History of Civilization in England, Vol. 1 of 3

It is certainly no faint characteristic of those times, that a man like Burke, who dedicated to politics abilities equal to far nobler things, should, during thirty years, have received from his prince neither favour nor reward. But George III. was a king whose delight it was to raise the humble and exalt the meek. His reign, indeed, was the golden age of successful mediocrity; an age in which little men were favoured, and great men depressed; when Addington was cherished as a statesman, and Beattie pensioned as a philosopher; and when, in all the walks of public life, the first conditions of promotion were, to fawn upon ancient prejudices, and support established abuses.

This neglect of the most eminent of English politicians is highly instructive; but the circumstances which followed, though extremely painful, have a still deeper interest, and are well worth the attention of those whose habits of mind lead them to study the intellectual peculiarities of great men.

For, at this distance of time, when his nearest relations are no more, it would be affectation to deny that Burke, during the last few years of his life, fell into a state of complete hallucination. When the French Revolution broke out, his mind, already fainting under the weight of incessant labour, could not support the contemplation of an event so unprecedented, so appalling, and threatening results of such frightful magnitude. And, when the crimes of that great revolution, instead of diminishing, continued to increase, then it was that the feelings of Burke finally mastered his reason; the balance tottered; the proportions of that gigantic intellect were disturbed. From this moment, his sympathy with present suffering was so intense, that he lost all memory of the tyranny by which the sufferings were provoked. His mind, once so steady, so little swayed by prejudice and passion, reeled under the pressure of events which turned the brains of thousands.866 And whoever will compare the spirit of his latest works with the dates of their publication, will see how this melancholy change was aggravated by that bitter bereavement, from which he never rallied, and which alone was sufficient to prostrate the understanding of one in whom the severity of the reason was so tempered, so nicely poised, by the warmth of the affections. Never, indeed, can there be forgotten those touching, those exquisite allusions to the death of that only son, who was the joy of his soul, and the pride of his heart, and to whom he fondly hoped to bequeath the inheritance of his imperishable name. Never can we forget that image of desolation under which the noble old man figured his immeasurable grief ‘I live in an inverted order. They who ought to have succeeded me, have gone before me. They who should have been to me as posterity, are in the place of ancestors… The storm has gone over me, and I lie like one of those old oaks which the late hurricane has scattered about me. I am stripped of all my honours; I am torn up by the roots, and lie prostrate on the earth.’867

It would, perhaps, be displaying a morbid curiosity, to attempt to raise the veil, and trace the decay of so mighty a mind.868 Indeed, in all such cases, most of the evidence perishes; for those who have the best opportunities of witnessing the infirmities of a great man, are not those who most love to relate them. But it is certain, that the change was first clearly seen immediately after the breaking out of the French Revolution; that it was aggravated by the death of his son; and that it became progressively worse till death closed the scene.869 In his Reflections on the French Revolution; in his Remarks on the Policy of the Allies: in his Letter to Elliot; in his Letter to a Noble Lord; and in his Letters on a Regicide Peace, we may note the consecutive steps of an increasing, and at length an uncontrollable, violence. To the single principle of hatred of the French Revolution, he sacrificed his oldest associations and his dearest friends. Fox, as is well known, always looked up to Burke as to a master, from whose lips he had gathered the lessons of political wisdom.870 Burke, on his side, fully recognized the vast abilities of his friend, and loved him for that affectionate disposition, and for those winning manners, which, it has often been said, none who saw them could ever resist. But now, without the slightest pretence of a personal quarrel, this long intimacy871 was rudely severed. Because Fox would not abandon that love of popular liberty which they had long cherished in common, Burke, publicly, and in his place in parliament, declared that their friendship was at an end; for that he would never more hold communion with a man who lent his support to the French people.872 At the same time, and indeed the very evening on which this occurred, Burke, who had hitherto been remarkable for the courtesy of his manners,873 deliberately insulted another of his friends, who was taking him home in his carriage; and, in a state of frantic excitement, insisted on being immediately set down, in the middle of the night, in a pouring rain, because he could not, he said, remain seated by ‘a friend to the revolutionary doctrines of the French.’874

Nor is it true, as some have supposed, that this mania of hostility was solely directed against the criminal part of the French people. It would be difficult, in that or in any other age, to find two men of more active, or indeed enthusiastic benevolence, than Condorcet and La Fayette. Besides this, Condorcet was one of the most profound thinkers of his time, and will be remembered as long as genius is honoured among us.875 La Fayette was no doubt inferior to Condorcet in point of ability; but he was the intimate friend of Washington, on whose conduct he modelled his own,876 and by whose side he had fought for the liberties of America: his integrity was, and still is, unsullied: and his character had a chivalrous and noble turn, which Burke, in his better days, would have been the first to admire.877 Both, however, were natives of that hated country whose liberties they vainly attempted to achieve. On this account, Burke declared Condorcet to be guilty of ‘impious sophistry;’878 to be a ‘fanatic atheist, and furious democratic republican;’879 and to be capable of ‘the lowest, as well as the highest and most determined villainies.’880 As to La Fayette, when an attempt was made to mitigate the cruel treatment he was receiving from the Prussian government, Burke not only opposed the motion made for that purpose in the House of Commons, but took the opportunity of grossly insulting the unfortunate captive, who was then languishing in a dungeon.881 So dead had he become on this subject, even to the common instincts of our nature, that, in his place in parliament, he could find no better way of speaking of this injured and high-souled man, than by calling him a ruffian: ‘I would not,’ says Burke, – ‘I would not debase my humanity by supporting an application in behalf of such a horrid ruffian.’882

As to France itself, it is ‘Cannibal Castle;’883 it is ‘the republic of assassins;’884 it is ‘a hell;’885 its government is composed of ‘the dirtiest, lowest, most fraudulent, most knavish, of chicaners;’886 its National Assembly are ‘miscreants;’887 its people are ‘an allied army of Amazonian and male cannibal Parisians;’888 they are ‘a nation of murderers;’889 they are ‘the basest of mankind;’890 they are ‘murderous atheists;’891 they are ‘a gang of robbers;’892 they are ‘the prostitute outcasts of mankind;’893 they are ‘a desperate gang of plunderers, murderers, tyrants, and atheists.’894 To make the slightest concessions to such a country in order to preserve peace, is offering victims ‘on the altars of blasphemed regicide;’895 even to enter into negotiations is ‘exposing our lazar sores at the door of every proud servitor of the French republic, where the court-dogs will not deign to lick them.’896 When our ambassador was actually in Paris, he ‘had the honour of passing his mornings in respectful attendance at the office of a regicide pettifogger;’897 and we were taunted with having sent a ‘peer of the realm to the scum of the earth.’898 ‘France has no longer a place in Europe; it is expunged from the map; its very name should be forgotten.899 Why, then, need men travel in it? Why need our children learn its language? and why are we to endanger the morals of our ambassadors? who can hardly fail to return from such a land with their principles corrupted, and with a wish to conspire against their own country.’900

This is sad, indeed, from such a man as Burke once was; but what remains, shows still more clearly how the associations and composition of his mind had been altered. He who, with humanity not less than with wisdom, had strenuously laboured to prevent the American war, devoted the last few years of his life to kindle a new war, compared to which that with America was a light and trivial episode. In his calmer moments, no one would have more willingly recognized that the opinions prevalent in any country are the inevitable results of the circumstances in which that country had been placed. But now he sought to alter those opinions by force. From the beginning of the French Revolution, he insisted upon the right, and indeed upon the necessity, of compelling France to change her principles;901 and, at a later period, he blamed the allied sovereigns for not dictating to a great people the government they ought to adopt.902 Such was the havoc circumstances had made in his well-ordered intellect, that to this one principle he sacrificed every consideration of justice, of mercy, and of expediency. As if war, even in its mildest form, were not sufficiently hateful, he sought to give to it that character of a crusade903 which increasing knowledge had long since banished: and loudly proclaiming that the contest was religious rather than temporal, he revived old prejudices in order to cause fresh crimes.904 He also declared that the war should be carried on for revenge as well as for defence, and that we must never lay down our arms until we had utterly destroyed the men by whom the Revolution was brought about.905 And, as if these things were not enough, he insisted that this, the most awful of all wars, being begun, was not to be hurried over; although it was to be carried on for revenge as well as for religion, and the resources of civilized men were to be quickened by the ferocious passions of crusaders, still it was not to be soon ended; it was to be durable; it must have permanence; it must, says Burke, in the spirit of a burning hatred, be protracted in a long war: ‘I speak it emphatically, and with a desire that it should be marked, in a long war.’906

It was to be a war to force a great people to change their government. It was to be a war carried on for the purpose of punishment. It was also to be a religious war. Finally, it was to be a long war. Was there ever any other man who wished to afflict the human race with such extensive, searching, and protracted calamities? Such cruel, such reckless, and yet such deliberate opinions, if they issued from a sane mind, would immortalize even the most obscure statesman, because they would load his name with imperishable infamy. For where can we find, even among the most ignorant or most sanguinary politicians, sentiments like these? Yet they proceed from one who, a very few years before, was the most eminent political philosopher England has ever possessed. To us it is only given to mourn over so noble a wreck. More than this no one should do. We may contemplate with reverence the mighty ruin; but the mysteries of its decay let no man presume to invade, unless, to use the language of the greatest of our masters, he can tell how to minister to a diseased mind, pluck the sorrows which are rooted in the memory, and raze out the troubles that are written in the brain.

It is a relief to turn from so painful a subject, even though we descend to the petty, huckstering politics of the English court. And truly, the history of the treatment experienced by the most illustrious of our politicians, is highly characteristic of the prince under whom he lived. While Burke was consuming his life in great public services, labouring to reform our finances, improve our laws, and enlighten our commercial policy, – while he was occupied with these things, the king regarded him with coldness and aversion.907 But when the great statesman degenerated into an angry brawler; when, irritated by disease, he made it the sole aim of his declining years to kindle a deadly war between the two first countries of Europe, and declared that to this barbarous object he would sacrifice all other questions of policy, however important they might be;908– then it was that a perception of his vast abilities began to dawn upon the mind of the king. Before this, no one had been bold enough to circulate in the palace even a whisper of his merits. Now, however, in the successive, and eventually the rapid decline of his powers, he had fallen almost to the level of the royal intellect; and now he was first warmed by the beams of the royal favour. Now he was a man after the king's own heart.909 Less than two years before his death, there was settled upon him, at the express desire of George III., two considerable pensions;910 and the king even wished to raise him to the peerage, in order that the House of Lords might benefit by the services of so great a counsellor.911

This digression respecting the character of Burke has been longer than I had anticipated; but it will not, I hope, be considered unimportant; for, in addition to the intrinsic interest of the subject, it illustrates the feelings of George III. towards great men, and it shows what the opinions were which in his reign it was thought necessary to hold. In the sequel of this work, I shall trace the effect of such opinions upon the interests of the country, considered as a whole; but for the object of the present Introduction, it will be sufficient to point out the connexion in one or two more of those prominent instances, the character of which is too notorious to admit of discussion.

Of these leading and conspicuous events, the American war was the earliest, and for several years it almost entirely absorbed the attention of English politicians. In the reign of George II. a proposal had been made to increase the revenue by taxing the colonies; which, as the Americans were totally unrepresented in parliament, was simply a proposition to tax an entire people without even the form of asking their consent. This scheme of public robbery was rejected by that able and moderate man who was then at the head of affairs; and the suggestion, being generally deemed impracticable, fell to the ground, and seems, indeed, hardly to have excited attention.912 But what was deemed by the government of George II. to be a dangerous stretch of arbitrary power, was eagerly welcomed by the government of George III. For the new king, having the most exalted notion of his own authority, and being, from his miserable education, entirely ignorant of public affairs, thought that to tax the Americans for the benefit of the English, would be a masterpiece of policy. When, therefore, the old idea was revived, it met with his cordial acquiescence; and when the Americans showed their intention of resisting this monstrous injustice, he was only the more confirmed in his opinion that it was necessary to curb their unruly will. Nor need we be surprised at the rapidity with which such angry feelings broke out. Indeed, looking, on the one hand, at the despotic principles which, for the first time since the Revolution, were now revived at the English court; and looking, on the other hand, at the independent spirit of the colonists, – it was impossible to avoid a struggle between the two parties; and the only questions were, as to what form the contest would take, and towards which side victory was most likely to incline.913

On the part of the English government, no time was lost. Five years after the accession of George III., a bill was brought into parliament to tax the Americans;914 and so complete had been the change in political affairs, that not the least difficulty was found in passing a measure which, in the reign of George II., no minister had dared to propose. Formerly, such a proposal, if made, would certainly have been rejected; now the most powerful parties in the state were united in its favour. The king, on every occasion, paid a court to the clergy, to which, since the death of Anne, they had been unaccustomed; he was, therefore, sure of their support, and they zealously aided him in every attempt to oppress the colonies.915 The aristocracy, a few leading Whigs alone excepted, were on the same side, and looked to the taxation of America as a means of lessening their own contributions.916 As to George III., his feelings on the subject were notorious;917 and the more liberal party not having yet recovered from the loss of power consequent on the death of George II., there was little fear of difficulties from the cabinet; it being well known that the throne was occupied by a prince whose first object was to keep ministers in strict dependence on himself, and who, whenever it was practicable, called into office such weak and flexible men as would yield unhesitating submission to his wishes.918

Everything being thus prepared, there followed those events which were to be expected from such a combination. Without stopping to relate details which are known to every reader, it may be briefly mentioned that, in this new state of things, the wise and forbearing policy of the preceding reign was set at naught, and the national councils guided by rash and ignorant men, who soon brought the greatest disasters upon the country, and within a few years actually dismembered the empire. In order to enforce the monstrous claim of taxing a whole people without their consent, there was waged against America a war ill-conducted, unsuccessful, and, what is far worse, accompanied by cruelties disgraceful to a civilized nation.919 To this may be added, that an immense trade was nearly annihilated; every branch of commerce was thrown into confusion;920 we were disgraced in the eyes of Europe;921 we incurred an expense of 140,000,000l.;922 and we lost by far the most valuable colonies any nation has ever possessed.

Such were the first fruits of the policy of George III. But the mischief did not stop there. The opinions which it was necessary to advocate in order to justify this barbarous war, recoiled upon ourselves. In order to defend the attempt to destroy the liberties of America, principles were laid down which, if carried into effect, would have subverted the liberties of England. Not only in the court, but in both houses of parliament, from the episcopal bench, and from the pulpits of the church-party, there were promulgated doctrines of the most dangerous kind – doctrines unsuited to a limited monarchy, and, indeed, incompatible with it. The extent to which this reaction proceeded is known to very few readers, because the evidence of it is chiefly to be found in the parliamentary debates, and in the theological literature, particularly the sermons of that time, none of which are now much studied. But, not to anticipate matters belonging to another part of this work, it is enough to say that the danger was so imminent as to make the ablest defenders of popular liberty believe that everything was at stake; and that if the Americans were vanquished, the next step would be to attack the liberties of England, and endeavour to extend to the mother-country the same arbitrary government which by that time would have been established in the colonies.923

Whether or not these fears were exaggerated, is a question of considerable difficulty; but after a careful study of that time, and a study too from sources not much used by historians, I feel satisfied that they who are best acquainted with the period will be the most willing to admit that, though the danger may have been overrated, it was far more serious than men are now inclined to believe. At all events, it is certain that the general aspect of political affairs was calculated to excite great alarm. It is certain, that during many years, the authority of the crown continued to increase, until it reached a height of which no example had been seen in England for several generations. It is certain that the Church of England exerted all her influence in favour of those despotic principles which the king wished to enforce. It is also certain that, by the constant creation of new peers, all holding the same views, the character of the House of Lords was undergoing a slow but decisive change; and that, whenever a favourable opportunity arose, high judicial appointments and high ecclesiastical appointments were conferred upon men notorious for their leaning towards the royal prerogative. These are facts which cannot be denied; and, putting them together, there remains, I think, no doubt, that the American war was a great crisis in the history of England, and that if the colonists had been defeated, our liberties would have been for a time in considerable jeopardy. From that risk we were saved by the Americans, who with heroic spirit resisted the royal armies, defeated them at every point, and at length, separating themselves from the mother-country, began that wonderful career, which, in less than eighty years, has raised them to an unexampled prosperity, and which to us ought to be deeply interesting, as showing what may be effected by the unaided resources of a free people.

Seven years after this great contest had been brought to a successful close, and the Americans, happily for the interests of mankind, had finally secured their independence, another nation rose up and turned against its rulers. The history of the causes of the French Revolution will be found in another part of this volume; at present we have only to glance at the effects it produced upon the policy of the English government. In France, as is well known, the movement was extremely rapid; the old institutions, which were so corrupted as to be utterly unfit for use, were quickly destroyed; and the people, frenzied by centuries of oppression, practised the most revolting cruelties, saddening the hour of their triumph by crimes that disgraced the noble cause for which they struggled.

All this, frightful as it was, did nevertheless form a part of the natural course of affairs; it was the old story of tyranny exciting revenge, and revenge blinding men to every consequence except the pleasure of glutting their own passions. If, under these circumstances, France had been left to herself, the Revolution, like all other revolutions, would soon have subsided, and a form of government have arisen suited to the actual condition of things. What the form would have been, it is impossible now to say; that, however, was a question with which no foreign country had the slightest concern. Whether it should be an oligarchy, or a despotic monarchy, or a republic, it was for France to decide; but it was evidently not the business of any other nation to decide for her. Still less was it likely that, on so delicate a point, France would submit to dictation from a country which had always been her rival, and which not unfrequently had been her bitter and successful enemy.

But these considerations, obvious as they are, were lost upon George III., and upon those classes which were then in the ascendant. The fact that a great people had risen against their oppressors disquieted the consciences of men in high places. The same evil passions, and indeed the same evil language, which a few years before were directed against the Americans, were now turned against the French; and it was but too clear that the same results would follow.924 In defiance of every maxim of sound policy, the English ambassador was recalled from France simply because that country chose to do away with the monarchy, and substitute a republic in its place. This was the first decisive step towards an open rupture, and it was taken, not because France had injured England, but because France had changed her government.925 A few months later, the French, copying the example of the English in the preceding century,926 brought their king to a public trial, sentenced him to die, and struck off his head in the midst of his own capital. It must be allowed that this act was needless, that it was cruel, and that it was grossly impolitic. But it is palpably evident that they who consented to the execution were responsible only to God and their country; and that any notice of it from abroad, which bore the appearance of a threat, would rouse the spirit of France, would unite all parties into one, and would induce the nation to adopt as its own a crime of which it might otherwise have repented, but which it could not now abjure without incurring the shame of having yielded to the dictation of a foreign power.