Still, however, he did not go: he kept gazing upon Mr. Hastings till he seemed almost fascinated to the spot; and presently after, growing more and more open in his discourse, he began to talk to me of Sir Elijah Impey. I presume my dearest friends, little as they hear of politics and state business, must yet know that the House of Commons is threatening Sir Elijah with an impeachment, to succeed that of Mr. Hastings, and all upon East India transactions of the same date.[265]
When he had given me his sentiments upon this subject, which I had heard with that sort of quietness that results from total ignorance of the matter, joined to total ignorance of the person concerned, he drew a short comparison, which, nearly, from him, and at such a moment, drew the tears from my eyes—nearly do I say?—Indeed more than that!
“Sir Elijah,” cried he, “knows how to go to work, and by getting the lawyers to side with him professionally, has set about his defence in the most artful manner. He is not only wicked, but a very pitiful fellow. Let him but escape fine or imprisonment, and he will pocket all indignity, and hold himself happy in getting off: but Hastings (again looking steadfastly at him)—Hastings has feeling—’tis a proud feeling, an ambitious feeling—but feeling he has! Hastings—come to him what may—fine, imprisonment, whatsoever is inflicted—all will be nothing. The moment of his punishment—I think it, upon my honour!—was the moment that brought him to that bar!”
When he said “I think it, upon my honour,” he laid his hand on his breast, as if he implied, “I acquit him henceforward.”
Poor Mr. Hastings! One generous enemy he has at least, who pursues him with public hate, but without personal malignity! yet sure I feel he can deserve neither!
I did not spare to express my sense of this liberality from a foe; for, indeed, the situation I was in, and the sight of Mr. Hastings, made it very affecting to me. He was affected too, himself; but presently, rising, he said with great quickness, “I must shake all this off; I must have done with it—dismiss it—forget that he is there.”
“O, no,” cried I, earnestly, “do not forget it!”
“Yes, yes; I must.”
“No, remember it rather,” cried I; “I could almost (putting up my hands as if praying) do thus and then, like poor Mr. Hastings just now to the house, drop down on my knees to you, to call out ‘Remember it.’”
“Yes, Yes,” cried he, precipitately, “how else shall I go on? I must forget that he is there, and that you are here.” And then he hurried down to his committee.