William Rufus, the hall which had resounded with acclamations at the
inauguration of thirty {125}kings, the hall which had witnessed the just
sentence of Bacon and the just absolution of Somers, the hall where the
eloquence of Strafford had for a moment awed and melted a victorious
party inflamed with just resentment, the hall where Charles had
confronted the High Court of Justice with the placid courage which has
half redeemed his fame. Neither military nor civil pomp was wanting.
The avenues were lined with grenadiers. The streets were kept clear by
cavalry. The peers, robed in gold and ermine, were marshalled by the
heralds under Garter King-at-arms. The judges in their vestments of
state attended to give advice on points of law. Near a hundred and
seventy lords, three fourths of the Upper House as the Upper House then
was, walked in solemn order from their usual place of assembling to
the tribunal. The junior Baron present led the way, George Eliott, Lord
Heathfield, recently ennobled for his memorable defence of Gibraltar
against the fleets and armies of France and Spain. The long procession
was closed by the Duke of Norfolk, Earl Marshal of the realm, by the
great dignitaries, and by the brothers and sons of the King. Last of
all came the Prince of Wales, conspicuous by his fine person and noble
bearing. The grey old walls were hung with scarlet. The long galleries
were crowded by an audience such as has rarely excited the fears or the
emulations of an orator. There were gathered together, from all parts
of a great, free, enlightened, and prosperous empire, grace and female
loveliness, wit and learning, the representatives of every science and
of every art. There were seated round the Queen the fairhaired young
daughters of the House of Brunswick. There the Ambassadors of great
Kings and Commonwealths gazed with admiration on a spectacle which no
{126}other country in the world could present. There Siddons, in the
prime of her majestic beauty, looked with emotion on a scene surpassing
all the imitations of the stage. There the historian of the Roman Empire
thought of the days when Cicero pleaded the cause of Sicily against
Verres, and when, before a senate which still ret ained some show of
freedom, Tacitus thundered against the oppressor of Africa. There were
seen side by side the greatest painter and the greatest scholar of
the age. The spectacle had allured Reynolds from that easel which
has preserved to us the thoughtful foreheads of so many writers and
statesmen, and the sweet smiles of so many noble matrons. It had induced
Parr to suspend his labours in that dark and profound mine from which he
had extracted a vast treasure of erudition, a treasure too often
bulled in the earth, too often paraded with injudicious and inelegant
ostentation, but still precious, massive, and splendid. There appeared
the voluptuous charms of her to whom the heir of the throne had in
secret plighted his faith. There too was she, the beautiful mother of a
beautiful race, the Saint Cecilia, whose delicate features, lighted up
by love and music, art has rescued from the common decay. There wore
the members of that brilliant society which quoted, criticized, and
exchanged repartees, under’ the rich peacock-hangings of Mrs. Montague.
And there the ladies whose lips, more persuasive than those of Fox
himself, had carried the Westminster election against palace and
treasury, shone around Georgi-ana Duchess of Devonshire.
The Serjeants made proclamation. Hastings advanced to the bar, and bent
his knee. The culprit was indeed not unworthy of that great presence.
He had ruled an extensive and populous country, had {127}made laws and
treaties, had sent forth armies, had set up and pulled down princes. And
in his high place he had so borne himself, that all had feared him, that
most had loved him, and that hatred itself could deny him no title to
glory, except virtue. He looked like a great man, and not like a bad
man. A person small and emaciated, yet deriving dignity from a carriage
which, while it indicated deference to the court, indicated also
habitual self-possession and self-respect, a high and intellectual
forehead, a brow pensive, but not gloomy, a mouth of inflexible
decision, a face pale and worn, but serene, on which was written, as
legibly as under the picture in the council-chamber at Calcutta, _Mens
aequa in arduis_; such was the aspect with which the great Proconsul
presented himself to his judges.
His counsel accompanied him, men all of whom were afterwards raised by
their talents and learning to the highest posts in their profession,
the bold and strong-minded Law, afterwards Chief Justice of the King’s
Bench; the more humane and eloquent Dallas, afterwards Chief Justice of
the Common Pleas; and Plomer who, near twenty years later, successfully
conducted in the same high court the defence of Lord Melville, and
subsequently became Vice-chancellor and Master of the Rolls.
But neither the culprit nor his advocates attracted so much notice as
the accusers. In the midst of the blaze of red drapery, a space had been
fitted up with green benches and tables for the Commons. The managers,
with Burke at their head, appeared in full dress. The collectors of
gossip did not fail to remark that even Fox, generally so regardless
of his appearance, had paid to the illustrious tribunal the compliment
{128}of wearing a bag and sword. Pitt had refused to be one of the
conductors of the impeachment; and his commanding, copious, and sonorous
eloquence was wanting to that great muster of various talents. Age and
blindness had unfitted Lord North for the duties of a public prosecutor;
and his friends were left without the help of his excellent sense,
his tact, and his urbanity. But, in spite of the absence of these two
distinguished members of the Lower House, the box in which the managers
stood contained an array of speakers such as perhaps had not appeared
together since the great age of Athenian eloquence. There were Fox and
Sheridan, the English Demosthenes and the English Hyperides. There
was Burke, ignorant, indeed, or negligent of the art of adapting his
reasonings and his style to the capacity and taste of his hearers, but
in amplitude of comprehension and richness of imagination superior to
every orator, ancient or modern. There, with eyes reverentially fixed on
Burke, appeared the finest gentleman of the age, his form developed by
every manly exercise, his face beaming with intelligence and spirit,
the ingenious, the chivalrous, the high-souled Windham. Nor, though
surrounded by such men, did the youngest manager pass unnoticed. At
an age when most of those who distinguish themselves in life are still
contending for prizes and fellowships at college, He had won for himself
a conspicuous place in parliament. No advantage of fortune or connection
was wanting that could set off to the height his splendid talents and
his unblemished honour. At twenty-three he had been thought worthy to be
ranked with the veteran statesmen who appeared as the delegates of the
British Commons, at the bar of the British nobility. {129}All who stood
at that bar, save him alone, are gone, culprit, advocates, accusers.
To the generation which is now in the vigour of life, he is the sole
representative of a great age which has passed away. But those who,
within the last ten years, have listened with delight, till the morning
sun shone on the tapestries of the House of Lords, to the lofty and
animated eloquence of Charles Earl Grey, are able to form some estimate
of the powers of a race of men among whom he was not the foremost.
The charges and the answers of Hastings were first read. The ceremony
occupied two whole days, and was rendered less tedious than it would
otherwise have been by the silver voice and just emphasis of Cowper, the
clerk of the court, a near relation of the amiable poet. On the third
day Burke rose. Four sittings were occupied by his opening speech, which
was intended to be a general introduction to all the charges. With
an exuberance of thought and a splendour of diction which more than
satisfied the highly raised expectation of the audience, he described
the character and institutions of the natives of India, recounted the
circumstances in which the Asiatic empire of Britain had originated,
and set forth the constitution of the Company and of the English
presidencies. Having thus attempted to communicate to his hearers an
idea of Eastern society, as vivid as that which existed in his own mind,
he proceeded to arraign the administration of Hastings as systematically
conducted in defiance of morality and public law. The energy and pathos
of the great orator extorted expressions of unwonted admiration from the
stern and hostile Chancellor, and, for a moment, seemed to pierce
even the resolute heart of the defendant. The ladies in the galleries,
unaccustomed {130}to such displays of eloquence, excited by the
solemnity on the occasion, and perhaps not unwilling to display their
taste and sensibility, were in a state of uncontrollable emotion.
Handkerchiefs were pulled out; smelling bottles were handed round;
hysterical sobs and screams were heard: and Mrs. Sheridan was carried
out in a fit. At length the orator concluded. Raising his voice till the
old arches of Irish oak resounded, “Therefore,” said he, “hath it with
all confidence been ordered, by the Commons of Great Britain, that I
impeach Warren Hastings of high crimes and misdemeanours. I impeach
him in the name of the Commons’ House of Parliament, whose trust he has
betrayed. I impeach him in the name of the English nation, whose ancient
honour he has sullied. I impeach him in the name of the people of India,
whose rights he has trodden under foot, and whose country he has turned
into a desert. Lastly, in the name of human nature itself, in the name
of both sexes, in the name of every age, in the name of every rank, I
impeach the common enemy and oppressor of all!”
When the deep murmur of various emotions had subsided, Mr. Fox rose to
address the Lords respecting the course of proceeding to be followed.
The wish of the accusers was that the Court would bring to a close the
investigation of the first charge before the second was opened. The wish
of Hastings and of his counsel was that the managers should open all the
charges, and produce all the evidence for the prosecution, before the
defence began. The Lords retired to their own House to consider the
question. The Chancellor took the side of Hastings. Lord Loughborough,
who was now in opposition, supported the demand of the managers. The
division showed which wav the inclination {131}of the tribunal leaned.
A majority of near three to one decided in favour of the course for
which Hastings contended.
When the Court sat again, Mr. Fox, assisted by Mr. Grey, opened the
charge respecting Cheyte Sing, and several days were spent in reading
papers and hearing witnesses. The next article was that relating to the
Princesses of Onde. The conduct of this part of the case was intrusted
to Sheridan. The curiosity of the public to hear him was unbounded. His
sparkling and highly finished declamation lasted two days; but the Hall
was crowded to suffocation during the whole time. It was said that fifty
guineas had been paid for a single ticket. Sheridan, when he concluded,
contrived, with a knowledge of stage effect which his father might
have envied, to sink back, as if exhausted, into the arms of Burke, who
hugged him with the energy of generous admiration.
June was now far advanced. The session could not last much longer;
and the progress which had been made in the impeachment was not very
satisfactory. There were twenty charges. On two only of these had even
the case for the prosecution been heard; and it was now a year since
Hastings had been admitted to bail.
The interest taken by the public in the trial was great when the Court
began to sit, and rose to the height when Sheridan spoke on the charge
relating to the Begums. From that time the excitement went down fast.
The spectacle had lost the attraction of novelty. The great displays of
rhetoric were over. What was behind was not of a nature to entice men of
letters from their books in the morning, or to tempt ladies who had left
the masquerade at two to be out of {132}bed before eight. There remained
examinations and cross-examinations. There remained statements of
accounts. There remained the reading of papers, filled with words
unintelligible to English cars, with lacs and crores, zemindars and
aumils, sunnuds and perwannahs, jaghires and nuzzurs. There remained
bickerings, not always carried on with the best taste or with the best
temper, between the managers of the impeachment and the counsel for the
defence, particularly between Mr. Burke and Mr. Law. There remained the
endless marches and countermarches of the Peers between their House
and the Hall: for as often as a point of law was to be discussed, their
Lordships retired to discuss it apart; and the consequence was, as a
Peer wittily said, that the judges walked and the trial stood still.
It is to be added that, in the spring of 1788, when the trial commenced,
no important question, either of domestic or foreign policy, occupied
the public mind. The proceeding in Westminster Hall, therefore,
naturally attracted most of the attention of Parliament and of the
country. It was the one great event of that season. But in the following
year the King’s illness, the debates on the Regency, the expectation of
a change of ministry, completely diverted public attention from Indian
affairs; and within a fortnight after George the Third had returned
thanks in St. Paul’s for his recovery, the States-General of France met
at Versailles, In the midst of the agitation produced by these events,
the impeachment was for a time almost forgotten.
The trial in the Hall went on languidly. In the session of 1788, when
the proceedings had the interest of novelty, and when the Peers had
little other business before them, only thirty-five days were given to
{133}the impeachment. In 1789, the Regency Bill occupied the Upper House
till the session was far advanced. When the Kino; recovered the circuits
were beginning. The judges left town; the Lords waited for the return
of the oracles of jurisprudence; and the consequence was that during the
whole year only seventeen days were given to the case of Hastings. It
was clear that the matter would be protracted to a length unprecedented
in the annals of criminal law.
In truth, it is impossible to deny that impeachment, though it is a fine
ceremony, and though it may have been useful in the seventeenth century,
is not a proceeding from which much good can now be expected. Whatever
confidence may be placed in the decision of the Peers on an appeal
arising out of ordinary litigation, it is certain that no man has the
least confidence in their impartiality, when a great public functionary,
charged with a great state crime, is brought to their bar. They are all
politicians. There is hardly one among them whose vote on an impeachment
may not be confidently predicted before a witness has been examined;
and, even if it were possible to rely on their justice, they would still
be quite unfit to try such a cause as that of Hastings. They sit only
during half the year. They have to transact much legislative and much
judicial business. The law-lords, whose advice is required to guide
the unlearned majority, are employed daily in administering justice
elsewhere. It is impossible, therefore, that, during a busy session, the
Upper House should give more than a few days to an impeachment.
To expect that their Lordships would give up partridge-shooting, in
order to bring the greatest delinquent, to speedy justice, or to
relieve accused innocence by speedy acquittal, would be unreasonable
{134}indeed. A well constituted tribunal, sitting regularly six days
in the week, and nine hours in the day, would have brought the trial
of Hastings to a close in less than three months. The Lords had not
finished their work in seven years.
The result ceased to be matter of doubt, from the time when the Lords
resolved that they would be guided by the rules of evidence which are
received in the inferior courts of the realm. Those rules, it is well
known, exclude much information which would be quite sufficient to
determine the conduct of any reasonable man, in the most important
transactions of private life. These rules, at every assizes, save scores
of culprits whom judges, jury, and spectators, firmly believe to be
guilty. But when those rules were rigidly applied to offences committed
many years before, at the distance of many thousands of miles,
conviction was, of course, out of the question. We do not blame the
accused and his counsel for availing themselves of every legal advantage
in order to obtain an acquittal. But it is clear that an acquittal so
obtained cannot be pleaded in bar of the judgment of history.
Several attempts were made by the friends of Hastings to put a stop to
the trial. In 1780 they proposed a vote of censure upon Burke, for some
violent language which he had used respecting the death of Nuncomar and
the connection between Hastings and Impey. Burke was then unpopular in
the last degree both with the House and with the country. The asperity
and indecency of some expressions which he had used during the debates
on the Regency had annoyed even his warmest friends. The vote of censure
was carried; and those who had moved it hoped that the managers would
resign in disgust. Burke was deeply hurt. But {135}his zeal for what he
considered as the cause of justice and mercy triumphed over his
personal feelings. He received the censure of the House with dignity
and meekness, and declared that no personal mortification or humiliation
should induce him to flinch from the sacred duty which he had
undertaken.
In the following year the Parliament was dissolved; and the friends of
Hastings entertained a hope that the new House of Commons might not be
disposed to go on with the impeachment. They began by maintaining that
the whole proceeding was terminated by the dissolution. Defeated on
this point, they made a direct motion that the impeachment, should be
dropped; but they were defeated by the combined forces of the Government
and the Opposition. It was, however, resolved that, for the sake of
expedition, many of the articles should be withdrawn. In truth, had not
some such measure been adopted, the trial would have lasted till the
defendant was in his grave.
At length, in the spring of 1795, the decision was pronounced, near
eight years after Hastings had been brought by the Serjeant-at-arms
of the Commons to the bar of the Lords. On the last day of this great
procedure the public curiosity, long suspended, seemed to be revived.
Anxiety about the judgment there could be none; for it had been
fully ascertained that there was a great majority for the defendant.
Nevertheless many wished to see the pageant, and the Hall was as much
crowded as on the first day. But those who, having been present on the
first day, now bore a part in the proceedings of the last, were few; and
most of those few were altered men.
As Hastings himself said, the arraignment had taken place before
one generation, and the judgment was pronounced {136}by another. The
spectator could not look at the woolsack, or at the red benches of the
Peers, or at the green benches of the Commons, without seeing something
that reminded him of the instability of all human things, of the
instability of power and tame and life, of the more lamentable
instability of friendship. The great seal was borne before Lord
Loughborough, who, when the trial commenced, was a fierce opponent of
Mr. Pitt’s government, and who was now a member of that government,
while Thurlow, who presided in the Court when it first sat, estranged
from all his old allies, sat scowling among the junior barons. Of about
a hundred and sixty nobles who walked in the procession on the first
day, sixty had been laid in their family vaults. Still more affecting
must have been the sight of the managers’ box. What had become of that
fair fellowship, so closely bound together by public and private
ties, so resplendent with every talent and accomplishment? It had been
scattered by calamities more bitter than the bitterness of death. The
great chiefs were still living, and still in the full vigour of their
genius. But their friendship was at an end. It had been violently and
publicly dissolved, with tears and stormy reproaches. If those men, once
so dear to each other, were now compelled to meet for the purpose of
managing the impeachment, they met as strangers whom public business
had brought together, and behaved to each other with cold and distant
civility. Burke had in his vortex whirled away Windham. Fox had been
followed by Sheridan and Grey.
Only twenty-nine Peers voted. Of these only six found Hastings guilty on
the charges relating to Cheyte Sing and to the Begums. On other
charges, the majority in his favour was still greater. On some he was
{137}unanimously absolved. He was then called to the bar, was informed
from the woolsack that the Lords had acquitted him, and was solemnly
discharged. He bowed respectfully and retired.