A PROPHETIC QUESTION IN PARLIAMENT
The Blind and Silent M.P.—His First Speech—Protecting Cattle,
Neglecting Children—Industry earns Penury—Mill ‘out.’
[Sidenote: The Blind and Silent M.P.]
Surrounded by these picturesque personages already so familiar to him,
some by repute, and some by personal friendship, the blind M.P. quietly
took his place. He had to learn the ways of the House, and, duly
estimating the value of the unspoken word, said very little during his
first Parliament.
[Sidenote: His First Speech.]
In view of his subsequent career, it is suggestive that Fawcett spoke in
Parliament almost for the first time ‘when he asked why the wages of
certain letter-carriers had not been raised by the Post Office.’ His
first serious speech was in March 1866, in favour of the ill-fated
Reform Bill brought in by Russell, and hailed by Bright with the
doubtful welcome that half a loaf is better than no bread.
Fawcett in this speech repudiated indignantly the sneers at the working
classes made by certain Whigs, and praised the fine political sense
shown by them during the American War. He said that the problems of the
future were the problems of capital and labour, and in these the working
classes were most deeply interested and should directly affect the
decisions to be made. He further maintained (in spite of the previously
noted criticism of Mill) that the working classes would no more vote _en
masse_ than any other section of the community.
[Sidenote: Where Fawcett sat.]
As the gentle reader may know, in the House of Commons the long benches,
upholstered in dark green leather, face one another in two raised tiers.
There are no desks as in the American House of Representatives, and the
men sit close together, the serried rows of faces making long lines of
light against the dark background. Between them is the broad passage-way
that leads up from the bar to the Speaker’s chair, in front of which is
set the great table on which many a minister’s hand has hammered away
his superabundant energy as his words made history. Fawcett sat on the
lowest bench at the end farthest from the table. When he stood up to
speak he was in all his long length in full view of the members who
opposed him and of the leaders of his own party, who sat near the table
on a bench that was continuous with his own.
The impression he made when speaking was of intense earnestness. His
commanding presence and strongly marked individuality compelled
attention. His voice was phenomenally clear, ranging from an almost
nasal twang to tones of rare sweetness. His head was held very erect,
every feature quick with intelligence saving the eyes shaded by the dark
glasses, which gave a pathos to the face. The mouth was very mobile,
sometimes trembling with eagerness for utterance, and with an underlying
expression of wistfulness often routed by swift smiles. There was never
anything cheap or theatrical about the man; he was simple, genuine,
noble, and spoke fearlessly from his big heart, pleading the cause of
the poor and the oppressed.
The Reform Bill was withdrawn, and at the end of the summer the Liberals
resigned office. There was no general election, and the next year
Disraeli from the Government benches faced a House in which the majority
were in opposition.
[Sidenote: Tea-Room Party.]
During the winter there had been so much demonstration of public feeling
that the Conservatives had to bring in a Reform Bill of their own. Their
Bill appeared to be generous, but was hedged about with many provisoes
and exceptions. Gladstone wished his followers to vote against it on the
ground that it was hopelessly bad, and Bright agreed with this policy.
But some Radicals, among whom was Fawcett, considered that to vote
against any Reform Bill was retrograde, and they declined to follow
Gladstone’s lead. These men were known as the Tea-Room Party, as they
plotted their rebellion from that comfortable retreat within the
recesses of the Parliamentary buildings. They held out, in spite of the
reproach that they were showing more confidence in their opponents than
in their own leaders, and contended that to vote against any Reform was
to put themselves in a false position. A deputation of five, of which
one was Fawcett, waited on Gladstone to give their views. Fawcett was
distressed at this early necessity of opposing his chief, and often
spoke with admiration of Gladstone’s earnestness and ability. The
Tea-Room party won their way, and Disraeli’s Bill passed, but the
Liberals and Radicals so altered it that it became a more democratic
bill than the one the Tory leader and his party had opposed the previous
session.
It was during these debates that Fawcett both spoke and voted in favour
of Mill’s amendment to admit women to the franchise.
[Sidenote: Protecting Cattle, neglecting Children.]
During his first Parliament he made himself felt as an ardent and
determined Radical. He made various proposals to help his poor friends
the labourers in the agricultural districts, and spoke forcibly on ‘the
interest taken in the cattle-plague, by some members, and the want of
interest in the more terrible plague which was ruining thousands of the
constituents of the same gentlemen.’
He urged the extension of the Factory Acts to agricultural labourers,
and complained that these Acts had been opposed by the rich on the
‘paltry or cold-hearted plea that they would interfere with industry; as
if it were the mission of a great nation simply to produce bales of
goods and to swell exports and imports, even at the cost of sacrificing
the health and blighting the minds of the young!’
It was in order to promote the prosperity of all classes that Fawcett
longed for a truly national and representative Parliament. He had no
sympathy with those who thought it necessary to ’stem the tide of
democracy.’
He was also eager to make it more possible for poor men to enter
Parliament, and urged a reform that is still being agitated—that the
expenses of the returning officers at elections should be paid by the
State. ‘It was impossible,’ he said, ‘to exaggerate the mischief of thus
shutting out the ablest men from political life.’ This reform was urged
many times and in different Parliaments by Fawcett, but in spite of his
tenacity he did not succeed in carrying it through.
Already he had entered into that discussion of Indian affairs which was
to open up such a noble chapter in his life. He had also done good
service in committee on the Bill for University Reform. An impression on
the House had been made by his honest zeal, and though he had been
perhaps a little too radical for his party leader, his Radical
supporters could find no reason for dissatisfaction with him. For all
time the chimæra that his blindness would prove an obstacle to his
remarkable efficiency had disappeared.
[Sidenote: General Election of 1868.]
Parliament was dissolved in 1868, and a general election took place in
the summer. Part of the constituency of Brighton longed for a rich
representative, and as one of his opponents was popular and kept a
yacht, Fawcett’s struggle for re-election was sharply fought, and he
came out with no more than a respectable majority.
Gladstone was re-elected, but all the working-class candidates were
defeated. This distressed Fawcett greatly. His friendships with many
working men, and his knowledge of their fitness to represent their
fellows, made him appreciate the real loss this meant to the country.
Professor Cairnes of Dublin had first met Fawcett in the long ago days
of the British Association Meeting at Aberdeen. He was a political
economist of much distinction, but had become a helpless invalid, and
lived for years in great suffering. Fawcett had much affection for him,
and neglected no opportunity to run down to his friend’s house at
Blackheath, taking to the sufferer by his own vitality, and high,
mirth-loving spirits, encouragement, new life and energy. Lord Courtney
completed the congenial and closely united trio, and Fawcett’s public
action was often the result of much careful discussion with the other
two.
The following letter, written during these elections to his invalid
friend, shows much of Fawcett’s feeling at the time.
[Sidenote: The Condition of Affairs.]
‘I begin to be very confident that Gladstone will obtain a great
majority. The Irish Church would have been a good cry to have appealed
to the old constituencies on, but working men neither care about the
Irish Church nor any other Church. The election, though satisfactory in
a party sense, will, I fear, return a House scarcely superior in
character to the last. Few good new men are coming out, and more
over-rich manufacturers and iron-masters are standing than ever. Before
the next general election after the coming one, the working men will
have felt their power and will have learnt, perhaps by bitter
experience, that Liberals do not all belong to the same species; in fact
a consummate naturalist, like Darwin, would classify Mill and Harvey
Lewis as belonging to different and well-defined genera. Something must
be done immediately Parliament meets to check election expenses. When
last I saw you in Dover Street, I little thought that late that evening
the Government would give notice of reversing the clause I passed for
throwing necessary election expenses on the rates.
[Sidenote: Industry earns Penury.]
‘The shabby tactics of Disraeli have done much to make the country
favour the clause. If I am returned I shall embody the clause in a bill
and introduce it the first night of the session. I have had no news
about Westminster since leaving London, but I cling to the conviction
that Mill is safe. I spent a day at Brighton about a fortnight since,
and everything there looks as promising as possible. Did you read
Hooker’s address to the British Association? Some portions of it were
most masterly; the _Spectator_ is, I think, just in its criticism of his
sweeping hostility to all metaphysics. When the next essay is written on
peasant proprietors, the £26,000,000 which have been subscribed in cash,
a great portion of it by French peasants, to the recent loan, will
provide a strong argument in favour of cultivation by the owner. I am
staying in the midst of what is considered to be one of the most
prosperous agricultural districts of England. It would be almost
impossible to find a labourer who had saved a sovereign, and not one in
a thousand of these labourers will save enough to keep him from the poor
rates when old age compels him to cease work. Yet nine Englishmen out of
ten think that it is in agriculture that we show our great superiority
to the French.’
Cairnes replies with an interesting letter of warm congratulations, in
which he deplores bitterly the defeat as candidate for the Liberal party
of that ‘exemplar of far-seeing statesmanship, commanding views, and
lofty moral purpose,’ Mill, and adds, ‘How the enemies of truth and
light will blaspheme!’
[Sidenote: Mill ‘out.’]
Fawcett’s reply to Cairnes’ letter gives a vivid idea of the condition
of politics. He writes in December 1868, ‘You and I feel alike about the
rejection of Mill. Those who have watched him in the House of Commons
can perhaps fully realise the injury which his rejection has inflicted
on English politics. He diffused a certain moral atmosphere over an
assembly whose average tone is certainly not high. A letter which I
received from Mill yesterday confirms me in the belief I have long
entertained, that Parliament involved to him a most severe personal
sacrifice. He speaks almost with enthusiastic joy of being restored to
freedom, and he is evidently supremely happy in the prospect of being
able to work uninterruptedly. Still I am sure his sense of public duty
is so high that he would at once accept a seat if one were offered to
him. The working men know what a friend he is of theirs, and I believe
they are determined to return him the first time a good opportunity
offers. The Liberal majority at the general election is of course
eminently satisfactory, but there is much in the constitution of the
present House which is very disappointing. Intellectually it is inferior
to the last, and wealthy uneducated manufacturers and merchants are more
predominant than ever. Mill always predicted that this would be the
case, thinking that the new voters would require two or three years to
understand the power which had been given to them.
[Sidenote: The third Brighton contest.]
‘I had a hard fight at Brighton. Not only was there disunion in my own
party, got up by a small section, who thought I did not spend enough
money in the town, but the Tory who opposed me was very rich, and all
that wealth could do against me was done.
‘My success was peculiarly satisfactory, because it was obtained without
a paid agent or a paid canvasser; and we never held even a meeting at a
public house.
‘I quite agree with you that the present Government will have to be most
narrowly watched with regard to what they do upon education and the land
question.’
His ever-increasing responsibilities exhilarated Fawcett, and his
friendships increased in proportion; he was always accumulating relays
of young friends who filled up the sad gaps caused by death. If he had
lived to be a Methuselah he would have died regretted by troops of young
folks. He and his wife were now much sought after, and they much enjoyed
festivities together. Mrs. Fawcett was frequently amused by her
husband’s delight in gossip and his irrepressible boyishness.
One evening, at the house of a friend, Fawcett met another M.P. They
immediately retired together to a remote corner of the room, where they
discussed in low and earnest voices. Mrs. Fawcett, thinking that they
were debating matters of State, was much surprised when she happened to
pass near them to hear Fawcett asking eagerly, ‘Was it her fault or his
fault?’
[Sidenote: Roller Skating.]
On another occasion, shortly after skating on rollers was introduced,
Mrs. Fawcett went to a rink, and as she came in was told that a most
extraordinary thing was going on—there was a blind man trying
roller-skating. It was her husband, whizzing round delightedly. Fawcett
was having a royal time, darting like a huge swallow in swift circles
about the skating rink. He revelled in the motion and the exercise,
which put him into a fine glow. The merry noise of many little wooden
wheels rolling smoothly over the polished floor—the lifting and
stumbling of awkward feet, and the skilful glide of the good skaters
gave him a happy consciousness of the gay revolving spectacle through
which he winged his way.