asts in human affairs that is to be found in the whole course of
our history. It began under conditions of what may fairly be called
national interest. It came to an end amid the apathy and indifference
of the public. When it began, the Great Hall of Westminster was
scarcely large enough to contain all those who longed to be present at
the trial of the great proconsul. All the rank, the wealth, the
genius, the wit, the beauty of England seemed to be gathered together
in the building, which is said to be the oldest inhabited building in
the world. When it ended, and long before it had ended, the attendance
had dwindled down to a mere handful of spectators, some two or three
score of persons whose patience, whose interest, or whose curiosity had
survived the indifference with which the rest of the world had come to
{283} regard the whole business. The spirit of genius and the spirit
of dulness met in close encounter in that memorable arena, and it must
be admitted that the spirit of dulness did on the whole prevail. There
seemed a time when it was likely that the trial might go on forever.
Men and women who came to the first hearing eager on the one side or
the other, impassioned for Hastings or enthusiastic for Burke, died and
were buried, and new men and women occupied themselves with other
things, and still the trial dragged its slow length along.

[Sidenote: 1788-95--Hastings's Oriental fortitude]

It may be unhesitatingly admitted that during the long course of the
trial Warren Hastings bore himself with courage and with dignity. He
was firmly convinced that he was a much-injured man, and if the justice
of a man's cause were to be decided merely upon the demeanor of the
defendant, Hastings would have been exonerated. He professed to be
horrified, and he no doubt was horrified, by what he called "the
atrocious calumnies of Mr. Burke and Mr. Fox." He carried himself as
if they were indeed atrocious calumnies without any basis whatsoever.
His attitude was that of the martyr supported by the serenity of the
saint. He had lived so long in the East that he gained not a little of
that Eastern fortitude which is the fortitude of fatalism. While the
trial was progressing he told a dear friend that he found much
consolation in a certain Oriental tale. The story was of an Indian
king whose temper never knew a medium, and who in prosperity was
hurried into extravagance by his joy, while in adversity grief
overwhelm