perhaps it is the worst of any--that of office. The basest deity is a
subordinate employee, and yet just now in civilised Governments it is
the commonest. In France and all the best of the Continent it rules
like a superstition. It is to no purpose that you prove that the pay of
petty officials is smaller than mercantile pay; that their work is more
monotonous than mercantile work; that their mind is less useful and
their life more tame. They are still thought to be greater and better.
They are decords; they have a little red on the left breast of their
coat, and no argument will answer that. In England, by the odd course
of our society, what a theorist would desire has in fact turned up. The
great offices, whether permanent or Parliamentary, which require mind
now give social prestige, and almost only those. An Under-Secretary of
State with 2000 pounds a year is a much stronger man than the director
of a finance company with 5000 pounds, and the country saves the
difference. But except in a few offices like the Treasury, which were
once filled with aristocratic people, and have an odour of nobility at
second-hand, minor place is of no social use. A big grocer despises the
exciseman; and what in many countries would be thought impossible, the
exciseman envies the grocer. Solid wealth tells where there is no
artificial dignity given to petty public functions. A clerk in the
public service is "nobody"; and you could not make a common Englishman
see why he should be anybody. But it must be owned that this turning of
society into a political expedient has half spoiled it. A great part of
the "best" English people keep their mind in a state of decorous
dulness. They maintain their dignity; they get obeyed; they are good
and charitable to their dependants. But they have no notion of PLAY of
mind: no conception that the charm of society depends upon it. They
think cleverness an antic, and have a constant though needless horror
of being thought to have any of it. So much does this stiff dignity
give the tone, that the few Englishmen capable of social brilliancy
mostly secrete it. They reserve it for persons whom they can trust, and
whom they know to be capable of appreciating its nuances. But a good
Government is well worth a great deal of social dulness. The dignified
torpor of English society is inevitable if we give precedence, not to
the cleverest classes, but to the oldest classes, and we have seen how
useful that is.
The social prestige of the aristocracy is, as every one knows,
immensely less than it was a hundred years or even fifty years since.
Two great movements--the two greatest of modern society--have been
unfavourable to it. The rise of industrial wealth in countless forms
has brought in a competitor which has generally more mind, and which
would be supreme were it not for awkwardness and intellectual gene.
Every day our companies, our railways, our debentures, and our shares,
tend more and more to multiply these SURROUNDINGS of the aristocracy,
and in time they will hide it. And while this undergrowth has come up,
the aristocracy have come down. They have less means of standing out
than they used to have. Their power is in their theatrical exhibition,
in their state. But society is every day becoming less stately. As our
great satirist has observed, "The last Duke of St. David's used to
cover the north road with his carriages; landladies and waiters bowed
before him. The present Duke sneaks away from a railway station,
smoking a cigar, in a brougham." The aristocracy cannot lead the old
life if they would; they are ruled by a stronger power. They suffer
from the tendency of all modern society to raise the average, and to
lower--comparatively, and perhaps absolutely, to lower--the summit. As
the picturesqueness, the featureliness, of society diminishes,
aristocracy loses the single instrument of its peculiar power.
If we remember the great reverence which used to be paid to nobility as
such, we shall be surprised that the House of Lords as an assembly, has
always been inferior; that it was always just as now, not the first,
but the second of our assemblies. I am not, of course, now speaking of
the middle ages: I am not dealing with the embryo or the infant form of
our Constitution; I am only speaking of its adult form. Take the times
of Sir R. Walpole. He was Prime Minister because he managed the House
of Commons; he was turned out because he was beaten on an election
petition in that House; he ruled England because he ruled that House.
Yet the nobility were then the governing power in England. In many
districts the word of some lord was law. The "wicked Lord Lowther," as
he was called, left a name of terror in Westmoreland during the memory
of men now living. A great part of the borough members and a great part
of the county members were their nominees; an obedient, unquestioning
deference was paid them. As individuals the peers were the greatest
people; as a House the collected peers were but the second House.
Several causes contributed to create this anomaly, but the main cause
was a natural one. The House of Peers has never been a House where the
most important peers were most important. It could not be so. The
qualities which fit a man for marked eminence, in a deliberative
assembly, are not hereditary, and are not coupled with great estates.
In the nation, in the provinces, in his own province, a Duke of
Devonshire, or a Duke of Bedford, was a much greater man than Lord
Thurlow. They had great estates, many boroughs, innumerable retainers,
followings like a Court. Lord Thurlow had no boroughs, no retainers; he
lived on his salary. Till the House of Lords met, the dukes were not
only the greatest, but immeasurably the greatest. But as soon as the
House met, Lord Thurlow became the greatest. He could speak, and the
others could not speak. He could transact business in half an hour
which they could not have transacted in a day, or could not have
transacted at all. When some foolish peer, who disliked his domination,
sneered at his birth, he had words to meet the case: he said it was
better for any one to owe his place to his own exertions than to owe it
to descent, to being the "accident of an accident". But such a House as
this could not be pleasant to great noblemen. They could not like to be
second in their own assembly (and yet that was their position from age
to age) to a lawyer who was of yesterday,--whom everybody could
remember without briefs, who had talked for "hire," who had "hungered
after six-and-eightpence". Great peers did not gain glory from the
House; on the contrary, they lost glory when they were in the House.
They devised two expedients to get out of this difficulty: they
invented proxies which enabled them to vote without being present,
without being offended by vigour and invective, without being vexed by
ridicule, without leaving the rural mansion or the town palace where
they were demigods. And what was more effectual still, they used their
influence in the House of Commons instead of the House of Lords. In
that indirect manner a rural potentate, who half returned two county
members, and wholly returned two borough members, who perhaps gave
seats to members of the Government, who possibly seated the leader of
the Opposition, became a much greater man than by sitting on his own
bench, in his own House, hearing a Chancellor talk. The House of Lords
was a second-rate force, even when the peers were a first-rate force,
because the greatest peers, those who had the greatest social
importance, did not care for their own House, or like it, but gained
great part of their political power by a hidden but potent influence in
the competing House.
When we cease to look at the House of Lords under its dignified aspect,
and come to regard it under its strictly useful aspect, we find the
literary theory of the English Constitution wholly wrong, as usual.
This theory says that the House of Lords is a co-ordinate estate of the
realm, of equal rank with the House of Commons; that it is the
aristocratic branch, just as the Commons is the popular branch; and
that by the principle of our Constitution the aristocratic branch has
equal authority with the popular branch. So utterly false is this
doctrine that it is a remarkable peculiarity, a capital excellence of
the British Constitution, that it contains a sort of Upper House, which
is not of equal authority to the Lower House, yet still has some
authority. The evil of two co-equal Houses of distinct natures is
obvious. Each House can stop all legislation, and yet some legislation
may be necessary. At this moment we have the best instance of this
which could be conceived. The Upper House of our Victorian
Constitution, representing the rich wool-growers, has disagreed with
the Lower Assembly, and most business is suspended. But for a most
curious stratagem, the machine of Government would stand still. Most
Constitutions have committed this blunder. The two most remarkable
Republican institutions in the world commit it. In both the American
and the Swiss Constitutions the Upper House has as much authority as
the second: it could produce the maximum of impediment--the dead-lock,
if it liked; if it does not do so, it is owing not to the goodness of
the legal constitution, but to the discreetness of the members of the
Chamber. In both these Constitutions, this dangerous division is
defended by a peculiar doctrine with which I have nothing to do now. It
is said that there must be in a Federal Government some institution,
some authority, some body possessing a veto in which the separate
States composing the Confederation are all equal. I confess this
doctrine has to me no self-evidence, and it is assumed, but not proved.
The State of Delaware is NOT equal in power or influence to the State
of New York, and you cannot make it so by giving it an equal veto in an
Upper Chamber. The history of such an institution is indeed most
natural. A little State will like, and must like, to see some token,
some memorial mark of its old independence preserved in the
Constitution by which that independence is extinguished. But it is one
thing for an institution to be natural, and another for it to be
expedient. If indeed it be that a Federal Government compels the
erection of an Upper Chamber of conclusive and co-ordinate authority,
it is one more in addition to the many other inherent defects of that
kind of Government. It may be necessary to have the blemish, but it is
a blemish just as much.
There ought to be in every Constitution an available authority
somewhere. The sovereign power must be come-at-able. And the English
have made it so. The House of Lords, at the passing of the Reform Act
of 1832, was as unwilling to concur with the House of Commons as the
Upper Chamber at Victoria to concur with the Lower Chamber. But it did
concur. The Crown has the authority to create new peers; and the king
of the day had promised the Ministry of the day to create them. The
House of Lords did not like the precedent, and they passed the bill.
The power was not used, but its existence was as useful as its energy.
Just as the knowledge that his men CAN strike makes a master yield in
order that they may not strike, so the knowledge that their House could
be swamped at the will of the king--at the will of the people--made the
Lords yield to the people.
From the Reform Act the function of the House of Lords has been altered
in English history. Before that Act it was, if not a directing Chamber,
at least a Chamber of Directors. The leading nobles, who had most
influence in the Commons, and swayed the Commons, sat there.
Aristocratic influence was so powerful in the House of Commons, that
there never was any serious breach of unity. When the Houses
quarrelled, it was as in the great Aylesbury case, about their
respective privileges, and not about the national policy. The influence
of the nobility was then so potent, that it was not necessary to exert
it. The English Constitution, though then on this point very different
from what it now is, did not even then contain the blunder of the
Victorian or of the Swiss Constitution. It had not two Houses of
distinct origin; it had two Houses of common origin--two Houses in
which the predominant element was the same. The danger of discordance
was obviated by a latent unity.
Since the Reform Act the House of Lords has become a revising and
suspending House. It can alter bills; it can reject bills on which the
House of Commons is not yet thoroughly in earnest--upon which the
nation is not yet determined. Their veto is a sort of hypothetical
veto. They say, We reject your Bill for this once or these twice, or
even these thrice: but if you keep on sending it up, at last we won't
reject it. The House has ceased to be one of latent directors, and has
become one of temporary rejectors and palpable alterers.
It is the sole claim of the Duke of Wellington to the name of a
statesman, that he presided over this change. He wished to guide the
Lords to their true position, and he did guide them. In 1846, in the
crisis of the Corn-Law struggle, and when it was a question whether the
House of Lords should resist or yield, he wrote a very curious letter
to the late Lord Derby:--
"For many years, indeed from the year 1830, when I retired from office,
I have endeavoured to manage the House of Lords upon the principle on
which I conceive that the institution exists in the Constitution of the
country, that of Conservatism. I have invariably objected to all
violent and extreme measures, which is not exactly the mode of
acquiring influence in a political party in England, particularly one
in opposition to Government. I have invariably supported Government in
Parliament upon important occasions, and have always exercised my
personal influence to prevent the mischief of anything like a
difference or division between the two Houses,--of which there are some
remarkable instances, to which I will advert here, as they will tend to
show you the nature of my management, and possibly, in some degree,
account for the extraordinary power which I have for so many years
exercised, without any apparent claim to it." Upon finding the
difficulties in which the late King William was involved by a promise
made to create peers, the number, I believe, indefinite, I determined
myself, and I prevailed upon others, the number very large, to be
absent from the House in the discussion of the last stages of the
Reform Bill, after the negotiations had failed for the formation of a
new administration. This course gave at the time great dissatisfaction
to the party; notwithstanding that I believe it saved the existence of
the House of Lords at the time, and the Constitution of the country.
"Subsequently, throughout the period from 1835 to 1841, I prevailed
upon the House of Lords to depart from many principles and systems
which they as well as I had adopted and voted on Irish tithes, Irish
corporations, and other measures, much to the vexation and annoyance of
many. But I recollect one particular measure, the union of the
provinces of Upper and Lower Canada, in the early stages of which I had
spoken in opposition to the measure, and had protested against it; and
in the last stages of it I prevailed upon the House to agree to, and
pass it, in order to avoid the injury to the public interests of a
dispute between the Houses upon a question of such importance. Then I
supported the measures of the Government, and protected the servant of
the Government, Captain Elliot, in China. All of which tended to weaken
my influence with some of the party; others, possibly a majority, might
have approved of the course which I took. It was at the same time well
known that from the commencement at least of Lord Melbourne's
Government, I was in constant communication with it, upon all military
matters, whether occurring at home or abroad, at all events. But
likewise upon many others."
"All this tended of course to diminish my influence in the Conservative
party, while it tended essentially to the ease and satisfaction of the
sovereign, and to the maintenance of good order. At length came the
resignation of the Government by Sir Robert Peel, in the month of
December last, and the Queen desiring Lord John Russell to form an
administration. On the 12th of December the Queen wrote to me the letter
of which I enclose the copy, and the copy of my answer of the same date;
of which it appears that you have never seen copies, although I
communicated them immediately to Sir Robert Peel. It was impossible for
me to act otherwise than is indicated in my letter to the Queen. I am
the servant of the Crown and people. I have been paid and rewarded, and
I consider myself retained; and that I can't do otherwise than serve as
required, when I can do so without dishonour, that is to say, as long as
I have health and strength to enable me to serve. But it is obvious that
there is, and there must be, an end of all connection and counsel
between party and me. I might with consistency, and some may think that
I ought to have declined to belong to Sir Robert Peel's Cabinet on the
night of the 20th of December. But my opinion is, that if I had, Sir
Robert Peel's Government would not have been framed; that we should have
had ---- and ---- in office next morning.
"But, at all events, it is quite obvious that when that arrangement
comes, which sooner or later must come, there will be an end to all
influence on my part over the Conservative party, if I should be so
indiscreet as to attempt to exercise any. You will see, therefore, that
the stage is quite clear for you, and that you need not apprehend the
consequences of differing in opinion from me when you will enter upon
it; as in truth I have, by my letter to the Queen of the 12th of
December, put an end to the connection between the party and me, when
the party will be in opposition to her Majesty's Government."
"My opinion is, that the great object of all is that you should assume the
station, and exercise the influence, which I have so long exercised in
the House of Lords. The question is, how is that object to be attained?
By guiding their opinion and decision, or by following it? You will see
that I have endeavoured to guide their opinion, and have succeeded upon
some most remarkable occasions. But it has been by a good deal of
management.
"Upon the important occasion and question now before the House, I
propose to endeavour to induce them to avoid to involve the country in
the additional difficulties of a difference of opinion, possibly a
dispute between the Houses, on a question in the decision of which it
has been frequently asserted that their lordships had a personal
interest; which assertion, however false as affecting each of them
personally, could not be denied as affecting the proprietors of land in
general. I am aware of the difficulty, but I don't despair of carrying
the bill through. You must be the best judge of the course which you
ought to take, and of the course most likely to conciliate the
confidence of the House of Lords. My opinion is, that you should advise
the House to vote that which would tend most to public order, and would
be most beneficial to the immediate interests of the country."
This is the mode in which the House of Lords came to be what it now is,
a chamber with (in most cases) a veto of delay with (in most cases) a
power of revision, but with no other rights or powers. The question we
have to answer is, "The House of Lords being such, what is the use of
the Lords?"
The common notion evidently fails, that it is a bulwark against
imminent revolution. As the duke's letter in every line evinces, the
wisest members, the guiding members of the House, know that the House
must yield to the people if the people is determined. The two
cases--that of the Reform Act and the Corn Laws--were decisive cases.
The great majority of the Lords thought Reform revolution, Free-trade
confiscation, and the two together ruin. If they could ever have been
trusted to resist the people, they would then have resisted it. But in
truth it is idle to expect a second chamber--a chamber of
notables--ever to resist a popular chamber, a nation's chamber, when
that chamber is vehement and the nation vehement too. There is no
strength in it for that purpose. Every class chamber, every minority
chamber, so to speak, feels weak and helpless when the nation is
excited. In a time of revolution there are but two powers, the sword
and the people. The executive commands the sword; the great lesson
which the First Napoleon taught the Parisian populace--the contribution
he made to the theory of revolutions at the 18th Brumaire--is now well
known. Any strong soldier at the head of the army can use the army. But
a second chamber cannot use it. It is a pacific assembly composed of
timid peers, aged lawyers, or, as abroad, clever litterateurs. Such a
body has no force to put down the nation, and if the nation will have
it do something it must do it.
The very nature, too, as has been seen, of the Lords in the English
Constitution, shows that it cannot stop revolution. The Constitution
contains an exceptional provision to prevent it stopping it. The
executive, the appointee of the popular chamber and the nation, can
make new peers, and so create a majority in the peers; it can say to
the Lords, "Use the powers of your House as we like, or you shall not
use them at all. We will find others to use them; your virtue shall go
out of you if it is not used as we like, and stopped when we please."
An assembly under such a threat cannot arrest, and could not be
intended to arrest, a determined and insisting executive.
In fact the House of Lords, as a House, is not a bulwark that will keep
out revolution, but an index that revolution is unlikely. Resting as it
does upon old deference, and inveterate homage, it shows that the spasm
of new forces, the outbreak of new agencies, which we call revolution,
is for the time simply impossible. So long as many old leaves linger on
the November trees, you know that there has been little frost and no
wind; just so while the House of Lords retains much power, you may know
that there is no desperate discontent in the country, no wild agency
likely to cause a great demolition.
There used to be a singular idea that two chambers--a revising chamber
and a suggesting chamber--were essential to a free Government. The
first person who threw a hard stone--an effectually hitting
stone--against the theory was one very little likely to be favourable
to democratic influence, or to be blind to the use of aristocracy; it
was the present Lord Grey. He had to look at the matter practically. He
was the first great Colonial Minister of England who ever set himself
to introduce representative institutions into ALL her capable colonies,
and the difficulty stared him in the face that in those colonies there
were hardly enough good people for one assembly, and not near enough
good people for two assemblies. It happened--and most naturally
happened--that a second assembly was mischievous. The second assembly
was either the nominee of the Crown, which in such places naturally
allied itself with better instructed minds, or was elected by people
with a higher property qualification--some peculiarly well-judging
people. Both these choosers choose the best men in the colony, and put
them into the second assembly. But thus the popular assembly was left
without those best men. The popular assembly was denuded of those
guides and those leaders who would have led and guided it best. Those
superior men were put aside to talk to one another, and perhaps dispute
with one another; they were a concentrated instance of high but
neutralised forces. They wished to do good, but they could do nothing.
The Lower House, with all the best people in the colony extracted, did
what it liked. The democracy was strengthened rather than weakened by
the isolation of its best opponents in a weak position. As soon as
experience had shown this, or seemed to show it, the theory that two
chambers were essential to a good and free Government vanished away.
With a perfect Lower House it is certain that an Upper House would be
scarcely of any value. If we had an ideal House of Commons perfectly
representing the nation, always moderate, never passionate, abounding
in men of leisure, never omitting the slow and steady forms necessary
for good consideration, it is certain that we should not need a higher
chamber. The work would be done so well that we should not want any one
to look over or revise it. And whatever is unnecessary in Government is
pernicious. Human life makes so much complexity necessary that an
artificial addition is sure to do harm: you cannot tell where the
needless bit of machinery will catch and clog the hundred needful
wheels; but the chances are conclusive that it will impede them some
where, so nice are they and so delicate. But though beside an ideal
House of Commons the Lords would be unnecessary, and therefore
pernicious, beside the actual House a revising and leisured legislature
is extremely useful, if not quite necessary.