“His début before the House produced a sensation. Who could be this
young politician, not yet thirty years of age, who thus, in a maiden
speech, handled the deepest public questions, with such boldness and
authority? Whence had this new orator come—so fluent, so cultivated,
and charming—who awed even his adversaries into respect by language so
polished, so elevated in tone, so strong and yet so moderate, even in
the heat of discussion?
“On the following day, the name of Laurier was on every lip. From this
initial point of his stirring career, the future Prime Minister
proceeded by master-strokes. Thus, as the resounding triumph of his
début in the Legislative Assembly of Quebec, had placed him in the
highest rank among the most brilliant French orators of his province,
that which marked his entrance into the House of Commons, in 1874,
carried him at one bound to the distinction of being one of the chief
English-speaking debaters of the Dominion. The occasion was a solemn
one, and never to be forgotten by any who were present. The subject
before the House was the expulsion of Louis Riel, the rebel of the
Northwest; who, though under accusation for the murder of Thomas Scott,
and a fugitive from justice, had just been elected member for
Provencher. The question was a burning one, and the public mind was
greatly inflamed over it. It required, in very truth, a master of
eloquence to take the case in hand and thread his way without falling or
stumbling among the masses and mazes of prejudice which rose up around
the Metis chief. The debate, which was violent, and heated, had been
going on for two days when at last Laurier took the floor.
“He was known to be eloquent. He had already addressed the House in his
own tongue at the opening of the session.
“No one dreamed, however, that he would risk his reputation by
attempting a speech in English under such hazardous circumstances. Great
as was the general surprise, the revelation was greater. In the belief
of many who heard him that day, no orator—unless indeed it be
himself—has since achieved a like success in any of our deliberative
assemblies. As in the elegance and academic language of which he is so
thorough a master, the brilliant speaker entered calmly into the heart
of his subject, a great silence spread itself through the chamber and
the English members listened in amazement to this charmer who wielded
their own language with such grace, and who dealt them such cold
home-truths, in a tone they could not resist applauding. Astonished
glances were exchanged on every side.
“Laurier kept his whole audience hanging upon his lips for over an hour.
Not for a single moment did his eloquence fail him. He expounded the
doctrines and elucidated the principles of legal and constitutional
right with the ease of a parliamentary veteran and the precision of a
practised dialectician. He grouped his facts so skilfully, adduced his
proofs and authorities with such cumulative force, reared his arguments
one upon the foundation of another with such quick inexorable logic,
that his conclusions seemed to flash out of their own accord, unfolded
but irresistible.
“Every part of his speech, moreover, was linked to the rest in admirably
reasoned sequence and the oration from beginning to end flowed freely,
without hesitation, without a moment’s groping for words, and at the
same time, with never one useless sentence, with never one superfluous
syllable. No less was the manner of its delivery; the resounding and
vibrating voice, the wealth and variety of intonation, the chaste
simplicity and appropriateness of gesture, and finally the attitude of
the speaker, as full of natural self-command as it was of personal
dignity. Everything contributed an indescribable enthusiasm. The
outburst of applause which greeted the speaker as he resumed his seat
continued for fully five minutes afterwards, while the Ministers of the
Crown flocked around him, eager to offer their congratulations. It
seemed as if every one realized that a future chieftain had just
proclaimed himself and asserted his right to leadership by the _Ego
nominor leo_ that had rung through every sentence of his speech. The
cause was a lost one, of course, but Laurier had won the day, so far as
he personally was concerned. From that moment a place in the Cabinet was
virtually assigned him; and he was called upon to fill it as Minister of
Inland Revenue in 1877, on the retirement of M. Cauchon, who had been
appointed Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba.
“Then occurred a singular mishap, which furnishes a striking example of
the aberrations of the popular mind, as well as the often unaccountable
vicissitudes of political life. The new Minister, although he had been
returned at previous elections by a majority of over seven hundred votes
over a distinguished member of the legal profession, found himself
unable to secure his re-election, and was defeated by a worthy and
inoffensive village tradesman, who distanced him by a majority of 21
votes. This was one of the repulses to the Mackenzie Government from
which it never recovered. Laurier, indeed, returned to the Capital as
the chosen representative of Quebec East, but it was in vain. The
impulse had been given and the political seesaw had begun to sway. The
young Minister’s popularity in the province at large was powerless to
check it in any way. Nevertheless the crushing defeat which was suffered
by the Liberals did not in the least degree affect Laurier’s personal
influence, as may be inferred from the fact of his appointment a few
years later to the position of leader of the party for the whole
Dominion.”
* * * * *
An interesting account has been given of the first interview that Sir
Wilfrid ever gave out. This was on the morrow of his great victory in
1896, which gave him a long lease of power, and the opportunity to
impress the country with the policies which he had advocated so long and
fervently. When asked for an interview he replied:
“I am never interviewed, you know.”
“But, Sir,” persisted the correspondent, “considering the magnitude of
your victory and the unique place you now occupy, would it not be meet
that you should say a word or two to the public, who are desirous of
getting an indication from you of the policies you will carry out?”
He hesitated, yielded at last to persuasion, and gave a column and a
quarter of copy, at once exceedingly interesting and valuable. He could
not commit the party to any particular policy at the moment of victory.
He would have to consult his colleagues, but nevertheless, he outlined
in general terms what the party would stand for now that it had received
the public mandate. He made it plain that he stood for the principle of
harmony between the two great races in the Dominion. That had been his
aim in life, and it would remain his aim as long as he lived. He had his
principles which he considered those of progress, but he did not want
any bitterness. He wanted co-operation and concord. It would be the
realization of his life dream if he could bring the two races together.
At the time when the interview was granted the rotunda of the old St.
Lawrence Hall was filled with his admirers. He was surrounded by young
men full of ardour, idealists, many of them, disinterested and hopeful
of great things for the country. The hardened political cynic was not
absent either, but there was a whirl of emotion; the present and the
future were enswathed in radiant hope and when the Chieftain came down
to the rotunda—erect, with flashing eyes, the cheers were magnetic.
Many eyes were wet. The tide of emotion swelled in every breast. He was
lifted shoulder-high by his adherents, of whom there were hundreds
present, all of whom believed that in the Liberal Leader they had a man
who would save the country. It was after this tumultuous demonstration
that the Premier gave out the interview.
The Liberal Chief all that day was followed by admiring crowds. On being
reminded of the kind things which the English press had written about
him from time to time, he said that he read every word of that kind of
writing, not because of vanity, but because he loved to think that every
kindly word written or spoken did something in bringing about a better
feeling between the two great races. “I love England because she is the
mother of free nations. I look up to her because she is the apostle of
freedom. I admire her lofty ideals, her moral conscience, her high
standards which she sets up. She is, it may be, a trifle Puritanic, but
she is the greatest moral asset in the world, and I admire her statesmen
intensely—John Bright has been my mentor and idol, and, of course,
Gladstone, as the great apostle of freedom, both fiscally and
politically.”
* * * * *
Edward VII. and President Emile Loubet made the treaty which has now
saved the world. That is true. They were the high-contracting chiefs of
state. But Sir Wilfrid Laurier was credited by them both with a certain
share in that wise, far-seeing and world-saving work.
President Emile Loubet, in January, 1906, was speaking at Le Madeleine,
at the funeral of the Canadian Minister of Marine, who had died suddenly
in Paris.
“I shall be happy,” he said, “for having left in my career the one work,
the great work of the entente cordiale, I had been convinced that the
mutual interest of France and of England was that we should be
united—first of all for our own protection, against the rest of the
world; and then, after that, to protect the world as a whole.
“But do you know who it was that confirmed me in these ideas? Who
implanted in my mind, irrevocably, that sense of duty to which I have
responded with alacrity? It was that eminent statesman who directs the
destinies of Canada to-day—Sir Wilfrid Laurier. For he was in a better
position than I to appreciate the loyal and conciliatory character of
Great Britain.
“He gave me proofs and views of it which, as he developed them, I could
easily understand. So that, imbued with those ideas, on the day that I
met my friend, Edward VII., and found him moved by the same sentiments,
we arrived at that entente and agreement which I shall never cease to
admire.”
The phraseology of that frank admission proves beyond all doubt that the
President was carried away by the suggestion, which was one, as he says,
“Monsieur Laurier had put into his head, and that he never ceased to
admire.”
Probably Edward VII. would have said as much; for before making his
campaign of education in France Sir Wilfrid had made it in England. And
the picture he drew of the entente cordiale between the English and the
French in Canada, at his first banquet in London, where the Prince of
Wales—later Edward VII.—presided in 1897, in the Royal Palace of
Buckingham, must have had the same effect on that able and sympathetic
statesman, which Edward was, as it produced upon Monsieur Loubet in
France. Sir Wilfrid expressed in Paris in the same year, before a great
assembly of notabilities, the harmony that existed between the two races
in Canada; and in the following terms he regretted that the same
cordiality did not yet exist between the two shores of the English
channel:
“Our English compatriots of Canada are frankly proud of the brilliant
Montcalm and we, of our race, bow with respect before the memory and
monument of General Wolfe. It may be that here in France the souvenirs
of old feuds have not lost all their bitterness. But for us in Canada,
of whatever race, those were glorious days when the colours of France
and England—the tricolour and the Cross of St. George—floated in
triumph on the heights of Alma, of Inkerman, and of Sebastapol.
“Now events have changed. Other alliances are imminent. But may it be
permitted to a son of France, who is at the same time a British subject,
to salute those glorious days with a regret that may find an echo in
every generous soul on both sides of the channel.”
And again Sir Wilfrid proposed the joint toast of Edward VII. and
President Loubet at a notable gathering in Paris after the coronation.
“Messieurs, will you permit me in conclusion to take a liberty with your
customs and while raising my glass to the chief of state in this country
of my ancestors—to that sagacious man that France has selected for
President—may I join another thought, not for you but for myself, and
to couple with that toast, that of my own sovereign, the King of
England, who is also, like myself, a friend of France.”
That was not all that attached Sir Wilfrid to the history of the entente
cordiale. On his return to London once more in 1907, one evening at a
function in his honour at the Queen’s Hall, where he sat in the Royal
box, a messenger came to request him not to leave, as the custom is,
immediately after “God Save the King.”
Acquiescing he was surprised to hear the orchestra after the National
Hymn, play the stirring strains of the “Marseillaise.” It was the
official recognition of what he had done for the entente cordiale.
In the work of reconciliation of race and country he had but one motive
and that was the exaltation of Canada and the development of our
national and Canadian spirit and the subversion of all petty and
sectional antagonisms. He was the true imperialist, who saw this Empire
as a voluntary confederation of free nations. Anything different and
more centralized he regarded as a menace to this country and to the
Empire as a free system. He left every man to his opinion.
* * * * *
In 1907, when the Imperial Conference of Premiers was meeting in London,
(Sir Wilfrid being one of its outstanding personalities), Sir Henry
Campbell-Bannerman was hesitating on the very threshold of granting
complete self-government to the Boers. The Unionist party, particularly
its high Tory wing, led by Lord Milner, and fortified by powerful
influences, was fighting hard against such a measure. It was an open
secret that members of “C.-B.’s” own Cabinet were not overly
enthusiastic about the proposal. Lord Roseberry, although practically in
retirement, was believed to be opposed, and had a powerful following
among what was known as the Liberal Imperialists. Mr. Asquith, Sir
Edward Grey, and Mr. Haldane, sometime followers of Roseberry, although
in Campbell-Bannerman’s Cabinet, were regarded as luke-warm and for a
time it seemed as though Sir Henry himself might waver.
In the course of his participation in the Imperial Conference,
Campbell-Bannerman was brought much into contact with Sir Wilfrid, and,
being impressed with his wonderful comprehension and appreciation of the
British Constitution, saw in him the fulfilment in Canada of what he
hoped to do for South Africa, and invited him to a small gathering of
Liberals to give his opinion upon the wisdom of self-government for the
Boers.
Sir Wilfrid, as those who knew his ardent sympathy with small
nationalities everywhere, can well understand, readily accepted the
invitation. For nearly an hour he spoke with all his intense eloquence
upon what trust and self-government had done to build up an united and
prosperous Canada, to win the loyalty and devotion of French-Canadians,
and toward the close, in a peroration of moving eloquence, asked why
trust in the Boers would not achieve in South Africa what it had
achieved in Quebec.
That speech is said to have been the decisive factor in influencing
Campbell-Bannerman. Mr. Asquith in the great tribute which he once paid
to his departed chief, significantly told how, after a certain event,
Sir Henry said that in regard to his South African policy there would be
“no surrender”; and there is little doubt as to the event he had in
mind. Not long ago, a writer in the “Manchester Guardian,” in paying a
tribute to Campbell-Bannerman, referred to the support given him in
regard to the Boers by an “overseas statesman,” but apart from such
meagre notice, Sir Wilfrid’s noble part in this momentous drama is
unknown to the world.
It is also known that in the possession of Sir Wilfrid there were a
number of letters and documents dealing with this matter—letters from
General Botha, and Campbell-Bannerman, and others—testifying to the
great influence he exerted in such a far-reaching stroke of
statesmanship.
It is to be hoped that they will soon be given to the world, if for no
other reason than in justice to one who, was at all times, a noble
interpreter and potent advocate of the blessings of human freedom.
* * * * *
Every once in a while during the past fifty years or more some one comes
along with a new scheme to reconstruct the British Empire and when each
architect finds his plan not workable he charges those who do not
support it with disloyalty.
A charge made against Sir Wilfrid Laurier is that in the Imperial
Conference of 1911 he opposed a scheme of Imperial reorganization
proposed by Sir Joseph Ward, of New Zealand. The truth that is
suppressed is that the proposal was rejected by the unanimous voice of
the conference, the only exception being Sir Joseph Ward himself. We
quote Mr. Asquith, Prime Minister, and President of the Conference:
“It is a proposition which not a single representative of any of the
Dominions, nor I as representing for the time being the Imperial
Government, could possibly assent to. For what does Sir Joseph Ward’s
proposal come to? I might describe the effect of it without going into
details in a couple of sentences. It would impair, if not altogether
destroy, the authority of the Government of the United Kingdom in such
grave matters as the conduct of foreign policy, the conclusion of
treaties, the declaration of maintenance of peace or the declaration of
war, and indeed all those relations with foreign powers necessarily of
the most delicate character, which are now in the hands of the Imperial
Government, subject to its responsibility to the Imperial Parliament.”
Mr. Asquith went on to say that the scheme would be absolutely fatal to
the present system of responsible government. Sir Wilfrid Laurier was
therefore attacked for defending the British constitution against a very
grave danger.
The “Manchester (England) Guardian” in its Empire Number of March 20th.,
1917, had the following:—
“In Canada, again, so soon as the causes of the war were fully
apprehended, all discussion of Canadian obligations and of the limit of
Canadian liabilities to the Empire gave way before a passionate
determination to lend all possible aid in a just cause. The mind of
Canada was well expressed in a speech on the outbreak of war by Sir
Wilfrid Laurier, leader of the Liberal Opposition, and the greatest and
most venerable figure in Dominion statesmanship. Throughout his career
he had resisted with the utmost of his power and eloquence all
suggestions for a mechanical strengthening of the Imperial tie, and had
the legal obligations of Canada at this crisis run counter to the mind
of her people it would have been his part to make clear the discrepancy.
On the first day of the emergency session of the Canadian Parliament he
said:—
“It is our duty, more pressing upon us than all other duties . . . to
let Great Britain know, that there is in Canada but one mind and one
heart, and that all Canadians stand behind the mother country, conscious
and proud that she had engaged in this war, not from any selfish motive,
for any purposes of aggrandisement, but to maintain untarnished the
honour of her name, to fulfill her obligations to her allies, to
maintain her treaty obligations and to save civilization from the
unbridled lust of conquest and power.”
* * * * *
The secret of his great powers was not hard to find. Perhaps at the very
foundation must be placed his broad tolerance and kindliness. He was
first of all a Christian gentleman. Then following that must be placed
his thorough mastery of the great writers in both English and French and
a complete understanding of the points of view of these two people. It
was characteristic of the man that he should always remember with kindly
feelings the influence and atmosphere of the Scottish home where he
lived for a period. It was there that he got his first love for the
tongue of Shakespeare and Milton, and where he made himself familiar
with the struggles and achievements of Fox, Bright, Morley, Gladstone
and other great Liberal leaders.
No matter on what occasion or what his subject might be, his audience
was always sure to be treated to some striking phrase or bit of imagery
that made a lasting impression. On his return from Europe a few years
ago, he urged the young men of the Dominion in the words of Henry of
Navarre: “To follow his White Plume and there they would find honour.”
Again when speaking of the Grand Trunk Pacific project he announced that
“it would roll back the map of Canada and add depth to the country.”
The princeliness of his bearing was that which impressed the British
public most when he first went to Great Britain in 1897, as a guest at
Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee. Richard Harding Davis, who described
that event for “Harper’s Magazine,” said that in the procession to
Westminster Abbey on that occasion, the two individuals, who, after the
aged Queen herself, most aroused the enthusiasm of the myriad
spectators, were Lord Roberts, the typical military hero, and Sir
Wilfrid Laurier, whom most of them saw for the first time. He appealed
to England as an essentially romantic figure; typical of what British
Imperial prestige stood for—a man of foreign race, whom Britain’s wise
colonial policy had made a distinguished servant of the Crown.
During the Royal tour of 1901, and at the Quebec Tercentenary
celebration of 1908, one saw Sir Wilfrid in contact with the coterie of
distinguished men that the present King, first as Duke of Cornwall and
York, and later as Prince of Wales, brought with him to this country. To
Canadians, whatever their politics, it gave a deep sense of satisfaction
to recognize in their own Prime Minister, a man who seemed to embody the
flower of civilization. Knighthood, though it be a bauble, never sat
more fittingly on a modern man, than on him. Among all the men who
constituted the Royal entourage, on both occasions, only one was his
equal in this peculiar quality of high physical distinction, and that
was Viscount Crichton, afterwards the Earl of Erne.
In so far as possible, Sir Wilfrid Laurier confined business to business
hours. His habits did not vary. In the days of his premiership he rose
each morning before eight o’clock, and after breakfast his private
secretary would go to his library and the morning’s mail would be
opened. Replies would be dictated without delay. By pursuing this policy
Sir Wilfrid left himself free to receive callers and transact other
business when he arrived at his office. Sir Wilfrid’s mail was large,
but not so large as that received by many of his ministers. In his
younger days he had an extremely large personal correspondence, but the
passing away of many of his early associates reduced it considerably as
years went by.
When he was Prime Minister, he usually arrived at his office at 10.30
a.m. Everyone in Ottawa knew Sir Wilfrid and his commanding figure
always attracted attention. Once in his office there was usually a
steady stream of visitors or deputations to be received. The deputations
were usually heard after appointments had been arranged. In the
afternoon the callers as a rule were not so numerous, and if the House
was sitting there was frequently a meeting of the Cabinet Council before
it came together at 3 o’clock.
In the late years of his premiership Sir Wilfrid avoided the night
sessions whenever possible. Frequently he would occupy his seat for an
hour after business was resumed in the evening and then go home leaving
the fortunes of the Government forces in the hands of his ministers.
When the House was not in session he usually left off business about 5
o’clock, sometimes being detained to a later hour by a meeting of the
Cabinet Council.
* * * * *
The late leader as an English-speaking parliamentarian, was the wonder
of his day and generation, and one had to be well acquainted with both
languages to notice the least error in his English grammar. Sir Wilfrid
always tripped up, however, in the use of the English verbs “to do” and
“to make,” which are one and the same “faire” in French, for very
frequently he would make use of “do” when “make” was the proper English
word, or vice versa. As a bilingual orator, it is safe to say, however,
that Wilfrid Laurier stood alongside of such men as Real de la Valliere
and ex-Premier Waddington of France, who spoke English and French. In
the House of Commons Sir Wilfrid Laurier’s English was simply
magnificent, and, in fact, his models were John Bright, William Ewart
Gladstone, Pitt, Earl of Chatham, and others of that splendid galaxy of
British statesmen, whose names so brilliantly illuminate so many of the
most fascinating pages of the Empire’s history. He would, in fact,
become so impregnated with English-expressed mannerisms that at the
close of a long session of the House of Commons his English accent, when
speaking his own mother tongue, would be distinctly marked. He was not
always consistent, but was ever happy when pleading the cause of a
minority or a lost cause, his speeches on the execution of Louis Riel,
the Remedial Bill, and others, being amongst the most eloquent pages of
the Commons Hansard. Sir Charles Tupper, when sitting opposite the late
leader during his address on the amendment to reject the Remedial Bill,
remarked to his desk-mate that if he had Laurier’s facility of speech in
the two official languages of this country he would willingly sacrifice
whatever reputation he possessed as a public man.
Sir Wilfrid, it has often been said, had the distinction of an old world
seigneur. His stature, his irregular but strong features, his dome-like
forehead, his calm, wide eyes, his benevolent smile marked him down as
the last seigneur of old French Canada. But about this distinction of
his there was nothing put on or affected. He was above all things
natural, and joined with this was a simplicity and a bonhomie
essentially Canadian in its lack of all starched frills. He was one of
the easiest men to see at Ottawa. With him red tape did not exist.
Pomp and pretence, decoration and display did not appeal to this great
Canadian. He had no use for the sycophant, the bore or the grafter.
His clear eye, stately carriage, firmly compressed lips and general
demeanour revealed the born leader of men, and in any gathering he stood
out in picturesque relief from those around him like a Saul among his
fellows. His dignified and courtly bearing as he walked to his seat was
that of the French Empire period. Like Gladstone, Disraeli and other
great men, his dress was always distinctive without being obtrusive. At
all times he looked every inch the type of a statesman and a leader that
appealed to the imagination of a people. His great strength as a leader
lay in his personal charm and manner. Between Sir Wilfrid and his
followers there subsisted the most intimate relations. To see him flit
from seat to seat in the House for a quiet chat with some Liberal member
was to discover one source of his marvellous hold on the affection of
the Liberal rank and file.
When not engaged in debate or in conversation with his colleagues, Sir
Wilfrid generally spent his time reading. There were three books that
had a singular fascination for him—the Authorized Version of the Bible,
Shakespeare’s plays, and the Encyclopaedia. Like all great orators, Sir
Wilfrid drew freely from the Bible for illustrations, and his speeches
were replete with passages whose imagery suggested the sublime source of
their inspiration. In the House he stood in a class by himself as a
Parliamentarian.
When about to speak in the House he rose slowly, impressively.
Proceeding with his argument, his gestures were not wasteful. He would
point, perhaps, with the extended index finger of his outstretched right
hand. Sometimes, this finger he held rigidly straight, and at other
times crooked a little. And somehow by this slight change Sir Wilfrid
conveyed a wholly different significance to his gesture.
When Sir Wilfrid came to a climax he would square his thin shoulders,
throw his head gloriously back and upwards and look out over the
listening benches as from a conning tower. He would even perhaps cease
his vibrant utterance for an instant to gain an added emphasis to his
words.
When annoyed little fine wrinkles would corrugate his forehead.
Otherwise the whole of his personality was absolutely under control. His
voice, though slurring, was penetrating, and ate its way into your
attention by reason of its peculiarly blurred timbre. It was marked by
an even consistency. His speeches were always animated and winning, but
the speed at which he travelled never changed much, nor did he go to
extremes of inflection. Sometimes he would be quietly humorous. Where he
shone was in repartee, for he was always mentally alert and keen.
Whether he spoke in English or in French, it was the same Laurier, the
orator of the “grand style.” And like all speakers of this type, Sir
Wilfrid was a past master in the coining of apt phrases that stick in
the popular imagination. For example, he once called Ottawa the
“Washington of the North.” Ever since then the label has stuck. And so,
in a hundred other cases, Sir Wilfrid has given journalists and those
that come after him the necessary turn of thought, the needful word. His
“grand method” was simply the outcome of his own nature—a nature at
once distinguished and noble. And consequently not even his bitterest
enemies ever charged him with doing a “mean” or “shabby” thing. As soon
as you set eyes on him in the House you recognized that there was a man
above buying or selling, a man with a code of honour, a man with a
dignity. So his “grand” manner was but the visible and outward sign of
this.
But this “grand” manner had nothing ponderous, heavy or deliberate about
it. Laurier was French in his vivacity and finesse, in the quickness and
brilliance of his repartee. He was the master of the quick, swift way in
which he slipped off into the heart of his speeches. A handful of
compliments or a short, sharp, stinging sarcasm; a gentle musical
phrase, to jog someone’s memory, or a word of aroused dignity, and Sir
Wilfrid was easily racing along at full speed. And in his speech he had
Gallic lucidity. Everything served to strengthen his argument. He not
only appealed to his auditors’ reason, but also to their emotions—and
that was the secret of his popularity. He had the gift of being able to
charm, move and stir. And it all perhaps was achieved more by his
personality than by what was actually said. His mere appearance could
raise enthusiasm.
The extraordinary thing was that no one seemed to remember that he was
not speaking in his own tongue. Indeed, few of the English-speaking
representatives have ever attained to a vocabulary half as large as his.
Sir Wilfrid always looked his part. He was one of those few public
individuals, whose actual appearance did not disappoint you. The
striking face, with its broad, lofty forehead; its tufted crown of white
hair, its long, prominent nose, indicative of dominance and power, its
alignment of chin and mouth sent your mind irresistibly back to memories
of other great statesmen. It was the face of an aristocrat, while the
mind belonged to the aristocracy of democracy. His eyes were set wide
apart and they gazed steadily out at you. As a rule, his face was
immobile, but when his eyes half closed, it was quick to break into a
smile, the wrinkles running upward on his face like little waves
succeeding one another on a beach. When listening or following a debate,
Sir Wilfrid would lean forward with elbows rested on his desk and one
hand up to his ear to convey the sound better.
As a rule, he wore a black frock coat with vest, the lapels lined with a
white frill. His collar was straight and high, while his tie was so big
and broad that you could not see his shirt. It literally choked up the
opening of his vest with its splendour. The creases of his trousers were
always perfect. His boots were the old-fashioned elastic-sided ones.
* * * * *
Strangers coming into the gallery of the House of Commons for the first
time always looked for Laurier. He knew it and rather enjoyed the
limelight. It was his custom to enter the House just a moment before
opening hour, and as he passed down the corridors of Parliament on the
way from his office to the Chamber it was frequently through a lane of
people, every one of them watching him intently. He would pass along
straight as a guardsman, serene, dignified and quite unmoved.
In the Chamber he was much given to visiting. From his seat in the front
row, immediately opposite his Parliamentary opponent, Sir Robert Borden,
he would move back among his more humble supporters and spend hours in
earnest conversation with them. He knew his men individually, as none
but Sir John Macdonald ever knew a following. Laurier had undoubtedly
learned much from his former great rival. There were little mannerisms
and tricks of speech and gestures that old-timers around Parliament
declared he got only from Sir John.
He loved to use that word “Grit,” especially in rural ridings, where he
knew its effect on old-time voters. And he took a sort of impish delight
in always characterizing his political opponents as “Tories,” rather
than as Conservatives, or even as Liberal-Conservatives. He knew that in
the minds of some of his hearers the use of the word “Tory” would convey
an idea of class privilege and opposition to democratic ideas and
movements. It was surprising, too, how he would adapt his utterances to
his audience. It might be the same speech he had given elsewhere the day
before, but he knew that his audience would differ, and little touches
were added here and there that gave it individuality and touched
responsive chords in his hearers. When stumping the country in an
election campaign his stories and illustrations were always simple. The
historical comparisons and the more subtle quotations were reserved for
Parliament. When he spoke in Woodstock in the election of 1911, he told
a story of an Irish friend of his, a conductor on the Montreal-Quebec
train, for whom he brought a black thorn from Ireland in 1897. He had
the conductor friend’s name put on it and when they met, presented him
with the shillelah.
“He was profuse in his thanks,” said Sir Wilfrid, and he wound up by
saying, “May Heaven be your bed, but may you be kept long out of it.”
“Now I hope that some day heaven may be my bed,” added the Liberal
Chieftain, “but I don’t think I am ripe for it yet. I hope Heaven won’t
be my bed until I have one more tussel with the Tories.”
There were two Tory rural members of the House of Commons, for whom Sir
Wilfrid always had a tender spot in his heart. One of these was the late
Mr. Peter Elson, member for East Middlesex. The Liberal leader would
frequently cross over the floor of the House for a chat. The other was
Mr. Oliver Wilcox, member for North Essex, also since passed away. Mr.
Wilcox had a rollicking manner in his Parliamentary debating that would
at times convulse the whole House, and those who were there in those
days, will long recall the way in which he would point a finger at the
Liberal leader, refer to him always as “My honorable friend, the leader
of the Liberal Opposition,” and endeavour to convince Sir Wilfrid that
he was a hopeless political sinner. Sometimes after one of these
encounters they would meet outside in the corridor and walk away arm in
arm.
Speaking to a young newspaper friend, he said, “Every young man ought to
read the works of Gibbon.” He was enthusiastic, too, when he spoke of
Parkman’s writings. “Read Parkman, and you will be proud of both races
in Canada,” was his comment.
There were dull hours in the House of Commons when Sir Wilfrid had to
remain on duty, ready for any emergency. Hours that were tedious, or
would have been tedious, but for his little custom of sending to the
Parliamentary Library for the English dictionary. The House used to
smile when the page would come in with the big volume and place it on
Sir Wilfrid’s desk. He would open it at a certain page and then begin to
run down the columns carefully and slowly, adding to his store of
English words. Is it any wonder that he possessed such command of the
English tongue in public utterances? He rarely read anything but the
dictionary in the House of Commons, not even the newspapers; but it was
very evident that outside of the House he looked over all the important
dailies and read widely in general literature. A newspaper friend, who
called on him the day after the landslide of 1911, found him seated
comfortably in his room, reading a life of the Dowager Empress of China.
She, too, had known the experience of power passing away, and perhaps,
the Liberal Chieftain was finding some of the philosophy of the Orient
applicable to his own situation.
In his Parliamentary addresses he was always apt in the use of
quotations and historical illustrations. He had read widely in both
British and French histories, and in American history as well.
His influence among his followers was due to his long Parliamentary
experience, but even more to the grace and courtesy of his manner, and
his actual kindness. He was never abrupt, never too busy to be polite,
never forgot that without his most humble associates he would fail to
accomplish his purposes. Those who think of political life as a
continuous strife, would be surprised indeed, if they knew of the close
friendship that existed between Sir Wilfrid and some of his opponents on
the opposite side of Parliament. He was elusive in many ways, difficult
to measure by our accepted standards. For many years to come the
recollection of his personality has impressed itself upon audiences and
upon individuals in every part of Canada will remain to keep his memory
green.
* * * * *
A member of Sir Wilfrid’s last Cabinet, who, as a boy, greatly admired
his Chief, contributes these reminiscences:
When Sir Wilfrid first became prominent it was his custom, while
Parliament was in session, to go for a walk on Sunday afternoons, in the
winter, on the north side of Rideau Street, and a number of boys, whose
fathers were Liberals, would hurry along Sussex Street, and crossing
over to the south side of Rideau Street, would walk along that side in
perfect decorum and happiness as they watched the progress of the man on
the other side of the street, whose name was heard more frequently than
any other in their homes. Sir Wilfrid’s appearance and dress on those
Sunday afternoons are still remembered. He wore a fur cap of plucked
otter, a Persian lamb coat, and always carried a cane. His hair was wavy
and dark, his face generally lit up by a smile, and his carriage was
erect and dignified. He never seemed to be in a hurry. Usually, one of
his Parliamentary colleagues was with him, and it was a matter of much
interest for the boys on the opposite side of the street to watch the
different ways in which Sir Wilfrid and his companion returned the
salutes of passers-by. Needless to say, the companion, no matter whom he
might be, always suffered in the comparison.
With the boys and young men who haunted the galleries of Parliament
during the Franchise, the Riel, and the Home Rule debates, Sir Wilfrid
was a hero. While charmed by his never-failing courtesy, they took him
still closer to their hearts when, on a memorable night, in a later
debate, he repelled the clumsy patronizing of an opponent with the
withering phrase that “Quebec does not want his whining pity!” That
flash revealed human nature that his youthful admirers in the gallery
could readily understand, and they loved him all the more for it.
He was a great lover of birds, and on a beautiful day in September,
1911, just prior to addressing a great outdoor meeting, he was sitting
on a lawn with several friends. The weather was unusually warm, and
there were a number of orioles, and other birds, flying about the
grounds, and, occasionally, singing in the trees. Sir Wilfrid noticed
them, and, taking off his hat, he laid it on the grass, and, as if he
had no cares or thoughts in the world, except for the homely things of
nature, he told about the birds that used to come each spring to the
woods around Arthabaskaville, and described minutely their plumage. Then
he recalled that from time to time certain kinds of birds would
disappear, and others would come in their places, and that, after a
lapse of a few years, it was difficult to find any of the birds with
which he had been familiar when a young man. His whole conversation
indicated how close to nature he must have been in his youth, and how
keen his powers of observation always were.
In the same way, he was an intense lover of trees. He took great pride
in the shade trees of the city of Ottawa, and was always hurt when he
saw any of them mutilated or wantonly destroyed.
One night before the last election he engaged in a chat about world
conditions as they then existed. By degrees he became absorbed in the
subject, and drew such a rapid and comprehensive world-picture that one
could not help regretting that the whole Dominion was not listening to
him. Referring to Russia, he contrasted the condition of the people
there with the condition of the people in the United States, and
remarked that perhaps the most extraordinary thing that had taken place
within his life time was the effect produced by the general spread of
education in the United States. In illustration of this, he pointed to
the fact that, while it was the custom for people, when he was a young
man, to sneer at the college professor in the neighbouring Republic, the
Americans now had in Woodrow Wilson a college professor for their
President. He went on to describe conditions in Russia, and deplored the
fact that, as there were at least one hundred millions of illiterate
people there, it would be impossible to effect a change, except in one
of two ways, namely, by the spread of education—which would take too
long—or by the appearance of another Napoleon. Thereupon a guest
remarked that, for the sake of ending the world war, it was to be hoped
that another Napoleon would soon appear. Sir Wilfrid made a slight
gesture with his right hand, and, shaking his head, said, “No, it is not
time. There were 1,000 years between Caesar and Charlemagne, and there
were 800 years between Charlemagne and Napoleon. You see, it is not yet
time for another Napoleon to appear.” Could anything be more graphic or
concrete than this rapidly sketched picture?
In some respects, he was the most conservative of men. For instance, he
was very reluctant to approve any changes in the rules or procedure of
Parliament. He had found them sufficient for all purposes for nearly
fifty years, and he looked up with a glance implying both surprise and a
certain degree of opposition, when anyone proposed a change of any kind.
Not that he would refuse to discuss it, or withhold his approval because
a discussion of a suggestion of the kind usually wound up by his saying,
“Well, I will be guided by whatever our friends may think.”
Another indication of his conservative inclination in matters of dress
may be pointed out. Those who have been familiar with him for years, and
even those who did not know him personally, but who have seen his
photographs, will have noticed that he usually wore a scarf pin in the
shape of a horse-shoe. While it decorated his ties of different colour,
it never seemed out of place. In the same way he never wore a chain on
his watch, and this habit he continued down to the end of his days. Even
in these little things there was proof of his being different from other
men.
* * * * *
He was the embodiment of kindness, and his consideration for others was
unfailing. These characteristics manifested themselves so naturally that
they were part and parcel of the man. Perhaps one story, that
illustrates this side of his character better than any other, was told
by Lady Laurier. Occasionally, in later years, an impression would arise
in the household that some of the servants were not as attentive to duty
as they might be, and, at times, a suggestion was made that it might be
well to speak to them about some oversight. Sir Wilfrid’s invariable
admonition was, “Oh, don’t do that. It’s bad enough to be a servant.” At
other times, disappointment would be expressed at the speedy
disappearance of some good things that had been provided for guests who
were to arrive. If Sir Wilfrid chanced to hear any discussion on this
topic, he would intervene with, “Well, after all, that is very natural;
the servants are human like ourselves.” It was this constant regard for
the feelings of others, and his lightning-like ability to adapt himself
to any occasion, no matter how suddenly it might arise, that made him so
different from other men, and constantly increased the love felt for him
by those who were fortunate enough to be brought within the circle of
his daily life.
* * * * *
His marvelous memory and his grip upon the Parliamentary proceedings of
over forty years was unexpectedly instanced in the House of Commons on
September 7th., 1917. Senate amendments in the income tax bill were
before the House, and the point of order was raised that the Red Chamber
could not amend a money bill.
Hon. Speaker Rhodes, after hurriedly consulting authorities, found a
case in May, 1874, in which Hon. Alexander Mackenzie, then Premier, had
moved to accept the Senate amendments to an act respecting the
appropriation of certain Dominion lands in Manitoba, stipulating that
the action should not be accepted as a precedent.
“It so happens that I was a member of this House at the time,” said Sir
Wilfrid, rising. “I was, of course, a very young member then, but I have
a recollection of the debate that took place.” The veteran Liberal
leader then recited in some detail the debate of forty-three years ago,
differentiating between the land act then under discussion and the money
bill now before the House. Meantime the Speaker had sent for the ancient
Hansard, and subsequently placed the record before the House. It was in
exact accordance with Sir Wilfrid’s memories, and both sides of the
House paid its senior member the tribute of hearty applause.
* * * * *
Many stories are told which illustrate the wide range of his information
and his remarkable memory. On one occasion Sir Adolphe Chapleau, who was
a member for many years of successive Conservative Cabinets, was
relating his experience as a captain in the Union Army at the Battle of
Antietam. A Union battery had taken a position in a corn field which
masked its presence from the Confederates.
“When the proper moment came,” said Sir Adolphe, “the order to fire was
given by General ——.”
“You are, I think, mistaken,” said Sir Wilfrid, apologizing for the
interruption. “It was General ——, who gave the order.”