THE ‘ONE MAN WHO CARED FOR INDIA’
Defeated at Brighton—Spectacles and the Man—Elected for Hackney.
[Sidenote: Effect of Speeches in India.]
In spite of many warnings that his Indian policy would be unpopular, his
adherence to his high ideal of a truly Imperial citizenship proved a
good campaign asset, and Fawcett’s constituents were proud of him, and
absorbed in his expositions of Indian affairs.
Notwithstanding that he lost his seat at Brighton at the next general
election, he was soon in the House again, representing another
constituency. The prominence of his position in the House of Commons and
out of it was much enhanced by the power of his Indian speeches.
His popularity in Cambridge was unquestioned. On his return to residence
there, his home was a merry meeting-place for his many friends old and
new. His original ways were a byword. He once began a new
acquaintanceship in this fashion. Shaking hands warmly with a young
student who had just been introduced, Fawcett said jovially, ‘What do
you do—ride, or row or fish? I smoke!’
In speaking of Fawcett, the present head Master of Trinity used these
words: ‘We all had a veneration for Fawcett, and loved to see the way he
won every one. A friend of all of ours with whom Fawcett stayed tried us
very much by insisting that all his guests should go to bed by ten
o’clock. One of them vowed that “he’d be hanged if he would go to bed at
ten o’clock.” We were greatly relieved and amused that when Fawcett
appeared on the scene, his conversation so completely charmed his host
that it was impossible to get him to bed until long after midnight.’
[Sidenote: Mastership of Trinity Hall.]
When a vacancy occurred in the Mastership of Trinity Hall, Fawcett was
asked to stand, and though he retired from the candidature in favour of
Sir Henry Maine, it is an interesting evidence of Fawcett’s close
interest in his old college that no new interests could weaken.
At this time his chief exercise seems to have been riding. A friend who
often accompanied him gives this description of one adventurous morning
ride: ‘His riding was like the driving of Jehu. He was entirely
fearless, seemed to know all the road, the turnings, the signposts, and
the houses, where the turf began that was good to go on, and where the
horse must be allowed to walk.
[Sidenote: Spectacles and the Man.]
‘We were going together at a moderate pace on his favourite road. I was
a yard in front; suddenly I heard a noise as of a fall, and looking back
saw to my horror Fawcett lying on the ground, and his horse standing
quietly by. How it happened I don’t know. I jumped down in terror, but
was soon reassured by Fawcett calling out in his natural voice, “Just
look for my spectacles, will you?” When I had helped him up and brought
him to his horse, he remounted without the least appearance of flurry or
alarm. He explained to me as we cantered on, that he thought that in
case of a fall, he was in less danger than a seeing man, as he did not
attempt to move or struggle. He seemed to think no more of his fall,
beyond expressing a wish that I should not speak of it at home, and thus
cause alarm and nervousness when he was riding again.’
[Sidenote: Enjoying the Sunset.]
This courage is the more remarkable in view of the fact that Fawcett
once said: ‘The happiest moments I spend in my life are when I am in the
companionship of some friend who will forget that I have lost my
eyesight, who will talk to me as if I could see, who will describe to me
the persons I meet, a beautiful sunset, or scenes of great beauty
through which we may be passing. For so wonderful is the adaptability of
the human mind, that when for instance some scene of great beauty has
been described to me, I recall that scene in after years, and I speak
about it in such a manner that sometimes I have to check myself and
consider for a moment whether the impression was produced when I had my
sight or was conveyed by the description of another.’
It is not conceivable that the man who so thoroughly saw through the
vision given to him by others, could have been deficient in the power to
imagine vividly, acutely, all possible dangers. It meant a very
deliberate courage to overcome all slowness and hesitancy—to gallop
alone, trusting entirely to his horse to save him from, may be, serious
collisions. Yet, so complete was Fawcett’s self-mastery that he thrust
fear utterly behind him, and found only hearty, high-spirited joy in his
outings.
[Sidenote: Hackney. A model campaign.]
This same courage stood him in good stead in the general election in
1874, which resulted in a great victory for the Conservatives. In
Brighton both the Liberal candidates were thrown out, though Fawcett
polled forty-nine more votes than before. Within six weeks he was again
an M.P., this time enthusiastically elected for Hackney; and the
management of his election for that borough was so inexpensive that it
was long cited as a model of electioneering efficiency and economy.
The Indian papers spoke strongly of his ‘unique position,’ and a fund of
£400 was raised and transmitted to England to pay the expenses of
another contest. It arrived too late, but went towards the expenses of
the contest at Hackney in 1880. Another sum of £350 was then raised in
India, which was placed in the hands of trustees with a view to a future
election, and in due time was devoted to some purpose connected with
India.
Fawcett’s first speech to his Hackney constituents was delivered in
March. What he said there, then and later, was distinguished by his
fearless and frank adherence to what were considered unpopular
principles. He denounced what he deemed the unworthy competition between
Gladstone and Disraeli, saying that when the former announced that in
case of his election he would repeal the Income Tax, the latter promptly
announced that he would do the same. Fawcett considered that neither
could carry out this promise, and that it was merely a discreditable bid
for votes. He said that he would continue in his efforts for India, then
threatened anew by famine.
[Sidenote: The Times.]
The _Saturday Review_, not usually favourable to his party, hoped for
his return as the ‘one man,’ out of official circles, who cared for
India. The _Times_ said ‘he offended publicans by refusing to use their
houses as committee rooms; he offended the advocates of the Permissive
Bill by declaring his resolution to vote against it; he offended
shopkeepers by his zeal in favour of the co-operative movement; he
offended working men by his opposition to the latest movement for
limiting the hours of labour of adult women; he offended old-fashioned
Liberals, and Liberals who are getting old-fashioned, by his persistent
advocacy of reforms that had not come within the range of their
education when they were young; and Liberals of a later growth
remembered how often Fawcett had found himself unable to acquiesce in
Mr. Gladstone’s policy and plans. Yet he must have secured the support
of men of all these sections, who concurred in sending him to
Parliament, because they believed that his presence there would be
advantageous, in spite of errors of opinion which each section in turn
lamented.’
His short absence between his defeat at Brighton and his fresh
appearance as the representative for Hackney was sincerely regretted in
the House of Commons on all sides. Warm friends missed his genial
personality and the jovial meetings at his seat, whence many merry
stories and much gossip emanated. Those who saw Fawcett casually found
it difficult to believe that he was blind. It was his unfailing habit to
turn to the person to whom he was speaking as if he saw them. He knew
his way about the House of Commons so well that he was quick and sure in
all his movements. He would cross the floor of the House and, bowing to
the Speaker, take his seat with familiar assurance. His father used
often to come up from Salisbury, and Fawcett would take him to the
privileged strangers’ seats under the gallery, and bring his
Parliamentary friends to talk to the old gentleman.
One of the favourite ways of drawing attention to departmental misdeeds
is to ask questions of the Minister of State concerned to be answered by
him at the beginning of the sitting. These questions were sent up in
writing and then read aloud to the House by the members who asked them.
The Rt. Hon. Thomas Burt, one of the first working-class
representatives, and an old friend of Fawcett’s, says: ‘Mr. Fawcett
often put long questions, and he repeated them word for word as they
were printed on the order paper, never a slip, never the slightest
hesitation.’
[Sidenote: The hard-worked Hen.]
Fawcett was at once added to the committee on Indian finance appointed a
few days before his election. This was the fourth year that this
committee had worked. _Punch_ said that it reminded him ‘of the hen that
laid so many eggs she could never come to the hatching of any.’ And
indeed it never published a report, though it collected a great deal of
most valuable evidence.
It was before this committee that Lord Salisbury gave evidence on the
difficulty for an Indian Secretary of State to withstand the demands of
the Treasury. Continued resistance on his part was ‘to stop the
machine.’ ’so,’ said Fawcett, ‘you must either stop the machine, or
resign, or go on tacitly submitting to injustice.’ ‘I should accept the
statement,’ replied Lord Salisbury, ‘barring the word tacitly. I should
go on submitting with loud remonstrances.’
But a strong echo in the public conscience would be necessary for these
remonstrances to be of any value to India, and this is what Fawcett saw.