This blank though important space in the life of Pitt himself seems favourable for picking up a few threads which had to be dropped in the narrative of his negotiations with Newcastle.

After the baiting to which Robinson had been subjected in the first days of the session he disappeared from debate; and Fox, then in close negotiation for a seat in the Cabinet, represented the Government in the Commons, and turned a deaf ear to the proposal that he should join Pitt in a combined attack on Newcastle. Fox's game, it will be seen, was not calculated to win the confidence of Pitt, to whom, however, during the session, he showed marked courtesy on the one hand, while negotiating with the Duke on the other.

The Lord Advocate had introduced a Bill continuing for a further period the provisions passed after the rising of 1745 which had temporarily placed the tenure of sheriff-deputyships at the King's pleasure instead of for life as before. This seems to have raised an animated debate, memorable to us as having produced two fine speeches from Pitt, which Horace Walpole alone mentions, and of which he gives a spirited sketch. It is only possible to give Walpole's record in his own words, as there is no other. Pitt spoke in answer to Murray (who, by-the-by, speaking in defence of the Bill, had said that there was not a single Jacobite left in Scotland) 'with great fire, in one of his best worded and most spirited declarations for liberty, but which, like others of his fine orations, cannot be delivered adequately without his own language; nor will they appear so cold to the reader, as they even do to myself, when I attempt to sketch them, and cannot forget with what soul and grace they were uttered. He did not directly oppose, but wished rather to send the Bill to the Committee, to see how it could be amended. He was glad that Murray would defend the King, only with a salve to the rights of the Revolution; he commended his abilities, but tortured him on his distinctions and refinements. He himself had more scruples; it might be a Whig delicacy—but even that is a solid principle. He had more dread of arbitrary power dressing itself in the long robe, than even of military power. When master principles are concerned, he dreaded accuracy of distinction: he feared that sort of reasoning: if you class everything, you will soon reduce everything into a particular; you will then lose great general maxims. Gentlemen may analyse a question till it is lost. If I can show him, says Murray, that it is not my Lord Judge, but Mr. Judge, I have got him into a class. For his part, could he be drawn to violate liberty, it should be regnandi causÂ, for this King's reigning. He would not recur for precedents to the diabolic divans of the second Charles and James; he did not date his principles of the liberty of this country from the Revolution; they are eternal rights; and when God said, "let justice be justice," He made it independent. The Act of Parliament that you are going to repeal is a proof of the importance of the Sheriffs-depute: formerly they were instruments of tyranny. Why is this attempted? is it to make Mr. Pelham more regretted? He would have been tender of cramming down the throats of the people what they are averse to swallow. Whig and Minister were conjuncts he always wished to see. He deprecated (sic) those, who had more weight than himself in the Administration, to drop this; or besought that they would take it for any term that may comprehend the King's life; for seven years, for fourteen, though he was not disposed to weigh things in such golden scales.' The reader must make of this what he will.

Fox said 'that he was undetermined, and would reserve himself for the Committee; that he only spoke now, to show it was not crammed down his throat; which was in no man's power to do. That in the Committee he would be free, which he feared Pitt had not left it in his own power to be, so well he had spoken on one side. That he reverenced liberty and Pitt, because nobody could speak so well on its behalf.'[292]

The Bill came up again a few days afterwards, and we find Pitt again attacking it, and Fox apparently evading a contest with him. We are once more thrown back on Walpole's account. 'Pitt talked on the harmony of the day, and wished that Fox had omitted anything that looked like levity on this great principle. That the Ministry giving up the durante benÈ placito was an instance of moderation. That two points of the Debate had affected him with sensible pleasure—the admission that judicature ought to be free, and the universal zeal to strengthen the King's hands. That liberty was the best loyalty; that giving extraordinary powers to the Crown was so many repeals of the Act of Settlement. Fox said shortly, that if he had honoured the fire of liberty, he now honoured the smoke.'[293]

These arguments are not easy to follow, so the only faithful course seems to be to give the actual record.

Meanwhile it is necessary for a moment to peer outside, and take note of the world so far, and only so far, as it affects the life of Pitt; for the clouds of war were gathering fast. The Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle was only an armed truce, the cupidities and resentments which it had checked for the moment were still active, though mute. With two such characters as Frederick and Maria Theresa matched against each other, it was evident that Silesia would never be surrendered or abandoned without another deadly struggle. Moreover, half unconsciously, the two secular rivals, France and Britain, were drifting into a contest for supremacy over half the globe, to settle the question as to which should become the first colonising power of the world. Hostilities in India and in North America were always smouldering, and the arrangements of Aix-la-Chapelle had not extended to either region. The treaty had in no way checked the desperate war carried on in India between the English and French Companies, between Clive and Dupleix. That was presently closed for the moment by a provisional treaty signed on the spot in January 1755. In America the scene was even more poignant. There without any declaration of war, in a formal and legal state of peace, hostilities were carried on, openly and yet treacherously, by incursions connived at by the French Government. And as if to add an additional horror to these sinister operations, they were accompanied by all the unspeakable barbarities of Indian warfare, the cold-blooded murder of men, women and children, rewards from the European governors for the scalps thus obtained, and by open cannibalism.[294] Christian missionaries were not ashamed to hound on these savages to murder, torture, and rapine; nay, their professed converts[295] were sometimes the keenest in butchery. For religious fanaticism imparted an ignorant zeal to the barbarous combatants, who were taught, it is said, that Christ was a Frenchman crucified by the English. The claim that the King of France was the eldest son of the Church was construed into a much more literal interpretation of divine origin.[296] There was in fact no element of atrocity wanting to this war, which was not a war; blasphemy, murder, outrage, arson, rape, torture were all employed under the pure white banner with its golden lilies. Parkman, the historian of these operations, does not record the like of the British. But this is not to affirm there were no reprisals. For war carried on in this fashion and by the employment of savages can scarcely be one-sided in its barbarities.

But apart from the perfidious ambitions of governments and the predatory lusts of savages, there could not be peace in America, nor in effect had there been since the settlement of Utrecht. Boundaries in that trackless continent were vague, and constantly overstepped. The proper limits of Nova Scotia, and the demarcation between Canada and New England, were subjects of acute controversy. Under such circumstances both parties plant outposts in disputed territories, and both attempt to dislodge each other. French officers headed exploring parties, annexing vast territories by the simple expedient of nailing to a tree-trunk a tin plate stamped with the arms of France, and burying at the root a leaden tablet recording that possession had thus been taken. But there were other operations much less bloodless and futile. One of these petty engagements survives in history because it marks the first appearance of Washington, compelled in 1754 to celebrate the Fourth of July by aJuly 4, 1754. surrender to the French, who had surrounded him in superior numbers; and because it was the commencement of open but not declared warfare between the British and the French. Both nations now determined to send out reinforcements. 'In a moment,' says Walpole, 'the Duke of Newcastle assumed the hero, and breathed nothing but military operations; he and the Chancellor held councils of war; none of the ministers except Lord Holderness were admitted inside their tent.' With some discount for Walpole's malicious pleasantry, the picture, humorous enough to us, must have filled men like Pitt with the darkest misgivings. Pitt, as we have seen, had once been accidentally admitted into the tent and taken into confidence. He must have left it with the feeling that the destinies of the Empire were in peril so long as Newcastle was at the helm. A giant conflict for the supremacy of the world was preparing, and Newcastle was in charge of Great Britain. It was enough to give the bravest patriot aJan. 1755. qualm. Nor were the military preparations less deplorable. Braddock was sent out at the new year with a plan of campaign prepared by Cumberland. Cumberland on Braddock was a combination which might make the stoutest heart in England quail. Cumberland, who had lost every battle but the one-sided affray of Culloden, was the brain to devise. Braddock, a brutal soldier of parade experience, whose only warfare had been in Hyde Park or Hounslow, was the hand to execute. Braddock took his troops through the American bush as if they were marching fromJuly 9, 1755. London to Windsor, and was annihilated ten miles from the French stronghold, Fort Duquesne, where now smokes toiling Pittsburg. British troops then first faced the most formidable of adversaries, an invisible foe. They advanced boldly, cheering and singing 'God save the King.' But they found that they were mere targets for a host of concealed sharpshooters. Behind every tree and rock there lurked a musket. At last they broke ranks and huddled into confusion. 'We would fight,' they answered their officers, 'if we could see anybody to fight with.' Some survivors declared that they had not seen a single Indian. Others were not so fortunate. Twelve unhappy persons were tortured and burned alive by the savage allies of the French. Braddock was mortally wounded, and died after a long silence, broken only by the one pathetic question, 'Who would have thought it?'[297] His papers fell into the hands of the French and swelled the indictment with which they declared war.[298] This evil news arrived in England at the end of August, and no doubt precipitated Newcastle's attempt to come to terms with Pitt.

Three months after the departure of Braddock, the French in alarm fitted out a fleet of reinforcement, which sailed at the end of April, just as George II. was leaving his kingdom for his electorate, amid the scarce veiled indignation of his British subjects. The moment was critical, the King was old, his heir was young, the French were making great warlike preparations, every circumstance pointed to the grave impropriety of the departure. But the King was obdurate to all remonstrance. Not only was Hanover his home, he was also anxious to negotiate treaties of subsidy for its protection; treaties which were more conveniently signed away from Great Britain; that country being only required to endorse them in order to furnish the necessary supplies.

When it was certain that the French fleet was destined for America, Admiral Boscawen was despatched with a squadron to intercept it. Boscawen had eleven ships of the line and one frigate, the French fleet consisted of eighteen ships, eight of which were lightly armed as transports. The two armaments came into collision at the mouth of the St. Lawrence on June 7. Three French ships came into conflict with three1755. British ships under Captain Howe. The French commander sent to ask 'Is it peace or war?' Lord Howe replied that he must ask his admiral, who replied 'War.' Thereupon Howe attacked and captured two of the enemy, but to the mortification of the British the bulk of the French fleet got safely into Louisbourg; then a Gibraltar, now a lonely pasture beaten by the surf.

During all this year attempts had been made by negotiation in London between Mirepoix, the French Ambassador, and Newcastle, to delimit the territories in dispute, but at the news of this conflict Mirepoix left London at once. Nevertheless the French behaved with signal placability, they even released the Blandford man-of-war, which they had captured; and there was at present no formal declaration of open hostility. For Louis XV. and his mistress did not desire war with Great Britain, nor were they ready for it. A council was held at CompiÈgne at which the opinion of Noailles prevailed. That was to suffer and endure, so as to attract the sympathy of all Europe against Britain; only to declare war when it was abundantly proved to be inevitable; then to limit the operations to the sea, and not to be lured into any warfare on the continent of Europe.[299] It was the Government of Newcastle that moved towards hostilities. Our Admiralty behaved with great but perhaps lawless vigour. It issued letters of marque, and before the end of the year 300 French merchant ships and 6000 French seamen had been captured.

War seemed now inevitable, although at earlier stages it might, we think, have been avoided without difficulty; and there began a general hunt for alliances, which soon developed into a complete reversal of former arrangements. Maria Theresa, thirsting for revenge, sought under the inspiration of Kaunitz a strict union with France and Russia. The tongue of Frederick, biting, uncontrolled, and especially venomous in dealing with the frailty of woman, did perhaps more than Austrian diplomacy to facilitate these arrangements; for the Empress Elizabeth and Madame de Pompadour were both stung to unrelenting animosity by Frederick's reckless ribaldry. Frederick, however, took the first step himself. While France was secretly carrying on negotiations with England, which continued to the end of 1755, and neglecting to renew her previous treaty with Prussia which expired in May 1756, Frederick signed with Great Britain in January 1756 the Treaty of Westminster, by which both parties guaranteed each other's possessions and bound themselves to take up arms against any Power which should invade Germany. This instrument had the indirect but grave effect of neutralising the King's treaty with Russia for the defence of Hanover, for it precluded any foreign Power from marching troops into Germany. The news of this agreement was received at Versailles with consternation and wrath. The French Court replied to it by the Treaty of Versailles (May 1, 1756), hurriedly concluded with Austria and extremely one-sided. France agreed to respect the Austrian Netherlands, from which she might have hoped for some compensation in case of success. Both parties agreed to guarantee each other's dominions, and a secret article, aimed at Prussia, made the compact more stringent. In August a treaty still more advantageous to Austria was concluded between the two Powers; but in this some frontier towns in the Austrian Netherlands, though not specified, were to be conceded to France, when Austria was once more in possession of Silesia and Glatz.[300]

It was believed in Europe that this counterbalancing treaty to that of Westminster ensured the peace of the Continent. But the world did not yet know Frederick. He was crouching for a spring. Two circumstances impelled him. He had become aware through a corrupt Saxon clerk of a correspondence between Austria and Saxony concerting a vast confederacy against him. The second was this. We have noticed the Russian and Hessian treaties of subsidy. That with Russia had been originally concluded with a view to operations against Frederick himself,[301] and to that purpose the Empress Elizabeth was determined that it should be confined. By a personal declaration[302] and by two resolutions of the Russian Senate[303] it was made clear that hostility to Frederick alone inspired the Russian share of the treaty. He saw the circle closing round him. Three outraged women were directing the forces of three Empires against him. He had nothing to rely upon but his own country, Britain, and himself. Cognizant of the plot against him, he determined to have the advantage of attack. Like a leopard he sprang upon Dresden. Before the Saxons had well realised that war was impending he was at the throat of the electorate, and had seized the capital, the army, and the compromising papers which justified his action. This was the beginning of the worldwide struggle known as the Seven Years' War, and it occurred in September 1756.

This is all that is necessary for our story, a mere glimpse of the intrigues and rancours which were lashing all Europe into storm. We must now return to the parliamentary arena.

On September 15, George II. deigned to return to his British dominions, and on November 13 he opened his Parliament. Two circumstances were considered noteworthy in connection with the formal occasion. Fox, as leader of the House, rehearsed the Speech from the Throne, as was then the custom, at the Cockpit; but the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Paymaster, and the Grenvilles were conspicuous by their absence. Fox, too, summoned his supporters by a note of the kind then, as now, customary, but in terms which gave offence to the susceptible independence of members; intimating that the King was about to make him Secretary of State, though not till after the first debate, 'which may be a warm one,' so that his seat might not be vacated until after the Address had been voted. He was also to take upon him 'the conduct of the House of Commons.' This last expression was animadverted upon in Parliament, and Fox admitted that he should have said 'conduct of His Majesty's affairs in the House of Commons.' In these days, when 'leader of the House of Commons' is the recognised title of the principal Minister in the House, it is not without interest to notice this constitutional squeamishness.

The King's Speech contained the following paragraph, which strikes the reader as something less than candid:—

'With a sincere desire to preserve my people from the calamities of war, as well as to prevent, in the midst of these troubles, a general war from being lighted up in Europe, I have always been ready to accept reasonable and honourable terms of accommodation; but none such have hitherto been proposed on the part of France. I have also confined my views and operations to hinder France from making new encroachments, or supporting those already made; to exert our right to a satisfaction for hostilities committed in a time of profound peace: and to disappoint such designs as, from various appearances and preparations, there is reason to think, have been formed against my kingdoms and dominions.'

Members met to hear the Royal Speech in the electric condition which bodes a crisis. There had been a long political truce; but this was evidently about to come to an end. Ministers had to bear the burden of the Russian and Hessian treaties, which the Speech from the Throne commended to the attention of Parliament. War with France was impending; indeed, a French invasion was daily expected. There was a new leader, and, consequently, a new opposition. Pitt was evidently prepared to launch thunderbolts at the Administration. Leicester House was said to be behind him. There was an animating sense of conflict in the air.

Once more the parliamentary history fails us, and disdains to record one of the most memorable passages in its annals; so once more we are thrown on the authority and the sketches of Walpole; sometimes brilliant, but more often confused and defective.

The debate in the Commons lasted till near five in the morning, an hour then almost unprecedented.

It was distinguished by that famous effort which gave Single-speech Hamilton his nickname. Walpole, in recording and eulogising it, says: 'You will ask, what could be beyond this? Nothing but what was beyond what ever was, and that was Pitt.' Pitt, indeed, after sitting through the eleven hours of the debate, rose and delivered, with inimitable spirit and all the dramatic force that the greatest actor of his age could impart, a speech of an hour and a half, which contains his most famous figure, and which perhaps he never exceeded.

'His eloquence,' says Walpole, 'like a torrent long obstructed, burst forth with more commanding impetuosity.' For ten years he had been muzzled, and now he revelled in his freedom. 'He spoke at past one (in the morning) for an hour and thirty-five minutes. There was more humour, wit, vivacity, fine language, more boldness,—in short, more astonishing perfections, than even you who are used to him can conceive.'

He 'surpassed himself, and then I need not tell you that he surpassed Cicero and Demosthenes. What a figure would they with their formal laboured cabinet orations make vis-a-vis his manly vivacity and dashing eloquence at one o'clock in the morning, after sitting in that heat for eleven hours!'

This enthusiasm from the least enthusiastic of men adds to our regrets that so faint a memory of this dazzling speech remains. And yet perhaps we were wise to be grateful that we have only the description. It seems not impossible that the words taken down verbatim by some old parliamentary hand in the reporters' gallery would seem cold or tawdry without the soul and grace which animated them, and which haunted Horace Walpole for long years afterwards. Some of the allusions which have been noted down seem forced, some of the bursts incoherent, some of the irony obscure. But those who heard it palpitated with emotion, they saw the divine fire of the orator, while posterity can only grope among the cold ashes for the burning fragments poured forth in the wrath of the eruption.

'Haughty, defiant, conscious of injury, and of supreme abilities,' he offered a great contrast to Legge, who fought by his side with different weapons; for Legge was studiously moderate, deferential, and artful; 'gliding to revenge.' Yet Pitt himself began with expressions of veneration for the King, and of gratitude for 'late condescending goodness and gracious openings,' alluding to the offer of a seat in the Cabinet. It was obvious from this that he did not mean the door of the Closet to be closed on him, or to try again to force it by attack. But, he continued, the very respect he felt for that august name made him deprecate the unconstitutional use made of it in this debate.

Egmont had argued that we were to have the Hessian and Russian mercenaries to fall back upon in case our fleets were defeated. Why if that were so, asked Pitt, did we not hire of Russia ships rather than men? The answer was simple: because ships could not defend Hanover. Must we drain, he asked, presumably in obscure allusion to Russia, our last vital drop and send it to the North Pole? We had been told that Carthage was undone in spite of her navy. But that was not until she betook herself to land operations. Carthage, too, he added, pointing directly to the enterprises of Cumberland, had a Hannibal who would pass the Alps. We were told, too, that we must assist Hanover out of justice and gratitude. As to justice, there was a charter which barred any such consideration. Gratitude was only in question if Hanover should be involved in anything which called down on her the resentment of France in consequence of any quarrel of ours. But, to speak plainly, these expressions were unparliamentary and unconstitutional. The King owed a duty to his people which should not be obscured by such phraseology. Our ancestors would never have stooped to such adulation.

Then he turned with the greatest contempt to Sir George Lyttelton: 'A gentleman near me has talked of writers on the law of Nations. But Nature is the best writer; she will teach us to be men and not to truckle to power.' As he proceeded, he slowly swelled into his famous burst. 'I, who am at a distance from the sanctum sanctorum—I, who travel through a desert and am overwhelmed with mountains of obscurity—cannot so easily catch a gleam to direct me to the beauties of these negotiations. For there are parts of this Address which do not seem to come from the same quarter as the rest. I cannot unravel this mystery. But, yes!' he exclaimed with an air of sudden enlightenment, clapping his hand to his forehead, 'I too am now inspired. I am struck by a recollection. I remember at Lyons to have been taken to see the conflux of the Rhone and the SaÔne. The one is a gentle, feeble, languid stream, and, though languid, of no depth; the other a boisterous and impetuous torrent. Yet they meet at last. And long,' he added, with bitter sarcasm, 'may they continue united, to the comfort of each other, and to the glory, honour, and security of this nation.'

This is all that we possess of this renowned flight and in this faint form it does not strike one as particularly impressive. But the actual words of the orator were probably very different; and nothing can preserve for us the voice, the eye, the darting accent and the concentrated fire of delivery which imparted such tremendous force to the apostrophe. In any case, the effect was instant and prodigious. After the debate Fox asked Pitt, 'Who is the Rhone?' 'Is that a fair question?' answered Pitt, for no orator likes to be cross-examined about his metaphors. 'Why,' rejoined Fox good-humouredly, 'as you have said so much that I did not wish to hear, you may tell me one thing that I want to hear. Am I the Rhone, or Lord Granville?' 'You are Granville,' returned Pitt. He meant, of course, what was true, that Fox and Granville were now practically one, and one in opposition to himself.

After this climax the notes of the remainder of the speech seem comparatively poor. By adopting these measures, he urged, we are losing sight of our proper force, the Navy. It was the Navy which, by making us masters of Cape Breton in the last war, had secured the restoration of Flanders and the Barrier Fortresses. And yet even then we had had to conclude a bad peace. Moreover, bad as it was, our Ministers had suffered such constant infractions of it that they would have been stoned in the streets had they not at last shown signs of resentment. And yet, even now, they seem to have already forgotten the cause in which they took up arms, for at present they are not acting on behalf of Britain. These treaties are not English measures, but Hanoverian. Are they indeed measures of prevention? Are they not rather measures of aggression and provocation? Will they not irritate Prussia and light up a general war? If that be the result, I will follow to the death the authors of this policy, for this is the day that I hope will give a colour to my life. And yet I fear it is useless to try and stem the torrent. Ministers evidently mean a land war, and how preposterous a war. Hanover is their only base, for they cannot gain the alliance of the Dutch. I remember, everybody remembers, when you did force them to join you: all our misfortunes are due to those daring, wicked counsels (of Granville's). Out of them sprung a ministry,' he continued, referring to the forty-eight hours phantom of Pulteney and Carteret. 'I saw that ministry. In the morning it flourished. It was green at noon. By night it was cut down and forgotten.' What if a ministry should spring out of this subsidy? It is contended, moreover, that it will dishonour the King to reject these treaties which he has concluded. But was not the treaty of Hanau transmitted to us in the same way and rejected here? If these treaties are really a preventive measure, they are only preventive of Newcastle's retirement.

Then he ridiculed Murray's elaborate compassion of the aged Sovereign. He too could appeal for commiseration of the King. He could picture him deprived of any honest counsel, spending his summer in his electorate, surrounded by affrighted Hanoverians, without any one near him to keep him in mind of the policy and interest of England, or of the fact that we cannot reverse the laws of Nature, and make Hanover other than an open, defenceless country. He too could foresee the day, within the next two years, when the King would be unable to sleep in St. James's; but that would be because his slumbers would be disturbed by the clamours of a bankrupt people.

These are all the shreds that remain of this glorious rhapsody. It would perhaps be better that nothing had survived. Each student must try and reconstruct for himself, like some rhetorical Owen, out of these poor bones the majestic structure of Pitt's famous speech.

Fox replied with obvious languor and fatigue, and the division was taken between four and five. On the first question, that the words promising assistance to Hanover should be omitted, the supporters of the Government were 311 to 105. On the second amendment, which obscurely questioned the policy of both treaties the numbers were 290 to 89. The faithful Commons were still able to be loyal to Newcastle. Against that pasteboard rock Pitt's billows broke in vain.[304]

Next day (November 15, 1755) Fox received the seals. Five days afterwards Pitt, Legge, and George Grenville were dismissed by notes from Lord Holdernesse, the colleague of Fox in the Secretaryship of State. Fox indeed declares in a letter to Welbore Ellis, then peevish at not getting a better place, that he did not know till the last moment of the intention to remove anybody but Legge.[305] To George Grenville, Bute, now beginning to show himself above ground, but still with circumspection, sent a significant note of congratulation. 'Tis glorious,' he wrote, 'to suffer in such a cause and with such companions.' Pitt received an even more gratifying communication from Temple, who settled on him a thousand a year till better times. We cannot perhaps blame Pitt for accepting this offer, since probably there was no other way of maintaining Lady Hester in decent comfort; for we may easily surmise that he had squandered his own fortune on buildings, gardens, and the like; as Temple probably knew. But we could wish that he had done so with less effusion. 'How decline or how receive so great a generosity so amiably offered.' Lady Hester, who had begun the letter of thanks, 'was literally not in a situation to write any farther.' Pitt was 'little better able to hold the pen than Lady Hester. We are both yours more affectionately than words can express. We could have slept upon the Earl of Holdernesses' letter (of dismissal). But our hearts must now wake to gratitude and you, and wish for nothing but the return of day to embrace the best and noblest of brothers.' Even this is not sufficient. Next day he must write again to say to Lord Temple, 'that I am more yours than my own, and that I equally love and revere the kindest of brothers and the noblest of men.'

Language less ecstatic would better have become a great man accepting a serious pecuniary obligation. In truth Pitt never had any scrupulous idea of personal independence. He had accepted a borough from Newcastle, whom he then suspected and despised. Now it was an allowance from Temple, whom, from close intimacy and kinship, he must have known to be an intriguing politician, who was not likely to give without expecting return. A few years hence it was to be a pension from the Crown.

With regard to money indeed he had no very careful or exalted standard. In such matters he was indifferent, reckless, and heedless of any nicety of scruple, except as regards the public. He never seems to have considered how important solvency is to character. He was always, after his marriage, quite unnecessarily, in desperate straits for money. Indifference to the fact that pecuniary independence is a main though not necessary base of moral independence was a flaw in his own life, and was the worst inheritance that he transmitted to his illustrious son.

The announcement of Legge's successor at the Exchequer provoked universal hilarity. It was Lyttelton. We have seen that in the last debate Pitt had turned with fierce scorn on his former ally. No doubt he was aware of Lyttelton's approaching elevation. But their historic friendship had been dissolved for a year. In November 1754, at the heedless or mischievous instance of the younger Horace Walpole, Lyttelton, with the best intentions and the most inane execution possible, had hurried off, without consultation with his friend, to effect a reconciliation between Newcastle, Pitt's enemy, and Bedford, who was allied to Pitt by a common hatred of the Minister. Newcastle received the negotiator with his wonted effervescence, and gave or appeared to give full powers. Away sped Lyttelton, bursting with the importance of an amateur diplomatist. But at the mere mention of his mission the other Duke nearly kicked the messenger of peace downstairs, and at once communicated the secret overture to Pitt. The result to Lyttelton was for the moment unmixed disaster. Pitt publicly broke with him, Newcastle of course disowned him, he indeed disowned himself. Henceforth he was banned by the Cousinhood, and incurred a wrath and vengeance as implacable as that of the Carbonari. Now, however, he had his reward, for it can scarcely be doubted that his elevation to the Exchequer was intended partly as a plaster for his diplomatic wounds, partly as an annoyance to the party of Pitt. Any motive indeed but fitness for the office can be suggested for his promotion, to which he was lured by the promise of a peerage.[306] If, however, the annoyance it would cause to his late friends was a reason, it failed in its object. For Lyttelton, in his new office, gave the amplest opportunity for the wreaking of their revenge. He was, as we have seen, grotesque as a diplomatist. He was even more unfit to be Chancellor of the Exchequer.

Lyttelton had been a promising young man, but promising young men frequently fail to mature, and he became a minor politician, a minor poet, a minor historian. As a politician, he was principally known for the delivery of pompous prepared harangues. He wrote a pathetic and not wholly forgotten monody on the death of his first wife, to which he could have added a new and poignant emphasis after his second marriage. He wrote a treatise on the conversion of St. Paul, which earned the commendation of Dr. Johnson. He wrote some 'Dialogues of the Dead,' which Dr. Johnson was not able to commend. He was now writing an elaborate History of Henry the Second, on the printer's corrections in which he spent a thousand pounds, and was soon to publish with a score of pages of errata. But his literary renown rests on the dedication of 'Tom Jones.'

He was, however, best known to the public at large by his eccentric appearance and demeanour. 'Extremely tall and extremely thin, he bent under his own weight,' says his nephew Camelford. 'His face was so ugly,' says Hervey, 'his person so ill-made, and his carriage so awkward, that every feature was a blemish, every limb an incumbrance, and every motion a disgrace.' Horace Walpole says of him that he had the figure of a spectre and the gesticulations of a puppet. Chesterfield portrays him as the embodiment of all in manner and deportment that was to be avoided. His legs and arms, said the urbane peer, seem to have undergone the rack, his head hanging limp on his shoulder the first stroke of the axe. As absent as a Laputan, he leaves his hat in one room, his sword in another, and would leave his shoes, if unfastened, in a third. 'Who's dat!' wrote the satirist,

He was obviously something of a butt from his physical peculiarities and awkwardness, and a butt is ill placed in high office.

Gawky, fussy, pedantic, he was what in these days we should call a prig; a kindly prig, with a warm heart, some literary ability, and strong religious feeling; but for all that an unmistakable, inveterate, incurable prig. The word 'prig' is untranslatable and uncommunicable. It denotes nothing unamiable, nothing distasteful. It marks only a strange flaw; partly of intellect, partly of character, partly of accent. And one feels that it was impossible not to like Lyttelton, for he was full of friendliness and virtue. With Pitt he was reconciled within a decade, and mourned his death with a sincere sorrow which was not then abundant.

But the Exchequer is a peculiar office requiring peculiar gifts. A dull man may succeed in it if he possess them; without them the greatest talents will fail. Lyttelton possessed none of them. He was unable, it was alleged, to work out the simplest sum in arithmetic. He was ignorant of the first principles of finance. The Exchequer never had a more preposterous Chancellor, till Dashwood appeared. He had better have left it alone.

Fox, whose accession to the leadership was said to have inspired Murray with courage, must have watched with gloomy forebodings the figure set up in the Exchequer to face the lightnings of Pitt. The most that he could hope was that it would act as an efficient conductor. Yet Fox needed all the strength that he could muster. For no one despised his chief more than he, or had a greater respect for the powers of his rival.

It should further be noted that this ministry had a luckless connection which made it known as 'the Duke's ministry'; for it had been formed under the auspices and at the recommendation of the disastrous Cumberland. 'Never,' says Almon, 'was an administration more unpopular and odious.'

War had now been declared between the Government and Pitt, who now certainly had the latent countenance of the Heir Apparent, or of the clique who represented the Heir Apparent; and there was no delay in coming to blows. The very day after Pitt's dismissal, Welbore Ellis, a Lord of the Admiralty, who was destined to live on as a Nestor inNov. 21, 1755. politics and be made a peer by Pitt's son, moved for 50,000 seamen, mentioning that the peace establishment was 40,000. It was a formal motion, and members were leaving the House, when they were recalled by the awful tones of Pitt, declaring that he shuddered at hearing that our naval resources were so narrowed. He recalled his former protest in 1751 against reduction. He would hunt down the authors of these disastrous measures which made the King's crown totter on his head. This noble country of ours was being ruined by the silly pride of one man and the subservience of his colleagues, and some day we should have to answer for it; unless already overwhelmed by some catastrophe brought about by France, our hereditary enemy. All this trouble arose from the petty struggle for power. What power was it that was sought, what kind of power, was it only that of doing good? On an English question like this he would not impede unanimity but implore it; he would ask favours in such a cause of any minister, would have gone that morning to Fox's first levee to ask him to accept 50,000 men besides marines. (The vote asked for was for 50,000 men, including 9113 marines.) If that could be obtained it would be the first thing done for this country since the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle. He obscurely intimated charges of treachery and collusion. And now, he added, shame and danger had come together. He himself had been alarmed by intelligence on the highest authority. These terrors had been communicated to the House, which was willing to grant the King any assistance for any English object. But there was an essential difference between the ministry and that House. The ministry thought of everything but the public interest; the House was ready to afford everything for it. The House, he added mysteriously, was a fluctuating body, but he hoped would be eternal; and he concluded with a prayer for the King, with his royal posterity, and for this 'poor, forlorn, distressed country.'

It is not always easy to trace the sequence of Pitt's speeches in Walpole's notes, nor is it possible to tell whether the confusion is due to the oration or the notes. The notes were probably made during the debate with the intention of filling in the outlines while recollection was still fresh; an intention which, as is usual with such intentions, was, it may be safely surmised, never carried out. But we are inclined to attribute obscurity in the main to the abrupt rhapsodical transitions of Pitt's speeches. They require, as reported by Walpole, almost as much interpretation as Cromwell's. In this one we discern great court paid to the House of Commons, so hostile to himself; unrelenting scorn of the Government; and bitter emphasis on British as opposed to Hanoverian interests. The peroration as barely reported seems below the level of a debating society. But, then, we must remember that no fervent and exalted apostrophe, prolonged as this probably was, can be adequately transmitted in a naked sentence, or perhaps in any conceivable report.

Fox replied with admirable temper, a self-control all the more laudable and noted because of his usual impetuousness. He took up Pitt's sneer at petty struggles for power. What the motives of these struggles for power had been let those tell who had struggled most and longest for power. They had been told that nobody round the King had sense or virtue, that sense and virtue resided somewhere else. How was the King to know where they are to be found? for he feared that this House of Commons would not point in the required direction. He ended by asking why Pitt had not asked sooner for his augmentation of force.

This called up Pitt again, who denied that he had ever asserted that there were no sense and virtue near the Throne. No man had ever suffered so much as himself from those stilettoes of a Court which assassinate the fair repute of a man with his Sovereign. The insinuation of his having struggled for power had been received by the House with so much approval, that he must take notice of the charge. Had he yielded to the poor and sordid measures which are ruining the country he might, no doubt, have been admitted to the confidence of the Closet. Then, carried by anger beyond the facts, he went further, and said that as he was not prepared then to enter into the details of the private transactions of a whole summer, he would only say that he might have had what Fox had accepted. Unfortunately for himself, however, the measures contemplated were so disastrous that his conscience and his honour had forbidden him to support them; though he would have strained conscience a little, perhaps, to be admitted to the confidence of the King. No, it was not failure in the struggle for power that was the cause of his exclusion from office. Was it not that he would not approve of the Russian and Hessian treaties? He challenged a denial.

Fox rose in reply, and said that he was ready to forget what Pitt had said about the lack of sense and virtue near the Throne.

Pitt, evidently beside himself with wrath, interrupted him, and said he rose to order, and, on that long-suffering plea, delivered another long speech. The phrase about sense and virtue, he declared on his honour, was none of his. What he said was that France would found her hopes on the want of sense, understanding, and virtue in those that govern here. Fox's modesty appeared to have taken these words to himself; but he had not put him right sooner, as the statement of the plain truth would sooner or later be sufficient. He would remind that gentleman of certain efforts which had been made (alluding to their brief coalition against Newcastle) to limit the power at which he had hinted. As to invective, he was not fond of employing it, but no man feared it less than himself. He was, however, complimentary to Fox; would, though no betting man, back his sense and spirit; believed that we should get some information from abroad now that he was in power; but could not treat him as the minister, for that he was not yet.

'But[307] he asks why I did not call out sooner. My calling out was more likely to defeat than promote. When I remonstrated for more seamen, I was called an enemy to Government: now I am told that I want to strew the King's pillow with thorns: am traduced, aspersed, calumniated from morning to night. I would have warned the King: did he? If he with his sense and spirit had represented to the King the necessity of augmentation, it would have been made—but what! if there is any man so wicked—don't let it be reported that I say there is—as to procrastinate the importing troops from Ireland, in order to make subsidiary forces necessary.[308] This whole summer I have been looking for Government. I saw none. Thank God, His Majesty was not here. The trade of France has been spared sillily, there has been dead stagnation. Orders contradicting one another were the only symptoms of spirit. When His Majesty returned, his kingdom was delivered back to him more like a wreck than as a vessel able to stem the storm. Perhaps a little sustentation of life to the country will be obtained by a wretched peace. These are my sentiments, and when a man has truth on his side, he is not to be overborne by quick interrogatories. It may be presumed, and indeed confidently hoped, that this was not Pitt's actual speech, though Walpole gives it as the very words. They are probably only heads. He continued with softening expressions to Fox. Want of virtue was the characteristic not merely of the Government but of the age. He himself was glad to show a zeal not inferior to that of ministers; let them show him how to serve the King, and then let them, if they could, tax him with strewing the royal pillow with thorns. But what were their own services? Murray indeed had boasted that 140,000 of the best troops in Europe were provided for the defence of—what? of Hanover. But what of England? What of the Colonies? Compare the countries, compare the forces destined for the defence of each! Two miserable battalions of Irish, who scarcely ever saw one another, had been sent to America as to the shambles. If his comparison of forces for Hanover and for the Empire was exaggerated, he would be glad to be told his error.

Fox kept his temper, and remained on the defensive. He not unnaturally commented on the disorderliness of Pitt's speech to order. He did not 'on his honour' know what was the offer which Pitt had rejected. He himself had waited till everybody had refused, passing the summer at Holland House, as happy as any man in Parliament. He was in favour of the subsidies, and when that was known he was told 'Then support them'; and so he did. When his opinion changed he should leave office. He wished all evil might befall him if he had injured Pitt with the King, for he thought nothing so dishonourable as to accuse a man where he could not defend himself.

Murray followed with covert but bitter innuendoes; defended Pelham's reduction of 2000 men, and had thought that that Minister had at least died in friendship with Pitt. This again brought Pitt on his feet to say that his friendship for Pelham had been as real as Murray's. Murray continued coolly. The sting of his waspish speech was in its tail. He wanted to clear up one particular point for his own information. He understood Pitt to say that he had refused the Secretaryship of State: pray, had he?

He had his enemy at the point of the sword. Pitt had certainly, as we have seen, with incredible rashness, at least insinuated this, if not declared it. He now had to rise and eat his words: 'he had only refused to come into measures'![309]

Walpole apologises for recording this debate, tedious as it is, at such a length. We must do the same, and his excuse is ours. Little was said on the question, and indeed there was scarcely a question to discuss. But the points of the speeches, so far as we can discern them, throw light on the speakers, more especially on the reckless, impetuous character of Pitt, even at this time.