Reared by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race,
Why, once so loved, whene'er thy bower appears,
O'er my dim eyeballs glance the sudden tears?
How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and fair,
Thy sloping walks and unpolluted air?
How sweet the glooms beneath thine aged trees,
Thy noon-tide shadow and thine evening breeze!
His image thy forsaken bowers restore;
Thy walks and airy prospects charm no more;
No more the summer in thy glooms allayed,
Thine evening breezes, and thy noon-day shade."
Yet a few years, and the shades and structures may follow their
illustrious masters. The wonderful city which, ancient and gigantic as
it is, still continues to grow as fast as a young town of logwood by a
water-privilege in Michigan, may soon displace those turrets and gardens
which are associated with so much that is interesting and noble, with
the courtly magnificence of Rich, with the loves of Ormond, with the
counsels of Cromwell, with the death of Addison. The time is coming
when, perhaps, a few old men, the last survivors of our generation, will
in vain seek, amidst new streets, and squares, and railway stations, for
the site of that dwelling which was in their youth the favorite resort
of wits and beauties, of painters and poets, of scholars, philosophers,
and statesmen. They will then remember, with strange tenderness, many
objects once familiar to them, the avenue and the terrace, the busts and
the paintings, the carving, the grotesque gilding, and the enigmatical
mottoes. With peculiar fondness they will recall that venerable chamber,
in which all the antique gravity of a college library was so singularly
blended with all that female grace and wit could devise to embellish a
drawing-room. They will recollect, not unmoved, those shelves loaded
with the varied learning of many lands and many ages, and those
portraits in which were preserved the features of the best and wisest
Englishmen of two generations. They will recollect how many men who have
guided the politics of Europe, who have moved great assemblies by reason
and eloquence, who have put life into bronze and canvas, or who have
left to posterity things so written as it shall not willingly let them
die, were there mixed with all that was loveliest and gayest in the
society of the most splendid of capitals. They will remember the
peculiar character which belonged to that circle, in which every talent
and accomplishment, every art and science, had its place. They will
remember how the last debate was discussed in one corner, and the last
comedy of Scribe in another; while Wilkie gazed with modest admiration
on Sir Joshua's Baretti; while Mackintosh turned over Thomas Aquinas to
verify a quotation; while Talleyrand related his conversations with
Barras at the Luxembourg, or his ride with Lannes over the field of
Austerlitz. They will remember, above all, the grace, and the kindness,
far more admirable than grace, with which the princely hospitality of
that ancient mansion was dispensed. They will remember the venerable and
benignant countenance and the cordial voice of him who bade them
welcome. They will remember that temper which years of pain, of
sickness, of lameness, of confinement, seemed only to make sweeter and
sweeter, and that frank politeness, which at once relieved all the
embarrassment of the youngest and most timid writer or artist, who found
himself for the first time among ambassadors and earls. They will
remember that constant flow of conversation, so natural, so animated, so
various, so rich with observation and anecdote; that wit which never
gave a wound; that exquisite mimicry which ennobled, instead of
degrading; that goodness of heart which appeared in every look and
accent, and gave additional value to every talent and acquirement. They
will remember, too, that he whose name they hold in reverence was not
less distinguished by the inflexible uprightness of his political
conduct than by his loving disposition and his winning manners. They
will remember that in the last lines which he traced, he expressed his
joy that he had done nothing unworthy of the friend of Fox and Grey; and
they will have reason to feel similar joy if, in looking back on many
troubled years, they cannot accuse themselves of having done anything
unworthy of men who were distinguished by the friendship of Lord
Holland.
FOOTNOTES:
[4] The Opinions of Lord Holland, as recorded in the Journals of the
House of Lords, from 1797 to 1841. Collected and edited by D. C. Moylan,
of Lincoln's Inn, Barrister-at-Law. 8vo. London: 1841.
WARREN HASTINGS[5]
_The Edinburgh Review_, October, 1841
We are inclined to think that we shall best meet the wishes of our
readers if, instead of minutely examining this book, we attempt to give,
in a way necessarily hasty and imperfect, our own view of the life and
character of Mr. Hastings. Our feeling towards him is not exactly that
of the House of Commons which impeached him in 1787; neither is it that
of the House of Commons which uncovered and stood up to receive him in
1813. He had great qualities, and he rendered great services to the
state. But to represent him as a man of stainless virtue is to make him
ridiculous; and from a regard for his memory, if from no other feeling,
his friends would have done well to lend no countenance to such
adulation. We believe that, if he were now living, he would have
sufficient judgment and sufficient greatness of mind to wish to be shown
as he was. He must have known that there were dark spots on his fame. He
might also have felt with pride that the splendor of his fame would bear
many spots. He would have wished posterity to have a likeness of him,
though an unfavorable likeness, rather than a daub at once insipid and
unnatural, resembling neither him nor anybody else. "Paint me as I am,"
said Oliver Cromwell, while sitting to young Lely. "If you leave out the
scars and wrinkles, I will not pay you a shilling." Even in such a
trifle, the great Protector showed both his good sense and his
magnanimity. He did not wish all that was characteristic in his
countenance to be lost, in the vain attempt to give him the regular
features and smooth blooming cheeks of the curl-pated minions of James
the First. He was content that his face should go forth marked with all
the blemishes which had been put on it by time, by war, by sleepless
nights, by anxiety, perhaps by remorse; but with valor, policy,
authority, ind public care written in all its princely lines. If men
truly great knew their own interest, it is thus that they would wish
their minds to be portrayed.
Warren Hastings sprang from an ancient and illustrious race. It has been
affirmed that his pedigree can be traced back to the great Danish
sea-king, whose sails were long the terror of both coasts of the British
Channel, and who, after many fierce and doubtful struggles, yielded at
last to the valor and genius of Alfred. But the undoubted splendor of
the line of Hastings needs no illustration from fable. One branch of
that line wore, in the fourteenth century, the coronet of Pembroke. From
another branch sprang the renowned Chamberlain, the faithful adherent of
the White Rose, whose fate has furnished so striking a theme both to
poets and to historians. His family received from the Tudors the earldom
of Huntingdon, which, after long dispossession, was regained in our time
by a series of events scarcely paralleled in romance.
The lords of the manor of Daylesford, in Worcestershire, claimed to be
considered as the heads of this distinguished family. The main stock,
indeed, prospered less than some of the younger shoots. But the
Daylesford family, though not ennobled, was wealthy and highly
considered, till, about two hundred years ago, it was overwhelmed by the
great ruin of the civil war. The Hastings of that time was a zealous
cavalier. He raised money on his lands, sent his plate to the mint at
Oxford, joined the royal army, and, after spending half his property in
the cause of King Charles, was glad to ransom himself by making over
most of the remaining half to Speaker Lenthal. The old seat at
Daylesford still remained in the family; but it could no longer be kept
up; and in the following generation it was sold to a merchant of London.
Before this transfer took place, the last Hastings of Daylesford had
presented his second son to the rectory of the parish in which the
ancient residence of the family stood. The living was of little value;
and the situation of the poor clergyman, after the sale of the estate,
was deplorable. He was constantly engaged in lawsuits about his tithes
with the new lord of the manor, and was at length utterly ruined. His
eldest son, Howard, a well conducted young man, obtained a place in the
Customs. The second son, Pynaston, an idle, worthless boy, married
before he was sixteen, lost his wife in two years, and died in the West
Indies, leaving to the care of his unfortunate father a little orphan,
destined to strange and memorable vicissitudes of fortune.
Warren, the son of Pynaston, was born on the sixth of December, 1732.
His mother died a few days later, and he was left dependent on his
distressed grandfather. The child was early sent to the village school,
where he learned his letters on the same bench with the sons of the
peasantry. Nor did anything in his garb or fare indicate that his life
was to take a widely different course from that of the young rustics
with whom he studied and played. But no cloud could overcast the dawn of
so much genius and so much ambition. The very ploughmen observed, and
long remembered, how kindly little Warren took to his book. The daily
sight of the lands which his ancestors had possessed, and which had
passed into the hands of strangers, filled his young brain with wild
fancies and projects. He loved to hear stories of the wealth and
greatness of his progenitors, of their splendid housekeeping, their
loyalty, and their valor. On one bright summer day, the boy, then just
seven years old, lay on the bank of the rivulet which flows through the
old domain of his house to join the Isis. There, as threescore and ten
years later he told the tale, rose in his mind a scheme which, through
all the turns of his eventful career, was never abandoned. He would
recover the estate which had belonged to his fathers. He would be
Hastings of Daylesford. This purpose, formed in infancy and poverty,
grew stronger as his intellect expanded and as his fortune rose. He
pursued his plan with that calm but indomitable force of will which was
the most striking peculiarity of his character. When, under a tropical
sun, he ruled fifty millions of Asiatics, his hopes, amidst all the
cares of war, finance, and legislation, still pointed to Daylesford. And
when his long public life, so singularly checkered with good and evil,
with glory and obloquy, had at length closed forever, it was to
Daylesford that he retired to die.
When he was eight years old, his uncle Howard determined to take charge
of him, and to give him a liberal education. The boy went up to London,
and was sent to a school at Newington, where he was well taught but ill
fed. He always attributed the smallness of his stature to the hard and
scanty fare of this seminary. At ten he was removed to Westminster
school, then flourishing under the care of Dr. Nichols. Vinny Bourne, as
his pupils affectionately called him, was one of the masters. Churchill,
Colman, Lloyd, Cumberland, Cowper, were among the students. With Cowper,
Hastings formed a friendship which neither the lapse of time, nor a wide
dissimilarity of opinions and pursuits, could wholly dissolve. It does
not appear that they ever met after they had grown to manhood. But forty
years later, when the voices of many great orators were crying for
vengeance on the oppressor of India, the shy and secluded poet could
image to himself Hastings the Governor-General only as the Hastings with
whom he had rowed on the Thames and played in the cloister, and refused
to believe that so good-tempered a fellow could have done anything very
wrong. His own life had been spent in praying, musing, and rhyming among
the water-lilies of the Ouse. He had preserved in no common measure the
innocence of childhood. His spirit had indeed been severely tried, but
not by temptations which impelled him to any gross violation of the
rules of social morality. He had never been attacked by combinations of
powerful and deadly enemies. He had never been compelled to make a
choice between innocence and greatness, between crime and ruin. Firmly
as he held in theory the doctrine of human depravity, his habits were
such that he was unable to conceive how far from the path of right even
kind and noble natures may be hurried by the rage of conflict and the
lust of dominion.
Hastings had another associate at Westminster of whom we shall have
occasion to make frequent mention, Elijah Impey. We know little about
their school-days. But, we think, we may safely venture to guess that,
whenever Hastings wished to play any trick more than usually naughty, he
hired Impey with a tart or a ball to act as fag in the worst part of the
prank.
Warren was distinguished among his comrades as an excellent swimmer,
boatman, and scholar. At fourteen he was first in the examination for
the foundation. His name in gilded letters on the walls of the dormitory
still attests his victory over many older competitors. He stayed two
years longer at the school, and was looking forward to a studentship at
Christ Church, when an event happened which changed the whole course of
his life. Howard Hastings died, bequeathing his nephew to the care of a
friend and distant relation, named Chiswick. This gentleman, though he
did not absolutely refuse the charge, was desirous to rid himself of it
as soon as possible. Dr. Nichols made strong remonstrances against the
cruelty of interrupting the studies of a youth who seemed likely to be
one of the first scholars of the age. He even offered to bear the
expense of sending his favorite pupil to Oxford. But Mr. Chiswick was
inflexible. He thought the years which had already been wasted on
hexameters and pentameters quite sufficient. He had it in his power to
obtain for the lad a writership in the service of the East India
Company. Whether the young adventurer, when once shipped off, made a
fortune, or died of a liver complaint, he equally ceased to be a burden
to anybody. Warren was accordingly removed from Westminster school, and
placed for a few months at a commercial academy, to study arithmetic and
book-keeping. In January, 1750, a few days after he had completed his
seventeenth year, he sailed for Bengal, and arrived at his destination
in the October following.
He was immediately placed at a desk in the Secretary's office at
Calcutta, and labored there during two years. Fort William was then a
purely commercial settlement. In the south of India the encroaching
policy of Dupleix had transformed the servants of the English Company,
against their will, into diplomatists and generals. The war of the
succession was raging in the Carnatic; and the tide had been suddenly
turned against the French by the genius of young Robert Clive. But in
Bengal the European settlers, at peace with the natives and with each
other, were wholly occupied with ledgers and bills of lading.
After two years passed in keeping accounts at Calcutta, Hastings was
sent up the country to Cossimbazar, a town which lies on the Hoogley,
about a mile from Moorshedabad, and which then bore to Moorshedabad a
relation, if we may compare small things with great, such as the city of
London bears to Westminster. Moorshedabad was the abode of the prince
who, by an authority ostensibly derived from the Mogul, but really
independent, ruled the three great provinces of Bengal, Orissa, and
Bahar. At Moorshedabad were the court, the haram, and the public
offices. Cossimbazar was a port and a place of trade, renowned for the
quantity and excellence of the silks which were sold in its marts, and
constantly receiving and sending forth fleets of richly laden barges. At
this important point, the Company had established a small factory
subordinate to that of Fort William. Here, during several years,
Hastings was employed in making bargains for stuffs with native brokers.
While he was thus engaged, Surajah Dowlah succeeded to the government,
and declared war against the English. The defenceless settlement of
Cossimbazar, lying close to the tyrant's capital, was instantly seized.
Hastings was sent a prisoner to Moorshedabad, but, in consequence of the
humane intervention of the servants of the Dutch Company, was treated
with indulgence. Meanwhile the Nabob marched on Calcutta; the governor
and the commandant fled; the town and citadel were taken, and most of
the English prisoners perished in the Black Hole.
In these events originated the greatness of Warren Hastings. The
fugitive governor and his companions had taken refuge on the dreary
islet of Fulda, near the mouth of the Hoogley. They were naturally
desirous to obtain full information respecting the proceedings of the
Nabob; and no person seemed so likely to furnish it as Hastings, who was
a prisoner at large in the immediate neighborhood of the court. He thus
became a diplomatic agent, and soon established a high character for
ability and resolution. The treason which at a later period was fatal to
Surajah Dowlah was already in progress; and Hastings was admitted to the
deliberations of the conspirators. But the time for striking had not
arrived. It was necessary to postpone the execution of the design; and
Hastings, who was now in extreme peril, fled to Fulda.
Soon after his arrival at Fulda, the expedition from Madras, commanded
by Clive, appeared in the Hoogley. Warren, young, intrepid, and excited
probably by the example of the Commander of the Forces, who, having
like himself been a mercantile agent of the Company, had been turned by
public calamities into a soldier, determined to serve in the ranks.
During the early operations of the war he carried a musket. But the
quick eye of Clive soon perceived that the head of the young volunteer
would be more useful than his arm. When, after the battle of Plassey,
Meer Jaffier was proclaimed Nabob of Bengal, Hastings was appointed to
reside at the court of the new prince as agent for the Company.
He remained at Moorshedabad till the year 1761, when he became a member
of Council, and was consequently forced to reside at Calcutta. This was
during the interval between Clive's first and second administration, an
interval which has left on the fame of the East India Company a stain,
not wholly effaced by many years of just and humane government. Mr.
Vansittart, the Governor, was at the head of a new and anomalous empire.
On the one side was a band of English functionaries, daring,
intelligent, eager to be rich. On the other side was a great native
population, helpless, timid, accustomed to crouch under oppression. To
keep the stronger race from preying on the weaker was an undertaking
which tasked to the utmost the talents and energy of Clive. Vansittart,
with fair intentions, was a feeble and inefficient ruler. The master
caste, as was natural, broke loose from all restraint; and then was seen
what we believe to be the most frightful of all spectacles, the strength
of civilization without its mercy. To all other despotism there is a
check, imperfect indeed, and liable to gross abuse, but still sufficient
to preserve society from the last extreme of misery. A time comes when
the evils of submission are obviously greater than those of resistance,
when fear itself begets a sort of courage, when a convulsive burst of
popular rage and despair warns tyrants not to presume too far on the
patience of mankind. But against misgovernment such as then afflicted
Bengal it was impossible to struggle. The superior intelligence and
energy of the dominant class made their power irresistible. A war of
Bengalese against Englishmen was like a war of sheep against wolves, of
men against demons. The only protection which the conquered could find
was in the moderation, the clemency, the enlarged policy of the
conquerors. That protection, at a later period, they found. But at first
English power came among them unaccompanied by English morality. There
was an interval between the time at which they became our subjects, and
the time at which we began to reflect that we were bound to discharge
towards them the duties of rulers. During that interval the business of
a servant of the Company was simply to wring out of the natives a
hundred or two hundred thousand pounds as speedily as possible, that he
might return home before his constitution had suffered from the heat, to
marry a peer's daughter, to buy rotten boroughs in Cornwall, and to give
balls in St. James's Square. Of the conduct of Hastings at this time
little is known; but the little that is known, and the circumstance that
little is known, must be considered as honorable to him. He could not
protect the natives: all that he could do was to abstain from plundering
and oppressing them; and this he appears to have done. It is certain
that at this time he continued poor; and it is equally certain, that by
cruelty and dishonesty he might easily have become rich. It is certain
that he was never charged with having borne a share in the worst abuses
which then prevailed; and it is almost equally certain that, if he had
borne a share in those abuses, the able and bitter enemies who
afterwards persecuted him would not have failed to discover and to
proclaim his guilt. The keen, severe, and even malevolent scrutiny to
which his whole public life was subjected, a scrutiny unparalleled, as
we believe, in the history of mankind, is in one respect advantageous to
his reputation. It brought many lamentable blemishes to light; but it
entitles him to be considered pure from every blemish which has not been
brought to light.
The truth is that the temptations to which so many English functionaries
yielded in the time of Mr. Vansittart were not temptations addressed to
the ruling passions of Warren Hastings. He was not squeamish in
pecuniary transactions; but he was neither sordid nor rapacious. He was
far too enlightened a man to look on a great empire merely as a
buccaneer would look on a galleon. Had his heart been much worse than it
was, his understanding would have preserved him from that extremity of
baseness. He was an unscrupulous, perhaps an unprincipled statesman; but
still he was a statesman, and not a freebooter.
In 1764 Hastings returned to England. He had realized only a very
moderate fortune; and that moderate fortune was soon reduced to nothing,
partly by his praiseworthy liberality, and partly by his mismanagement.
Towards his relations he appears to have acted very generously. The
greater part of his savings he left in Bengal, hoping probably to obtain
the high usury of India. But high usury and bad security generally go
together; and Hastings lost both interest and principal.