Then ensued eleven weeks of bickering and dispute,
during which, in the midst of a great war, England
was left without a government. It became clear
that none was possible without Pitt; and none with
him could be permanent and strong unless joined with
those influences which had thus far controlled the
majorities of Parliament. Therefore an extraordinary
union was brought about; Lord Chesterfield acting
as go-between to reconcile the ill-assorted pair.
One of them brought to the alliance the confidence
and support of the people; the other, Court management,
borough interest, and parliamentary connections.
Newcastle was made First Lord of the Treasury, and
Pitt, the old enemy who had repeatedly browbeat and
ridiculed him, became Secretary of State, with the
lead of the House of Commons and full control of the
war and foreign affairs. It was a partnership
of magpie and eagle. The dirty work of government,
intrigue, bribery, and all the patronage that did
not affect the war, fell to the share of the old politician.
If Pitt could appoint generals, admirals, and ambassadors,
Newcastle was welcome to the rest. “I will
borrow the Duke’s majorities to carry on the
government,” said the new secretary; and with
the audacious self-confidence that was one of his
traits, he told the Duke of Devonshire, “I am
sure that I can save this country, and that nobody
else can.” England hailed with one acclaim
the undaunted leader who asked for no reward but the
honor of serving her. The hour had found the
man. For the next four years this imposing figure
towers supreme in British history.
He had glaring faults, some of them of a sort not
to have been expected in him. Vanity, the common
weakness of small minds, was the most disfiguring
foible of this great one. He had not the simplicity
which becomes greatness so well. He could give
himself theatrical airs, strike attitudes, and dart
stage lightnings from his eyes; yet he was formidable
even in his affectations. Behind his great intellectual
powers lay a burning enthusiasm, a force of passion
and fierce intensity of will, that gave redoubled
impetus to the fiery shafts of his eloquence; and
the haughty and masterful nature of the man had its
share in the ascendency which he long held over Parliament.
He would blast the labored argument of an adversary
by a look of scorn or a contemptuous wave of the hand.
The Great Commoner was not a man of the people in
the popular sense of that hackneyed phrase. Though
himself poor, being a younger son, he came of a rich
and influential family; he was patrician at heart;
both his faults and his virtues, his proud incorruptibility
and passionate, domineering patriotism, bore the patrician
stamp. Yet he loved liberty and he loved the
people, because they were the English people.
The effusive humanitarianism of to-day had no part
in him, and the democracy of to-day would detest him.
Yet to the middle-class England of his own time, that
unenfranchised England which had little representation