Fall of the Whigs in 1867--Disraeli as Chancellor of the
Exchequer--Reform Bill, why undertaken--Necessities real or fancied
of a Party Leader--Alternatives--Split in the Cabinet--Disraeli
carries his point--Niagara to be shot--Retirement of Lord
Derby--Disraeli Prime Minister--Various judgments of his
character--The House of Commons responsible for his
elevation--Increasing popularity with all classes.
[Sidenote: NEW REFORM BILL]
Something else too as well as the Castilian pedigree Disraeli might have
done better to leave to others. In 1865 he had uttered his memorable
warning in the House of Commons against playing tricks with the
Constitution. Other countries might emerge out of a revolution and
'begin again.' England could not begin again. Lord John Russell's Reform
Bill was thrown out. The Whig Ministry fell in 1867, and Lord Derby came
a third time to the helm with Disraeli for his Chancellor of the
Exchequer. They at least, it might have been thought, would have let
alone a subject on which the latter had pronounced so recently so
emphatic an opinion. But they were still a Ministry on sufferance, and
how to turn a minority into a majority was still an unsolved problem.
The spectre of Reform was unexorcised. Both parties had evoked it at
intervals, when they wished ultimately to pose before the world as the
people's friends. Yet no experienced statesman, Whig or Tory, unless
from unworthy jealousy, would have opened his lips to recommend a
change from which he could not honestly expect improvement. Even the
working classes themselves, who were to be admitted to the suffrage,
were not actively demanding it. No good had come to them from the great
Bill of 1832. 'I don't care who is in or who is out,' said a rough
artisan to me. 'I could never see that any of them cared for us.' They
had been told that they were living in a world where everyone was to
look out for himself, that their interests would never be attended to
till they had representatives who would force attention to them. But
their general sense was that the ills which they complained of were out
of reach of Parliament, and they were looking for a remedy in
combination among themselves which would take the place of the old
Guilds. The ancient organisation of labour had been destroyed in the
name of Liberty. Their employers had piled up fortunes. They had been
left 'free,' as it was called, with their families to multiply as they
would, and to gather their living under the hoofs of the horses of a
civilisation which had become an aggregate of self-seeking units. To
this they had been brought by a Parliamentary government, which, as far
as they were concerned, was no government at all; and they were
incredulous of any benefit that was to arrive to them from improvements
in a machine so barren. Thus they were looking rather with amused
indifference than active concern while the parties in the House of
Commons were fencing for the honour of being their champion.
And yet Reform was in the air. The educated mind of England had been
filled to saturation with the new Liberal philosophy. In the old days a
'freeman' was a master of his craft, and not till he had learnt to do,
and do well, some work which was useful to society did he enter upon
his privileges as a citizen. The situation was now reversed. To be
'free' was to have a voice in making the laws of the country. Those who
had no votes were still in bondage, and bondage was a moral degradation.
Freedom was no longer a consequence and a reward, but the fountain of
all virtue; a baptismal sacrament in which alone human nature could be
regenerated. In Great Britain and Ireland there were some thirty
millions of inhabitants. Of these, under the Reform Bill of 1832, three
hundred thousand only were in possession of their birthright. What
claim, it was asked, had a mere fraction to monopolise a privilege which
was not only a power in the State but the indispensable condition of
spiritual growth and progress? We heard much about generous confidence
in the people, about the political stability to be expected from
broadening the base of the pyramid, about the elevating consciousness
of responsibility which would rise out of the possession of a
vote--beautiful visions of the return of Astræa, the millennium made
into a fact by the establishment of universal liberty. Of all this
Disraeli believed nothing. No one hated empty verbiage more than he. His
dislike of cant was the most genuine part of him. But he too had once
imagined that the working-men were safer depositaries of power than the
ten-pound householders; and even old Tories, though they thought an
extension of the franchise foolish and needless, did not suppose it
would be necessarily dangerous unless accompanied with a vast
redistribution of seats. Thus, although the mass of the existing voters
were content with their privileges, and were not eager to share them,
the House of Commons had already committed itself by second readings to
the principle of Reform. The question would return upon them again and
again till it was settled, and as things stood either party had a
Parliamentary right to deal with it.
What were Lord Derby and Disraeli to do? Accident had brought them into
power, and accident or some adverse resolution of the House might at any
time displace them. Experienced Parliamentary politicians had observed
that the shake of the Constitution from the Act of 1832 had arisen more
from the manner in which it was carried than from the measure in itself.
A second Radical Reform Bill, which might be passed in a similar manner,
was evidently imminent; the multitude, who were so far quiet, might
again be stirred; and if once the classes and the masses were pitted
against one another the breaking loose of a torrent might sweep away
Church, House of Lords, landed estates, and all that was left of the old
institutions of England. Such were the arguments on public grounds; to
which, though it was unavowed, might be added the pleasure of 'dishing
the Whigs.'
But if Disraeli had looked back upon his own past career he might have
remembered to have once said that there were considerations higher than
any of these--that public men ought to be true to their real
convictions. The Liberals had professed to believe in Reform. The Tories
had never looked on it as more than an unwelcome and a useless
necessity. Lord Derby had been a member of Lord Grey's first Reform
Cabinet. Disraeli in his enthusiastic youth had called himself a
Radical. But Lord Derby had been cured of his illusions; and Disraeli
had learnt the difference between realities and dreams. They might think
that the danger of concession was less than the danger of resistance,
but that was all. There were persons credulous enough to hope that there
might be found men at last among their Parliamentary leaders who would
adhere in office to what they had said in Opposition. In the opinion of
the Conservatives, the need of England was wise government, not
political revolution. They might have said that if the experiment of
Democracy was to be tried it should be tried by those who were in favour
of the change on their own responsibility. They themselves would have no
hand in it. They might be turned out of office, but the country would
know that they had been faithful to their word, and could be relied upon
when there was need of them again. Tories of the old school would have
said so and dared the consequences, which might not have been very
terrible after all, and Parliamentary government would have escaped the
contempt into which it is now so rapidly falling.
Unfortunately political leaders have ceased to think of what is good for
the nation, or of their own consistency, or even of what in the long run
may be best for themselves. Their business is the immediate campaign, in
which they are to outmanœuvre and defeat their enemies. On this
condition only they can keep their party together. The Conservatives had
been out of office, with but short-lived intervals, for thirty-five
years. Peel's Government had been, as Disraeli said, not Conservative at
all, but an organised hypocrisy. If they were to regard themselves as
condemned to be in a perpetual minority, with no inducement to offer to
tempt ability or ambition into their ranks, they would inevitably become
disheartened and indifferent. The Parliamentary Constitution depended on
the continuance of two parties, and if one of these disappeared the
constitution would itself cease to exist.
[Sidenote: THE LEAP IN THE DARK]
Disraeli's notion that the aristocracy were to recover their power by
an alteration of their ways had proved 'a devout imagination.' The
ancient organisation was visibly crumbling, and progress, whether it was
upwards or downwards, was the rule of the hour. Lord Derby was old and
out of health, and Disraeli himself was the ruling spirit of the
Cabinet. Though born an Englishman, and proud of the position which he
had won, he had not an English temperament, and he was unembarrassed by
English prejudices. He surveyed the situation with the coolness of a
general and the impartiality of a friend who had no personal interests
at stake. He prided himself on his knowledge of the English character;
and to some extent he did know it, though he mistook the surface for the
substance. He believed--and the event a few years later seemed to show
that he was right--in the essential Conservatism of the great mass of
the people, and he resolved upon a 'leap into the dark.' He regretted
the necessity. He did not hide from himself that he too was 'stealing
the Whigs' clothes while they were bathing.' History was repeating
itself. His situation too much resembled that of his old leader whom he
had overthrown. His own language could be retorted upon him, and the
more violent he had been at Peel the more severe would be his
condemnation. But a strategist must be governed by circumstances, and he
could plead that the position was not entirely the same. Peel had been
pledged to Protection, and was at the head of an unbroken majority
returned in the Protectionist interest. In going over to Free Trade he
had made a social revolution and destroyed his party. Disraeli could say
that he had never opposed the principle of an extension of the suffrage,
that he had more than once openly advocated it. He had always protested
against the assumption that the Liberals had a monopoly of the
question.
All agreed that reform was inevitable; if conducted by the Conservatives
with a drag upon the wheel, it might be harmless, and might add to their
strength. To persuade himself was more easy than to convince his party.
Old-fashioned Toryism was stubborn and distrustful--distrustful of the
measure in itself, and distrustful of the leader whom, for want of
ability in themselves, they were compelled to follow. He found it
necessary to 'educate' them, as he scornfully said. He told them that
they could not hold together on the principle of mere resistance to the
spirit of the age. Change was the order of the day. To cease to change
would be to cease to live. They must accept the conditions. Party
government is perhaps an accident of a peculiar period. To divide the
intellect of the country into hostile camps, each struggling to outwit
or outbid the other, is not a promising, and may not be a permanent,
method of conducting the affairs of a great country. But it is a present
fact, theoretically admired and practically accepted and acted on, and
while it continues, the opposing chiefs have to disregard the reproaches
of inconsistency. They have to do what occasion requires--attack,
defend, snatch advantages, and improve opportunities.
In earlier years, Disraeli, by speech and writing, had tried for a
nobler policy. He had hoped for a real government again, to be brought
about by an aristocratic regeneration. But the aristocracy had not
regenerated themselves. The American war, which was to have shown the
superiority of aristocracies to democratic republics, had had precisely
the opposite effect. He was carrying on the administration with a
minority. His business now as a general was to go with the times, and if
possible change his minority into a majority. Tory principles were dead.
His best chance was in the daring stroke, on which Carlyle so
scornfully commented, and in throwing himself boldly upon the masses of
the people.
[Sidenote: 'SHOOTING NIAGARA']
All admit Disraeli's dexterity as a Parliamentary commander. To succeed,
he knew that he must outbid the highest offers of his opponents. He
shook his Cabinet in the process. Three of his most distinguished
supporters--Lord Salisbury, Lord Carnarvon, and General Peel--threw up
their offices and left him. But the body of his army consented to go
with him. He could be confident in the general support of the
Opposition. Their consent could not be refused. For form's sake, and to
satisfy his followers, he introduced a few limitations of which he must
have foreseen that the Liberals would demand the surrender, and to which
his easy sacrifice of them showed that he attached no importance. He
carried a bill which in its inevitable developments must give the
franchise to every householder in the United Kingdom; and he gained for
his party the credit, if credit it was, of having passed a more
completely democratic measure than the most Radical responsible
statesman had as yet dared to propose. The reproaches which were heaped
upon him are fresh in the memories of many of us. Carlyle roused himself
out of the sorrows into which he had been plunged by his wife's death to
write his 'Shooting Niagara.' In Carlyle's opinion, the English people
had gone down the cataract at last, and nothing was left to them but to
continue their voyage to the ocean on such shattered fragments of their
old greatness as they could seize and cling to. A quarter of a century
has gone by and the Constitution still holds together. The prophet of
Chelsea may yet prove to have been clear-sighted. There are sounds in
the air of cracking timbers, and signs of rending and disruption. But a
powerfully organised framework does not break with a single shock, and
Disraeli scored a victory. Enemies said that he had covered himself with
ignominy; but the disgrace sat light upon him, and by his manœuvres he
had secured for his party at least one more year of office. Time must
pass before the newly enfranchised voters could be placed upon the
register. If the Liberals forced a dissolution before the process was
completed, a new Parliament would have to be chosen by the old
constituencies, and they would gain nothing even if they were again in a
majority, for there would be an appeal to the fresh electors, whose
votes no one could count upon. Two general elections close one upon
another would be so inconvenient that the country would resent it upon
them. They had therefore to wait and digest their spleen, while new
honours descended upon the triumphant Disraeli. Lord Derby's health
broke down; he was no longer equal to the work of office. He retired,
and the author of 'Vivian Grey' became Prime Minister. The post which in
the extravagance of youthful ambition he had told Lord Melbourne could
alone satisfy his ambition was actually his own, and had been won by
courage, skill, and determination, and only these. He _libertino patre
natus_, a _libertinus_ himself--without wealth, without connection, for
the peers and gentlemen of England resented his supremacy while they
used his services--had made himself the ruler of the British Empire. He
had not stooped to the common arts of flattery. He had achieved no
marked successes in the service of the country. It was supposed, perhaps
without ground, that he was not even a _grata persona_ to the highest
person in the realm, till Her Majesty was compelled to accept his
supremacy. He had won his way by parliamentary ability and by
resolution to succeed. Whether it be for the interest of the nation in
the long run to commit its destinies to men of such qualifications is a
question which it will by-and-by consider. If a time comes when party
becomes faction, and the interests of the empire are sacrificed visibly
in contention for office, when the wise and the honest hold aloof from
politics as a game in which they can no longer take part, Parliamentary
government will fall into the contempt which Disraeli himself already
secretly felt for it. The system will collapse, and other methods will
be tried. Disraeli, however, had risen by the regular process, and
according to the representative principle was the chosen of the country.
Among rival politicians his elevation created irritation more than
surprise, for it had been long regarded as inevitable. Outside
Parliamentary circles there was no irritation at all, but rather pride
and pleasure. Englishmen like those who have made a position for
themselves by their own force of character. Disraeli's public life was
before the world. He had made innumerable enemies. A thousand calumnies
had pursued him. His actions, good, bad, and indifferent, had been
coloured to his least advantage. He had been described as an adventurer
and a charlatan, without honesty, without sincerity, without patriotism;
a mercenary, a gladiator; the Red Indian of debate.
[Sidenote: PRIME MINISTER]
If this was the true account of him, one has to ask oneself in wonder
what kind of place the House of Commons must be, when such a man can be
selected by it as its foremost statesman. There he had sat for thirty
years, session after session, ever foremost in the fight, face to face
with antagonists who were reputed the ablest speakers, the most powerful
thinkers whom the country could produce. Had his enemies' account of him
been true, why had they not exposed and made an end of him? The English
people had too much respect for their institutions to believe in so
incredible a story. The violence of the attacks recoiled upon their
authors. With his accession to the Premiership he became an object of
marked and general regard. When he went down to Parliament for the first
time in his new capacity, he was wildly cheered by the crowds in Palace
Yard. The shouts were echoed along Westminster Hall and through the
lobbies, and were taken up again warmly and heartily in the House
itself, which had been the scene of so many conflicts--the same House in
which he had been hooted down when he first rose to speak there.
And the tribute was to himself personally. He was not the representative
of any great or popular cause. Even in carrying his Reform Bill he had
not stooped to inflated rhetoric, or held out promises of visionary
millenniums. He was regarded merely as a man of courage and genius, not
less honest than other politicians because his professions were few.