For the facts, such as were not public, I received chiefly from my father and Mr. Fox, both men of veracity; and some from communication with the Duke of Bedford at the very time they were in agitation. I am content to rest their authenticity on the sincerity of such men; at the same time I beg it may be remembered, that I never assert anything positively unless from very good authority; and it may be observed, that where I am not certain, I always say, it was said, it was believed, it was supposed, or use some such phrase. The speeches, I can affirm, nay, of every one of them, to be still more authentic, as I took notes at the time, and have delivered the arguments just as I heard them; never conceiving how it can be proper in a real history to compose orations, as very probably counsels were not taken in consequence of those arguments which the Author supplies; and by that means his reasoning is not only fictitious, but misleads the reader. I do not pretend by this to assert, that parliamentary determinations are taken in consequence of any arguments the Parliament hears; I only pretend to deliver the arguments that were thought proper to be given, and thought proper to be taken.
It will perhaps be thought that some of the characters are drawn in too unfavourable a light. It has been the mode to make this objection to an honest Author, Bishop Burnet, though he only did what Tacitus, the Cardinal de Retz, and other most approved historians taught him to do, that is, speak the truth. If I have thought such authorities sufficient, I have at least acted with this farther caution, that I have endeavoured to illustrate, as far as I could, my assertions by facts, and given instances of effects naturally flowing from the qualities I ascribe to my actors. If, after all, many of the characters are bad, let it be remembered, that the scenes I describe passed in the highest life, the soil the Vices like:[16] and whoever expects to read a detail of such revolutions as these brought about by heroes and philosophers, would expect—what? why, transactions that never would have happened if the actors had been virtuous.
But to appease such scrupulous readers—here are no assassins, no poisoners, no Neros, Borgias, Catilines, Richards of York! Here are the foibles of an age, no very bad one; treacherous Ministers, mock Patriots, complaisant Parliaments, fallible Princes. So far from being desirous of writing up to the severe dignity of Roman historians, I am glad I have an opportunity of saying no worse—yet if I had, I should have used it.
Another objection which I foresee will be made to me, is, that I may have prejudices on my father’s account. I can answer this honestly in a word: all who know me, know, that I had no such prejudice to him himself, as blinded me to his failings, which I have faithfully mentioned in my character of him. If more is necessary, let me add, his friends are spared no more than his enemies; and all the good I know of the latter I have faithfully told. Still more; have I concealed my father’s own failings? I can extend this defence still farther. Some of my nearest friends are often mentioned in these Memoirs, and their failings I think as little concealed as those of any other persons. Some whom I have little reason to love, are the fairest characters in the book. Indeed, if I can call myself to any account for heightening characters, it is on the favourable side; I was so apprehensive of being thought partial, that I was almost willing to invent a Lord Falkland.
With more reason I can avow myself guilty of the last objection, I apprehend, and that is, having inserted too many trifling circumstances. Yet, as this is but the annal of a single year, events which would die away to nothing in a large body of history, are here material; and what was a stronger reason with me, the least important tend to illustrate either the character of the persons or the times. The objection will particularly have weight against the notes; I do not doubt but some anecdotes in them will be thought very trifling; it is plain, I thought them so myself, by not inserting them in the body of the work. I have nothing to say for them, but that they are trifles relating to considerable people; and such all curious persons have ever loved to read. Are not such trifles valued, if relating to any reign of 150 years ago? If this book should live so long, these too may become acceptable; if it does not, they will want no excuse. If I might, without being thought to censure so inimitable an author, I would remark that Voltaire, who in his Siècle de Louis XIV. prescribes the drawing only the great outlines of history, is as circumstantial as any chronicler, when he feels himself among facts and seasons that passed under his own knowledge.
If it is any satisfaction to my readers to assist them in censuring the Author, I may say that I have spared the most inconsiderable person in the book as little as the demigods: obliquely it is true, for my own character could have very little to do directly in this Work: but I have censured very freely some measures, for which I voted, particularly the transactions about Mr. Murray, which I must confess were carried on with an intemperate rashness very ill-becoming Parliament or justice. Among these measures I must not have involved the rigorous clauses in the Mutiny Bill, or the præmunire clause in the Regency Bill, for none of which, I thank God, I ever voted!
When I said I foresaw no other objections, let me be understood to mean objections to faults that I might have avoided, such as want of sincerity, partiality, &c.: I hope I have cleared myself from them. As to the composition, I fear faults enough will appear in it: I would excuse them too if I could: but if imputations must lie upon my memory, let my character as a writer be the scape-goat to bear my offences!
FOOTNOTES:
[11] See the Preface to the first volume of L’Histoire de France. Paris, 1720.