{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_12922/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_12922","id":"gutenberg_12922","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12922","summary":null,"tags":["Burke, Edmund, 1729-1797","Category: Biographies","Category: History - Modern (1750+)","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Politics","Great Britain -- Politics and government -- 18th century","Orators -- Great Britain -- Biography","Philosophy","Political scientists -- Great Britain -- Biography","Statesmen -- Great Britain -- Biography"],"text":"BURKE\n\nBY\n\nJOHN MORLEY\n\nLondon\n\nMACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED\n\nNEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\n1907\n\n\n_Printed 1888. Reprinted 1892, 1897, 1902, 1907_\n\n(_A Library Edition, of the book published in the \"English Men of\nLetters Series_)\n\n\n\n\nNOTE\n\n\nThe present writer published a study on Burke some twenty years ago.\nIt was almost entirely critical, and in no sense a narrative. The\nvolume that is now submitted to my readers first appeared in the\nseries of _English Men of Letters_. It is biographical rather\nthan critical, and not more than about a score of pages have been\nreproduced in it from the earlier book. Three pages have been inserted\nfrom an article on Burke contributed by me to the new edition of the\n_Encyclopoedia Britannica_; and I have to thank Messrs. Black for\nthe great courtesy with which they have allowed me to transcribe the\npassage here. These borrowings from my former self, the reader will\nperhaps be willing to excuse, on the old Greek principle that a man\nmay once say a thing as he would have it said, [Greek: dis de ouk\nendechetai]--he can hardly say it twice.\n\nJ.M.\n\n1888.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nEARLY LIFE AND FIRST WRITINGS\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nIN IRELAND--PARLIAMENT--BEACONSFIELD\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE CONSTITUTIONAL STRUGGLE\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE ROCKINGHAM PARTY--PARIS--ELECTION AT BRISTOL--THE AMERICAN WAR\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nECONOMICAL REFORM--BURKE IN OFFICE--FALL OF HIS PARTY\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nBURKE AND HIS FRIENDS\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE NEW MINISTRY--WARREN HASTINGS--BURKE'S PUBLIC POSITION\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE FRENCH REVOLUTION\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nBURKE AND HIS PARTY--PROGRESS OF THE REVOLUTION--IRELAND--LAST YEARS\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nBURKE'S LITERARY CHARACTER\n\n\n\n\nBURKE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nEARLY LIFE, AND FIRST WRITINGS\n\n\nIt will soon be a hundred and twenty years since Burke first took his\nseat, in the House of Commons, and it is eighty-five years since his\nvoice ceased to be heard there. Since his death, as during his life,\nopinion as to the place to which he is entitled among the eminent men\nof his country has touched every extreme. Tories have extolled him as\nthe saviour of Europe. Whigs have detested him as the destroyer of his\nparty. One undiscriminating panegyrist calls him the most profound and\ncomprehensive of political philosophers that has yet existed in the\nworld. Another and more distinguished writer insists that he is a\nresplendent and far-seeing rhetorician, rather than a deep and subtle\nthinker. A third tells us that his works cannot be too much our study,\nif we mean either to understand or to maintain against its various\nenemies, open and concealed, designing and mistaken, the singular\nconstitution of this fortunate island. A fourth, on the contrary,\ndeclares that it would be hard to find a single leading principle or\nprevailing sentiment in one half of these works, to which something\nextremely adverse cannot be found in the other half. A fifth calls\nhim one of the greatest men, and, Bacon alone excepted, the greatest\nthinker, who ever devoted himself to the practice of English politics.\nYet, oddly enough, the author of the fifth verdict will have it that\nthis great man and great thinker was actually out of his mind when\nhe composed the pieces for which he has been most widely admired and\nrevered.\n\nA sufficient interval has now passed to allow all the sediment of\nparty fanaticism to fall to the bottom. The circumstances of the world\nhave since Burke's time undergone variation enough to enable us\nto judge, from many points of view, how far he was the splendid\npamphleteer of a faction, and how far he was a contributor to the\nuniversal stock of enduring wisdom. Opinion is slowly, but without\nreaction, settling down to the verdict that Burke is one of the\nabiding names in our history, not because he either saved Europe\nor destroyed the Whig party; but because he added to the permanent\nconsiderations of wise political thought, and to the maxims of wise\npractice in great affairs, and because he imprints himself upon us\nwith a magnificence and elevation of expression that places him among\nthe highest masters of literature, in one of its highest and most\ncommanding senses. Those who have acquired a love for abstract\npolitics amid the almost mathematical closeness and precision of\nHobbes, the philosophic calm of Locke or Mill, or even the majestic\nand solemn fervour of Milton, are revolted by the unrestrained passion\nand the decorated style of Burke. His passion appears hopelessly\nfatal to success in the pursuit of Truth, who does not usually reveal\nherself to followers thus inflamed. His ornate style appears fatal to\nthe cautious and precise method of statement, suitable to matter which\nis not known at all unless it is known distinctly. Yet the natural\nardour which impelled Burke to clothe his judgments in glowing and\nexaggerated phrases, is one secret of his power over us, because\nit kindles in those who are capable of that generous infection a\nrespondent interest and sympathy. But more than this, the reader is\nspeedily conscious of the precedence in Burke of the facts of morality\nand conduct, of the many interwoven affinities of human affection and\nhistorical relation, over the unreal necessities of mere abstract\nlogic. Burke's mind was full of the matter of great truths, copiously\nenriched from the fountains of generous and many-coloured feeling. He\nthought about life as a whole, with all its infirmities and all its\npomps. With none of the mental exclusiveness of the moralist by\nprofession, he fills every page with solemn reference and meaning;\nwith none of the mechanical bustle of the common politician, he\nis everywhere conscious of the mastery of laws, institutions, and\ngovernment over the character and happiness of men. Besides thus\ndiffusing a strong light over the awful tides of human circumstance,\nBurke has the sacred gift of inspiring men to use a grave diligence\nin caring for high things, and in making their lives at once rich and\naustere. Such a part in literature is indeed high. We feel no emotion\nof revolt when Mackintosh speaks of Shakespeare and Burke in the same\nbreath as being both of them above mere talent. And we do not dissent\nwhen Macaulay, after reading Burke's works over, again, exclaims, \"How\nadmirable! The greatest man since Milton.\"\n\nThe precise date of Burke's birth cannot be stated with certainty. All\nthat we can say is that it took place either in 1728 or 1729, and it\nis possible that we may set it down in one or the other year, as we\nchoose to reckon by the old or the new style. The best opinion is that\nhe was born at Dublin on the 12th of January 1729 (N.S.) His father\nwas a solicitor in good practice, and is believed to have been\ndescended from some Bourkes of county Limerick, who held a respectable\nlocal position in the time of the civil wars. Burke's mother belonged\nto the Nagle family, which had a strong connection in the county of\nCork; they had been among the last adherents of James II., and they\nremained firm Catholics. Mrs. Burke remained true to the Church of her\nancestors, and her only daughter was brought up in the same faith.\nEdmund Burke and his two brothers, Garret and Richard, were bred in\nthe religion of their father; but Burke never, in after times, lost a\nlarge and generous way of thinking about the more ancient creed of his\nmother and his uncles.\n\nIn 1741 he was sent to school at Ballitore, a village some thirty\nmiles away from Dublin, where Abraham Shackleton, a Quaker from\nYorkshire, had established himself fifteen years before, and had\nearned a wide reputation as a successful teacher and a good man.\nAccording to Burke, he richly deserved this high character. It was to\nAbraham Shackleton that he always professed to owe whatever gain had\ncome to him from education. If I am anything, he said many years\nafterwards, it is the education I had there that has made me so. His\nmaster's skill as a teacher did not impress him more than the example\nwhich was every day set before him, of uprightness and simplicity of\nheart. Thirty years later, when Burke had the news of Shackleton's\ndeath (1771), \"I had a true honour and affection,\" he wrote, \"for that\nexcellent man. I feel something like a satisfaction in the midst of my\nconcern, that I was fortunate enough to have him once under my roof\nbefore his departure.\" No man has ever had a deeper or more tender\nreverence than Burke for homely goodness, simple purity, and all the\npieties of life; it may well be that this natural predisposition of\nall characters, at once so genial and so serious as his, was finally\nstamped in him by his first schoolmaster. It is true that he was only\ntwo years at Ballitore, but two years at that plastic time often build\nup habits in the mind that all the rest of a life is unable to pull\ndown.\n\nIn 1743 Burke became a student of Trinity College, Dublin, and he\nremained there until 1748, when he took his Bachelor's degree. These\nfive years do not appear to have been spent in strenuous industry in\nthe beaten paths of academic routine. Like so many other men of great\ngifts, Burke in his youth was desultory and excursive. He roamed at\nlarge over the varied heights that tempt our curiosity, as the dawn of\nintelligence first lights them up one after another with bewitching\nvisions and illusive magic. \"All my studies,\" Burke wrote in 1746,\nwhen he was in the midst of them, \"have rather proceeded from sallies\nof passion, than from the preference of sound reason; and, like all\nother natural appetites, have been very violent for a season, and\nvery soon cooled, and quite absorbed in the succeeding. I have often\nthought it a humorous consideration to observe and sum up all the\nmadness of this kind I have fallen into, this two years past. First, I\nwas greatly taken with natural philosophy; which, while I should have\ngiven my mind to logic, employed me incessantly. This I call my _furor\nmathematicus_. But this worked off as soon as I began to read it in\nthe college, as men by repletion cast off their stomachs all they have\neaten. Then I turned back to logic and metaphysics. Here I remained a\ngood while, and with much pleasure, and this was my _furor logicus_,\na disease very common in the days of ignorance, and very uncommon in\nthese enlightened times. Next succeeded the _furor historicus_, which\nalso had its day, but is now no more, being entirely absorbed in the\n_furor poeticus_.\"\n\nThis is from one of Burke's letters to Richard Shackleton, the son\nof his schoolmaster, with whom he had formed one of those close\nfriendships that fill the life of generous youth, as ambition fills an\nenergetic manhood. Many tears were shed when the two boys parted at\nBallitore, and they kept up their intimacy by a steady correspondence.\nThey discuss the everlasting dispute as to the ultimate fate of those\nwho never heard the saving name of Christ. They send one another\ncopies of verses, and Burke prays for Shackleton's judgment on an\ninvocation of his new poem, to beauteous nymphs who haunt the dusky\nwood, which hangs recumbent o'er the crystal flood. Burke is warned by\nShackleton to endeavour to live according to the rules of the Gospel,\nand he humbly accepts the good advice, with the deprecatory plea\nthat in a town it is difficult to sit down to think seriously. It is\neasier, he says, to follow the rules of the Gospel in the country than\nat Trinity College, Dublin. In the region of profaner things the\ntwo friends canvass the comparative worth of Sallust and of Tully's\nEpistles. Burke holds for the historian, who has, he thinks, a\nfine, easy, diversified narrative, mixed with reflection, moral and\npolitical, neither very trite nor obvious, nor out of the way and\nabstract; and this is the true beauty of historical observation.\n\nSome pages of verse describe to Shackleton how his friend passes the\nday, but the reader will perhaps be content to learn in humbler prose\nthat Burke rose with the dawn, and strode forth into the country\nthrough fragrant gardens and the pride of May, until want of breakfast\ndrove him back unwillingly to the town, where amid lectures and\nbooks his heart incessantly turned to the river and the fir-woods of\nBallitore. In the evening he again turned his back on the city, taking\nhis way \"where Liffey rolls her dead dogs to the sea,\" along to the\nwall on the shore, whence be delighted to see the sun sink into the\nwaters, gilding ocean, ships, and city as it vanished. Alas, it was\nbeneath the dignity of verse to tell us what we should most gladly\nhave known. For,\n\n  \"The muse nor can, nor will declare,\n  What is my work, and what my studies there.\"\n\nWhat serious nourishment Burke was laying in for his understanding we\ncannot learn from any other source. He describes himself as spending\nthree hours almost every day in the public library; \"the best way in\nthe world,\" he adds oddly enough, \"of killing thought.\" I have read\nsome history, he says, and among other pieces of history, \"I am\nendeavouring to get a little into the accounts of this, our own poor\ncountry,\"--a pathetic expression, which represents Burke's perpetual\nmood, as long as he lived, of affectionate pity for his native land.\nOf the eminent Irishmen whose names adorn the annals of Trinity\nCollege in the eighteenth century, Burke was only contemporary at the\nUniversity with one, the luckless sizar who in the fulness of time\nwrote the _Vicar of Wakefield_. There is no evidence that at this time\nhe and Goldsmith were acquainted with one another. Flood had gone to\nOxford some time before. The one or two companions whom Burke mentions\nin his letters are only shadows of names. The mighty Swift died in\n1745, but there is nothing of Burke's upon the event. In the same year\ncame the Pretender's invasion, and Burke spoke of those who had taken\npart in it in the same generous spirit that he always showed to the\npartisans of lost historic causes.\n\nOf his own family Burke says little, save that in 1746 his mother had\na dangerous illness. In all my life, he writes to his friend, I never\nfound so heavy a grief, nor really did I well know what it was before.\nBurke's father is said to have been a man of angry and irritable\ntemper, and their disagreements were frequent. This unhappy\ncircumstance made the time for parting not unwelcome. In 1747 Burke's\nname had been entered at the Middle Temple, and after taking his\ndegree, he prepared to go to England to pursue the ordinary course of\na lawyer's studies. He arrived in London in the early part of 1750.\n\nA period of nine years followed, in which the circumstances of Burke's\nlife are enveloped in nearly complete obscurity. He seems to have kept\nhis terms in the regular way at the Temple, and from the mastery\nof legal principles and methods which he afterwards showed in some\nimportant transactions, we might infer that he did more to qualify\nhimself for practice than merely dine in the hall of his inn. For law,\nalike as a profession and an instrument of mental discipline, he had\nalways the profound respect that it so amply deserves, though he saw\nthat it was not without drawbacks of its own. The law, he said, in\nhis fine description of George Grenville, in words that all who think\nabout schemes of education ought to ponder, \"is, in my opinion, one of\nthe first and noblest of human sciences; _a science which does more to\nquicken and invigorate the understanding than all the other kinds of\nlearning put together_; but it is not apt, except in persons very\nhappily born, to open and to liberalise the mind exactly in the\nsame proportion.\"[1] Burke was never called to the bar, and the\ncircumstance that, about the time when he ought to have been looking\nfor his first guinea, he published a couple of books which had as\nlittle as possible to do with either law or equity, is a tolerably\nsure sign that he had followed the same desultory courses at the\nTemple as he had followed at Trinity College. We have only to tell\nover again a very old story. The vague attractions of literature\nprevailed over the duty of taking up a serious profession. His father,\nwho had set his heart on having a son in the rank of a barrister, was\nfirst suspicious, then extremely indignant, and at last he withdrew\nhis son's allowance, or else reduced it so low that the recipient\ncould not possibly live upon it. This catastrophe took place some time\nin 1755,--a year of note in the history of literature, as the date of\nthe publication of Johnson's _Dictionary_. It was upon literature, the\nmost seductive, the most deceiving, the most dangerous of professions,\nthat Burke, like so many hundreds of smaller men before and since, now\nthrew himself for a livelihood.\n\n[Footnote 1: _American Taxation_.]\n\nOf the details of the struggle we know very little. Burke was not fond\nin after life of talking about his earlier days, not because he\nhad any false shame about the straits and hard shifts of youthful\nneediness, but because he was endowed with a certain inborn\nstateliness of nature, which made him unwilling to waste thoughts on\nthe less dignified parts of life. This is no unqualified virtue, and\nBurke might have escaped some wearisome frets and embarrassments in\nhis existence, if he had been capable of letting the detail of the day\nlie more heavily upon him. So far as it goes, however, it is a sign of\nmental health that a man should be able to cast behind him the barren\nmemories of bygone squalor. We may be sure that whatever were the\nexternal ordeals of his apprenticeship in the slippery craft of the\nliterary adventurer, Burke never failed in keeping for his constant\ncompanions generous ambitions and high thoughts. He appears to have\nfrequented the debating clubs in Fleet Street and the Piazza of Covent\nGarden, and he showed the common taste of his time for the theatre.\nHe was much of a wanderer, partly from the natural desire of restless\nyouth to see the world, and partly because his health was weak. In\nafter life he was a man of great strength, capable not only of bearing\nthe strain of prolonged application to books and papers in the\nsolitude of his library, but of bearing it at the same time with the\ndistracting combination of active business among men. At the date of\nwhich we are speaking, he used to seek a milder air at Bristol, or in\nMonmouthshire, or Wiltshire. He passed the summer in retired country\nvillages, reading and writing with desultory industry, in company\nwith William Burke, a namesake but perhaps no kinsman. It would\nbe interesting to know the plan and scope of his studies. We are\npractically reduced to conjecture. In a letter of counsel to his son\nin after years, he gave him a weighty piece of advice, which, is\npretty plainly the key to the reality and fruitfulness of his own\nknowledge. \"_Reading_,\" he said, \"_and much reading, is good. But the\npower of diversifying the matter infinitely in your own mind, and of\napplying it to every occasion that arises, is far better; so don't\nsuppress the_ vivida vis.\" We have no more of Burke's doings than\nobscure and tantalising glimpses, tantalising, because he was then at\nthe age when character usually either fritters itself away, or grows\nstrong on the inward sustenance of solid and resolute aspirations.\nWriting from Battersea to his old comrade, Shackleton, in 1757,\nhe begins with an apology for a long silence which seems to have\ncontinued from months to years. \"I have broken all rules; I have\nneglected all decorums; everything except that I have never forgot a\nfriend, whose good head and heart have made me esteem and love him.\nWhat appearance there may have been of neglect, arises from my\nmanner of life; chequered with various designs; sometimes in London,\nsometimes in remote parts of the country; sometimes in France, and\nshortly, please God, to be in America.\"\n\nOne of the hundred inscrutable rumours that hovered about Burke's name\nwas, that he at one time actually did visit America. This was just as\nuntrue as that he became a convert to the Catholic faith; or that he\nwas the lover of Peg Woffington; or that he contested Adam Smith's\nchair of moral philosophy at Glasgow along with Hume, and that both\nBurke and Hume were rejected in favour of some fortunate Mr. James\nClow. They are all alike unfounded. But the same letter informs\nShackleton of a circumstance more real and more important than any\nof these, though its details are only doubtfully known. Burke had\nmarried--when and where, we cannot tell. Probably the marriage took\nplace in the winter of 1756. His wife was the daughter of Dr. Nugent,\nan Irish physician once settled at Bath. One story is that Burke\nconsulted him in one of his visits to the west of England, and fell in\nlove with his daughter. Another version makes Burke consult him after\nDr. Nugent had removed to London; and tells how the kindly physician,\nconsidering that the noise and bustle of chambers over a shop must\nhinder his patient's recovery, offered him rooms in his own house.\nHowever these things may have been, all the evidence shows Burke to\nhave been fortunate in the choice or accident that bestowed upon him\nhis wife. Mrs. Burke, like her father, was, up to the time of her\nmarriage, a Catholic. Good judges belonging to her own sex describe\nher as gentle, quiet, soft in her manners, and well-bred. She had the\nqualities which best fitted and disposed her to soothe the vehemence\nand irritability of her companion. Though she afterwards conformed to\nthe religion of her husband, it was no insignificant coincidence\nthat in two of the dearest relations of his life the atmosphere of\nCatholicism was thus poured round the great preacher of the crusade\nagainst the Revolution.\n\nAbout the time of his marriage, Burke made his first appearance as an\nauthor. It was in 1756 that he published _A Vindication of Natural\nSociety_, and the more important essay, _A Philosophical Inquiry into\nthe Origin of our Ideas on the Sublime and Beautiful_. The latter of\nthem had certainly been written a long time before, and there is even\na traditional story that Burke wrote it when he was only nineteen\nyears old. Both of these performances have in different degrees a\nhistoric meaning, but neither of them would have survived to our own\nday unless they had been associated with a name of power. A few\nwords will suffice to do justice to them here. And first as to the\n_Vindication of Natural Society_. Its alternative title was, _A View\nof the Miseries and Evils arising to Mankind from every Species of\nCivil Society, in a Letter to Lord ----, by a late Noble Writer_.\n\nBolingbroke had died in 1751, and in 1754 his philosophical works\nwere posthumously given to the world by David Mallet, Dr. Johnson's\nbeggarly Scotchman, to whom Bolingbroke had left half-a-crown in his\nwill, for firing off a blunderbuss which he was afraid to fire\noff himself. The world of letters had been keenly excited about\nBolingbroke. His busy and chequered career, his friendship with the\ngreat wits of the previous generation, his splendid style, his bold\nopinions, made him a dazzling figure. This was the late Noble Writer\nwhose opinions Burke intended to ridicule, by reducing them to an\nabsurdity in an exaggeration of Bolingbroke's own manner. As it\nhappened, the public did not readily perceive either the exaggeration\nin the manner, or the satire in the matter. Excellent judges of style\nmade sure that the writing was really Bolingbroke's, and serious\ncritics of philosophy never doubted that the writer, whoever he was,\nmeant all that he said. We can hardly help agreeing with Godwin, when\nhe says that in Burke's treatise the evils of existing political\ninstitutions, which had been described by Locke, are set forth more at\nlarge, with incomparable force of reasoning and lustre of eloquence,\nthough the declared intention of the writer was to show that such\nevils ought to be considered merely trivial. Years afterwards, Boswell\nasked Johnson whether an imprudent publication by a certain friend of\nhis at an early period of his life would be likely to hurt him? \"No,\nsir,\" replied the sage; \"not much; it might perhaps be mentioned at an\nelection.\" It is significant that in 1765, when Burke saw his chance\nof a seat in Parliament, he thought it worth while to print a second\nedition of his _Vindication_, with a preface to assure his readers\nthat the design of it was ironical. It has been remarked as a very\nextraordinary circumstance that an author who had the greatest fame\nof any man of his day as the master of a superb style, for this was\nindeed Bolingbroke's position, should have been imitated to such\nperfection by a mere novice, that accomplished critics like\nChesterfield and Warburton should have mistaken the copy for a\nfirstrate original. It is, however, to be remembered that the very\nboldness and sweeping rapidity of Bolingbroke's prose rendered it more\nfit for imitation than if its merits had been those of delicacy or\nsubtlety; and we must remember that the imitator was no pigmy, but\nhimself one of the giants. What is certain is that the study of\nBolingbroke which preceded this excellent imitation left a permanent\nmark, and traces of Bolingbroke were never effaced from the style of\nBurke.\n\nThe point of the _Vindication_ is simple enough. It is to show that\nthe same instruments which Bolingbroke had employed in favour of\nnatural against revealed religion, could be employed with equal\nsuccess in favour of natural as against, what Burke calls, artificial\nsociety. \"Show me,\" cries the writer, \"an absurdity in religion, and\nI will undertake to show you a hundred for one in political laws and\ninstitutions.... If, after all, you should confess all these things,\nyet plead the necessity of political institutions, weak and wicked as\nthey are, I can argue with equal, perhaps superior force, concerning\nthe necessity of artificial religion; and every step you advance in\nyour argument, you add a strength to mine. So that if we are resolved\nto submit our reason and our liberty to civil usurpation, we have\nnothing to do but to conform as quietly as we can to the vulgar\nnotions which are connected with this, and take up the theology of\nthe vulgar as well as their politics. But if we think this necessity\nrather imaginary than real, we should renounce their dreams of\nsociety, together with their visions of religion, and vindicate\nourselves into perfect liberty.\"\n\nThe most interesting fact about this spirited performance is, that it\nis a satirical literary handling of the great proposition which Burke\nenforced, with all the thunder and lurid effulgence of his most\npassionate rhetoric, five and thirty years later. This proposition is\nthat the world would fall into ruin, \"if the practice of all moral\nduties, and the foundations of society, rested upon having their\nreasons made clear and demonstrative to every individual.\" The satire\nis intended for an illustration of what with Burke was the cardinal\ntruth for men, namely, that if you encourage every individual to let\nthe imagination loose upon all subjects, without any restraint from a\nsense of his own weakness, and his subordinate rank in the long scheme\nof things, then there is nothing of all that the opinion of ages\nhas agreed to regard as excellent and venerable, which would not be\nexposed to destruction at the hands of rationalistic criticism. This\nwas Burke's most fundamental and unswerving conviction from the first\npiece that he wrote down to the last, and down to the last hour of his\nexistence.\n\nIt is a coincidence worth noticing that only two years before the\nappearance of the _Vindication_, Rousseau had published the second\nof the two memorable Discourses in which he insisted with serious\neloquence on that which Burke treats as a triumph of irony. He\nbelieved, and many thousands of Frenchmen came to a speculative\nagreement with him, that artificial society had marked a decline in\nthe felicity of man, and there are passages in the Discourse in which\nhe demonstrates this, that are easily interchangeable with passages\nin the _Vindication_. Who would undertake to tell us from internal\nevidence whether the following page, with its sombre glow, is an\nextract from Burke, or an extract from the book which Rousseau begins\nby the sentence that man is born free, yet is he everywhere in\nchains?--\n\n    There are in Great Britain upwards of a hundred thousand people\n    employed in lead, tin, iron, copper, and coal mines; these unhappy\n    wretches scarce ever see the light of the sun; they are buried in\n    the bowels of the earth; there they work at a severe and dismal\n    task, without the least prospect of being delivered from it; they\n    subsist upon the coarsest and worst sort of fare; they have their\n    health miserably impaired, and their lives cut short, by being\n    perpetually confined in the close vapour of these malignant\n    minerals. A hundred thousand more at least are tortured without\n    remission by the suffocating smoke, intense fires, and constant\n    drudgery, necessary in refining and managing the products of those\n    mines. If any man informed us that two hundred thousand innocent\n    persons were condemned to so intolerable slavery, how should\n    we pity the unhappy sufferers, and how great would be our just\n    indignation against those who inflicted so cruel and ignominious\n    a punishment!... But this number, considerable as it is, and the\n    slavery, with all its baseness and horror, which we have at home,\n    is nothing to what the rest of the world affords of the same\n    nature. Millions daily bathed in the poisonous damps and\n    destructive effluvia of lead, silver, copper, and arsenic, to say\n    nothing of those other employments, those stations of wretchedness\n    and contempt, in which civil society has placed the numerous\n    _enfans perdus_ of her army. Would any rational man submit to one\n    of the most tolerable of these drudgeries, for all the artificial\n    enjoyments which policy has made to result from them?... Indeed\n    the blindness of one part of mankind co-operating with the frenzy\n    and villainy of the other, has been the real builder of this\n    respectable fabric of political society: and as the blindness of\n    mankind has caused their slavery, in return their state of slavery\n    is made a pretence for continuing them in a state of blindness;\n    for the politician will tell you gravely that their life of\n    servitude disqualifies the greater part of the race of man for a\n    search of truth, and supplies them with no other than mean and\n    insufficient ideas. This is but too true; and this is one of the\n    reasons for which I blame such institutions.\n\nFrom the very beginning, therefore, Burke was drawn to the deepest of\nall the currents in the thought of the eighteenth century. Johnson and\nGoldsmith continued the traditions of social and polite literature\nwhich had been established by the Queen Anne men. Warburton and a\nwhole host of apologists carried on the battle against deism and\ninfidelity. Hume, after furnishing the arsenal of scepticism with\na new array of deadlier engines and more abundant ammunition, had\nbetaken himself placidly to the composition of history. What is\nremarkable in Burke's first performance is his discernment of the\nimportant fact, that behind the intellectual disturbances in the\nsphere of philosophy, and the noisier agitations in the sphere of\ntheology, there silently stalked a force that might shake the whole\nfabric of civil society itself. In France, as all students of its\nspeculative history are agreed, there came a time in the eighteenth\ncentury when theological controversy was turned into political\ncontroversy. Innovators left the question about the truth of\nChristianity, and busied themselves with questions about the ends\nand means of governments. The appearance of Burke's _Vindication\nof Natural Society_ coincides in time with the beginning of this\nimportant transformation. Burke foresaw from the first what, if\nrationalism were allowed to run an unimpeded course, would be the\nreally great business of the second halt of his century.\n\nIf in his first book Burke showed how alive he was to the profound\nmovement of the time, in the second he dealt with one of the most\nserious of its more superficial interests. The essay on the Sublime\nand Beautiful fell in with a set of topics on which the curiosity of\nthe better minds of the age, alike in France, England, and Germany,\nwas fully stirred. In England the essay has been ordinarily slighted;\nit has perhaps been overshadowed by its author's fame in weightier\nmatters. The nearest approach to a full and serious treatment of its\nmain positions is to be found in Dugald Stewart's lectures. The\ngreat rhetorical art-critic of our own day refers to it in words of\ndisparagement, and in truth it has none of the flummery of modern\ncriticism. It is a piece of hard thinking, and it has the distinction\nof having interested and stimulated Lessing, the author of _Laok\u00f6on_\n(1766), by far the most definitely valuable of all the contributions\nto aesthetic thought in an age which was not poor in them. Lessing was\nso struck with the _Inquiry_ that he set about a translation of it,\nand the correspondence between him and Moses Mendelssohn on the\nquestions which Burke had raised contains the germs of the doctrine as\nto poetry and painting which _Laok\u00f6on_ afterwards made so famous. Its\ninfluence on Lessing and on Kant was such as to justify the German\nhistorian of the literature of the century in bestowing on it the\ncoveted epithet of epoch-making.\n\nThe book is full of crudities. We feel the worse side of the\neighteenth century when Burke tells us that a thirst for Variety in\narchitecture is sure to leave very little true taste; or that an air\nof robustness and strength is very prejudicial to beauty; or that sad\nfuscous colours are indispensable for sublimity. Many of the sections,\nagain, are little more than expanded definitions from the dictionary.\nAny tyro may now be shocked at such a proposition as that beauty acts\nby relaxing the solids of the whole system. But at least one signal\nmerit remains to the _Inquiry_. It was a vigorous enlargement of the\nprinciple, which Addison had not long before timidly illustrated, that\ncritics of art seek its principles in the wrong place, so long as\nthey limit their search to poems, pictures, engravings, statues, and\nbuildings, instead of first arranging the sentiments and faculties in\nman to which art makes its appeal. Addison's treatment was slight and\nmerely literary; Burke dealt boldly with his subject on the base of\nthe most scientific psychology that was then within his reach. To\napproach it on the psychological side at all was to make a distinct\nand remarkable advance in the method of the inquiry which he had taken\nin hand.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nIN IRELAND--PARLIAMENT--BEACONSFIELD\n\n\nBurke was thirty years old before he approached even the threshold of\nthe arena in which he was destined to be so great a figure. He had\nmade a mark in literature, and it was to literature rather than to\npublic affairs that his ambition turned. He had naturally become\nacquainted with the brother-authors who haunted the coffee-houses in\nFleet Street; and Burke, along with his father-in-law, Dr. Nugent,\nwas one of the first members of the immortal club where Johnson did\nconversational battle with all comers. We shall, in a later chapter,\nhave something to say on Burke's friendships with the followers of\nhis first profession, and on the active sympathy with which he helped\nthose who were struggling into authorship. Meanwhile, the fragments\nthat remain of his own attempts in this direction are no considerable\ncontributions. His _Hints for an Essay on the Drama_ are jejune and\ninfertile, when compared with the vigorous and original thought of\nDiderot and Lessing at about the same period. He wrote an Account of\nthe European Settlements in America. His _Abridgment of the History of\nEngland_ comes down no further than to the reign of John. A much more\nimportant undertaking than his history of the past was his design for\na yearly chronicle of the present. The _Annual Register_ began to\nappear in 1759. Dodsley, the bookseller of Pall Mall, provided the\nsinews of war, and he gave Burke a hundred pounds a year for his\nsurvey of the great events which were then passing in the world. The\nscheme was probably born of the circumstances of the hour, for this\nwas the climax of the Seven Years' War. The clang of arms was heard in\nevery quarter of the globe, and in East and West new lands were being\nbrought under the dominion of Great Britain.\n\nIn this exciting crisis of national affairs, Burke began to be\nacquainted with public men. In 1759 he was introduced, probably by\nLord Charlemont, to William Gerard Hamilton, who only survives in our\nmemories by his nickname of Single-speech. As a matter of fact, he\nmade many speeches in Parliament, and some good ones, but none so\ngood as the first, delivered in a debate in 1755, in which Pitt, Fox,\nGrenville, and Murray all took part, and were all outshone by the\nnew luminary. But the new luminary never shone again with its first\nbrilliance. He sought Burke out on the strength of the success of the\n_Vindication of Natural Society_, and he seems to have had a taste for\ngood company. Horace Walpole describes a dinner at his house in the\nsummer of 1761. \"There were Garrick,\" he says, \"and a young Mr. Burke,\nwho wrote a book in the style of Lord Bolingbroke, that is much\nadmired. He is a sensible man, but has not worn off his authorism yet,\nand thinks there is nothing so charming as writers, and to be one. He\nwill know better one of these days.\" The prophecy came true in time,\nbut it was Burke's passion for authorism that eventually led to a\nrupture with his first patron. Hamilton was a man of ability, but\nselfish and unreasonable. Dr. Leland afterwards described him\ncompendiously as a sullen, vain, proud, selfish, canker-hearted,\nenvious reptile.\n\nIn 1761 Hamilton went to Ireland as secretary to Lord Halifax, and\nBurke accompanied him in some indefinite capacity. \"The absenteeism of\nher men of genius,\" an eminent historian has said, \"was a worse wrong\nto Ireland than the absenteeism of her landlords. If Edmund Burke had\nremained in the country where Providence had placed him, he might have\nchanged the current of its history.\" [1] It is at least to be said\nthat Burke was never so absorbed in other affairs as to forget the\npeculiar interests of his native land. We have his own word, and his\ncareer does not belie it, that in the elation with which he was filled\non being elected a member of Parliament, what was first and uppermost\nin his thoughts was the hope of being somewhat useful to the place of\nhis birth and education; and to the last he had in it \"a dearness of\ninstinct more than he could justify to reason.\" In fact the affairs\nof Ireland had a most important part in Burke's life at one or two\ncritical moments, and this is as convenient a place as we are likely\nto find for describing in a few words what were the issues. The brief\nspace can hardly be grudged in an account of a great political writer,\nfor Ireland had furnished the chief ordeal, test, and standard of\nEnglish statesmen.\n\n[Footnote 1: Fronde's _Ireland_, ii. 214.]\n\nIreland in the middle of the eighteenth century was to England just\nwhat the American colonies would have been, if they had contained,\nbesides the European settlers, more than twice their number of\nunenslaved negroes. After the suppression of the great rebellion of\nTyrconnel by William of Orange, nearly the whole of the land was\nconfiscated, the peasants were made beggars and outlaws, the Penal\nLaws against the Catholics were enacted and enforced, and the\ngrand reign of Protestant Ascendancy began in all its vileness and\ncompleteness. The Protestants and landlords were supreme; the peasants\nand the Catholics were prostrate in despair. The Revolution brought\nabout in Ireland just the reverse of what it effected in England. Here\nit delivered the body of the nation from the attempted supremacy of a\nsmall sect. There it made a small sect supreme over the body of the\nnation. \"It was, to say the truth,\" Burke wrote, \"not a revolution but\na conquest,\" and the policy of conquest was treated as the just and\nnormal system of government. The last conquest of England was in the\neleventh century. The last conquest of Ireland was at the very end of\nthe seventeenth.\n\nSixty years after the event, when Burke revisited Ireland, some\nimportant changes had taken place. The English settlers of the\nbeginning of the century had formed an Irish interest. They had become\nAnglo-Irish, just as the colonists still further west had formed a\ncolonial interest and become Anglo-American. The same conduct on\nthe part of the mother country promoted the growth of these hostile\ninterests in both cases. The commercial policy pursued by England\ntowards America was identical with that pursued towards Ireland. The\nindustry of the Anglo-Irish traders was restricted, their commerce\nand even their production fettered, their prosperity checked, for the\nbenefit of the merchants of Manchester and Bristol. _Crescit Roma\nAlbae ruinis_. \"The bulk of the people,\" said Stone, the Primate, \"are\nnot regularly either lodged, clothed, or fed; and those things which\nin England are called necessaries of life, are to us only accidents,\nand we can, and in many places do, subsist without them.\" On the\nother hand, the peasantry had gradually taken heart to resent their\nspoliation and attempted extirpation, and in 1761 their misery\nunder the exactions of landlords and a church which tried to spread\nChristianity by the brotherly agency of the tithe-proctor, gave birth\nto Whiteboyism--a terrible spectre, which, under various names and\nwith various modifications, has ridden Ireland down to our own time.\n\nBurke saw the Protestant traders of the dependency the victims of\nthe colonial and commercial system; the Catholic landowners legally\ndispossessed by the operation of the penal laws; the Catholic\npeasantry deeply penetrated with an insurgent and vindictive spirit;\nand the Imperial Government standing very much aloof, and leaving the\ncountry to the tender mercies of the Undertakers and some Protestant\nchurchmen. The Anglo-Irish were bitterly discontented with the\nmother country; and the Catholic native Irish were regarded by their\nProtestant oppressors with exactly that combination of intense\ncontempt and loathing, and intense rage and terror, which their\nAmerican counterpart would have divided between the Negro and the Red\nIndian. To the Anglo-Irish the native peasant was as odious as the\nfirst, and as terrible as the second. Even at the close of the century\nBurke could declare that the various descriptions of the people were\nkept as much apart as if they were not only separate nations, but\nseparate species. There were thousands, he says, who had never talked\nto a Roman Catholic in their whole lives, unless they happened to talk\nto a gardener's workman or some other labourer of the second or third\norder; while a little time before this they were so averse to have\nthem near their persons, that they would not employ even those who\ncould never find their way beyond the stables. Chesterfield, a\nthoroughly impartial and just observer, said in 1764 that the poor\npeople in Ireland were used worse than negroes by their masters and\nthe middlemen. We should never forget that in the transactions with\nthe English Government during the eighteenth century, the people\nconcerned were not the Irish, but the Anglo-Irish, the colonists\nof 1691. They were an aristocracy, as Adam Smith said of them, not\nfounded in the natural and respectable distinctions of birth and\nfortune, but in the most odious of all distinctions, those of\nreligious and political prejudices--distinctions which, more than any\nother, animate both the insolence of the oppressors and the hatred and\nindignation of the oppressed.\n\nThe directions in which Irish improvement would move were clear from\nthe middle of the century to men with much less foresight than\nBurke had. The removal of all commercial restrictions, either by\nIndependence or Union, on the one hand, and the gradual emancipation\nof the Catholics, on the other, were the two processes to which every\nconsideration of good government manifestly pointed. The first proved\na much shorter and simpler process than the second. To the first\nthe only obstacle was the blindness and selfishness of the English\nmerchants. The second had to overcome the virulent opposition of the\ntyrannical Protestant faction in Ireland, and the disgraceful but\ndeep-rooted antipathies of the English nation. The history of the\nrelation between the mother country and her dependency during Brake's\nlife, may be characterised as a commercial and legislative struggle\nbetween the imperial government and the Anglo-Irish interest, in which\neach side for its own convenience, as the turn served, drew support\nfrom the Catholic majority.\n\nA Whiteboy outbreak, attended by the usual circumstances of disorder\nand violence, took place while Burke was in Ireland. It suited the\ninterests of faction to represent these commotions as the symptoms of\na deliberate rebellion. The malcontents were represented as carrying\non treasonable correspondence, sometimes with Spain and sometimes\nwith France; they were accused of receiving money and arms from their\nforeign sympathisers, and of aiming at throwing off the English rule.\nBurke says that he had means and the desire of informing himself to\nthe bottom upon the matter, and he came strongly to the conclusion\nthat this was not a true view of what had happened. What had happened\nwas due, he thought, to no plot, but to superficial and fortuitous\ncircumstances. He consequently did not shrink from describing it as\ncriminal, that the king's Catholic subjects in Ireland should have\nbeen subjected, on no good grounds, to harassing persecution, and that\nnumbers of them should have been ruined in fortune, imprisoned, tried,\nand capitally executed for a rebellion which was no rebellion at all.\nThe episode is only important as illustrating the strong and manly\ntemper in which Burke, unlike too many of his countrymen with fortunes\nto make by English favour, uniformly considered the circumstances of\nhis country. It was not until a later time that he had an opportunity\nof acting conspicuously on her behalf, but whatever influence he came\nto acquire with his party was unflinchingly used against the cruelty\nof English prejudice.\n\nBurke appears to have remained in Ireland for two years (1761-63). In\n1763 Hamilton, who had found him an invaluable auxiliary, procured for\nhim, principally with the aid of the Primate Stone, a pension of three\nhundred pounds a year from the Irish Treasury. In thanking him for\nthis service, Burke proceeded to bargain that the obligation should\nnot bind him to give to his patron the whole of his time. He insisted\non being left with a discreet liberty to continue a little work which\nhe had as a rent-charge upon his thoughts. Whatever advantages he had\nacquired, he says, had been due to literary reputation, and he could\nonly hope for a continuance of such advantages on condition of doing\nsomething to keep the same reputation alive. What this literary design\nwas, we do not know with certainty. It is believed to have been a\nhistory of England, of which, as I have said, a fragment remains.\nWhatever the work may have been, it was an offence to Hamilton. With\nan irrational stubbornness, that may well astound us when we think of\nthe noble genius that he thus wished to confine to paltry personal\nduties, he persisted that Burke should bind himself to his service for\nlife, and to the exclusion of other interests. \"To circumscribe my\nhopes,\" cried Burke, \"to give up even the possibility of liberty, to\nannihilate myself for ever!\" He threw up the pension, which he had\nheld for two years, and declined all further connection with Hamilton,\nwhom he roundly described as an infamous scoundrel. \"Six of the\nbest years of my life he took me from every pursuit of my literary\nreputation, or of improvement of my fortune.... In all this time you\nmay easily conceive how much I felt at seeing myself left behind\nby almost all of my contemporaries. There never was a season more\nfavourable for any man who chose to enter into the career of public\nlife; and I think I am not guilty of ostentation in supposing my own\nmoral character and my industry, my friends and connections, when Mr.\nHamilton first sought my acquaintance, were not at all inferior to\nthose of several whose fortune is at this day upon a very different\nfooting from mine.\"\n\nIt was not long before a more important opening offered itself, which\nspeedily brought Burke into the main stream of public life. In the\nsummer of 1765 a change of ministry took place. It was the third since\nthe king's accession five years ago. First, Pitt had been disgraced,\nand the old Duke of Newcastle dismissed. Then Bute came into power,\nbut Bute quailed before the storm of calumny and hate which his Scotch\nnationality, and the supposed source of his power over the king, had\nraised in every town in England. After Lord Bute, George Grenville\nundertook the Government. Before he had been many months in office,\nhe had sown the seeds of war in the colonies, wearied Parliament,\nand disgusted the king. In June 1765 Grenville was dismissed. With\nprofound reluctance the king had no other choice than to summon Lord\nRockingham, and Lord Rockingham, in a happy moment for himself and his\nparty, was induced to offer Burke a post as his private secretary.\nA government by country gentlemen is too apt to be a government of\nignorance, and Lord Rockingham was without either experience or\nknowledge. He felt, or friends felt for him, the advantage of having\nat his side a man who was chiefly known as an author in the service\nof Dodsley, and as having conducted the _Annual Register_ with great\nability, but who even then was widely spoken of as nothing less than\nan encyclopaedia of political knowledge.\n\nIt is commonly believed that Burke was commended to Lord Rockingham by\nWilliam Fitzherbert. Fitzherbert was President of the Board of Trade\nin the new government, but he is more likely to be remembered as Dr.\nJohnson's famous example of the truth of the observation, that a\nman will please more upon the whole by negative qualities than by\npositive, because he was the most acceptable man in London, and yet\noverpowered nobody by the superiority of his talents, made no man\nthink worse of himself by being his rival, seemed always to listen,\ndid not oblige you to hear much from him, and did not oppose what\nyou said. Besides Fitzherbert's influence, we have it on Burke's own\nauthority that his promotion was partly due to that mysterious person,\nWilliam Burke, who was at the same time appointed an under-secretary\nof state. There must have been unpleasant rumours afloat as to the\nBurke connection, and we shall presently consider what they were\nworth. Meanwhile, it is enough to say that the old Duke of Newcastle\nhurried to the new premier, and told him the appointment would never\ndo; that the new secretary was not only an Irish adventurer, which was\ntrue, but that he was an Irish papist, which was not true; that he was\na Jesuit, that he was a spy from Saint Omer's, and that his real name\nwas O'Bourke. Lord Rockingham behaved like a man of sense and honour,\nsent for Burke, and repeated to him what he had heard. Burke warmly\ndenounced the truthlessness of the Duke's tattle. He insisted that\nthe reports which his chief had heard would probably, even unknown to\nhimself, create in his mind such suspicions as would stand in the way\nof a thorough confidence. No earthly consideration, he said, should\ninduce him to continue in relations with a man whose trust in him was\nnot entire; and he pressed his resignation. To this Lord Rockingham\nwould not consent, and from that time until his death, seventeen\nyears afterwards, the relations between them were those of loyal and\nhonourable service on the one hand, and generous and appreciative\nfriendship on the other. Six and twenty years afterwards (1791) Burke\nremembered the month in which he had first become connected with a\nman whose memory, he said, will ever be precious to Englishmen of\nall parties, as long as the ideas of honour and virtue, public and\nprivate, are understood and cherished in this nation.\n\nThe Rockingham ministry remained in office for a year and twenty days\n(1765-66). About the middle of this term (December 26, 1765) Burke was\nreturned to Parliament for the borough of Wendover, by the influence\nof Lord Verney, who owned it, and who also returned William Burke for\nanother borough. Lord Verney was an Irish peer, with large property in\nBuckinghamshire; he now represented that county in Parliament. It\nwas William Burke's influence with Lord Verney that procured for his\nnamesake the seat at Wendover. Burke made his first speech in the\nHouse of Commons a few days after the opening of the session of 1766\n(January 27), and was honoured by a compliment from Pitt, still the\nGreat Commoner. A week later he spoke again on the same momentous\ntheme, the complaints of the American colonists, and his success was\nso marked that good judges predicted, in the stiff phraseology of the\ntime, that he would soon add the palm of the orator to the laurel of\nthe writer and the philosopher. The friendly Dr. Johnson wrote to\nLangton that Burke had gained more reputation than any man at his\nfirst appearance had ever gained before. The session was a great\ntriumph to the new member, but it brought neither strength nor\npopularity to the administration. At the end of it the king dismissed\nthem, and the Chatham Government was formed--that strange combination\nwhich has been made famous by Burke's description of it as a piece of\njoinery so crossly indented and whimsically dovetailed, such a piece\nof diversified mosaic, such a tessellated pavement without cement,\nthat it was indeed a very curious show, but utterly unsafe to touch\nand unsure to stand upon. There was no obvious reason why Burke should\nnot have joined the new ministry. The change was at first one of\npersons rather than of principles or of measures. To put himself, as\nBurke afterwards said, out of the way of the negotiations which were\nthen being carried on very eagerly and through many channels with the\nEarl of Chatham, he went to Ireland very soon after the change of\nministry. He was free from party engagements, and more than this, he\nwas free at the express desire of his friends; for on the very day of\nhis return the Marquis of Rockingham wished him to accept office under\nthe new system. Burke \"believes he might have had such a situation,\nbut he cheerfully took his fate with his party.\" In a short time he\nrendered his party the first of a long series of splendid literary\nservices by writing his _Observations on the Present State of the\nNation_ (1769). It was a reply to a pamphlet by George Grenville, in\nwhich the disappointed minister accused his successors of ruining the\ncountry. Burke, in answering the charge, showed a grasp of commercial\nand fiscal details at least equal to that of Grenville himself, then\nconsidered the first man of his time in dealing with the national\ntrade and resources. To this easy mastery of the special facts of the\ndiscussion, Burke added the far rarer art of lighting them up by broad\nprinciples, and placing himself and his readers at the highest and\nmost effective point of view for commanding their general bearings.\n\nIf Burke had been the Irish adventurer that his enemies described, he\nmight well have seized with impatience the opening to office that the\nrecent exhibition of his powers in the House of Commons had now made\naccessible to him. There was not a man in Great Britain to whom the\nemoluments of office would have been more useful. It is one of the\nstanding mysteries in literary biography how Burke could think of\nentering Parliament without any means that anybody can now trace of\nearning a fitting livelihood. Yet at this time Burke, whom we saw not\nlong ago writing for the booksellers, had become affluent enough to\npay a yearly allowance to Barry, the painter, in order to enable him\nto study the pictures in the great European galleries, and to make a\nprolonged residence at Rome. A little later he took a step which\nmakes the riddle still more difficult, and which has given abundant\nemployment to wits who are _maximi in minimis_, and think that every\nquestion which they can ask, yet to which history has thought it worth\nwhile to leave no answer, is somehow a triumph of their own learning\nand dialectic.\n\nIn 1769 Burke purchased a house and lands known as Gregories, in the\nparishes of Penn and Beaconsfield, in the county of Bucks. It has\noften been asked, and naturally enough, how a man who, hardly more\nthan a few months before, was still contented to earn an extra hundred\npounds a year by writing for Dodsley, should now have launched out as\nthe buyer of a fine house and estate, which cost upwards of twenty-two\nthousand pounds, which could not be kept up on less than two thousand\nfive hundred a year, and of which the returns did not amount to\none-fifth of that sum. Whence did he procure the money, and what is\nperhaps more difficult to answer, how came he first to entertain the\nidea of a design so ill-proportioned to anything that we can now\ndiscern in his means and prospects? The common answer from Burke's\nenemies, and even from some neutral inquirers, gives to every lover\nof this great man's high character an unpleasant shock. It is alleged\nthat he had plunged into furious gambling in East India stock. The\ncharge was current at the time, and it was speedily revived when\nBurke's abandonment of his party, after the French Revolution, exposed\nhim to a thousand attacks of reckless and uncontrolled virulence. It\nhas been stirred by one or two pertinacious critics nearer our own\ntime, and none of the biographers have dealt with the perplexities\nof the matter as they ought to have done. Nobody, indeed, has ever\npretended to find one jot or tittle of direct evidence that Burke\nhimself took a part in the gambling in India or other stocks. There is\nevidence that he was a holder of the stock, and no more. But what is\nundeniable is that Richard Burke, his brother, William Burke, his\nintimate if not his kinsman, and Lord Verney, his political patron,\nwere all three at this time engaged together in immense transactions\nin East India stock; that in 1769 the stock fell violently; that they\nwere unable to pay their differences; and that in the year when Edmund\nBurke bought Gregories, the other three were utterly ruined, two of\nthem beyond retrieval. Again it is clear that, after this, Richard\nBurke was engaged in land-jobbing in the West Indies; that his claims\nwere disputed by the Government as questionable and dishonest; and\nthat he lost his case. Edmund Burke was said, in the gossip of the\nday, to be deeply interested in land at Saint Vincent's. But there\nis no evidence. What cannot be denied is that an unpleasant taint of\nspeculation and financial adventurership hung at one time about the\nwhole connection, and that the adventures invariably came to an\nunlucky end.\n\nWhether Edmund Burke and William Burke were relations or not, and if\nso, in what degree they were relations, neither of them ever knew;\nthey believed that their fathers sometimes called one another cousins,\nand that was all that they had to say on the subject. But they were as\nintimate as brothers, and when William Burke went to mend his broken\nfortunes in India, Edmund Burke commended him to Philip Francis--then\nfighting his deadly duel of five years with Warren Hastings at\nCalcutta--as one whom he had tenderly loved, highly valued, and\ncontinually lived with in an union not to be expressed, quite since\ntheir boyish years. \"Looking back to the course of my life,\" he wrote\nin 1771, \"I remember no one considerable benefit in the whole of it\nwhich I did not, mediately or immediately, derive from William Burke.\"\nThere is nothing intrinsically incredible, therefore, considering this\nintimacy and the community of purse and home which subsisted among the\nthree Burkes, in the theory that when Edmund Burke bought his property\nin Buckinghamshire, he looked for help from the speculations of\nRichard and William. However this may have been, from them no help\ncame. Many years afterwards (1783) Lord Verney filed a bill in\nChancery claiming from Edmund Burke a sum of \u00a36000, which he alleged\nthat he had lent at the instigation of William Burke, to assist in\ncompleting the purchase of Beaconsfield. Burke's sworn answer denied\nall knowledge of the transaction, and the plaintiff did not get the\nrelief for which he had prayed.\n\nIn a letter to Shackleton (May 1, 1768), Burke gave the following\naccount of what he had done:--\"I have made a push,\" he says, \"with all\nI could collect of my own, and the aid of my friends, to cast a little\nroot in this country. I have purchased a house, with an estate of\nabout six hundred acres of land, in Buckinghamshire, twenty-four miles\nfrom London. It is a place exceedingly pleasant; and I propose, God\nwilling, to become a farmer in good earnest. You, who are classical,\nwill not be displeased to know that it was formerly the seat of\nWaller, the poet, whose house, or part of it, makes at present the\nfarmhouse within an hundred yards of me.\" The details of the actual\npurchase of Beaconsfield have been made tolerably clear. The price was\ntwenty-two thousand pounds, more or less. Fourteen thousand were left\non mortgage, which remained outstanding until the sale of the property\nby Mrs. Burke in 1812. Garret Burke, the elder brother, had shortly\nbefore the purchase made Edmund his residuary legatee, and it is\nguessed that of this bequest two thousand pounds were in cash. The\nbalance of six thousand was advanced by Lord Rockingham on Burke's\nbond.\n\nThe purchase after all was the smallest part of the matter, and it\nstill remains a puzzle not only how Burke was able to maintain so\nhandsome an establishment, but how he could ever suppose it likely\nthat he would be able to maintain it. He counted, no doubt, on making\nsome sort of income by farming. The Irish estate, which he had\ninherited from his brother, brought in five hundred a year (Arthur\nYoung's _Ireland_, ii. 193). For a short time he received a salary of\nseven hundred pounds a year as agent for New York. We may perhaps\ntake for granted that he made as much more out of his acres. He\nreceived something from Dodsley for his work on the _Annual Register_\ndown to 1788. But when all these resources have been counted up, we\ncannot but see the gulf of a great yearly deficit. The unhappy truth\nis that from the middle of 1769, when we find him applying to Garrick\nfor the loan of a thousand pounds, down to 1794, when the king gave\nhim a pension, Burke was never free from the harassing strain of debts\nand want of money. It has been stated with good show of authority,\nthat his obligations to Lord Rockingham amounted to not less than\nthirty thousand pounds. When that nobleman died (1782), with a\ngenerosity which is not the less honourable to him for having been so\nrichly earned by the faithful friend who was the object of it, he\nleft instructions to his executors that all Burke's bonds should be\ndestroyed.\n\nWe may indeed wish from the bottom of our hearts that all this had\nbeen otherwise. But those who press it as a reproach against Burke's\nmemory, may be justly reminded that when Pitt died, after drawing the\npay of a minister for twenty years, he left debts to the amount of\nforty thousand pounds. Burke, as I have said elsewhere, had none of\nthe vices of profusion, but he had that quality which Aristotle places\nhigh among the virtues--the noble mean of Magnificence, standing\nmidway between the two extremes of vulgar ostentation and narrow\npettiness. At least, every creditor was paid in good time, and nobody\nsuffered but himself. Those who think these disagreeable matters of\nsupreme importance, and allow such things to stand between them and\nBrake's greatness, are like the people--slightly to alter a figure\nfrom a philosopher of old--who, when they went to Olympia, could only\nperceive that they were scorched by the sun, and pressed by the crowd,\nand deprived of comfortable means of bathing, and wetted by the rain,\nand that life was full of disagreeable and troublesome things, and so\nthey almost forgot the great colossus of ivory and gold, Phidias's\nstatue of Zeus, which they had come to see, and which stood in all its\nglory and power before their perturbed and foolish vision.\n\nThere have been few men in history with whom personal objects counted\nfor so little as they counted with Burke. He really did what so many\npublic men only feign to do. He forgot that he had any interests of\nhis own to be promoted, apart from the interests of the party with\nwhich he acted, and from those of the whole nation, for which he held\nhimself a trustee. What William Burke said of him in 1766 was true\nthroughout his life, \"Ned is full of real business, intent upon doing\nsolid good to his country, as much as if he was to receive twenty\nper cent from the Empire.\" Such men as the shrewd and impudent Bigby\natoned for a plebeian origin by the arts of dependence and a judicious\nservility, and drew more of the public money from the pay-office in\nhalf a dozen quarter-days than Burke received in all his life. It was\nnot by such arts that Burke rose. When we remember all the untold\nbitterness of the struggle in which he was engaged, from the time when\nthe old Duke of Newcastle tried to make the Marquis of Rockingham\ndismiss his new private secretary as an Irish Jesuit in disguise\n(1765), down to the time when the Duke of Bedford, himself battening\n\"in grants to the house of Russell, so enormous as not only to outrage\neconomy, but even to stagger credibility,\" assailed the Government for\ngiving Burke a moderate pension, we may almost imagine that if Johnson\nhad imitated the famous Tenth Satire a little later, he would have\nbeen tempted to apply the poet's cynical criticism of the career\nheroic to the greater Cicero of his own day. \"I was not,\" Burke said,\nin a passage of lofty dignity, \"like his Grace of Bedford, swaddled\nand rocked and dandled into a legislator; _Nitor in adversum_ is the\nmotto for a man like me. I possessed not one of the qualities, nor\ncultivated one of the arts, that recommend men to the favour and\nprotection of the great. I was not made for a minion or a tool. As\nlittle did I follow the trade of winning the hearts, by imposing on\nthe understandings of the people. At every step of my progress in\nlife, for in every step was I traversed and opposed, and at every\nturnpike I met, I was obliged to show my passport, and again and again\nto prove my sole title to the honour of being useful to my country, by\na proof that I was not wholly unacquainted with its laws and the whole\nsystem of its interests both abroad and at home; otherwise no rank, no\ntoleration even for me.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE CONSTITUTIONAL STRUGGLE\n\n\nForeign observers of our affairs looked upon the state of England\nbetween the accession of George III. and the loss of the American\ncolonies (1760-76) with mixed disgust and satisfaction. Their instinct\nas absolute rulers was revolted by a spectacle of unbridled faction\nand raging anarchy; their envy was soothed by the growing weakness of\na power which Chatham had so short a time before left at the highest\npoint of grandeur and strength. Frederick the Great spoke with\ncontempt of the insolence of Opposition and the virulence of parties;\nand vowed that, petty German prince as he was, he would not change\nplaces with the King of England. The Emperor Joseph pronounced\npositively that Great Britain was declining, that Parliament was\nruining itself, and that the colonies threatened a catastrophe.\nCatherine of Russia thought that nothing would restore its ancient\nvigour to the realm, short of the bracing and heroic remedy of a war.\nEven at home, such shrewd and experienced onlookers as Horace Walpole\nsuspected that the state of the country was more serious than it had\nbeen since the Great Rebellion, and declared it to be approaching by\nfast strides to some sharp crisis. Men who remembered their Roman\nhistory, fancied that they saw every symptom of confusion that\npreceded the ruin of the Commonwealth, and began to inquire uneasily\nwhat was the temper of the army. Men who remembered the story of the\nviolence and insatiable factiousness of Florence, turned again to\nMacchiavelli and to Guicciardini, to trace a parallel between the\nfierce city on the Arno and the fierce city on the Thames. When the\nKing of Sweden, in 1772, carried out a revolution, by abolishing an\noligarchic council and assuming the powers of a dictator, with the\nassent of his people, there were actually serious men in England who\nthought that the English, after having been guilty of every meanness\nand corruption, would soon, like the Swedes, own themselves unworthy\nto be free. The Duke of Richmond, who happened to have a claim to a\npeerage and an estate in France, excused himself for taking so much\npains to establish his claim to them, by gravely asking who knew that\na time might not soon come when England would not be worth living in,\nand when a retreat to France might be a very happy thing for a free\nman to have?\n\nThe reign had begun by a furious outbreak of hatred between the\nEnglish and the Scotch. Lord Bute had been driven from office, not\nmerely because he was supposed to owe his power to a scandalous\nfriendship with the king's mother, but because he was accused of\ncrowding the public service with his detested countrymen from the\nother side of the Tweed. He fell, less from disapproval of his policy,\nthan from rude prejudice against his country. The flow of angry\nemotion had not subsided before the whisper of strife in the American\ncolonies began to trouble the air; and before that had waxed loud, the\nMiddlesex election had blown into a portentous hurricane. This was the\nfirst great constitutional case after Burke came into the House of\nCommons. As, moreover, it became a leading element in the crisis which\nwas the occasion of Burke's first remarkable essay in the literature\nof politics, it is as well to go over the facts.\n\nThe Parliament to which he had first been returned, now approaching\nthe expiry of its legal term, was dissolved in the spring of 1768.\nWilkes, then an outlaw in Paris, returned to England, and announced\nhimself as a candidate for the city. When the election was over, his\nname stood last on the poll. But his ancient fame as the opponent\nand victim of the court five years before, was revived. After his\nrejection in the city, he found himself strong enough to stand for\nthe county of Middlesex. Here he was returned at the head of the poll\nafter an excited election. Wilkes had been tried in 1764, and found\nguilty by the King's Bench of republishing Number Forty-five of the\n_North Briton_, and of printing and publishing the _Essay on Woman_.\nHe had not appeared to receive sentence, and had been outlawed in\nconsequence. After his election for Middlesex, he obtained a reversal\nof his outlawry on a point of technical form. He then came up for\nsentence under the original verdict. The court sent him to prison\nfor twenty-two months, and condemned him to pay a fine of a thousand\npounds.\n\nWilkes was in prison when the second session of the new Parliament\nbegan. His case came before the House in November 1768, on his own\npetition, accusing Lord Mansfield of altering the record at his trial.\nAfter many acrimonious debates and examinations of Wilkes and others\nat the bar of the House, at length, by 219 votes against 136, the\nfamous motion was passed which expelled him from the House. Another\nelection for Middlesex was now held, and Wilkes was returned without\nopposition. The day after the return, the House of Commons resolved by\nan immense majority, that having been expelled, Wilkes was incapable\nof serving in that Parliament. The following month Wilkes was once\nmore elected. The House once more declared the election void. In April\nanother election took place, and this time the Government put forward\nColonel Luttrell, who vacated his seat for Bossiney for the purpose of\nopposing Wilkes. There was the same result, and for the fourth time\nWilkes was at the head of the poll. The House ordered the return to be\naltered, and after hearing by counsel the freeholders of Middlesex who\npetitioned against the alteration, finally confirmed it (May 8, 1769)\nby a majority of 221 to 152. According to Lord Temple, this was the\ngreatest majority ever known on the last day of a session.\n\nThe purport and significance of these arbitrary proceedings need\nlittle interpretation. The House, according to the authorities, had a\nconstitutional right to expel Wilkes, though the grounds on which even\nthis is defended would probably be questioned if a similar case were\nto arise in our own day. But a single branch of the legislature could\nhave no power to pass an incapacitating vote either against Wilkes or\nanybody else. An Act of Parliament is the least instrument by which\nsuch incapacity could be imposed. The House might perhaps expel\nWilkes, but it could not either legally or with regard to the less\ndefinite limits of constitutional morality, decide whom the Middlesex\nfreeholders should not elect, and it could not therefore set aside\ntheir representative, who was then free from any disabling quality.\nLord Camden did not much exaggerate, when he declared in a debate on\nthe subject in the House of Lords, that the judgment passed upon the\nMiddlesex election had given the constitution a more dangerous\nwound than any which were given during the twelve years' absence\nof Parliament in the reign of Charles I. The House of Commons was\nusurping another form of that very dispensing power, for pretending\nto which the last of the Stuart sovereigns had lost his crown. If the\nHouse by a vote could deprive Wilkes of a right to sit, what legal or\nconstitutional impediment would there be in the way, if the majority\nwere at any time disposed to declare all their most formidable\nopponents in the minority incapable of sitting?\n\nIn the same Parliament, there was another and scarcely less remarkable\ncase of Privilege, \"that eldest son of Prerogative,\" as Burke truly\ncalled it, \"and inheriting all the vices of its parent.\" Certain\nprinters were accused of breach of privilege for reporting the debates\nof the House (March, 1771). The messenger of the serjeant-at-arms\nattempted to take one of them into custody in his own shop in the\ncity. A constable was standing by, designedly, it has been supposed,\nand Miller, the printer, gave the messenger into his custody for an\nassault. The case came on before the Lord Mayor, Alderman Wilkes,\nand Alderman Oliver, the same evening, and the result was that the\nmessenger of the House was committed. The city doctrine was, that\nif the House of Commons had a serjeant-at-arms, they had a\nserjeant-at-mace. If the House of Commons could send their citizens\nto Newgate, they could send its messenger to the Compter. Two other\nprinters were collusively arrested, brought before Wilkes and Oliver,\nand at once liberated.\n\nThe Commons instantly resolved on stern measures. The Lord Mayor and\nOliver were taken and despatched to the Tower, where they lay until\nthe prorogation of Parliament. Wilkes stubbornly refused to pay any\nattention to repeated summonses to attend at the bar of the House,\nvery properly insisting that he ought to be summoned to attend _in his\nplace_ as member for Middlesex. Besides committing Crosby and Oliver\nto the Tower, the House summoned the Lord Mayor's clerk to attend with\nhis books, and then and there forced him to strike out the record of\nthe recognisances into which their messenger had entered on being\ncommitted at the Mansion House. No Stuart ever did anything more\narbitrary and illegal. The House deliberately intended to constitute\nitself, as Burke had said two years before, an arbitrary and despotic\nassembly. \"The distempers of monarchy were the great subjects of\napprehension and redress in the last century. In this, the distempers\nof Parliament.\"\n\nBurke, in a speech which he delivered in his place in 1771, warned the\nHouse of the evils of the course upon which they were entering, and\ndeclared those to be their mortal enemies who would persuade them to\nact as if they were a self-originated magistracy, independent of the\npeople, and unconnected with their opinions and feelings. But these\nmortal enemies of its very constitution were at this time the majority\nof the House. It was to no purpose that Burke argued with more than\nlegal closeness that incapacitation could not be a power according to\nlaw, inasmuch as it had neither of the two properties of law: it was\nnot _known_, \"you yourselves not knowing upon what grounds you will\nvote the incapacity of any man;\" and it was not _fixed_, because\nit was varied according to the occasion, exercised according to\ndiscretion, and no man could call for it as a right. A strain of\nunanswerable reasoning of this kind counted for nothing, in spite of\nits being unanswerable. Despotic or oligarchic pretensions are proof\nagainst the most formidable battery that reason and experience can\nconstruct against them. And Wilkes's exclusion endured until this\nParliament--the Unreported Parliament, as it was called, and in many\nrespects the very worst that ever assembled at Westminster--was\ndissolved, and a new one elected (1774), when he was once again\nreturned for Middlesex, and took his seat.\n\nThe London multitude had grown zealous for Wilkes, and the town had\nbeen harassed by disorder. Of the fierce brutality of the crowd of\nthat age, we may form a vivid idea from the unflinching pencil of\nHogarth. Barbarous laws were cruelly administered. The common people\nwere turbulent, because misrule made them miserable. Wilkes had\nwritten filthy verses, but the crowd cared no more for this than their\nbetters cared about the vices of Lord Sandwich. They made common cause\nwith one who was accidentally a more conspicuous sufferer. Wilkes was\nquite right when he vowed that he was no Wilkite. The masses were\nbetter than their leader. \"Whenever the people have a feeling,\" Burke\nonce said, \"they commonly are in the right: they sometimes mistake the\nphysician.\" Franklin, who was then in London, was of opinion that if\nGeorge III. had had a bad character, and John Wilkes a good one,\nthe latter might have turned the former out of the kingdom; for the\nturbulence that began in street riots, at one time threatened to end\nin revolt. The king himself was attacked with savage invective in\npapers, of which it was said that no one in the previous century would\nhave dared to print any like them until Charles was fast locked up in\nCarisbrooke Castle.\n\nAs is usual when the minds of those in power have been infected with\nan arbitrary temper, the employment of military force to crush civil\ndisturbances became a familiar and favourite idea. The military, said\nLord Weymouth, in an elaborate letter which he addressed to the Surrey\nmagistrates, can never be employed to a more constitutional purpose\nthan in the support of the authority and dignity of the magistracy.\nIf the magistrate should be menaced, he is cautioned not to delay a\nmoment in calling for the aid of the military, and making use of them\neffectually. The consequence of this bloody scroll, as Wilkes rightly\ncalled it, was that shortly afterwards an affray occurred between the\ncrowd and the troops, in which some twenty people were killed and\nwounded (May 10, 1768). On the following day, the Secretary of War,\nLord Barrington, wrote to the commanding officer, informing him that\nthe king highly approved of the conduct both of officers and men, and\nwished that his gracious approbation of them should be communicated to\nthem.\n\nBurke brought the matter before the House in a motion for a Committee\nof Inquiry, supported by one of the most lucid and able of his minor\nspeeches. \"If ever the time should come,\" he concluded, \"when this\nHouse shall be found prompt to execute and slow to inquire; ready\nto punish the excesses of the people, and slow to listen to their\ngrievances; ready to grant supplies, and slow to examine the account;\nready to invest magistrates with large powers, and slow to inquire\ninto the exercise of them; ready to entertain notions of the military\npower as incorporated with the constitution,--when you learn this in\nthe air of St. James's, then the business is done; then the House of\nCommons will change that character which it receives from the people\nonly.\" It is hardly necessary to say that his motion for a Committee\nwas lost by the overwhelming majority of 245 against 30. The general\nresult of the proceedings of the Government from the accession of\nGeorge III. to the beginning of the troubles in the American colonies,\nwas in Burke's own words, that the Government was at once dreaded and\ncontemned; that the laws were despoiled of all their respected and\nsalutary terrors; that their inaction was a subject of ridicule, and\ntheir exertion of abhorrence; that our dependencies had slackened\nin their affections; that we knew neither how to yield, nor how to\nenforce; and that disconnection and confusion, in offices, in parties,\nin families, in Parliament, in the nation, prevailed beyond the\ndisorders of any former time.\n\nIt was in the pamphlet on the _Present Discontents_, published in\n1770, that Burke dealt at large with the whole scheme of policy of\nwhich all these irregularities were the distempered incidents. The\npamphlet was composed as a manifesto of the Rockingham section of the\nWhig party, to show, as Burke wrote to his chief, how different it\nwas in spirit and composition from \"the Bedfords, the Grenvilles, and\nother knots, who are combined for no public purpose, but only as a\nmeans of furthering with joint strength their private and individual\nadvantage.\" The pamphlet was submitted in manuscript or proof to the\nheads of the party. Friendly critics excused some inelegancies which\nthey thought they found in occasional passages, by taking for granted,\nas was true, that he had admitted insertions from other hands. Here\nfor the first time he exhibited, on a conspicuous scale, the strongest\nqualities of his understanding. Contemporaries had an opportunity of\nmeasuring this strength, by comparison with another performance of\nsimilar scope. The letters of Junius had startled the world the year\nbefore. Burke was universally suspected of being their author, and the\nsuspicion never wholly died out so long as he lived. There was no real\nground for it beyond the two unconnected facts, that the letters were\npowerful letters, and that Burke had a powerful intellect. Dr. Johnson\nadmitted that he had never had a better reason for believing that\nBurke was Junius, than that he knew nobody else who had the ability of\nJunius. But Johnson discharged his mind of the thought, at the instant\nthat Burke voluntarily assured him that he neither wrote the letters\nof Junius, nor knew who had written them. The subjects and aim of\nthose famous pieces were not very different from Burke's tract, but\nany one who in our time turns from the letters to the tract, will\nwonder how the author of the one could ever have been suspected of\nwriting the other. Junius is never more than a railer, and very\noften he is third-rate even as a railer. The author of the _Present\nDiscontents_ speaks without bitterness even of Lord Bute and the Duke\nof Grafton; he only refers to persons, when their conduct or their\nsituation illustrates a principle. Instead of reviling, he probes, he\nreflects, he warns; and as the result of this serious method, pursued\nby a man in whom close mastery of detail kept exact pace with wide\ngrasp of generalities, we have not the ephemeral diatribe of a\nfaction, but one of the monumental pieces of political literature.\n\nThe last great pamphlet in the history of English public affairs had\nbeen Swift's tract _On the Conduct of the Allies_ (1711), in which the\nwriter did a more substantial service for the Tory party of his day\nthan Burke did for the Whig party of a later date. Swift's pamphlet is\nclose, strenuous, persuasive, and full of telling strokes; but nobody\nneed read it to-day except the historical student, or a member of the\nPeace Society, in search of the most convincing exposure of the most\ninsane of English wars.[1] There is not a sentence in it which does\nnot belong exclusively to the matter in hand: not a line of that\ngeneral wisdom which is for all time. In the _Present Discontents_ the\nmethod is just the opposite of this. The details are slurred, and they\nare not literal. Burke describes with excess of elaboration how the\nnew system is a system of double cabinets; one put forward with\nnominal powers in Parliament, the other concealed behind the throne,\nand secretly dictating the policy. The reader feels that this is\nworked out far too closely to be real. It is a structure of artificial\nrhetoric. But we lightly pass this over, on our way to more solid\nmatter; to the exposition of the principles of a constitution, the\nright methods of statesmanship, and the defence of party.\n\n[Footnote 1: This was not Burke's judgment on the long war against\nLouis XIV.--See _Regicide Peace_, i.]\n\nIt was Bolingbroke, and not Swift, of whom Burke was thinking, when he\nsat down to the composition of his tract. The _Patriot King_ was\nthe fountain of the new doctrines, which Burke trained his party to\nunderstand and to resist. If his foe was domestic, it was from a\nforeign armoury that Burke derived the instruments of resistance. The\ngreat fault of political writers is their too close adherence to the\nforms of the system of state which they happen to be expounding or\nexamining. They stop short at the anatomy of institutions, and do not\npenetrate to the secret of their functions. An illustrious author in\nthe middle of the eighteenth century introduced his contemporaries\nto a better way. It is not too much to say that at that epoch the\nstrength of political speculation in this country, from Adam Smith\ndownwards, was drawn from France; and Burke had been led to some\nof what was most characteristic in his philosophy of society by\nMontesquieu's _Spirit of Laws_ (1748), the first great manual of the\nhistoric school. We have no space here to work out the relations\nbetween Montesquieu's principles and Burke's, but the student of the\n_Esprit des Lois_ will recognise its influence in every one of Burke's\nmasterpieces.\n\nSo far as immediate events were concerned, Burke was quick to discern\ntheir true interpretation. As has been already said, he attributed to\nthe king and his party a deliberateness of system which probably had\nno real existence in their minds. The king intended to reassert the\nold right of choosing his own ministers. George II. had made strenuous\nbut futile endeavours to the same end. His son, the father of George\nIII., Frederick, Prince of Wales, as every reader of Dodington's Diary\nwill remember, was equally bent on throwing off the yoke of the great\nWhig combinations, and making his own cabinets. George III. was only\ncontinuing the purpose of his father and his grandfather; and there is\nno reason to believe that he went more elaborately to work to obtain\nhis ends.\n\nIt is when he leaves the artifices of a cabal, and strikes down below\nthe surface to the working of deep social forces, that we feel the\nbreadth and power of Burke's method. \"I am not one of those,\" he\nbegan, \"who think that the people are never wrong. They have been so,\nfrequently and outrageously, both in other countries and in this. But\nI do say that _in all disputes between them and their rulers, the\npresumption is at least upon a par in favour of the people_.\" Nay,\nexperience perhaps justifies him in going further. When popular\ndiscontents are prevalent, something has generally been found amiss in\nthe constitution or the administration. \"The people have no interest\nin disorder. When they go wrong, it is their error, and not their\ncrime.\" And then he quotes the famous passage from the Memoirs of\nSully, which both practical politicians and political students\nshould bind about their necks, and write upon the tables of their\nhearts:--\"The revolutions that come to pass in great states are not\nthe result of chance, nor of popular caprice.... As for the populace,\nit is never from a passion for attack that it rebels, but from\nimpatience of suffering.\"\n\nWhat really gives its distinction to the _Present Discontents_ is not\nits plea for indulgence to popular impatience, nor its plea for the\nsuperiority of government by aristocracy, but rather the presence in\nit of the thought of Montesquieu and his school, of the necessity\nof studying political phenomena in relation, not merely to forms of\ngovernment and law, but in relation to whole groups of social facts\nwhich give to law and government the spirit that makes them workable.\nConnected with this, is a particularly wide interpretation and a\nparticularly impressive application of the maxims of expediency,\nbecause a wide conception of the various interacting elements of\na society naturally extends the considerations which a balance of\nexpediencies will include. Hence, in time, there came a strong\nand lofty ideal of the true statesman, his breadth of vision, his\nflexibility of temper, his hardly measurable influence. These are the\nprincipal thoughts in the _Discontents_ to which that tract owes its\npermanent interest. \"Whatever original energy,\" says Burke, in one\nplace, \"may be supposed either in force or regulation, the operation\nof both is in truth merely instrumental. Nations are governed by the\nsame methods, and on the same principles, by which an individual\nwithout authority is often able to govern those who are his equals\nor superiors; by a knowledge of their temper, and by a judicious\nmanagement of it.... The laws reach but a very little way. Constitute\nGovernment how you please, infinitely the greater part of it must\ndepend upon the exercise of powers, which are left at large to the\nprudence and uprightness of ministers of state. Even all the use and\npotency of the laws depends upon them. Without them, your Commonwealth\nis no better than _a scheme upon paper; and not a living, active,\neffective constitution_.\" Thus early in his public career had Burke\nseized that great antithesis which he so eloquently laboured in\nthe long and ever memorable episode of his war against the French\nRevolution: the opposition between artificial arrangements in\npolitics, and a living, active, effective organisation, formed by what\nhe calls elsewhere in the present tract the natural strength of the\nkingdom, and suitable to the temper and mental habits of the people.\nWhen he spoke of the natural strength of the kingdom, he gave no\nnarrow or conventional account of it. He included in the elements\nof that strength, besides the great peers and the leading landed\ngentlemen, the opulent merchants and manufacturers, and the\nsubstantial yeomanry. Contrasted with the trite versions of Government\nas fixed in King, Lords, and Commons, this search for the real organs\nof power was going to the root of the matter in a spirit at once\nthoroughly scientific and thoroughly practical. Burke had, by the\nspeculative training to which he had submitted himself in dealing with\nBolingbroke, prepared his mind for a complete grasp of the idea of\nthe body politic as a complex growth, a manifold whole, with closely\ninterdependent relations among its several parts and divisions. It\nwas this conception from which his conservatism sprang. Revolutionary\npolitics have one of their sources in the idea that societies are\ncapable of infinite and immediate modifications, without reference to\nthe deep-rooted conditions that have worked themselves into every part\nof the social structure. The same opposition of the positive to the\ndoctrinaire spirit is to be observed in the remarkable vindication of\nParty, which fills the last dozen pages of the pamphlet, and which\nis one of the most courageous of all Burke's deliverances. Party\ncombination is exactly one of those contrivances which, as it might\nseem, a wise man would accept for working purposes, but about which\nhe would take care to say as little as possible. There appears to be\nsomething revolting to the intellectual integrity and self-respect of\nthe individual in the systematic surrender of his personal action,\ninterest, and power, to a political connection in which his own\njudgment may never once be allowed to count for anything. It is like\nthe surrender of the right of private judgment to the authority of the\nChurch, but with its nakedness not concealed by a mystic doctrine.\nNothing is more easy to demolish by the bare logical reason. But Burke\ncared nothing about the bare logical reason, until it had been\nclothed in convenience and custom, in the affections on one side, and\nexperience on the other. Not content with insisting that for some\nspecial purpose of the hour, \"when bad men combine, the good must\nassociate,\" he contended boldly for the merits of fidelity to party\ncombination in itself. Although Burke wrote these strong pages as a\nreply to Bolingbroke, who had denounced party as an evil, they remain\nas the best general apology that has ever been offered for that\nprinciple of public action, against more philosophic attacks than\nBolingbroke's. Burke admitted that when he saw a man acting a\ndesultory and disconnected part in public life with detriment to his\nfortune, he was ready to believe such a man to be in earnest, though\nnot ready to believe him to be right. In any case he lamented to\nsee rare and valuable qualities squandered away without any public\nutility. He admitted, moreover, on the other hand, that people\nfrequently acquired in party confederacies a narrow, bigoted, and\nproscriptive spirit. \"But where duty renders a critical situation\na necessary one, it is our business to keep free from the evils\nattendant upon it, and not to fly from the situation itself. It is\nsurely no very rational account of a man that he has always acted\nright, but has taken special care to act in such a manner that his\nendeavours could not possibly be productive of any consequence....\nWhen men are not acquainted with each other's, principles, nor\nexperienced in each other's talents, nor at all practised in their\nmutual habitudes and dispositions by joint efforts of business; no\npersonal confidence, no friendship, no common interest subsisting\namong them; it is evidently impossible that they can act a public part\nwith uniformity, perseverance, or efficacy.\"\n\nIn terms of eloquent eulogy he praised the sacred reverence with which\nthe Romans used to regard the _necessitudo sortis_, or the relations\nthat grew up between men who had only held office together by the\ncasual fortune of the lot. He pointed out to emulation the Whig\njunto who held so close together in the reign of Anne--Sunderland,\nGodolphin, Somers, and Marlborough--who believed \"that no men could\nact with effect who did not act in concert; that no men could act in\nconcert who did not act with confidence; and that no men could act\nwith confidence who were not bound together by common opinions,\ncommon affections, and common interests.\" In reading these energetic\npassages, we have to remember two things: first, that the writer\nassumes the direct object of party combination to be generous, great,\nand liberal causes; and second, that when the time came, and when he\nbelieved that his friends were espousing a wrong and pernicious cause,\nBurke, like Samson bursting asunder the seven green withes, broke away\nfrom the friendships of a life, and deliberately broke his party in\npieces.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: See on the same subject, _Correspondence_, ii. 276, 277.]\n\nWhen Burke came to discuss the cure for the disorders of 1770, he\ninsisted on contenting himself with what he ought to have known to be\nobviously inadequate prescriptions. And we cannot help feeling that he\nnever speaks of the constitution of the government of this country,\nwithout gliding into a fallacy identical with that which he himself\ndescribed and denounced, as thinking better of the wisdom and power\nof human legislation than in truth it deserved. He was uniformly\nconsistent in his view of the remedies which the various sections of\nOpposition proposed against the existing debasement and servility of\nthe Lower House. The Duke of Richmond wanted universal suffrage,\nequal electoral districts, and annual parliaments. Wilkes proposed\nto disfranchise the rotten boroughs, to increase the county\nconstituencies, and to give members to rich, populous, trading\ntowns--a general policy which was accepted fifty-six years afterwards.\nThe Constitutional Society desired frequent parliaments, the\nexclusion of placemen from the House, and the increase of the county\nrepresentation. Burke uniformly refused to give his countenance to any\nproposals such as these, which involved a clearly organic change in\nthe constitution. He confessed that he had no sort of reliance\nupon either a triennial parliament or a place-bill, and with that\nreasonableness which as a rule was fully as remarkable in him as his\neloquence, he showed very good grounds for his want of faith in the\npopular specifics. In truth, triennial or annual parliaments could\nhave done no good, unless the change had been accompanied by the more\nimportant process of amputating, as Chatham called it, the rotten\nboroughs. Of these the Crown could at that time reckon some seventy as\nits own property. Besides those which belonged to the Crown, there was\nalso the immense number which belonged to the Peerage. If the king\nsought to strengthen an administration, the thing needful was not to\nenlist the services of able and distinguished men, but to conciliate a\nduke, who brought with him the control of a given quantity of voting\npower in the Lower House. All this patrician influence, which may be\nfound at the bottom of most of the intrigues of the period, would not\nhave been touched by curtailing the duration of parliaments.\n\nWhat then was the remedy, or had Burke no remedy to offer for these\ngrave distempers of Parliament? Only the remedy of the interposition\nof the body of the people itself. We must beware of interpreting this\nphrase in the modern democratic sense. In 1766 he had deliberately\ndeclared that he thought it would be more conformable to the spirit of\nthe constitution, \"by lessening the number, to add to the weight and\nindependency of our voters.\" \"Considering the immense and dangerous\ncharge of elections, the prostitute and daring venality, the\ncorruption of manners, the idleness and profligacy of the lower sort\nof voters, no prudent man would propose to increase such an evil.\"[1]\nIn another place he denies that the people have either enough of\nspeculation in the closet, or of experience in business, to be\ncompetent judges, not of the detail of particular measures only, but\nof _general schemes of policy_.[2] On Burke's theory, the people, as a\nrule, were no more concerned to interfere with Parliament, than a man\nis concerned to interfere with somebody whom he has voluntarily and\ndeliberately made his trustee. But here, he confessed, was a shameful\nand ruinous breach of trust. The ordinary rule of government was being\nevery day mischievously contemned and daringly set aside. Until the\nconfidence thus outraged should be once more restored, then the people\nought to be excited to a more strict and detailed attention to the\nconduct of their representatives. The meetings of counties and\ncorporations ought to settle standards for judging more systematically\nof the behaviour of those whom they had sent to Parliament. Frequent\nand correct lists of the voters in all important questions ought to\nbe procured. The severest discouragement ought to be given to the\npernicious practice of affording a blind and undistinguishing support\nto every administration. \"Parliamentary support comes and goes with\noffice, totally regardless of the man or the merit.\" For instance,\nWilkes's annual motion to expunge the votes upon the Middlesex\nelection had been uniformly rejected, as often as it was made while\nLord North was in power. Lord North had no sooner given way to the\nRockingham Cabinet than the House of Commons changed its mind, and\nthe resolutions were expunged by a handsome majority of 115 to 47.\nAdministration was omnipotent in the House, because it could be a\nman's most efficient friend at an election, and could most amply\nreward his fidelity afterwards. Against this system Burke called on\nthe nation to set a stern face. Root it up, he kept crying; settle the\ngeneral course in which you desire members to go; insist that they\nshall not suffer themselves to be diverted from this by the authority\nof the government of the day; let lists of votes be published, so\nthat you may ascertain for yourselves whether your trustees have been\nfaithful or fraudulent; do all this, and there will be no need to\nresort to those organic changes, those empirical innovations, which\nmay possibly cure, but are much more likely to destroy.\n\n[Footnote 1: \"Observations on State of the Nation,\" _Works_, i. 105,\nb.]\n\n[Footnote 2: \"Speech on Duration of Parliaments.\"]\n\nIt is not surprising that so halting a policy should have given deep\ndispleasure to very many, perhaps to most, of those whose only common\nbond was the loose and negative sentiment of antipathy to the court,\nthe ministry, and the too servile majority of the House of Commons.\nThe Constitutional Society was furious. Lord Chatham wrote to Lord\nRockingham that the work in which these doctrines first appeared,\nmust do much mischief to the common cause. But Burke's view of the\nconstitution was a part of his belief with which he never\npaltered, and on which he surrendered his judgment to no man. \"Our\nconstitution,\" in his opinion, \"stands on a nice equipoise, with steep\nprecipices and deep waters upon all sides of it. In removing it from a\ndangerous leaning towards one side, there may be a risk of oversetting\nit on the other.\"[1] This image was ever before his mind. It occurs\nagain in the last sentence of that great protest against all change\nand movement, when he describes himself as one who, when the equipoise\nof the vessel in which he sails may be endangered by overloading it\nupon one side, is desirous of carrying the small weight of his reasons\nto that which may preserve its equipoise.[2] When we think of the\nodious mis-government in England which the constitution permitted,\nbetween the time when Burke wrote and the passing of Lord Sidmouth's\nSix Acts fifty years later, we may be inclined to class such a\nconstitution among the most inadequate and mischievous political\narrangements that any free country has ever had to endure. Yet it was\nthis which Burke declared that he looked upon with filial reverence.\n\"Never will I cut it in pieces, and put it into the kettle of any\nmagician, in order to boil it with the puddle of their compounds into\nyouth and vigour; on the contrary, I will drive away such pretenders;\nI will nurse its venerable age, and with lenient arts extend a\nparent's breath.\"\n\n[Footnote 1: _Present Discontents_.]\n\n[Footnote 2: _Reflections on the French Revolution_.]\n\nHe was filled with the spirit, and he borrowed the arguments, which\nhave always marked the champion of faith and authority against the\nimpious assault of reason or innovation. The constitution was sacred\nto him as the voice of the Church and the oracles of her saints are\nsacred to the faithful. Study it, he cried, until you know how to\nadmire it, and if you cannot know and admire, rather believe that you\nare dull, than that the rest of the world has been imposed upon. We\nought to understand it according to our measure and to venerate where\nwe are not able presently to comprehend. Well has Burke been called\nthe Bossuet of politics.\n\nAlthough, however, Burke's unflinching reverence for the constitution,\nand his reluctance to lay a finger upon it, may now seem clearly\nexcessive, as it did to Chatham and his son, who were great men in the\nright, or to Beckford and Sawbridge, who were very little men in the\nright, we can only be just to him by comparing his ideas with those\nwhich were dominant throughout an evil reign. While he opposed more\nfrequent parliaments, he still upheld the doctrine that \"to govern\naccording to the sense, and agreeably to the interests, of the people\nis a great and glorious object of government.\" While he declared\nhimself against the addition of a hundred knights of the shire, he\nin the very same breath protested that, though the people might be\ndeceived in their choice of an object, he \"could scarcely conceive any\nchoice they could make, to be so very mischievous as the existence of\nany human force capable of resisting it.\"[1] To us this may seem very\nmild and commonplace doctrine, but it was not commonplace in an age\nwhen Anglican divines--men like Archbishop Markham, Dr. Nowell or\nDr. Porteus--had revived the base precepts of passive obedience and\nnon-resistance, and when such a man as Lord Mansfield encouraged them.\nAnd these were the kind of foundations which Burke had been laying,\nwhile Fox was yet a Tory, while Sheridan was writing farces, and while\nGrey was a schoolboy.\n\n[Footnote 1: \"To the Chairman of the Buckinghamshire Meeting,\" 1780.]\n\nIt is, however, almost demonstrably certain that the vindication of\nthe supremacy of popular interests over all other considerations would\nhave been bootless toil, and that the great constitutional struggle\nfrom 1760 to 1783 would have ended otherwise than it did, but for\nthe failure of the war against the insurgent colonies, and the final\nestablishment of American Independence. It was this portentous\ntransaction which finally routed the arbitrary and despotic\npretensions of the House of Commons over the people, and which put an\nend to the hopes entertained by the sovereign of making his personal\nwill supreme in the Chambers. Fox might well talk of an early Loyalist\nvictory in the war, as the terrible news from Long Island. The\nstruggle which began unsuccessfully at Brentford in Middlesex, was\ncontinued at Boston in Massachusetts. The scene had changed, but the\nconflicting principles were the same. The war of Independence was\nvirtually a second English civil war. The ruin of the American cause\nwould have been also the ruin of the constitutional cause in England;\nand a patriotic Englishman may revere the memory of Patrick Henry and\nGeorge Washington not less justly than the patriotic American. Burke's\nattitude in this great contest is that part of his history about the\nmajestic and noble wisdom of which there can be least dispute.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE ROCKINGHAM PARTY--PARIS--ELECTION AT BRISTOL--THE AMERICAN WAR\n\n\nThe war with the American colonies was preceded by an interval of\nstupor. The violent ferment which had been stirred in the nation by\nthe affairs of Wilkes and the Middlesex election, was followed, as\nBurke said, by as remarkable a deadness and vapidity. In 1770 the\ndistracted ministry of the Duke of Grafton came to an end, and was\nsucceeded by that of Lord North. The king had at last triumphed. He\nhad secured an administration of which the fundamental principle was\nthat the sovereign was to be the virtual head of it, and the real\ndirector of its counsels. Lord North's government lasted for twelve\nyears, and its career is for ever associated with one of the most\nmomentous chapters in the history of the English nation and of free\ninstitutions.\n\nThrough this long and eventful period, Burke's was as the voice of\none crying in the wilderness. He had become important enough for the\nministry to think it worth while to take pains to discredit him. They\nbusily encouraged the report that he was Junius, or a close ally of\nJunius. This was one of the minor vexations of Burke's middle life.\nEven his friends continued to torment him for incessant disclaimers.\nBurke's lofty pride made him slow to deal positively with what he\nscorned as a malicious and unworthy imputation. To such a friend as\nJohnson he did not, as we have seen, disdain to volunteer a denial,\nbut Charles Townshend was forced to write more than one importunate\nletter before he could extract from Burke the definite sentence\n(November 24, 1771):--\"I now give you my word and honour that I am not\nthe author of Junius, and that I know not the author of that paper,\nand I do authorise you to say so.\" Nor was this the only kind of\nannoyance to which he was subjected. His rising fame kindled the\ncandour of the friends of his youth. With proverbial good-nature, they\nadmonished him that he did not bear instruction; that he showed such\narrogance as in a man of his condition was intolerable; that he\nsnapped furiously at his parliamentary foes, like a wolf who had\nbroken into the fold; that his speeches were useless declamations; and\nthat he disgraced the House by the scurrilities of the bear-garden.\nThese sharp chastenings of friendship Burke endured with the perfect\nself-command, not of the cold and indifferent egotist, but of one who\nhad trained himself not to expect too much from men. He possessed the\ntrue solace for all private chagrins in the activity and the fervour\nof his public interests.\n\nIn 1772 the affairs of the East India Company and its relations with\nthe Government had fallen into disorder. The Opposition, though\npowerless in the Houses of Parliament, were often able to thwart the\nviews of the ministry in the imperial board-room in Leadenhall Street.\nThe Duke of Richmond was as zealous and as active in his opposition\nto Lord North in the business of the East Indies, as he was in the\nbusiness of the country at Westminster. A proposal was made to Burke\nto go out to India at the head of a commission of three supervisors,\nwith authority to examine the concerns of every department, and full\npowers of control over the company's servants. Though this offer was\npressed by the directors, Burke, after anxious consideration, declined\nit. What his reasons were there is no evidence; we can only guess that\nhe thought less of his personal interests than of those of the\ncountry and of his party. Without him the Rockingham connection\nwould undoubtedly have fallen to ruin, and with it the most upright,\nconsistent, and disinterested body of men then in public life. \"You\nsay,\" the Duke of Richmond wrote to him (November 15, 1772), \"the\nparty is an object of too much importance to go to pieces. Indeed,\nBurke, you have more merit than any man in keeping us together.\" It\nwas the character of the party, almost as much as their principles,\nthat secured Burke's zeal and attachment; their decorum, their\nconstancy, their aversion to all cabals for private objects, their\nindifference to office, except as an instrument of power and a means\nof carrying out the policy of their convictions. They might easily\nhave had office if they would have come in upon the king's terms. A\nyear after his fall from power Lord Rockingham was summoned to the\nroyal closet, and pressed to resume his post. But office at any price\nwas not in their thoughts. They knew the penalties of their system,\nand they clung to it undeterred. Their patriotism was deliberate and\nconsidered. Chalcedon was called the city of the blind, because its\nfounders wilfully neglected the more glorious site of Byzantium which\nlay under their eyes. \"We have built our Chalcedon,\" said Burke, \"with\nthe chosen part of the universe full in our prospect.\" They had the\nfaults to which an aristocratic party in opposition is naturally\nliable. Burke used to reproach them with being somewhat languid,\nscrupulous, and unsystematic. He could not make the Duke of Richmond\nput off a large party at Goodwood for the sake of an important\ndivision in the House of Lords; and he did not always agree with Lord\nJohn Cavendish as to what constitutes a decent and reasonable quantity\nof fox-hunting for a political leader in a crisis. But it was part of\nthe steadfastness of his whole life to do his best with such materials\nas he could find. He did not lose patience nor abate his effort,\nbecause his friends would miss the opportunity of a great political\nstroke rather than they would miss Newmarket Races. He wrote their\nprotests for the House of Lords, composed petitions for county\nmeetings, drafted resolutions, and plied them with information, ideas,\nadmonitions, and exhortations. Never before nor since has our country\nseen so extraordinary a union of the clever and indefatigable\nparty-manager, with the reflective and philosophic habits of the\nspeculative publicist. It is much easier to make either absolutism or\ndemocracy attractive than aristocracy; yet we see how consistent with\nhis deep moral conservatism was Burke's attachment to an aristocratic\nparty, when we read his exhortation to the Duke of Richmond to\nremember that persons in his high station in life ought to have long\nviews. \"You people,\" he writes to the Duke (November 17, 1772), \"of\ngreat families and hereditary trusts and fortunes are not like such as\nI am, who, whatever we may be by the rapidity of our growth, and even\nby the fruit we bear, and flatter ourselves that, while we creep on\nthe ground, we belly into melons that are exquisite for size and\nflavour, yet still we are but annual plants that perish with our\nseason, and leave no sort of traces behind us. You, if you are what\nyou ought to be, are in my eye the great oaks that shade a country,\nand perpetuate your benefits from generation to generation. The\nimmediate power of a Duke of Richmond, or a Marquis of Rockingham,\nis not so much of moment; but if their conduct and example hand down\ntheir principles to their successors, then their houses become the\npublic repositories and office of record for the constitution.... I do\nnot look upon your time or lives as lost, if in this sliding away from\nthe genuine spirit of the country, certain parties, if possible--if\nnot, the heads of certain families--should make it their business by\nthe whole course of their lives, principally by their example,\nto mould into the very vital stamina of their descendants those\nprinciples which ought to be transmitted pure and unmixed to\nposterity.\"\n\nPerhaps such a passage as this ought to be described less as\nreflection than as imagination--moral, historic, conservative\nimagination--in which order, social continuity, and the endless\nprojection of past into present, and of present into future, are\nclothed with the sanctity of an inner shrine. We may think that a\nfox-hunting duke and a racing marquis were very poor centres\nround which to group these high emotions. But Burke had no puny\nsentimentalism, and none of the mere literary or romantic conservatism\nof men like Chateaubriand. He lived in the real world, and not in a\nfalse dream of some past world that had never been. He saw that the\nsporting squires of his party were as much the representatives of\nancestral force and quality as in older days were long lines of\nClaudii and Valerii. His conservative doctrine was a profound\ninstinct, in part political, but in greater part moral. The accidental\nroughness of the symbol did not touch him, for the symbol was\nglorified by the sincerity of his faith and the compass of his\nimagination.\n\nWith these ideas strong within him, in 1773 Burke made a journey to\nFrance. It was almost as though the solemn hierophant of some mystic\nEgyptian temple should have found himself amid the brilliant chatter\nof a band of reckless, keen-tongued disputants of the garden or\nthe porch at Athens. His only son had just finished a successful\nschool-course at Westminster, and was now entered a student at Christ\nChurch. He was still too young for the university, and Burke thought\nthat a year could not be more profitably spent than in forming his\ntongue to foreign languages. The boy was placed at Auxerre, in the\nhouse of the business agent of the Bishop of Auxerre. From the Bishop\nhe received many kindnesses, to be amply repaid in after years when\nthe Bishop came in his old age, an exile and a beggar, to England.\n\nWhile in Paris, Burke did all that he could to instruct himself as\nto what was going on in French society. If he had not the dazzling\nreception which had greeted Hume in 1764, at least he had ample\nopportunities of acquainting himself with the prevailing ideas of the\ntime in more than one of the social camps into which Paris was then\ndivided. Madame du Deffand tells the Duchess of Choiseul that though\nhe speaks French extremely ill, everybody felt that he would be\ninfinitely agreeable if he could more easily make himself understood.\nHe followed French well enough as a listener, and went every day to\nthe courts to hear the barristers and watch the procedure. Madame du\nDeffand showed him all possible attention, and her friends eagerly\nseconded her. She invited him to supper parties, where he met\nthe Count de Broglie, the agent of the king's secret diplomacy;\nCaraccioli, successor of nimble-witted Galiani, the secretary from\nNaples; and other notabilities of the high world. He supped with the\nDuchess of Luxembourg, and heard a reading of La Harpe's _Barmecides_.\nIt was high treason in this circle to frequent the rival _salon_ of\nMademoiselle Lespinasse, but either the law was relaxed in the case\nof foreigners, or else Burke kept his own counsel. Here were for the\nmoment the headquarters of the party of innovation, and here he saw\nsome of the men who were busily forging the thunderbolts. His eye was\non the alert, now as always, for anything that might light up the\nsovereign problems of human government. A book by a member of this\ncircle had appeared six months before, which was still the talk of the\ntown, and against which the Government had taken the usual impotent\nmeasures of repression. This was the _Treatise on Tactics_, by a\ncertain M. de Guibert, a colonel of the Corsican legion. The important\npart of the work was the introduction, in which the writer examined\nwith what was then thought extraordinary hardihood, the social and\npolitical causes of the decline of the military art in France. Burke\nread it with keen interest and energetic approval. He was present at\nthe reading of a tragedy by the same author, and gave some offence to\nthe rival coterie by preferring Guibert's tragedy to La Harpe's. To\nus, however, of a later day, Guibert is known neither for his tragedy\nnor his essay on tactics, nor for a memory so rapid that he could open\na book, throw one glance like a flash of lightning on to a page, and\nthen instantly repeat from it half a dozen lines word for word.\nHe lives in literature as the inspirer of that ardent passion of\nMademoiselle Lespinasse's letters, so unique in their consuming\nintensity that, as has been said, they seem to burn the page on which\nthey are written. It was perhaps at Mademoiselle Lespinasse's that\nBurke met Diderot. The eleven volumes of the illustrative plates\nof the _Encyclopaeedia_ had been given to the public twelve months\nbefore, and its editor was just released from the giant's toil of\ntwenty years. Voltaire was in imperial exile at Ferney. Rousseau was\ncopying music in a garret in the street which is now called after his\nname, but he had long ago cut himself off from society; and Burke was\nnot likely to take much trouble to find out a man whom he had known in\nEngland seven years before, and against whom he had conceived a\nstrong and lasting antipathy, as entertaining no principle either to\ninfluence his heart or to guide his understanding save a deranged and\neccentric vanity.\n\nIt was the fashion for English visitors to go to Versailles. They saw\nthe dauphin and his brothers dine in public, before a crowd of princes\nof the blood, nobles, abb\u00e9s, and all the miscellaneous throng of\na court. They attended mass in the chapel, where the old king,\nsurrounded by bishops, sat in a pew just above that of Madame du\nBarri. The royal mistress astonished foreigners by hair without\npowder and cheeks without rouge, the simplest toilettes, and the most\nunassuming manners. Vice itself, in Burke's famous words, seemed to\nlose half its evil by losing all its grossness. And there, too, Burke\nhad that vision to which we owe one of the most gorgeous pages in our\nliterature--Marie Antoinette, the young dauphiness, \"decorating and\ncheering the elevated sphere she just began to move in, glittering\nlike the morning star, full of life and splendour and joy.\" The shadow\nwas rapidly stealing on. The year after Burke's visit, the scene\nunderwent a strange transformation. The king died; the mistress was\nbanished in luxurious exile; and the dauphiness became the ill-starred\nQueen of France. Burke never forgot the emotions of the scene; they\nawoke in his imagination sixteen years after, when all was changed,\nand the awful contrast shook him with a passion that his eloquence has\nmade immortal.\n\nMadame du Deffand wrote to Horace Walpole that Burke had been so well\nreceived, that he ought to leave France excellently pleased with the\ncountry. But it was not so. His spirit was perturbed by what he had\nlistened to. He came away with small esteem for that busy fermentation\nof intellect in which his French friends most exulted, and for which\nthey looked forward to the gratitude and admiration of posterity. From\nthe spot on which he stood there issued two mighty streams. It was\nfrom the ideas of the Parisian Freethinkers, whom Burke so detested,\nthat Jefferson, Franklin, and Henry drew those theories of human\nsociety which were so soon to find life in American Independence. It\nwas from the same ideas that later on that revolutionary tide surged\nforth, in which Burke saw no elements of a blessed fertility, but\nonly a horrid torrent of red and desolating lava. In 1773 there was\na moment of strange repose in Western Europe, the little break of\nstillness that precedes the hurricane. It was indeed the eve of a\nmomentous epoch. Before sixteen years were over, the American Republic\nhad risen, like a new constellation into the firmament, and the French\nmonarchy, of such antiquity and fame and high pre-eminence in European\nhistory, had been shattered to the dust. We may not agree with Burke's\nappreciation of the forces that were behind these vast convulsions.\nBut at least he saw, and saw with eyes of passionate alarm, that\nstrong speculative forces were at work, which must violently prove\nthe very bases of the great social superstructure, and might not\nimprobably break them up for ever.\n\nAlmost immediately after his return from France, he sounded a\nshrill note of warning. Some Methodists from Chatham had petitioned\nParliament against a bill for the relief of Dissenters from\nsubscription to the Articles. Burke denounced the intolerance of the\npetitioners. It is not the Dissenters, he cried, whom you have to\nfear, but the men who, \"not contented with endeavouring to turn\nyour eyes from the blaze and effulgence of light, by which life and\nimmortality is so gloriously demonstrated by the Gospel, would even\nextinguish that faint glimmering of Nature, that only comfort supplied\nto ignorant man before this great illumination.... These are the\npeople against whom you ought to aim the shaft of the law; these are\nthe men to whom, arrayed in all the terrors of government, I would\nsay, 'You shall not degrade us into brutes.' ... The most horrid and\ncruel blow that can be offered to civil society is through atheism....\nThe infidels are outlaws of the constitution, not of this country, but\nof the human race. They are never, never to be supported, never to be\ntolerated. Under the systematic attacks of these people, I see some of\nthe props of good government already begin to fail; I see propagated\nprinciples which will not leave to religion even a toleration. I\nsee myself sinking every day under the attacks of these wretched\npeople.\"[1] To this pitch he had been excited by the vehement band of\nmen, who had inscribed on their standard, _\u00c9craser l'Inf\u00e2me_.\n\n[Footnote 1: \"Speech on Relief of Protestant Dissenters, 1773.\"]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe second Parliament in which Burke had a seat was dissolved suddenly\nand without warning (October 1774). The attitude of America was\nthreatening, and it was believed the Ministers were anxious to have\nthe elections over before the state of things became worse. The whole\nkingdom was instantly in a ferment. Couriers, chaises, post-horses,\nhurried in every direction over the island, and it was noted, as a\nmeasure of the agitation, that no fewer than sixty messengers passed\nthrough a single turnpike on one day. Sensible observers were glad to\nthink that, in consequence of the rapidity of the elections, less wine\nand money would be wasted than at any election for sixty years past.\nBurke had a houseful of company at Beaconsfield when the news arrived.\nJohnson was among them, and as the party was hastily breaking up, the\nold Tory took his Whig friend kindly by the hand: \"Farewell, my dear\nsir,\" he said, \"and remember that I wish you all the success that\nought to be wished to you, and can possibly be wished to you, by an\nhonest man.\"\n\nThe words were of good omen. Burke was now rewarded by the discovery\nthat his labours had earned for him recognition and gratitude beyond\nthe narrow limits of a rather exclusive party. He had before this\nattracted the attention of the mercantile public. The Company of\nMerchants trading to Africa voted him their thanks for his share in\nsupporting their establishments. The Committee of Trade at Manchester\nformally returned him their grateful acknowledgments for the active\npart that he had taken in the business of the Jamaica free ports.\nBut then Manchester returned no representative to Parliament. In two\nParliaments Burke had been elected for Wendover free of expense. Lord\nVerney's circumstances were now so embarrassed, that he was obliged\nto part with the four seats at his disposal to men who could pay for\nthem. There had been some talk of proposing Burke for Westminster,\nand Wilkes, who was then omnipotent, promised him the support of\nthe popular party. But the patriot's memory was treacherous, and he\nspeedily forgot, for reasons of his own, an idea that had originated\nwith himself. Burke's constancy of spirit was momentarily overclouded.\n\"Sometimes when I am alone,\" he wrote to Lord Rockingham (September\n15, 1774), \"in spite of all my efforts, I fall into a melancholy which\nis inexpressible, and to which, if I give way, I should not continue\nlong under it, but must totally sink. Yet I do assure you that partly,\nand indeed principally, by the force of natural good spirits, and\npartly by a strong sense of what I ought to do, I bear up so well that\nno one who did not know them, could easily discover the state of my\nmind or my circumstances. I have those that are dear to me, for whom I\nmust live as long as God pleases, and in what way He pleases. Whether\nI ought not totally to abandon this public station for which I am so\nunfit, and have of course been so unfortunate, I know not.\" But he\nwas always saved from rash retirement from public business by two\nreflections. He doubted whether a man has a right to retire after he\nhas once gone a certain length in these things. And he remembered that\nthere are often obscure vexations in the most private life, which as\neffectually destroy a man's peace as anything that can occur in public\ncontentions.\n\nLord Rockingham offered his influence on behalf of Burke at Malton,\none of the family boroughs in Yorkshire, and thither Burke in no high\nspirits betook himself. On his way to the north he heard that he\nhad been nominated for Bristol, but the nomination had for certain\nelectioneering reasons not been approved by the party. As it happened,\nBurke was no sooner chosen at Malton than, owing to an unexpected\nturn of affairs at Bristol, the idea of proposing him for a candidate\nrevived. Messengers were sent express to his house in London, and,\nnot finding him there, they hastened down to Yorkshire. Burke quickly\nresolved that the offer was too important to be rejected. Bristol was\nthe capital of the west, and it was still in wealth, population, and\nmercantile activity the second city of the kingdom. To be invited to\nstand for so great a constituency, without any request of his own and\nfree of personal expense, was a distinction which no politician could\nhold lightly. Burke rose from the table where he was dining with some\nof his supporters, stepped into a post-chaise at six on a Tuesday\nevening, and travelled without a break until he reached Bristol on the\nThursday afternoon, having got over two hundred and seventy miles in\nforty-four hours. Not only did he execute the journey without a break,\nbut, as he told the people of Bristol, with an exulting commemoration\nof his own zeal that recalls Cicero, he did not sleep for an instant\nin the interval. The poll was kept open for a month, and the contest\nwas the most tedious that had ever been known in the city. New freemen\nwere admitted down to the very last day of the election. At the end of\nit, Burke was second on the poll, and was declared to be duly chosen\n(November 3, 1774). There was a petition against his return, but the\nelection was confirmed, and he continued to sit for Bristol for six\nyears.\n\nThe situation of a candidate is apt to find out a man's weaker places.\nBurke stood the test. He showed none of the petulant rage of those\nclamorous politicians whose flight, as he said, is winged in a lower\nregion of the air. As the traveller stands on the noble bridge\nthat now spans the valley of the Avon, he may recall Burke's local\ncomparison of these busy, angry familiars of an election, to the gulls\nthat skim the mud of the river when it is exhausted of its tide. He\ngave his new friends a more important lesson, when the time came for\nhim to thank them for the honour which they had just conferred upon\nhim. His colleague had opened the subject of the relations between a\nmember of Parliament and his constituents; and had declared that,\nfor his own part, he should regard the instructions of the people of\nBristol as decisive and binding. Burke in a weighty passage upheld a\nmanlier doctrine.\n\n    Certainly, gentlemen, it ought to be the happiness and glory of\n    a representative to live in the strictest union, the closest\n    correspondence, and the most unreserved communication with his\n    constituents. Their wishes ought to have great weight with him;\n    their opinions high respect, their business unremitted attention.\n    It is his duty to sacrifice his repose, his pleasure, his\n    satisfactions, to theirs; and above all, ever, and in all cases,\n    to prefer their interest to his own. But his unbiassed opinion,\n    his mature judgment, his enlightened conscience, he ought not to\n    sacrifice to you, to any man, or to any set of men living. Your\n    representative owes you, not his industry only, but his judgment;\n    and he betrays, instead of serving you, if he sacrifices it to\n    your opinion.\n\n    My worthy colleague says, his will ought to be subservient to\n    yours. If that be all, the thing is innocent. If government were a\n    matter of will upon any side, yours, without question, ought to be\n    superior. But government and legislation are matters of reason and\n    judgment, and not of inclination; and what sort of reason is that\n    in which the determination precedes the discussion, in which one\n    set of men deliberate and another decide, and where those who form\n    the conclusion are perhaps three hundred miles distant from\n    those who hear the arguments?... _Authoritative_ instructions,\n    _mandates_ issued, which the member is bound blindly and\n    implicitly to obey, to vote, and to argue for, though contrary to\n    the clearest convictions of his judgment and conscience--these are\n    things utterly unknown to the laws of this land, and which arise\n    from a fundamental mistake of the whole order and tenor of our\n    Constitution.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: \"Speech at the conclusion of the Poll.\"]\n\nFor six years the Bristol electors were content to be represented by\na man of this independence. They never, however, really acquiesced\nin the principle that a member of Parliament owes as much to his own\nconvictions as to the will of his constituents. In 1778 a bill was\nbrought into Parliament, relaxing some of the restrictions imposed\nupon Ireland by the atrocious fiscal policy of Great Britain. The\ngreat mercantile centres raised a furious outcry, and Bristol was as\nblind and as boisterous as Manchester and Glasgow. Burke not only\nspoke and voted in favour of the commercial propositions, but urged\nthat the proposed removal of restrictions on Irish trade did not go\nnearly far enough. There was none of that too familiar casuistry,\nby which public men argue themselves out of their consciences in a\nstrange syllogism, that they can best serve the country in Parliament;\nthat to keep their seats they must follow their electors; and that\ntherefore, in the long run, they serve the country best by acquiescing\nin ignorance and prejudice. Anybody can denounce an abuse. It needs\nvalour and integrity to stand forth against a wrong to which our best\nfriends are most ardently committed. It warms our hearts to think\nof the noble courage with which Burke faced the blind and vile\nselfishness of his own supporters. He reminded them that England only\nconsented to leave to the Irish in two or three instances the use of\nthe natural faculties which God had given them. He asked them whether\nIreland was united to Great Britain for no other purpose than that we\nshould counteract the bounty of Providence in her favour; and whether,\nin proportion as that bounty had been liberal, we were to regard it as\nan evil to be met with every possible corrective? In our day there is\nnobody of any school who doubts that Burke's view of our trade policy\ntowards Ireland was accurately, absolutely, and magnificently right.\nI need not repeat the arguments. They made no mark on the Bristol\nmerchants. Burke boldly told them that he would rather run the risk of\ndispleasing than of injuring them. They implored him to become their\nadvocate. \"I should only disgrace myself,\" he said; \"I should lose the\nonly thing which can make such abilities as mine of any use to the\nworld now or hereafter. I mean that authority which is derived from\nthe opinion that a member speaks the language of truth and sincerity,\nand that he is not ready to take up or lay down a great political\nsystem for the convenience of the hour; that he is in Parliament to\nsupport his opinion of the public good, and does not form his opinion\nin order to get into Parliament or to continue in it.\"[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: _Two Letters to Gentlemen in Bristol_, 1778.]\n\nA small instalment of humanity to Ireland was not more distasteful to\nthe electors of Bristol than a small instalment of toleration to Roman\nCatholics in England. A measure was passed (1778) repealing certain\niniquitous penalties created by an Act of William the Third. It is\nneedless to say that this rudimentary concession to justice and sense\nwas supported by Burke. His voters began to believe that those were\nright who had said that he had been bred at Saint Omer's, was a Papist\nat heart, and a Jesuit in disguise. When the time came, _summa dies et\nineluctabile fatum_, Burke bore with dignity and temper his dismissal\nfrom the only independent constituency that he ever represented. Years\nbefore he had warned a young man entering public life to regard and\nwish well to the common people, whom his best instincts and his\nhighest duties lead him to love and to serve, but to put as little\ntrust in them as in princes. Burke somewhere describes an honest\npublic life as carrying on a poor unequal conflict against the\npassions and prejudices of our day, perhaps with no better weapons\nthan passions and prejudices of our own.\n\nThe six years during which Burke sat in Parliament for Bristol, saw\nthis conflict carried on under the most desperate circumstances. They\nwere the years of the civil war between the English at home and the\nEnglish in the American colonies. George III. and Lord North have been\nmade scapegoats for sins which were not exclusively, their own. They\nwere only the organs and representatives of all the lurking ignorance\nand arbitrary humours of the entire community. Burke discloses in many\nplaces, that for once the king and Parliament did not act without the\nsympathies of the mass. In his famous speech at Bristol, in 1780, he\nwas rebuking the intolerance of those who bitterly taunted him for the\nsupport of the measure for the relaxation of the Penal Code. \"It is\nbut too true,\" he said in a passage worth remembering, \"that the love,\nand even the very idea, of genuine liberty is extremely rare. It is\nbut too true that there are many whose whole scheme of freedom is made\nup of pride, perverseness, and insolence. They feel themselves in\na state of thraldom, they imagine that their souls are cooped and\ncabined in, unless they have some man, or some body of men, dependent\non their mercy. The desire of having some one below them, descends\nto those who are the very lowest of all; and a Protestant cobbler,\ndebased by his poverty, but exalted by his share of the ruling Church,\nfeels a pride in knowing it is by his generosity alone that the peer,\nwhose footman's instep he measures, is able to keep his chaplain from\na gaol. This disposition is the true source of the passion which\nmany men, in very humble life, have taken to the American war. _Our_\nsubjects in America; _our_ colonies; _our_ dependents. This lust of\nparty power is the liberty they hunger and thirst for; and this Siren\nsong of ambition has charmed ears that we would have thought were\nnever organised to that sort of music.\"\n\nThis was the mental attitude of a majority of the nation, and it was\nfortunate for them and for us that the yeomen and merchants on the\nother side of the Atlantic had a more just and energetic appreciation\nof the crisis. The insurgents, while achieving their own freedom, were\nindirectly engaged in fighting the battle of the people of the mother\ncountry as well. Burke had a vehement correspondent who wrote to\nhim (1777) that if the utter ruin of this country were to be the\nconsequence of her persisting in the claim to tax America, then he\nwould be the first to say, _Let her perish!_ If England prevails, said\nHorace Walpole, English and American liberty is at an end; if one\nfell, the other would fall with it. Burke, seeing this, \"certainly\nnever could and never did wish,\" as he says of himself, \"the colonists\nto be subdued by arms. He was fully persuaded that if such should be\nthe event, they must be held in that subdued state by a great body of\nstanding forces, and perhaps of foreign forces. He was strongly of\nopinion that such armies, first victorious over Englishmen, in a\nconflict for English constitutional rights and privileges, and\nafterwards habituated (though in America) to keep an English people\nin a state of abject subjection, would prove fatal in the end to the\nliberties of England itself.\"[1] The way for this remote peril was\nbeing sedulously prepared by a widespread deterioration among popular\nideas, and a fatal relaxation of the hold which they had previously\ngained in the public mind. In order to prove that the Americans had no\nright to their liberties, we were every day endeavouring to subvert\nthe maxims which preserve the whole spirit of our own. To prove that\nthe Americans ought not to be free, we were obliged to depreciate the\nvalue of freedom itself. The material strength of the Government, and\nits moral strength alike, would have been reinforced by the defeat of\nthe colonists, to such an extent as to have seriously delayed or even\njeopardised English progress, and therefore that of Europe too. As\nevents actually fell out, the ferocious administration of the law\nin the last five or six years of the eighteenth century was the\nretribution for the lethargy or approval with which the mass of the\nEnglish community had watched the measures of the Government against\ntheir fellow-Englishmen in America.\n\n[Footnote 1: _Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs_.]\n\nIt is not necessary here to follow Burke minutely through the\nsuccessive stages of parliamentary action in the American war. He\nalways defended the settlement of 1766; the Stamp Act was repealed,\nand the constitutional supremacy and sovereign authority of the mother\ncountry was preserved in a Declaratory Act. When the project of taxing\nthe colonies was revived, and relations with them were becoming\nstrained and dangerous, Burke came forward with a plan for leaving the\nGeneral Assemblies of the colonies to grant supplies and aids, instead\nof giving and granting supplies in Parliament, to be raised and paid\nin the colonies. Needless to say that it was rejected, and perhaps it\nwas not feasible. Henceforth Burke could only watch in impotence the\nblunders of Government, and the disasters that befell the national\narms. But his protests against the war will last as long as our\nliterature.\n\nOf all Burke's writings none are so fit to secure unqualified\nand unanimous admiration as the three pieces on this momentous\nstruggle:--the Speech on American Taxation (April 19, 1774); the\nSpeech on Conciliation with America (March 22, 1775); and the Letter\nto the Sheriffs of Bristol (1777). Together they hardly exceed the\ncompass of the little volume which the reader now has in his hands. It\nis no exaggeration to say that they compose the most perfect manual in\nour literature, or in any literature, for one who approaches the study\nof public affairs, whether for knowledge or for practice. They are an\nexample without fault of all the qualities which the critic, whether a\ntheorist or an actor, of great political situations should strive by\nnight and by day to possess. If the theme with which they deal were\nless near than it is to our interests and affections as free citizens,\nthese three performances would still abound in the lessons of an\nincomparable political method. If their subject were as remote as the\nquarrel between the Corinthians and Corcyra, or the war between Rome\nand the Allies, instead of a conflict to which the world owes the\nopportunity of the most important of political experiments, we should\nstill have everything to learn from the author's treatment; the\nvigorous grasp of masses of compressed detail, the wide illumination\nfrom great principles of human experience, the strong and masculine\nfeeling for the two great political ends of Justice and Freedom, the\nlarge and generous interpretation of expediency, the morality, the\nvision, the noble temper. If ever, in the fulness of time, and surely\nthe fates of men and literature cannot have it otherwise, Burke\nbecomes one of the half-dozen names of established and universal\ncurrency in education and in common books, rising above the\nwaywardness of literary caprice or intellectual fashions, as\nShakespeare and Milton and Bacon rise above it, it will be the\nmastery, the elevation, the wisdom, of these far-shining discourses in\nwhich the world will in an especial degree recognise the combination\nof sovereign gifts with beneficent uses.\n\nThe pamphlet on the _Present Discontents_ is partially obscured or\nmuffled to the modern reader by the space which is given to the cabal\nof the day. The _Reflections on the French Revolution_ over-abounds in\ndeclamation, and--apart from its being passionately on one side, and\nthat perhaps the wrong one--the splendour of the eloquence is out\nof proportion to the reason and the judgment. In the pieces on the\nAmerican war, on the contrary, Burke was conscious that he could trust\nnothing to the sympathy or the prepossessions of his readers, and\nthis put him upon an unwonted persuasiveness. Here it is reason and\njudgment, not declamation; lucidity, not passion; that produces\nthe effects of eloquence. No choler mars the page; no purple patch\ndistracts our minds from the penetrating force of argument; no\ncommonplace is dressed up into a vague sublimity. The cause of freedom\nis made to wear its own proper robe of equity, self-control, and\nreasonableness.\n\nNot one, but all those great idols of the political market-place whose\nworship and service has cost the race so dear, are discovered and\nshown to be the foolish uncouth stocks and stones that they are. Fox\nonce urged members of Parliament to peruse the speech on Conciliation\nagain and again, to study it, to imprint it on their minds, to impress\nit on their hearts. But Fox only referred to the lesson which he\nthought to be contained in it, that representation is the sovereign\nremedy for every evil. This is by far the least important of its\nlessons. It is great in many ways. It is greatest as a remonstrance\nand an answer against the thriving sophisms of barbarous national\npride, the eternal fallacies of war and conquest; and here it is\ngreat, as all the three pieces on the subject are so, because they\nexpose with unanswerable force the deep-lying faults of heart and\ntemper, as well as of understanding, which move nations to haughty and\nviolent courses.\n\nThe great argument with those of the war party who pretended to a\npolitical defence of their position, was the doctrine that the English\nGovernment was sovereign in the colonies as at home; and in the notion\nof sovereignty they found inherent the notion of an indefeasible\nright to impose and exact taxes. Having satisfied themselves of the\nexistence of this sovereignty, and of the right which they took to be\nits natural property, they saw no step between the existence of an\nabstract right and the propriety of enforcing it. We have seen an\ninstance of a similar mode of political thinking in our own lifetime.\nDuring the great civil war between the northern and southern states of\nthe American Union, people in England convinced themselves--some\nafter careful examination of documents, others by cursory glances at\nsecond-hand authorities--that the south had a right to secede. The\ncurrent of opinion was precisely similar in the struggle to which the\nUnited States owed their separate existence. Now the idea of a right\nas a mysterious and reverend abstraction, to be worshipped in a state\nof naked divorce from expediency and convenience, was one that Burke's\npolitical judgment found preposterous and unendurable. He hated\nthe arbitrary and despotic savour which clung about the English\nassumptions over the colonies. And his repulsion was heightened when\nhe found that these assumptions were justified, not by some permanent\nadvantage which their victory would procure for the mother country\nor for the colonies, or which would repay the cost of gaining such a\nvictory; not by the assertion and demonstration of some positive duty,\nbut by the futile and meaningless doctrine that we had a right to do\nsomething or other, if we liked.\n\nThe alleged compromise of the national dignity implied in a withdrawal\nof the just claim of the Government, instead of convincing, only\nexasperated him. \"Show the thing you contend for to be reason; show it\nto be common sense; show it to be the means of attaining some useful\nend; and then I am content to allow it what dignity you please.\"[1]\nThe next year he took up the ground still more firmly, and explained\nit still more impressively. As for the question of the right\nof taxation, he exclaimed, \"It is less than nothing in my\nconsideration.... My consideration is narrow, confined, and wholly\nlimited to the policy of the question. I do not examine whether the\ngiving away a man's money be a power excepted and reserved out of the\ngeneral trust of Government.... _The question with me is not whether\nyou have a right to render your people miserable, but whether it is\nnot your interest to make them happy._ It is not what a lawyer tells\nme I _may_ do, but what humanity, reason, and justice tell me I\n_ought_ to do. I am not determining a point of law; I am restoring\ntranquillity, and the general character and situation of a people must\ndetermine what sort of government is fitted for them.\" \"I am not here\ngoing into the distinctions of rights,\" he cries, \"not attempting\nto mark their boundaries. I do not enter into these metaphysical\ndistinctions. _I hate the very sound of them_. This is the true\ntouchstone of all theories which regard man and the affairs of man:\ndoes it suit his nature in general?--does it suit his nature as\nmodified by his habits?\" He could not bear to think of having\nlegislative or political arrangements shaped or vindicated by a\ndelusive geometrical accuracy of deduction, instead of being entrusted\nto \"the natural operation of things, which, left to themselves,\ngenerally fall into their proper order.\"\n\n[Footnote 1: \"Speech on American Taxation.\"]\n\nApart from his incessant assertion of the principle that man acts from\nadequate motives relative to his interests, and not on metaphysical\nspeculations, Burke sows, as he marches along in his stately argument,\nmany a germ of the modern philosophy of civilisation. He was told that\nAmerica was worth fighting for. \"Certainly it is,\" he answered, \"if\nfighting a people be the best way of gaining them.\" Every step that\nhas been taken in the direction of progress, not merely in empire, but\nin education, in punishment, in the treatment of the insane, has shown\nthe deep wisdom, so unfamiliar in that age of ferocious penalties and\nbrutal methods, of this truth--that \"the natural effect of fidelity,\nclemency, kindness in governors, is peace, good-will, order, and\nesteem in the governed.\" Is there a single instance to the contrary?\nThen there is that sure key to wise politics:--\"_Nobody shall persuade\nme when a whole people are concerned, that acts of lenity are not\nmeans of conciliation_.\" And that still more famous sentence, \"_I\ndo not know the method of drawing up an indictment against a whole\npeople_.\"\n\nGood and observant men will feel that no misty benevolence or vague\nsympathy, but the positive reality of experience, inspired such\npassages as that where he says,--\"Never expecting to find perfection\nin men, and not looking for divine attributes in created beings, in my\ncommerce with my contemporaries I have found much human virtue.\nThe age unquestionably produces daring profligates and insidious\nhypocrites? What then? Am I not to avail myself of whatever good is\nto be found in the world, because of the mixture of evil that is in\nit?... Those who raise suspicions of the good, on account of\nthe behaviour of evil men, are of the party of the latter.... A\nconscientious person would rather doubt his own judgment than condemn\nhis species. He that accuses all mankind of corruption ought to\nremember that he is sure to convict only one. In truth, I should much\nrather admit those whom at any time I have disrelished the most, to be\npatterns of perfection, than seek a consolation to my own unworthiness\nin a general communion of depravity with all about me.\" This is one of\nthose pieces of rational constancy and mental wholeness in Burke which\nfill up our admiration for him--one of the manifold illustrations of\nan invincible fidelity to the natural order and operation of things,\neven when they seemed most hostile to all that was dear to his own\npersonality.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nECONOMICAL REFORM--BURKE IN OFFICE--FALL OF HIS PARTY\n\n\nTowards 1780 it began to be clear that the Ministers had brought\nthe country into disaster and humiliation, from which their policy\ncontained no way of escape. In the closing months of the American war,\nthe Opposition pressed Ministers with a vigour that never abated. Lord\nNorth bore their attacks with perfect good-humour. When Burke, in\nthe course of a great oration, parodied Burgoyne's invitation to the\nIndians to repair to the king's standard, the wit and satire of\nit almost suffocated the Prime Minister, not with shame but with\nlaughter. His heart had long ceased to be in the matter, and everybody\nknew that he only retained his post in obedience to the urgent\nimportunities of the king, whilst such colleagues as Rigby only clung\nto their place because the salaries were endeared by long familiarity.\nThe general gloom was accidentally deepened by that hideous outbreak\nof fanaticism and violence, which is known as the Lord George Gordon\nRiots (June 1780). The Whigs, as having favoured the relaxation of\nthe laws against popery, were especially obnoxious to the mob. The\nGovernment sent a guard of soldiers to protect Burke's house in\nCharles Street, St. James's; but after he had removed the more\nimportant of his papers, he insisted on the guard being despatched for\nthe protection of more important places, and he took shelter under the\nroof of General Burgoyne. His excellent wife, according to a letter of\nhis brother, had \"the firmness and sweetness of an angel; but why do\nI say of an angel?--of a woman.\" Burke himself courageously walked\nto and fro amid the raging crowds with firm composure, though the\nexperiment was full of peril. He describes the mob as being made up,\nas London mobs generally are, rather of the unruly and dissolute than\nof fanatical malignants, and he vehemently opposed any concessions by\nParliament to the spirit of intolerance which had first kindled the\nblaze. All the letters of the time show that the outrages and alarms\nof those days and nights, in which the capital seemed to be at the\nmercy of a furious rabble, made a deeper impression on the minds of\ncontemporaries than they ought to have done. Burke was not likely to\nbe less excited than others by the sight of such insensate disorder;\nand it is no idle fancy that he had the mobs of 1780 still in his\nmemory, when ten years later he poured out the vials of his wrath on\nthe bloodier mob which carried the King and Queen of France in wild\ntriumph from Versailles to Paris.\n\nIn the previous February (1780) Burke had achieved one of the greatest\nof all his parliamentary and oratorical successes. Though the matter\nof this particular enterprise is no longer alive, yet it illustrates\nhis many strong qualities in so remarkable a way that it is right to\ngive some account of it. We have already seen that Burke steadily set\nhis face against parliamentary reform; he habitually declared that\nthe machine was well enough to answer any good purpose, provided the\nmaterials were sound. The statesman who resists all projects for the\nreform of the constitution, and yet eagerly proclaims how deplorably\nimperfect are the practical results of its working, binds himself to\nvigorous exertions for the amendment of administration. Burke devoted\nhimself to this duty with a fervid assiduity that has not often been\nexampled, and has never been surpassed. He went to work with the zeal\nof a religious enthusiast, intent on purging his Church and his faith\nof the corruptions which lowered it in the eyes of men. There was no\npart or order of government so obscure, so remote, or so complex, as\nto escape his acute and persevering observation.\n\nBurke's object, in his schemes for Economical Reform, was less to\nhusband the public resources and relieve the tax-payer--though this\naim could not have been absent from his mind, overburdened as England\nthen was with the charges of the American war--than to cut off the\nchannels which supplied the corruption of the House of Commons. The\nfull title of the first project which he presented to the legislature\n(February 1780), was, A Plan for the Better Security of the\nIndependence of Parliament, and the Economical Reformation of the\nCivil and other Establishments. It was to the former that he\ndeemed the latter to be the most direct road. The strength of the\nadministration in the House was due to the gifts which the Minister\nhad in his hands to dispense. Men voted with the side which could\nreward their fidelity. It was the number of sinecure places and\nunpublished pensions, which along with the controllable influence of\npeers and nabobs, furnished the Minister with an irresistible lever:\nthe avarice and the degraded public spirit of the recipients supplied\nthe required fulcrum. Burke knew that in sweeping away these\nfactitious places and secret pensions, he would be robbing the\nCourt of its chief implements of corruption, and protecting the\nrepresentative against his chief motive in selling his country. He\nconceived that he would thus be promoting a far more infallible means\nthan any scheme of electoral reform could have provided, for reviving\nthe integrity and independence of the House of Commons. In his\neyes, the evil resided not in the constituencies, but in their\nrepresentatives; not in the small number of the one, but in the\nsmaller integrity of the other. The evil did not stop where it began.\nIt was not merely that the sinister motive, thus engendered in\nthe minds of too lax and facile men, induced them to betray their\nlegislative trust, and barter their own uprightness and the interests\nof the State. The acquisition of one of these nefarious bribes meant\nmuch more than a sinister vote. It called into existence a champion of\nevery inveterate abuse that weighed on the resources of the country.\nThere is a well-known passage in the speech on Economical Reform, in\nwhich the speaker shows what an insurmountable obstacle Lord Talbot\nhad found in his attempt to carry out certain reforms in the royal\nhousehold, in the fact that the turnspit of the king's kitchen was a\nmember of Parliament. \"On that rock his whole adventure split,--his\nwhole scheme of economy was dashed to pieces; his department\nbecame more expensive than ever; the Civil List debt accumulated.\"\nInterference with the expenses of the household meant interference\nwith the perquisites or fees of this legislative turnspit, and the\nrights of sinecures were too sacred to be touched. In comparison with\nthem, it counted for nothing that the king's tradesmen went unpaid,\nand became bankrupt; that the judges were unpaid; that the justice of\nthe kingdom bent and gave way; the foreign ministers remained inactive\nand unprovided; the system of Europe was dissolved; the chain of our\nalliances was broken; all the wheels of Government at home and abroad\nwere stopped. _The king's turnspit was a member of Parliament_.[1]\nThis office and numbers of others exactly like it, existed solely\nbecause the House of Commons was crowded with venal men. The post of\nroyal scullion meant a vote that could be relied upon under every\ncircumstance and in all emergencies. And each incumbent of such an\noffice felt his honour and interests concerned in the defence of all\nother offices of the same scandalous description. There was thus\nmaintained a strong standing army of expensive, lax, and corrupting\nofficials.\n\n[Footnote 1: The Civil List at this time comprehended a great number\nof charges, such as those of which Burke speaks, that had nothing\nto do with the sovereign personally. They were slowly removed, the\njudicial and diplomatic charges being transferred on the accession of\nWilliam IV.] The royal household was a gigantic nest of costly jobbery\nand purposeless profusion. It retained all \"the cumbrous charge of\na Gothic establishment,\" though all its usage and accommodation had\n\"shrunk into the polished littleness of modern elegance.\" The outlay\nwas enormous. The expenditure on the court tables only was a thing\nunfathomable. Waste was the rule in every branch of it. There was an\noffice for the Great Wardrobe, another office of the Robes, a third\nof the Groom of the Stole. For these three useless offices there\nwere three useless treasurers. They all laid a heavy burden on the\ntaxpayer, in order to supply a bribe to the member of Parliament.\nThe plain remedy was to annihilate the subordinate treasuries. \"Take\naway,\" was Burke's demand, \"the whole establishment of detail in\nthe household: the Treasurer, the Comptroller, the Cofferer of the\nHousehold, the Treasurer of the Chamber, the Master of the Household,\nthe whole Board of Green Cloth; a vast number of subordinate offices\nin the department of the Steward of the Household; the whole\nestablishment of the Great Wardrobe; the Removing Wardrobe; the Jewel\nOffice; the Robes; the Board of Works.\" The abolition of this confused\nand costly system would not only diminish expense and promote\nefficiency; it would do still more excellent service in destroying the\nroots of parliamentary corruption. \"Under other governments a question\nof expense is only a question of economy, and it is nothing more;\nwith us, in every question of expense, there is always a mixture of\nconstitutional considerations.\"\n\nPlaces and pensions, though the worst, were not by any means the only\nstumbling-block in the way of pure and well-ordered government. The\nadministration of the estates of the Crown,--the Principality, the\nDuchy of Cornwall, the Duchy of Lancaster, the County Palatine\nof Chester,--was an elaborate system of obscure and unprofitable\nexpenditure. Wales had to herself eight judges, while no more than\ntwelve sufficed to perform the whole business of justice in England, a\ncountry ten times as large and a hundred times as opulent. Wales,\nand each of the duchies, had its own exchequer. Every one of these\nprincipalities, said Burke, has the apparatus of a kingdom, for the\njurisdiction over a few private estates; it has the formality and\ncharge of the Exchequer of Great Britain, for collecting the rents of\na country squire. They were the field, in his expressive phrase,\nof mock jurisdictions and mimic revenues, of difficult trifles and\nlaborious fooleries. \"It was but the other day that that pert factious\nfellow, the Duke of Lancaster, presumed to fly in the face of his\nliege lord, our gracious sovereign--presumed to go to law with the\nking. The object is neither your business nor mine. Which of the\nparties got the better I really forget. The material point is that the\nsuit cost about \u00a315,000. But as the Duke of Lancaster is but agent of\nDuke Humphrey, and not worth a groat, our sovereign was obliged to pay\nthe costs of both.\" The system which involved these costly absurdities\nBurke proposed entirely to abolish. In the same spirit he wished to\ndispose of the Crown lands and the forest lands, which it was for the\ngood of the community, not less than of the Crown itself, to throw\ninto the hands of private owners.\n\nOne of the most important of these projected reforms, and one which\nits author did not flinch from carrying out two years later to his\nown loss, related to the office of Paymaster. This functionary was\naccustomed to hold large balances of the public money in his own hands\nand for his own profit, for long periods, owing to a complex system of\naccounts which was so rigorous as entirely to defeat its own object.\nThe paymaster could not, through the multiplicity of forms and the\nexaction of impossible conditions, get a prompt acquittance. The\naudit sometimes did not take place for years after the accounts were\nvirtually closed. Meanwhile the money accumulated in his hands, and\nits profits were his legitimate perquisite. Lord Holland, or his\nrepresentatives, held the balances of his office from 1765, when he\nretired, until 1778, when they were audited. During this time he\nrealised, as the interest on the use of these balances, nearly two\nhundred and fifty thousand pounds. Burke diverted these enormous gains\ninto the coffers of the State. He fixed the paymaster's salary at four\nthousand pounds a year, and was himself the first person who accepted\nthe curtailed income.\n\nNot the most fervid or brilliant of Burke's pieces, yet the speech on\nEconomical Reform is certainly not the least instructive or impressive\nof them. It gives a suggestive view of the relations existing at that\ntime between the House of Commons and the Court. It reveals the narrow\nand unpatriotic spirit of the king and the ministers, who could resist\nproposals so reasonable in themselves, and so remedial in their\neffects, at a time when the nation was suffering the heavy and\ndistressing burdens of the most disastrous war that our country has\never carried on. It is especially interesting as an illustration of\nits author's political capacity. At a moment when committees and\npetitions and great county meetings showed how thoroughly the national\nanger was roused against the existing system, Burke came to the front\nof affairs with a scheme, of which the most striking characteristic\nproved to be that it was profoundly temperate. Bent on the extirpation\nof the system, he had no ill-will towards the men who had happened\nto flourish in it. \"I never will suffer,\" he said, \"any man or\ndescription of men to suffer from errors that naturally have grown\nout of the abusive constitution of those offices which I propose to\nregulate. If I cannot reform with equity, I will not reform at all.\"\nExasperated as he was by the fruitlessness of his opposition to a\npolicy which he detested from the bottom of his soul, it would have\nbeen little wonderful if he had resorted to every weapon of his\nunrivalled rhetorical armoury, in order to discredit and overthrow the\nwhole scheme of government. Yet nothing could have been further from\nhis mind than any violent or extreme idea of this sort. Many years\nafterwards, he took credit to himself less for what he did on this\noccasion than for what he prevented from being done. People were ready\nfor a new modelling of the two Houses of Parliament, as well as for\ngrave modifications of the Prerogative. Burke resisted this temper\nunflinchingly. \"I had,\" he says, \"a state to preserve, as well as a\nstate to reform. I had a people to gratify, but not to inflame or to\nmislead.\" He then recounts without exaggeration the pains and caution\nwith which he sought reform, while steering clear of innovation. He\nheaved the lead every inch of way he made. It is grievous to think\nthat a man who could assume such an attitude at such a time, who could\ngive this kind of proof of his skill in the great, the difficult art\nof governing, only held a fifth-rate office for some time less than a\ntwelvemonth.\n\nThe year of the project of Economic Reform (1780) is usually taken as\nthe date when Burke's influence and repute were at their height. He\nhad not been tried in the fire of official responsibility, and his\nimpetuosity was still under a degree of control which not long\nafterwards was fatally weakened by an over-mastering irritability of\nconstitution. High as his character was now in the ascendant, it was\nin the same year that Burke suffered the sharp mortification of losing\nhis seat at Bristol. His speech before the election is one of the best\nknown of all his performances; and it well deserves to be so, for it\nis surpassed by none in gravity, elevation, and moral dignity. We\ncan only wonder that a constituency which could suffer itself to\nbe addressed on this high level, should have allowed the small\nselfishness of local interest to weigh against such wisdom and\nnobility. But Burke soon found in the course of his canvas that he had\nno chance, and he declined to go to the poll. On the previous day one\nof his competitors had fallen down dead. \"_What shadows we are_\" said\nBurke, \"_and what shadows we pursue!_\"\n\nIn 1782 Lord North's government came to an end, and the king \"was\npleased,\" as Lord North quoted with jesting irony from the _Gazette_,\nto send for Lord Rockingham, Charles Fox, and Lord Shelburne. Members\ncould hardly believe their own eyes, as they saw Lord North and the\nmembers of a government which had been in place for twelve years, now\nlounging on the opposition benches in their greatcoats, frocks, and\nboots, while Fox and Burke shone in the full dress that was then\nworn by ministers, and cut unwonted figures with swords, lace, and\nhair-powder. Sheridan was made an under-secretary of state, and to the\nyounger Pitt was offered his choice of various minor posts, which he\nhaughtily refused. Burke, to whom on their own admission the party\nowed everything, was appointed Paymaster of the Forces, with a salary\nof four thousand pounds a year. His brother, Richard Burke, was\nmade Secretary of the Treasury. His son Richard was named to be his\nfather's deputy at the Pay-Office, with a salary of five hundred\npounds.\n\nThis singular exclusion from cabinet office of the most powerful\ngenius of the party has naturally given rise to abundant criticism\never since. It will be convenient to say what there is to be said on\nthis subject, in connection with the events of 1788 (below, p. 200),\nbecause there happens to exist some useful information about the\nministerial crisis of that year, which sheds a clearer light upon the\narrangements of six years before. Meanwhile it is enough to say that\nBurke himself had most reasonably looked to some higher post. There\nis the distinct note of the humility of mortified pride in a letter\nwritten in reply to some one who had applied to him for a place. \"You\nhave been misinformed,\" he says; \"I make no part of the ministerial\narrangement. Something in the official line may possibly be thought\nfit for my measure.\" Burke knew that his position in the country\nentitled him to something above the official line. In a later year,\nwhen he felt himself called upon to defend his pension, he described\nwhat his position was in the momentous crisis from 1780 to 1782, and\nBurke's habitual veraciousness forbids us to treat the description as\nin any way exaggerated. \"By what accident it matters not,\" he says,\n\"nor upon what desert, but just then, and in the midst of that hunt of\nobloquy which has ever pursued me with a full cry through life, I\nhad obtained a very full degree of public confidence.... Nothing to\nprevent disorder was omitted; when it appeared, nothing to subdue it\nwas left uncounselled nor unexecuted, as far as I could prevail. At\nthe time I speak of, and having a momentary lead, so aided and so\nencouraged, and as a feeble instrument in a mighty hand--I do not say\nI saved my country--I am sure I did my country important service.\nThere were few indeed that did not at that time acknowledge it--and\nthat time was thirteen years ago. It was but one view, that no man in\nthe kingdom better deserved an honourable provision should be made for\nhim.\"[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: _Letter to a Noble Lord._]\n\nWe have seen that Burke had fixed the paymaster's salary at four\nthousand pounds, and had destroyed the extravagant perquisites. The\nother economical reforms which were actually effected fell short by\na long way of those which Burke had so industriously devised and so\nforcibly recommended. In 1782, while Burke declined to spare his own\noffice, the chief of the cabinet conferred upon Barr\u00e9 a pension of\nover three thousand a year; above ten times the amount, as has been\nsaid, which, in Lord Rockingham's own judgment, as expressed in the\nnew Bill, ought henceforth to be granted to any one person whatever.\nThis shortcoming, however, does not detract from Burke's merit. He was\nnot responsible for it. The eloquence, ingenuity, diligence, above\nall, the sagacity and the justice of this great effort of 1780, are\nnone the less worthy of our admiration and regard because, in 1782,\nhis chiefs, partly perhaps out of a new-born deference for the\nfeelings of their royal master, showed that the possession of office\nhad sensibly cooled the ardent aspirations proper to Opposition.\n\nThe events of the twenty months between the resignation of Lord North\n(1782) and the accession of Pitt to the office of Prime Minister\n(December 1783) mark an important crisis in political history, and\nthey mark an important crisis in Burke's career and hopes. Lord\nRockingham had just been three months in office, when he died (July\n1782). This dissolved the bond that held the two sections of the\nministry together, and let loose a flood of rival ambitions and sharp\nanimosities. Lord Shelburne believed himself to have an irresistible\nclaim to the chief post in the administration; among other reasons,\nbecause he might have had it before Lord Rockingham three months\nearlier, if he had so chosen. The king supported him, not from any\npartiality to his person, but because he dreaded and hated Charles\nFox. The character of Shelburne is one of the perplexities of the\ntime. His views on peace and free trade make him one of the precursors\nof the Manchester School. No minister was so well informed as to the\nthreads of policy in foreign countries. He was the intimate or the\npatron of men who now stand out as among the first lights of that\ntime--of Morellet, of Priestley, of Bentham. Yet a few months of power\nseem to have disclosed faults of character, which left him without a\nsingle political friend, and blighted him with irreparable discredit.\nFox, who was now the head of the Rockingham section of the Whigs, had,\nbefore the death of the late premier, been on the point of refusing to\nserve any longer with Lord Shelburne, and he now very promptly refused\nto serve under him. When Parliament met after Rockingham's death,\ngossips noticed that Fox and Burke continued, long after the Speaker\nhad taken the chair, to walk backwards and forwards in the Court of\nBequests, engaged in earnest conversation. According to one story,\nBurke was very reluctant to abandon an office whose emoluments were\nas convenient to him as to his spendthrift colleague. According\nto another and more probable legend, it was Burke who hurried the\nrupture, and stimulated Fox's jealousy of Shelburne. The Duke of\nRichmond disapproved of the secession, and remained in the Government.\nSheridan also disapproved, but he sacrificed his personal conviction\nto loyalty to Fox.\n\nIf Burke was responsible for the break-up of the Government, then\nhe was the instigator of a blunder that must be pronounced not only\ndisastrous but culpable. It lowered the legitimate spirit of party\nto the nameless spirit of faction. The dangers from which the old\nliberties of the realm had just emerged have been described by no one\nso forcibly as by Burke himself. No one was so convinced as Burke that\nthe only way of withstanding the arbitrary and corrupting policy of\nthe Court was to form a strong Whig party. No one knew better than he\nthe sovereign importance and the immense difficulty of repairing the\nruin of the last twelve years by a good peace. The Rockingham or\nFoxite section were obviously unable to form an effective party with\nserious expectation of power, unless they had allies. They might, no\ndoubt, from personal dislike to Lord Shelburne, refuse to work\nunder him; but personal dislike could be no excuse for formally and\nviolently working against him, when his policy was their own, and when\nits success was recognised by them no less than by him as of urgent\nmoment. Instead of either working with the other section of their\nparty, or of supporting from below the gangway that which was the\npolicy of both sections, they sought to return to power by coalescing\nwith the very man whose criminal subservience to the king's will had\nbrought about the catastrophe that Shelburne was repairing. Burke must\nshare the blame of this famous transaction. He was one of the most\nfurious assailants of the new ministry. He poured out a fresh\ninvective against Lord Shelburne every day Cynical contemporaries\nlaughed as they saw him in search of more and more humiliating\nparallels, ransacking all literature from the Bible and the Roman\nhistory down to Mother Goose's tales. His passion carried him so far\nas to breed a reaction in those who listened to him. \"I think,\"\nwrote Mason from Yorkshire, where Burke had been on a visit to Lord\nFitzwilliam in the autumn of 1782, \"that Burke's mad obloquy against\nLord Shelburne, and these insolent pamphlets in which he must have\nhad a hand, will do more to fix him (Shelburne) in his office than\nanything else.\"\n\nThis result would have actually followed, for the nation was ill\npleased at the immoral alliance between the Foxites and the man whom,\nif they had been true to their opinions a thousand times repeated,\nthey ought at that moment to have been impeaching. The Dissenters, who\nhad hitherto been his enthusiastic admirers, but who are rigid above\nother men in their demand of political consistency, lamented Burke's\nfall in joining the Coalition, as Priestley told him many years after,\nas the fall of a friend and a brother. But Shelburne threw away\nthe game. \"His falsehoods,\" says Horace Walpole, \"his flatteries,\nduplicity, insincerity, arrogance, contradictions, neglect of his\nfriends, with all the kindred of all these faults, were the daily\ntopics of contempt and ridicule; and his folly shut his eyes, nor did\nhe perceive that so very rapid a fall must have been owing to his own\nincapacity.\" This is the testimony of a hostile witness. It is borne\nout, however, by a circumstance of striking significance. When the\nking recovered the reins at the end of 1783, not only did he send\nfor Pitt instead of for Shelburne, but Pitt himself neither invited\nShelburne to join him, nor in any way ever consulted him then or\nafterwards, though he had been Chancellor of the Exchequer in\nShelburne's own administration.\n\nWhatever the causes may have been, the administration fell in the\nspring of 1783. It was succeeded by the memorable ministry of the\nCoalition, in which Fox and Lord North divided the real power under\nthe nominal lead of the Duke of Portland. Members saw Lord North\nsqueezed up on the Treasury bench between two men who had a year\nbefore been daily menacing him with the axe and the block; and it was\nnot North whom they blamed, but Burke and Fox. Burke had returned to\nthe Pay-Office. His first act there was unfortunate. He restored to\ntheir position two clerks who had been suspended for malversation, and\nagainst whom proceedings were then pending. When attacked for this in\nthe House, he showed an irritation which would have carried him to\ngross lengths, if Fox and Sheridan had not by main force pulled him\ndown into his seat by the tails of his coat. The restoration of the\nclerks was an indefensible error of judgment, and its indiscretion was\nheightened by the kind of defence which Burke tried to set up. When\nwe wonder at Burke's exclusion from great offices, this case of Powell\nand Bembridge should not be forgotten.\n\nThe decisive event in the history of the Coalition Government was the\nIndia Bill. The Reports of the various select committees upon Indian\naffairs--the most important of them all, the ninth and eleventh,\nhaving been drawn up by Burke himself--had shown conclusively that the\nexisting system of government was thoroughly corrupt and thoroughly\ninadequate. It is ascertained pretty conclusively that the Bill for\nreplacing that system was conceived and drawn by Burke, and that to\nhim belongs whatever merit or demerit it might possess. It was Burke\nwho infected Fox with his own ardour, and then, as Moore justly says,\nthe self-kindling power of Fox's eloquence threw such fire into his\ndefence of the measure, that he forgot, and his hearers never found\nout, that his views were not originally and spontaneously his own. The\nnovelty on which the great stress of discussion was laid was that\nthe Bill withdrew power from the Board of Directors, and vested the\nGovernment for four years in a commission of seven persons named in\nthe Bill, and not removable by the House.\n\nBurke was so convinced of the incurable iniquity of the Company, so\npersuaded that it was not only full of abuses, but, as he said, one of\nthe most corrupt and destructive tyrannies that probably ever existed\nin the world, as to be content with nothing short of the absolute\ndeprivation of its power. He avowed himself no lover of names, and\nthat he only contended for good government, from whatever quarter it\nmight come. But the idea of good government coming from the Company he\ndeclared to be desperate and untenable. This intense animosity, which,\nconsidering his long and close familiarity with the infamies of the\nrule of the Company's servants, was not unnatural, must be allowed,\nhowever, to have blinded him to the grave objections which really\nexisted to his scheme. In the first place, the Bill was indisputably\ninconsistent with the spirit of his revered Constitution. For the\nlegislature to assume the power of naming the members of an executive\nbody was an extraordinary and mischievous innovation. Then, to put\npatronage, which has been estimated by a sober authority at about\nthree hundred thousand pounds a year, into the hands of the House of\nCommons, was still more mischievous and still less justifiable. Worst\nof all, from the point of view of the projectors themselves, after a\ncertain time the nomination of the Commissioners would fall to the\nCrown, and this might in certain contingencies increase to a most\ndangerous extent the ascendancy of the royal authority. If Burke's\nmeasure had been carried, moreover, the patronage would have been\ntransferred to a body much less competent than the Directors to\njudge of the qualities required in the fulfilment of this or\nthat administrative charge. Indian promotion would have followed\nparliamentary and party interest. In the hands of the Directors there\nwas at least a partial security, in their professional knowledge,\nand their personal interest in the success of their government, that\nplaces would not be given away on irrelevant considerations. Their\nsystem, with all its faults, insured the acquisition of a certain\nconsiderable competency in administration before a servant reached an\nelevation at which he could do much harm.\n\nBurke defended the Bill (December 1, 1783) in one of the speeches\nwhich rank only below his greatest, and it contains two or three\npassages of unsurpassed energy and impressiveness. Everybody knows the\nfine page about Fox as the descendant of Henry IV. of France, and the\nhappy quotation from Silius Italicus. Every book of British eloquence\ncontains the magnificent description of the young magistrates who\nundertake the government and the spoliation of India; how, \"animated\nwith all the avarice of age, and all the impetuosity of youth, they\nroll in one after another, wave after wave; and there is nothing\nbefore the eyes of the natives but an endless, hopeless prospect\nof new flights of birds of prey and of passage, with appetites\ncontinually renewing for a food that is continually wasting.\" How they\nreturn home laden with spoil: \"their prey is lodged in England; and\nthe cries of India are given to seas and winds, to be blown about, in\nevery breaking up of the monsoon, over a remote and unhearing ocean.\"\nHow in India all the vices operate by which sudden fortune is\nacquired; while in England are often displayed by the same person\nthe virtues which dispense hereditary wealth, so that \"here the\nmanufacturer and the husbandman will bless the just and punctual hand\nthat in India has torn the cloth from the loom, or wrested the scanty\nportion of rice and salt from the peasant of Bengal, or wrung from him\nthe very opium in which he forgot his oppression and his oppressors.\"\n\nNo degree of eloquence, however, could avail to repair faults alike\nin structure and in tactics. The whole design was a masterpiece of\nhardihood, miscalculation, and mismanagement. The combination of\ninterests against the Bill was instant, and it was indeed formidable.\nThe great army of returned nabobs, of directors, of proprietors of\nEast India stock, rose up in all its immense force. Every member of\nevery corporation that enjoyed privilege by charter, felt the attack\non the Company as if it had been a blow directed against himself.\nThe general public had no particular passion for purity or good\ngovernment, and the best portion of the public was disgusted with the\nCoalition. The king saw his chance. With politic audacity he put so\nstrong a personal pressure on the peers, that they threw out the Bill\n(December 1783). It was to no purpose that Fox compared the lords to\nthe Janissaries of a Turkish Sultan, and the king's letter to Temple,\nto the rescript in which Tiberius ordered the upright Sejanus to be\ndestroyed. Ministers were dismissed, the young Pitt was installed in\ntheir place, and the Whigs were ruined. As a party, they had a few\nmonths of office after Pitt's death, but they were excluded from power\nfor half a century.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nBURKE AND HIS FRIENDS\n\n\nThough Burke had, at a critical period of his life, definitely\nabandoned the career of letters, he never withdrew from close intimacy\nwith the groups who still live for us in the pages of Boswell, as no\nother literary group in our history lives. Goldsmith's famous lines in\n_Retaliation_ show how they all deplored that he should to party give\nup what was meant for mankind. They often told one another that Edmund\nBurke was the man whose genius pointed him out as the triumphant\nchampion of faith and sound philosophy against deism, atheism, and\nDavid Hume. They loved to see him, as Goldsmith said, wind into his\nsubject like a serpent. Everybody felt at the Literary Club that he\nhad no superior in knowledge, and in colloquial dialectics only one\nequal. Garrick was there, and of all the names of the time he is the\nman whom one would perhaps most willingly have seen, because the gifts\nwhich threw not only Englishmen, but Frenchmen like Diderot, and\nGermans like Lichtenberg, into amazement and ecstasy, are exactly\nthose gifts which literary description can do least to reproduce.\nBurke was one of his strongest admirers, and there was no more zealous\nattendant at the closing series of performances in which the great\nmonarch of the stage abdicated his throne. In the last pages that\nhe wrote, Burke refers to his ever dear friend Garrick, dead nearly\ntwenty years before, as the first of actors because he was the acutest\nobserver of nature that he had ever known. Then among men who pass\nfor being more serious than players, Robertson was often in London\nsociety, and he attracted Burke by his largeness and breadth. He sent\na copy of his _History of America_, and Burke thanked him with many\nstately compliments for having employed philosophy to judge of\nmanners, and from manners having drawn new resources of philosophy.\nGibbon was there, but the bystanders felt what was too crudely\nexpressed by Mackintosh, that Gibbon might have been taken from a\ncorner of Burke's mind without ever being missed. Though Burke and\nGibbon constantly met, it is not likely that, until the Revolution,\nthere was much intimacy between them, in spite of the respect which\neach of them might well have had for the vast knowledge of the other.\nWhen the _Decline and Fall_ was published, Burke read it as everybody\nelse did; but he told Reynolds that he disliked the style, as very\naffected, mere frippery and tinsel. Sir Joshua himself was neither\na man of letters nor a keen politician; but he was full of literary\nideas and interests, and he was among Burke's warmest and most\nconstant friends, following him with an admiration and reverence that\neven Johnson sometimes thought excessive. The reader of Reynolds's\nfamous Discourses will probably share the wonder of his\ncontemporaries, that a man whose time was so absorbed in the practice\nof his art, should have proved himself so excellent a master in the\nexpression of some of its principles. Burke was commonly credited with\na large share in their composition, but the evidence goes no further\nthan that Reynolds used to talk them over with him. The friendship\nbetween the pair was full and unalloyed. What Burke admired in the\ngreat artist was his sense and his morals, no less than his genius;\nand to a man of his fervid and excitable temper there was the most\nattractive of all charms in Sir Joshua's placidity, gentleness,\nevenness, and the habit, as one of his friends described it, of being\nthe same all the year round. When Reynolds died in 1792, he appointed\nBurke one of his executors, and left him a legacy of two thousand\npounds, besides cancelling a bond of the same amount.\n\nJohnson, however, is the only member of that illustrious company who\ncan profitably be compared with Burke in strength and impressiveness\nof personality, in a large sensibility at once serious and genial, in\nbrooding care for all the fulness of human life. This striking pair\nwere the two complements of a single noble and solid type, holding\ntenaciously, in a century of dissolvent speculation, to the best ideas\nof a society that was slowly passing. They were powerless to hinder\nthe inevitable transformation. One of them did not even dimly\nforesee it. But both of them help us to understand how manliness and\nreverence, strength and tenderness, love of truth and pity for man,\nall flourished under old institutions and old ways of thinking, into\nwhich the forces of the time were even then silently breathing a new\nspirit. The friendship between Burke and Johnson lasted as long as\nthey lived; and if we remember that Johnson was a strong Tory, and\ndeclared that the first Whig was the devil, and habitually talked\nabout cursed Whigs and bottomless Whigs, it is an extraordinary fact\nthat his relations with the greatest Whig writer and politician of his\nday were marked by a cordiality, respect, and admiration that never\nvaried nor wavered. \"Burke,\" he said in a well-known passage, \"is such\na man that if you met him for the first time in the street, where you\nwere stopped by a drove of oxen, and you and he stepped aside to take\nshelter but for five minutes, he'd talk to you in such a manner that,\nwhen you parted, you would say, This is an extraordinary man. He is\nnever what we would call humdrum; never unwilling to begin to talk,\nnor in haste to leave off.\" That Burke was as good a listener as he\nwas a talker, Johnson never would allow. \"So desirous is he to talk,\"\nhe said, \"that if one is talking at this end of the table, he'll talk\nto somebody at the other end.\" Johnson was far too good a critic, and\ntoo honest a man, to assent to a remark of Robertson's, that Burke had\nwit. \"No, sir,\" said the sage, most truly, \"he never succeeds there.\n'Tis low, 'tis conceit.\" Wit apart, he described Burke as the only\nman whose common conversation corresponded to his general fame in the\nworld; take up whatever topic you might please, he was ready to meet\nyou. When Burke found a seat in Parliament, Johnson said, \"Now we who\nknow Burke, know that he will be one of the first men in the country.\"\nHe did not grudge that Burke should be the first man in the House of\nCommons, for Burke, he said, was always the first man everywhere. Once\nwhen he was ill, somebody mentioned Burke's name. Johnson cried out,\n\"That fellow calls forth all my powers; were I to see Burke now it\nwould kill me.\"\n\nBurke heartily returned this high appreciation. When some flatterer\nhinted that Johnson had taken more than his right share of the\nevening's talk, Burke said, \"Nay, it is enough for me to have rung\nthe bell for him.\" Some one else spoke of a successful imitation\nof Johnson's style. Burke with vehemence denied the success: the\nperformance, he said, had the pomp, but not the force of the original;\nthe nodosities of the oak, but not its strength; the contortions of\nthe sibyl, but none of the inspiration. When Burke showed the old\nsage of Bolt Court over his fine house and pleasant gardens at\nBeaconsfield, _Non invideo equidem_, Johnson said, with placid\ngood-will, _miror magis_. They always parted in the deep and pregnant\nphrase of a sage of our own day, _except in opinion not disagreeing_.\nIn truth, the explanation of the sympathy between them is not far\nto seek. We may well believe that Johnson was tacitly alive to the\nessentially conservative spirit of Burke even in his most Whiggish\ndays. And Burke penetrated the liberality of mind in a Tory, who\ncalled out with loud indignation that the Irish were in a most\nunnatural state, for there the minority prevailed over the majority,\nand the severity of the persecution exercised by the Protestants\nof Ireland against the Catholics exceeded that of the ten historic\npersecutions of the Christian Church.\n\nThe parties at Beaconsfield, and the evenings at the \"Turk's Head\" in\nGerard Street, were contemporary with the famous days at Holbach's\ncountry house at Grandval. When we think of the reckless themes that\nwere so recklessly discussed by Holbach, Diderot, and the rest of that\nindefatigable band, we feel that, as against the French philosophic\nparty, an English Tory like Johnson and an English Whig like Burke\nwould have found their own differences too minute to be worth\nconsidering. If the group from the \"Turk's Head\" could have been\ntransported for an afternoon to Grandval, perhaps Johnson would have\nbeen the less impatient and disgusted of the two. He had the capacity\nof the more genial sort of casuist for playing with subjects, even\nmoral subjects, with the freedom, versatility, and ease that are\nproper to literature. Burke, on the contrary, would not have failed\nto see, as indeed we know that he did not fail to see, that a social\npandemonium was being prepared in this intellectual paradise of open\nquestions, where God and a future life, marriage and the family, every\ndogma of religion, every prescription of morality, and all those\nmysteries and pieties of human life which have been sanctified by the\nreverence of ages, were being busily pulled to pieces as if they had\nbeen toys in the hands of a company of sportive children. Even the\n_Beggar's Opera_ Burke could not endure to hear praised for its wit\nor its music, because his mind was filled by thought of its misplaced\nlevity, and he only saw the mischief which such a performance tended\nto do to society. It would be hard to defend his judgment in this\nparticular case, but it serves to show how Burke was never content\nwith the literary point of view, and how ready and vigilant he was for\neffects more profound than those of formal criticism. It is true that\nJohnson was sometimes not less austere in condemning a great work of\nart for its bad morality. The only time when he was really angry with\nHannah More was on his finding that she had read _Tom Jones_--that\nvicious book, he called it; he hardly knew a more corrupt work.\nBurke's tendency towards severity of moral judgment, however, never\nimpaired the geniality and tenderness of his relations with those whom\nhe loved. Bennet Langton gave Boswell an affecting account of Burke's\nlast interview with Johnson. A few days before the old man's death,\nBurke and four or five other friends were sitting round his bedside.\n\"Mr. Burke said to him, 'I am afraid, sir, such a number of us may be\noppressive to you.' 'No, sir,' said Johnson, 'it is not so; and I must\nbe in a wretched state indeed when your company is not a delight\nto me.' Mr. Burke, in a tremulous voice, expressive of being very\ntenderly affected, replied, 'My dear sir, you have always been too\ngood to me.' Immediately afterwards he went away. This was the last\ncircumstance in the acquaintance of these two eminent men.\"\n\nOne of Burke's strongest political intimacies was only less\ninteresting and significant than his friendship with Johnson.\nWilliam Dowdeswell had been Chancellor of the Exchequer in the short\nRockingham administration of 1765. He had no brilliant gifts, but he\nhad what was then thought a profound knowledge both of the principles\nand details of the administration of the national revenue. He was\nindustrious, steadfast, clearheaded, inexorably upright. \"Immersed in\nthe greatest affairs,\" as Burke said in his epitaph, \"he never\nlost the ancient, native, genuine English character of a country\ngentleman.\" And this was the character in which Burke now and always\nsaw not only the true political barrier against despotism on the one\nhand and the rabble on the other, but the best moral type of civic\nvirtue. Those who admire Burke, but cannot share his admiration for\nthe country gentleman, will perhaps justify him by the assumption that\nhe clothed his favourite with ideal qualities which ought, even if\nthey did not, to have belonged to that position.\n\nIn his own modest imitation and on his own humble scale he was a\npattern of the activity in public duty, the hospitality towards\nfriends, the assiduous protection of neglected worth, which ought to\nbe among the chief virtues of high station. It would perhaps be doubly\nunsafe to take for granted that many of our readers have both turned\nover the pages of Crabbe's _Borough_, and carried away in their minds\nfrom that moderately affecting poem, the description of Eusebius--\n\n  That pious moralist, that reasoning saint!\n  Can I of worth like thine, Eusebius, speak?\n  The man is willing, but the muse is weak.\n\nEusebius is intended for Burke, and the portrait is a literary tribute\nfor more substantial services. When Crabbe came up from his native\nAldborough, with three pounds and a case of surgical instruments in\nhis trunk, he fondly believed that a great patron would be found to\nwatch over his transformation from an unsuccessful apothecary into a\npopular poet. He wrote to Lord North and Lord Shelburne, but they did\nnot answer his letters; booksellers returned his copious manuscripts;\nthe three pounds gradually disappeared; the surgical instruments went\nto the pawnbroker's; and the poet found himself an outcast on the\nworld, without a friend, without employment, and without bread. He\nowed money for his lodging, and was on the very eve of being sent to\nprison, when it occurred to him to write to Burke. It was the moment\n(1781) when the final struggle with Lord North was at its fiercest,\nand Burke might have been absolved if, in the stress of conflict,\nhe had neglected a begging-letter. As it was, the manliness and\nsimplicity of Crabbe's application touched him. He immediately made an\nappointment with the young poet, and convinced himself of his worth.\nHe not only relieved Crabbe's immediate distress with a sum of money\nthat, as we know, came from no affluence of his own, but carried him\noff to Beaconsfield, installed him there as a member of the family,\nand took as much pains to find a printer for _The Library_ and _The\nVillage_, as if they had been poems of his own. In time he persuaded\nthe Bishop of Norwich to admit Crabbe, in spite of his want of a\nregular qualification, to holy orders. He then commended him to\nthe notice of Lord Chancellor Thurlow. Crabbe found the Tiger less\nformidable than his terrifying reputation, for Thurlow at their first\ninterview presented him with a hundred-pound note, and afterwards gave\nhim a living. The living was of no great value, it is true; and it was\nBurke who, with untiring friendship, succeeded in procuring something\nlike a substantial position for him, by inducing the Duke of Rutland\nto make the young parson his chaplain. Henceforth Crabbe's career was\nassured, and he never forgot to revere and bless the man to whose\ngenerous hand he owed his deliverance.\n\nAnother of Burke's clients, of whom we hardly know whether to say that\nhe is more or less known to our age than Crabbe, is Barry, a painter\nof disputable eminence. The son of a seafarer at Cork, he had been\nintroduced to Burke in Dublin in 1762, was brought over to England by\nhim, introduced to some kind of employment, and finally sent, with\nfunds provided by the Burkes, to study art on the continent. It was\ncharacteristic of Burke's willingness not only to supply money, but\nwhat is a far rarer form of kindness, to take active trouble, that he\nshould have followed the raw student with long and careful letters of\nadvice upon the proper direction of his studies. For five years Barry\nwas maintained abroad by the Burkes. Most unhappily for himself he was\ncursed with an irritable and perverse temper, and he lacked even the\nelementary arts of conduct. Burke was generous to the end, with that\ndifficult and uncommon kind of generosity which moves independently of\ngratitude or ingratitude in the receiver.\n\nFrom his earliest days Burke had been the eager friend of people in\ndistress. While he was still a student at the Temple, or a writer for\nthe booksellers, he picked up a curious creature in the park, in such\nunpromising circumstances that he could not forbear to take him under\nhis instant protection. This was Joseph Emin, the Armenian, who had\ncome to Europe from India with strange heroic ideas in his head as to\nthe deliverance of his countrymen. Burke instantly urged him to accept\nthe few shillings that he happened to have in his purse, and seems\nto have found employment for him as a copyist, until fortune brought\nother openings to the singular adventurer. For foreign visitors Burke\nhad always a singular considerateness. Two Brahmins came to England\nas agents of Ragonaut Rao, and at first underwent intolerable things\nrather from the ignorance than the unkindness of our countrymen. Burke\nno sooner found out what was passing than he carried them down to\nBeaconsfield, and as it was summer-time, he gave them for their\nseparate use a spacious garden-house, where they were free to prepare\ntheir food and perform such rites as their religion prescribed.\nNothing was so certain to command his fervid sympathy as strict\nadherence to the rules and ceremonies of an ancient and sacred\nordering.\n\nIf he never failed to perform the offices to which we are bound by\nthe common sympathy of men, it is satisfactory to think that Burke in\nreturn received a measure of these friendly services. Among those who\nloved him best was Dr. Brocklesby, the tender physician who watched\nand soothed the last hours of Johnson. When we remember how Burke's\nsoul was harassed by private cares, chagrined by the untoward course\nof public events, and mortified by neglect from friends no less than\nby virulent reproach from foes, it makes us feel very kindly towards\nBrocklesby, to read what he wrote to Burke in 1788:--\n\n    MY VERY DEAR FRIEND--My veneration of your public conduct for many\n    years past, and my real affection for your private virtues and\n    transcendent worth, made me yesterday take a liberty with you in a\n    moment's conversation at my house, to make you an instant present\n    of \u00a31000, which for years past I had by will destined as a\n    testimony of my regard on my decease. This you modestly desired me\n    not to think of; but I told you what I now repeat, that unfavoured\n    as I have lived for a long life, unnoticed professionally by any\n    party of men, and though unknown at court, I am rich enough to\n    spare to virtue (what others waste in vice) the above sum, and\n    still reserve an annual income greater than I spend. I shall\n    receive at the India House a bill I have discounted for \u00a31000\n    on the 4th of next month, and then shall be happy that you will\n    accept this proof of my sincere love and esteem, and let me add,\n    _Si res ampla domi similisque affectibus esset_, I should be happy\n    to repeat the like every year.\n\nThe mere transcription of the friendly man's good letter has something\nof the effect of an exercise of religion. And it was only one of a\nseries of kind acts on the part of the same generous giver.\n\nIt is always interesting in the case of a great man to know how he\naffected the women of his acquaintance. Women do not usually judge\ncharacter either so kindly or so soundly as men do, for they lack that\nknowledge of the ordeals of practical life, which gives both justice\nand charity to such verdicts. But they are more susceptible than most\nmen are to devotion and nobility in character. The little group of the\nblue-stockings of the day regarded the great master of knowledge\nand eloquence with mixed feelings. They felt for Burke the adoring\nreverence which women offer, with too indiscriminate a trust, to men\nof commanding power. In his case it was the moral loftiness of his\ncharacter that inspired them, as much as the splendour of his ability.\nOf Sheridan or of Fox they could not bear to hear; of Burke they could\nnot hear enough. Hannah More, and Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, the learned\ntranslator of Epictetus, and Fanny Burney, the author of _Evelina_ and\n_Cecilia_, were all proud of his notice, even while they glowed with\nanger at his sympathy with American rebels, his unkind words about the\nking, and his cruel persecution of poor Mr. Hastings. It was at Mrs.\nVesey's evening parties, given on the Tuesdays on which the Club dined\nat the \"Turk's Head,\" that he often had long chats with Hannah More.\nShe had to forget what she called his political malefactions, before\nshe could allow herself to admire his high spirits and good humour.\nThis was after the events of the Coalition, and her _Memoirs_, like\nthe change in the mind of the Dissenters towards Burke, show what a\nfall that act of faction was believed to mark in his character. When\nhe was rejected for Bristol, she moralised on the catastrophe by the\nquaint reflection, that Providence has wisely contrived to render all\nits dispensations equal, by making those talents which set one man\nso much above another, of no esteem in the opinion of those who are\nwithout them.\n\nMiss Burney has described her flutter of spirits when she first found\nherself in company with Burke (1782). It was at Sir Joshua's house on\nthe top of Richmond Hill, and she tells, with her usual effusion, how\nshe was impressed by Burke's noble figure and commanding air, his\npenetrating and sonorous voice, his eloquent and copious language, the\ninfinite variety and rapidity of his discourse. Burke had something to\nsay on every subject, from bits of personal gossip, up to the sweet\nand melting landscape that lay in all its beauty before their windows\non the terrace. He was playful, serious, fantastic, wise. When they\nnext met, the great man completed his conquest by expressing his\nadmiration of _Evelina_. Gibbon assured her that he had read the whole\nfive volumes in a day; but Burke declared the feat was impossible, for\nhe had himself read it through without interruption, and it had cost\nhim three days. He showed his regard for the authoress in a more\nsubstantial way than by compliments and criticism. His last act,\nbefore going out of office, in 1783, was to procure for Dr. Burney the\nappointment of organist at the chapel of Chelsea.\n\nWe have spoken of the dislike of these excellent women for Sheridan\nand Fox. In Sheridan's case Burke did not much disagree with them.\nTheir characters were as unlike and as antipathetic as those of two\nmen could be; and to antipathy of temperament was probably added a\nkind of rivalry, which may justly have affected one of them with an\nirritated humiliation. Sheridan was twenty years younger than Burke,\nand did not come into Parliament until Burke had fought the prolonged\nbattle of the American war, and had achieved the victory of Economic\nReform. Yet Sheridan was immediately taken up by the party, and became\nthe intimate and counsellor of Charles Fox, its leader, and of the\nPrince of Wales, its patron. That Burke never failed to do full\njustice to Sheridan's brilliant genius, or to bestow generous and\nunaffected praise on his oratorical successes, there is ample\nevidence. He was of far too high and veracious a nature to be capable\nof the disparaging tricks of a poor jealousy. The humiliation lay in\nthe fact that circumstances had placed Sheridan in a position, which\nmade it natural for the world to measure them with one another. Burke\ncould no more like Sheridan than he could like the _Beggar's Opera_.\nSheridan had a levity, a want of depth, a laxity and dispersion of\nfeeling, to which no degree of intellectual brilliancy could reconcile\na man of such profound moral energy and social conviction as Burke.\n\nThe thought will perhaps occur to the reader that Fox was not less\nlax than Sheridan, and yet for Fox Burke long had the sincerest\nfriendship. He was dissolute, indolent, irregular, and the most\ninsensate gambler that ever squandered fortune after fortune over the\nfaro-table. It was his vices as much as his politics that made George\nIII. hate Fox as an English Catiline. How came Burke to accept a man\nof this character, first for his disciple, then for his friend, and\nnext for his leader? The answer is a simple one. In spite of the\ndisorders of his life, Fox, from the time when his acquaintance with\nBurke began, down to the time when it came to such disastrous end,\nand for long years afterwards, was to the bottom of his heart as\npassionate for freedom, justice, and beneficence as Burke ever was.\nThese great ends were as real, as constant, as overmastering in Fox\nas they were in Burke. No man was ever more deeply imbued with the\ngenerous impulses of great statesmanship, with chivalrous courage,\nwith the magnificent spirit of devotion to high imposing causes. These\nqualities we may be sure, and not his power as a debater and as a\ndeclaimer, won for him in Burke's heart the admiration which found\nsuch splendid expression in a passage that will remain as a stock\npiece of declamation for long generations after it was first poured\nout as a sincere tribute of reverence and affection. Precisians, like\nLafayette, might choose to see their patriotic hopes ruined rather\nthan have them saved by Mirabeau, because Mirabeau was a debauchee.\nBurke's public morality was of stouter stuff, and he loved Fox because\nhe knew that under the stains and blemishes that had been left by a\ndeplorable education, was that sterling, inexhaustible ore in which\nnoble sympathies are subtly compounded with resplendent powers.\n\nIf he was warmly attached to his political friends, Burke, at least\nbefore the Revolution, was usually on fair terms in private life with\nhis political opponents. There were few men whose policy he disliked\nmore than he disliked the policy of George Grenville. And we have seen\nthat he criticised Grenville in a pamphlet which did not spare him.\nYet Grenville and he did not refuse one another's hospitality, and\nwere on the best terms to the very end. Wilberforce, again, was one\nof the staunchest friends of Pitt, and fought one of the greatest\nelectioneering battles on Pitt's side in the struggle of 1784; but it\nmade no difference in Burke's relations with him. In 1787 a coldness\narose between them. Burke had delivered a strong invective against\nthe French Treaty. Wilberforce said, \"We can make allowance for the\nhonourable gentleman, because we remember him in better days.\" The\nretort greatly nettled Burke, but the feeling soon passed away,\nand they both found a special satisfaction in the dinner to which\nWilberforce invited Burke every session. \"He was a great man,\" says\nWilberforce. \"I could never understand how at one time he grew to be\nso entirely neglected.\"\n\nOutside of both political and literary circles, among Burke's\ncorrespondents was that wise and honest traveller whose name is as\ninseparably bound up with the preparation of the French Revolution, as\nBurke's is bound up with its sanguinary climax and fulfilment. Arthur\nYoung, by his Farmer's Letters, and Farmer's Calendar, and his account\nof his travels in the southern counties of England and elsewhere--the\nstory of the more famous travels in France was not published until\n1792--had won a reputation as the best informed agriculturist of his\nday. Within a year of his settlement at Beaconsfield, we find Burke\nwriting to consult Young on the mysteries of his new occupation. The\nreader may smile as he recognises the ardour, the earnestness, the\nfervid gravity of the political speeches, in letters which discuss\nthe merits of carrots in fattening porkers, and the precise degree to\nwhich they should be boiled. Burke throws himself just as eagerly into\nwhite peas and Indian corn, into cabbages that grow into head and\ncabbages that shoot into leaves, into experiments with pumpkin seed\nand wild parsnip, as if they had been details of the Stamp Act, or\njustice to Ireland. When he complains that it is scarcely possible\nfor him, with his numerous avocations, to get his servants to enter\nfully into his views as to the right treatment of his crops, we can\neasily understand that his farming did not help him to make money. It\nis impossible that he should have had time or attention to spare for\nthe effectual direction of even a small farm.\n\nYet if the farm brought scantier profit than it ought to have brought,\nit was probably no weak solace in the background of a life of\nharassing interests and perpetual disappointments. Burke was happier\nat Beaconsfield than anywhere else, and he was happiest there when his\nhouse was full of guests. Nothing pleased him better than to drive a\nvisitor over to Windsor, where he would expatiate with enthusiasm \"on\nthe proud Keep, rising in the majesty of proportion, and girt with the\ndouble belt of its kindred and coeval towers, overseeing and guarding\nthe subjected land.\" He delighted to point out the house at\nUxbridge where Charles I. had carried on the negotiations with the\nParliamentary Commissioners; the beautiful grounds of Bulstrode, where\nJudge Jefferies had once lived; and the churchyard of Beaconsfield,\nwhere lay the remains of Edmund Waller, the poet. He was fond of\ntalking of great statesmen--of Walpole, of Pulteney, and of Chatham.\nSome one had said that Chatham knew nothing whatever except Spenser's\n_Faery Queen_. \"No matter how that was said,\" Burke replied to one of\nhis visitors, \"whoever relishes and reads Spenser as he ought to be\nread, will have a strong hold of the English language.\" The delight of\nthe host must have been at least equalled by the delight of the guest\nin conversation which was thus ever taking new turns, branching into\ntopical surprises, and at all turns and on every topic was luminous,\nhigh, edifying, full.\n\nNo guest was more welcome than the friend of his boyhood, and Richard\nShackleton has told how the friendship, cordiality, and openness with\nwhich Burke embraced him was even more than might be expected from\nlong love. The simple Quaker was confused by the sight of what seemed\nto him so sumptuous and worldly a life, and he went to rest uneasily,\ndoubting whether God's blessing could go with it. But when he awoke on\nthe morrow of his first visit, he told his wife, in the language\nof his sect, how glad he was \"to find no condemnation; but on the\ncontrary, ability to put up fervent petitions with much tenderness on\nbehalf of this great luminary.\" It is at his country home that we like\nbest to think of Burke. It is still a touching picture to the historic\nimagination to follow him from the heat and violence of the House,\nwhere tipsy squires derided the greatest genius of his time, down to\nthe calm shades of Beaconsfield, where he would with his own hands\ngive food to a starving beggar, or medicine to a peasant sick of the\nague; where he would talk of the weather, the turnips, and the hay\nwith the team-men and the farm-bailiff; and where, in the evening\nstillness, he would pace the walk under the trees, and reflect on the\nstate of Europe and the distractions of his country.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE NEW MINISTRY--WARREN HASTINGS--BURKE'S PUBLIC POSITION\n\n\nThe six years which followed the destruction of the Coalition were, in\nsome respects, the most mortifying portion of Burke's troubled career.\nPitt was more firmly seated in power than Lord North had ever been,\nand he used his power to carry out a policy against which it was\nimpossible for the Whigs, on their own principles, to offer an\neffective resistance. For this is the peculiarity of the king's first\nvictory over the enemies who had done obstinate battle with him for\nnearly a quarter of a century. He had driven them out of the field,\nbut with the aid of an ally who was as strongly hostile to the royal\nsystem as they had ever been. The king had vindicated his right\nagainst the Whigs to choose his own ministers; but the new minister\nwas himself a Whig by descent, and a reformer by his education and\npersonal disposition.\n\nIreland was the subject of the first great battle between the ministry\nand their opponents. Here, if anywhere, we might have expected from\nBurke at least his usual wisdom and patience. We saw in a previous\nchapter (p. 33) what the political condition of Ireland was when Burke\nwent there with Hamilton in 1763. The American war had brought about a\ngreat change. The king had shrewdly predicted that if America became\nfree Ireland would soon follow the same plan and be a separate state.\nIn fact, along with the American war we had to encounter an Irish war\nalso; but the latter was, as an Irish politician called it at the\ntime, a smothered war. Like the Americans, the Anglo-Irish entered\ninto non-importation compacts, and they interdicted commerce. The\nIrish volunteers, first forty, then sixty, and at last a hundred\nthousand strong, were virtually an army enrolled to overawe the\nEnglish ministry and Parliament. Following the spirit, if not the\nactual path, of the Americans, they raised a cry for commercial and\nlegislative independence. They were too strong to be resisted, and in\n1782 the Irish Parliament acquired the privilege of initiating and\nconducting its own business, without the sanction or control either of\nthe Privy Council or of the English Parliament. Dazzled by the chance\nof acquiring legislative independence, they had been content with the\ncomparatively small commercial boons obtained by Lord Nugent and Burke\nin 1778, and with the removal of further restrictions by the alarmed\nminister in the following year. After the concession of their\nindependence in 1782, they found that to procure the abolition of the\nremaining restrictions on their commerce--the right of trade, for\ninstance, with America and Africa--the consent of the English\nlegislature was as necessary as it had ever been. Pitt, fresh from the\nteaching of Adam Smith and of Shelburne, brought forward in 1785 his\nfamous commercial propositions. The theory of his scheme was that\nIrish trade should be free, and that Ireland should be admitted to a\npermanent participation in commercial advantages. In return for this\ngain, after her hereditary revenue passed a certain point, she was to\ndevote the surplus to purposes, such as the maintenance of the navy,\nin which the two nations had a common interest. Pitt was to be\nbelieved when he declared that of all the objects of his political\nlife this was, in his opinion, the most important that he had ever\nengaged in, and he never expected to meet another that should rouse\nevery emotion in so strong a degree as this.\n\nA furious battle took place in the Irish Parliament. There, while\nnobody could deny that the eleven propositions would benefit the\nmercantile interests of the country, it was passionately urged that\nthe last of the propositions, that which concerned the apportionment\nof Irish revenue to imperial purposes, meant the enslavement of their\nunhappy island. Their fetters, they went on, were clenched, if the\nEnglish Government was to be allowed thus to take the initiative\nin Irish legislation. The factious course pursued by the English\nOpposition was much less excusable than the line of the Anglo-Irish\nleaders. Fox, who was ostentatiously ignorant of political economy,\nled the charge. He insisted that Pitt's measures would annihilate\nEnglish trade, would destroy the Navigation Laws, and with them would\nbring our maritime strength to the ground. Having thus won the favour\nof the English manufacturers, he turned round to the Irish Opposition,\nand conciliated them by declaring with equal vehemence that the\npropositions were an insult to Ireland, and a nefarious attempt to\ntamper with her new-born liberties. Burke followed his leader. We may\nalmost say that for once he allowed his political integrity to be\nbewildered. In 1778 and 1779 he had firmly resisted the pressure which\nhis mercantile constituents in Bristol had endeavoured to put upon\nhim; he had warmly supported the Irish claims, and had lost his seat\nin consequence. The precise ground which he took up in 1785 was this.\nHe appears to have discerned in Pitt's proposals the germ of an\nattempt to extract revenue from Ireland, identical in purpose,\nprinciple, and probable effect with the ever-memorable attempt to\nextract revenue from the American colonies. Whatever stress may be\nlaid upon this, we find it hard to vindicate Burke from the charge\nof factiousness. Nothing can have been more unworthy of him than\nthe sneer at Pitt in the great speech on the Nabob of Arcot's debts\n(1785), for stopping to pick up chaff and straws from the Irish\nrevenue instead of checking profligate expenditure in India.\n\nPitt's alternative was irresistible. Situated as Ireland was, she must\neither be the subservient instrument of English prosperity, or else\nshe must be allowed to enjoy the benefits of English trade, taking at\nthe same time a proportionate share of the common burdens. Adam Smith\nhad shown that there was nothing incompatible with justice in a\ncontribution by Ireland to the public debt of Great Britain. That\ndebt, he argued, had been contracted in support of the government\nestablished by the Revolution; a government to which the Protestants\nof Ireland owed not only the whole authority which they enjoyed in\ntheir own country, but every security which they possessed for their\nliberty, property, and religion. The neighbourhood of Ireland to the\nshores of the mother country introduced an element into the problem,\nwhich must have taught every unimpassioned observer that the American\nsolution would be inadequate for a dependency that lay at our very\ndoor. Burke could not, in his calmer moments, have failed to recognise\nall this. Yet he lent himself to the party cry that Pitt was taking\nhis first measures for the re-enslavement of Ireland. Had it not been\nfor what he himself called the delirium of the preceding session, and\nwhich had still not subsided, he would have seen that Pitt was in\ntruth taking his first measures for the effective deliverance of\nIreland from an unjust and oppressive subordination. The same delirium\ncommitted him to another equally deplorable perversity, when\nhe opposed, with as many excesses in temper as fallacies in\nstatesmanship, the wise treaty with France, in which Pitt partially\nanticipated the commercial policy of an ampler treaty three-quarters\nof a century afterwards.\n\nA great episode in Burke's career now opened. It was in 1785 that\nWarren Hastings returned from India, after a series of exploits as\nmomentous and far-reaching, for good or evil, as have ever been\nachieved by any English ruler. For years Burke had been watching\nIndia. With rising wonder, amazement, and indignation he had steadily\nfollowed that long train of intrigue and crime which had ended in the\nconsolidation of a new empire. With the return of Hastings he felt\nthat the time had come for striking a severe blow, and making a signal\nexample. He gave notice (June 1785) that he would, at a future day,\nmake a motion respecting the conduct of a gentleman just returned from\nIndia.\n\nAmong minor considerations, we have to remember that Indian affairs\nentered materially into the great battle of parties. It was upon\nan Indian bill that the late ministry had made shipwreck. It was\nnotoriously by the aid of potent Indian interests that the new\nministry had acquired a portion of its majority. To expose the\nmisdeeds of our agents in India was at once to strike the minister who\nhad dexterously secured their support, and to attack one of the great\nstrongholds of parliamentary corruption. The proceedings against\nHastings were, in the first instance, regarded as a sequel to the\nstruggle over Fox's East India Bill. That these considerations were\npresent in Burke's thought there is no doubt, but they were purely\nsecondary. It was India itself that stood above all else in his\nimagination. It had filled his mind and absorbed his time while Pitt\nwas still an undergraduate at Cambridge, and Burke was looking forward\nto match his plan of economic reform with a greater plan of Indian\nreform. In the Ninth Report, the Eleventh Report, and in his speech\non the India Bill of 1783, he had shown both how thoroughly he had\nmastered the facts, and how profoundly they had stirred his sense of\nwrong. The masterpiece known as the speech on the Nabob of Arcot's\ndebts, delivered in Parliament on a motion for papers (1785), handles\nmatters of account, of interest turned into principal, and principal\nsuperadded to principal; it deals with a hundred minute technicalities\nof teeps and tuncaws, of gomastahs and soucaring; all with such a\nsuffusion of interest and colour, with such nobility of idea and\nexpression, as could only have come from the addition to genius of a\ndeep morality of nature, and an overwhelming force of conviction. A\nspace less than one of these pages contains such a picture of the\ndevastation of the Carnatic by Hyder Ali, as may fill the young orator\nor the young writer with the same emotions of enthusiasm, emulation,\nand despair that torment the artist who first gazes on the Madonna\nat Dresden, or the figures of Night and Dawn and the Penseroso at\nFlorence. The despair is only too well founded. No conscious study\ncould pierce the secret of that just and pathetic transition from the\nhavoc of Hyder Ali to the healing duties of a virtuous government, to\nthe consolatory celebration of the mysteries of justice and humanity,\nto the warning to the unlawful creditors to silence their inauspicious\ntongues in presence of the holy work of restoration, to the generous\nproclamation against them that in every country the first creditor is\nthe plough. The emotions which make the hidden force of such pictures\ncome not by observation. They grow from the sedulous meditation of\nlong years, directed by a powerful intellect and inspired by an\ninterest in human well-being, which of its own virtue bore the orator\ninto the sustaining air of the upper gods. Concentrated passion\nand exhaustive knowledge have never entered into a more formidable\ncombination. Yet when Burke made his speech on the Nabob of Arcot's\ndebts, Pitt and Grenville consulted together whether it was worth\nanswering, and came to the conclusion that they need not take the\ntrouble.\n\nNeither the scornful neglect of his opponents nor the dissensions of\nsome who sat on his own side, could check the ardour with which Burke\npressed on, as he said, to the relief of afflicted nations. The\nfact is, that Burke was not at all a philanthropist as Clarkson and\nWilberforce were philanthropists. His sympathy was too strongly under\nthe control of true political reason. In 1780, for instance, the\nslave-trade had attracted his attention, and he had even proceeded\nto sketch out a code of regulations which provided for its immediate\nmitigation and ultimate suppression. After mature consideration he\nabandoned the attempt, from the conviction that the strength of the\nWest India interest would defeat the utmost efforts of his party. And\nhe was quite right in refusing to hope from any political action what\ncould only be effected after the moral preparation of the bulk of the\nnation. And _direct_ moral or philanthropic apostleship was not his\nfunction.\n\nMacaulay, in a famous passage of dazzling lustre and fine historic\ncolour, describes Burke's holy rage against the misdeeds of Hastings\nas due to his sensibility. But sensibility to what? Not merely to\nthose common impressions of human suffering which kindle the flame of\nordinary philanthropy, always attractive, often so beneficent, but\noften so capricious and so laden with secret detriment. This was no\npart of Burke's type. For is it enough to say that Burke had what is\nthe distinctive mark of the true statesman, a passion for good, wise,\nand orderly government. He had that in the strongest degree. All that\nwore the look of confusion he held in abhorrence, and he detected the\nseeds of confusion with a penetration that made other men marvel.\nHe was far too wise a man to have any sympathy with the energetic\nexercise of power for power's sake. He knew well that triumphs\nof violence are for the most part little better than temporary\nmakeshifts, which leave all the work of government to be encountered\nafterwards by men of essentially greater capacity than the hero of\nforce without scruple. But he regarded those whom he called the great\nbad men of the old stamp, Cromwell, Richelieu, the Guises, the Cond\u00e9s,\nwith a certain tolerance, because \"though the virtues of such men were\nnot to be taken as a balance to their crimes, yet they had long views,\nand sanctified their ambition by aiming at the orderly rule, and not\nthe destruction of their country.\" What he valued was the deep-seated\norder of systems that worked by the accepted uses, opinions, beliefs,\nprejudices of a community.\n\nThis love of right and stable order was not all. That was itself\nthe growth from a deeper root, partly of conviction and partly of\nsympathy; the conviction of the rare and difficult conjunctures of\ncircumstance which are needed for the formation of even the rudest\nforms of social union among mankind; and then the sympathy that the\nbest men must always find it hard to withhold from any hoary fabric of\nbelief, and any venerated system of government that has cherished\na certain order and shed even a ray of the faintest dawn among the\nviolences and the darkness of the race. It was reverence rather\nthan sensibility, a noble and philosophic conservatism rather than\nphilanthropy, which raised the storm in Burke's breast against the\nrapacity of English adventurers in India and the imperial crimes of\nHastings. Exactly the same tide of emotion which afterwards filled to\nthe brim the cup of prophetic anger against the desecrators of the\nChurch and the monarchy of France, now poured itself out against those\nwho in India had \"tossed about, subverted, and tore to pieces, as if\nit were in the gambols of boyish unluckiness and malice, the most\nestablished rights and the most ancient and most revered institutions\nof ages and nations.\" From beginning to end of the fourteen years in\nwhich Burke pursued his campaign against Hastings, we see in every\npage that the India which ever glowed before his vision was not the\nhome of picturesque usages and melodramatic costume, but rather, in\nhis own words, the land of princes once of great dignity, authority,\nand opulence; of an ancient and venerable priesthood, the guides of\nthe people while living, and their consolation in death; of a nobility\nof antiquity and renown; of millions of ingenious mechanics, and\nmillions of diligent tillers of the earth; and finally, the land\nwhere might be found almost all the religions professed by men--the\nBrahminical, the Mussulman, the Eastern and the Western Christian.\nWhen he published his speech on the Nabob of Arcot, Burke prefixed\nto it an admirable quotation from one of the letters of the Emperor\nJulian. And Julian too, as we all know, had a strong feeling for the\npast. But what in that remarkable figure was only the sentimentalism\nof reaction, in Burke was a reasoned and philosophic veneration for\nall old and settled order, whether in the free Parliament of Great\nBritain, in the ancient absolutism of Versailles, or in the secular\npomp of Oude and the inviolable sanctity of Benares, the holy city and\nthe garden of God.\n\nIt would be out of place here to attempt to follow the details of the\nimpeachment. Every reader has heard that great tale in our history,\nand everybody knows that it was Burke's tenacity and power which\ncaused that tale to be told. The House of Commons would not, it is\ntrue, have directed that Hastings should be impeached, unless Pitt had\ngiven his sanction and approval, and how it was that Pitt did give\nhis sanction and approval so suddenly and on grounds ostensibly so\nslender, remains one of the secrets of history. In no case would the\nimpeachment have been pressed upon Parliament by the Opposition,\nand assented to by ministers, if Burke had not been there with his\nprodigious industry, his commanding comprehensive vision, his burning\nzeal, and his power of kindling in men so different from him and from\none another as Fox, Sheridan, Windham, Grey, a zeal only less intense\nthan his own.\n\nIt was in the spring of 1786 that the articles of charge of Hastings's\nhigh crimes and misdemeanours, as Burke had drawn them, were presented\nto the House of Commons. It was in February 1788 that Burke opened the\nvast cause in the old historic hall at Westminster, in an oration\nin which at points he was wound up to such a pitch of eloquence and\npassion that every listener, including the great criminal, held his\nbreath in an agony of horror; that women were carried out fainting;\nthat the speaker himself became incapable of saying another word, and\nthe spectators of the scene began to wonder whether he would not, like\nthe mighty Chatham, actually die in the exertion of his overwhelming\npowers. Among the illustrious crowd who thronged Westminster Hall in\nthe opening days of the impeachment was Fanny Burney. She was then in\nher odious bondage at Court, and was animated by that admiration and\npity for Hastings which at Court was the fashion. Windham used to\ncome up from the box of the managers of the impeachment to talk over\nwith her the incidents of the day, and she gave him her impressions\nof Burke's speech, which were probably those of the majority of his\nhearers, for the majority were favourable to Hastings. \"I told him,\"\nsays Miss Burney, \"that Mr. Burke's opening had struck me with the\nhighest admiration of his powers, from the eloquence, the imagination,\nthe fire, the diversity of expression, and the ready flow of language\nwith which he seemed gifted, in a most superior manner, for any and\nevery purpose to which rhetoric could lead.\" \"And when he came to his\ntwo narratives,\" I continued, \"when he related the particulars\nof those dreadful murders, he interested, he engaged, he at last\noverpowered me; I felt my cause lost. I could hardly keep on my seat.\nMy eyes dreaded a single glance towards a man so accused as Mr.\nHastings; I wanted to sink on the floor, that they might be saved so\npainful a sight. I had no hope he could clear himself; not another\nwish in his favour remained. But when from this narration Mr. Burke\nproceeded to his own comments and declamation--when the charges of\nrapacity, cruelty, tyranny, were general, and made with all the\nviolence of personal detestation, and continued and aggravated without\nany further fact or illustration; then there appeared more of study\nthan of truth, more of invective than of justice; and, in short, so\nlittle of proof to so much of passion, that in a very short time I\nbegan to lift up my head, my seat was no longer uneasy, my eyes were\nindifferent which way they looked, or what object caught them, and\nbefore I was myself aware of the declension of Mr. Burke's powers over\nmy feelings, I found myself a mere spectator in a public place, and\nlooking all around it, with my opera-glass in my hand!\"\n\nIn 1795, six years after Burke's opening, the Lords were ready with\ntheir verdict. It had long been anticipated. Hastings was acquitted.\nThis was the close of the fourteen years of labour, from the date of\nthe Select Committee of 1781. \"If I were to call for a reward,\" Burke\nsaid, \"it would be for the services in which for fourteen years,\nwithout intermission, I showed the most industry and had the least\nsuccess. I mean the affairs of India; they are those on which I value\nmyself the most; most for the importance; most for the labour; most\nfor the judgment; most for constancy and perseverance in the pursuit.\"\n\nThe side that is defeated on a particular issue, is often victorious\non the wide and general outcome. Looking back across the ninety years\nthat divide us from that memorable scene in Westminster Hall, we may\nsee that Burke had more success than at first appeared. If he did not\nconvict the man, he overthrew a system, and stamped its principles\nwith lasting censure and shame. Burke had perhaps a silent conviction\nthat it would have been better for us and for India if Clive had\nsucceeded in his attempt to blow out his own brains in the Madras\ncounting-house, or if the battle of Plassy had been a decisive defeat\ninstead of a decisive victory. \"All these circumstances,\" he once\nsaid, in reference to the results of the investigation of the Select\nCommittee, \"are not, I confess, very favourable to the idea of our\nattempting to govern India at all. But there we are: there we are\nplaced by the Sovereign Disposer, and we must do the best we can in\nour situation. The situation of man is the preceptor of his duty.\" If\nthat situation is better understood now than it was a century ago, and\nthat duty more loftily conceived, the result is due, so far as such\nresults can ever be due to one man's action apart from the confluence\nof the deep impersonal elements of time, to the seeds of justice and\nhumanity which were sown by Burke and his associates. Nobody now\nbelieves that Clive was justified in tricking Omichund by forging\nanother man's name; that Impey was justified in hanging Nuncomar for\ncommitting the very offence for which Clive was excused or applauded,\nalthough forgery is no grave crime according to Hindoo usage, and it\nis the gravest according to English usage; that Hastings did well\nin selling English troops to assist in the extermination of a brave\npeople with whom he was at peace; that Benfield did well in conniving\nwith an Eastern prince in a project of extortion against his subjects.\nThe whole drift of opinion has changed, and it is since the trial of\nHastings that the change has taken place. The question in Burke's\ntime was whether oppression and corruption were to continue to be the\nguiding maxims of English policy. The personal disinterestedness of\nthe ruler who had been the chief founder of this policy, and had most\nopenly set aside all pretence of righteous principle, was dust in the\nbalance. It was impossible to suppress the policy without striking a\ndeadly blow at its most eminent and powerful instrument. That Hastings\nwas acquitted, was immaterial. The lesson of his impeachment had been\ntaught with sufficiently impressive force--the great lesson that\nAsiatics have rights, and that Europeans have obligations; that a\nsuperior race is bound to observe the highest current morality of the\ntime in all its dealings with the subject race. Burke is entitled\nto our lasting reverence as the first apostle and great upholder of\nintegrity, mercy, and honour in the relation between his countrymen\nand their humble dependents.\n\nHe shared the common fate of those who dare to strike a blow for human\njustice against the prejudices of national egotism. But he was no\nlonger able to bear obloquy and neglect, as he had borne it through\nthe war with the colonies. When he opened the impeachment of Hastings\nat Westminster, Burke was very near to his sixtieth year. Hannah More\nnoted in 1786 that his vivacity had diminished, and that business and\npolitics had impaired his agreeableness. The simpletons in the House,\nnow that they had at last found in Pitt a political chief who could\nbeat the Whig leaders on their own ground of eloquence, knowledge,\nand dexterity in debate, took heart as they had never done under Lord\nNorth. They now made deliberate attempts to silence the veteran by\nunmannerly and brutal interruptions, of which a mob of lower class\nmight have been ashamed. Then suddenly came a moment of such\nexcitement as has not often been seen in the annals of party. It\nbecame known one day in the autumn of 1788 that the king had gone out\nof his mind.\n\nThe news naturally caused the liveliest agitation among the Whigs.\nWhen the severity of the attack forced the ministry to make\npreparations for a Regency, the friends of the Prince of Wales assumed\nthat they would speedily return to power, and hastened to form their\nplans accordingly. Fox was travelling in Italy with Mrs. Armstead, and\nhe had been two months away without hearing a word from England.\nThe Duke of Portland sent a messenger in search of him, and after a\njourney of ten days the messenger found him at Bologna. Fox instantly\nset off in all haste for London, which he reached in nine days. The\nthree months that followed were a time of unsurpassed activity and\nbitterness, and Burke was at least as active and as bitter as the rest\nof them. He was the writer of the Prince of Wales's letter to Pitt,\nsometimes set down to Sheridan, and sometimes to Gilbert Elliot. It\nmakes us feel how naturally the style of ideal kingship, its dignity,\ncalm, and high self-consciousness all came to Burke. Although we read\nof his thus drawing up manifestoes and protests, and deciding minor\nquestions for Fox, which Fox was too irresolute to decide for himself,\nyet we have it on Burke's own authority that some time elapsed\nafter the return to England before he even saw Fox; that he was not\nconsulted as to the course to be pursued in the grave and difficult\nquestions connected with the Regency; and that he knew as little of\nthe inside of Carlton House, where the Prince of Wales lived, as of\nBuckingham House, where the king lived. \"I mean to continue here,\"\nhe says to Charles Fox, \"until you call upon me; and I find myself\nperfectly easy, from the implicit confidence that I have in you and\nthe Duke, and the certainty that I am in that you two will do the best\nfor the general advantage of the cause. In that state of mind I feel\nno desire whatsoever of interfering.\" Yet the letter itself, and\nothers which follow, testify to the vehemence of Burke's interest in\nthe matter, and to the persistency with which he would have had them\nfollow his judgment, if they would have listened. It is as clear that\nthey did not listen.\n\nApart from the fierce struggle against Pitt's Regency Bill, Burke's\nfriends were intently occupied with the reconstruction of the Portland\ncabinet, which the king had so unexpectedly dismissed five years\nbefore. This was a sphere in which Burke's gifts were neither required\nnor sought. We are rather in distress, Sir Gilbert Elliot writes, for\na proper man for the office of Chancellor of the Exchequer. \"Lord J.\nCavendish is very unwilling to engage again in public affairs. Fox is\nto be Secretary of State. Burke, it is thought, would not be approved\nof, Sheridan has not the public confidence, and so it comes down\ntherefore to Grey, Pelham, myself, and perhaps Windham.\" Elliot\nwas one of Burke's most faithful and attached friends, and he was\nintimately concerned in all that was going on in the inner circle of\nthe party. It is worth while, therefore, to reproduce his account from\na confidential letter to Lady Elliot, of the way in which Burke's\nclaim to recognition was at this time regarded and dealt with.\n\n    Although I can tell you nothing positive about my own situation,\n    I was made very happy indeed yesterday by co-operating in the\n    settlement of Burke's, in a manner which gives us great joy as\n    well as comfort. The Duke of Portland has felt distressed how to\n    arrange Burke and his family in a manner equal to Burke's merits,\n    and to the Duke's own wishes, and at the same time so as to be\n    exempt from the many difficulties which seem to be in the way. He\n    sent for Pelham and me, as Burke's friends and his own, to advise\n    with us about it; and we dined yesterday with him and the Duchess,\n    that we might have time to talk the thing over at leisure and\n    without interruption after dinner. We stayed accordingly, engaged\n    in that subject till almost twelve at night, and our conference\n    ended most happily and excessively to the satisfaction of us all.\n    The Duke of Portland has the veneration for Burke that Windham,\n    Pelham, myself and a few more have, and he thinks it impossible to\n    do too much for him. He considers the reward to be given to Burke\n    as a credit and honour to the nation, and he considers the neglect\n    of him and his embarrassed situation as having been long a\n    reproach to the country. The unjust prejudice and clamour which\n    has prevailed against him and his family only determine the Duke\n    the more to do him justice. The question was how? First, his\n    brother Richard, who was Secretary to the Treasury before, will\n    have the same office now; but the Duke intends to give him one of\n    the first offices which falls vacant, of about \u00a31000 a year for\n    life in the customs, and he will then resign the Secretary to the\n    Treasury, which, however, in the meanwhile is worth \u00a33000 a year.\n    Edmund Burke is to have the Pay-Office, \u00a34000 a year; but as that\n    is precarious and he can leave no provision for his son, it would,\n    in fact, be doing little or nothing of any real or substantial\n    value unless some _permanent_ provision is added to it. In this\n    view the Duke is to grant him on the Irish establishment a pension\n    of \u00a32000 a year _clear_ for his own life, and the other half to\n    Mrs. Burke for her life. This will make Burke completely happy, by\n    leaving his wife and son safe from want after his death, if they\n    should survive him. The Duke's affectionate anxiety to accomplish\n    this object, and his determination to set all clamour at defiance\n    on this point of justice, was truly affecting, and increases my\n    attachment for the Duke.... The Duke said the only objection to\n    this plan was that he thought it was due from this country, and\n    that he grudged the honour of it to Ireland; but as nothing in\n    England was ready, this plan was settled. You may think it strange\n    that to this moment Burke does not know a word of all this, and\n    his family are indeed, I believe, suffering a little under the\n    apprehension that he may be neglected in the general scramble. I\n    believe there never were three cabinet counsellors more in harmony\n    on any subject than we were, nor three people happier in their\n    day's work.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: _Life and Letters of Sir G. Elliot_, i. 261-263.]\n\nThis leaves the apparent puzzle where it was. Why should Burke not\nbe approved of for Chancellor of the Exchequer? What were the many\ndifficulties described as seeming to be in the way of arranging for\nBurke in a manner equal to Burke's merits and the Duke of Portland's\nwishes? His personal relations with the chiefs of his party were at\nthis time extremely cordial and intimate. He was constantly a guest at\nthe Duke of Portland's most private dinner-parties. Fox had gone down\nto Beaconsfield to recruit himself from the fatigues of his rapid\njourney from Bologna, and to spend some days in quiet with Windham and\nthe master of the house. Elliot and Windham, who were talked about\nfor a post for which one of them says that Burke would not have been\napproved, vied with one another in adoring Burke. Finally, Elliot\nand the Duke think themselves happy in a day's work, which ended in\nconsigning the man who not only was, but was admitted to be, the most\npowerful genius of their party, to a third-rate post, and that most\nequivocal distinction, a pension on the Irish establishment. The\ncommon explanation that it illustrates Whig exclusiveness, cannot be\nseriously received as adequate. It is probable, for one thing, that\nthe feelings of the Prince of Wales had more to do with it than the\nfeelings of men like the Duke of Portland or Fox. We can easily\nimagine how little that most worthless of human creatures would\nappreciate the great qualities of such a man as Burke. The painful\nfact which we are unable to conceal from ourselves is, that the common\nopinion of better men than the Prince of Wales leaned in the same\ndirection. His violence in the course of the Regency debates had\nproduced strong disapproval in the public, and downright consternation\nin his own party. On one occasion he is described by a respectable\nobserver as having \"been wilder than ever, and laid himself and his\nparty more open than ever speaker did. He is folly personified, but\nshaking his cap and bells under the laurel of genius. He finished his\nwild speech in a manner next to madness.\" Moore believes that Burke's\nindiscretions in these trying and prolonged transactions sowed the\nseeds of the alienation between him and Fox two years afterwards.\nBurke's excited state of mind showed itself in small things as well as\ngreat. Going with Windham to Carlton House, Burke attacked him in the\ncoach for a difference of opinion about the affairs of a friend, and\nbehaved with such unreasonable passion and such furious rudeness\nof manner, that his magnanimous admirer had some difficulty in\nobliterating the impression. The public were less tolerant. Windham\nhas told us that at this time Burke was a man decried, persecuted, and\nproscribed, not being much valued even by his own party, and by half\nthe nation considered as little better than an ingenious madman.[1]\nThis is evidence beyond impeachment, for Windham loved and honoured\nBurke with the affection and reverence of a son; and he puts the\npopular sentiment on record with grief and amazement. There is other\ntestimony to the same effect. The late Lord Lansdowne, who must\nhave heard the subject abundantly discussed by those who were most\nconcerned in it, was once asked by a very eminent man of our own time,\nwhy the Whigs kept Burke out of their cabinets. \"Burke!\" he cried; \"he\nwas so violent, so overbearing, so arrogant, so intractable, that\nto have got on with him in a cabinet would have been utterly and\nabsolutely impossible.\"\n\n[Footnote 1: Windham's _Diary_, p. 213.]\n\nOn the whole, it seems to be tolerably clear that the difficulties\nin the way of Burke's promotion to high office were his notoriously\nstraitened circumstances; his ungoverned excesses of party zeal and\npolitical passion; finally, what Sir Gilbert Elliot calls the unjust\nprejudice and clamour against him and his family, and what Burke\nhimself once called the hunt of obloquy that pursued him all his\nlife. The first two of these causes can scarcely have operated in\nthe arrangements that were made in the Rockingham and Coalition\nministries. But the third, we may be sure, was incessantly at work. It\nwould have needed social courage alike in 1782, 1783, and 1788 to\ngive cabinet rank to a man round whose name there floated so many\ndisparaging associations. Social courage is exactly the virtue in\nwhich the constructors of a government will always think themselves\nleast able to indulge. Burke, we have to remember, did not stand\nalone before the world. Elliot describes a dinner-party at Lord\nFitzwilliam's, at which four of these half-discredited Irishmen were\npresent. \"Burke has now got such a train after him as would sink\nanybody but himself:--his son, who is quite _nauseated_ by all\nmankind; his brother, who is liked better than his son, but is rather\noffensive with animal spirits and with brogue; and his cousin, Will\nBurke, who is just returned unexpectedly from India, as much ruined\nas when he went many years ago, and who is a fresh charge on any\nprospects of power that Burke may ever have.\" It was this train, and\nthe ideas of adventurership that clung to them, the inextinguishable\nstories about papistry and Saint Omer's, the tenacious calumny about\nthe letters of Junius, the notorious circumstances of embarrassment\nand neediness--it was all these things which combined with Burke's own\ndefects of temper and discretion, to give the Whig grandees as decent\na reason as they could have desired for keeping all the great posts of\nstate in their own hands.\n\nIt seems difficult to deny that the questions of the Regency had\ncaused the germs of a sort of dissatisfaction and strain in the\nrelations between Fox and Burke. Their feelings to one another have\nbeen well compared to the mutual discontent between partners in\nunsuccessful play, where each suspects that it is the mistakes of the\nother that lost the game. Whether Burke felt conscious of the failures\nin discretion and temper, which were the real or pretended excuse for\nneglect, we cannot tell. There is one passage that reveals a chagrin\nof this kind. A few days after the meeting between the Duke of\nPortland and Elliot, for the purpose of settling his place in the new\nministry, Burke went down to Beaconsfield. In writing (January 24,\n1789) to invite Windham and Pelham to come to stay a night, with\npromise of a leg of mutton cooked by a dairymaid who was not a bad\nhand at a pinch, he goes on to say that his health has received some\nsmall benefit from his journey to the country. \"But this view to\nhealth, though far from unnecessary to me, was not the chief cause\nof my present retreat. I began to find that I was grown rather\ntoo anxious; and had begun to discover to myself and to others a\nsolicitude relative to the present state of affairs, which, though\ntheir strange condition might well warrant it in others, is certainly\nless suitable to my time of life, in which all emotions are less\nallowed; and to which, most certainly, all human concerns ought in\nreason to become more indifferent than to those who have work to do,\nand a good deal of day and of inexhausted strength to do it in.\"[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: _Correspondence_, iii. 89.]\n\nThe king's unexpected restoration to health two or three weeks\nlater brought to nought all the hope and ambition of the Whigs, and\nconfirmed Pitt in power for the rest of Burke's lifetime. But an event\nnow came to pass in the world's history, which transformed Burke in an\ninstant from a man decried, persecuted, proscribed, into an object of\nexultant adoration all over Europe.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE FRENCH REVOLUTION\n\n\nWe have now come to the second of the two momentous changes in the\nworld's affairs, in which Burke played an imposing and historic\npart. His attitude in the first of them, the struggle for American\nindependence, commands almost without alloy the admiration and\nreverence of posterity. His attitude in the second of them, the great\nrevolution in France, has raised controversies which can only be\ncompared in heat and duration to the master controversies of theology.\nIf the history of society were written as learned men write the\nhistory of the Christian faith and its churches, Burke would figure in\nthe same strong prominence, whether deplorable or glorious, as Arius\nand Athanasius, Augustine and Sabellius, Luther and Ignatius. If we\nask how it is that now, nearly a century after the event, men are\nstill discussing Burke's pamphlet on the Revolution as they are still\ndiscussing Bishop Butler's _Analogy_, the answer is that in one case\nas in the other the questions at issue are still unsettled, and that\nBurke offers in their highest and most comprehensive form all the\nconsiderations that belong to one side of the dispute. He was not of\nthose, of whom Coleridge said that they proceeded with much solemnity\nto solve the riddle of the French Revolution by anecdotes. He\nsuspended it in the same light of great social ideas and wide\nprinciples, in which its authors and champions professed to represent\nit. Unhappily he advanced from criticism to practical exhortation, in\nour opinion the most mischievous and indefensible that has ever been\npressed by any statesman on any nation. But the force of the criticism\nremains, its foresight remains, its commemoration of valuable elements\nof life which men were forgetting, its discernment of the limitations\nof things, its sense of the awful emergencies of the problem. When our\ngrandchildren have made up their minds, once for all, as to the merits\nof the social transformation which dawned on Europe in 1789, then\nBurke's _Reflections_ will become a mere literary antiquity, and not\nbefore.\n\nFrom the very beginning Burke looked upon the proceedings in France\nwith distrust. He had not a moment of enthusiasm or sympathy of which\nto repent. When the news reached England that the insurgents of Paris\nhad stormed the Bastille, Fox exclaimed with exultation, how much it\nwas the greatest event that had ever happened in the world, how much\nthe best. Is it an infirmity to wish for an instant that some such\nphrase of generous hope had escaped from Burke; that he had for a day\nor an hour undergone that fine illusion which was lighted up in the\nspirits of men like Wordsworth and Coleridge? Those great poets,\nwho were destined one day to preach even a wiser and a loftier\nconservatism than his own, have told us what they felt--\n\n  When France in wrath her giant limbs upreared,\n  And with that oath, which smote air, earth, and sea,\n  Stamped her strong foot, and said she would be free.\n\nBurke from the first espied the looming shadow of a catastrophe. In\nAugust he wrote to Lord Charlemont that the events in France had\nsomething paradoxical and mysterious about them; that the outbreak of\nthe old Parisian ferocity might be no more than a sudden explosion,\nbut if it should happen to be _character_ rather than accident, then\nthe people would need a strong hand like that of their former masters\nto coerce them; that all depended upon the French having wise heads\namong them, and upon these wise heads, if such there were, acquiring\nan authority to match their wisdom. There is nothing here but a calm\nand sagacious suspense of judgment. It soon appeared that the old\nParisian ferocity was still alive. In the events of October 1789, when\nthe mob of Paris marched out to Versailles and marched back again with\nthe king and queen in triumphal procession, Burke felt in his heart\nthat the beginning of the end had come, and that the catastrophe was\nalready at hand. In October he wrote a long letter to the French\ngentleman to whom he afterwards addressed the _Reflections_. \"You\nhope, sir,\" he said, \"that I think the French deserving of liberty. I\ncertainly do. I certainly think that all men who desire it deserve it.\nWe cannot forfeit our right to it, but by what forfeits our title to\nthe privileges of our kind. The liberty I mean is _social_ freedom.\nIt is that state of things in which liberty is secured by equality\nof restraint. This kind of liberty is, indeed, but another name for\njustice. _Whenever a separation is made between liberty and justice,\nneither is in my opinion safe_.\" The weightiest and most important of\nall political truths, and worth half the fine things that poets\nhave sung about freedom--if it could only have been respected, how\ndifferent the course of the Revolution! But the engineer who attempts\nto deal with the abysmal rush of the falls of Niagara, must put aside\nthe tools that constructed the Bridgewater Canal and the Chelsea\nWaterworks. Nobody recognised so early as Burke that France had really\nembarked among cataracts and boiling gulfs, and the pith of all his\nfirst criticisms, including the _Reflections_, was the proposition\nthat to separate freedom from justice was nothing else than to steer\nthe ship of state direct into the Maelstrom. It is impossible to\ndeny that this was true. Unfortunately it was a truth which the wild\nspirits that were then abroad in the storm made of no avail.\n\nDestiny aimed an evil stroke when Burke, whose whole soul was bound up\nin order, peace, and gently enlarged precedent, found himself face to\nface with the portentous man-devouring Sphinx. He who could not endure\nthat a few clergymen should be allowed to subscribe to the Bible\ninstead of to the Articles, saw the ancient Church of Christendom\nprostrated, its possessions confiscated, its priests proscribed, and\nChristianity itself officially superseded. The economical reformer,\nwho when his zeal was hottest declined to discharge a tide-waiter or a\nscullion in the royal kitchen who should have acquired the shadow of a\nvested interest in his post, beheld two great orders stripped of\ntheir privileges and deprived of much of their lands, though their\npossession had been sanctified by the express voice of the laws and\nthe prescription of many centuries. He who was full of apprehension\nand anger at the proposal to take away a member of Parliament from St.\nMichael's or Old Sarum, had to look on while the most august monarchy\nin Europe was overturned. The man who dreaded fanatics, hated\natheists, despised political theorisers, and was driven wild at the\nnotion of applying metaphysical rights and abstract doctrines to\npublic affairs, suddenly beheld a whole kingdom given finally up to\nfanatics, atheists, and theorisers, who talked of nothing but the\nrights of man, and deliberately set as wide a gulf as ruin and\nbloodshed could make between themselves and every incident or\ninstitution in the history of their land. The statesman who had once\ndeclared, and habitually proved, his preference for peace over even\ntruth, who had all his life surrounded himself with a mental paradise\nof order and equilibrium, in a moment found himself confronted by the\nstupendous and awful spectre which a century of disorder had raised in\nits supreme hour. It could not have been difficult for any one who had\nstudied Burke's character and career, to foretell all that now came to\npass with him.\n\nIt was from an English, and not from a French point of view, that\nBurke was first drawn to write upon the Revolution. The 4th of\nNovember was the anniversary of the landing of the Prince of Orange,\nand the first act in the Revolution of 1688. The members of an\nassociation which called itself the Revolution Society, chiefly\ncomposed of Dissenters, but not without a mixture of Churchmen,\nincluding a few peers and a good many members of the House of Commons,\nmet as usual to hear a sermon in commemoration of the glorious day.\nDr. Price was the preacher, and both in the morning sermon, and in\nthe speeches which followed in the festivities of the afternoon, the\nFrench were held up to the loudest admiration, as having carried the\nprinciples of our own Revolution to a loftier height, and having\nopened boundless hopes to mankind. By these harmless proceedings\nBurke's anger and scorn were aroused to a pitch which must seem to us,\nas it seemed to not a few of his contemporaries, singularly out of all\nproportion to its cause. Deeper things were doubtless in silent motion\nwithin him. He set to work upon a denunciation of Price's doctrines,\nwith a velocity that reminds us of Aristotle's comparison of anger\nto the over-hasty servant, who runs off with all speed before he\nhas listened to half the message. This was the origin of the\n_Reflections_. The design grew as the writer went on. His imagination\ntook fire; his memory quickened a throng of impressive associations;\nhis excited vision revealed to him a band of vain, petulant upstarts\npersecuting the ministers of a sacred religion, insulting a virtuous\nand innocent sovereign, and covering with humiliation the august\ndaughter of the Caesars; his mind teemed with the sage maxims of the\nphilosophy of things established, and the precepts of the gospel of\norder. Every courier that crossed the Channel supplied new material to\nhis contempt and his alarm. He condemned the whole method and course\nof the French reforms. His judgment was in suspense no more. He no\nlonger distrusted; he hated, despised, and began to dread.\n\nMen soon began to whisper abroad that Burke thought ill of what was\ngoing on over the water. When it transpired that he was writing\na pamphlet, the world of letters was stirred with the liveliest\nexpectation. The name of the author, the importance of the subject,\nand the singularity of his opinions, so Mackintosh informs us, all\ninflamed the public curiosity. Soon after Parliament met for the\nsession (1790), the army estimates were brought up. Fox criticised the\nincrease of our forces, and incidentally hinted something in praise of\nthe French army, which had shown that a man could be a soldier without\nceasing to be a citizen. Some days afterwards the subject was revived,\nand Pitt, as well as Fox, avowed himself hopeful of the good effect of\nthe Revolution upon the order and government of France. Burke followed\nin a very different vein, openly proclaiming that dislike and fear of\nthe Revolution which was to be the one ceaseless refrain of all that\nhe spoke or wrote for the rest of his life. He deplored Fox's praise\nof the army for breaking their lawful allegiance, and then he\nproceeded with ominous words to the effect that, if any friend of his\nshould concur in any measures which should tend to introduce such a\ndemocracy as that of France, he would abandon his best friends and\njoin with his worst enemies to oppose either the means or the end.\nThis has unanimously been pronounced one of the most brilliant and\neffective speeches that Burke ever made. Fox rose with distress on\nevery feature, and made the often-quoted declaration of his debt to\nBurke:--\"If all the political information I have learned from books,\nall which I have gained from science, and all which my knowledge of\nthe world and its affairs has taught me, were put into one scale, and\nthe improvement which I have derived from my right honourable friend's\ninstruction and conversation were placed in the other, I should be at\na loss to decide to which to give the preference. I have learnt more\nfrom my right honourable friend than from all the men with whom I ever\nconversed.\" All seemed likely to end in a spirit of conciliation until\nSheridan rose, and in the plainest terms that he could find, expressed\nhis dissent from everything that Burke had said. Burke immediately\nrenounced his friendship. For the first time in his life he found the\nsympathy of the House vehemently on his side.\n\nIn the following month (March 1790) this unpromising incident was\nsucceeded by an aberration which no rational man will now undertake to\ndefend. Fox brought forward a motion for the repeal of the Test and\nCorporation Acts. He did this in accordance with a recent suggestion\nof Burke's own, that he should strengthen his political position\nby winning the support of the Dissenters. Burke himself had always\ndenounced the Test Act as bad, and as an abuse of sacred things. To\nthe amazement of everybody, and to the infinite scandal of his party,\nhe now pronounced the Dissenters to be disaffected citizens, and\nrefused to relieve them. Well might Fox say that Burke's words had\nfilled him with grief and shame.\n\nMeanwhile the great rhetorical fabric gradually arose. Burke revised,\nerased, moderated, strengthened, emphasised, wrote and re-wrote with\nindefatigable industry. With the manuscript constantly under his\neyes, he lingered busily, pen in hand, over paragraphs and phrases,\nantitheses and apophthegms. The _Reflections_ was no superb\nimprovisation. Its composition recalls Palma Giovine's account of the\nmighty Titian's way of working; how the master made his preparations\nwith resolute strokes of a heavily-laden brush, and then turned his\npicture to the wall, and by and by resumed again, and then again and\nagain, redressing, adjusting, modelling the light with a rub of his\nfinger, or dabbing a spot of dark colour into some corner with a\ntouch of his thumb, and finally working all his smirches, contrasts,\nabruptnesses, into the glorious harmony that we know. Burke was so\nunwearied in this insatiable correction and alteration that the\nprinter found it necessary, instead of making the changes marked upon\nthe proof-sheets, to set up the whole in type afresh. The work was\nupon the easel for exactly a year. It was November (1790) before the\nresult came into the hands of the public. It was a small octavo of\nthree hundred and fifty-six pages, in contents rather less than twice\nthe present volume, bound in an unlettered wrapper of gray paper, and\nsold for five shillings. In less than twelve months it reached its\neleventh edition, and it has been computed that not many short of\nthirty thousand copies were sold within the next six years.\n\nThe first curiosity had languished in the course of the long delay,\nbut it was revived in its strongest force when the book itself\nappeared. A remarkable effect instantly followed. Before the\n_Reflections_ was published the predominant sentiment in England had\nbeen one of mixed astonishment and sympathy. Pitt had expressed this\ncommon mood both in the House of Commons and in private. It was\nimpossible for England not to be amazed at the uprising of a nation\nwhom they had been accustomed to think of as willing slaves, and\nit was impossible for her, when the scene did not happen to be the\nAmerican colonies or Ireland, not to profess good wishes for the cause\nof emancipation all over the world. Apart from the natural admiration\nof a free people for a neighbour struggling to be free, England saw\nno reason to lament a blow to a sovereign and a government who had\ninterfered on the side of her insurgent colonies. To this easy state\nof mind Burke's book put an immediate end. At once, as contemporaries\nassure us, it divided the nation into two parties. On both sides it\nprecipitated opinion. With a long-resounding blast on his golden\ntrumpet Burke had unfurled a new flag, and half the nation hurried to\nrally to it--that half which had scouted his views on America, which\nhad bitterly disliked his plan of Economic Reform, which had mocked\nhis ideas on religious toleration, and which a moment before had hated\nand reviled him beyond all men living for his fierce tenacity in the\nimpeachment of Warren Hastings. The king said to everybody who came\nnear him that the book was a good book, a very good book, and every\ngentleman ought to read it. The universities began to think of\noffering the scarlet gown of their most honourable degree to the\nassailant of Price and the Dissenters. The great army of the indolent\ngood, the people who lead excellent lives and never use their reason,\ntook violent alarm. The timorous, the weak-minded, the bigoted, were\nsuddenly awakened to a sense of what they owed to themselves. Burke\ngave them the key which enabled them to interpret the Revolution in\nharmony with their usual ideas and their temperament.\n\nReaction quickly rose to a high pitch. One preacher in a parish church\nin the neighbourhood of London celebrated the anniversary of the\nrestoration of King Charles II. by a sermon, in which the pains of\neternal damnation were confidently promised to political disaffection.\nRomilly, mentioning to a friend that the _Reflections_ had got into a\nfourteenth edition, wondered whether Burke was not rather ashamed of\nhis success. It is when we come to the rank and file of reaction, that\nwe find it hard to forgive the man of genius who made himself the\norgan of their selfishness, their timidity, and their blindness. We\nknow, alas, that the parts of his writings on French affairs to which\nthey would fly, were not likely to be the parts which calm men now\nread with sympathy, but the scoldings, the screamings, the unworthy\nvituperation with which, especially in the latest of them, he attacked\neverybody who took part in the Revolution, from Condorcet and\nLafayette down to Marat and Couthon. It was the feet of clay that they\nadored in their image, and not the head of fine gold and the breasts\nand the arms of silver.\n\nOn the continent of Europe the excitement was as great among the\nruling classes as it was at home. Mirabeau, who had made Burke's\nacquaintance some years before in England, and even been his guest at\nBeaconsfield, now made the _Reflections_ the text of more than one\ntremendous philippic. Louis XVI. is said to have translated the book\ninto French with his own hand. Catherine of Russia, Voltaire's adored\nSemiramis of the North, the benefactress of Diderot, the ready helper\nof the philosophic party, pressed her congratulations on the great\npontiff of the old order, who now thundered anathema against the\nphilosophers and all their works.\n\nIt is important to remember the stage which the Revolution had\nreached, when Burke was composing his attack upon it. The year 1790\nwas precisely the time when the hopes of the best men in France shone\nmost brightly, and seemed most reasonable. There had been disorders,\nand Paris still had ferocity in her mien. But Robespierre was an\nobscure figure on the back benches of the Assembly. Nobody had ever\nheard of Danton. The name of Republic had never been so much as\nwhispered. The king still believed that constitutional monarchy would\nleave him as much power as he desired. He had voluntarily gone to the\nNational Assembly, and in simple language had exhorted them all to\nimitate his example by professing the single opinion, the single\ninterest, the single wish--attachment to the new constitution, and\nardent desire for the peace and happiness of France. The clergy, it is\ntrue, were violently irritated by the spoliation of their goods, and\nthe nobles had crossed the Rhine, to brood impotently in the safety\nof Coblenz over projects of a bloody revenge upon their country. But\nFrance, meanwhile, paid little heed either to the anger of the clergy\nor the menaces of the emigrant nobles, and at the very moment when\nBurke was writing his most sombre pages, Paris and the provinces were\ncelebrating with transports of joy and enthusiasm the civic oath,\nthe federation, the restoration of concord to the land, the final\nestablishment of freedom and justice in a regenerated France. This was\nthe happy scene over which Burke suddenly stretched out the right arm\nof an inspired prophet, pointing to the cloud of thunder and darkness\nthat was gathering on the hills, and proclaiming to them the doom that\nhad been written upon the wall by the fingers of an inexorable hand.\nIt is no wonder that when the cloud burst and the doom was fulfilled,\nmen turned to Burke, as they went of old to Ahithophel, whose counsel\nwas as if a man had inquired of the oracle of God.\n\nIt is not to our purpose to discuss all the propositions advanced in\nthe _Reflections_, much less to reply to them. The book is like\nsome temple, by whose structure and design we allow ourselves to be\nimpressed, without being careful to measure the precise truth or\nfitness of the worship to which it was consecrated by its first\nfounders. Just as the student of the _Politics_ of Aristotle may well\naccept all the wisdom of it, without caring to protest at every turn\nagainst slavery as the basis of a society, so we may well cherish all\nthe wisdom of the _Reflections_, at this distance of time, without\nmarking as a rubric on every page that half of these impressive\nformulae and inspiring declamations were irrelevant to the occasion\nwhich called them forth, and exercised for the hour an influence that\nwas purely mischievous. Time permits to us this profitable lenity. In\nreading this, the first of his invectives, it is important, for the\nsake of clearness of judgment, to put from our minds the practical\npolicy which Burke afterwards so untiringly urged upon his countrymen.\nAs yet there is no exhortation to England to interfere. We still\nlisten to the voice of the statesman, and are not deafened by the\npassionate cries of the preacher of a crusade. When Burke wrote the\n_Reflections_ he was justified in criticising the Revolution as\nan extraordinary movement, but still a movement professing to be\nconducted on the principles of rational and practicable politics. They\nwere the principles to which competent onlookers like Jefferson and\nMorris had expected the Assembly to conform, but to which the Assembly\nnever conformed for an instant. It was on the principles of rational\npolitics that Fox and Sheridan admired it. On these principles\nBurke condemned it. He declared that the methods of the Constituent\nAssembly, up to the summer of 1790, were unjust, precipitate,\ndestructive, and without stability. Men had chosen to build their\nhouse on the sands, and the winds and the seas would speedily beat\nagainst it and overthrow it.\n\nHis prophecy was fulfilled to the letter. What is still more important\nfor the credit of his foresight is, that not only did his prophecy\ncome true, but it came true for the reasons that he had fixed upon. It\nwas, for instance, the constitution of the Church, in which Burke\nsaw the worst of the many bad mistakes of the Assembly. History, now\nslowly shaking herself free from the passions of a century, agrees\nthat the civil constitution of the clergy was the measure which, more\nthan any other, decisively put an end to whatever hopes there might\nhave been of a peaceful transition from the old order to the new.\nA still more striking piece of foresight is the prediction of the\ndespotism of the Napoleonic Empire. Burke had compared the levelling\npolicy of the Assembly in their geometrical division of the\ndepartments, and their isolation from one another of the bodies of\nthe state, to the treatment which a conquered country receives at the\nhands of its conquerors. Like Romans in Greece or Macedon, the French\ninnovators had destroyed the bonds of union, under colour of providing\nfor the independence of each of their cities. \"If the present project\nof a Republic should fail,\" Burke said, with a prescience really\nprofound, \"all securities to a moderate freedom fail with it. All the\nindirect restraints which mitigate despotism are removed; insomuch\nthat, if monarchy should ever again obtain an entire ascendancy in\nFrance under this or any other dynasty, it will probably be, if not\nvoluntarily tempered at setting out by the wise and virtuous counsels\nof the prince, the most completely arbitrary power that ever appeared\non earth.\" Almost at the same moment Mirabeau was secretly writing to\nthe king that their plan of reducing all citizens to a single\nclass would have delighted Richelieu. This equal surface, he said,\nfacilitates the exercise of power, and many reigns in an absolute\ngovernment would not have done as much as this single year of\nrevolution, for the royal authority. Time showed that Burke and\nMirabeau were right.\n\nHistory ratifies nearly all Burke's strictures on the levity and\nprecipitancy of the first set of actors in the revolutionary drama. No\npart of the _Reflections_ is more energetic than the denunciation of\ngeometric and literary methods; and these are just what the modern\nexplorer hits upon, as one of the fatal secrets of the catastrophe.\nDe Tocqueville's chapter on the causes which made literary men the\nprincipal persons in France, and the effect which this had upon the\nRevolution (Bk. III. ch. i.), is only a little too cold to be able\nto pass for Burke's own. Quinet's work on the Revolution is one\nlong sermon, full of eloquence and cogency, upon the incapacity and\nblindness of the men who undertook the conduct of a tremendous crisis\nupon mere literary methods, without the moral courage to obey the\nlogic of their beliefs, with the student's ignorance of the eager\npassion and rapid imagination of multitudes of men, with the pedant's\nmisappreciation of a people, of whom it has been said by one of\nthemselves, that there never was a nation more led by its sensations\nand less by its principles. Comte, again, points impressively to\nthe Revolution as the period which illustrates more decisively\nthan another the peril of confounding the two great functions of\nspeculation and political action: and he speaks with just reprobation\nof the preposterous idea in the philosophic politicians of the\nepoch, that society was at their disposal, independent of its past\ndevelopment, devoid of inherent impulses, and easily capable of being\nmorally regenerated by the mere modification of legislative rules.\n\nWhat then was it that, in the midst of so much perspicacity as to\ndetail, blinded Burke at the time when he wrote the _Reflections_ to\nthe true nature of the movement? Is it not this, that he judges the\nRevolution as the solution of a merely political question? If the\nRevolution had been merely political, his judgment would have been\nadequate. The question was much deeper. It was a social question that\nburned under the surface of what seemed no more than a modification of\nexternal arrangements. That Burke was alive to the existence of social\nproblems, and that he was even tormented by them, we know from an\nincidental passage in the _Reflections_. There he tells us how often\nhe had reflected, and never reflected without feeling, upon the\ninnumerable servile and degrading occupations to which by the social\neconomy so many wretches are inevitably doomed. He had pondered\nwhether there could be any means of rescuing these unhappy people from\ntheir miserable industry without disturbing the natural course of\nthings, and impeding the great wheel of circulation which is turned by\ntheir labour. This is the vein of that striking passage in his first\ncomposition which I have already quoted (p. 22). Burke did not\nyet see, and probably never saw, that one key to the events which\nastonished and exasperated him was simply that the persons most\nurgently concerned had taken the riddle which perplexed him into their\nown hands, and had in fiery earnest set about their own deliverance.\nThe pith of the Revolution up to 1790 was less the political\nconstitution, of which Burke says so much, and so much that is true,\nthan the social and economic transformation, of which he says so\nlittle. It was not a question of the power of the king, or the measure\nof an electoral circumscription, that made the Revolution; it was\nthe iniquitous distribution of the taxes, the scourge of the militia\nservice, the scourge of the road service, the destructive tyranny\nexercised in the vast preserves of wild game, the vexatious rights and\nimposts of the lords of manors, and all the other odious burdens and\nheavy impediments on the prosperity of the thrifty and industrious\npart of the nation. If he had seen ever so clearly that one of the\nmost important sides of the Revolution in progress was the rescue of\nthe tiller of the soil, Burke would still doubtless have viewed events\nwith bitter suspicion. For the process could not be executed without\ndisturbing the natural course of things, and without violating his\nprinciple that all changes should find us with our minds tenacious of\njustice and tender of property. A closer examination than he chose to\ngive of the current administration alike of justice and of property\nunder the old system, would have explained to him that an hour had\ncome in which the spirit of property and of justice compelled a\nsupersession of the letter.\n\nIf Burke had insisted on rigidly keeping sensibility to the wrongs of\nthe French people out of the discussion, on the ground that the whole\nsubject was one for positive knowledge and logical inference, his\nposition would have been intelligible and defensible. He followed no\nsuch course. His pleading turns constantly to arguments from feeling;\nbut it is always to feeling on one side, and to a sensibility that is\nonly alive to the consecrated force of historic associations. How much\npure and uncontrolled emotion had to do with what ought to have\nbeen the reasoned judgments of his understanding we know on his own\nevidence. He had sent the proof-sheets of a part of his book to Sir\nPhilip Francis. They contained the famous passage describing the\nFrench queen as he had seen her seventeen years before at Versailles.\nFrancis bluntly wrote to him that, in his opinion, all Burke's\neloquence about Marie Antoinette was no better than pure foppery, and\nhe referred to the queen herself as no better than Messalina. Burke\nwas so excited by this that his son, in a rather officious letter,\nbegged Francis not to repeat such stimulating remonstrance. What is\ninteresting in the incident is Burke's own reply. He knew nothing,\nhe said, of the story of Messalina, and declined the obligation of\nproving judicially the virtues of all those whom he saw suffering\nwrong and contumely, before he endeavoured to interest others in their\nsufferings, and before endeavouring to kindle horror against midnight\nassassins at backstairs and their more wicked abettors in pulpits. And\nthen he went on, \"I tell you again that the recollection of the manner\nin which I saw the Queen of France in the year 1774 [1773], and the\ncontrast between that brilliancy, splendour, and beauty, with the\nprostrate homage of a nation to her, and the abominable scene of 1789\nwhich I was describing, _did_ draw tears from me and wetted my paper.\nThese tears came again into my eyes almost as often as I looked at the\ndescription--they may again.\"\n\nThe answer was obvious. It was well to pity the unmerited agonies of\nMarie Antoinette, though as yet, we must remember, she had suffered\nnothing beyond the indignities of the days of October at Versailles.\nBut did not the protracted agonies of a nation deserve the tribute of\na tear? As Paine asked, were men to weep over the plumage, and forget\nthe dying bird? The bulk of the people must labour, Burke told them,\n\"to obtain what by labour can be obtained; and when they find, as they\ncommonly do, the success disproportioned to the endeavour, they must\nbe taught their consolation in the final proportions of eternal\njustice.\" When we learn that a Lyons silk weaver, working as hard as\nhe could for over seventeen hours a day, could not earn money enough\nto procure the most bare and urgent necessaries of subsistence, we may\nknow with what benignity of brow eternal justice must have presented\nherself in the garret of that hapless wretch. It was no idle\nabstraction, no metaphysical right of man for which the Trench cried,\nbut only the practical right of being permitted, by their own toil, to\nsave themselves and the little ones about their knees from hunger and\ncruel death. The _mainmortable_ serfs of ecclesiastics are variously\nsaid to have been a million and a million and a half at the time of\nthe Revolution. Burke's horror, as he thought of the priests and\nprelates who left palaces and dignities to earn a scanty living by the\ndrudgery of teaching their language in strange lands, should have been\nalleviated by the thought that a million or more of men were rescued\nfrom ghastly material misery. Are we to be so overwhelmed with sorrow\nover the pitiful destiny of the men of exalted rank and sacred\nfunction, as to have no tears for the forty thousand serfs in the\ngorges of the Jura, who were held in dead-hand by the Bishop of\nSaint-Claude?\n\nThe simple truth is that Burke did not know enough of the subject\nabout which he was writing. When he said, for instance, that the\nFrench before 1789 possessed all the elements of a constitution that\nmight be made nearly as good as could be wished, he said what many of\nhis contemporaries knew, and what all subsequent investigation and\nmeditation have proved, to be recklessly ill-considered and untrue. As\nto the social state of France, his information was still worse. He saw\nthe dangers and disorders of the new system, but he saw a very little\nway indeed into the more cruel dangers and disorders of the old.\nMackintosh replied to the _Reflections_ with manliness and temperance\nin the _Vindicicae Gallicae_. Thomas Paine replied to them with an\nenergy, courage, and eloquence worthy of his cause, in the _Rights of\nMan_. But the substantial and decisive reply to Burke came from his\nformer correspondent, the farmer at Bradfield in Suffolk. Arthur Young\npublished his _Travels in France_ some eighteen months after the\n_Reflections_ (1792), and the pages of the twenty-first chapter in\nwhich he closes his performance, as a luminous criticism of the most\nimportant side of the Revolution, are worth a hundred times more than\nBurke, Mackintosh, and Paine all put together. Young afterwards became\npanic-stricken, but his book remained. There the writer plainly\nenumerates without trope or invective the intolerable burdens under\nwhich the great mass of the French people had for long years been\ngroaning. It was the removal of these burdens that made the very\nheart's core of the Revolution, and gave to France that new life which\nso soon astonished and terrified Europe. Yet Burke seems profoundly\nunconscious of the whole of them. He even boldly asserts that, when\nthe several orders met in their bailliages in 1789, to choose their\nrepresentatives and draw up their grievances and instructions, in no\none of these instructions did they charge, or even hint at, any\nof those things which had drawn upon the usurping Assembly the\ndetestation of the rational part of mankind. He could not have made a\nmore enormous blunder. There was not a single great change made by the\nAssembly, which had not been demanded in the lists of grievances that\nhad been sent up by the nation to Versailles. The division of the\nkingdom into districts, and the proportioning of the representation\nto taxes and population; the suppression of the intendants; the\nsuppression of all monks and the sale of their goods and estates; the\nabolition of feudal rights, duties, and services; the alienation of\nthe king's domains; the demolition of the Bastille; these and all else\nwere in the prayers of half the petitions that the country had laid at\nthe feet of the king.\n\nIf this were merely an incidental blunder in a fact, it might be of no\nimportance. But it was a blunder which went to the very root of the\ndiscussion. The fact that France was now at the back of the Assembly,\ninspiring its counsels and ratifying its decrees, was the cardinal\nelement, and that is the fact which at this stage Burke systematically\nignored. That he should have so ignored it, left him in a curious\nposition, for it left him without any rational explanation of the\nsources of the policy which kindled his indignation and contempt. A\npublicist can never be sure of his position until he can explain to\nhimself even what he does not wish to justify to others. Burke thought\nit enough to dwell upon the immense number of lawyers in the Assembly,\nand to show that lawyers are naturally bad statesmen. He did not look\nthe state of things steadily in the face. It was no easy thing to do,\nbut Burke was a man who ought to have done it. He set all down to the\nignorance, folly, and wickedness of the French leaders. This was as\nshallow as the way in which his enemies, the philosophers, used to set\ndown the superstition of eighteen centuries to the craft of priests,\nand all defects in the government of Europe to the cruelty of tyrants.\nHow it came about that priests and tyrants acquired their irresistible\npower over men's minds, they never inquired. And Burke never inquired\ninto the enthusiastic acquiescence of the nation, and, what was\nmost remarkable of all, the acquiescence of the army, in the strong\nmeasures of the Assembly. Burke was in truth so appalled by the\nmagnitude of the enterprise on which France had embarked, that\nhe utterly forgot for once the necessity in political affairs of\nseriously understanding the originating conditions of things. He was\nstrangely content with the explanations that came from the malignants\nat Coblenz, and he actually told Francis that he charged the disorders\nnot on the mob, but on the Duke of Orleans and Mirabeau, on Barnave\nand Bailly, on Lameth and Lafayette, who had spent immense sums of\nmoney, and used innumerable arts, to stir up the populace throughout\nFrance to the commission of the enormities that were shocking the\nconscience of Europe. His imagination broke loose. His practical\nreason was mastered by something that was deeper in him than reason.\n\nThis brings me to remark a really singular trait. In spite of the\npredominance of practical sagacity, of the habits and spirit of public\nbusiness, of vigorous actuality in Burke's character, yet at the\nbottom of all his thoughts about communities and governments there\nlay a certain mysticism. It was no irony, no literary trope, when\nhe talked of our having taught the American husbandman \"piously to\nbelieve in the mysterious virtue of wax and parchment.\" He was using\nno idle epithet, when he described the disposition of a stupendous\nwisdom, \"moulding together the great mysterious incorporation of the\nhuman race.\" To him there actually was an element of mystery in the\ncohesion of men in societies, in political obedience, in the sanctity\nof contract; in all that fabric of law and charter and obligation,\nwhether written or unwritten, which is the sheltering bulwark between\ncivilisation and barbarism. When reason and history had contributed\nall that they could to the explanation, it seemed to him as if the\nvital force, the secret of organisation, the binding framework, must\nstill come from the impenetrable regions beyond reasoning and beyond\nhistory. There was another great conservative writer of that age,\nwhose genius was aroused into a protest against the revolutionary\nspirit as vehement as Burke's. This was Joseph de Maistre, one of the\nmost learned, witty, and acute of all reactionary philosophers.\nDe Maistre wrote a book on the Generative Principle of Political\nConstitutions. He could only find this principle in the operation of\noccult and supernatural forces, producing the half-divine legislators\nwho figure mysteriously in the early history of nations. Hence he\nheld, and with astonishing ingenuity enforced, the doctrine that\nnothing else could deliver Europe from the Satanic forces of\nrevolution--he used the word Satanic in all literal seriousness--save\nthe divinely inspired supremacy of the Pope. No natural operations\nseemed at all adequate either to produce or to maintain the marvel\nof a coherent society. We are reminded of a professor who, in the\nfantastic days of geology, explained the Pyramids of Egypt to be the\nremains of a volcanic eruption, which had forced its way upwards by a\nslow and stately motion; the hieroglyphs were crystalline formations;\nand the shaft of the great Pyramid was the air-hole of a volcano. De\nMaistre preferred a similar explanation of the monstrous structures\nof modern society. The hand of man could never have reared, and could\nnever uphold them. If we cannot say that Burke laboured in constant\ntravail with the same perplexity, it is at least true that he was\nkeenly alive to it, and that one of the reasons why he dreaded to see\na finger laid upon a single stone of a single political edifice, was\nhis consciousness that he saw no answer to the perpetual enigma how\nany of these edifices had ever been built, and how the passion,\nviolence, and waywardness of the natural man had ever been persuaded\nto bow their necks to the strong yoke of a common social discipline.\nNever was mysticism more unseasonable; never was an hour when men\nneeded more carefully to remember Burke's own wise practical precept,\nwhen he was talking about the British rule in India, that we must\nthrow a sacred veil over the beginnings of government. Many woes might\nperhaps have been saved to Europe, if Burke had applied this maxim to\nthe government of the new France.\n\nMuch has always been said about the inconsistency between Burke's\nenmity to the Revolution and his enmity to Lord North in one set of\ncircumstances, and to Warren Hastings in another. The pamphleteers of\nthe day made selections from the speeches and tracts of his happier\ntime, and the seeming contrast had its effect. More candid opponents\nadmitted then, as all competent persons admit now, that the\ninconsistency was merely verbal and superficial. Watson, the Bishop of\nLlandaff, was only one of many who observed very early that this was\nthe unmistakable temper of Burke's mind. \"I admired, as everybody\ndid,\" he said, \"the talents, but not the principles of Mr. Burke; his\nopposition to the Clerical Petition [for relaxation of subscription,\n1772], first excited my suspicion of his being a High Churchman in\nreligion, and a Tory, perhaps an aristocratic Tory, in the state.\"\nBurke had indeed never been anything else than a conservative. He was\nlike Falkland, who had bitterly assailed Strafford and Finch on the\nsame principles on which, after the outbreak of the civil war, he\nconsented to be secretary of state to King Charles. Coleridge is borne\nout by a hundred passages, when he says that in Burke's writings at\nthe beginning of the American Revolution and in those at the beginning\nof the French Revolution, the principles are the same and the\ndeductions are the same; the practical inferences are almost opposite\nin the one case from those drawn in the other, yet in both equally\nlegitimate. It would be better to say that they would have been\nequally legitimate, if Burke had been as right in his facts, and as\nample in his knowledge in the case of France, as he was in the case of\nAmerica. We feel, indeed, that partly from want of this knowledge, he\nhas gone too far from some of the wise maxims of an earlier time.\nWhat has become of the doctrine that all great public collections of\nmen--he was then speaking of the House of Commons--\"possess a marked\nlove of virtue and an abhorrence of vice.\"[1] Why was the French\nAssembly not to have the benefit of this admirable generalisation?\nWhat has become of all those sayings about the presumption, in all\ndisputes between nations and rulers, \"being at least upon a par in\nfavour of the people;\" and a populace never rebelling from passion for\nattack, but from impatience of suffering? And where is now that strong\ndictum, in the letter to the Sheriffs of Bristol, that \"general\nrebellions and revolts of a whole people never were _encouraged_, now\nor at any time; they are always _provoked_\"?\n\n[Footnote 1: _American Taxation_.]\n\nWhen all these things have been noted, to hold a man to his formulae\nwithout reference to their special application, is pure pedantry.\nBurke was the last man to lay down any political proposition not\nsubject to the ever varying interpretation of circumstances, and\nindependently of the particular use which was to be made of it.\nNothing universal, he had always said, can be rationally affirmed on\nany moral or political subject. The lines of morality, again, are\nnever ideal lines of mathematics, but are broad and deep as well as\nlong, admitting of exceptions, and demanding modifications. \"These\nexceptions and modifications are made, not by the process of logic,\nbut by the rules of prudence. Prudence is not only first in rank\nof the virtues, political and moral, but she is the director, the\nregulator, the standard of them all. As no moral questions are\never abstract questions, this, before I judge upon any abstract\nproposition, must be embodied in circumstances; for, since things\nare right and wrong, morally speaking, only by their relation and\nconnection with other things, this very question of what it is\npolitically right to grant, depends upon its relation to its effects.\"\n\"Circumstances,\" he says, never weary of laying down his great notion\nof political method, \"give, in reality, to every political principle\nits distinguishing colour and discriminating effect. The circumstances\nare what render every civil and political scheme beneficial or\nobnoxious to mankind.\"\n\nThis is at once the weapon with which he would have defended his own\nconsistency, and attacked the absolute proceedings in France. He\nchanged his front, but he never changed his ground. He was not more\npassionate against the proscription in France, than he had been\nagainst the suspension of Habeas Corpus in the American war. \"I\nflatter myself,\" he said in the _Reflections_, \"that I love a manly,\nmoral, regulated liberty.\" Ten years before he had said, \"The liberty,\nthe only liberty I mean, is a liberty connected with order.\" The court\ntried to regulate liberty too severely. It found in him an inflexible\nopponent. Demagogues tried to remove the regulations of liberty.\nThey encountered in him the bitterest and most unceasing of all\nremonstrants. The arbitrary majority in the House of Commons forgot\nfor whose benefit they held power, from whom they derived their\nauthority, and in what description of government it was that they had\na place. Burke was the most valiant and strenuous champion in the\nranks of the independent minority. He withstood to the face the king\nand the king's friends. He withstood to the face Charles Fox and the\nFriends of the People. He may have been wrong in both, or in either,\nbut it is unreasonable to tell us that he turned back in his course;\nthat he was a revolutionist in 1770, and a reactionist in 1790; that\nhe was in his sane mind when he opposed the supremacy of the Court,\nbut that his reason was tottering when he opposed the supremacy of the\nFaubourg Saint Antoine.\n\nThere is no part of Burke's career at which we may not find evidence\nof his instinctive and undying repugnance to the critical or\nrevolutionary spirit and all its works. From the early days when he\nhad parodied Bolingbroke, down to the later time when he denounced\nCondorcet as a fanatical atheist, with \"every disposition to the\nlowest as well as the highest and most determined villainies,\" he\ninvariably suspected or denounced everybody, virtuous or vicious,\nhigh-minded or ignoble, who inquired with too keen a scrutiny into the\nfoundations of morals, of religion, of social order. To examine with a\ncurious or unfavourable eye the bases of established opinions, was to\nshow a leaning to anarchy, to atheism, or to unbridled libertinism.\nAlready we have seen how, three years after the publication of his\n_Thoughts on the Present Discontents_, and seventeen years before the\ncomposition of the _Reflections_, he denounced the philosophers with\na fervour and a vehemence which he never afterwards surpassed. When\na few of the clergy petitioned to be relieved from some of the\nseverities of subscription, he had resisted them on the bold ground\nthat the truth of a proposition deserves less attention than the\neffect of adherence to it upon the established order of things. \"I\nwill not enter into the question,\" he told the House of Commons, \"how\nmuch truth is preferable to peace. Perhaps truth may be far better.\nBut as we have scarcely ever the same certainty in the one that we\nhave in the other, I would, unless the truth were evident indeed, hold\nfast to peace.\" In that intellectual restlessness, to which the world\nis so deeply indebted, Burke could recognise but scanty merit. Himself\nthe most industrious and active-minded of men, he was ever sober in\ncutting the channels of his activity, and he would have had others\nequally moderate. Perceiving that plain and righteous conduct is the\nend of life in this world, he prayed men not to be over-curious in\nsearching for, and handling, and again handling, the theoretic base\non which the prerogatives of virtue repose. Provided that there was\npeace, that is to say, so much of fair happiness and content as is\ncompatible with the conditions of the human lot, Burke felt that a\ntoo great inquisitiveness as to its foundations was not only idle but\ncruel.\n\nIf the world continues to read the _Reflections_, and reads it with a\nnew admiration that is not diminished by the fact that on the special\nissue its tendency is every day more clearly discerned to have been\nmisleading, we may be sure that it is not for the sake of such things\nas the precise character of the Revolution of 1688, where, for that\nmatter, constitutional writers have shown abundantly that Burke was\nnearly as much in the wrong as Dr. Sacheverell. Nor has the book lived\nmerely by its gorgeous rhetoric and high emotions, though these have\nbeen contributing elements. It lives because it contains a sentiment,\na method, a set of informal principles, which, awakened into new life\nafter the Revolution, rapidly transformed the current ways of thinking\nand feeling about all the most serious objects of our attention,\nand have powerfully helped to give a richer substance to all modern\nliterature. In the _Reflections_ we have the first great sign that\nthe ideas on government and philosophy which Locke had been the chief\nagent in setting into European circulation, and which had carried all\ntriumphantly before them throughout the century, did not comprehend\nthe whole truth nor the deepest truth about human character--the\nrelations of men and the union of men in society. It has often been\nsaid that the armoury from which the French philosophers of the\neighteenth century borrowed their weapons was furnished from England,\nand it may be added as truly that the reaction against that whole\nscheme of thought came from England. In one sense we may call the\n_Reflections_ a political pamphlet, but it is much more than this,\njust as the movement against which it was levelled was much more than\na political movement. The Revolution rested on a philosophy, and\nBurke confronted it with an antagonistic philosophy. Those are but\nsuperficial readers who fail to see at how many points Burke, while\nseeming only to deal with the French monarchy and the British\nconstitution, with Dr. Price and Marie Antoinette, was in fact, and\nexactly because he dealt with them in the comprehensive spirit of true\nphilosophy, turning men's minds to an attitude from which not only the\npolitical incidents of the hour, but the current ideas about religion,\npsychology, the very nature of human knowledge, would all be seen in\na changed light and clothed in new colour. All really profound\nspeculation about society comes in time to touch the heart of every\nother object of speculation, not by directly contributing new truths\nor directly corroborating old ones, but by setting men to consider the\nconsequences to life of different opinions on these abstract subjects,\nand their relations to the great paramount interests of society,\nhowever those interests may happen at the time to be conceived.\nBurke's book marks a turning-point in literary history, because it was\nthe signal for that reaction over the whole field of thought, into\nwhich the Revolution drove many of the finest minds of the\nnext generation, by showing the supposed consequences of pure\nindividualistic rationalism.\n\nWe need not attempt to work out the details of this extension of a\npolitical reaction into a universal reaction in philosophy and poetry.\nAny one may easily think out for himself what consequences in act\nand thought, as well as in government, would be likely to flow, for\nexample, from one of the most permanently admirable sides of Burke's\nteaching--his respect for the collective reason of men, and his\nsense of the impossibility in politics and morals of considering the\nindividual apart from the experience of the race. \"We are afraid,\" he\nsays, \"to put men to live and trade each on his own private stock of\nreason, because we suspect that this stock in each man is small,\nand that the individuals would do better to avail themselves of the\ngeneral bank and capital of nations and of ages. _Many of our men of\nspeculation, instead of exploding general prejudices, employ their\nsagacity to discover the latent wisdom which prevails in them_. If\nthey find what they seek, and they seldom fail, they think it more\nwise to continue the prejudice with the reason involved, than to cast\naway the coat of prejudice, and to leave nothing but the naked reason:\nbecause prejudice with its reason has a motive to give action to that\nreason, and an affection which will give it permanence. Prejudice is\nof ready application in the emergency; it previously engages the mind\nin a steady course of wisdom and virtue, and does not leave the\nman hesitating in the moment of decision, sceptical, puzzled, and\nunresolved. Prejudice renders a man's virtue his habit, and not a\nseries of unconnected acts. Through just prejudice, his duty becomes a\npart of his nature.\" Is not this to say, in other words, that in every\nman the substantial foundations of action consist of the accumulated\nlayers which various generations of ancestors have placed for him;\nthat the greater part of our sentiments act most effectively when they\nact most mechanically, and by the methods of an unquestioned system;\nthat although no rule of conduct or spring of action ought to endure,\nwhich does not repose in sound reason, yet this naked reason is in\nitself a less effective means of influencing action than when it\nexists as one part of a fabric of ancient and endeared association?\nInterpreted by a mobile genius, and expanded by a poetic imagination,\nall this became the foundation from which the philosophy of Coleridge\nstarted, and, as Mill has shown in a famous essay, Coleridge was the\ngreat apostle of the conservative spirit in England in its best form.\n\nThough Burke here, no doubt, found a true base for the philosophy of\norder, yet perhaps Condorcet or Barnave might have justly asked him\nwhether, when we thus realise the strong and immovable foundations\nwhich are laid in our character before we are born, there could be any\noccasion, as a matter of fact, for that vehement alarm which moved\nBurke lest a few lawyers, by a score of parchment decrees, should\noverthrow the venerated sentiments of Europe about justice and about\nproperty? Should he not have known better than most men the force of\nthe self-protecting elements of society?\n\nThis is not a convenient place for discussing the issues between the\nschool of order and the school of progress. It is enough to have\nmarked Burke's position in one of them. The _Reflections_ places him\namong the great Conservatives of history. Perhaps the only Englishman\nwith whom in this respect he may be compared, is Sir Thomas\nMore,--that virtuous and eloquent reactionist of the sixteenth\ncentury. More abounded in light, in intellectual interests, in\nsingle-minded care for the common weal. He was as anxious as any man\nof his time for the improved ordering of the Church, but he could not\nendure that reformation should be bought at the price of breaking up\nthe ancient spiritual unity of Europe. He was willing to slay and be\nslain rather than he would tolerate the destruction of the old faith,\nor assent to the violence of the new statecraft. He viewed Thomas\nCromwell's policy of reformation, just as Burke viewed Mirabeau's\npolicy of revolution. Burke too, we may be very sure, would as\nwillingly have sent Mirabeau and Bailly to prison or the block as More\nsent Phillips to the Tower and Bainham to the stake. For neither More\nnor Burke was of the gentle contemplative spirit, which the first\ndisorder of a new society just bursting into life merely overshadows\nwith saddening regrets and poetic gloom. The old harmony was to them\nso bound up with the purpose and meaning of life, that to wage active\nbattle for the gods of their reverence was the irresistible instinct\nof self-preservation. More had an excuse which Burke had not, for\nthe principle of persecution was accepted by the best minds of the\nsixteenth century, but by the best minds of the eighteenth it was\nemphatically repudiated.\n\nAnother illustrious name of Burke's own era rises to our lips, as we\nponder mentally the too scanty list of those who have essayed the\ngreat and hardy task of reconciling order with progress. Turgot is\neven a more imposing figure than Burke himself. The impression made\nupon us by the pair is indeed very different, for Turgot was austere,\nreserved, distant, a man of many silences and much suspense; while\nBurke, as we know, was imaginative, exuberant, unrestrained, and, like\nsome of the greatest actors on the stage of human affairs, he had\nassociated his own personality with the prevalence of right ideas and\ngood influences. In Turgot, on the other hand, we discern something of\nthe isolation, the sternness, the disdainful melancholy of Tacitus.\nHe even rises out of the eager, bustling, shrill-tongued crowd of the\nVoltairean age with some of that austere moral indignation and haughty\nastonishment with which Dante had watched the stubborn ways of men\ncenturies before. On one side Turgot shared the conservatism of\nBurke, though, perhaps, he would hardly have given it that name. He\nhabitually corrected the headlong insistence of the revolutionary\nphilosophers, his friends, by reminding them that neither pity, nor\nbenevolence, nor hope can ever dispense with justice; and he could\nnever endure to hear of great changes being wrought at the cost of\nthis sovereign quality. Like Burke, he held fast to the doctrine that\neverything must be done for the multitude, but nothing by them. Like\nBurke, he realised how close are the links that bind the successive\ngenerations of men, and make up the long chain of human history. Like\nBurke, he never believed that the human mind has any spontaneous\ninclination to welcome pure truth. Here, however, is visible between\nthem a hard line of division. It is not error, said Turgot, which\nopposes the progress of truth; it is indolence, obstinacy, and the\nspirit of routine. But then Turgot enjoined upon us to make it the aim\nof life to do battle in ourselves and others with all this indolence,\nobstinacy, and spirit of routine in the world; while Burke, on the\ncontrary, gave to these bad things gentler names, he surrounded them\nwith the picturesque associations of the past, and in the great\nworld-crisis of his time he threw all his passion and all his genius\non their side. Will any reader doubt which of these two types of the\nschool of order and justice, both of them noble, is the more valuable\nfor the race, and the worthier and more stimulating ideal for the\nindividual?\n\nIt is not certain that Burke was not sometimes for a moment startled\nby the suspicion that he might unawares be fighting against the truth.\nIn the midst of flaming and bitter pages, we now and again feel a cool\nbreath from the distant region of a half-pensive tolerance. \"I do not\nthink,\" he says at the close of the _Reflections_, to the person to\nwhom they were addressed, \"that my sentiments are likely to alter\nyours. I do not know that they ought. You are young; you cannot guide,\nbut must follow, the fortune of your country. But hereafter they may\nbe of some use to you, in some future form which your commonwealth\nmay take. In the present it can hardly remain; but before its final\nsettlement, it may be obliged to pass, as one of our poets says,\n'through great varieties of untried being,' and in all its\ntransmigrations to be purified by fire and blood.\"\n\nHe felt in the midst of his hate that what he took for seething chaos,\nmight after all be the struggle upwards of the germs of order. Among\nthe later words that he wrote on the Revolution were these:--\"If a\ngreat change is to be made in human affairs, the minds of men will be\nfitted to it; the general opinions and feelings will draw that way.\nEvery fear, every hope will forward it; and then they who persist in\nopposing this mighty current in human affairs, will appear rather to\nresist the decrees of Providence itself, than the mere designs of\nmen.\" We can only regret that these rays of the _mens divinior_ did\nnot shine with a more steadfast light; and that a spirit which, amid\nthe sharp press of manifold cares and distractions, had ever vibrated\nwith lofty sympathies, was not now more constant to its faith in the\nbeneficent powers and processes of the Unseen Time.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nBURKE AND HIS PARTY--PROGRESS OF THE REVOLUTION--IRELAND--LAST YEARS\n\n\nFor some months after the publication of the _Reflections_, Burke kept\nup the relations of an armed peace with his old political friends.\nThe impeachment went on, and in December (1790) there was a private\nmeeting on the business connected with it, between Pitt, Burke, Fox,\nand Dundas, at the house of the Speaker. It was described by one who\nknew, as most snug and amiable, and there seems to have been a general\nimpression in the world at this moment that Fox might by some means be\ninduced to join Pitt. What troubled the slumbers of good Whigs like\nGilbert Elliot, was the prospect of Fox committing himself too\nstrongly on French affairs. Burke himself was in the deepest dejection\nat the prospect; for Fox did not cease to express the most unqualified\ndisapproval of the _Reflections_; he thought that, even in point of\ncomposition, it was the worst thing that Burke had ever published. It\nwas already feared that his friendship for Sheridan was drawing him\nfarther away from Burke, with whom Sheridan had quarrelled, into a\ncourse of politics that would both damage his own reputation and break\nup the strong union of which the Duke of Portland was the nominal\nhead.\n\nNew floods in France had not yet carried back the ship of state into\nraging waters. Pitt was thinking so little of danger from that country\nthat he had plunged into a policy of intervention in the affairs of\nEastern Europe. When writers charge Burke with breaking violently in\nupon Pitt's system of peace abroad and reform at home, they overlook\nthe fact that before Burke had begun to preach his crusade against\nthe Jacobins, Pitt had already prepared a war with Russia. The nation\nrefused to follow. They agreed with Fox that it was no concern of\ntheirs whether or not Russia took from Turkey the country between the\nBoug and Dniester; they felt that British interests would be more\ndamaged by the expenses of a war than by the acquisition by Russia of\nOckzakow. Pitt was obliged to throw up the scheme, and to extricate\nhimself as well as he could from rash engagements with Prussia. It was\non account of his services to the cause of peace on this occasion that\nCatherine ordered the Russian ambassador to send her a bust of Fox in\nwhite marble, to be placed in her colonnade between Demosthenes and\nCicero. We may take it for granted that after the Revolution rose to\nits full height the bust of Fox accompanied that of Voltaire down to\nthe cellar of the Hermitage.\n\nWhile the affair of the Russian armament was still occupying the\nminister, an event of signal importance happened in the ranks of his\npolitical adversaries. The alliance which had lasted between Burke\nand Fox for five and twenty years came to a sudden end, and this rift\ngradually widened into a destructive breach throughout the party.\nThere is no parallel in our parliamentary history to the fatal scene.\nIn Ireland, indeed, only eight years before, Flood and Grattan, after\nfighting side by side for many years, had all at once sprung upon one\nanother in the Parliament House with the fury of vultures: Flood had\nscreamed to Grattan that he was a mendicant patriot, and Grattan had\ncalled Flood an ill-omened bird of night, with a sepulchral note, a\ncadaverous aspect, and a broken beak. The Irish, like the French,\nhave the art of making things dramatic, and Burke was the greatest of\nIrishmen. On the opening of the session of 1791, the Government had\nintroduced a bill for the better government of Canada. It introduced\nquestions about church establishments and hereditary legislators. In\ndiscussing these Fox made some references to France. It was impossible\nto refer to France without touching the _Reflections on the French\nRevolution_. Burke was not present, but he heard what Fox had said,\nand before long Fox again introduced French affairs in a debate on the\nRussian armament. Burke rose in violent heat of mind to reply, but the\nHouse would not hear him. He resolved to speak when the time came for\nthe Canada Bill to be recommitted. Meanwhile some of his friends did\nall that they could to dissuade him from pressing the matter farther.\nEven the Prince of Wales is said to have written him a letter. There\nwere many signs of the rupture that was so soon to come in the Whig\nranks. Men so equally devoted to the common cause as Windham\nand Elliot nearly came to a quarrel at a dinner-party at Lord\nMalmesbury's, on the subject of Burke's design to speak; and Windham,\nwho for the present sided with Fox, enters in his diary that he was\nglad to escape from the room without speaking to the man whom, since\nthe death of Dr. Johnson, he revered before all other men besides.\n\nOn the day apointed for the Canada Bill, Fox called at Burke's house,\nand after some talk on Burke's intention to speak, and on other\nmatters, they walked down to Westminster and entered the House\ntogether, as they had so many a time done before, but were never to do\nagain. They found that the debate had been adjourned, and it was not\nuntil May 6th that Burke had an opportunity of explaining himself on\nthe Revolution in France. He had no sooner risen than interruptions\nbroke out from his own side, and a scene of great disorder followed.\nBurke was incensed beyond endurance by this treatment, for even Fox\nand Windham had taken part in the tumult against him. With much\nbitterness he commented on Fox's previous eulogies of the Revolution,\nand finally there came the fatal words of severance. \"It is\nindiscreet,\" he said, \"at any period, but especially at my time of\nlife, to provoke enemies, or give my friends occasion to desert me.\nYet if my firm and steady adherence to the British Constitution place\nme in such a dilemma, I am ready to risk it, and with, my last words\nto exclaim, 'Fly from the French Constitution.'\" Fox at this point\neagerly called to him that there was no loss of friends. \"Yes, yes,\"\ncried Burke, \"there is a loss of friends. I know the price of my\nconduct. I have done my duty at the price of my friend. Our friendship\nis at an end.\"\n\nThe members who sat on the same side were aghast at proceedings which\nwent beyond their worst apprehensions. Even the ministerialists were\nshocked. Pitt agreed much more with Fox than with Burke, but he would\nhave been more than human if he had not watched with complacency his\ntwo most formidable adversaries turning their swords against one\nanother. Wilberforce, who was more disinterested, lamented the\nspectacle as shameful. In the galleries there was hardly a dry eye.\nFox, as might have been expected from his warm and generous nature,\nwas deeply moved, and is described as weeping even to sobbing. He\nrepeated his former acknowledgment of his debt to Burke, and he\nrepeated his former expression of faith in the blessings which the\nabolition of royal despotism would bring to France. With unabated\nvehemence Burke again rose to denounce the French Constitution--\"a\nbuilding composed of untempered mortar--the work of Goths and Vandals,\nwhere everything was disjointed and inverted.\" After a short rejoinder\nfrom Fox the scene came to a close, and the once friendly intercourse\nbetween the two heroes was at an end. When they met in the Managers'\nbox in Westminster Hall on the business of Hastings's trial, they met\nwith the formalities of strangers. There is a story that when Burke\nleft the House on the night of the quarrel it was raining, and Mr.\nCurwen, a member of the Opposition, took him home in his carriage.\nBurke at once began to declaim against the French. Curwen dropped\nsome remark on the other side. \"What!\" Burke cried out, grasping the\ncheck-string, \"are you one of these people! Set me down!\" It needed\nall Curwen's force to keep him where he was; and when they reached his\nhouse Burke stepped out without saying a single word.\n\nWe may agree that all this did not indicate the perfect sobriety and\nself-control proper to a statesman, in what was a serious crisis both\nto his party and to Europe. It was about this time that Burke said to\nAddington, who was then Speaker of the House of Commons, that he was\nnot well. \"I eat too much, Speaker,\" he said, \"I drink too much, and I\nsleep too little.\" It is even said that he felt the final breach with\nFox as a relief from unendurable suspense; and he quoted the lines\nabout Aeneas, after he had finally resolved to quit Dido and the\nCarthaginian shore, at last being able to snatch slumber in his ship's\ntall stern. There can be no doubt how severe had been the tension.\nYet the performance to which Burke now applied himself is one of\nthe gravest and most reasonable of all his compositions. He felt it\nnecessary to vindicate the fundamental consistency between his present\nand his past. We have no difficulty in imagining the abuse to which\nhe was exposed from those whose abuse gave him pain. In a country\ngoverned by party, a politician who quits the allies of a lifetime\nmust expect to pay the penalty. The Whig papers told him that he was\nexpected to surrender his seat in Parliament. They imputed to him\nall sorts of sinister motives. His name was introduced into ironical\ntoasts. For a whole year there was scarcely a member of his former\nparty who did not stand aloof from him. Windham, when the feeling was\nat its height, sent word to a host that he would rather not meet Burke\nat dinner. Dr. Parr, though he thought Mr. Burke the greatest man upon\nearth, declared himself most indignantly and most fixedly on the side\nof Mr. Sheridan and Mr. Fox. The Duke of Portland, though always\ndescribed as strongly and fondly attached to him, and Gilbert Elliot,\nwho thought that Burke was right in his views on the Revolution,\nand right in expressing them, still could not forgive the open\ncatastrophe, and for many months all the old habits of intimacy among\nthem were entirely broken off.\n\nBurke did not bend to the storm. He went down to Margate, and there\nfinished the _Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs_. Meanwhile he\ndespatched his son to Coblenz to give advice to the royalist exiles,\nwho were then mainly in the hands of Calonne, one of the very worst\nof the ministers whom Louis XVI. had tried between his dismissal of\nTurgot in 1774, and the meeting of the States-General in 1789. This\nmeasure was taken at the request of Calonne, who had visited Burke at\nMargate. The English Government did not disapprove of it, though they\nnaturally declined to invest either young Burke or any one else with\nauthority from themselves. As little came of the mission as might have\nbeen expected from the frivolous, unmanly, and enraged spirit of those\nto whom it was addressed.\n\nIn August (1791), while Richard Burke was at Coblenz, the _Appeal_ was\npublished. This was the last piece that Burke wrote on the Revolution,\nin which there is any pretence of measure, sobriety, and calm judgment\nin face of a formidable and perplexing crisis. Henceforth it is not\npolitical philosophy, but the minatory exhortation of a prophet.\nWe deal no longer with principles and ideas, but with a partisan\ndenunciation of particular acts, and a partisan incitement to a given\npractical policy. We may appreciate the policy as we choose, but our\nappreciation of Burke as a thinker and a contributor to political\nwisdom is at an end. He is now only Demosthenes thundering against\nPhilip, or Cicero shrieking against Mark Antony.\n\nThe _Reflections_ had not been published many months before Burke\nwrote the _Letter to a Member of the National Assembly_ (January\n1791), in which strong disapproval had grown into furious hatred. In\ncontains the elaborate diatribe against Rousseau, the grave panegyric\non Cromwell for choosing Hale to be Chief Justice, and a sound\ncriticism on the laxity and want of foresight in the manner in which\nthe States-General had been convened. Here first Burke advanced to the\nposition that it might be the duty of other nations to interfere\nto restore the king to his rightful authority, just as England and\nPrussia had interfered to save Holland from confusion, as they had\ninterfered to preserve the hereditary constitution in the Austrian\nNetherlands, and as Prussia had interfered to snatch even the\nmalignant and the turban'd Turk from the pounce of the Russian eagle.\nWas not the King of France as much an object of policy and compassion\nas the Grand Seignior? As this was the first piece in which Burke\nhinted at a crusade, so it was the first in which he began to heap\nupon the heads, not of H\u00e9bert, Fouquier-Tinville, Billaud, nor even of\nRobespierre or Danton--for none of these had yet been heard of--but of\nable and conscientious men in the Constituent Assembly, language of a\nvirulence which Fox once said seriously that Burke had picked, even to\nthe phrases of it, out of the writings of Salmasius against Milton,\nbut which is really only to be paralleled by the much worse language\nof Milton against Salmasius. It was in truth exactly the kind of\nincensed speech which, at a later date, the factions in Paris levelled\nagainst one another, when Girondins screamed for the heads of\nJacobins, and Robespierre denounced Danton, and Tallien cried for the\nblood of Robespierre.\n\nBurke declined most wisely to suggest any plan for the National\nAssembly. \"Permit me to say,\"--this is in the letter of January 1791,\nto a member of the Assembly,--\"that if I were as confident as I ought\nto be diffident in my own loose general ideas, I never should venture\nto broach them, if but at twenty leagues' distance from the centre of\nyour affairs. I must see with my own eyes; I must in a manner touch\nwith my own hands, not only the fixed, but momentary circumstances,\nbefore I could venture to suggest any political project whatsoever.\nI must know the power and disposition to accept, to execute, to\npersevere. I must see all the aids and all the obstacles. I must see\nthe means of correcting the plan, where correctives would be wanted.\nI must see the things: I must see the men. Without a concurrence and\nadaptation of these to the design, the very best speculative projects\nmight become not only useless but mischievous. Plans must be made for\nmen. People at a distance must judge ill of men. They do not\nalways answer to their reputation when you approach them. Nay, the\nperspective varies, and shows them quite other than you thought them.\nAt a distance, if we judge uncertainly of men, we must judge worse of\n_opportunities_, which continually vary their shapes and colours,\nand pass away like clouds.\" Our admiration at such words is quickly\nstifled when we recall the confident, unsparing, immoderate criticism\nwhich both preceded and followed this truly rational exposition of the\ndanger of advising, in cases where we know neither the men nor the\nopportunities. Why was savage and unfaltering denunciation any less\nunbecoming than, as he admits, crude prescriptions would have been\nunbecoming?\n\nBy the end of 1791, when he wrote the _Thoughts on French Affairs_,\nhe had penetrated still farther into the essential character of the\nRevolution. Any notion of a reform to be effected after the decorous\npattern of 1688, so conspicuous in the first great manifesto, had\nwholly disappeared. The changes in France he allowed to bear little\nresemblance or analogy to any of those which had been previously\nbrought about in Europe. It is a revolution, he said, of doctrine and\ntheoretic dogma. The Reformation was the last revolution of this sort\nwhich had happened in Europe; and he immediately goes on to remark\na point of striking resemblance between them. The effect of the\nReformation was \"to introduce other interests into all countries than\nthose which arose from their locality and natural circumstances.\"\nIn like manner other sources of faction were now opened, combining\nparties among the inhabitants of different countries into a single\nconnection. From these sources, effects were likely to arise fully\nas important as those which had formerly arisen from the jarring\ninterests of the religious sects. It is a species of faction which\n\"breaks the locality of public affections.\"[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: De Tocqueville has unconsciously imitated Burke's very\nphrases. \"Toutes les r\u00e9volutions civiles et politiques ont eu une\npatrie, et s'y sont enferm\u00e9es. La R\u00e9volution. fran\u00e7aise ... on l'a vue\nrapprocher ou diviser les hommes en d\u00e9pit des lois, des traditions,\ndes caract\u00e8res, de langue, rendant parfois ennemis des compatriotes,\net fr\u00e8res des \u00e9trangers; _ou plut\u00f4t elle a form\u00e9 audessus de toutes\nles nationalit\u00e9s particuli\u00e8res, une patrie intellectuelle commune dont\nles hommes de toutes les nations ont pu devenir citoyens_.\"--Ancien\nR\u00e9gime, p. 15.]\n\nHe was thus launched on the full tide of his policy. The French\nRevolution must be hemmed in by a cordon of fire. Those who\nsympathised with it in England must be gagged, and if gagging did not\nsuffice, they must be taught respect for the constitution in dungeons\nand on the gallows. His cry for war abroad and harsh coercion at home\nwaxed louder every day. As Fox said, it was lucky that Burke took the\nroyal side in the Revolution, for his violence would certainly have\ngot him hanged if he had happened to take the other side.\n\nIt was in the early summer of 1792 that Miss Burney again met Burke\nat Mrs. Crewe's villa at Hampstead. He entered into an animated\nconversation on Lord Macartney and the Chinese expedition, reviving\nall the old enthusiasm of his companion by his allusions and\nanecdotes, his brilliant fancies and wide information. When politics\nwere introduced, he spoke with an eagerness and a vehemence that\ninstantly banished the graces, though it redoubled the energies of his\ndiscourse. \"How I wish,\" Miss Burney writes, \"that you could meet this\nwonderful man when he is easy, happy, and with people he cordially\nlikes! But politics, even on his own side, must always be excluded;\nhis irritability is so terrible on that theme, that it gives\nimmediately to his face _the expression of a man who is going to\ndefend himself from murderers_.\"\n\nBurke still remained without a following, but the ranks of his old\nallies gradually began to show signs of wavering. His panic about the\nJacobins within the gates slowly spread. His old faith, about which he\nhad once talked so much, in the ancient rustic, manly, home-bred sense\nof the English people, he dismissed as if it had been some idle dream\nthat had come to him through the ivory gate. His fine comparison of\nthe nation to a majestic herd, browsing in peace amid the importunate\nchirrupings of a thousand crickets, became so little appropriate, that\nhe was now beside himself with apprehension that the crickets were\nabout to rend the oxen in pieces. Even then, the herd stood tranquilly\nin their pastures, only occasionally turning a dull eye, now to\nFrance, and now to Burke. In the autumn of 1791 Burke dined with\nPitt and Lord Grenville, and he found them resolute for an honest\nneutrality in the affairs of France, and \"quite out of all\napprehensions of any effect from the French Revolution in this\nkingdom, either at present or any time to come.\" Francis and Sheridan,\nit is true, spoke as if they almost wished for a domestic convulsion;\nand cool observers who saw him daily, even accused Sheridan of wishing\nto stir up the lower ranks of the people by the hope of plundering\ntheir betters. But men who afterwards became alarmists, are found,\nso late as the spring of 1792, declaring in their most confidential\ncorrespondence that the party of confusion made no way with the\ncountry, and produced no effect. Horne Tooke was its most conspicuous\nchief, and nobody pretended to fear the subversion of the realm by\nHorne Tooke. Yet Burke, in letters where he admits that the democratic\nparty is entirely discountenanced, and that the Jacobin faction in\nEngland is under a heavy cloud, was so possessed by the spectre of\npanic, as to declare that the Duke of Brunswick was as much fighting\nthe battle of the crown of England, as the Duke of Cumberland fought\nthat battle at Culloden.\n\nTime and events, meanwhile, had been powerfully telling for Burke.\nWhile he was writing his _Appeal_, the French king and queen had\ndestroyed whatever confidence sanguine dreamers might have had in\ntheir loyalty to the new order of things, by attempting to escape over\nthe frontier. They were brought back, and a manful attempt was made\nto get the new constitution to work, in the winter of 1791-92. It was\nsoon found out that Mirabeau had been right when he said that for a\nmonarchy it was too democratic, and for a republic there was a king\ntoo much. This was Burke's _Reflections_ in a nutshell. But it was\nforeign intervention that finally ruined the king, and destroyed\nthe hope of an orderly issue. Frederick the Great had set the first\nexample of what some call iniquity and violence in Europe, and others\nin milder terms call a readjustment of the equilibrium of nations. He\nhad taken Silesia from the house of Austria, and he had shared in\nthe first partition of Poland. Catherine II. had followed him at the\nexpense of Poland, Sweden, and Turkey. However we may view these\ntransactions, and whether we describe them by the stern words of the\nmoralist, or the more deprecatory words of the diplomatist, they are\nthe first sources of that storm of lawless rapine which swept\nover every part of Europe for five and twenty years to come. The\nintervention of Austria and Prussia in the affairs of France was\noriginally less a deliberate design for the benefit of the old order,\nthan an interlude in the intrigues of Eastern Europe. But the first\neffect of intervention on behalf of the French monarchy was to bring\nit in a few weeks to the ground.\n\nIn the spring of 1792 France replied to the preparations of Austria\nand Prussia for invasion by a declaration of war. It was inevitable\nthat the French people should associate the court with the foreign\nenemy that was coming to its deliverance. Everybody knew as well then\nas we know it now that the queen was as bitterly incensed against the\nnew order of things, and as resolutely unfaithful to it, as the most\nfurious emigrant on the Rhine. Even Burke himself, writing to his son\nat Coblenz, was constrained to talk about Marie Antoinette as that\n\"most unfortunate woman, who was not to be cured of the spirit of\ncourt intrigue even by a prison.\" The king may have been loyally\nresigned to his position, but resignation will not defend a country\nfrom the invader; and the nation distrusted a chief who only a few\nmonths before had been arrested in full flight to join the national\nenemy. Power naturally fell into the hands of the men of conviction,\nenergy, passion, and resource. Patriotism and republicanism became\nsynonymous, and the constitution against which Burke had prophesied\nwas henceforth a dead letter. The spirit of insurrection that had\nslumbered since the fall of the Bastille and the march to Versailles\nin 1789, now awoke in formidable violence, and after the preliminary\nrehearsal of what is known in the revolutionary calendar as the\n20th of June (1792), the people of Paris responded to the Duke of\nBrunswick's insensate manifesto by the more memorable day of the 10th\nof August. Brunswick, accepting the hateful language which the French\nemigrants put into his mouth, had declared that every member of the\nnational guard taken with arms in his hands would be immediately put\nto death; that every inhabitant who should dare to defend himself\nwould be put to death and his house burnt to the ground; and that if\nthe least insult was offered to the royal family, then their Austrian\nand Prussian majesties would deliver Paris to military execution and\ntotal destruction. This is the vindictive ferocity which only civil\nwar can kindle. To convince men that the manifesto was not an empty\nthreat, on the day of its publication a force of nearly 140,000\nAustrians, Prussians, and Hessians entered France. The sections of\nParis replied by marching to the Tuileries, and after a furious\nconflict with the Swiss guards, they stormed the chateau. The king and\nhis family had fled to the National Assembly. The same evening they\nwere thrown into prison, whence the king and queen only came out on\ntheir way to the scaffold.\n\nIt was the king's execution in January 1793 that finally raised\nfeeling in England to the intense heat which Burke had for so long\nbeen craving. The evening on which the courier brought the news\nwas never forgotten by those who were in London at the time. The\nplayhouses were instantly closed, and the audiences insisted on\nretiring with half the amusement for which they had paid. People of\nthe lowest and the highest rank alike put on mourning. The French were\nuniversally denounced as fiends upon earth. It was hardly safe for a\nFrenchman to appear in the streets of London. Placards were posted on\nevery wall, calling for war, and the crowds who gathered round them\nread them with loud hurrahs.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt would be a great mistake to say that Pitt ever lost his head, but\nhe lost his feet. The momentary passion of the nation forced him out\nof the pacific path in which he would have chosen to stay. Burke\nhad become the greatest power in the country, and was in closer\ncommunication with the ministers than any one out of office. He went\nonce about this time with Windham and Elliot to inform Pitt as to the\nuneasiness of the public about the slackness of our naval and military\npreparation. \"Burke,\" says one of the party, \"gave Pitt a little\npolitical instruction in a very respectful and cordial way, but with\nthe authority of an old and most informed statesman; and although\nnobody ever takes the whole of Burke's advice, yet he often, or always\nrather, furnishes very important and useful matter, some part of which\nsticks and does good. Pitt took it all very patiently and cordially.\"\n\nIt was in the December of 1792 that Burke had enacted that famous bit\nof melodrama out of place known as the Dagger Scene. The Government\nhad brought in an Alien Bill, imposing certain pains and restrictions\non foreigners coming to this country. Fox denounced it as a concession\nto foolish alarms, and was followed by Burke, who began to storm as\nusual against murderous atheists. Then without due preparation he\nbegan to fumble in his bosom, suddenly drew out a dagger, and with an\nextravagant gesture threw it on the floor of the House, crying that\nthis was what they had to expect from their alliance with France. The\nstroke missed its mark, and there was a general inclination to titter,\nuntil Burke, collecting himself for an effort, called upon them with a\nvehemence to which his listeners could not choose but respond, to keep\nFrench principles from their heads, and French daggers from their\nhearts; to preserve all their blandishments in life, and all their\nconsolations in death; all the blessings of time, and all the hopes of\neternity. All this was not prepared long beforehand, for it seems that\nthe dagger had only been shown to Burke on his way to the House as one\nthat had been sent to Birmingham to be a pattern for a large order.\nWhether prepared or unprepared, the scene was one from which we gladly\navert our eyes.\n\nNegotiations had been going on for some months, and they continued in\nvarious stages for some months longer, for a coalition between the two\ngreat parties of the State. Burke was persistently anxious that Fox\nshould join Pitt's Government. Pitt always admitted the importance\nof Fox's abilities in the difficult affairs which lay before the\nministry, and declared that he had no sort of personal animosity to\nFox, but rather a personal good-will and good-liking. Fox himself said\nof a coalition, \"It is so damned right, to be sure, that I cannot help\nthinking it must be.\" But the difficulties were insuperable. The\nmore rapidly the Government drifted in Burke's direction, the more\nimpossible was it for a man of Fox's political sympathies and\nconvictions to have any dealings with a cabinet committed to a policy\nof irrational panic, to be carried out by a costly war abroad and\ncruel repression at home. \"_What a very wretched man!_\" was Burke's\nangry exclamation one day, when it became certain that Fox meant to\nstand by the old flag of freedom and generous common sense.\n\nWhen the coalition at length took place (1794), the only man who\ncarried Burke's principles to their fullest extent into Pitt's cabinet\nwas Windham. It is impossible not to feel the attraction of Windham's\ncharacter, his amiability, his reverence for great and virtuous men,\nhis passion for knowledge, the versatility of his interests. He is a\nstriking example of the fact that literature was a common pursuit\nand occupation to the chief statesmen of that time (always excepting\nPitt), to an extent that has been gradually tending to become rarer.\nWindham, in the midst of his devotion to public affairs, to the\nbusiness of his country, and, let us add, a zealous attendance on\nevery prize fight within reach, was never happy unless he was working\nup points in literature and mathematics. There was a literary and\nclassical spirit abroad, and in spite of the furious preoccupations of\nfaction, a certain ready disengagement of mind prevailed. If Windham\nand Fox began to talk of horses, they seemed to fall naturally into\nwhat had been said about horses by the old writers. Fox held that long\nears were a merit, and Windham met him by the authority of Xenophon\nand Oppian in favour of short ones, and finally they went off into\nwhat it was that Virgil meant when he called a horse's head _argutum\ncaput_. Burke and Windham travelled in Scotland together in 1785, and\ntheir conversation fell as often on old books as on Hastings or on\nPitt. They discussed Virgil's similes; Johnson and L'Estrange, as the\nextremes of English style; what Stephens and A. Gellius had to say\nabout Cicero's use of the word _gratiosus_. If they came to libraries,\nWindham ran into them with eagerness, and very strongly enjoyed\nall \"the _feel_ that a library usually excites.\" He is constantly\nreproaching himself with a remissness, which was purely imaginary, in\nkeeping up his mathematics, his Greek tragedies, his Latin historians.\nThere is no more curious example of the remorse of a book-man impeded\nby affairs. \"What progress might men make in the several parts of\nknowledge,\" he says very truly, in one of these moods, \"if they could\nonly pursue them with the same eagerness and assiduity as are exerted\nby lawyers in the conduct of a suit.\" But this distraction between the\ntastes of the book-man and the pursuits of public business, united\nwith a certain quality of his constitution to produce one great defect\nin his character, and it was the worst defect that a statesman can\nhave. He became the most irresolute and vacillating of men. He wastes\nthe first half of a day in deciding which of two courses to take, and\nthe second half in blaming himself for not having taken the other. He\nis constantly late at entertainments, because he cannot make up his\nmind in proper time whether to go or to stay at home; hesitation\nwhether he shall read in the red room or in the library, loses him\nthree of the best hours of a morning; the difficulty of early rising\nhe finds to consist less in rising early than in satisfying himself\nthat the practice is wholesome; his mind is torn for a whole forenoon\nin an absurd contest with himself, whether he ought to indulge a\nstrong wish to exercise his horse before dinner. Every page of his\ndiary is a register of the symptoms of this unhappy disease. When the\nRevolution came, he was absolutely forced, by the iron necessity of\nthe case, after certain perturbations, to go either with Fox or with\nBurke. Under this compulsion he took one headlong plunge into the\npolicy of alarm. Everybody knows how desperately an habitually\nirresolute man is capable of clinging to a policy or a conviction, to\nwhich he has once been driven by dire stress of circumstance. Windham\nhaving at last made up his mind to be frightened by the Revolution,\nwas more violently and inconsolably frightened than anybody else.\n\nPitt, after he had been forced into war, at least intended it to be\na war on the good old-fashioned principles of seizing the enemy's\ncolonies and keeping them. He was taunted by the alarmists with caring\nonly for sugar islands, and making himself master of all the islands\nin the world except Great Britain and Ireland. To Burke all this was\nan abomination, and Windham followed Burke to the letter. He even\ndeclared the holy rage of the _Third Letter on a Regicide Peace_,\npublished after Burke's death, to contain the purest wisdom and the\nmost unanswerable policy. It was through Windham's eloquence and\nperseverance that the monstrous idea of a crusade, and all Burke's\nother violent and excited precepts, gained an effective place and\nhearing in the cabinet, in the royal closet, and in the House of\nCommons, long after Burke himself had left the scene.\n\nWe have already seen how important an element Irish affairs became in\nthe war with America. The same spirit which had been stirred by\nthe American war was inevitably kindled in Ireland by the French\nRevolution. The association of United Irishmen now came into\nexistence, with aims avowedly revolutionary. They joined the party\nwhich was striving for the relief of the Catholics from certain\ndisabilities, and for their admission to the franchise. Burke had\nwatched all movements in his native country, from the Whiteboy\ninsurrection of 1761 downwards, with steady vigilance, and he watched\nthe new movement of 1792 with the keenest eyes. It made him profoundly\nuneasy. He could not endure the thought of ever so momentary and\nindirect an association with a revolutionary party, either in Ireland\nor any other quarter of the globe, yet he was eager for a policy which\nshould reconcile the Irish. He was so for two reasons. One of them was\nhis political sense of the inexpediency of proscribing men by whole\nnations, and excluding from the franchise on the ground of religion a\npeople as numerous as the subjects of the King of Denmark or the King\nof Sardinia, equal to the population of the United Netherlands, and\nlarger than were to be found in all the states of Switzerland. His\nsecond reason was his sense of the urgency of facing trouble abroad\nwith a nation united and contented at home; of abolishing in the heart\nof the country that \"bank of discontent, every hour accumulating, upon\nwhich every description of seditious men may draw at pleasure.\"\n\nIn the beginning of 1792 Burke's son went to Dublin as the agent and\nadviser of the Catholic Committee, who at first listened to him with\nthe respect due to one in whom they expected to meet the qualities of\nhis father. They soon found out that he was utterly without either\ntact or judgment; that he was arrogant, impertinent, vain, and\nempty. Wolfe Tone declared him to be by far the most impudent and\nopinionative fellow that he had ever known in his life. Nothing could\nexceed the absurdity of his conduct, and on one occasion he had a very\nnarrow escape of being taken into custody by the Serjeant-at-arms, for\nrushing down from the gallery into the Irish House of Commons, and\nattempting to make a speech in defence of a petition which he had\ndrawn up, and which was being attacked by a member in his place.\nRichard Burke went home, it is said, with two thousand guineas in\nhis pocket, which the Catholics had cheerfully paid as the price of\ngetting rid of him. He returned shortly after, but only helped to\nplunge the business into further confusion, and finally left the scene\ncovered with odium and discredit. His father's _Letter to Sir Hercules\nLangrishe_ (1792) remains an admirable monument of wise statesmanship,\na singular interlude of calm and solid reasoning in the midst of a\nfiery whirlwind of intense passion. Burke perhaps felt that the state\nof Ireland was passing away from the sphere of calm and solid reason,\nwhen he knew that Dumouriez's victory over the allies at Valmy, which\nfilled Beaconsfield with such gloom and dismay, was celebrated at\nDublin by an illumination.\n\nBurke, who was now in his sixty-fourth year, had for some time\nannounced his intention of leaving the House of Commons as soon as he\nhad brought to an end the prosecution of Hastings. In 1794 the trial\ncame to a close; the thanks of the House were formally voted to the\nmanagers of the impeachment; and when the scene was over Burke applied\nfor the Chiltern Hundreds. Lord Fitzwilliam nominated Richard Burke\nfor the seat which his father had thus vacated at Malton. Pitt was\nthen making arrangements for the accession of the Portland Whigs\nto his Government, and it was natural, in connection with these\narrangements, to confer some favour on the man who had done more than\nanybody else to promote the new alliance. It was proposed to make\nBurke a peer under the style of Lord Beaconsfield,--a title in a later\nage whimsically borrowed for himself by a man of genius with a delight\nin irony. To the title it was proposed to attach a yearly income\nfor two or more lives. But the bolt of destiny was at this instant\nlaunched. Richard Burke, the adored centre of all his father's hopes\nand affections, was seized with illness and died (August 1794). We\ncannot look without tragic emotion on the pathos of the scene, which\nleft the remnant of the old man's days desolate and void. A Roman poet\nhas described in touching words the woe of the aged Nestor, as he\nbeheld the funeral pile of his son, too untimely slain--\n\n                               Oro parumper\n  Attendas quantum de legibus ipse queratur\n  Fatorum et nimio de stamine, quum videt acris\n  Antilochi barbam ardentem: quum quaerit ab omni\n  Quisquis adest socius, cur haec in tempora duret,\n  Quod facinus dignum tam longo admiserit aevo.\n\nBurke's grief finds a nobler expression. \"The storm has gone over me,\nand I lie like one of those old oaks which the late hurricane has\nscattered about me. I am stripped of all my honours; I am torn up by\nthe roots and lie prostrate on the earth.... I am alone. I have none\nto meet my enemies in the gate.... I live in an inverted order. They\nwho ought to have succeeded me have gone before me. They who should\nhave been to me as posterity are in the place of ancestors.\"\n\nBurke only lived three years after this desolating blow. The\narrangements for a peerage, as a matter of course, came to an end. But\nPitt was well aware of the serious embarrassments by which Burke was\nso pressed that he saw actual beggary very close at hand. The king,\ntoo,--who had once, by the way, granted a pension to Burke's detested\nRousseau, though Rousseau was too proud to draw it--seems to have\nbeen honourably interested in making a provision for Burke. What Pitt\noffered was an immediate grant of \u00a31200 a year from the Civil List for\nMrs. Burke's life, to be followed by a proposition to Parliament in a\nmessage from the king, to confer an annuity of greater value upon a\nstatesman who had served the country to his own loss for thirty years.\nAs a matter of fact, the grant, \u00a32500 a year in amount, much to\nBurke's chagrin, was never brought before Parliament, but was\nconferred directly by the Crown, as a charge on the four and a half\nper cent fund for two or more lives. It seems as if Pitt were afraid\nof challenging the opinion of Parliament; and the storm which the\npension raised out of doors, was a measure of the trouble which the\ndefence of it would have inflicted on the Government inside the House\nof Commons. According to the rumour of the time, Burke sold two of his\npensions upon lives for \u00a327,000, and there was left the third pension\nof \u00a31200. By and by, when the resentment of the Opposition was roused\nto the highest pitch by the infamous Treason and Sedition Bills of\n1795, the Duke of Bedford and Lord Lauderdale, seeking to accumulate\nevery possible complaint against the Government, assailed the grant\nto Burke, as made without the consent of Parliament, and as a violent\ncontradiction to the whole policy of the plan for economic reform. The\nattack, if not unjustifiable in itself, came from an unlucky quarter.\nA chief of the house of Bedford was the most unfit person in the\nworld to protest against grants by favour of the Crown, Burke was too\npractised a rhetorician not to see the opening, and his _Letter to a\nNoble Lord_ is the most splendid repartee in the English language.\n\nIt is not surprising that Burke's defence should have provoked\nrejoinder. A cloud of pamphlets followed the _Letter to a Noble\nLord_--some in doggerel verse, others in a magniloquent prose imitated\nfrom his own, others mere poisonous scurrility. The nearest approach\nto a just stroke that I can find, after turning over a pile of this\ntrash, is an expression of wonder that he, who was inconsolable for\nthe loss of a beloved son, should not have reflected how many tender\nparents had been made childless in the profusion of blood, of which\nhe himself had been the most relentless champion. Our disgust at the\npages of insult which were here levelled at a great man, is perhaps\nmoderated by the thought that Burke himself, who of all people ought\nto have known better, had held up to public scorn and obloquy men of\nsuch virtue, attainments, and real service to mankind as Richard Price\nand Joseph Priestley.\n\nIt was during these months that he composed the _Letters on a Regicide\nPeace_, though the third and fourth of them were not published until\nafter his death. There have been those to whom these compositions\nappeared to be Burke's masterpieces. In fact they are deplorable.\nThey contain passages of fine philosophy and of skilful and plausible\nreasoning, but such passages only make us wonder how they come to be\nwhere they are. The reader is in no humour for them. In splendour\nof rhetoric, in fine images, in sustention, in irony, they surpass\nanything that Burke ever wrote, but of the qualities and principles\nthat, far more than his rhetoric, have made Burke so admirable and so\ngreat--of justice, of firm grasp of fact, of a reasonable sense of the\nprobabilities of things--there are only traces enough to light up the\ngulfs of empty words, reckless phrases, and senseless vituperations,\nthat surge and boil around them.\n\nIt is with the same emotion of \"grief and shame\" with which Fox heard\nBurke argue against relief to Dissenters, that we hear him abusing the\ncourts of law because they did not convict Hardy and Horne Tooke. The\npages against divorce and civil marriage, even granting that they\npoint to the right judgment in these matters, express it with a\nvehemence that is irrational, and in the dialect, not of a statesman,\nbut of an enraged Capucin. The highly wrought passage in which Burke\ndescribes external aggrandisement as the original thought and the\nultimate aim of the earlier statesmen of the Revolution, is no better\nthan ingenious nonsense. The whole performance rests on a gross\nand inexcusable anachronism. There is a contemptuous refusal to\ndiscriminate between groups of men who were as different from one\nanother as Oliver Cromwell was different from James Nayler, and\nbetween periods which were as unlike in all their conditions as the\nAthens of the Thirty Tyrants was unlike Athens after Thrasybulus had\ndriven the Tyrants out. He assumes that the men, the policy, the\nmaxims of the French Government are the men, the policy, and the\nmaxims of the handful of obscure miscreants who had hacked priests and\nnobles to pieces at the doors of the prisons four years before. Carnot\nis to him merely \"that sanguinary tyrant,\" and the heroic Hoche\nbecomes \"that old practised assassin,\" while the Prince of Wales, by\nthe way, and the Duke of York are the hope and pride of nations.\nTo heap up that incessant iteration about thieves, murderers,\nhousebreakers, assassins, bandits, bravoes with their hands dripping\nwith blood and their maw gorged with property, desperate paramours,\nbombastical players, the refuse and rejected offal of strolling\ntheatres, bloody buffoons, bloody felons--all this was as unjust to\nhundreds of disinterested, honest, and patriotic men who were then\nearnestly striving to restore a true order and solid citizenship in\nFrance, as the foul-mouthed scurrility of an Irish Orangeman is unjust\nto millions of devout Catholics.\n\nBurke was the man who might have been expected before all others to\nknow that in every system of government, whatever may have been the\ncrimes of its origin, there is sure, by the bare necessity of things,\nto rise up a party or an individual, whom their political instinct\nwill force into resistance to the fatalities of anarchy. Man is too\nstrongly a political animal for it to be otherwise. It was so at each\nperiod and division in the Revolution. There was always a party of\norder, and by 1795, when Burke penned these reckless philippics, order\nwas only too easy in France. The Revolution had worn out the passion\nand moral enthusiasm of its first years, and all the best men of the\nrevolutionary time had been consumed in a flame of fire. When Burke\ntalked about this war being wholly unlike any war that ever was waged\nin Europe before, about its being a war for justice on the one side,\nand a fanatical bloody propagandism on the other, he shut his eyes to\nthe plain fact that the Directory had after all really sunk to the\nmoral level of Frederick and Catherine, or for that matter, of Louis\nthe Fourteenth himself. This war was only too like the other great\nwars of European history. The French Government had become political,\nexactly in the same sense in which Thugut and Metternich and Herzberg\nwere political. The French Republic in 1797 was neither more nor\nless aggressive, immoral, piratical, than the monarchies which had\npartitioned Poland, and had intended to redistribute the continent of\nEurope to suit their own ambitions. The Coalition began the game, but\nFrance proved too strong for them, and they had the worst of their\ngame. Jacobinism may have inspired the original fire which made her\narmies irresistible, but Jacobinism of that stamp had now gone out of\nfashion, and to denounce a peace with the Directory because the origin\nof their government was regicidal, was as childish as it would have\nbeen in Mazarin to decline a treaty of regicide peace with the Lord\nProtector.\n\nWhat makes the _Regicide Peace_ so repulsive is not that it recommends\nenergetic prosecution of the war, and not that it abounds in glaring\nfallacies in detail, but that it is in direct contradiction with that\nstrong, positive, rational, and sane method which had before uniformly\nmarked Burke's political philosophy. Here lay his inconsistency, not\nin abandoning democratic principles, for he had never held them, but\nin forgetting his own rules that nations act from adequate motives\nrelative to their interests, and not from metaphysical speculation;\nthat we cannot draw an indictment against a whole people; that there\nis a species of hostile justice which no asperity of war wholly\nextinguishes in the minds of a civilised people. \"Steady independent\nminds,\" he had once said, \"when they have an object of so serious a\nconcern to mankind as _government_ under their contemplation, will\ndisdain to assume the part of satirists and declaimers.\" Show the\nthing that you ask for, he cried during the American war, to be\nreason, show it to be common sense. We have a measure of the reason\nand common sense of Burke's attitude in the _Regicide Peace_, in\nthe language which it inspired in Windham and others, who denounced\nWilberforce for canting when he spoke of peace; who stigmatised Pitt\nas weak and a pander to national avarice for thinking of the cost\nof the war; and who actually charged the liverymen of London who\npetitioned for peace with open sedition.\n\nIt is a striking illustration of the versatility of Burke's moods\nthat immediately before sitting down to write the _Fourth Letter on a\nRegicide Peace_ he had composed one of the most lucid and accurately\nmeditated of all of his tracts, which, short as it is, contains ideas\non free trade which were only too far in advance of the opinion of his\ntime. In 1772 a Corn Bill had been introduced--it was passed in the\nfollowing year--of which Adam Smith said that it was like the laws of\nSolon, not the best in itself, but the best which the situation and\ntendency of the times would admit. In speaking upon this measure,\nBurke had laid down those sensible principles on the trade in corn,\nwhich he now in 1795 worked out in the _Thoughts and Details on\nScarcity_. Those who do not concern themselves with economics will\nperhaps be interested in the singular passage, vigorously objected\nto by Dugald Stewart, in which Burke sets up a genial defence of the\nconsumption of ardent spirits. It is interesting as an argument, and\nit is most characteristic of the author.\n\nThe curtain was now falling. All who saw him felt that Burke's life\nwas quickly drawing to a close. His son's death had struck the final\nblow. We could only wish that the years had brought to him what it\nought to be the fervent prayer of us all to find at the close of the\nlong struggle with ourselves and with circumstance,--a disposition to\nhappiness, a composed spirit to which time has made things clear, an\nunrebellious temper, and hopes undimmed for mankind. If this was not\nso, Burke at least busied himself to the end in great interests. His\ncharity to the unfortunate emigrants from France was diligent and\nunwearied. Among other solid services he established a school near\nBeaconsfield for sixty French boys, principally the orphans of\nQuiberon, and the children of other emigrants who had suffered in the\ncause. Almost the last glimpse that we have of Burke is in a record\nof a visit to Beaconsfield by the author of the _Vindiciae Gallicae_.\nMackintosh had written to Burke to express his admiration for his\ncharacter and genius, and recanting his old defence of the Revolution.\n\"Since that time,\" he said, \"a melancholy experience has undeceived me\non many subjects, in which I was then the dupe of my enthusiasm.\"\nWhen Mackintosh went to Beaconsfield (Christmas, 1796) he was as much\namazed as every one else with the exuberance of his host's mind in\nconversation. Even then Burke entered with cordial glee into the\nsports of children, rolling about with them on the carpet, and pouring\nout in his gambols the sublimest images, mixed with the most wretched\npuns. He said of Fox, with a deep sigh, \"He is made to be loved.\"\nThere was the irresistible outbreak against \"that putrid carcase, that\nmother of all evil--the French Revolution.\" It reminded him of the\naccursed things that crawled in and out of the mouth of the vile hag\nin Spenser's Cave of Error; and he repeated the nauseous stanza.\nMackintosh was to be the faithful knight of the romance, the\nbrightness of whose sword was to flash destruction on the filthy\nprogeny.\n\nIt was on the 9th of July 1797 that, in the sixty-eighth year of his\nage, preserving his faculties to the last moment, he expired. With\nmagnanimous tenderness Fox proposed that he should be buried among the\ngreat dead in Westminster Abbey; but Burke had left strict injunctions\nthat his funeral should be private, and he was laid in the little\nchurch at Beaconsfield. It was a terrible moment in the history of\nEngland and of Europe. An open mutiny had just been quelled in the\nfleet. There had been signs of disaffection in the army. In Ireland\nthe spirit of revolt was smouldering, and in a few months broke out\nin the fierce flames of a great rebellion. And it was the year of the\npolitical crime of Campo Formio, that sinister pacification in which\nviolence and fraud once more asserted their unveiled ascendancy in\nEurope. These sombre shadows were falling over the western world when\na life went out which, notwithstanding some grave aberrations, had\nmade great spaces in human destiny very luminous.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nBURKE'S LITERARY CHARACTER\n\n\nA story is told that in the time when Burke was still at peace with\nthe Dissenters, he visited Priestley, and after seeing his library\nand his laboratory, and hearing how his host's hours were given to\nexperiment and meditation, he exclaimed that such a life must make\nhim the happiest and most to be envied of men. It must sometimes have\noccurred to Burke to wonder whether he had made the right choice when\nhe locked away the fragments of his History, and plunged into the\ntorment of party and Parliament. But his interests and aptitudes were\ntoo strong and overmastering for him to have been right in doing\notherwise. Contact with affairs was an indispensable condition for\nthe full use of his great faculties, in spite of their being less\nfaculties of affairs than of speculation. Public life was the actual\nfield in which to test, and work out, and use with good effect the\nmoral ideas which were Burke's most sincere and genuine interests. And\nhe was able to bring these moral ideas into such effective use because\nhe was so entirely unfettered by the narrowing spirit of formula. No\nman, for instance, who thought in formulae would have written the\ncurious passage that I have already referred to, in which he eulogises\ngin, because \"under the pressure of the cares and sorrows of our\nmortal condition, men have at all times and in all countries called\nin some physical aid to their moral consolation.\" He valued words at\ntheir proper rate, that is to say, he knew that some of the greatest\nfacts in the life and character of man, and in the institutions of\nsociety, can find no description and no measurement in words. Public\nlife, as we can easily perceive, with its shibboleths, its exclusive\nparties, its measurement by conventional standards, its attention to\nsmall expediencies before the larger ones, is not a field where such\ncharacteristics are likely to make an instant effect.\n\nThough it is not wrong to say of Burke that as an orator he was\ntranscendent, yet in that immediate influence upon his hearers which\nis commonly supposed to be the mark of oratorical success, all the\nevidence is that Burke generally failed. We have seen how his speech\nagainst Hastings affected Miss Burney, and how the speech on the Nabob\nof Arcot's debts was judged by Pitt not to be worth answering. Perhaps\nthe greatest that he ever made was that on conciliation with America;\nthe wisest in its temper, the most closely logical in its reasoning,\nthe amplest in appropriate topics, the most generous and conciliatory\nin the substance of its appeals. Yet Erskine, who was in the House\nwhen this was delivered, said that it drove everybody away, including\npeople who, when they came to read it, read it over and over again,\nand could hardly think of anything else. As Moore says rather too\nfloridly, but with truth,--\"In vain did Burke's genius put forth\nits superb plumage, glittering all over with the hundred eyes of\nfancy--the gait of the bird was heavy and awkward, and its voice\nseemed rather to scare than attract.\" Burke's gestures were clumsy; he\nhad sonorous but harsh tones; he never lost a strong Irish accent;\nand his utterance was often hurried and eager. Apart from these\ndisadvantages of accident which have been overcome by men infinitely\ninferior to Burke, it is easy to perceive, from the matter and texture\nof the speeches that have become English classics, that the very\nqualities which are excellences in literature were drawbacks to the\nspoken discourses. A listener in Westminster Hall or the House of\nCommons, unlike the reader by his fireside in the next century, is\nalways thinking of arguments and facts that bear directly on the\nspecial issue before him. What he wishes to hear is some particularity\nof event or inference which will either help him to make up his mind,\nor will justify him if his mind is already made up. Burke never\nneglected these particularities, and he never went so wide as to\nfall for an instant into vagueness, but he went wide enough into the\ngeneralities that lent force and light to his view, to weary men who\ncared for nothing, and could not be expected to care for anything, but\nthe business actually in hand and the most expeditious way through it.\nThe contentiousness is not close enough and rapid enough to hold the\ninterest of a practical assembly, which, though it was a hundred times\nless busy than the House of Commons to-day, seems to have been eager\nin the inverse proportion of what it had to do, to get that little\nquickly done.\n\nThen we may doubt whether there is any instance of an orator throwing\nhis spell over a large audience, without frequent resort to the higher\nforms of commonplace. Two of the greatest speeches of Burke's time are\nsupposed to have been Grattan's on Tithes and Fox's on the Westminster\nScrutiny, and these were evidently full of the splendid commonplaces\nof the firstrate rhetorician. Burke's mind was not readily set to\nthese tunes. The emotion to which he commonly appealed was that\ntoo rare one, the love of wisdom; and he combined his thoughts and\nknowledge in propositions of wisdom so weighty and strong, that the\nminds of ordinary hearers were not on the instant prepared for them.\n\nIt is true that Burke's speeches were not without effect of an\nindirect kind, for there is good evidence that at the time when Lord\nNorth's ministry was tottering, Burke had risen to a position of the\nfirst eminence in Parliament. When Boswell said to him that people\nwould wonder how he could bring himself to take so much pains with his\nspeeches, knowing with certainty that not one vote would be gained by\nthem, Burke answered that it is very well worth while to take pains\nto speak well in Parliament; for if a man speaks well, he gradually\nestablishes a certain reputation and consequence in the general\nopinion; and though an Act that has been ably opposed becomes law, yet\nin its progress it is softened and modified to meet objections whose\nforce has never been acknowledged directly. \"Aye, sir,\" Johnson broke\nin, \"and there is a gratification of pride. Though we cannot outvote\nthem, we will out-argue them.\"\n\nOut-arguing is not perhaps the right word for most of Burke's\nperformances. He is at heart thinking more of the subject itself than\nof those on whom it was his apparent business to impress a particular\nview of it. He surrenders himself wholly to the matter, and follows\nup, though with a strong and close tread, all the excursions to which\nit may give rise in an elastic intelligence--\"motion,\" as De Quincey\nsays, \"propagating motion, and life throwing off life.\" But then this\nexuberant way of thinking, this willingness to let the subject lead,\nis less apt in public discourse than it is in literature, and from\nthis comes the literary quality of Burke's speeches.\n\nWith all his hatred for the book-man in politics, Burke owed much of\nhis own distinction to that generous richness and breadth of judgment\nwhich had been ripened in him by literature and his practice in it.\nLike some other men in our history, he showed that books are a better\npreparation for statesmanship than early training in the subordinate\nposts and among the permanent officials of a public department.\nThere is no copiousness of literary reference in his works, such\nas over-abounded in civil and ecclesiastical publicists of the\nseventeenth century. Nor can we truly say that there is much, though\nthere is certainly some, of that tact, which literature is alleged to\nconfer on those who approach it in a just spirit and with the true\ngift. The influence of literature on Burke lay partly in the direction\nof emancipation from the mechanical formulae of practical politics;\npartly in the association which it engendered, in a powerful\nunderstanding like his, between politics and the moral forces of the\nworld, and between political maxims and the old and great sentences of\nmorals; partly in drawing him, even when resting his case on prudence\nand expediency, to appeal to the widest and highest sympathies;\npartly, and more than all, in opening his thoughts to the many\nconditions, possibilities, and \"varieties of untried being\" in human\ncharacter and situation, and so giving an incomparable flexibility to\nhis methods of political approach.\n\nThis flexibility is not to be found in his manner and composition.\nThat derives its immense power from other sources; from passion,\nintensity, imagination, size, truth, cogency of logical reason. If any\none has imbued himself with that exacting love of delicacy, measure,\nand taste in expression, which was until our own day a sacred\ntradition of the French, then he will not like Burke. Those who insist\non charm, on winningness in style, on subtle harmonies and exquisite\nsuggestion, are disappointed in Burke; they even find him stiff and\nover-coloured. And there are blemishes of this kind. His banter is\nnearly always ungainly, his wit blunt, as Johnson said of it, and\nvery often unseasonable. We feel that Johnson must have been right in\ndeclaring that though Burke was always in search of pleasantries, he\nnever made a good joke in his life. As is usual with a man who has not\ntrue humour, Burke is also without true pathos. The thought of wrong\nor misery moved him less to pity for the victim than to anger against\nthe cause. Then, there are some gratuitous and unredeemed vulgarities;\nsome images whose barbarity makes us shudder, of creeping ascarides\nand inexpugnable tapeworms. But it is the mere foppery of literature\nto suffer ourselves to be long detained by specks like these.\n\nThe varieties of Burke's literary or rhetorical method are very\nstriking. It is almost incredible that the superb imaginative\namplification of the description of Hyder Ali's descent upon the\nCarnatic should be from the same pen as the grave, simple, unadorned\n_Address to the King_ (1777), where each sentence falls on the ear\nwith the accent of some golden-tongued oracle of the wise gods. His\nstride is the stride of a giant, from the sentimental beauty of the\npicture of Marie Antoinette at Versailles, or the red horror of the\ntale of Debi Sing in Rungpore, to the learning, positiveness, and cool\njudicial mastery of the _Report on the Lords' Journals_ (1794), which\nPhilip Francis, no mean judge, declared on the whole to be the \"most\neminent and extraordinary\" of all his productions. Even in the coolest\nand dryest of his pieces, there is the mark of greatness, of grasp, of\ncomprehension. In all its varieties Burke's style is noble, earnest,\ndeep-flowing, because his sentiment was lofty and fervid, and went\nwith sincerity and ardent disciplined travail of judgment. Fox told\nFrancis Horner that Dryden's prose was Burke's great favourite, and\nthat Burke imitated him more than any one else. We may well believe\nthat he was attracted by Dryden's ease, his copiousness, his gaiety,\nhis manliness of style, but there can hardly have been any conscious\nattempt at imitation. Their topics were too different. Burke had\nthe style of his subjects, the amplitude, the weightiness, the\nlaboriousness, the sense, the high flight, the grandeur, proper to a\nman dealing with imperial themes, the freedom of nations, the justice\nof rulers, the fortunes of great societies, the sacredness of law.\nBurke will always be read with delight and edification, because in\nthe midst of discussions on the local and the accidental, he scatters\napophthegms that take us into the regions of lasting wisdom. In\nthe midst of the torrent of his most strenuous and passionate\ndeliverances, he suddenly rises aloof from his immediate subject, and\nin all tranquillity reminds us of some permanent relation of things,\nsome enduring truth of human life or society. We do not hear the\norgan tones of Milton, for faith and freedom had other notes in the\nseventeenth century. There is none of the complacent and wise-browed\nsagacity of Bacon, for Burke's were days of eager personal strife\nand party fire and civil division. We are not exhilarated by the\ncheerfulness, the polish, the fine manners of Bolingbroke, for Burke\nhad an anxious conscience, and was earnest and intent that the good\nshould triumph. And yet Burke is among the greatest of those who have\nwrought marvels in the prose of our English tongue.\n\nThe influence of Burke on the publicists of the generation after the\nRevolution was much less considerable than might have been expected.\nIn Germany, where there has been so much excellent writing about\n_Staatswissenschaft_, with such poverty and darkness in the wisdom of\npractical politics, there is a long list of writers who have drawn\ntheir inspiration from Burke. In France, publicists of the sentimental\nschool, like Chateaubriand, and the politico-ecclesiastical school,\nlike De Maistre, fashioned a track of their own. In England Burke made\na deep mark on contemporary opinion during the last years of his life,\nand then his influence underwent a certain eclipse. The official Whigs\nconsidered him a renegade and a heresiarch, who had committed the\ndeadly sin of breaking up the party; and they never mentioned his\nname without bitterness. To men like Godwin, the author of _Political\nJustice_, Burke was as antichrist. Bentham and James Mill thought of\nhim as a declaimer who lived upon applause, and who, as one of them\nsays, was for protecting everything old, not because it was good\nbut because it existed. In one quarter only did he exert a profound\ninfluence. His maxim that men might employ their sagacity in\ndiscovering the latent wisdom which underlies general prejudices and\nold institutions, instead of exploding them, inspired Coleridge, as\nI have already said; and the Coleridgian school are Burke's direct\ndescendants, whenever they deal with the significance and the\nrelations of Church and State. But they connected these views so\nclosely with their views in metaphysics and theology, that the\nassociation with Burke was effectually disguised.\n\nThe only English writer of that age whom we can name along with\nBurke in the literature of enduring power, is Wordsworth, that great\nrepresentative in another and a higher field, and with many rare\nelements added that were all his own of those harmonising and\nconciliatory forces and ideas that make man's destiny easier to him,\nthrough piety in its oldest and best sense; through reverence for\nthe past, for duty, for institutions. He was born in the year of the\n_Present Discontents_ (1770), and when Burke wrote the _Reflections_,\nWordsworth was standing, with France \"on the top of golden hours,\"\nlistening with delight among the ruins of the Bastille, or on the\nbanks of the Loire, to \"the homeless sound of joy that was in the\nsky.\" When France lost faith and freedom, and Napoleon had built his\nthrone on their grave, he began to see those strong elements which for\nBurke had all his life been the true and fast foundation of the\nsocial world. Wide as is the difference between an oratorical and a\ndeclamatory mind like Burke's, and the least oratorical of all poets,\nyet under this difference of form and temper there is a striking\nlikeness in spirit. There was the same energetic feeling about moral\nideas, the same frame of counsel and prudence, the same love for the\nslowness of time, the same slight account held of mere intellectual\nknowledge, and even the same ruling sympathy with that side of the\ncharacter of Englishmen which Burke exulted in, as \"_their awe\nof kings and reverence for priests,\" \"their sullen resistance\nof innovation\" \"their unalterable perseverance in the wisdom of\nprejudice_.\"\n\nThe conservative movement in England ran on for many years in the\necclesiastical channel rather than among questions where Burke's\nwritings might have been brought to bear. On the political side\nthe most active minds, both in practice and theory, worked out the\nprinciples of liberalism, and they did so on a plan and by methods\nfrom which Burke's utilitarian liberalism and his historic\nconservatism were equally remote. There are many signs around us that\nthis epoch is for the moment at an end. The historic method, fitting\nin with certain dominant conceptions in the region of natural science,\nis bringing men round to a way of looking at society for which Burke's\nmaxims are exactly suited; and it seems probable that he will be more\nfrequently and more seriously referred to within the next twenty years\nthan he has been within the whole of the last eighty.\n\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_.","title":"Burke","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":65772}