However, he had too much experience of Newcastle to think it possible for Fox to go on with him, or to expect that Newcastle would let him. In my own opinion, Fox hoped to terrify, and to obtain an increase of sway. He went to Lady Yarmouth, and uttered his grievances, and appealed to her whether he had not formerly told her, that, if on the death of Mr. Pelham the Duke of Newcastle had taken him sincerely, he would have acted as faithfully under him as he had under Sir Robert Walpole:—“Ah! Monsieur Fox,” cried Lady Yarmouth, “il y avoit bien de la difference entre ces deux hommes là!” She entreated him, for the sake of the King, for the sake of the country, not to quit. Not prevailing, she begged that Lord Granville might carry the message instead of her. After recapitulating his subjects of complaint, the substance of the message was, that concluding Mr. Pitt was to come into the King’s service, and finding his own credit decrease daily, and how impossible it was for him to act any longer with the Duke of Newcastle, he was willing to serve his Majesty to the best of his abilities in any post, not of the Cabinet.
When Granville arrived with this letter at Kensington, he said, “I suppose your Majesty knows what I am bringing?” “Yes,” replied the King; “and I dare say you disapproved and dissuaded it.” “Yes, indeed, Sir,” said he, (as he repeated the dialogue himself to Fox: “And why did you say so?” asked Fox. “Oh!” said he, shuffling it off with a laugh, “you know one must—one must.”) The King, whom Newcastle had just left, seemed much irritated against Fox, talked of his ingratitude and ambition, quoted the friends of Fox that he had preferred, and particularly of his having raised so young a Peer as Lord Ilchester above so many ancient Barons; and when he had vented his anger against Fox, he abruptly asked Lord Granville, “Would you advise me to take Pitt?” “Sir,” said he, “you must take somebody.” “What!” cried the King, “would you bear Pitt over you?” “While I am your Majesty’s President,” replied the Earl, “nobody will be over me.” The King then abused Lord Temple much; and at last broke forth the secret of his heart—“I am sure,” said he, “Pitt will not do my business.” “You know,” said Lord Granville to Fox, “what my business meant;—Hanover.” The supposition did honour to Pitt; but, it seems, the King did not know him. The conversation ended with the King’s saying, he would leave it to Fox’s honour whether he would desert him now.
Fox was by no means hard-hearted on this occasion. He began to say, that he would serve for the next session, but would positively resign in the spring. In the meantime, he was casting about for means of union with Pitt. His resentment to Newcastle prescribed this; and his friend, the Duke of Bedford, who, from the moment he had lost his Turnpike Bill, saw that this country would be ruined by the Duke of Newcastle and the Chancellor, loudly dictated it. Fox applied to Horace Walpole, and told him, that as soon as he should be ready to break with Newcastle, he would desire him to acquaint Mr. Pitt that he should be willing to unite with him. Walpole, who by no means approved the adoption of such Pelham politics, as acting with a man only till an opportunity offered of undermining him; and who had for some time withdrawn himself from all participation of measures which he thought neither fair nor wise, replied, “That it was true, he admired Mr. Pitt, though he had not the honour of his friendship; that he earnestly wished to see them united; but before he carried any such message, he must be convinced it was for Mr. Fox’s honour and service.”
Walpole had uniformly persisted in detaching himself from Fox, from the moment the latter had entered into engagements with Newcastle, with whom the other had determined never to have the most minute connexion. Yet, I fear, passions of more mortal complexion had co-operated a little to his disunion (I cannot call it breach, as he never had the least quarrel) with Fox. Rigby, who had vast obligations to him, was, however, grown weary of Walpole’s ardour for factious intrigues, and wished a little to realize his politics. He had not only abandoned his friend for the Duke of Bedford, but thought it time to turn his new friendship to account; and had drawn the Duke out of that opposition to the Court, in which, by Walpole’s arts, as has been shown, he had involved him. In short, Rigby, by no means in affluence, and with too much common sense to amuse himself any longer with politics that had no solid views, sacrificed the Duke of Bedford to Fox and fortune, when Walpole wished to have him sacrificed to his humour. This had made a breach between them; and Walpole, whose resentments were impetuous, and by no means of an accommodating mould, was little desirous of serving that league, and of breaking Fox’s fall, especially by dishonourable means. It was enough to do wrong to gratify his own passions—he was not at all disposed to err, only in contradiction to them. This detail would be impertinent, if a crisis, which Fox reckoned decisive, had not turned (as will be seen) on these secret springs; and if the author did not think it his duty to avow his own failings and blemishes with the same frankness which he has used on other characters. The only difference is, that in others he would probably have treated the same faults with greater asperity, which the justice of the reader will supply.
Lady Yarmouth entreated Fox to see the King as soon as possible: she wished to prevent the rupture; for all the Hanoverians had contracted strange notions of the truculence of Pitt’s virtue. October 18th, Fox had an audience. The Monarch was sour; but endeavoured to keep his temper: yet made no concessions, no request to the retiring Minister to stay. At last he let slip the true cause of his indignation: “You” said he, “have made me make that puppy Bute Groom of the Stole;” for so the junto had persuaded him, when they were reduced to bend to Bute themselves. Fox protested that he had never named it in Council; he had only suggested it as a prudent measure to Newcastle. Still the King dropped suspicions of his having connexions with the Princess. “Sir,” replied Fox, “what I am so happy in, my attachment to your son,[68] might have assured you against that.” On his side, the Monarch disavowed having made any offers to Pitt. Yet so little condescension appeared, that Fox determined to quit directly; and took his leave with saying, that his intention was so much known, that now he could not avoid resigning. The King, during the whole conversation, seemed to leave open his dominion of saying, or unsaying, hereafter, as the negotiations on the anvil should have a prosperous or unfortunate issue. The Chancellor was treating with Pitt; that is, had sent to desire to see him, and plied him on the 19th and 20th with large offers. Pitt refused all in direct terms, alleging, that the Duke of Newcastle had engrossed the King’s whole confidence—and it was understood, that he meaned to put an exclusive negative on that Duke. Yet he deigned to name the price at which that diamond, his virtue, might be purchased for the Crown. Ireland he demanded for Lord Temple; for Legge, the Chancellorship of the Exchequer; for George Grenville, Paymaster; for James Grenville, Secretary to the Lord Lieutenant; for Charles Townshend, Treasurer of the Chambers, or some such thing; for himself, Secretary of State;—for his country, the Militia, and some other rattles. He named the Duke of Devonshire to the Treasury, and without consulting, answered for him.
In the meantime the Prince’s new family kissed hands. Lord Bute, as Groom of the Stole; Lord Huntingdon, Master of the Horse; Lord Euston, Lord Pembroke, Lord Digby, Lords of the Bedchamber; Mr. Monson and Mr. Ingram, Grooms; Mr. Stone, Secretary; Lord Bathurst, Treasurer; Mr. Masham, Auditor; Mr. Brudenel, Master of the Robes; besides Equerries and Clerks of the Green-cloth. Mr. Cadogan was appointed Privy-Purse to Prince Edward, who had also Grooms and Equerries. The late Governor, Lord Waldegrave, was offered a pension on Ireland, and refused it: they then gave him the reversion of a Teller’s place; and one cannot tell which was most rejoiced at the separation, he or the Princess, who had been suspicious enough to take for a spy, a man, who would even have scorned to employ one. The fate of one man was singular: the Prince of Wales himself condescended to desire Mr. Stone to prevent Scott, his Sub-Preceptor, from being continued in any employment about him—and it was granted. Scott has been mentioned in the civil wars of the tutorhood as attached to Stone: the reason given for his exclusion was, his having talked with contempt of the Prince’s understanding,[69] and with freedom of the Princess’s conduct. The truth was, Scott was a frank man, of no courtly depth, and had indiscreetly disputed with Lord Bute, who affected a character of learning. The King, who loved to mark his empire in the loss of it, refused to give the Golden Key himself to Lord Bute, as was usual, but sent it by the Duke of Grafton, who slipped it into his pocket, and advised him to take no notice of the manner. The Earl, on being wished joy, was said to reply, he felt none, while the Duke of Newcastle was Minister.
On the 21st, in the morning, the palace—not at all the scene of action, had its solitude alarmed. The Pages of the Back-stairs were seen hurrying about, and crying, “Mr. Pitt wants my Lady Yarmouth.” That great stranger made her an abrupt visit—said he was come to explain himself, lest it should be thought he had not been sufficiently explicit. He repeated his exclusion of Newcastle—and gave some civil, though obscure hints, as if, in losing his grace, Hanover might not lose all its friends. The visit itself seemed to indicate that. The mistress of the King and the friend of the Minister was not the first person to whom one should have expected a patriot would have addressed himself, who proscribed the Minister, as he had long attacked the Electorate. And, indeed, it looked as if Mr. Pitt was afraid of having been too explicit, not too little so.
However, the difficulty was increased. The question seemed at first to be, whether Cæsar or Pompey should have the honour of supporting Crassus—when neither would, Crassus made a show of venturing to stand alone: and it seemed almost as easy for him, as for either of the others. For Fox could neither trust to a Parliament devoted to Newcastle; nor dared, in his own unpopular situation, to call a new one. Pitt had no party at all: a new Parliament would have suited him best, for he could not have fewer adherents than in the old one; and, considering the temper of the nation on the late miscarriages, in which he had no hand, might acquire some clamorous voices; but that very dissatisfaction made the expedient too dangerous. How each was counselled by his friends may be seen in a moment. Stone, cold and never sanguine, advised Newcastle to give up a desperate game: Murray threw in censures on his conduct to Fox: the Duke of Grafton, though hating Fox, wisely suggested a reconciliation with him: the Chancellor, sullen and mortified, protested he would follow his Grace, but endeavoured to encourage him to stand alone, affirming they could carry everything by their numbers; and having ever been ready to torture the law to annoy his enemies, he could not help expecting to find the same support from it for himself and his friends. Sir George Lyttelton concurred with him—and if that was encouragement, offered to accept any employment. Nugent and Lord Duplin, on the contrary, dissuaded such rash measures; the latter said, sensibly, “Fox and Pitt shall not need but sit still and laugh, and we must walk out of the House.” Fox’s court (except Doddington, who was too shrewd not to think ill of their cause, and who accordingly acted disgust on not having been more consulted) talked as if triumphant, the moment they heard the reconciliation of Newcastle and Pitt was desperate. The Duke of Marlborough said, Newcastle must be sent to Sussex; Claremont was too near. The Duke of Bedford would have permitted him to retire thither with a pension, and eagerly drove Fox to unite with Pitt. The party of the latter, that is, Lord Temple, was indecently forward to come into place, and having always hated by the scale of his ambition, he had only passions to sacrifice, not principles, when the terms of his advancement were to be adjusted.
Newcastle sinking, catched at feathers: his Grace proposed to Lord Egmont to be Secretary of State; but he demanded an English Peerage for his son, as the price of his own acceptance of one of the first posts in England. Ministers were become such precarious tenures, that scarce any man would list in them under places for life. The foreign Ministers, a nation not apt to joke, complained bitterly of our frequent revolutions; and D’Abreu, the Spanish Resident, said, before they ventured to negotiate, they were obliged to ask who would be Minister next Session?
At last the important point was decided, and Perfidy, after thirty years, had an intermission. The Duke of Newcastle (with all the satisfaction which must have attended the discovery that not one man of sense would trust him any longer) declared his resolution of resigning.