is not to be classed, and has never sought to be classed, with such men
as Gladstone and Bright. But, short of the highest gift of eloquence, he
has every quality needed to make a great Parliamentary debater. When he
addresses the House of Commons, one ceases to think of him merely as
the scholar and the author, and he becomes the man who can command the
House by the arguments and the eloquence which the House best
understands. There are many men of high intellectual capacity who
occasionally take part in a Parliamentary debate and who are always
regarded as in the House but not of it. John Morley proved from his very
first effort that he was of the House as well as in it. I have heard him
make great platform speeches, and I think he comes nearer to the highest
order of eloquence when addressing an ordinary political meeting than
even when addressing the House, but it is quite certain that at the
present time the House of Commons has no member who can more completely
command its attention. It must be said, too, that the character of the
man himself, his transparent sincerity, his absolute devotedness to
principle, his fearless and unselfish consistency, count for much in the
commanding position which he has obtained. The integrity of Morley's
career is absolutely beyond criticism or cavil. It never entered into
the mind of his bitterest opponent to suspect for a moment that Morley
could be influenced by any personal consideration in the course which he
took or the words which he uttered. Other men of high position in
Parliament are commonly set down as having taken this or that course,
modified or suppressed this or that opinion, for the sake of personal
advancement, or at least for the sake of maintaining the interests of a
party. But everybody knows that John Morley has never sought for office,
and could never be induced to make any compromise of political principle
even for the sake of maintaining in power the political party to which
he belongs. The universal recognition of that great quality in him has
added unspeakably to his influence in Parliament. He was not at any time
a frequent speaker in the House of Commons, and of course he never was a
mere talker. He speaks only when he has something to say which he
believes ought to be said and to be said by him, and he never seems to
have any temptation to enter into debate for the mere pleasure of taking
part in the controversy. If a man is really a good speaker, the House is
always ready to listen to him no matter how often he may speak, for the
plain reason that debate has to go on for a certain number of hours each
day, and it is more pleasant to listen to a member who talks well than
to one who talks badly. But, no matter how effective and eloquent a
speaker may be, it is quite certain that the House will give him a more
attentive ear if it knows beforehand that whenever he rises to take part
in debate it is sure to hear something which up to that moment has not
been spoken. John Morley, therefore, very soon became one of that small
body of men in the House of Commons whose rising to speak is always
regarded as an event of interest and importance.
In the retrospect of John Morley's career one is brought up with
something approaching to a shock of surprise when he remembers that at
the opening of Morley's Parliamentary life he was closely associated
with Joseph Chamberlain. I remember having heard people say at the time
that Chamberlain took much credit to himself on the ground that he had
urged and prevailed upon John Morley to persevere in seeking a seat in
the House of Commons. Mr. Chamberlain was at that time an extreme and
uncompromising Radical. He was an avowed and constant supporter of the
Home Rule party; was in close alliance with Parnell; took a leading part
in the arrangement of the so-called Kilmainham Treaty, and delivered a
warm panegyric on Parnell himself and Parnell's policy to a crowded and
for the most part an indignant House of Commons. There was, therefore,
nothing surprising in the fact that Morley and Chamberlain were at that
time friends and allies in political affairs, nor had any one then the
faintest reason to believe that Chamberlain was ever destined to undergo
a sudden and miraculous conversion to ultra-Tory principles. When Mr.
Gladstone came into office in 1886 with what was known to be a Home Rule
administration, John Morley obtained the position of Chief Secretary to
the Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, with a seat in the Cabinet. It is not by
any means a matter of course that the Irish Chief Secretary should be a
Cabinet Minister. Sometimes the Lord-Lieutenant himself has a place in
the Cabinet and the Chief Secretary is merely an ordinary member of the
Government; sometimes, when the Chief Secretary is regarded as a very
strong man, he is invited to a seat in the Cabinet and his official
master remains outside. John Morley was recognized from the first by
Gladstone as a man of the highest political capacity and character, and
when the new administration came to be formed Gladstone made evident
this estimate of Morley by offering him a place in the Cabinet. The
keenest interest was felt alike both by political friends and political
enemies in Morley's management of Irish affairs. The new Secretary for
Ireland was entering bravely on an enterprise the immediate success of
which was, under the conditions, absolutely impossible. I have no doubt
whatever that success could have been easily and completely accomplished
if John Morley had been allowed his own way in dealing with the whole
Irish question--if, for instance, he had been placed in such a position
of dictatorship as that which was given to Lord Durham when Durham was
sent out to deal with the rebellion in Canada. Durham saw but one remedy
for the long discontents and troubles of the Canadian populations, and
that remedy he found in the system of Home Rule which has since made
Canada peaceful, prosperous, and well content with the place she holds
in the British Empire. If John Morley could have been invested with such
powers as those given to Lord Durham, he might have made of Ireland
another prosperous and contented Canada. But Morley had to administer
the affairs of Ireland at a time when the opinion of the English
majority had not yet risen to the principle of Home Rule, at least so
far as Ireland was concerned, and without such recognition it was beyond
the reach of statesmanship to satisfy the national demands of the Irish
people. Every Irish Nationalist knew perfectly well that John Morley's
heart and intellect alike were with the cause of Irish Home Rule. All
that Morley could do to mitigate the troubles of the country and the
people he did bravely and steadfastly. Ireland was then the victim of an
accumulation of coercion laws which made almost every popular movement,
every attempt to maintain an oppressed tenant against an oppressive
landlord, every protest against despotic legislation, liable to be
treated as an offense calling for the interference of the police. John
Morley did all that could be done to mitigate the rigors of such a
system, and to administer Ireland on something like the principles of
civilization and freedom. He had in this task the full support,
encouragement, and sympathy of the statesman who was then
Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland--the Earl of Aberdeen, a man of the most
thoroughly Liberal principles and a sincere friend to Ireland. But, of
course, neither Lord Aberdeen nor John Morley could abolish at a word
of command a whole system of penal legislation, and all that could be
done was to take care that the laws should be administered in a
temperate and reasonable spirit, and that the rulers of Ireland should
show themselves to be at heart the friends of Ireland.
There comes back to my memory a somewhat curious illustration of the
difficulties which then stood in the way of any cordial intercourse
between the representatives of English rule in Ireland and the
representatives of the Irish national cause, and I cannot resist the
temptation to tell the story here. During Morley's first term of office
as Chief Secretary I made some visits to Dublin. I had many meetings
with Morley, of course, and he invited me to dine with him at the Chief
Secretary's Lodge in Phoenix Park. Now, there had been during all my
time a rigorous rule among Irish Nationalists not to accept any of the
hospitalities of those who exercised imperial authority in Dublin. No
true Nationalist would make one at any social gathering in the official
residence of the Viceroy or the Chief Secretary. There were more than
merely sentimental reasons for such a principle. In former days the
Irish people had in several well-remembered instances seen some vehement
advocate of the Irish National cause won over by the promises and the
blandishments of Dublin Castle to take office under the Government and
to renounce the political faith the profession of which had won for him
his seat in Parliament. Therefore it was above all things necessary, in
order to maintain the confidence of the Irish people, that the national
representatives should show themselves determined not to be drawn into
any familiar social relations with the representatives of English rule
in Ireland. This was especially a part of Parnell's policy, and on it
Parnell laid much stress. John Morley came over to Ireland in a spirit
of full friendship towards the Irish people, and he had every reason to
believe that the Irish people thoroughly understood his feelings and his
hopes. He and I had known each other during many years in London, and
when we met in Dublin, he, being still new to the conditions of the
place, invited me to dine with him. I explained to him that, however
delighted I should be to dine with my friend John Morley, it was quite
impossible that I should dine with the Chief Secretary at his official
residence in Dublin. I assured him that if I were to accept such an
invitation the Tory papers of Dublin would be certain to make
characteristic comments on the fact that the Chief Secretary to the
Lord-Lieutenant and the Vice-Chairman of the Irish Parliamentary party
had been dining together in the Chief Secretary's official home, and
that we should both alike find ourselves the objects of something
approaching to a public scandal. Morley was surprised at first and then
a good deal amused, but he accepted my explanation, and thoroughly
understood that it was not any want of friendly feeling which led me to
decline his invitation. So we parted as good friends as ever. We still
met frequently and talked over questions relating to Irish
administration. One day Morley came to see me at the Shelburne Hotel,
which was then my home in Dublin. We had a long talk, and, as the hour
was growing late, I asked him to stay and dine with me, not remembering
at the time that the eye of the public was supposed to be on our
movements. One of Morley's happiest gifts is a delightful sense of
humor. He rose to the situation at once. Addressing me in solemn tones,
but with a gleam of the comic in his eyes, he informed me that if my
principles did not allow me to dine with the Chief Secretary in Dublin,
so neither did the Chief Secretary's principles allow him to dine there
with me. Thus, as some newspaper writers would say, the incident
terminated, and we made no further effort at convivial meetings in
Dublin.
John Morley's quick sense of humor is not one of the qualities which a
stranger would naturally look for in him. Those who have not met him and
have known him only through his writings are apt to think of him as a
grave and even an austere man, a man wholly immersed in the serious
contemplation of life and history, and, if endowed with any sense of
humor, only with a sense of its more grim and saturnine aspects. The man
himself is altogether and curiously unlike the impression thus formed of
him very commonly by those to whom he is not personally known. John
Morley has a quick, keen, and delightful sense of humor. He can talk on
any subject from grave to gay, from lively to severe. He is one of the
most charming of companions, and he is a great favorite among women,
even among those who do not greatly concern themselves with the question
of woman's political emancipation. There is nothing of the stern
philosopher about his manner of comporting himself in social life.
Indeed, for all the clear composure of his philosophic contemplations,
he has a temperament far too quick and sensitive to allow of his meeting
all life's vexatious questions in the mood of stoical endurance. He is
by nature somewhat nervous, is decidedly quick in temper, frankly
acknowledges that he is rather impatient of contradiction, and is likely
to become overheated in the course of an eager argument. I feel the less
hesitation in noticing these little peculiarities on the part of my
friend because I have heard Morley himself speak of them with perfect
frankness as some of his troubles in political controversy. I must say
that, so far as I know, these unphilosophical qualities of Morley's
temperament only tend to make him all the more a charming friend to his
friends. We may admire the marble-like composure of the stern
philosopher who yields to no passing human weaknesses of temper, but it
must be very hard to keep always on friendly terms with so superhuman a
personage.
Mr. Morley goes into society a good deal in London, is often to be seen
at the theaters on first nights, seems to enjoy a dinner party or an
evening party as well as the most commonplace among us might do, but I
do not believe that he has any liking for great shows and pompous
celebrations and the other formal demonstrations of Court festivity and
Ministerial display. In his quiet London home he leads the life of a man
of culture, a scholar and a writer, so far as his political and
Parliamentary engagements allow him leisure for such recreation, and he
neither seeks the madding crowd nor shuns it. It has always been a
wonder to me how such a man can find time for his many and diverse
studies and occupations, and should never either neglect the work of his
life or shut himself away from its reasonable enjoyments. John Morley is
indeed a rare and almost unique combination of the philosophical
thinker, the vivid biographer, the Parliamentary debater, and the
practical administrator. His life of Richard Cobden is one of the most
complete and characteristic pieces of biography accomplished during our
time. There would not seem to have been much that was congenial between
the temperament of Richard Cobden and that of John Morley. Cobden was
not a laborious student of the past; he had no widespread and varied
literary or artistic sympathies; he did not concern himself much with
any scientific studies except those which have to do with the actual
movements of man's working lifetime; he was a great practical reformer,
not a scholar, a philosopher, or even a devoted lover of books. I do not
know that John Morley was personally well acquainted with Cobden, and I
am rather inclined to believe that in his biography of the great
free-trader he relied mainly on Cobden's correspondence and on the
information given to him by members of Cobden's family. Yet he has
created a perfect living picture of Cobden as Cobden's friends all knew
him, and he has shown to coming generations, not merely what Cobden said
and did, what great reforms he accomplished, and what further reforms he
ever had in view, but he has shown what Cobden actually was, and made
the man himself a familiar figure to all who read the book. So far as I
can judge, he has achieved the same success when telling us of Burke, of
Voltaire, and of Rousseau, and has made us feel that with his guidance
we come to know the men themselves as well as the parts they performed
in politics or in literature.
Morley has for a long time been engaged in preparing his life of
Gladstone, and the mind of England, which has lately been distracted by
the vicissitudes of war, is now free to turn to quieter thoughts, and to
look with eager expectation for the completion of the book. No other
living man could have anything like John Morley's qualifications as the
biographer of Gladstone. He is one of the greatest masters of lucid and
vigorous English prose. He has been what I may call a professional
student of the lives of great men; he is a profound political thinker;
and he has the faculty of describing to the life and making his subject
live again. In addition to all these claims to the position of
Gladstone's authorized biographer comes the fact that Morley was for
many years intrusted with Gladstone's fullest confidence. To no one did
Gladstone make his feelings and his purposes on all political questions
more fully known than to John Morley; and I think I am justified in
saying that at more than one critical period in his later political
history Gladstone chose Morley as his especial and, for the time, his
only confidant. I can say of my own knowledge that in the later years of
Gladstone's active political life there were momentous occasions when
John Morley acted as the one sole medium of private communication
between Gladstone and the leaders of the Irish party. I know, too, how
careful and methodical Morley showed himself on all such occasions, and
with what ample and accurate notes he preserved the exact record of
every day's intercommunications. This is, indeed, one of Morley's
characteristic peculiarities--the combination of exalted thought with
the most minute attention to the very routine of practical work. That
combination of qualities will display itself, I feel quite certain, with
complete success in Morley's history of Gladstone's life. John Morley
has still, we may well hope, a long political career before him. When
the Liberal party next comes into power, John Morley will unquestionably
have one of its most commanding offices placed at his disposal.
Meanwhile he has ample work on hand even for his energy and
perseverance. He is just finishing his life of Gladstone, and is to take
charge of the magnificent library which belonged to the late Lord Acton,
the greatest English scholar and book-lover of our time. Mr. Carnegie's
gift of this great library, lately bought by him, to John Morley, is an
act which does honor to the intellect as well as to the heart of the
generous donor. Whatever positions, honors, or responsibilities maybe
yet before John Morley, it may be taken for granted that he has already
won for himself a secure place in the literature and the political life
of his country, and that his name will live in its history.
[Illustration: Photograph by William Notman & Son
THE EARL OF ABERDEEN]
THE EARL OF ABERDEEN
The Earl of Aberdeen will always be associated in my mind with a most
hopeful season of our political life, a season none the less cherished
in memory and none the less auspicious because its hopes were doomed to
temporary disappointment. That bright season was the time when Mr.
Gladstone was endeavoring to carry out his policy of Home Rule for
Ireland. I need hardly tell my American readers that Gladstone's policy
was condemned to failure, partly because of a secession of Liberals who
went over to the Conservative ranks for the purpose of opposing the
measure, and then because of the attitude taken by the House of Lords,
who, thus encouraged, rejected the bill after it had passed the House of
Commons. The season, therefore, which I am now recalling to memory was
that which came between Mr. Gladstone's promulgation of his Home Rule
policy and the rejection of his second measure of Home Rule. The
interval was one full of the brightest hopes for all true British
Liberals and all Irish Nationalists. For the first time during my
recollection, British Liberalism and Irish Nationalism were in true
companionship and concord. We fraternized as English and Irish
politicians had probably never fraternized before. On both sides we were
filled with the fond belief that the disunion of Great Britain and
Ireland was soon to come to an end, and that the true and lasting union
of the two peoples would be accomplished by Gladstone's policy of giving
to Ireland her national self-government. It was a season of much
festivity in London, and the Irish Nationalist members of Parliament
were welcome guests in all the great Liberals' houses. No figures are
more thoroughly associated in my memory with that time than those of
Lord Aberdeen and his gifted and noble-minded wife.
Lord Aberdeen is the grandson of that Earl of Aberdeen whose coalition
ministry, a luckless effort at a temporary compromise between hostile
political forces, came to a disastrous end during the Crimean War. The
present Earl succeeded to the title in 1870. He was educated at the
University of St. Andrews, in Scotland, and afterwards at University
College, Oxford. Lord Aberdeen was a Conservative in his political
principles when he entered the House of Lords. But he had too much
intellect and too much independence of mind to remain long in
subserviency to the traditional creed of a mere party. He differed from
his leaders on several important questions before he had fully seen his
way to take up his position as a recognized member of the Liberal
organization. Most of us who had followed his career thus far with any
attention felt sure that the Conservatives would not long be able to
keep such a man among their slow-going and unenlightened ranks, and no
surprise was felt on either side when he took his natural place as a
follower of Mr. Gladstone. Lord Aberdeen became an earnest advocate of
the Home Rule policy, and all the noble influence that he and his wife
could bring to bear publicly and privately was exerted in support of the
cause. Then it was that I first came to know Lord and Lady Aberdeen. I
have before me just now a book called "Notables of Britain," described
on its title-page as "An Album of Portraits and Autographs of the Most
Eminent Subjects of Her Majesty in the Sixtieth Year of Her Reign." This
book was published at the office of the "Review of Reviews," and was
understood to be the production of Mr. W. T. Stead. It contains an
excellent full-length photograph of Lord Aberdeen, who, I may say, has a
face and figure well worthy to be preserved by painter and photographer
for the benefit of those who in coming days are interested in the
notables of Britain. The portrait, like all the other portraits in the
volume, is accompanied by an autograph line or two. Lord Aberdeen's
written words seem to me peculiarly characteristic of the writer's
bright and hopeful spirit. I quote his words--the writing is clear and
well formed:--
I think this is a good motto:
"_Transeunt nubes--manet cælum._"
ABERDEEN.