matter. Politicians, as also diplomatists, are often obliged to give
evasive answers to inconvenient questions, but it is not possible for
any man, when dealing with a point of primary importance, deliberately
to make and to repeat a statement so absolutely untrue as that made by
Disraeli on the occasion in question without undermining any confidence
which might otherwise be entertained in his general sincerity and
rectitude of purpose. A man convicted of deliberate falsehood cannot
expect to be believed when he pleads that his public conduct is wholly
dictated by public motives. Now all the circumstantial evidence goes to
show that from 1841 onwards Disraeli's conduct, culminating in his
violent attacks on Peel in 1845-46, was the result of personal
resentment due to his exclusion from office in 1841, and that these
attacks would never have been made had he been able to climb the ladder
of advancement by other means. His proved want of veracity confirms the
impression derived from this evidence.
Peel's own opinion on the subject may be gathered from a letter which he
wrote to Sir James Graham on December 22, 1843.[73] Disraeli had the
assurance to solicit a place for his brother from Sir James Graham. The
request met with a flat refusal. Peel's comment on the incident was: "He
(Disraeli) asked me for office himself, and I was not surprised that,
being refused, he became independent and a patriot."
So far, therefore, as the individual is concerned, the episode on which
I have dwelt above appears to me to be a very important factor in
estimating not merely Disraeli's moral worth, but also the degree of
value to be attached to his opinions. The question of whether Disraeli
was or was not a political charlatan remains, however, to be
considered.
That Disraeli was a political adventurer is abundantly clear. So was
Napoleon, between whose mentality and that of Disraeli a somewhat close
analogy exists. Both subordinated their public conduct to the
furtherance of their personal aims. It is quite permissible to argue
that, as a political adventurer, Disraeli did an incalculable amount of
harm in so far as he tainted the sincerity of public life both in his
own person and, posthumously, by becoming the progenitor of a school of
adventurers who adopted his methods. But it is quite possible to be a
self-seeking adventurer without being a charlatan. A careful
consideration of Disraeli's opinions and actions leads me to the
conclusion that only on a very superficial view of his career can the
latter epithet be applied to him. It must, I think, be admitted that his
ideas, even although we may disagree with them, were not those of a
charlatan, but of a statesman. They cannot be brushed aside as trivial.
They deserve serious consideration. Moreover, he had a very remarkable
power of penetrating to the core of any question which he treated,
coupled with an aptitude for wide generalisation which is rare amongst
Englishmen, and which he probably derived from his foreign ancestors. An
instance in point is his epigrammatic statement that "In England, where
society was strong, they tolerated a weak Government, but in Ireland,
where society was weak, the policy should be to have the Government
strong." Mr. Monypenny is quite justified in saying: "The significance
of the Irish question cannot be exhausted in a formula, but in that
single sentence there is more of wisdom and enlightenment than in many
thousands of the dreary pages of Irish debate that are buried in the
volumes of Hansard."
More than this. In one very important respect he was half a century in
advance of his contemporaries. With true political instinct he fell upon
what was unquestionably the weakest point in the armour of the so-called
Manchester School of politicians. He saw that whilst material
civilisation in England was advancing with rapid strides, there was "no
proportionate advance in our moral civilisation." "In the hurry-skurry
of money-making, men-making, and machine-making," the moral side of
national life was being unduly neglected. He was able with justifiable
pride to say: "Long before what is called the 'condition of the people
question' was discussed in the House of Commons, I had employed my pen
on the subject. I had long been aware that there was something rotten in
the core of our social system. I had seen that while immense fortunes
were accumulating, while wealth was increasing to a superabundance, and
while Great Britain was cited throughout Europe as the most prosperous
nation in the world, the working classes, the creators of wealth, were
steeped in the most abject poverty and gradually sinking into the
deepest degradation." The generation of 1912 cannot dub as a charlatan
the man who could speak thus in 1844. For in truth, more especially
during the last five years, we have been suffering from a failure to
recognise betimes the truth of this foreseeing statesman's admonition.
Having for years neglected social reform, we have recently tried to make
up for lost time by the hurried adoption of a number of measures, often
faulty in principle and ill-considered in detail, which seek to obtain
by frenzied haste those advantages which can only be secured by the
strenuous and persistent application of sound principles embodied in
deliberate and well-conceived legislative enactments.
Disraeli, therefore, saw the rock ahead, but how did he endeavour to
steer the ship clear of the rock? It is in dealing with this aspect of
the case that the view of the statesman dwindles away and is supplanted
by that of the self-seeking party manager. His fundamental idea was that
"we had altogether outgrown, not the spirit, but the organisation of our
institutions." The manner in which he proposed to reorganise our
institutions was practically to render the middle classes politically
powerless. His scheme, constituting the germ which, at a later period,
blossomed into the Tory democracy, was developed as early as 1840 in a
letter addressed to Mr. Charles Attwood, who was at that time a popular
leader. "I entirely agree with you," he said, "that an union between the
Conservative Party and the Radical masses offers the only means by which
we can preserve the Empire. Their interests are identical; united they
form the nation; and their division has only permitted a miserable
minority, under the specious name of the People, to assail all right of
property and person."
Mr. Monypenny, if I understand rightly, is generally in sympathy with
Disraeli's project, and appears to think that it might have been
practicable to carry it into effect. He condemns Peel's counter-idea of
substituting a middle-class Toryism for that which then existed as
"almost a contradiction in terms." I am unable to concur in this view. I
see no contradiction, either real or apparent, in Peel's
counter-project, and I hold that events have proved that the premises on
which Disraeli based his conclusion were entirely false, for his
political descendants, while still pursuing his main aim, viz. to ensure
a closer association of the Conservative Party and the masses, have been
forced by circumstances into an endeavour to effect that union by means
not merely different from but antagonistic to those which Disraeli
himself contemplated.
It all depends on what Disraeli meant when he spoke of "Conservatism,"
and on what Mr. Monypenny meant when he spoke of "Toryism." It may
readily be conceded that a "middle-class Toryism," in the sense in which
Disraeli would have understood the expression, was "a contradiction in
terms," for the bed-rock on which his Toryism was based was that it
should find its main strength in the possessors of land. The creation of
such a Toryism is a conceivable political programme. In France it was
created by the division of property consequent on the Revolution. Thiers
said truly enough that in the cottage of every French peasant owning an
acre of land would be found a musket ready to be used in the defence of
property. In fact, the five million peasant proprietors now existing in
France represent an eminently conservative class. But, so far as I know,
there is not a trace to be found in any of Disraeli's utterances that he
wished to widen the basis of agricultural conservatism by creating a
peasant proprietary class. He wished, above all things, to maintain the
territorial magnates in the full possession of their properties. When he
spoke of a "union between the Conservative Party and the Radical masses"
he meant a union between the "patricians" and the working men, and the
answer to this somewhat fantastic project is that given by Juvenal 1800
years ago:
Quis enim iam non intelligat artes
Patricias?[74]
"Who in our days is not up to the dodges of the patricians?"
The programme was foredoomed to failure, and the failure has been
complete. Modern Conservatives can appeal to the middle classes, who--in
spite of what Mr. Monypenny says--are their natural allies. They can
also appeal to the working classes by educating them and by showing them
that Socialism is diametrically contrary to their own interests. But,
although they may gain some barren and ephemeral electoral advantages,
they cannot hope to advance the cause of rational conservative progress
either by alienating the one class or by sailing under false colours
before the other. They cannot advantageously masquerade in Radical
clothes. There was a profound truth in Lord Goschen's view upon the
conduct of Disraeli when, in strict accordance with the principles he
enunciated in the 'forties, he forced his reluctant followers to pass a
Reform Bill far more Radical than that proposed by the Whigs. "That
measure," Lord Goschen said,[75] "might have increased the number of
Conservatives, but it had, nevertheless, in his belief, weakened real
Conservatism." Many of Disraeli's political descendants seem to care
little for Conservatism, but they are prepared to advocate Socialist or
quasi-Socialist doctrines in order to increase the number of nominal
Conservatives. This, therefore, has been the ultimate result of the
gospel of which Disraeli was the chief apostle. It does no credit to his
political foresight. He altogether failed to see the consequences which
would result from the adoption of his political principles. He hoped
that the Radical masses, whom he sought to conciliate, would look to the
"patricians" as their guides. They have done nothing of the sort, but a
very distinct tendency has been created amongst the "patricians" to
allow themselves to be guided by the Radical masses.
I cannot terminate these remarks without saying a word or two about
Disraeli's great antagonist, Peel. It appears to me that Mr. Monypenny
scarcely does justice to that very eminent man. His main accusation
against Peel is that he committed his country "apparently past recall"
to an industrial line of growth, and that he sacrificed rural England
"to a one-sided and exaggerated industrial development which has done
so much to change the English character and the English outlook."
I think that this charge admits of being answered, but I will not now
attempt to answer it fully. This much, however, I may say. Mr.
Monypenny, if I understand rightly, admits that the transition from
agriculture to manufactures was, if not desirable, at all events
inevitable, but he holds that this transition should have been gradual.
This is practically the same view as that held by the earlier German and
American economists, who--whilst condemning Protection in
theory--advocated it as a temporary measure which would eventually lead
up to Free Trade. The answer is that, in those countries which adopted
this policy, the Protection has, in the face of vested interests, been
permanent, whilst, although the movement in favour of Free Trade has
never entirely died out, and may, indeed, be said recently to have shown
signs of increasing vigour, the obstacles to the realisation of the
ideas entertained by economists of the type of List have not yet been
removed, and are still very formidable. That the plunge made by Sir
Robert Peel has been accompanied by some disadvantages may be admitted,
but Free Traders may be pardoned for thinking that, if he had not had
the courage to make that plunge, the enormous counter-advantages which
have resulted from his policy would never have accrued.
As regards Peel's character, it was twice sketched by Disraeli himself.
The first occasion was in 1839. The picture he drew at that time was
highly complimentary, but as Disraeli was then a loyal supporter of Peel
it may perhaps be discarded on the plea advanced by Voltaire that "we
can confidently believe only the evil which a party writer tells of his
own side and the good which he recognises in his opponents." The second
occasion was after Peel's death. It is given by Mr. Monypenny in ii.
306-308, and is too long to quote. Disraeli on this occasion made some
few--probably sound--minor criticisms on Peel's style, manner, and
disposition. But he manifestly wrote with a strong desire to do justice
to his old antagonist's fine qualities. He concluded with a remark
which, in the mouth of a Parliamentarian, may probably be considered the
highest praise, namely, that Peel was "the greatest Member of Parliament
that ever lived." I cannot but think that even those who reject Peel's
economic principles may accord to him higher praise than this. They may
admit that Peel attained a very high degree of moral elevation when, at
the dictate of duty, he separated himself from all--or the greater
part--of his former friends, and had the courage, when honestly
convinced by Cobden's arguments, to act upon his convictions. Peel's
final utterance on this subject was not only one of the most pathetic,
but also one of the finest--because one of the most deeply
sincere--speeches ever made in Parliament.
I may conclude these remarks by some recollections of a personal
character. My father, who died in 1848, was a Peelite and an intimate
friend of Sir Robert Peel, who was frequently his guest at Cromer. I
used, therefore, in my childhood to hear a good deal of the subjects
treated in Mr. Monypenny's brilliant volumes. I well remember--I think
it must have been in 1847--being present on one occasion when a relative
of my own, who was a broad-acred Nottinghamshire squire, thumped the
table and declared his opinion that "Sir Robert Peel ought to be hanged
on the highest tree in England." Since that time I have heard a good
many statesmen accused of ruining their country, but, so far as my
recollection serves me, the denunciations launched against John Bright,
Gladstone, and even the present Chancellor of the Exchequer, may be
considered as sweetly reasonable by comparison with the language
employed about Sir Robert Peel by those who were opposed to his policy.
I was only once brought into personal communication with Disraeli.
Happening to call on my old friend, Lord Rowton, in the summer of 1879,
when I was about to return to Egypt as Controller-General, he expressed
a wish that I should see Lord Beaconsfield, as he then was. The
interview was very short; neither has anything Lord Beaconsfield said
about Egyptian affairs remained in my memory. But I remember that he
appeared much interested to learn whether "there were many pelicans on
the banks of the Nile."
The late Sir Mountstuart Grant-Duff was a repository of numerous very
amusing _Beaconsfieldiana_.
[Footnote 69: This passage occurs in _Coningsby_, and Mr. Monypenny
warns us that "his version of the quarrel between Charles I. and the
Parliament is too fanciful to be quite serious; we may believe that he
was here consciously paying tribute to the historical caprices of
Manners and Smythe."]
[Footnote 70: Mr. Monypenny says in a note that a hostile newspaper gave
the following translation of Disraeli's motto: "The impudence of some
men sticks at nothing."]
[Footnote 71: What Buffon really wrote was: "Le style est l'homme
même."]
[Footnote 72:
Iratusque Chremes tumido delitigat ore;
Et tragicus plerumque dolet sermone pedestri
Telephus et Peleus.
_Ars Poetica_, 94-96.]
[Footnote 73: _Sir Robert Peel_. Charles Stuart Parker. Vol. iii. 425.]
[Footnote 74: _Sat._ iv, 101.]
[Footnote 75: _Life of Lord Goschen_, Arthur D. Elliot, p. 163.]
IX
RUSSIAN ROMANCE
_"The Spectator," March 15, 1913_
De Vogüé's well-known book, _Le Roman Russe_, was published so long ago
as 1886. It is still well worth reading. In the first place, the
literary style is altogether admirable. It is the perfection of French
prose, and to read the best French prose is always an intellectual
treat. In the second place, the author displays in a marked degree that
power of wide generalisation which distinguishes the best French
writers. Then, again, M. de Vogüé writes with a very thorough knowledge
of his subject. He resided for long in Russia. He spoke Russian, and had
an intimate acquaintance with Russian literature. He endeavoured to
identify himself with Russian aspirations, and, being himself a man of
poetic and imaginative temperament, he was able to sympathise with the
highly emotional side of the Slav character, whilst, at the same time,
he never lost sight of the fact that he was the representative of a
civilisation which is superior to that of Russia. He admires the
eruptions of that volcanic genius Dostoïevsky, but, with true European
instinct, charges him with a want of "mesure"--the Greek
Sophrosyne--which he defines as "l'art d'assujettir ses pensées."
Moreover, he at times brings a dose of vivacious French wit to temper
the gloom of Russian realism. Thus, when he speaks of the Russian
writers of romance, who, from 1830 to 1840, "eurent le privilège de
faire pleurer les jeunes filles russes," he observes in thorough
man-of-the-world fashion, "il faut toujours que quelqu'un fasse pleurer
les jeunes filles, mais le génie n'y est pas nécessaire."
When Taine had finished his great history of the Revolution, he sent it
forth to the world with the remark that the only general conclusion at
which a profound study of the facts had enabled him to arrive was that
the true comprehension, and therefore, _a fortiori_, the government of
human beings, and especially of Frenchmen, was an extremely difficult
matter. Those who have lived longest in the East are the first to
testify to the fact that, to the Western mind, the Oriental habit of
thought is well-nigh incomprehensible. The European may do his best to
understand, but he cannot cast off his love of symmetry any more than he
can change his skin, and unless he can become asymmetrical he can never
hope to attune his reason in perfect accordance to the Oriental key.
Similarly, it is impossible to rise from a perusal of De Vogüé's book
without a strong feeling of the incomprehensibility of the Russians.
What, in fact, are these puzzling Russians? They are certainly not
Europeans. They possess none of the mental equipoise of the Teutons,
neither do they appear to possess that logical faculty which, in spite
of many wayward outbursts of passion, generally enables the Latin races
in the end to cast off idealism when it tends to lapse altogether from
sanity; or perhaps it would be more correct to say that, having by
association acquired some portion of that Western faculty, the Russians
misapply it. They seem to be impelled by a variety of causes--such as
climatic and economic influences, a long course of misgovernment,
Byzantinism in religion, and an inherited leaning to Oriental
mysticism--to distort their reasoning powers, and far from using them,
as was the case with the pre-eminently sane Greek genius, to temper the
excesses of the imagination, to employ them rather as an oestrus to lash
the imaginative faculties to a state verging on madness.
If the Russians are not Europeans, neither are they thorough Asiatics.
It may well be, as De Vogüé says, that they have preserved the idiom
and even the features of their original Aryan ancestors to a greater
extent than has been the case with other Aryan nations who finally
settled farther West, and that this is a fact of which many Russians
boast. But, for all that, they have been inoculated with far too strong
a dose of Western culture, religion, and habits of thought to display
the apathy or submit to the fatalism which characterises the conduct of
the true Eastern.
If, therefore, the Russians are neither Europeans nor Asiatics, what are
they? Manifestly their geographical position and other attendant
circumstances have, from an ethnological point of view, rendered them a
hybrid race, whose national development will display the most startling
anomalies and contradictions, in which the theory and practice derived
from the original Oriental stock will be constantly struggling for
mastery with an Occidental aftergrowth. From the earliest days there
have been two types of Russian reformers, viz. on the one hand, those
who wished that the country should be developed on Eastern lines, and,
on the other, those who looked to Western civilisation for guidance. De
Vogüé says that from the accession of Peter the Great to the death of
the Emperor Nicolas--that is to say, for a period of a hundred and
fifty years--the government of Russia may be likened to a ship, of
which the captain and the principal officers were persistently
endeavouring to steer towards the West, while at the same time the whole
of the crew were trimming the sails in order to catch any breeze which
would bear the vessel Eastward. It can be no matter for surprise that
this strange medley should have produced results which are bewildering
even to Russians themselves and well-nigh incomprehensible to
foreigners. One of their poets has said:
On ne comprend pas la Russie avec la raison,
On ne peut que croire à la Russie.
One of the most singular incidents of Russian development on which De
Vogüé has fastened, and which induced him to write this book, has been
the predominant influence exercised on Russian thought and action by
novels. Writers of romance have indeed at times exercised no
inconsiderable amount of influence elsewhere than in Russia. Mrs.
Beecher Stowe's epoch-making novel, _Uncle Tom's Cabin_, certainly
contributed towards the abolition of slavery in the United States.
Dickens gave a powerful impetus to the reform of our law-courts and our
Poor Law. Moreover, even in free England, political writers have at
times resorted to allegory in order to promulgate their ideas. Swift's
Brobdingnagians and Lilliputians furnish a case in point. In France,
Voltaire called fictitious Chinamen, Bulgarians, and Avars into
existence in order to satirise the proceedings of his own countrymen.
But the effect produced by these writings may be classed as trivial
compared to that exercised by the great writers of Russian romance. In
the works of men like Tourguenef and Dostoïevsky the Russian people
appear to have recognised, for the first time, that their real condition
was truthfully depicted, and that their inchoate aspirations had found
sympathetic expression. "Dans le roman, et là seulement," De Vogüé says,
"on trouvera l'histoire de Russie depuis un demi-siècle."
Such being the case, it becomes of interest to form a correct judgment
on the character and careers of the men whom the Russians have very
generally regarded as the true interpreters of their domestic facts, and
whom large numbers of them have accepted as their political pilots.