Richard Carvel — Complete
CHAPTER XXXIX. HOLLAND HOUSE
On the morrow, as I was setting out to dine at Brooks's, I received thefollowing on a torn slip of paper: "Dear Richard, we shall have a goodshow to-day you may care to see." It was signed "Fox," and dated atSt. Stephen's. I lost no time in riding to Westminster, where I found aflock of excited people in Parliament Street and in the Palace Yard. Andon climbing the wide stone steps outside and a narrower flight within Iwas admitted directly into the august presence of the representatives ofthe English people. They were in a most prodigious and unseemly state ofuproar.
What a place is old St. Stephen's Chapel, over St. Mary's in the Vaults,for the great Commons of England to gather! It is scarce larger or moreimposing than our own assembly room in the Stadt House in Annapolis.St. Stephen's measures but ten yards by thirty, with a narrow galleryrunning along each side for visitors. In one of these, by the rail, Isat down suffocated, bewildered, and deafened. And my first impressionout of the confusion was of the bewigged speaker enthroned under theroyal arms, sore put to restore order. On the table in front of him laythe great mace of the Restoration. Three chandeliers threw down theirlight upon the mob of honourable members, and I wondered what had putthem into this state of uproar.
Presently, with the help of a kind stranger on my right, who wasoccasionally making shorthand notes, I got a few bearings. That was theTreasury Bench, where Lord North sat (he was wide awake, now). And therewas the Government side. He pointed out Barrington and Weymouth andJerry Dyson and Sandwich, and Rigby in the court suit of purple velvetwith the sword thrust through the pocket. I took them all in, as some ofthe worst enemies my country had in Britain. Then my informant seemedto hesitate, and made bold to ask my persuasion. When I told him I was aWhig, and an American, he begged the favour of my hand.
"There, sir," he cried excitedly, "that stout young gentleman with theblack face and eyebrows, and the blacker heart, I may say,--the onedressed in the fantastical costume called by a French name,--is Mr.Charles Fox. He has been sent by the devil himself, I believe, to ruinthis country. 'Ods, sir, that devil Lord Holland begot him. He is butone and twenty, but his detestable arts have saved North's neck fromBurke and Wedderburn on two occasions this year."
"And what has happened to-day?" I asked, smiling.
The stranger smiled, too.
"Why, sir," he answered, raising his voice above the noise; "if you havebeen in London any length of time, you will have read the account, withcomment, of the Duke of Grafton's speech in the Lords, signed Domitian.Their Lordships well know it should have been over a greater signature.This afternoon his Grace of Manchester was talking in the Upper Houseabout the Spanish troubles, when Lord Gower arose and desired that theplace might be cleared of strangers, lest some Castilian spy might lurkunder the gallery. That was directed against us of the press, sir, andtheir Lordships knew it. 'Ad's heart, sir, there was a riot, the houseservants tumbling everybody out, and Mr. Burke and Mr. Dunning in theboot, who were gone there on the business of this house to present abill. Those gentlemen are but just back, calling upon the commonsto revenge them and vindicate their honour. And my Lord North lookstroubled, as you will mark, for the matter is like to go hard againsthis Majesty's friends. But hush, Mr. Burke is to speak."
The horse fell quiet to listen, and my friend began to ply his shorthandindustriously. I leaned forward with a sharp curiosity to see this greatfriend of America. He was dressed in a well-worn suit of brown, andI recall a decided Irish face, and a more decided Irish accent, whichpresently I forgot under the spell of his eloquence. I have heard itsaid he had many defects of delivery. He had none that day, or else Iwas too little experienced to note them. Afire with indignation, he toldhow the deputy black rod had hustled him like a vagabond or a thief, andhe called the House of Lords a bear garden. He was followed by Dunning,in a still more inflammatory mood, until it seemed as if all the King'sfriends in the Lower House must desert their confederates in theUpper. No less important a retainer than Mr. Onslow moved a policy ofretaliation, and those that were left began to act like the Egyptianswhen they felt the Red Sea under them. They nodded and whispered intheir consternation.
It was then that Mr. Fox got calmly up before the pack of frightenedmercenaries and argued (God save the mark!) for moderation. He had theear of the house in a second, and he spoke with all the confidence--thisyoungster who had just reached his majority--he had used with me beforehis intimates. I gaped with astonishment and admiration. The Lords, saidhe, had plainly meant no insult to this honourable house, nor yet tothe honourable members. They had aimed at the common enemies of man, theprinters. And for this their heat was more than pardonable. My friend atmy side stopped his writing to swear under his breath. "Look at 'em!"he cried; "they are turning already. He could argue Swedenborg intopopery!"
The deserters were coming back to the ranks, indeed, and North and Dysonand Weymouth had ceased to look haggard, and were wreathed in smiles. Invain did Mr. Burke harangue them in polished phrase. It was a languageNorth and Company did not understand, and cared not to learn. Theiryoung champion spoke the more worldly and cynical tongue of White's andBrooks's, with its shorter sentences and absence of formality. And evenas the devil can quote Scripture to his purpose, Mr. Fox quoted historyand the classics, with plenty more that was not above the heads of thebooted and spurred country squires. And thus, for the third time, heearned the gratitude of his gracious Majesty.
"Well, Richard," said he, slipping his arm through mine as we came outinto Parliament Street, "I promised you some sport. Have you enjoyedit?"
I was forced to admit that I had.
"Let us to the 'Thatched House,' and have supper privately," hesuggested. "I do not feel like a company to-night." We walked on forsome time in silence. Presently he said:
"You must not leave us, Richard. You may go home to see your grandfatherdie, and when you come back I will see about getting you a littleborough for what my father paid for mine. And you shall marry Dorothy,and perchance return in ten years as governor of a principality. Thatis, after we've ruined you at the club. How does that prospect sit?"
I wondered at the mood he was in, that made him choose me rather thanthe adulation and applause he was sure to receive at Brooks's for thepart he had played that night. After we had satisfied our hunger,--forneither of us had dined,--and poured out a bottle of claret, he lookedup at me quizzically.
"I have not heard you congratulate me," he said.
"Nor will you," I replied, laughing.
"I like you the better for it, Richard. 'Twas a damned poor performance,and that's truth."
"I thought the performance remarkable," I said honestly.
"Oh, but it was not," he answered scornfully. "The moment thatdun-coloured Irishman gets up, the whole government pack begins to whineand shiver. There are men I went to school with I fear more than Burke.But you don't like to see the champion of America come off second best.Is that what you're thinking?"
"No. But I was wondering why you have devoted your talents to thedevil," I said, amazed at my boldness.
He glanced at me, and half laughed again.
"You are cursed frank," said he; "damned frank."
"But you invited it."
"Yes," he replied, "so I did. Give me a man who is honest. Fill upagain," said he; "and spit out all you would like to say, Richard."
"Then," said I, "why do you waste your time and your breath in defendinga crew of political brigands and placemen, and a king who knows not themeaning of the word gratitude, and who has no use for a man of ability?You have honoured me with your friendship, Charles Fox, and I may takethe liberty to add that you seem to love power more than spoils. Youhave originality. You are honest enough to think and act upon your ownimpulses. And pardon me if I say you have very little chance on thatside of the house where you have put yourself."
"You seem to have picked up a trifle since you came into England," hesaid. "A damned shrewd estimate, I'll be sworn. And for a colonial! But,as for pow
er," he added a little doggedly, "I have it in plenty, andthe kind I like. The King and North hate and fear me already more thanWilkes."
"And with more cause," I replied warmly. "His Majesty perhaps knowsthat you understand him better, and foresees the time when a man of yourcharacter will give him cause to fear indeed."
He did not answer that, but called for a reckoning; and taking my armagain, we walked out past the sleeping houses.
"Have you ever thought much of the men we have in the colonies?" Iasked.
"No," he replied; "Chatham stands for 'em, and I hate Chatham on myfather's account. That is reason enough for me."
"You should come back to America with me," I said. "And when you hadrested awhile at Carvel Hall, I would ride with you through the lengthof the provinces from Massachusetts to North Carolina. You will seelittle besides hard-working, self-respecting Englishmen, loyal to a kingwho deserves loyalty as little as Louis of France. But with their eyesopen, and despite the course he has taken. They are men whose measure ofresolution is not guessed at."
He was silent again until we had got into Piccadilly and opposite hislodgings.
"Are they all like you?" he demanded.
"Who?" said I. For I had forgotten my words.
"The Americans."
"The greater part feel as I do."
"I suppose you are for bed," he remarked abruptly.
"The night is not yet begun," I answered, repeating his favourite words,and pointing at the glint of the sun on the windows.
"What do you say to a drive behind those chestnuts of mine, for a breathof air? I have just got my new cabriolet Selwyn ordered in Paris."
Soon we were rattling over the stones in Piccadilly, wrapped ingreatcoats, for the morning wind was cold. We saw the Earl of March andRuglen getting out of a chair before his house, opposite the Green Park,and he stopped swearing at the chairmen to wave at us.
"Hello, March!" Mr. Fox said affably, "you're drunk."
His Lordship smiled, bowed graciously if unsteadily to me, and did notappear to resent the pleasantry. Then he sighed.
"What a pair of cubs it is," said he; "I wish to God I was young again.I hear you astonished the world again last night, Charles."
We left him being assisted into his residence by a sleepy footman, paidour toll at Hyde Park Corner, and rolled onward toward Kensington,Fox laughing as we passed the empty park at the thought of what had solately occurred there. After the close night of St. Stephen's, natureseemed doubly beautiful. The sun slanted over the water in the gardensin bars of green and gold. The bright new leaves were on the trees, andthe morning dew had brought with it the smell of the living earth. Wepassed the stream of market wagons lumbering along, pulled by sturdy,patient farm-horses, driven by smocked countrymen, who touched theircaps to the fine gentlemen of the court end of town; who shook theirheads and exchanged deep tones over the whims of quality, unaccountableas the weather. But one big-chested fellow arrested his salute, a scowlcame over his face, and he shouted back to the wagoner whose horses weremunching his hay:
"Hi, Jeems, keep down yere hands. Mr. Fox is noo friend of we."
This brought a hard smile on Mr. Fox's face.
"I believe, Richard," he said, "I have become more detested than any manin Parliament."
"And justly," I replied; "for you have fought all that is good in you."
"I was mobbed once, in Parliament Street. I thought they would kill me.Have you ever been mobbed, Richard?" he asked indifferently.
"Never, I thank Heaven," I answered fervently.
"I think I would rather be mobbed than indulge in any amusement I knowof," he continued. "Than confound Wedderburn, or drive a measure againstBurke,--which is no bad sport, my word on't. I would rather be mobbedthan have my horse win at Newmarket. There is a keen pleasure you wotnot of, my lad, in listening to Billingsgate and Spitalfields howlmaledictions upon you. And no sensation I know of is equal to that ofthe moment when the mud and sticks and oranges are coming through thewindows of your coach, when the dirty weavers are clutching at yourruffles and shaking their filthy fists under your nose."
"It is, at any rate, strictly an aristocratic pleasure," I assented,laughing.
So we came to Holland House. Its wide fields of sprouting corn, itswoods and pastures and orchards in blossom, were smiling that morning,as though Leviathan, the town, were not rolling onward to swallowthem. Lord Holland had bought the place from the Warwicks, with allits associations and memories. The capped towers and quaint facades andprojecting windows were plain to be seen from where we halted in theshaded park, and to the south was that Kensington Road we had left, overwhich all the glory and royalty of England at one time or another hadrolled. Under these majestic oaks and cedars Cromwell and Ireton hadstood while the beaten Royalists lashed their horses on to Brentford.Nor did I forget that the renowned Addison had lived here after hisunhappy marriage with Lady Warwick, and had often ridden hence toButton's Coffee House in town, where my grandfather had had his dinnerwith Dean Swift.
We sat gazing at the building, which was bathed in the early sun, at thedeer and sheep grazing in the park, at the changing colours of the youngleaves as the breeze swayed them. The market wagons had almost ceasednow, and there was little to break the stillness.
"You love the place?" I said.
He started, as though I had awakened him out of a sleep. And he was nolonger the Fox of the clubs, the cynical, the reckless. He was no longerthe best-dressed man in St. James's Street, or the aggressive youngsterof St. Stephen's.
"Love it!" he cried. "Ay, Richard, and few guess how well. You will notlaugh when I tell you that my happiest days have been passed here, whenI was but a chit, in the long room where Addison used to walk up anddown composing his Spectators: or trotting after my father through thesewoods and gardens. A kinder parent does not breathe than he. WellI remember how he tossed me in his arms under that tree when I hadthrashed another lad for speaking ill of him. He called me his knight.In all my life he has never broken faith with me. When they wereblasting down a wall where those palings now stand, he promised me Ishould see it done, and had it rebuilt and blown down again because Ihad missed the sight. All he ever exacted of me was that I should treathim as an elder brother. He had his own notion of the world I was goinginto, and prepared me accordingly. He took me from Eton to Spa, where Ilearned gaming instead of Greek, and gave me so much a night to risk atplay."
I looked at him in astonishment. To say that I thought these relationsstrange would have been a waste of words.
"To be sure," Charles continued, "I was bound to learn, and couldacquire no younger." He flicked the glossy red backs of his horses withhis whip. "You are thinking it an extraordinary education, I know," headded rather sadly. "I hav a-told you this--God knows why! Yes, becauseI like you damnably, and you would have heard worse elsewhere, both ofhim and of me. I fear you have listened to the world's opinion of LordHolland."
Indeed, I had heard a deal of that nobleman's peculations of the publicfunds. But in this he was no worse than the bulk of his colleagues. Hisdesertion of William Pitt I found hard to forgive.
"The best father in the world, Richard!" cried Charles. "If his formerfriends could but look into his kind heart, and see him in his home,they would not have turned their backs upon him. I do not mean suchscoundrels as Rigby. And now my father is in exile half the year inNice, and the other half at King's Gate. The King and Jack Bute usedhim for a tool, and then cast him out. You wonder why I am of the King'sparty?" said he, with something sinister in his smile; "I will tell you.When I got my borough I cared not a fig for parties or principles. Ihad only the one definite ambition, to revenge Lord Holland. Nay," heexclaimed, stopping my protest, "I was not too young to know rottennessas well as another. The times are rotten in England. You may have virtuein America, amongst a people which is fresh from a struggle with theearth and its savages. We have cursed little at home, in faith. TheKing, with his barley water and rising at six, and shivering in chapel,an
d his middle-class table, is rottener than the rest. The money hesaves in his damned beggarly court goes to buy men's souls. His word isgood with none. For my part I prefer a man who is drunk six days out ofthe seven to one who takes his pleasure so. And I am not so great a foolthat I cannot distinguish justice from injustice. I know the wrongs ofthe colonies, which you yourself have put as clear as I wish to hear,despite Mr. Burke and his eloquence.
[My grandfather has made a note here, which in justice should be added, that he was not deceived by Mr. Fox's partiality.--D. C. C.]
And perhaps, Richard," he concluded, with a last lingering look at theold pile as he turned his horses, "perhaps some day, I shall rememberwhat you told us at Brooks's."
It was thus, boyishly, that Mr. Fox chose to take me into hisconfidence, an honour which I shall remember with a thrill to my dyingday. So did he reveal to me the impulses of his early life, hiddenforever from his detractors. How little does the censure of this worldcount, which cannot see the heart behind the embroidered waistcoat! WhenCharles Fox began his career he was a thoughtless lad, but steadfast tosuch principles as he had formed for himself. They were not many, but,compared to those of the arena which he entered, they were noble. Hestrove to serve his friends, to lift the name of a father from whom hehad received nothing but kindness, however misguided. And when he saw atlength the error of his ways, what a mighty blow did he strike for theright!
"Here is a man," said Dr. Johnson, many years afterwards, "who hasdivided his kingdom with Caesar; so that it was a doubt whether thenation should be ruled by the sceptre of George the Third or the tongueof Fox."