At the time of the negotiation at Lisle, the then republican Government had stood two years and a half. Previous to that time, it had been declared improper to enter into negotiation with it; but, from experience and the evidence of facts, Ministers discovered that it was then become good and proper to treat with; and yet so it happened that, immediately after this judgement in its favour, it crumbled to pieces. Here, then, we have a tolerable rule to judge by, and may presume, on the authority of this case, that something more than two years and a half must expire before any new government will be pronounced stable. The note, Sir, then proceeds to pay an handsome compliment to the line of princes who maintained peace at home, and to round the period handsomely, it should have added, tranquillity abroad; but instead of this are substituted respect and consideration, by which we are to understand exactly what is meant by the consideration with which the note is subscribed, being equivalent to 'I am, Sir, with the highest respect and sincerest enmity, yours', for, Sir, this consideration which the line of princes maintained, consisted in involving all the Powers within their reach and influence in war and contentions. The note then proceeds to state, that this restoration of monarchy would secure to France the uninterrupted possession of her ancient territory, by which we are to understand, I suppose, we would renounce our Quiberon expeditions. In this note, Sir, the gentlemen seem to have clubbed their talents, one found grammar, another logic, and a third some other ingredient; but is it not strange that they should all forget that the House of Bourbon, instead of maintaining peace and tranquillity in Europe, was always the disturber of both? In the very last transaction of monarchical France, I mean her conduct in the American war. His Majesty's speech begins thus: 'France, the disturber of the tranquillity of Europe.' But were a person to judge hereafter, from the history of the present time, of the war we carried on, and the millions we expended for the monarchy of France, he would be led to conclude that it was our nearest and dearest friend. Is there anything, then, in the knowledge of human nature, from which we can infer, that with the restoration of monarchy in France, a total change in the principles of the people would take place? or that Ministers of the new King would renounce them? What security have we, that a change of principles will take place in the restored monarch, and that he will not act upon the principles cherished by his ancestors? But if this security is effected by maiming France, does the right honourable gentleman think that the people of France would submit to it? Does he not know that even the emigrants have that partiality for the grandeur of their country, that even they cannot restrain their joy at republican victories? But with regard to the practicability of the course to be pursued, the right honourable gentleman says, he is looking forward to a time when there shall be no dread of Jacobin principles. I ask whether he does not think, from the fraud, oppression, tyranny, and cruelty with which the conduct of France has marked them, that they are not now nearly dead, extinct, and detested? But who are the Jacobins? Is there a man in this country who has at any time opposed Ministers, who has resisted the waste of public money and the prostitution of honours, that has not been branded with the name? The Whig Club are Jacobins. Of this there can be no doubt, for a right honourable gentleman [Mr. Windham] on that account struck his name off the list. The Friends of the People are Jacobins. I am one of the Friends of the People, and consequently am a Jacobin. The honourable gentleman pledged himself never to treat with Jacobin France until we had
Toto certatum est corpore regni.
Now he did treat with France at Lisle and Paris, but perhaps there were not Jacobins in France at either of these times. You, then, the Friends of the People, are the Jacobins. I do think, Sir, Jacobin principles never existed much in this country; and even admitting they had, I say they have been found so hostile to true liberty, that in proportion as we love it, and whatever may be said, I must still consider liberty an inestimable blessing, we must hate and detest these principles. But more, I do not think they even exist in France; they have there died the best of deaths, a death I am more pleased to see than if it had been effected by a foreign force; they have stung themselves to death, and died by their own poison. But the honourable gentleman, arguing from experience of human nature, tells us that Jacobin principles are such, that the mind that is once infected with them, no quarantine, no cure can cleanse. Now if this be the case, and that there are, according to Mr. Burke's statement, eighty thousand incorrigible Jacobins in England, we are in a melancholy situation. The right honourable gentleman must continue the war while one of the present generation remains, and consequently we cannot for that period expect those rights to be restored to us, to the suspension and restrictions of which the honourable gentleman attributes the suppression of these principles. A pretty consolation this, truly! Now I contend that they do not exist in France to the same extent as before, or nearly. If this, then, be the case, what danger can be apprehended? But if this, then, be true, and that Buonaparte, the child and champion of Jacobin principles, as he is called, be resolved to uphold them, upon what ground does the honourable gentleman presume to hope for the restoration of the House of Bourbon? So far I have argued on the probability of the object, but the honourable gentleman goes on, and says, there is no wish to restore the monarchy without the consent of the people. Now if this be the case, is it not better to leave the people to themselves, for if armies are to interfere, how can we ascertain that it is a legitimate government established with the pure consent of the people? As to Buonaparte, whose character has been represented as marked with fraud and insincerity, has he not made treaties with the Emperor and observed them? Is it not his interest to make peace with us? Do you not think he feels it? And can you suppose, that if peace were made, he has not power to make it be observed by the people of France? And do not you think that the people of France are aware that an infraction of that peace would bring with it a new order of things, and a renewal of those calamities from which they are now desirous to escape? But, Sir, on the character of Buonaparte I have better evidence than the intercepted letters, I appeal to Carnot, whether the instructions given with respect to the conduct to be observed to the Emperor, were not moderate, open, and magnanimous? [Here Mr. Sheridan read an extract from Carnot's pamphlet, in support of his assertion.] With regard to the late note, in answer to his proposal to negotiate, it is foolish, insulting, and undignified. It is evidence to me, that the honourable gentlemen themselves do not believe his character to be such as they describe it; for, if they did, they must know their language would irritate such a mind; the passions will mix themselves with reason in the conduct of men, and they cannot say that they will not yet be obliged to treat with Buonaparte. I am warranted in saying this, for I do not believe in my heart, that since the defection of Russia, Ministers have been repenting of their answer. I say so because I do not consider them so obstinate and headstrong as to persevere with as much ardour for the restoration of monarchy as when they were pledged with Russia. There was not a nation in Europe which Ministers did not endeavour to draw into the war. On what was such conduct founded, but on Jacobinical principles? Indeed Ministers, by negotiating at one time with a Jacobinical government in France, plainly proved they were not so hostile to its principles as they would now wish to appear. Prussia and Austria, as well as this country, have acted also on Jacobinical principles. The conduct of this country towards Ireland has been perfectly Jacobinical. How, then, can we define these principles, when persons who would now disavow them fall by some fatality into an unavoidable acknowledgement of them? The objections that have been raised to peace have been entirely Jacobinical. If we seek for peace, it must be done in the spirit of peace. We are not to make it a question who was the first aggressor, or endeavour to throw the blame that may attach to us on our enemy. Such circumstances should be consigned to oblivion, as tending to no one useful purpose. France, in the beginning of the Revolution, had conceived many romantic notions. She was to put an end to war, and produce, by a pure form of government, a perfectibil
ity of mind which before had never been realized. The monarchs of Europe, seeing the prevalence of these new principles, trembled for their thrones. France, also, perceiving the hostility of kings to her projects, supposed she could not be a republic without the overthrow of thrones. Such has been the regular progress of cause and effect; but who was the first aggressor, with whom the jealousy first arose, need not now be a matter of discussion. Both the republic, and the monarchs who opposed her, acted on the same principles: the latter said they must exterminate Jacobins, and the former that they must destroy monarchs. From this source have all the calamities of Europe flowed; and it is now a waste of time and argument to inquire farther into the subject.
Now, Sir, let us come to matter of fact. Has not France renounced and reprobated those Jacobin principles, which created her so many enemies? Are not all her violent invectives against regular governments come into disesteem? Has not the Abbé Sièyes, who wrote in favour of monarchy—has not Buonaparte—condemned the Jacobinical excesses of the Revolution in the most pointed manner, the very men who have had so large a share in the formation of the present Government? But I maintain that Buonaparte himself is also a friend to peace. There is in his correspondence with the Ministers of this country a total renunciation of Jacobinical principles. In the dread, therefore, of these, I can see no argument for the continuance of war. A man who is surprised at the revolution of sentiment in individuals or nations shows but little experience. Such instances occur every day. Neither would a wise man always attach to principles the most serious consequences. Left to themselves, the absurd and dangerous would soon disappear, and wisdom establish herself only the more secure on their ruins. I am a friend to peace at this time, because I think Buonaparte would be as good a friend and neighbour to this country as ever were any of the Bourbons. I think also that there can be no time when we can hope to have better terms. If the King of Prussia should join France, such an alliance would greatly change the state of things; and from her long and honourable neutrality, in spite of the remonstrance and entreaties of this country, an event of that kind is by no means unlikely to happen. It must be considered also that the First Consul of France must feel no little portion of resentment towards this country, arising from the indignity with which his overtures of negotiation have been treated. It is not improbable that, to satisfy his revenge, he would make large sacrifices to the House of Austria, that he might contend more successfully against this country. Such are my fears and opinions; but I am unhappily in the habit of being numbered with the minority, and therefore their consequences are considerably diminished. But there have been occasions when the sentiments of the minority of this House have been those of the people at large: one, for instance, when a war was prevented with Russia concerning Oczakow. The minority told the Minister that the sentiments of the country were contrary to those of the majority: and the fact justified them in the assertion; the dispute was abandoned. In the year 1797, the opinions of the minority on peace were those of the people, and I believe the same coincidence exists now upon the same subject.
A LETTER TO THE MOST INSOLENT MAN ALIVE.
Afflavit Deus, et dissipantur.
TO The most insolent Man living.
SIR,
AMONG the crowd of sympathizing friends, who affect to lament your downfall, but who have by their advice and influence so effectually contributed to it, will you permit a stranger to approach, and speak a language which few great men wish to hear, and none of their followers dare to utter?
It is not, Sir, the whining cant of impotent condolence, — it is not the selfish sigh, which bursts from the bosom without affecting the heart, — it is not the anticipating groan for a place about to be resigned, or a sinecure snatched from the hand which had already grasped it; — it is — start not! — it is the Voice of TRUTH, which, however you may pretend to despise it, will vibrate through the shades of retirement, and from whose penetrating shafts you will fly to Holwood in vain.
It has been said, that every effect should be equal to the object which it means to attain; if the importance of your views is to be judged of by this axiom, how exalted must they be! how high are they to be rated! with such sacrifices as you have made, so zealous an high-priest as you are, — the deity you worship must be powerful, and the gifts he bestows invaluable.
Yet, if after the prophetic visions of your oracle, and the gilded scenes of a warm imagination, you should find, too late, that you have been deceived; if the splendid fabric of the daemon vanishes into smoke, what must be your feelings and situation, when for honours, rewards, and perpetual sway, nothing remains but popular indignation, infamy, and ruin!
Without an hand to heal your wounds, or an heart to share in your sorrows, the balm of an address will then be poured forth in vain; Jenkinson deserts you, for the ear which listened to him is deaf; the modest Dundas will not then be heard, nor shall the gentle Sydney avail.
The uxorious Marquis will fly to his nuptial bower, and seek in the arms of beauty for those pleasures which ambition and power can no longer bestow, and which once even Hymen denied.
I will not offend by describing the manner in which, notwithstanding the present pride of your deportment, you crept into power; nor will I confuse the placid serenity of your cousin, the good Marquis of Buckingham, by recounting the speedy rewards that followed his welltimed private services. — These, with
“the invasion of chartered rights,”
that political talisman, by which in so masterly a manner you deluded a whole nation, have had their day.
“Il y a un germe du raison qui commence a se developer.”
The eyes of the people are opened, the mists are gradually dispersed by the radiance of the RISING SUN, and those who were duped by, and those who assisted in your artifices, can no longer be managed.
The curtain was drawn up, and discovered you, the REFORMER of PARLIAMENTARY CORRUPTION — that fatal measure for which you had pledged yourself, when the down had scarcely covered your cheek.
This trap for the approbation of others, in which you were caught yourself, was devised at an ill-starred moment, when your cold systematic prudence had for once been laid aside.
The faint applause, the adulterate adoption of spurious praise, the zeal which damns, and the lukewarm support which defeats its purpose, were avowedly yours.
Thus early you commenced the preparatory farce of insult, for a people against whom you meditated the deepest injury!
The honourable band of merchants in Leadenhallstreet, who have been in the habit of dethroning princes, and setting empires up to sale; who execrated, in the moment of popular frenzy, Mr. Fox, as a bold invader, begin to discover in indignant whispers, that what they would not yield to the undisguised language of state necessity, has been pilfered from them by mean finesse and low stratagem.
Happy had it been for this country, could your ambition have been satisfied, to tread in the humble track of petty crimes; we should not then have been enabled to trace your daring spirit, mounting by gradual succession, from court intrigue, borough jobbing, and a conspiracy with tea brokers, to infringe the constitution of your country, and insult the Heir Apparent of your Sovereign.
I would make every allowance for an amiable Queen, distracted with affliction and sorrow for the calamity of the best of husbands; but surely some decorum was due to a young Prince, on whom the future hopes of the nation rest, whose mind was harrowed by filial distress, and whose conduct on this occasion even you and his bitterest enemies cannot but approve.
Delphi Complete Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan Page 91
