Leadership. (1865)
In public life a man of elevated mind does not make his own self
tell upon others simply and entirely. He must act with other men;
he cannot select his objects, or pursue them by means
unadulterated by the methods and practices of minds less elevated
than his own. He can only do what he feels to be second-best. He
labours at a venture, prosecuting measures so large or so
complicated that their ultimate issue is uncertain.—CARDINAL
NEWMAN.
I
The faithful steward is a chartered bore alike of the mimic and the
working stage; the rake and spendthrift carries all before him. Nobody
knew better than Mr. Gladstone that of all the parts in public life, the
teasing and economising drudge is the most thankless. The public only half
apprehends, or refuses to apprehend at all; his spending colleagues
naturally fight; colleagues who do not spend, have other business and
prize a quiet life. All this made Mr. Gladstone’s invincible tenacity as
guardian of the national accounts the more genuinely heroic. In a long
letter from Balmoral, in the October of 1864, he began what was destined
to be the closing battle of the six years’ war. To Mrs. Gladstone he
wrote:—
I have fired off to-day my letter to Lord Palmerston about
expenditure. For a long time, though I did not let myself worry by
needlessly thinking about it, I have had it lying on me like a
nightmare. I mean it to be moderate (I shall have the copy when we
meet to show you), but unless he concurs it may lead to
consequences between this time and February. What is really
painful is to believe that he will not agree unless through
apprehension, his own leanings and desires being in favour of a
large and not a moderate expenditure....
Figures, details, points, were varied, but the issue was in essence the
same, and the end was much the same. Lord Palmerston took his stand on the
demands of public opinion. He insisted (Oct. 19) that anybody who looked
carefully at the signs of the times must see that there were at present
two strong feelings in the national mind—the one a disinclination to
organic changes in our representative system, the other a steady
determination that the country should be placed and kept in an efficient
condition of defence. He pointed to the dead indifference of the workmen
themselves to their own enfranchisement as evidence of the one, and to the
volunteer movement as evidence of the other.
Mr. Gladstone rejoined that it was Lord Palmerston’s personal popularity,
and not the conviction or desire of the nation, that kept up estimates.
Palmerston retorted that this was to mistake cause and effect. “If I have
in any degree been fortunate enough to have obtained some share of the
goodwill and confidence of my fellow-countrymen, it has been because I
have rightly understood the feelings and opinion of the nation.... You may
depend upon it that any degree of popularity that is worth having can be
obtained only by such means, and of that popularity I sincerely wish you
the most ample share.” The strain was severe:—
_Oct. 1, 1864._—I still feel much mental lassitude, and not only
shrink from public business, but from hard books. It is uphill
work. _Oct. 21._—A pamphlet letter from Lord Palmerston about
defence holds out a dark prospect. _Oct. 22._—Wrote, late in the
day, my reply to Lord Palmerston in a rather decisive tone, for I
feel conscious of right and of necessity.
_To Mrs. Gladstone._
_Nov. 9._—After more than a fortnight’s delay, I received
yesterday evening the enclosed very unfavourable letter from Lord
Palmerston. I send with it the draft of my reply. Please to return
them to-morrow by Willy—for they ought not to be even for that
short time out of my custody, but I do not like to keep you in the
dark. I suppose the matter may now stand over as far as debate is
concerned until next month, or even till the middle of January. I
fear you will not have much time for reading or writing to-morrow
before you start for Chatsworth.
This _sort_ of controversy keeps the nerves too highly strung. I
am more afraid of running away than of holding my ground. But I do
not quite forget how plentifully I am blessed and sustained, and
how mercifully spared other and sorer trials.
To-morrow comes the supper of the St. Martin’s Volunteers; and
after that I hope to close my lips until February. The scene last
night(97) was very different from that of Monday; but very
remarkable, and even more enthusiastic. I was the only layman
among five hundred lawyers; and it made me, wickedly, think of my
position when locked alone in the Naples gaol.
_Jan. 19, 1865._—The cabinet has been to-day almost as rough as
any of the roughest times. In regard to the navy estimates, I have
had no effective or broad support; platoon-firing more or less in
my sense from Argyll and Gibson, four or five were silent, the
rest hostile. Probably they will appoint a committee of cabinet,
and we may work through, but on the other hand we may not. My
_opinion_ is manifestly in a minority; but there is an
unwillingness to have a row. I am not well able to write about
other things—these batterings are sore work, but I must go
through. C. Paget and Childers hold their ground.
_Jan. 28._—The morning went fast but wretchedly. Seldom, thank
God, have I a day to which I could apply this epithet. Last night
I could have done almost anything to shut out the thought of the
coming battle. This is very weak, but it is the effects of the
constant recurrence of these things. Estimates always settled at
the dagger’s point.—(_Diary._)
_Osborne, Jan. 31._—I hope you got my note last night. The weather
here is mild, and I sit with open window while writing. The Queen
and Princess both ask about you abundantly. I have been most
pertinacious about seeing the baby prince. I tried to make the
request twice to the Princess, but I think she did not understand
my words. Determined not to be beat, I applied to the Prince, who
acceded with glee, but I don’t know what will come of it. He
talked with good sense last night about Greece, Ionian Islands,
and Canada; and I was his partner at whist. We came off quits. I
dined last night, and also saw the Queen before dinner, but only
for a quarter of an hour or so. She talked about Japan and Lord
Palmerston, but there was not time to get into swing, and nothing
said of nearer matters.
The sort of success that awaited his strenuous endeavour has been already
indicated.(98)
II
In the spring Mr. Gladstone made the first advance upon what was to be an
important journey. All through February and March he worked with
Phillimore and others upon the question of the Irish church. The thing was
delicate, for his constituency would undoubtedly be adverse. His advisers
resolved that he should speak on a certain motion from a radical below the
gangway, to the effect that the present position of the Irish church
establishment was unsatisfactory, and called for the early attention of
the government. It is hard to imagine two propositions on the merits more
indisputable, but a parliamentary resolution is not to be judged by its
verbal contents only. Dillwyn’s motion was known to mean disestablishment
and nothing less. In that view, Mr. Gladstone wrote a short but pregnant
letter to Phillimore—and this too meant disestablishment and nothing less.
It was the first tolerably definite warning of what was to be one of the
two or three greatest legislative acts of his career.
_To Robert Phillimore._
_Feb. 13, 1865._—I would treat the Irish church, as a religious
body, with the same respect and consideration as the church of
England, and would apply to it the same liberal policy as regards
its freedom of action. But I am not loyal to it as an
establishment. It exists, and is virtually almost unchallenged as
to its existence in that capacity; it may long (I cannot quite say
long may it) outlive me; I will never be a party, knowingly, to
what I may call frivolous acts of disturbance, nor to the
premature production of schemes of change: but still comes back
the refrain of my song: “_I am not loyal to it as an
Establishment._” I could not renew the votes and speeches of
thirty years back. A quarter of a century of not only fair but
exceptionally fair trial has wholly dispelled hopes to which they
had relation; and I am bound to say I look upon its present form
of existence as no more favourable to religion, in any sense of
the word, than it is to civil justice and to the contentment and
loyalty of Ireland.
Lord Palmerston got wind of the forthcoming speech, and wrote a short
admonitory note. He had heard that Mr. Gladstone was about to set forth
his views as an individual, and not as a member of the government, and
this was a distinction that he reckoned impracticable. Was it possible for
a member of a government speaking from the treasury bench so to sever
himself from the body corporate to which he belonged, as to be able to
express decided opinions as an individual, and leave himself free to act
upon different opinions, or abstain from acting on those opinions, when
required to act as a member of the government taking part in the divisions
of the body? And again, if his opinions happened not to be accepted by a
colleague on the same bench, would not the colleague have either to
acquiesce, or else to state in what respect his own opinion differed? In
this case would not differences in a government be unnecessarily and
prematurely forced upon the public? All this was the sound doctrine of
cabinet government. Mr. Gladstone, replying, felt that “he could not as a
minister, and as member for Oxford, allow the subject to be debated an
indefinite number of times and remain silent.” His indictment of the Irish
church was decisive. At the same time he was careful to explain in public
correspondence that the question was out of all bearing on the practical
politics of the day. Meanwhile, as spokesman for the government, Mr.
Gladstone deprecated the responsibility of raising great questions at a
time when they could not be seriously approached. One acute observer who
knew him well, evidently took a different view of the practical politics
of the day, or at any rate, of the morrow. Manning wrote to Mr. Gladstone
two days after the speech was made and begged to be allowed to see him: “I
read your speech on the Irish church, which set me musing and forecasting.
It was a real grapple with the question.”
III
(M41) Not many days after this speech Cobden died. To his brother,
Robertson, Mr. Gladstone wrote:—
_April 5._—What a sad, sad loss is this death of Cobden. I feel in
miniature the truth of what Bright well said yesterday—ever since
I really came to know him, I have held him in high esteem and
regard as well as admiration; but till he died I did not know how
high it was. I do not know that I have ever seen in public life a
character more truly simple, noble, and unselfish. His death will
make an echo through the world, which in its entireness he has
served so well.
_April 7._—To Mr. Cobden’s funeral at W. Lavington. Afterwards to
his home, which I was anxious to know. Also I saw Mrs. Cobden. The
day was lovely, the scenery most beautiful and soothing, the whole
sad and impressive. Bright broke down at the grave. Cobden’s name
is great; it will be greater.—(_Diary._)
A few months before this Mr. Gladstone had lost a friend more intimate.
The death of the Duke of Newcastle, he says (Oct. 19, 1864), “severs the
very last of those contemporaries who were also my political friends. How
it speaks to me ‘Be doing, and be done.’ ”
_To Mrs. Gladstone._
_Oct. 19._—Dr. Kingsley sent me a telegram to inform me of the sad
event at Clumber; but it only arrived two hours before the papers,
though the death happened last night. So that brave heart has at
last ceased to beat. Certainly in him more than in any one I have
known, was exhibited the character of our life as a dispensation
of pain. This must ever be a mystery, for we cannot see the
working-out of the purposes of God. Yet in his case I have always
thought some glimpse of them seemed to be permitted. It is well to
be permitted also to believe that he is now at rest for ever, and
that the cloud is at length removed from his destiny.
_Clumber, Oct. 26._—It is a time and a place to feel, if one could
feel. He died in the room where we have been sitting before and
after dinner—where, thirty-two years ago, a stripling, I came over
from Newark in fear and trembling to see the duke, his father;
where a stiff horseshoe semi-circle then sat round the fire in
evenings; where that rigour melted away in Lady Lincoln’s time;
where she and her mother sang so beautifully at the pianoforte, in
the same place where it now stands. The house is full of local
memories.
IV
On July 6 (1865) parliament was dissolved. Four years before, Mr.
Gladstone had considered the question of retaining or abandoning the seat
for the university. It was in contemplation to give a third member to the
southern division of Lancashire, and, in July 1861, he received a
requisition begging his assent to nomination there, signed by nearly 8000
of the electors—a number that seemed to make success certain. His letters
to Dr. Pusey and others show how strongly he inclined to comply. Flesh and
blood shrank from perpetual strife, he thought, and after four contested
elections in fourteen years at Oxford, he asked himself whether he should
not escape the prolongation of the series. He saw, as he said, that they
meant to make it a life-battle, like the old famous college war between
Bentley and the fellows of Trinity. But he felt his deep obligation to his
Oxford supporters, and was honourably constrained again to bear their
flag. In the same month of 1861 he had declined absolutely to stand for
London in the place of Lord John Russell.
At Oxford the tories this time had secured an excellent candidate in Mr.
Gathorne Hardy, a man of sterling character, a bold and capable debater, a
good man of business, one of the best of Lord Derby’s lieutenants. The
election was hard fought, like most of the four that had gone before it.
The educated residents were for the chancellor of the exchequer, as they
had always been, and he had both liberals and high churchmen on his side.
One feature was novel, the power of sending votes by post. Mr. Gladstone
had not been active in the House against this change, but only bestowed
upon it a parting malediction. It strengthened the clerical vote, and as
sympathy with disestablishment was thrust prominently forward against Mr.
Gladstone, the new privilege cost him his seat. From the first day things
looked ill, and when on the last day (July 18) the battle ended, he was
one hundred and eighty votes behind Mr. Hardy.(99)
_July 16, ’65._—Always in straits the Bible in church supplies my
needs. To-day it was in the 1st lesson, Jer. i. 19, “And they
shall fight against thee, but they shall not prevail against thee,
for I am with thee, saith the Lord, to deliver thee.”
_July 17._—Again came consolation to me in the Psalms—86:16; it
did the same for me April 17, 1853. At night arrived the telegram
announcing my defeat at Oxford as virtually accomplished. A dear
dream is dispelled. God’s will be done.
(M42) His valedictory address was both graceful and sincere: “After an
arduous connection of eighteen years, I bid you respectfully farewell. My
earnest purpose to serve you, my many faults and shortcomings, the
incidents of the political relation between the university and myself,
established in 1847, so often questioned in vain, and now, at length,
finally dissolved, I leave to the judgment of the future. It is one
imperative duty, and one alone, which induces me to trouble you with these
few parting words—the duty of expressing my profound and lasting gratitude
for indulgence as generous, and for support as warm and enthusiastic in
itself, and as honourable from the character and distinctions of those who
have given it, as has in my belief ever been accorded by any constituency
to any representative.”
He was no sooner assured of his repulse at Oxford, than he started for the
Lancashire constituency, where a nomination had been reserved for him.
_July 18._—Went off at eleven ... to the Free Trade Hall which was
said to have 6000 people. They were in unbounded enthusiasm. I
spoke for 1-1/4 hr., and when the meeting concluded went off to
Liverpool.... Another meeting of 5000 at the Amphitheatre, if
possible more enthusiastic than that at Manchester.
In the fine hall that stands upon the site made historic by the militant
free-traders, he used a memorable phrase. “At last, my friends,” he began,
“I am come among you, and I am come among you ‘unmuzzled.’ ” The audience
quickly realised the whole strength of the phrase, and so did the people
of the country when it reached them. Then he opened a high magnanimous
exordium about the Oxford that had cast him out. The same evening at
Liverpool, he again dwelt on the desperate fondness with which he had
clung to the university seat, but rapidly passed to the contrast. “I come
into South Lancashire, and find here around me different phenomena. I find
the development of industry. I find the growth of enterprise. I find the
progress of social philanthropy. I find the prevalence of toleration. I
find an ardent desire for freedom. If there be one duty more than another
incumbent upon the public men of England, it is to establish and maintain
harmony between the past of our glorious history and the future that is
still in store for her.”
_July 20._—Robertson and I went in early and polled. He was known,
and I through him, and we had a scene of great popular enthusiasm.
We then followed the polls as the returns came in, apparently
triumphant, but about midday it appeared that the figures of both
parties were wrong, ours the worst. Instead of being well and
increasingly at the head I was struggling with Egerton at 1 P.M.,
and Turner gaining on me.... Off to Chester. In the evening the
figures of the close came in and gave me the second place. The
volunteers in the park cheered loudly, the church bells rung, the
people came down with a band and I had to address them.
_To the Duchess of Sutherland._
I am by far too sorry about Oxford to feel the slightest
temptation to be angry, even were there cause. I only feel that I
love her better than ever. There is great enthusiasm here,
stimulated no doubt by the rejection. I have just been polling
amid fervid demonstrations. The first return at nine o’clock—but
you will know all when this reaches you—is as follows.... This of
course says little as to the final issue. Ten o’clock. My majority
so far increases, the others diminish. But it is hard running.
Eleven. My majority increases, the others diminish. Egerton is
second. One of our men third. Twelve thousand four hundred have
polled. My seat looks well.
I interrupt here to say you would have been _pleased_ had you
heard Willy, at a moment’s notice, on Tuesday night, address five
thousand people no one of whom had ever seen him; he was (forgive
me) so modest, so manly, _so ready_, so judicious.
Since writing thus far everything has been overset in a chaos of
conflicting reports. They will all be cleared up for you before
this comes. I hope I am not in a fool’s paradise. All I yet know
is an apparently hard fight between Egerton and me for the head of
the poll, but my seat tolerably secure. I have had _such_ letters!
When the votes were counted Mr. Gladstone was third upon the poll, and so
secured the seat, with two tory colleagues above him.(100)
The spirit in which Mr. Gladstone took a defeat that was no mere
electioneering accident, but the landmark of a great severance in his
extraordinary career, is shown in his replies to multitudes of
correspondents. On the side of his tenacious and affectionate attachment
to Oxford, the wound was deep. On the other side, emancipation from
fetters and from contests that he regarded as ungenerous, was a profound
relief. But the relief touched him less than the sorrow.
Manning wrote:—
Few men have been watching you more than I have in these last
days; and I do not know that I could wish you any other result.
But you have entered upon a new and larger field as Sir It. Peel
did, to whose history yours has many points of likeness. You say
truly that Oxford has failed to enlarge itself to the progress of
the country. I hope this will make you enlarge yourself to the
facts of our age and state—and I believe it will. Only, as I said
some months ago, I am anxious about you, lest you should entangle
yourself with extremes. This crisis is for you politically what a
certain date was for me religiously.
Mr. Gladstone replied:—
_Hawarden, July 21._—I thank you very much for your kind letter,
and I should have been very glad if it had contained all that it
merely alludes to. From Oxford and her children I am overwhelmed
with kindness. My feelings towards her are those of sorrow,
leavened perhaps with pride. But I am for the moment a stunned
man; the more so because without a moment of repose I had to
plunge into the whirlpools of South Lancashire, and swim there for
my life, which as you will see, has been given me.
I do not think I can admit the justice of the caution against
extremes. The greatest or second greatest of what people call my
extremes, is one which I believe you approve. I profess myself a
disciple of Butler: the greatest of all enemies to extremes. This
indeed speaks for my intention only. But in a cold or lukewarm
period, and such is this in public affairs, everything which moves
and lives is called extreme, and that by the very people (I do not
mean or think that you are one of them) who in a period of
excitement would far outstrip, under pressure, those whom they now
rebuke. Your caution about self-control, however, I do accept—it
is very valuable—I am sadly lacking in that great quality.
At both Liverpool and Manchester, he writes to Dr. Jacobson, I had
to speak of Oxford, and I have endeavoured to make it
unequivocally clear that I am here as the same man, and not
another, and that throwing off the academic cap and gown makes no
difference in the figure.
“Vixi, et quem dederat cursum fortuna peregi.”(101)
And when I think of dear old Oxford, whose services to me I can
never repay, there comes back to me that line of Wordsworth in his
incomparable Ode, and I fervently address her with it—
“Forbode not any severing of our loves.”
_To Sir Stafford Northcote, July 21._—I cannot withhold myself
from writing a line to assure you it is not my fault, but my
misfortune, that you are not my successor at Oxford. My desire or
impulse has for a good while, not unnaturally, been to escape from
the Oxford seat; not because I grudged the anxieties of it, but
because I found the load, added to other loads, too great. Could I
have seen my way to this proceeding, had the advice or had the
conduct of my friends warranted it, you would have had such notice
of it, as effectually to preclude your being anticipated. I mean
no disrespect to Mr. Hardy; but it has been a great pain to me to
see in all the circulars a name different from the name that
should have stood there, and that would have stood there, but for
your personal feelings.
_Ibid. July 22._—The separation from friends in politics is indeed
very painful.... I have been instructed, perhaps been hardened, by
a very wide experience in separation.—No man has been blessed more
out of proportion to his deserts than I have in friends: in
πολυφιλία, in χρηστοφιλία;(102) but when with regard to those of
old standing who were nearest to me, I ask where are they, I seem
to see around me a little waste, that has been made by politics,
by religion, and by death. All these modes of severance are sharp.
But the first of them is the least so, when the happy conviction
remains that the fulfilment of duty, such as conscience points to
it, is the object on both sides. And I have suffered so sorely by
the far sharper partings in death, and in religion after a fashion
which practically almost comes to death, that there is something
of relief in turning to the lighter visitation. It is, however, a
visitation still.
_To the Bishop of Oxford, July 21._—... Do not join with others in
praising me, because I am not angry, only sorry, and that deeply.
For my revenge—which I do not desire, but would battle if I
could—all lies in that little word “future” in my address, which I
wrote with a consciousness that it is deeply charged with meaning,
and that that which shall come will come. There have been two
great deaths or transmigrations of spirit in my political
existence. One, very slow, the breaking of ties with my original
party. The other, very short and sharp, the breaking of the tie
with Oxford. There will probably be a third, and no more....
Again, my dear Bishop, I thank you for bearing with my
waywardness, and manifesting, in the day of need, your confidence
and attachment.
The bishop naturally hinted some curiosity as to the third transmigration.
“The oracular sentence,” Mr. Gladstone replied, “has little bearing on
present affairs or prospects, and may stand in its proper darkness.” In
the same letter the bishop urged Mr. Gladstone to imitate Canning when he
claimed the post of prime minister. “I think,” was the reply (July 25)
“that if you had the same means of estimating my position, jointly with my
faculties, as I have, you would be of a different opinion. It is my fixed
determination never to take any step whatever to raise myself to a higher
level in official life, and this not on grounds of Christian self-denial
which would hardly apply, but on the double ground, first, of my total
ignorance of my capacity, bodily or mental, to hold such a higher level,
and, secondly—perhaps I might say especially—because I am certain that the
fact of my seeking it would seal my doom in taking it.”(103)
Truly was it said of Mr. Gladstone that his rejection at Oxford, and his
election in Lancashire, were regarded as matters of national importance,
because he was felt to have the promise of the future in him, to have a
living fire in him, a capacity for action, and a belief that moving on was
a national necessity; because he was bold, earnest, impulsive; because he
could sympathise with men of all classes, occupations, interests,
opinions; because he thought nothing done so long as much remained for him
to do. While liberals thus venerated him as if he had been a Moses
beckoning from Sinai towards the promised land, tories were described as
dreading him, ever since his suffrage speech, as continental monarchs
dreaded Mazzini—“a man whose name is at once an alarm, a menace, and a
prediction.” They hated him partly as a deserter, partly as a disciple of
Manchester. Throughout the struggle, the phrase “I believe in Mr.
Gladstone” served as the liberal _credo_, and “I distrust Mr. Gladstone”
as the condensed commination service of the tories upon all manner of
change.(104)
V
(M43) On October 18, the prime minister died at Brocket. The news found
Mr. Gladstone at Clumber, in performance of his duties as Newcastle
trustee. For him the event opened many possibilities, and his action upon
it is set out in two or three extracts from his letters:—
_To Lord Russell. Clumber, Oct. 18, 1865._—I have received tonight
by telegraph the appalling news of Lord Palmerston’s decease. None
of us, I suppose, were prepared for this event, in the sense of
having communicated as to what should follow. The Queen must take
the first step, but I cannot feel uncertain what it will be. Your
former place as her minister, your powers, experience, services,
and renown, do not leave reason for doubt that you will be sent
for. Your hands will be entirely free—you are pledged probably to
no one, certainly not to me. But any government now to be formed
cannot be wholly a continuation, it must be in some degree a new
commencement.
I am sore with conflicts about the public expenditure, which I
feel that other men would have either escaped, or have conducted
more gently and less fretfully. I am most willing to retire. On
the other hand, I am bound by conviction even more than by credit
to the principle of progressive reduction in our military and
naval establishments and in the charges for them, under the
favourable circumstances which we appear to enjoy. This I think is
the moment to say thus much in subject matter which greatly
appertains to my department. On the general field of politics,
after having known your course in cabinet for eight and a half
years, I am quite willing to take my chance under your banner, in
the exact capacity I now fill, and I adopt the step, perhaps a
little unusual, of saying so, because it may be convenient to you
at a juncture when time is precious, while it can, I trust, after
what I have said above, hardly be hurtful.
_To Mr. Panizzi, Oct. 18._—_Ei fu!_(105) Death has indeed laid low
the most towering antlers in all the forest. No man in England
will more sincerely mourn Lord Palmerston than you. Your warm
heart, your long and close friendship with him, and your sense of
all he had said and done for Italy, all so bound you to him that
you will deeply feel this loss; as for myself I am stunned. It was
plain that this would come; but sufficient unto the day is the
burden thereof, and there is no surplus stock of energy in the
mind to face, far less to anticipate, fresh contingencies. But I
need not speak of this great event—to-morrow all England will be
ringing of it, and the world will echo England. I cannot forecast
the changes which will follow; but it is easy to see what the
first step should be.
_To Mrs. Gladstone, Oct. 20._—I received two letters from you
today together. The first, very naturally full of plans, the
second written when those plans had been blown into the air by the
anticipation (even) of Lord Palmerston’s death. This great event
shakes me down to the foundation, by the reason of coming trouble.
I think two things are clear. 1. The Queen should have come to
London. 2. She should have sent for Lord Russell. I fear she has
done neither. Willy telegraphs to me that a letter from Lord
Russell had come to Downing Street. Now had he heard from the
Queen, he would (so I reason) either have telegraphed to me to go
up, or sent a letter hither by a messenger instead of leaving it
to kick its heels in Downing Street for a day. And we hear nothing
of the Queen’s moving; she is getting into a groove, out of which
some one ought to draw her.
_Oct. 21._—As far as political matters are concerned, I am happier
this morning. Lord Russell, pleased with my letter, writes to say
he has been commissioned to carry on the present government as
first lord, wishes me to co-operate “in the capacity I now fill as
a principal member of the administration.” I think that I have
struck a stroke for economy which will diminish difficulty when we
come to estimates for the year. I _hope_ from his letter that he
means to ask George Grey to lead, which would be very acceptable
to me. Though he does not summon me to London, I think I ought to
go, and shall do so accordingly to-day. I am sorry that this is
again more vexation and uncertainty for you.
_Oct. 22._—I came up last night and very glad I am of it. I found
that Lord Palmerston’s funeral was almost to be private, not
because the family wished it, but because nothing had been
proposed to them. I at once sent—down to Richmond and Pembroke
Lodge with a letter, and the result is that Evelyn Ashley has been
written to by Lord Russell and authorised to telegraph to Balmoral
to propose a funeral in Westminster Abbey. It is now very late,
and all the preparations must have been made at Romsey. But in
such a matter especially, better late than never.
You will have been amused to see that on Friday the _Times_
actually put me up for prime minister, and yesterday knocked me
down again! There is a rumour that it was the old story, Delane
out of town. I was surprised at the first article, not at the
second. All, I am sorry to say, seem to take for granted that I am
to lead the House of Commons. But this is not so simple a matter.
First, it must be offered to Sir George Grey. If he refuses, then
secondly, I do not think I can get on without a different
arrangement of treasury and chancellor of exchequer business,
which will not be easy. But the worst of all is the distribution
of offices as between the two Houses. It has long been felt that
the House of Commons was too weak and the House of Lords too
strong, in the share of the important offices, and now the
premiership is to be carried over, unavoidably. No such thing has
ever been known as an administration with the first lord, foreign
secretary, secretary for war, and the first lord of the admiralty,
in the House of Lords.(106) _This_ is really a stiff business.
_To Lord Russell. Carlton House Terrace, Oct. 23._—You having
thought fit to propose that I should lead the House of Commons, I
felt it necessary first to be assured that Sir George Grey, who
was in constructive possession of that office, and under whom I
should have served with perfect satisfaction, could not be induced
to accept the duty. Of this your letter seemed to contain
sufficient proof. Next, I felt it to be necessary that some
arrangement should be made for relieving me of a considerable and
singularly disabling class of business, consisting of the cases of
real or supposed grievance, at all times arising in connection
with the collection of the public revenue under its several
heads.... The third difficulty which I named to you in the way of
my accepting your proposal, is what I venture to call the
lop-sided condition of the government, with the strain and stress
of administration in the House of Commons, and nearly all the
offices about which the House of Commons cares, represented by
heads in the House of Lords. It weighs very seriously on my mind,
and I beg you to _consider_ it.... I have rather particular
engagements of a public nature next week; at Edinburgh on the 2nd
and 3rd in connection with the university business, and at Glasgow
on the 1st, to receive the freedom. I am anxious to know whether I
may now finally confirm these engagements?
_To Mrs. Gladstone, Oct. 23._—I think I see my way a little now.
Lord Russell agrees that cabinets should be postponed after
Saturday, for a good fortnight. I can therefore keep my
engagements in Scotland, and write to-day to say so.
Lord Palmerston is to be buried in the Abbey on Friday; the family
are pleased. I saw W. Cowper as well as Evelyn Ashley to-day. They
give a good account of Lady Palmerston.... Lord Russell offers me
the lead—I must probably settle it to-morrow. His physical
strength is low, but I suppose in the Lords he may get on. The
greatest difficulty is having almost all the important offices in
the Lords.
_Oct. 24._—Lord Russell now proposes to adjourn the cabinets till
Nov.14th, but I must be here for the Lord Mayor’s dinner on the
9th. You will therefore see my programme as it now stands. I send
you a batch of eight letters, which please keep carefully to
yourself, and return in their bundle forthwith. There are divers
proposals on foot, but I think little will be finally settled
before Friday. Sir R. Peel will probably have a peerage offered
him. I have not yet accepted the lead formally, but I suppose it
must come to that. The main question is whether anything, and
what, can be done to improve the structure of the government as
between the two Houses.
_Oct. 25._—Nothing more has yet been done. I consider my position
virtually fixed. I am afraid of Lord Russell’s rapidity, but we
shall try to rein it in, There seems to be very little venom in
the atmosphere. I wish Sir G. Grey were here. The Queen’s keeping
so long at Balmoral is a sad mistake.
(M44) He received, as was inevitable, plenty of letters from admirers
regretting that he had not gone up higher. His answer was, of course,
uniform. “It was,” he told them, “my own impartial and firm opinion that
Lord Russell was the proper person to succeed Lord Palmerston. However
flattered I may be, therefore, to hear of an opinion such as you report
and express, I have felt it my duty to co-operate to the best of my power
in such arrangements as might enable the government to be carried on by
the present ministers, with Lord Russell at their head.”
On the other hand, doubts were abundant. To Sir George Grey, one important
friend wrote (Oct. 30): “I think you are right on the score of health, to
give him [Gladstone] the lead of the House; but you will see, with all his
talents, he will not perceive the difference between leading and driving.”
Another correspondent, of special experience, confessed to “great
misgivings as to Gladstone’s tact and judgment.” “The heart of all Israel
is towards him,” wrote his good friend Dean Church; “he is very great and
very noble. But he is hated as much as, or more than, he is loved. He is
fierce sometimes and wrathful and easily irritated; he wants knowledge of
men and speaks rashly. And I look on with some trembling to see what will
come of this his first attempt to lead the Commons and prove himself fit
to lead England.”(107) It was pointed out that Roundell Palmer was the
only powerful auxiliary on whom he could rely in debate, and should the
leader himself offend the House by an indiscretion, no colleague was
competent to cover his retreat or baffle the triumph of the enemy. His
first public appearance as leader of the House of Commons and associate
premier was made at Glasgow, and his friends were relieved and exultant.
The point on which they trembled was caution, and at Glasgow he was
caution personified.
The changes in administration were not very difficult. Lowe’s admission to
the cabinet was made impossible by his declaration against any lowering of
the borough franchise. The inclusion of Mr. Goschen, who had only been in
parliament three years, was the subject of remark. People who asked what
he had done to merit promotion so striking, did not know his book on
foreign exchanges, and were perhaps in no case competent to judge it.(108)
Something seems to have been said about Mr. Bright, for in a note to Lord
Russell (Dec. 11) Mr. Gladstone writes: “With reference to your remark
about Bright, he has for many years held language of a studious moderation
about reform. And there is something odious in fighting shy of a man, so
powerful in talent, of such undoubted integrity. Without feeling, however,
that he is permanently proscribed, I am under the impression that in the
present critical state of feeling on your own side with respect to the
franchise, his name would sink the government and the bill together.” When
Palmerston invited Cobden to join his cabinet in 1859, Cobden spoke of
Bright, how he had avoided personalities in his recent speeches. “It is
not personalities that we complained of,” Palmerston replied; “a public
man is right in attacking persons. But it is his attacks on _classes_ that
have given offence to powerful bodies, who can make their resentment
felt.”(109)
Mr. Gladstone’s first few weeks as leader of the House were almost a
surprise. “At two,” he says (Feb. 1, 1867), “we went down to choose the
Speaker, and I had to throw off in my new capacity. If mistrust of self be
a qualification, God knows I have it.” All opened excellently. Not only
was he mild and conciliatory, they found him even tiresome in his
deference. Some onlookers still doubted. Everybody, they said, admired and
respected him, some loved him, but there were few who understood him. “So
far,” said a conservative observer, “Gladstone has led the House with
great good temper, prosperity, and success, but his rank and file and some
of his colleagues, seem to like him none the better on that account.”(110)
Meanwhile, words of friendly encouragement came from Windsor. On Feb. 19:
“The Queen cannot conclude without expressing to Mr. Gladstone her
gratification at the accounts she hears from all sides of the admirable
manner in which he has commenced his leadership in the House of Commons.”
He found the speech for a monument to Lord Palmerston in the Abbey “a
delicate and difficult duty” (Feb. 22). “It would have worn me down
beforehand had I not been able to exclude it from my thoughts till the
last, and then I could only feel my impotence.” Yet he performed the duty
with grace and truth. He commemorated Palmerston’s share in the extension
of freedom in Europe, and especially in Italy, where, he said,
Palmerston’s name might claim a place on a level with her most
distinguished patriots. Nor had his interest ever failed in the rescue of
the “unhappy African race, whose history is for the most part written only
in blood and tears.” He applauded his genial temper, his incomparable tact
and ingenuity, his pluck in debate, his delight in a fair stand-up fight,
his inclination to avoid whatever tended to exasperate, his incapacity of
sustained anger.