MR. WINDHAM DISCUSSES THE IMPEACHMENT.
A far more interesting conference, however, was now awaiting me. Towards the close of the day Mr. Windham very unexpectedly came again from the committee-box, and seated himself by my side. I was glad to see by this second visit that my frankness had not offended him. He began, too, in so open and social a manner, that I was satisfied he forgave it.
“I have been,” cried he, “very busy since I left you. — writing — reading — making documents.”
I saw he was much agitated; the gaiety which seems natural to him was flown, and had left in its place the most evident and unquiet emotion. I looked a little surprised, and rallying himself, in a few moments he inquired if I wished for any refreshment, and proposed fetching me some. But, well as I liked him for a conspirator, I could not break bread with him!
I thought now all was over of communication between us, but I was mistaken. He spoke for a minute or two upon the crowd — early hour of coming — hasty breakfasting and such general nothings; and then, as if involuntarily, he returned to the sole subject on his mind.
“Our plan,” cried he, “is all changing: we have all been busy — we are coming into a new method. I have been making preparations — I did not intend speaking for a considerable time — not till after the circuit, but now, I may be called upon, I know not how soon. Then he stopped — ruminating — and I let him ruminate without interruption for some minutes, when he broke forth with these reflections: “How strange, how infatuated a frailty has man with respect to the future! Be our views, our designs, our anticipations what they may, we are never prepared for it! — It always takes us by surprise — always comes before we look for it!”
He stopped; but I waited his explanation without speaking, and, after pausing thoughtfully for some time, he went on:
“This day — for which we have all been waiting so anxiously, so earnestly — the day for which we have fought, for which we have struggled — a day, indeed, of national glory, in bringing to this great tribunal a delinquent from so high an office — this day, so much wished, has seemed to me, to the last moment, so distant, that now — now that it Is actually arrived, it takes me as if I had never thought of it before — it comes upon me all unexpected, and finds me unready!”
Still I said nothing, for I did not fully comprehend him, till he added, “I will not be so affected as to say to you that I have made no preparation — that I have not thought a little upon what I have to do; yet now that the moment is actually come—”
Again he broke off. but a generous sentiment was, bursting from him, and would not be withheld.
“It has brought me,” he resumed, “a feeling of which I am not yet quite the master! What I have said hitherto, when I have spoken in the house, has been urged and stimulated by the idea of pleading for the injured and the absent, and that gave me spirit. Nor do I tell you (with a half-conscious smile) that the ardour of the prosecution went for nothing — a prosecution in favour of oppressed millions! But now,. when I am to speak here, the thought of that man, close to my side — culprit as he is — that man on whom all the odium is to fall — gives me, I own, a sensation that almost disqualifies me beforehand!” . . .
“That this day was ever brought about,” continued he, “must ever remain a noble memorial of courage and perseverance in the Commons. Every possible obstacle has been thrown in our way — every art of government has been at work to impede us — nothing has been left untried to obstruct us — every check and clog of power and influence.”
“Not by him,” cried I, looking at poor Mr. Hastings; “he has raised no impediments — he has been wholly careless. “Come,” cried he, with energy, “come and hear Burke! — Come but and hear him!— ’tis an eloquence irresistible! — a torrent that sweeps all before it with the force of a whirlwind! It will Cure You, indeed, of your prepossession, but it will give you truth and right in its place. What discoveries has he not made! — what gulfs has he not dived into! Come and hear him, and your conflict will end!” I could hardly stand this, and, to turn it off’, asked him if Mr. Hastings was to make his own defence?
“No,” he answered, “he will only speak by counsel. But do not regret that, for his own sake, as he is not used to public speaking, and has some impediment in his speech besides. He writes wonderfully — there he shines — and with a facility quite astonishing. Have you ever happened to see any of his writings?”
“No: only one short account, which he calls ‘Memoirs relative to some India transactions,’ and that struck me to be extremely unequal — in some places strong and finely expressed, In others obscure and scarce intelligible.”
“That is just the case — that ambiguity runs through him in everything. Burke has found an admirable word for it in the Persian tongue, for which we have no translation, but it means an intricacy involved so deep as to be nearly unfathomable — an artificial entanglement.”
I inquired how it was all to end — whether this reading was to continue incessantly, or any speaking was to follow it?
“I have not inquired how that is,” he answered, “but I believe you will now soon be released.”
“And will the chancellor speak to adjourn?”
“I cannot tell what the form may be, or how we are to be dissolved. I think myself there is nothing more difficult than how to tell people they may go about their business. I remember, when I was in the militia, it was just what I thought the most awkward, when I had done with my men. Use gives one the habit; and I found, afterwards, there was a regular mode for it: but, at first, I found it very embarrassing how to get rid of them.”
Nothing excites frankness like frankness; and I answered him in return with a case of my own. “When first I came to my present residence I was perpetually,” I said, “upon the point of making a blunder with the queen; for when, after she had honoured me with any conversation, she used to say ‘Now I won’t keep you — now I will detain you no longer,’ . I was always ready to answer, ‘Ma’am, I am in no haste,- ma’am, I don’t wish to go!’ for I was not, at first, aware that it was only her mode of dismissing people from her presence.”
WINDHAM AFFECTS TO COMMISERATE HASTINGS.
Again he was going: but glancing his eyes once more down upon Mr. Hastings, he almost sighed — he fetched, at least, a deep breath, while he exclaimed with strong emotion, “What a place for a man to stand in to hear what he has to hear!— ’tis almost too much!”
It would not be easy to tell you how touching at such a time was the smallest concession from an avowed opponent, and I could not help exclaiming again, “O, Mr. Windham, you must not be so liberal!”
“O!” cried he, smiling, and recovering himself, “’tis all the deeper malice, only to draw you in!”
Still, however, he did not go : he kept gazing upon Mr. Hastings till he seemed almost fascinated to the spot; and presently after, growing more and more open in his discourse, he began to talk to me of Sir Elijah Impey. I presume my dearest friends, little as they hear of politics and state business, must yet know that the House of Commons is threatening Sir Elijah with an impeachment, to succeed that of Mr. Hastings, and all upon East India transactions of the same date.(265)
When he had given me his sentiments upon this subject, which I had heard with that sort of quietness that results from total ignorance of the matter, joined to total ignorance of the person concerned, he drew a short comparison, which, nearly, from him, and at such a moment, drew the tears from my eyes — nearly do I say? — Indeed more than that!
“Sir Elijah,” cried he, “knows how to go to work, and by getting the lawyers to side with him professionally, has set about his defence in the most artful manner. He is not only wicked, but a very pitiful fellow. Let him but escape fine or imprisonment, and he will pocket all indignity, and hold himself happy in getting off: but Hastings (again looking steadfastly at him) — Hastings has feeling— ’tis a proud feeling, an ambitious feeling — but feeling he has! Hastings — come to him w
hat may — fine, imprisonment, whatsoever is inflicted — all will be nothing. The moment of his punishment — I think it, upon my honour! — was the moment that brought him to that bar!”
When he said “I think it, upon my honour,” he laid his hand on his breast, as if he implied, “I acquit him henceforward.”
Poor Mr. Hastings! One generous enemy he has at least, who pursues him with public hate, but without personal malignity! yet sure I feel he can deserve neither!
I did not spare to express my sense of this liberality from a foe; for, indeed, the situation I was in, and the sight of Mr. Hastings, made it very affecting to me. He was affected too, himself; but presently, rising, he said with great quickness, “I must shake all. this off; I must have done with it — dismiss it — forget that he is there.”
“O, no,” cried I, earnestly, “do not forget it!”
“Yes, yes; I must.”
“ No, remember it rather,” cried I; “I could almost (putting up my hands as if praying) do thus and then, like poor Mr. Hastings just now to the house, drop down on my knees to you, to call out ‘Remember it.’”
“Yes, Yes,” cried he, precipitately, “how else shall I go on? I must forget that he is there, and that you are here.” And then he hurried down to his committee.
Was it not a most singular scene?
I had afterwards to relate great part of this to the queen herself. She saw me engaged in such close discourse, and with such apparent interest on both sides, with Mr. Windham, that I knew she must else form conjectures innumerable. So candid, so liberal is the mind of the queen, that she not only heard me with the most favourable attention towards Mr. Windham, but was herself touched even to tears by the relation.
We stayed but a short time after this last conference; for nothing more was attempted than reading on the charges and answers, in the same useless manner,
120
MISS BURNEY IS AGAIN PRESENT AT HASTINGS’S TRIAL.. The interest of this trial was so much upon my mind, that I have not kept even a memorandum of what passed from the 13th of February to the day when I went again to Westminster Hall; nor, except renewing the Friday Oratorios with Mrs. Ord, do I recollect one circumstance.
The second time that the queen, who saw my wishes, indulged me with one of her tickets, and a permission of absence for the trial, was to hear Mr. Burke, for whom my curiosity and my interest stood the highest. One ticket, however, would not do; I could not go alone, and the queen had bestowed all her other’ tickets before she discovered that this was a day in my particular wishes. She entered into my perplexity with a sweetness the most gracious, and when I knew not how to obviate it, commanded me to write to the Duchess of Ancaster, and beg permission to be put under the wing of her grace, or any of her friends that were going to the Hall.
The duchess, unluckily, did not go, from indisposition, nor any of her family; but she sent me a very obliging letter, and another ticket from Sir Peter Burrell, to use for a companion.
I fixed upon James, who, I knew, wished to hear Mr. Burke for once, and we went together very comfortably. When the managers, who, as before, made the first procession, by entering their box below us, were all arranged, one from among them, whom I knew not, came up into the seats of the House of Commons by our side, and said, “Captain Burney, I am very glad to see you.”
“How do you do, sir?” answered James; “here I am, come to see the fine show.”
Upon this the attacker turned short upon his heel, and abruptly walked away, descending into the box, which he did not quit any more. I inquired who he was; General Burgoyne, James told me. “A manager!” cried I, “and one of the chargers! and you treat the business of the Hall with such contempt to his face!”
James laughed heartily at his own uncourtly address, but I would not repent, though he acknowledged he saw the offence his slight and slighting speech had given.
Fearful lest he should proceed in the same style with my friend Mr. Windham, I kept as aloof as possible, to avoid his notice, entreating James at the same time to have the complaisance to be silent upon this subject, should he discover me and approach. My own sentiments were as opposite to those of the managers as his, and I had not scrupled to avow honestly my dissent; but I well knew Mr. Windham might bear, and even respect, from a female, the same openness of opposition that might be highly offensive to him from a man. But I could obtain no positive promise; he would only compromise with my request, and agree not to speak unless applied to first. This, however, contented me, as Mr. Windham was too far embarked in his undertaking to solicit any opinion upon it from accidentally meeting any common acquaintance.
>From young Burke and his uncle Richard I had bows from the committee box. Mr. Windham either saw me not, or was too much engaged in business to ascend.
BURKE’.S SPEECH IN SUPPORT OF THE CHARGES. At length the peers’ procession closed, the prisoner was brought in, and Mr. Burke began his speech. It was the second day of his harangue;(266) the first I had not been able to attend.
All I had heard of his eloquence, and all I had conceived of his great abilities, was more than answered by his performance. Nervous, clear, and striking was almost all that he uttered: the main business, indeed, of his coming forth was frequently neglected, and not seldom wholly lost , but his excursions were so fanciful, so entertaining, and so ingenious, that no miscellaneous hearer, like myself, could blame them. It is true he was unequal, but his inequality produced an effect which, in so long a speech, was perhaps preferable to greater consistency since, though it lost attention in its falling off, it recovered it with additional energy by some ascent unexpected and wonderful. When he narrated, he was easy, flowing, and natural; when he declaimed, energetic, warm, and brilliant. The sentiments he interspersed were as nobly conceived as they were highly coloured; his satire had a poignancy of wit that made it as entertaining as it was penetrating; his allusions and quotations, as far as they were English and within my reach, were apt and ingenious - and the wild and sudden flights of his fancy, bursting forth from his creative imagination in language fluent, forcible, and varied, had a charm for my ear and my attention wholly new and perfectly irresistible.
Were talents such as these exercised in the service of truth, unbiased by party and prejudice, how could we sufficiently applaud their exalted possessor? But though frequently he made me tremble by his strong and horrible representations, his own violence recovered me, by stigmatizing his assertions with personal ill-will and designing illiberality. Yet, at times I confess, with all that I felt, wished, and thought concerning Mr. Hastings, the whirlwind of his eloquence nearly drew me into its vortex. I give no particulars of the speech, because they will all be printed.
The observations and whispers of our keen as well as honest James, during the whole, were highly characteristic and entertaining.
“When will he come to the point?”-”These are mere words!”— “This is all sheer detraction!”— “All this is nothing to the purpose!” etc., etc.
“Well, ma’am, what say you to all this? how have you been entertained?” cried a voice at my side; and I saw Mr. Crutchley, who came round to speak to me.
“Entertained?” cried I, “indeed, not at all, it is quite too serious and too horrible for entertainment: you ask after my amusement as if I were at an opera or a comedy.”
“A comedy?” repeated he, contemptuously, “no, a farce! It is not high enough for a comedy. To hear a man rant such stuff. But you should have been here the first day he spoke; this is milk and honey to that. He said then, ‘ His heart was as black — as — black!’ and called him the captain-general of iniquity.”
“Hush! hush!” cried I, for he spoke very loud; “that young man you see down there, who is looking up, is his son.”
“I know it,” cried he, “and what do I care?”
How I knew Mr. Crutchley again, by his ready talent of defiance,
and disposition to contempt! I was called aside from him by
James.
/> Mr. Crutchley retired, and Mr. Windham quitted his den, and approached me, with a smile of good-humour and satisfaction that made me instantly exclaim, “No exultation, Mr. Windham, no questions; don’t ask me what I think of the speech; I can bear no triumph just now.”
“No, indeed,” cried he, very civilly, “I will not, I promise you, and you may depend upon me.”
He then spoke to James, regretting with much politeness that he had seen so little of him when he was his neighbour in Norfolk, and attributing it to the load of India business he had carried into the country to study. I believe I have mentioned that Felbrig, Mr. Windham’s seat, is within a few miles of my brother-in-law, Mr. Francis’s house at Aylsham.
After this, however, ere we knew where we were, we began commenting upon the speech. It was impossible to refuse applause to its able delivery and skilful eloquence; I, too, who so long had been amongst the warmest personal admirers of Mr. Burke, could least of all withhold from him the mite of common justice. In talking over the speech, therefore, while I kept clear of its purpose, I gave to its execution the amplest praise; and I secretly grieved that I held back more blame than I had commendation to bestow.
He had the good breeding to accept it just as I offered it, without claiming more, or endeavouring to entangle me in my approbation. He even checked himself, voluntarily, when he was asking me some question of my conversion, by stopping short, and saying, “But, no, it is not fair to press you; I must not do that.”
“You cannot,” cried I, “press me too much, with respect to my admiration of the ability of the speaker; I never more wished to have written short-hand. I must content myself, however, that I have at least a long memory.”
He regretted very much that I had missed the first opening of the speech, and gave me some account of it, adding, I might judge what I had lost then by what I had heard now.
I frankly confessed that the two stories which Mr. Burke had narrated had nearly overpowered me; they were pictures of cruelty so terrible.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 578
