‘Lord Stair, I think you should retire until you arc a little calmer.’
‘I’m calm enough, Madam. This scheme is so wicked and dishonest that my conscience would no more permit me to vote for it than Walpole’s should have permitted him to promote it.’
‘Don’t talk to me of your conscience, my lord. You make me faint! ‘
Lord Stair who resented this remark went on to storm against Walpole and his nefarious methods.
‘You learn your politics, sir, from The Craftsman I do believe,’ said the Queen sarcastically. ‘And as Lord Bolingbroke is your teacher I am not surprised at your ideas and your manners. That man is one of the greatest liars and knaves in any country. This I have found, not from what I have read in scurrilous papers such as you glean your ideas from, but from my own observation and experiences. And now, my Lord Stair, I must ask you to take your leave as I have other matters to which I must attend.’
There was nothing Stair could do but return to his friends and tell them that it was no use talking to the Queen about the Excise Bill, for she stood firmly beside Walpole.
Rarely had there been such excitement throughout the country as there was over the proposed Excise Bill. Meetings were called in every town hall, at every village inn. In London crowds gathered at street corners; banners were held high bearing the words ‘No Excise. No Slavery.’ And as the weeks passed the tumult grew louder.
Even Walpole’s supporters wondered whether it was wise to continue.
The purpose of the scheme had been distorted out of all proportion. All Walpole had suggested was a revision of the wine and tobacco tax, but the whole country was convinced that every need of life would so rise in price that they would be unable to obtain it.
The people did not know that in opposing Walpole’s excise scheme his enemies planned to rid the country of Walpole. No matter how his writers sought to counteract the effect of papers like The Craftsman, they could not do it. The people wanted a grievance; they liked nothing better than to see the mighty fallen, and Walpole had enjoyed too much power too long. Even those who did not know him wanted his downfall.
As for men such as Bolingbroke, Pulteney, and Wyndham, they saw in this a chance such as rarely came their way and they were not going to miss it.
Walking through the streets of London, a cloak concealing him for he was a well-known figure, Walpole saw the humour of the people. He heard the shouts of ‘No Excise!’ He listened to oratory and felt a bitter despair because it was clear that they did not know what the excise was. What did this shouting mob know of government, of the need for taxation? Did they thank him for the years of peace they had enjoyed? Not they! They wanted excitement; they wanted to taunt a politician as they taunted a bull; they were setting him to fight with his enemies as they did their fighting cocks.
He could fall on this ... down to disgrace, to the end of power.
Maria wanted him to give up, to go to Houghton and forget politics. But how could a man who had once tasted power live without it?
There was Houghton with its treasures; there was riotous living in the country: drink, a heavy table, congenial companions ... and Maria.
But in London there was power and he had known great power.
‘Give up the Excise Scheme,’ said his few friends. But were they friends? They were those who if he fell, would fall with him. So perhaps he must call them his friends.
Give up the Excise Bill! Admit defeat! No. That would be the end. He would betray a weakness. That supreme confidence which had carried him through all his troubles would be lost.
‘I shall not give up the Excise Bill,’ said Walpole.
‘And this,’ said the Prime Minister addressing a hostile House, ‘is the scheme which has been represented in so terrible a light! This is the monster which was to devour the people and commit such ravages on the whole nation.’
The Opposition was waiting to pounce. The Prime Minister’s own men were looking on with anxiety. He had explained that he had never had any intention to impose a general excise. The only commodities in question had been wine and tobacco. This he wished to introduce because a great deal of taxes were being lost to the nation through smuggling. This he wished to curtail. The House must understand that he had been wickedly ... no ... criminally misrepresented.
Wyndham was on his feet. The Opposition were against any form of excise. The Opposition did not believe in the Prime Minister’s protestations. It denounced the entire measure. It regarded excise in any form as the badge of slavery. ‘At this moment,’ he went on, ‘the people of this City are at the gates of the House. They are waiting eagerly to hear the result of this session. They want to know whether we, the Opposition, have prevailed on the Prime Minister’s indifference to their poverty and want ... whether we have thrown out this wicked measure—which we intend to do.’
Cheers drowned this speech and the sounds of voices could be heard without.
The mob must be thousands strong, thought Walpole.
He did not show his alarm. ‘These sufferers from poverty and want,’ he cried, ‘would seem to be very sturdy beggars.’
Pulteney was on his feet. ‘It moves me to wrath,’ he cried, ‘that the Prime Minister should have such indifference to the plight of the poor as to refer to them as sturdy beggars.’
Sturdy beggars! The phrase was referred to again and again during the debate. It was an unfortunate phrase. Walpole knew that it would be seized, used in the wrong context; that he would never escape from it.
The debate continued; and after thirteen hours no conclusion was reached.
One or two of his supporters suggested that Walpole slip out of the House quietly and cautiously, so that he might not be recognized. The mob was in an ugly mood.
The last complaint that could be made about the King was that he was a coward. George had never been that. Caroline and he talked continuously of the Excise and what this measure was doing to Walpole. His friends were deserting him after imploring him to drop the unpopular measure. Walpole would have liked to do this, but he could only see that to drop it would so lower his prestige that he would lose his place forever. He would be playing straight into his enemies hands, which was of course exactly what they wanted.
It astonished him, he told Maria, that the two who should be his most faithful friends in this crisis were the King and the Queen.
George’s eyes would fill with tears when he spoke of his Prime Minister. ‘That man has more spirit than any other man I ever knew,’ he said. ‘He is a brave man.’
And bravery was something which George understood and respected.
‘We will stand by him,’ he told the Queen. ‘No matter what happens we will not desert him.’
The Queen was anxious, and when Lord Scarborough requested an interview and she had heard what he had to say she was very alarmed. Richard Lumley, Lord Scarborough, was Lieutenant General of the Army and because he had always been a good friend to her and the King, Caroline knew she could trust him.
His immediate request was to be allowed to resign from his post.
Caroline was horrified. ‘But I couldn’t allow it.’ ‘Madam,’ he told her, ‘there will soon be a revolt in the army.’
‘Oh, no, no,’ cried Caroline. ‘It cannot be as bad as this.’ ‘There will be mutiny, Madam, if the Bill is not dropped.’