been unforeseen. The Cardinal de Bernis was the new Prime Minister.
He had an easy talent for trifling poetry; it was his whole merit
and his whole fortune. Madame Pompadour was pleased with some of his
incense offered to her, and first sent him to Venice, then to the
Hague, where he distinguished himself by an intriguing vivacity.
These qualifications and his attachment to her seemed solid enough to
the mistress to fit the Abbé-Comte de Bernis for the government of
France, where even these superficial talents were not outshined, so
exhausted in that country was the vein of genius. Bernis was made a
Cardinal, and amassed benefices to the amount of 14,000_l._ a year;
but was scarce settled in that exalted station before he received a
_lettre de cachet_ as he was going to bed, ordering him to retire
to his Bishopric by ten the next morning. The cause of this rapid
fall was imputed to his own folly. He who had scrupled to receive no
benefits from the mistress, nay, whose flatteries had obtained the
greatest, and whose conscience had stooped to owe to her interest the
first dignity in the church, grew at once conscientiously ungrateful,
and arrogantly absurd, refusing to wait on her in her apartment,
and to communicate in the dignity of the purple with a woman of so
unsanctimonious a character. The world laughed at his impertinent
pretences, and she punished them. Lord Granville, hearing the swift
progress of this meteor, said, “Soh! his ministry has been almost as
short as mine!”
At this stage I shall make a pause in my work, uncertain whether
ever to be resumed, though I am rather inclined to prolong it to the
conclusion of the war. I warn my readers, however, not to expect as
much intelligence and information in any subsequent pages of these
Memoirs as may have appeared in the preceding. During the former
period I lived in the centre of business, was intimately connected
with many of the chief actors, was eager in politics, indefatigable
in heaping up knowledge and materials for my work. Now, detached
from those busy scenes, with many political connexions dropped or
dissolved, indifferent to events, and indolent, I shall have fewer
opportunities of informing myself of others. And here perhaps it may
not be improper, or unwelcome to the reader, if I say some words on
the author of these Memoirs: the frankness of the manner will prove
it flows from no vain glory; yet to take off all such appearance, and
to avoid a nauseous egotism, I shall make use of the third person.
Horace Walpole, without the least tincture of ambition, had
a propensity to faction, and looked on the mischief of civil
disturbances as a lively amusement. Indignation at the persecution
raised against his father, and prejudices contracted by himself,
conspired with his natural impetuosity of temper to nourish this
passion. But coming into the world when the world was growing
weary of faction, and some of the objects dying or being removed,
against whom his warmth had been principally directed, maturity of
reason and sparks of virtue extinguished this culpable ardour.
Balanced for a few years between right and wrong, happily for him
virtue preponderated early enough to leave him some merit in the
option. Arts, books, painting, architecture, antiquities, and those
amiable employments of a tranquil life, to which in the warmest of
his political hours he had been fondly addicted, assumed an entire
empire over him. The circumstances too of the times contributed to
make him withdraw from the scene of business. With Newcastle he had
determined never to connect: Fox’s behaviour on the case of Mr. Byng
had rooted out his esteem, and the coldness discovered by Fox on
Walpole’s refusing to concur in all his politics, had in a manner
dissolved their friendship. Of Pitt he retained the best opinion; but
the wanton exposure of so many lives at the affair of St. Cas, and in
those other visionary attempts on the coast of France, had painted
Pitt on his mind as a man whose thirst of glory was inconsistent with
humanity; and being himself strongly tinctured with tenderness, he
avoided any further intercourse with a Minister, who was Great with
so little reluctance.
Thus without disgrace, disappointment, or personal disgust, Walpole,
at the age of forty-one,[31] abandoned the theatre of affairs; and
retaining neither resentment to warp, nor friendship to bias him,
he thinks himself qualified to give some account of transactions,
which few men have known better, and of which scarce any can speak
with equal impartiality. He has not falsified a circumstance to load
any man; he has not denied a wrong act to excuse himself. Yet lest
even this unreserve should not be thought sufficient, lest some
secret motive should be supposed to have influenced his opinions,
at least his narrative, he will lay open to the reader his nearest
sentiments. Severity in some of the characters will be the most
striking objection. His dislike to a few persons probably sharpened
his eyes to their faults, but he hopes never blinded him to their
virtues--lest it should have done, especially in so inflammable a
nature, he admonishes the reader of his greatest prejudices, as
far as they could have risen from any provocation. From the Duke
of Cumberland, Mr. Pelham, and Lord Hardwicke, he had received
trifling offence. To the two last he avows he had strong aversion.
From Mr. Fox, as I have said, he had felt coldness and ingratitude.
By his uncle and the Duke of Devonshire he had been injured--by the
former basely betrayed; yet of none of these has he omitted to speak
with praise when he could find occasion. Of Lord Hardwicke had he
known a virtue, he would have told it: for now, when his passions
are subsided, when affection and veneration for truth and justice
preponderate above all other considerations, would he sacrifice
the integrity of these Memoirs, his favourite labour, to a little
revenge that he shall never taste? No; let his narration be measured
by this standard, and it will be found that the unamiableness of
the characters he blames imprinted those dislikes, as well as
private distaste to some of them. The King, the Duke of Newcastle,
and others, who do not appear in these writings with any signal
advantage, never gave him the most distant cause of dissatisfaction.
How far his own character may have concurred towards forming his
opinions may be calculated from the following picture, impartial as
far as a man can know himself.
Walpole had a warm conception, vehement attachments, strong
aversions; with an apparent contradiction in his temper--for he
had numerous caprices, and invincible perseverance. His principles
tended to republicanism, but without any of its austerity; his love
of faction was unmixed with any aspiring. He had great sense of
honour, but not great enough, for he had too much weakness to resist
doing wrong, though too much sensibility not to feel it in others.
He had a great measure of pride, equally apt to resent neglect,
and scorning to stoop to any meanness or flattery. A boundless
friend; a bitter, but a placable enemy. His humour was satiric,
though accompanied with a most compassionate heart. Indiscreet and
abandoned to his passions, it seemed as if he despised or could bear
no constraint; yet this want of government of himself was the more
blameable, as nobody had greater command of resolution whenever he
made a point of it. This appeared in his person: naturally very
delicate, and educated with too fond a tenderness, by unrelaxed
temperance and braving all inclemency of weathers, he formed and
enjoyed the finest and unabated health. One virtue he possessed in a
singular degree--disinterestedness and contempt of money--if one may
call that a virtue, which really was a passion. In short, such was
his promptness to dislike superiors, such his humanity to inferiors,
that, considering how few men are of so firm a texture as not to be
influenced by their situation, he thinks, if he may be allowed to
judge of himself, that had either extreme of fortune been his lot, he
should have made a good prince, but not a very honest slave.
Finished Oct. 27, 1759.
FOOTNOTES:
[26] It was said, “no people ever took so much killing.”
[27] They were permitted to trade to the French colonies, a privilege
denied to them in time of peace.
[28] Marquis of Pombal.
[29] Malagrida, the chief criminal, was executed long afterwards, but
under the clumsy pretence of being condemned by the Inquisition.
[30] The motto was with some humour taken from the Revelations: “And
I looked, and behold a pale horse [alluding to the white horse in the
arms of Hanover] and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell
followed.” Ch. 6, v. 8.
[31] At the end of 1758.
1759.
Verbis restituit rem.