“But General Caillot,” cried he, smiling, “the hero of one of them, you would be tempted to like: he is as mild, as meek, as gentle in his manners—”
I saw he was going to say “As your Mr. Hastings;” but I interrupted him hastily, calling out, “Hush! hush! Mr. Windham; would you wish me in future to take to nothing but lions?
FURTHER CONVERSATION WITH MR. WINDHAM.
We then went into various other particulars of the speech, till Mr. Windham observed that Mr. Hastings was looking up, and, after examining him some time, said he did not like his countenance. I could have told him that he is generally reckoned extremely like himself but after such an observation I would not venture, and only said, “Indeed, he is cruelly altered: it was not so he looked when I conceived for him that prepossession I have owned to you.”
“Altered, is he?” cried he, biting his lips and looking somewhat shocked.
“Yes, and who can wonder? Indeed, it is quite affecting to see him sit there to hear such things.”
“I did not see him,” cried he, eagerly “I did not think it right to look at him during the speech, nor from the committeebox; and, therefore, I constantly kept my eyes another way.”
I -had a great inclination to beg he would recommend a little of the same decency to some of his colleagues, among whom are three or four that even stand on the benches to examine him, during the severest strictures, with opera-glasses. Looking at him again now, myself, I could not see his pale face and haggard eye without fresh concern, nor forbear to exclaim, “Indeed, Mr. Windham, this is a dreadful business!” He seemed a little struck with this exclamation; and, lest it should offend him, I hastened to add, in apology, “You look so little like a bloody-minded prosecutor, that I forget I ought not to say these things to you.”
“Oh!” cried he, laughing, “we are only prosecutors there — (pointing to the committee-box), we are at play up here.” . . .
I wished much to know when he was himself to speak, and made sundry inquiries relative to the progress of the several harangues, but all without being comprehended, till at length I cried, “In short, Mr. Windham, I want to know when everybody speaks.”
He started, and cried with precipitancy, “Do you mean me?”
“Yes.”
“No, I hope not; I hope you have no wants about my miserable speaking?”
I Only laughed, and we talked for some time of other things; and then, suddenly, he burst forth with, “But you have really made me a little uneasy by what you dropped just now.”
“And what was that?”
“Something like an intention of hearing me.”
“Oh, if that depended wholly on myself, I should certainly do it.”
“No, I hope not! I would not have you here on any account. If you have formed any expectations, it will give me great concern.”
“Pray don’t be uneasy about that; for whatever expectations
I may have formed, I had much rather have them disappointed.”
“ Ho! ho! — you come, then,” cried he, pointedly, “to hear me, by way of soft ground to rest upon, after the hard course you will have been run with these higher-spirited speakers?” . . . He desired me not to fail to come and hear Fox. My chances, I told him, were very uncertain, and Friday was the earliest of them. “He speaks on Thursday,” cried he, “and indeed you should hear him.”
“Thursday is my worst chance of all,” I answered, “for it is the
Court-day.”
“And is there no dispensation? “ cried he; and then, recollecting himself, and looking very archly at Mr. Fox, who was just below us, he added, “No, — true — not for him!”
“Not for any body!” cried I; “on a Court-day my attendance is as necessary, and I am dressed out as fine, and almost as stiff, as those heralds are here.” I then told him what were my Windsor days, and begged he would not seize one of them to speak himself.
“By no means,” cried he, quite seriously, “would I have you here! — stay away, and only let me hope for your good wishes.”
“ I shall be quite sincere,” cried I, laughing, “and own to you that stay away I shall not, if I can possibly come; but as to my good wishes, I have not, in this case, one to give you!”
He heard this with a start that was almost a jump. “What!” he exclaimed, “would you lay me under your judgment without your mercy? — Why this is heavier than any penal statute.”
He spoke this with an energy that made Mr. Fox look up, to see to whom he addressed his speech: but before I could answer it, poor James, tired of keeping his promised circumspection, advanced his head to join the conversation; and so much was I alarmed lest he should burst forth into some unguarded expression of his vehement hatred to the cause, which could not but have irritated its prosecutors, that the moment I perceived his motion and intention, I abruptly took my leave of Mr. Windham, and surprised poor James into a necessity of following me.
Indeed I was now most eager to depart, from a circumstance that made me feel infinitely awkward. Mr. Burke himself was just come forward, to speak to a lady a little below me; Mr. Windham had instantly turned towards me, with a look of congratulation that seemed rejoicing for me, that the orator of the day, and of the cause, was approaching,; but I retreated involuntarily back, and shirked meeting his eyes. He perceived in an instant the mistake he was making, and went on with his discourse as if Mr. Burke was out of the Hall. In a minute, however, Mr. Burke himself saw me, and he bowed with the most marked civility of manner; my courtesy was the most ungrateful, distant, and cold; I could not do otherwise; so hurt I felt to see him the head of such a cause, so impossible I found it to titter one word of admiration for a performance whose nobleness was so disgraced by its tenour, and so conscious was I the whole time that at such a moment to say nothing must seem almost an affront, that I hardly knew which way to look, or what to do with myself.(267) ‘ In coming downstairs I met Lord Walsingham and Sir Lucas Pepys. “Well, Miss Burney,” cried the first, “what say you to a governor-general of India now?”
“Only this,” cried I, “that I do not dwell much upon any question till I have heard its answer!”
Sir Lucas then attacked me too. All the world against poor Mr. Hastings, though without yet knowing what his materials may be for clearing away these aspersions!
Miss FUZILIER LIKELY TO PECONIE MRS, FAIRLY, February.-Her majesty at this time was a little indisposed, and we missed going to Windsor for a fortnight, during which I received visits of inquiry from divers of her ladies — Mrs. Brudenell, bed-chamber woman; Miss Brudenell, her daughter, and a maid of honour elect, would but one of that class please to marry or die; Miss Tryon and Miss Beauclerk, maids of honour, neither of them in a firm way to oblige Miss Brudenell, being nothing approaching to death, though far advanced from marriage; and various others.
Miss Brudenell’s only present hope is said to be in Miss
Fuzilier,(268) who is reported, with what foundation I know not, to be likely to become Mrs. Fairly. She is pretty, learned, and accomplished; yet, from the very little I have seen of her, I should not think she had heart enough to satisfy Mr. Fairly, in whose character the leading trait is the most acute sensibility, However, I have heard he has disclaimed all such intention, with high indignation at the report, as equally injurious to the delicacy both of Miss Fuzilier and himself, so recently after his loss.
THE HASTINGS TRIAL AGAIN: MR. FOX IN A RAGE. And now for my third Westminster Hall, which, by the queen’s own indulgent order, was with dear Charlott and Sarah. It was also to hear Mr. Fox, and I was very glad to let Mr. Windham see a “dispensation” was attainable, though the cause was accidental, since the queen’s cold prevented the Drawing-room.(269)
We went early, yet did not get very good places. The managers at this time were all in great wrath at a decision made the night before by the Lords, upon a dispute between them and the counsel for Mr. Hastings, which turned entirely in favour of the latter.(270) When they entered their committee-box
, led on as usual by Mr. Burke, they all appeared in the extremest and most angry emotion.
When they had caballed together some time, Mr. Windham came up among the Commons, to bow to some ladies of his acquaintance, and then to speak to me; but he was so agitated and so disconcerted, he could name nothing but their recent provocation from the Lords. He seemed quite enraged, and broke forth with a vehemence I should not much have liked to have excited. They had experienced, he said, in the late decision, the Most injurious treatment that could be offered them: the Lords had resolved upon saving Mr. Hastings, and the chancellor had taken him under the grossest protection “In short,” said he, “the whole business is taken out of our hands, and they have all determined to save him.”
“Have they indeed?” cried I, with Involuntary eagerness.
“Yes,” answered he, perceiving how little I was shocked for him, “it is now all going your way.”
I could not pretend to be sorry, and only inquired if Mr. Fox was to speak.
“I know not,” cried he, hastily, “what is to be done, who will speak, or what will be resolved. Fox is in a rage! Oh, a rage!”
“But yet I hope he will speak. I have never heard him.”
“No? not the other day?”
“No; I was then at Windsor.”
“Oh yes, I remember you told me you were going. You have lost every thing by it! To-day will be nothing, he is all rage! On Tuesday he was great indeed. You should have heard him then. And Burke, You should have heard the conclusion of Burke’s speech; ’twas the noblest ever uttered by man!”
“So I have been told.”
“To-day you will hear nothing — know nothing, — there will be no opportunity,- Fox is all fury.”
I told him he almost frightened me; for he spoke in a tremor himself that was really unpleasant.
“Oh!” cried he, looking at me half reproachfully, half goodhumouredly, “Fox’s fury is with the Lords — not there!” pointing to Mr. Hastings.
I saw by this he entered into my feelings in the midst of his irritability, and that gave me courage to cry out, “I am glad of that at least!:
Mr. Fox spoke five hours, and with a violence that did not make me forget what I had heard of his being in such a fury but I shall never give any account of these speeches, as they will all be printed. I shall only say a word of the speakers as far as relates to my own feelings about them, and that briefly will be to say that I adhere to Mr. Burke, whose oratorical powers appear to me far more gentleman-like, scholar-like, and fraught with true genius than those of Mr. Fox. it may be I am prejudiced by old kindnesses of Mr. Burke, and it may be that the countenance of Mr. Fox may have turned me against him, for it struck me to have a boldness in it quite hard and callous. However, it is little matter how much my judgment in this point may err. With you, my dear friends, I have Page 129 nothing further to do than simply to give it; and even should it be wrong, it will not very essentially injure you in your politics.
MRS. CREWE, MR. BURKE, AND MR. WINDHAM.
Again, on the fourth time of my attendance at Westminster Hall, honest James was my esquire.
We were so late from divers accidents that we did not enter till the same moment with the prisoner. In descending the steps I heard my name exclaimed with surprise, and looking before me, I saw myself recognised by Mrs. Crewe. “Miss Burney,” she cried, “who could have thought of seeing you here!”
Very obligingly she made me join her immediately, which, as I was with no lady, was a very desirable circumstance; and though her political principles are well known, and, of course, lead her to side with the enemies of Mr. Hastings, she had the good sense to conclude me on the other side, and the delicacy never once to distress me by any discussion of the prosecution.
I was much disappointed to find nothing intended for this day’s trial but hearing evidence; no speaker was preparing; all the attention was devoted to the witnesses.
Mr. Adam, Mr. Dudley Long, and others that I know not, Came from the committee to chat with Mrs. Crewe; but soon after one came not so unknown to me — Mr. Burke; and Mrs. Crewe, seeing him ascend, named him to me, but was herself a little surprised to see it was his purpose to name himself, for he immediately made up to me, and with an air of such frank kindness that, could I have forgot his errand in that Hall, would have made me receive him as formerly, when I was almost fascinated with him. But far other were my sensations. I trembled as he approached me, with conscious change of sentiments, and with a dread of his pressing from me a disapprobation he might resent, but which I knew not how to disguise.
“Near-sighted as I am,” cried he, “I knew you immediately. I knew you from our box the moment I looked up; yet how long it is, except for an instant here, since I have seen you!”
“Yes,” I hesitatingly answered, “I live in a monastery now.”
He said nothing to this. He felt, perhaps, it was meant to express my inaccessibility I inquired after Mrs. Burke. He recounted to me the particulars of his sudden seizure when he spoke last, from the cramp in his stomach, owing to a draught of cold water which he drank in the midst of the heat of his oration.
I could not even wear a semblance of being sorry for him on this occasion; and my cold answers made him soon bend down to speak with Mrs. Crewe.
I was seated in the next row to her, just above.
Mr. Windham was now talking with her. My whole curiosity and desire being to hear him, which had induced me to make a point of coming this time, I was eager to know if my chance was wholly gone. “You are aware,” I cried, when he spoke to me, “what brings me here this morning
No;” he protested he knew not.
Mrs. Crewe, again a little surprised, I believe, at this second opposition acquaintance, began questioning how often I had attended this trial.
Mr. Windham, with much warmth of regret, told her very seldom, and that I had lost Mr. Burke on his best day.
I then turned to speak to Mr. Burke, that I might not seem listening, for they interspersed various civilities upon my peculiar right to have heard all the great speeches, but Mr. Burke was in so profound a reverie he did not hear me.
I wished Mr. Windham had not either, for he called upon him aloud, “Mr. Burke, Miss Burney speaks to you!”
He gave me his immediate attention with an air so full of respect that it quite shamed me.
“Indeed,” I cried, “ I had never meant to speak to Mr. Burke again after hearing him in Westminster Hall. I had meant to keep at least that “ geographical timidity.”
I alluded to an expression in his great speech of “geographical morality” which had struck me very much.
He laughed heartily, instantly comprehending me, and assured me it was an idea that had occurred to him on the moment he had uttered it, wholly without study.
A little general talk followed; and then, one of the lords rising to question some of the evidence, he said he must return to his committee and business,-very flatteringly saying, in quitting his post, “This is the first time I have played truant from the manager’s box.”
However I might be obliged to him, which sincerely I felt, I was yet glad to have him go. My total ill will to all he was about made his conversation merely a pain to me I did not feel the same With regard to Mr. Windham. He is not the prosecutor, and seems endowed with so much liberality and candour that it not Only encourages me to speak to him what I think, but leads me to believe he will one day or other reflect upon joining a party so violent as a stain to the independence of his character.
Almost instantly he came forward, to the place Mr. Burke had vacated.
“Are you approaching,” I cried, “to hear my upbraidings?”
“Why — I don’t know,” cried he, looking half alarmed.
“Oh! I give you warning, if you come you must expect them; so my invitation is almost as pleasant as the man’s in ‘Measure for Measure,’ who calls to Master Barnardine, ‘Won’t you come down to be hanged?’”
“But how,” cried he
, “have I incurred your upbraidings?”
“
By bringing me here,” I answered, “only to disappoint me.”
“Did I bring you here?”
“Yes, by telling me you were to speak to-day.”
He protested he could never have made such an assertion. I explained myself, reminding him he had told me he was certainly to speak before the recess; and that, therefore, when I was informed this was to be the last day of trial till after the recess, I concluded I should be right, but found myself so utterly wrong as to hear nothing but such evidence as I Could not even understand, because it was so uninteresting I could not even listen to it.
“How strangely,” he exclaimed, “are we all moulded, that nothing ever in this mortal life, however pleasant in itself, and however desirable from its circumstances, can come to us without alloy — not even flattery; for here, at this moment, all the high gratification I should feel, and I am well disposed to feel it thoroughly in supposing you could think it worth your while to come hither in order to hear me, is kept down and subdued by the consciousness how much I must disappoint you.”
“Not at all,” cried I; “the worse you speak, the better for my side of the question.”
He laughed, but confessed the agitation of his spirits was so great in the thought of that speech, whenever he was to make it, that it haunted him in fiery dreams in his sleep.
“Sleep!” cried I; “do you ever sleep?”
He stared a little, but I added with pretended dryness, “Do any of you that live down there in that prosecutor’s den ever sleep in your beds? I should have imagined that, had you even attempted it, the anticipating ghost of Mr. Hastings would have appeared to you in the dead of the night, and have drawn your curtains, and glared ghastly in your eyes. I do heartily wish Mr. Tickell would send You that ‘Anticipation’ at once!”
This idea furnished us with sundry images, till, looking down upon Mr. Hastings, with an air a little moved, he said, “I am afraid the most insulting thing we do by him is coming up hither to show ourselves so easy and disengaged, and to enter into conversation with the ladies.”
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 579