This blank though important space in the life of Pitt himself seems
favourable for picking up a few threads which had to be dropped in the
narrative of his negotiations with Newcastle.
After the baiting to which Robinson had been subjected in the first days
of the session he disappeared from debate; and Fox, then in close
negotiation for a seat in the Cabinet, represented the Government in the
Commons, and turned a deaf ear to the proposal that he should join Pitt
in a combined attack on Newcastle. Fox's game, it will be seen, was not
calculated to win the confidence of Pitt, to whom, however, during the
session, he showed marked courtesy on the one hand, while negotiating
with the Duke on the other.
[Sidenote: Feb. 26, 1755.]
The Lord Advocate had introduced a Bill continuing for a further period
the provisions passed after the rising of 1745 which had temporarily
placed the tenure of sheriff-deputyships at the King's pleasure instead
of for life as before. This seems to have raised an animated debate,
memorable to us as having produced two fine speeches from Pitt, which
Horace Walpole alone mentions, and of which he gives a spirited sketch.
It is only possible to give Walpole's record in his own words, as there
is no other. Pitt spoke in answer to Murray (who, by-the-by, speaking
in defence of the Bill, had said that there was not a single Jacobite
left in Scotland) 'with great fire, in one of his best worded and most
spirited declarations for liberty, but which, like others of his fine
orations, cannot be delivered adequately without his own language; nor
will they appear so cold to the reader, as they even do to myself, when
I attempt to sketch them, and cannot forget with what soul and grace
they were uttered. He did not directly oppose, but wished rather to send
the Bill to the Committee, to see how it could be amended. He was glad
that Murray would defend the King, only with a salve to the rights of
the Revolution; he commended his abilities, but tortured him on his
distinctions and refinements. He himself had more scruples; it might be
a Whig delicacy--but even that is a solid principle. He had more dread
of arbitrary power dressing itself in the long robe, than even of
military power. When master principles are concerned, he dreaded
accuracy of distinction: he feared that sort of reasoning: if you class
everything, you will soon reduce everything into a particular; you will
then lose great general maxims. Gentlemen may analyse a question till it
is lost. If I can show him, says Murray, that it is not my Lord Judge,
but Mr. Judge, I have got him into a class. For his part, could he be
drawn to violate liberty, it should be _regnandi causa_, for this King's
reigning. He would not recur for precedents to the diabolic divans of
the second Charles and James; he did not date his principles of the
liberty of this country from the Revolution; they are eternal rights;
and when God said, "_let justice be justice_," He made it independent.
The Act of Parliament that you are going to repeal is a proof of the
importance of the Sheriffs-depute: formerly they were instruments of
tyranny. Why is this attempted? is it to make Mr. Pelham more regretted?
He would have been tender of cramming down the throats of the people
what they are averse to swallow. Whig and Minister were conjuncts he
always wished to see. He deprecated (_sic_) those, who had more weight
than himself in the Administration, to drop this; or besought that they
would take it for any term that may comprehend the King's life; for
seven years, for fourteen, though he was not disposed to weigh things in
such golden scales.' The reader must make of this what he will.
Fox said 'that he was undetermined, and would reserve himself for the
Committee; that he only spoke now, to show it was not crammed down his
throat; which was in no man's power to do. That in the Committee he
would be free, which he feared Pitt had not left it in his own power to
be, so well he had spoken on one side. That he reverenced liberty and
Pitt, because nobody could speak so well on its behalf.'[292]
The Bill came up again a few days afterwards, and we find Pitt again
attacking it, and Fox apparently evading a contest with him. We are once
more thrown back on Walpole's account. 'Pitt talked on the harmony of
the day, and wished that Fox had omitted anything that looked like
levity on this great principle. That the Ministry giving up the _durante
bene placito_ was an instance of moderation. That two points of the
Debate had affected him with sensible pleasure--the admission that
judicature ought to be free, and the universal zeal to strengthen the
King's hands. That liberty was the best loyalty; that giving
extraordinary powers to the Crown was so many repeals of the Act of
Settlement. Fox said shortly, that if he had honoured the fire of
liberty, he now honoured the smoke.'[293]
These arguments are not easy to follow, so the only faithful course
seems to be to give the actual record.
Meanwhile it is necessary for a moment to peer outside, and take note of
the world so far, and only so far, as it affects the life of Pitt; for
the clouds of war were gathering fast. The Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle was
only an armed truce, the cupidities and resentments which it had checked
for the moment were still active, though mute. With two such characters
as Frederick and Maria Theresa matched against each other, it was
evident that Silesia would never be surrendered or abandoned without
another deadly struggle. Moreover, half unconsciously, the two secular
rivals, France and Britain, were drifting into a contest for supremacy
over half the globe, to settle the question as to which should become
the first colonising power of the world. Hostilities in India and in
North America were always smouldering, and the arrangements of
Aix-la-Chapelle had not extended to either region. The treaty had in no
way checked the desperate war carried on in India between the English
and French Companies, between Clive and Dupleix. That was presently
closed for the moment by a provisional treaty signed on the spot in
January 1755. In America the scene was even more poignant. There without
any declaration of war, in a formal and legal state of peace,
hostilities were carried on, openly and yet treacherously, by incursions
connived at by the French Government. And as if to add an additional
horror to these sinister operations, they were accompanied by all the
unspeakable barbarities of Indian warfare, the cold-blooded murder of
men, women and children, rewards from the European governors for the
scalps thus obtained, and by open cannibalism.[294] Christian
missionaries were not ashamed to hound on these savages to murder,
torture, and rapine; nay, their professed converts[295] were sometimes
the keenest in butchery. For religious fanaticism imparted an ignorant
zeal to the barbarous combatants, who were taught, it is said, that
Christ was a Frenchman crucified by the English. The claim that the King
of France was the eldest son of the Church was construed into a much
more literal interpretation of divine origin.[296] There was in fact no
element of atrocity wanting to this war, which was not a war; blasphemy,
murder, outrage, arson, rape, torture were all employed under the pure
white banner with its golden lilies. Parkman, the historian of these
operations, does not record the like of the British. But this is not to
affirm there were no reprisals. For war carried on in this fashion and
by the employment of savages can scarcely be one-sided in its
barbarities.
[Sidenote: July 4, 1754.]
[Sidenote: Jan. 1755.]
[Sidenote: July 9, 1755.]
But apart from the perfidious ambitions of governments and the predatory
lusts of savages, there could not be peace in America, nor in effect had
there been since the settlement of Utrecht. Boundaries in that trackless
continent were vague, and constantly overstepped. The proper limits of
Nova Scotia, and the demarcation between Canada and New England, were
subjects of acute controversy. Under such circumstances both parties
plant outposts in disputed territories, and both attempt to dislodge
each other. French officers headed exploring parties, annexing vast
territories by the simple expedient of nailing to a tree-trunk a tin
plate stamped with the arms of France, and burying at the root a leaden
tablet recording that possession had thus been taken. But there were
other operations much less bloodless and futile. One of these petty
engagements survives in history because it marks the first appearance of
Washington, compelled in 1754 to celebrate the Fourth of July by a
surrender to the French, who had surrounded him in superior numbers; and
because it was the commencement of open but not declared warfare between
the British and the French. Both nations now determined to send out
reinforcements. 'In a moment,' says Walpole, 'the Duke of Newcastle
assumed the hero, and breathed nothing but military operations; he and
the Chancellor held councils of war; none of the ministers except Lord
Holderness were admitted inside their tent.' With some discount for
Walpole's malicious pleasantry, the picture, humorous enough to us, must
have filled men like Pitt with the darkest misgivings. Pitt, as we have
seen, had once been accidentally admitted into the tent and taken into
confidence. He must have left it with the feeling that the destinies of
the Empire were in peril so long as Newcastle was at the helm. A giant
conflict for the supremacy of the world was preparing, and Newcastle was
in charge of Great Britain. It was enough to give the bravest patriot a
qualm. Nor were the military preparations less deplorable. Braddock was
sent out at the new year with a plan of campaign prepared by
Cumberland. Cumberland on Braddock was a combination which might make
the stoutest heart in England quail. Cumberland, who had lost every
battle but the one-sided affray of Culloden, was the brain to devise.
Braddock, a brutal soldier of parade experience, whose only warfare had
been in Hyde Park or Hounslow, was the hand to execute. Braddock took
his troops through the American bush as if they were marching from
London to Windsor, and was annihilated ten miles from the French
stronghold, Fort Duquesne, where now smokes toiling Pittsburg. British
troops then first faced the most formidable of adversaries, an invisible
foe. They advanced boldly, cheering and singing 'God save the King.' But
they found that they were mere targets for a host of concealed
sharpshooters. Behind every tree and rock there lurked a musket. At last
they broke ranks and huddled into confusion. 'We would fight,' they
answered their officers, 'if we could see anybody to fight with.' Some
survivors declared that they had not seen a single Indian. Others were
not so fortunate. Twelve unhappy persons were tortured and burned alive
by the savage allies of the French. Braddock was mortally wounded, and
died after a long silence, broken only by the one pathetic question,
'Who would have thought it?'[297] His papers fell into the hands of the
French and swelled the indictment with which they declared war.[298]
This evil news arrived in England at the end of August, and no doubt
precipitated Newcastle's attempt to come to terms with Pitt.
Three months after the departure of Braddock, the French in alarm
fitted out a fleet of reinforcement, which sailed at the end of April,
just as George II. was leaving his kingdom for his electorate, amid the
scarce veiled indignation of his British subjects. The moment was
critical, the King was old, his heir was young, the French were making
great warlike preparations, every circumstance pointed to the grave
impropriety of the departure. But the King was obdurate to all
remonstrance. Not only was Hanover his home, he was also anxious to
negotiate treaties of subsidy for its protection; treaties which were
more conveniently signed away from Great Britain; that country being
only required to endorse them in order to furnish the necessary
supplies.
[Sidenote: 1755.]
When it was certain that the French fleet was destined for America,
Admiral Boscawen was despatched with a squadron to intercept it.
Boscawen had eleven ships of the line and one frigate, the French fleet
consisted of eighteen ships, eight of which were lightly armed as
transports. The two armaments came into collision at the mouth of the
St. Lawrence on June 7. Three French ships came into conflict with three
British ships under Captain Howe. The French commander sent to ask 'Is
it peace or war?' Lord Howe replied that he must ask his admiral, who
replied 'War.' Thereupon Howe attacked and captured two of the enemy,
but to the mortification of the British the bulk of the French fleet got
safely into Louisbourg; then a Gibraltar, now a lonely pasture beaten by
the surf.
During all this year attempts had been made by negotiation in London
between Mirepoix, the French Ambassador, and Newcastle, to delimit the
territories in dispute, but at the news of this conflict Mirepoix left
London at once. Nevertheless the French behaved with signal
placability, they even released the _Blandford_ man-of-war, which they
had captured; and there was at present no formal declaration of open
hostility. For Louis XV. and his mistress did not desire war with Great
Britain, nor were they ready for it. A council was held at Compiegne at
which the opinion of Noailles prevailed. That was to suffer and endure,
so as to attract the sympathy of all Europe against Britain; only to
declare war when it was abundantly proved to be inevitable; then to
limit the operations to the sea, and not to be lured into any warfare on
the continent of Europe.[299] It was the Government of Newcastle that
moved towards hostilities. Our Admiralty behaved with great but perhaps
lawless vigour. It issued letters of marque, and before the end of the
year 300 French merchant ships and 6000 French seamen had been captured.
War seemed now inevitable, although at earlier stages it might, we
think, have been avoided without difficulty; and there began a general
hunt for alliances, which soon developed into a complete reversal of
former arrangements. Maria Theresa, thirsting for revenge, sought under
the inspiration of Kaunitz a strict union with France and Russia. The
tongue of Frederick, biting, uncontrolled, and especially venomous in
dealing with the frailty of woman, did perhaps more than Austrian
diplomacy to facilitate these arrangements; for the Empress Elizabeth
and Madame de Pompadour were both stung to unrelenting animosity by
Frederick's reckless ribaldry. Frederick, however, took the first step
himself. While France was secretly carrying on negotiations with
England, which continued to the end of 1755, and neglecting to renew
her previous treaty with Prussia which expired in May 1756, Frederick
signed with Great Britain in January 1756 the Treaty of Westminster, by
which both parties guaranteed each other's possessions and bound
themselves to take up arms against any Power which should invade
Germany. This instrument had the indirect but grave effect of
neutralising the King's treaty with Russia for the defence of Hanover,
for it precluded any foreign Power from marching troops into Germany.
The news of this agreement was received at Versailles with consternation
and wrath. The French Court replied to it by the Treaty of Versailles
(May 1, 1756), hurriedly concluded with Austria and extremely one-sided.
France agreed to respect the Austrian Netherlands, from which she might
have hoped for some compensation in case of success. Both parties agreed
to guarantee each other's dominions, and a secret article, aimed at
Prussia, made the compact more stringent. In August a treaty still more
advantageous to Austria was concluded between the two Powers; but in
this some frontier towns in the Austrian Netherlands, though not
specified, were to be conceded to France, when Austria was once more in
possession of Silesia and Glatz.[300]
It was believed in Europe that this counterbalancing treaty to that of
Westminster ensured the peace of the Continent. But the world did not
yet know Frederick. He was crouching for a spring. Two circumstances
impelled him. He had become aware through a corrupt Saxon clerk of a
correspondence between Austria and Saxony concerting a vast confederacy
against him. The second was this. We have noticed the Russian and
Hessian treaties of subsidy. That with Russia had been originally
concluded with a view to operations against Frederick himself,[301] and
to that purpose the Empress Elizabeth was determined that it should be
confined. By a personal declaration[302] and by two resolutions of the
Russian Senate[303] it was made clear that hostility to Frederick alone
inspired the Russian share of the treaty. He saw the circle closing
round him. Three outraged women were directing the forces of three
Empires against him. He had nothing to rely upon but his own country,
Britain, and himself. Cognizant of the plot against him, he determined
to have the advantage of attack. Like a leopard he sprang upon Dresden.
Before the Saxons had well realised that war was impending he was at the
throat of the electorate, and had seized the capital, the army, and the
compromising papers which justified his action. This was the beginning
of the worldwide struggle known as the Seven Years' War, and it occurred
in September 1756.
This is all that is necessary for our story, a mere glimpse of the
intrigues and rancours which were lashing all Europe into storm. We must
now return to the parliamentary arena.
[Sidenote: 1755.]
On September 15, George II. deigned to return to his British dominions,
and on November 13 he opened his Parliament. Two circumstances were
considered noteworthy in connection with the formal occasion. Fox, as
leader of the House, rehearsed the Speech from the Throne, as was then
the custom, at the Cockpit; but the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the
Paymaster, and the Grenvilles were conspicuous by their absence. Fox,
too, summoned his supporters by a note of the kind then, as now,
customary, but in terms which gave offence to the susceptible
independence of members; intimating that the King was about to make him
Secretary of State, though not till after the first debate, 'which may
be a warm one,' so that his seat might not be vacated until after the
Address had been voted. He was also to take upon him 'the conduct of the
House of Commons.' This last expression was animadverted upon in
Parliament, and Fox admitted that he should have said 'conduct of His
Majesty's affairs in the House of Commons.' In these days, when 'leader
of the House of Commons' is the recognised title of the principal
Minister in the House, it is not without interest to notice this
constitutional squeamishness.
The King's Speech contained the following paragraph, which strikes the
reader as something less than candid:--
'With a sincere desire to preserve my people from the calamities of war,
as well as to prevent, in the midst of these troubles, a general war
from being lighted up in Europe, I have always been ready to accept
reasonable and honourable terms of accommodation; but none such have
hitherto been proposed on the part of France. I have also confined my
views and operations to hinder France from making new encroachments, or
supporting those already made; to exert our right to a satisfaction for
hostilities committed in a time of profound peace: and to disappoint
such designs as, from various appearances and preparations, there is
reason to think, have been formed against my kingdoms and dominions.'
Members met to hear the Royal Speech in the electric condition which
bodes a crisis. There had been a long political truce; but this was
evidently about to come to an end. Ministers had to bear the burden of
the Russian and Hessian treaties, which the Speech from the Throne
commended to the attention of Parliament. War with France was impending;
indeed, a French invasion was daily expected. There was a new leader,
and, consequently, a new opposition. Pitt was evidently prepared to
launch thunderbolts at the Administration. Leicester House was said to
be behind him. There was an animating sense of conflict in the air.
Once more the parliamentary history fails us, and disdains to record one
of the most memorable passages in its annals; so once more we are thrown
on the authority and the sketches of Walpole; sometimes brilliant, but
more often confused and defective.
The debate in the Commons lasted till near five in the morning, an hour
then almost unprecedented.
It was distinguished by that famous effort which gave Single-speech
Hamilton his nickname. Walpole, in recording and eulogising it, says:
'You will ask, what could be beyond this? Nothing but what was beyond
what ever was, and that was Pitt.' Pitt, indeed, after sitting through
the eleven hours of the debate, rose and delivered, with inimitable
spirit and all the dramatic force that the greatest actor of his age
could impart, a speech of an hour and a half, which contains his most
famous figure, and which perhaps he never exceeded.
'His eloquence,' says Walpole, 'like a torrent long obstructed, burst
forth with more commanding impetuosity.' For ten years he had been
muzzled, and now he revelled in his freedom. 'He spoke at past one (in
the morning) for an hour and thirty-five minutes. There was more humour,
wit, vivacity, fine language, more boldness,--in short, more astonishing
perfections, than even you who are used to him can conceive.'
He 'surpassed himself, and then I need not tell you that he surpassed
Cicero and Demosthenes. What a figure would they with their formal
laboured cabinet orations make vis-a-vis his manly vivacity and dashing
eloquence at one o'clock in the morning, after sitting in that heat for
eleven hours!'
This enthusiasm from the least enthusiastic of men adds to our regrets
that so faint a memory of this dazzling speech remains. And yet perhaps
we were wise to be grateful that we have only the description. It seems
not impossible that the words taken down verbatim by some old
parliamentary hand in the reporters' gallery would seem cold or tawdry
without the soul and grace which animated them, and which haunted Horace
Walpole for long years afterwards. Some of the allusions which have been
noted down seem forced, some of the bursts incoherent, some of the irony
obscure. But those who heard it palpitated with emotion, they saw the
divine fire of the orator, while posterity can only grope among the cold
ashes for the burning fragments poured forth in the wrath of the
eruption.
'Haughty, defiant, conscious of injury, and of supreme abilities,' he
offered a great contrast to Legge, who fought by his side with different
weapons; for Legge was studiously moderate, deferential, and artful;
'gliding to revenge.' Yet Pitt himself began with expressions of
veneration for the King, and of gratitude for 'late condescending
goodness and gracious openings,' alluding to the offer of a seat in the
Cabinet. It was obvious from this that he did not mean the door of the
Closet to be closed on him, or to try again to force it by attack. But,
he continued, the very respect he felt for that august name made him
deprecate the unconstitutional use made of it in this debate.
Egmont had argued that we were to have the Hessian and Russian
mercenaries to fall back upon in case our fleets were defeated. Why if
that were so, asked Pitt, did we not hire of Russia ships rather than
men? The answer was simple: because ships could not defend Hanover. Must
we drain, he asked, presumably in obscure allusion to Russia, our last
vital drop and send it to the North Pole? We had been told that Carthage
was undone in spite of her navy. But that was not until she betook
herself to land operations. Carthage, too, he added, pointing directly
to the enterprises of Cumberland, had a Hannibal who would pass the
Alps. We were told, too, that we must assist Hanover out of justice and
gratitude. As to justice, there was a charter which barred any such
consideration. Gratitude was only in question if Hanover should be
involved in anything which called down on her the resentment of France
in consequence of any quarrel of ours. But, to speak plainly, these
expressions were unparliamentary and unconstitutional. The King owed a
duty to his people which should not be obscured by such phraseology. Our
ancestors would never have stooped to such adulation.
Then he turned with the greatest contempt to Sir George Lyttelton: 'A
gentleman near me has talked of writers on the law of Nations. But
Nature is the best writer; she will teach us to be men and not to
truckle to power.' As he proceeded, he slowly swelled into his famous
burst. 'I, who am at a distance from the _sanctum sanctorum_--I, who
travel through a desert and am overwhelmed with mountains of
obscurity--cannot so easily catch a gleam to direct me to the beauties
of these negotiations. For there are parts of this Address which do not
seem to come from the same quarter as the rest. I cannot unravel this
mystery. But, yes!' he exclaimed with an air of sudden enlightenment,
clapping his hand to his forehead, 'I too am now inspired. I am struck
by a recollection. I remember at Lyons to have been taken to see the
conflux of the Rhone and the Saone. The one is a gentle, feeble, languid
stream, and, though languid, of no depth; the other a boisterous and
impetuous torrent. Yet they meet at last. And long,' he added, with
bitter sarcasm, 'may they continue united, to the comfort of each other,
and to the glory, honour, and security of this nation.'
This is all that we possess of this renowned flight and in this faint
form it does not strike one as particularly impressive. But the actual
words of the orator were probably very different; and nothing can
preserve for us the voice, the eye, the darting accent and the
concentrated fire of delivery which imparted such tremendous force to
the apostrophe. In any case, the effect was instant and prodigious.
After the debate Fox asked Pitt, 'Who is the Rhone?' 'Is that a fair
question?' answered Pitt, for no orator likes to be cross-examined
about his metaphors. 'Why,' rejoined Fox good-humouredly, 'as you have
said so much that I did not wish to hear, you may tell me one thing that
I want to hear. Am I the Rhone, or Lord Granville?' 'You are Granville,'
returned Pitt. He meant, of course, what was true, that Fox and
Granville were now practically one, and one in opposition to himself.
After this climax the notes of the remainder of the speech seem
comparatively poor. By adopting these measures, he urged, we are losing
sight of our proper force, the Navy. It was the Navy which, by making us
masters of Cape Breton in the last war, had secured the restoration of
Flanders and the Barrier Fortresses. And yet even then we had had to
conclude a bad peace. Moreover, bad as it was, our Ministers had
suffered such constant infractions of it that they would have been
stoned in the streets had they not at last shown signs of resentment.
And yet, even now, they seem to have already forgotten the cause in
which they took up arms, for at present they are not acting on behalf of
Britain. These treaties are not English measures, but Hanoverian. Are
they indeed measures of prevention? Are they not rather measures of
aggression and provocation? Will they not irritate Prussia and light up
a general war? If that be the result, I will follow to the death the
authors of this policy, for this is the day that I hope will give a
colour to my life. And yet I fear it is useless to try and stem the
torrent. Ministers evidently mean a land war, and how preposterous a
war. Hanover is their only base, for they cannot gain the alliance of
the Dutch. I remember, everybody remembers, when you did force them to
join you: all our misfortunes are due to those daring, wicked counsels
(of Granville's). Out of them sprung a ministry,' he continued,
referring to the forty-eight hours phantom of Pulteney and Carteret. 'I
saw that ministry. In the morning it flourished. It was green at noon.
By night it was cut down and forgotten.' What if a ministry should
spring out of this subsidy? It is contended, moreover, that it will
dishonour the King to reject these treaties which he has concluded. But
was not the treaty of Hanau transmitted to us in the same way and
rejected here? If these treaties are really a preventive measure, they
are only preventive of Newcastle's retirement.
Then he ridiculed Murray's elaborate compassion of the aged Sovereign.
He too could appeal for commiseration of the King. He could picture him
deprived of any honest counsel, spending his summer in his electorate,
surrounded by affrighted Hanoverians, without any one near him to keep
him in mind of the policy and interest of England, or of the fact that
we cannot reverse the laws of Nature, and make Hanover other than an
open, defenceless country. He too could foresee the day, within the next
two years, when the King would be unable to sleep in St. James's; but
that would be because his slumbers would be disturbed by the clamours of
a bankrupt people.
These are all the shreds that remain of this glorious rhapsody. It would
perhaps be better that nothing had survived. Each student must try and
reconstruct for himself, like some rhetorical Owen, out of these poor
bones the majestic structure of Pitt's famous speech.
Fox replied with obvious languor and fatigue, and the division was
taken between four and five. On the first question, that the words
promising assistance to Hanover should be omitted, the supporters of the
Government were 311 to 105. On the second amendment, which obscurely
questioned the policy of both treaties the numbers were 290 to 89. The
faithful Commons were still able to be loyal to Newcastle. Against that
pasteboard rock Pitt's billows broke in vain.[304]
Next day (November 15, 1755) Fox received the seals. Five days
afterwards Pitt, Legge, and George Grenville were dismissed by notes
from Lord Holdernesse, the colleague of Fox in the Secretaryship of
State. Fox indeed declares in a letter to Welbore Ellis, then peevish at
not getting a better place, that he did not know till the last moment of
the intention to remove anybody but Legge.[305] To George Grenville,
Bute, now beginning to show himself above ground, but still with
circumspection, sent a significant note of congratulation. 'Tis
glorious,' he wrote, 'to suffer in such a cause and with such
companions.' Pitt received an even more gratifying communication from
Temple, who settled on him a thousand a year till better times. We
cannot perhaps blame Pitt for accepting this offer, since probably there
was no other way of maintaining Lady Hester in decent comfort; for we
may easily surmise that he had squandered his own fortune on buildings,
gardens, and the like; as Temple probably knew. But we could wish that
he had done so with less effusion. 'How decline or how receive so great
a generosity so amiably offered.' Lady Hester, who had begun the letter
of thanks, 'was literally not in a situation to write any farther.'
Pitt was 'little better able to hold the pen than Lady Hester. We are
both yours more affectionately than words can express. We could have
slept upon the Earl of Holdernesses' letter (of dismissal). But our
hearts must now wake to gratitude and you, and wish for nothing but the
return of day to embrace the best and noblest of brothers.' Even this is
not sufficient. Next day he must write again to say to Lord Temple,
'that I am more yours than my own, and that I equally love and revere
the kindest of brothers and the noblest of men.'
Language less ecstatic would better have become a great man accepting a
serious pecuniary obligation. In truth Pitt never had any scrupulous
idea of personal independence. He had accepted a borough from Newcastle,
whom he then suspected and despised. Now it was an allowance from
Temple, whom, from close intimacy and kinship, he must have known to be
an intriguing politician, who was not likely to give without expecting
return. A few years hence it was to be a pension from the Crown.
With regard to money indeed he had no very careful or exalted standard.
In such matters he was indifferent, reckless, and heedless of any nicety
of scruple, except as regards the public. He never seems to have
considered how important solvency is to character. He was always, after
his marriage, quite unnecessarily, in desperate straits for money.
Indifference to the fact that pecuniary independence is a main though
not necessary base of moral independence was a flaw in his own life, and
was the worst inheritance that he transmitted to his illustrious son.
The announcement of Legge's successor at the Exchequer provoked
universal hilarity. It was Lyttelton. We have seen that in the last
debate Pitt had turned with fierce scorn on his former ally. No doubt he
was aware of Lyttelton's approaching elevation. But their historic
friendship had been dissolved for a year. In November 1754, at the
heedless or mischievous instance of the younger Horace Walpole,
Lyttelton, with the best intentions and the most inane execution
possible, had hurried off, without consultation with his friend, to
effect a reconciliation between Newcastle, Pitt's enemy, and Bedford,
who was allied to Pitt by a common hatred of the Minister. Newcastle
received the negotiator with his wonted effervescence, and gave or
appeared to give full powers. Away sped Lyttelton, bursting with the
importance of an amateur diplomatist. But at the mere mention of his
mission the other Duke nearly kicked the messenger of peace downstairs,
and at once communicated the secret overture to Pitt. The result to
Lyttelton was for the moment unmixed disaster. Pitt publicly broke with
him, Newcastle of course disowned him, he indeed disowned himself.
Henceforth he was banned by the Cousinhood, and incurred a wrath and
vengeance as implacable as that of the Carbonari. Now, however, he had
his reward, for it can scarcely be doubted that his elevation to the
Exchequer was intended partly as a plaster for his diplomatic wounds,
partly as an annoyance to the party of Pitt. Any motive indeed but
fitness for the office can be suggested for his promotion, to which he
was lured by the promise of a peerage.[306] If, however, the annoyance
it would cause to his late friends was a reason, it failed in its
object. For Lyttelton, in his new office, gave the amplest opportunity
for the wreaking of their revenge. He was, as we have seen, grotesque as
a diplomatist. He was even more unfit to be Chancellor of the Exchequer.
Lyttelton had been a promising young man, but promising young men
frequently fail to mature, and he became a minor politician, a minor
poet, a minor historian. As a politician, he was principally known for
the delivery of pompous prepared harangues. He wrote a pathetic and not
wholly forgotten monody on the death of his first wife, to which he
could have added a new and poignant emphasis after his second marriage.
He wrote a treatise on the conversion of St. Paul, which earned the
commendation of Dr. Johnson. He wrote some 'Dialogues of the Dead,'
which Dr. Johnson was not able to commend. He was now writing an
elaborate History of Henry the Second, on the printer's corrections in
which he spent a thousand pounds, and was soon to publish with a score
of pages of errata. But his literary renown rests on the dedication of
'Tom Jones.'
He was, however, best known to the public at large by his eccentric
appearance and demeanour. 'Extremely tall and extremely thin, he bent
under his own weight,' says his nephew Camelford. 'His face was so
ugly,' says Hervey, 'his person so ill-made, and his carriage so
awkward, that every feature was a blemish, every limb an incumbrance,
and every motion a disgrace.' Horace Walpole says of him that he had the
figure of a spectre and the gesticulations of a puppet. Chesterfield
portrays him as the embodiment of all in manner and deportment that was
to be avoided. His legs and arms, said the urbane peer, seem to have
undergone the rack, his head hanging limp on his shoulder the first
stroke of the axe. As absent as a Laputan, he leaves his hat in one
room, his sword in another, and would leave his shoes, if unfastened, in
a third. 'Who's dat!' wrote the satirist,
'Who's dat who ride astride de pony,
So long, so lank, so lean and bony?
Oh! he be de great orator Little-toney.'
He was obviously something of a butt from his physical peculiarities and
awkwardness, and a butt is ill placed in high office.
Gawky, fussy, pedantic, he was what in these days we should call a prig;
a kindly prig, with a warm heart, some literary ability, and strong
religious feeling; but for all that an unmistakable, inveterate,
incurable prig. The word 'prig' is untranslatable and uncommunicable. It
denotes nothing unamiable, nothing distasteful. It marks only a strange
flaw; partly of intellect, partly of character, partly of accent. And
one feels that it was impossible not to like Lyttelton, for he was full
of friendliness and virtue. With Pitt he was reconciled within a decade,
and mourned his death with a sincere sorrow which was not then abundant.
But the Exchequer is a peculiar office requiring peculiar gifts. A dull
man may succeed in it if he possess them; without them the greatest
talents will fail. Lyttelton possessed none of them. He was unable, it
was alleged, to work out the simplest sum in arithmetic. He was ignorant
of the first principles of finance. The Exchequer never had a more
preposterous Chancellor, till Dashwood appeared. He had better have left
it alone.
Fox, whose accession to the leadership was said to have inspired Murray
with courage, must have watched with gloomy forebodings the figure set
up in the Exchequer to face the lightnings of Pitt. The most that he
could hope was that it would act as an efficient conductor. Yet Fox
needed all the strength that he could muster. For no one despised his
chief more than he, or had a greater respect for the powers of his
rival.
It should further be noted that this ministry had a luckless connection
which made it known as 'the Duke's ministry'; for it had been formed
under the auspices and at the recommendation of the disastrous
Cumberland. 'Never,' says Almon, 'was an administration more unpopular
and odious.'
[Sidenote: Nov. 21, 1755.]
War had now been declared between the Government and Pitt, who now
certainly had the latent countenance of the Heir Apparent, or of the
clique who represented the Heir Apparent; and there was no delay in
coming to blows. The very day after Pitt's dismissal, Welbore Ellis, a
Lord of the Admiralty, who was destined to live on as a Nestor in
politics and be made a peer by Pitt's son, moved for 50,000 seamen,
mentioning that the peace establishment was 40,000. It was a formal
motion, and members were leaving the House, when they were recalled by
the awful tones of Pitt, declaring that he shuddered at hearing that our
naval resources were so narrowed. He recalled his former protest in 1751
against reduction. He would hunt down the authors of these disastrous
measures which made the King's crown totter on his head. This noble
country of ours was being ruined by the silly pride of one man and the
subservience of his colleagues, and some day we should have to answer
for it; unless already overwhelmed by some catastrophe brought about by
France, our hereditary enemy. All this trouble arose from the petty
struggle for power. What power was it that was sought, what kind of
power, was it only that of doing good? On an English question like this
he would not impede unanimity but implore it; he would ask favours in
such a cause of any minister, would have gone that morning to Fox's
first levee to ask him to accept 50,000 men besides marines. (The vote
asked for was for 50,000 men, including 9113 marines.) If that could be
obtained it would be the first thing done for this country since the
Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle. He obscurely intimated charges of treachery
and collusion. And now, he added, shame and danger had come together. He
himself had been alarmed by intelligence on the highest authority. These
terrors had been communicated to the House, which was willing to grant
the King any assistance for any English object. But there was an
essential difference between the ministry and that House. The ministry
thought of everything but the public interest; the House was ready to
afford everything for it. The House, he added mysteriously, was a
fluctuating body, but he hoped would be eternal; and he concluded with a
prayer for the King, with his royal posterity, and for this 'poor,
forlorn, distressed country.'
It is not always easy to trace the sequence of Pitt's speeches in
Walpole's notes, nor is it possible to tell whether the confusion is due
to the oration or the notes. The notes were probably made during the
debate with the intention of filling in the outlines while recollection
was still fresh; an intention which, as is usual with such intentions,
was, it may be safely surmised, never carried out. But we are inclined
to attribute obscurity in the main to the abrupt rhapsodical transitions
of Pitt's speeches. They require, as reported by Walpole, almost as much
interpretation as Cromwell's. In this one we discern great court paid to
the House of Commons, so hostile to himself; unrelenting scorn of the
Government; and bitter emphasis on British as opposed to Hanoverian
interests. The peroration as barely reported seems below the level of a
debating society. But, then, we must remember that no fervent and
exalted apostrophe, prolonged as this probably was, can be adequately
transmitted in a naked sentence, or perhaps in any conceivable report.
Fox replied with admirable temper, a self-control all the more laudable
and noted because of his usual impetuousness. He took up Pitt's sneer at
petty struggles for power. What the motives of these struggles for power
had been let those tell who had struggled most and longest for power.
They had been told that nobody round the King had sense or virtue, that
sense and virtue resided somewhere else. How was the King to know where
they are to be found? for he feared that _this_ House of Commons would
not point in the required direction. He ended by asking why Pitt had not
asked sooner for his augmentation of force.
This called up Pitt again, who denied that he had ever asserted that
there were no sense and virtue near the Throne. No man had ever suffered
so much as himself from those stilettoes of a Court which assassinate
the fair repute of a man with his Sovereign. The insinuation of his
having struggled for power had been received by the House with so much
approval, that he must take notice of the charge. Had he yielded to the
poor and sordid measures which are ruining the country he might, no
doubt, have been admitted to the confidence of the Closet. Then, carried
by anger beyond the facts, he went further, and said that as he was not
prepared then to enter into the details of the private transactions of a
whole summer, he would only say that he might have had what Fox had
accepted. Unfortunately for himself, however, the measures contemplated
were so disastrous that his conscience and his honour had forbidden him
to support them; though he would have strained conscience a little,
perhaps, to be admitted to the confidence of the King. No, it was not
failure in the struggle for power that was the cause of his exclusion
from office. Was it not that he would not approve of the Russian and
Hessian treaties? He challenged a denial.
Fox rose in reply, and said that he was ready to forget what Pitt had
said about the lack of sense and virtue near the Throne.
Pitt, evidently beside himself with wrath, interrupted him, and said he
rose to order, and, on that long-suffering plea, delivered another long
speech. The phrase about sense and virtue, he declared on his honour,
was none of his. What he said was that France would found her hopes on
the want of sense, understanding, and virtue in those that govern here.
Fox's modesty appeared to have taken these words to himself; but he had
not put him right sooner, as the statement of the plain truth would
sooner or later be sufficient. He would remind that gentleman of certain
efforts which had been made (alluding to their brief coalition against
Newcastle) to limit the power at which he had hinted. As to invective,
he was not fond of employing it, but no man feared it less than himself.
He was, however, complimentary to Fox; would, though no betting man,
back his sense and spirit; believed that we should get some information
from abroad now that he was in power; but could not treat him as _the_
minister, for that he was not yet.
'But[307] he asks why I did not call out sooner. _My_ calling out was
more likely to defeat than promote. When I remonstrated for more seamen,
I was called an enemy to Government: now I am told that I want to strew
the King's pillow with thorns: am traduced, aspersed, calumniated from
morning to night. _I_ would have warned the King: did _he_? If he with
his sense and spirit had represented to the King the necessity of
augmentation, it would have been made--but what! if there is any man so
wicked--don't let it be reported that I say there is--as to
procrastinate the importing troops from Ireland, in order to make
subsidiary forces necessary.[308] This whole summer I have been looking
for Government. I saw none. Thank God, His Majesty was not here. The
trade of France has been spared sillily, there has been dead stagnation.
Orders contradicting one another were the only symptoms of spirit. When
His Majesty returned, his kingdom was delivered back to him more like a
wreck than as a vessel able to stem the storm. Perhaps a little
sustentation of life to the country will be obtained by a wretched
peace. These are my sentiments, and when a man has truth on his side,
he is not to be overborne by quick interrogatories. It may be presumed,
and indeed confidently hoped, that this was not Pitt's actual speech,
though Walpole gives it as the very words. They are probably only heads.
He continued with softening expressions to Fox. Want of virtue was the
characteristic not merely of the Government but of the age. He himself
was glad to show a zeal not inferior to that of ministers; let them show
him how to serve the King, and then let them, if they could, tax him
with strewing the royal pillow with thorns. But what were their own
services? Murray indeed had boasted that 140,000 of the best troops in
Europe were provided for the defence of--what? of Hanover. But what of
England? What of the Colonies? Compare the countries, compare the forces
destined for the defence of each! Two miserable battalions of Irish, who
scarcely ever saw one another, had been sent to America as to the
shambles. If his comparison of forces for Hanover and for the Empire was
exaggerated, he would be glad to be told his error.
Fox kept his temper, and remained on the defensive. He not unnaturally
commented on the disorderliness of Pitt's speech to order. He did not
'on his honour' know what was the offer which Pitt had rejected. He
himself had waited till everybody had refused, passing the summer at
Holland House, as happy as any man in Parliament. He was in favour of
the subsidies, and when that was known he was told 'Then support them';
and so he did. When his opinion changed he should leave office. He
wished all evil might befall him if he had injured Pitt with the King,
for he thought nothing so dishonourable as to accuse a man where he
could not defend himself.
Murray followed with covert but bitter innuendoes; defended Pelham's
reduction of 2000 men, and had thought that that Minister had at least
died in friendship with Pitt. This again brought Pitt on his feet to say
that his friendship for Pelham had been as real as Murray's. Murray
continued coolly. The sting of his waspish speech was in its tail. He
wanted to clear up one particular point for his own information. He
understood Pitt to say that he had refused the Secretaryship of State:
pray, had he?
He had his enemy at the point of the sword. Pitt had certainly, as we
have seen, with incredible rashness, at least insinuated this, if not
declared it. He now had to rise and eat his words: 'he had only refused
to come into measures'![309]
Walpole apologises for recording this debate, tedious as it is, at such
a length. We must do the same, and his excuse is ours. Little was said
on the question, and indeed there was scarcely a question to discuss.
But the points of the speeches, so far as we can discern them, throw
light on the speakers, more especially on the reckless, impetuous
character of Pitt, even at this time.