ON POLITICS.
Perhaps you don't think me competent to talk about politics? "What do
women know about such things?" asks the superior masculine mind.
Well, they don't know so much as men, I admit, and I earnestly hope
they never will. A woman who is infected with politics is a positive
pest, and should be removed at once. If I do not know anything about
them, at any rate I ought to, as I have been brought up in a raging
Tory household, and so have been steeped in them from my youth up.
There is such a sameness in politicians. Whatever their opinions,
their language and feelings are all one. They are only directed at
different people. While one man is gloating over a Conservative
victory you hear a mutter from the Radical to the effect that "That
_brute_ has got in for ----" Poor man, why, because he thinks
differently to you, should he be a brute? But just the same words are
spoken if the positions be reversed. It is only the mouths that change
places.
I am afraid my views incline toward the Tory side. I cannot help it, I
was bought over long ago. You _must_ feel an interest as to the
successful candidate when the result means either a tip all round or a
thundery atmosphere for the rest of the day. Men take an adverse poll
as a personal affront and vent their feelings on their families. The
tipping was quite an understood thing when I was younger, now it is
given up, and joy is shown in a less substantial way, I regret to say.
Unfortunately the thunder storms are not events of the past as well.
Politicians have such a narrow way of looking at things. The other
side can do nothing right while they themselves are absolutely
faultless! If a Tory wishes to confer an opprobrious epithet on a
person he calls him a Radical, and _vice versâ_; the opposite faction
is capable of any enormity? This reminds me of the old Scotchman who
on being asked his opinion of a man who had first murdered and then
mutilated his victim, answered in a shocked voice, "What do I think?
Well, I think that a maun who'd do all that would whistle on the
Sawbuths!" "Such a man must be a Home Ruler," my father would have
said.
In having a guest with opposite views at your dinner table, what
agonies do you not suffer? I have gone through those dreadful meals
trembling at every word that drops from the man's lips. Try as you
may, turn the conversation how you will, there is sure to be some
allusion, some statement that sets on fire all the host's enthusiasm,
and it does not take long before the poor guest is entirely
annihilated and subdued--unless indeed he is as hot on his side as the
other is on his; then indeed all we can do is to sit and hear it out.
To attempt to stem such a torrent would be the act of a lunatic. We
only feel thankful that "pistols for two and coffee for one" is a
thing of the past.
The General Elections are dreadful times; nothing but canvassing goes
on night after night for weeks beforehand. Conversation is entirely
restricted to the coming event--if you mention a word about anything
apart from it, you are considered absolutely profane, and are treated
as a pariah for the next few days.
It is interesting, I admit, and the election day itself is positively
exciting. You cannot help catching the malady at times. I remember
once, when I was very little, and walking out with my governess,
tearing down a Liberal bill, in spite of all she said to the contrary.
True, it was on what she considered her own side, though I don't think
she knew enough to distinguish between the two; still her real
annoyance was occasioned more by the look of the thing. That a pupil
of hers should act in such a plebeian way, and in so public a place,
certainly must have been somewhat provoking? Anyhow, she gave me a bad
mark for disobedience, which affected me but little, as when I related
the story to my father later on he rewarded me with a shilling for my
prowess! Electioneering, you see, is not good for the morals!
How tired you get, too, of seeing the names of would-be members stuck
up all over the place. My brothers used to follow the Liberal
bill-sticker round, and as soon as he had turned his back pull the
placards down, or cover them up with their own. This was found out at
last, and the foe grew more cautious.
Then the extravagant promises made by the candidates, which they never
really intend to fulfil, and could not if they wished. It is like the
man in Church who, while singing--
"Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were an offering far too small,"
was rubbing his finger along the rim of a threepenny bit to make sure
it was not a fourpenny!
On election days all mankind goes mad. Their excitement is so great
that they would scarcely know it did they forego their dinner. And
this, with men, proves an absorbing interest in the matter. Anything
placed above dinner, in their opinion, must be important indeed.
There is such a polite element abroad on polling day. Men are so
respectful and hurl such affectionate terms at one another. Even the
dogs are upset, and strut about in quite a different manner than on
ordinary days, so puffed out with vanity are they, on account of their
decorations. The members' wives and their friends are all taking part
in the scene too, bringing voters along in their carriages, and
shaking hands with everybody indiscriminately. I heard an old navvy
protesting once that "Lady ---- never troubled to shake 'ands with him
any other time, but was generally that 'orty she'd step over you as
soon as look at you."
Poor old men are dragged out _nolens volens_ to add their mite to the
public voice, and are sometimes so aged that they scarcely know what
their opinions are. I hope I shall not live to be very old. It is a
terrible thing when you make such a prolonged stay on this earth that
you have to be helped off it.
It is very curious too, how exceedingly disobliging old people are. I
know a family who have never worn anything brighter than grey for
years. "In case we have to go into mourning soon--our poor old aunt,
you know. It's so very sad!" and they squeeze a tear out from
somewhere, but whether on account of their relative's illness, or her
prolonged life, is open to opinion. The old lady is flourishing still,
and the family is as soberly clothed as ever. When she has been dead
a few months what rainbows they will become, to make up for lost time!
"A disappointing man," I have heard a dutiful nephew term his uncle.
True, he (the uncle, I mean) is ninety-four, and therefore old enough
to know better than to rally so many times. But after all, he does
nothing, runs into no danger, is tended as carefully as a new-born
baby; I should not at all wonder if he still continued "disappointing"
and took a new lease of life for seven years. But I am digressing, and
must return to politics.
I went to a Primrose meeting once and the experience was not so happy
as to make me wish to try it again.
It amused me, certainly. The conclusion I eventually arrived at, when
I left, was that the chief element in the Primrose League was
gratitude! This virtue seemed to be the point round which all the
speakers rallied.
First the secretary rose, ran off a quantity of statistics, as to what
had been done by the great League, what it was going to do, and how
many converts had been induced to join, which was exceedingly
uninteresting, I think, but which elicited loud applause from the rest
of the audience. Then some resolution was passed, at which if you
agreed you were begged "to signify the same in the usual way." After
which those who thought differently were asked to show their feelings
in the same fashion. I held my hand up here, but I suppose the ruling
councillor did not expect any opposition, for he never even looked
round to see, but gabbled off by rote, "On the contrary? carried
unanimously!" and my amiable attempt at running counter to the rest
was not even noticed!
Then the ruling councillor gave way to Mr. ---- (here a sickly smile
was directed at the great man), who had so very kindly come to speak
to us this evening, who would, he felt sure, quite enchant us with
his--er--great eloquence (another leer to his right).
The great man then came forward, and with a superior smile on his
countenance waited until the applause which greeted his entrance had
ceased, and then began. He commenced somewhat softly, detailing all
the advantages of the Primrose League: what it had done for England,
the fear it arouses in the heart of the Liberal faction, how it will
raise the country to a summit it never before has reached! No! and
never would have reached had it not been for this flourishing, this
powerful League! &c., &c., &c. His voice gradually grew louder and
louder until, with beating his hands on the table, stamping violently
over the sins of the Radicals, and perspiring vehemently in the
effort, he presented anything but a pleasing spectacle.
Of course animation like this brought down the house. The applause
nearly deafened me, and I was quite glad when he drew near the end of
his most tedious speech. He concluded by calming down very suddenly,
returned to his original tones, and thanking his audience for his
exceedingly kind reception, retired to his seat looking, as Mr.
Mantalini would say, a "dem'd damp, moist, unpleasant body."
Then up rose the ruling councillor, and called us all to pass a vote
of thanks to the "gifted orator." Someone seconded it, and the great
man came forward again to thank us for thanking him. A sort of "So
glad, I'm glad, you're glad" business, it seemed to me.
Then the ladies were thanked for being present: "Such great aids, and
such an _important_ element in the League," with a snigger, and what
he confidently hoped was a fascinating smile, but which made him
resemble a very placid cow with the corners of its mouth turned up.
Such a mouth, too! The poor man could have whispered in his own ear
had he wished. Then someone returned thanks for the ladies. The ruling
councillor was thanked, and thanked his thankers back again, and after
a few more people had exhibited their great faculty for gratitude the
meeting broke up--the only moment at which I felt inclined to applaud.
I do not wish to disparage my own "side" by the foregoing remarks, not
caring in any way to emulate Balaam. It is not only the members of the
Primrose League who are so anxious to praise each other. It is the
case at nearly every meeting you go to. It is a weakness of human
nature. We know that if we laud our friend he will sing an eulogy on
us the next minute, so it is only natural we should do it, after all.
"The fault is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings."