REMINISCENCES OF CHARLES BRADLAUGH
By G. W. Foote
President of the National Secular Society AND Editor of "The
Freethinker"
LONDON: PROGRESSIVE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
1891.
INTRODUCTION.
The following pages are reprinted, with some alterations and additions,
from the columns of the _Freethinker_. They are neither methodical nor
exhaustive. I had the privilege of knowing Mr. Bradlaugh more or less
intimately for twenty years. I have worked with him in the Freethought
movement and stood by his side on many political platforms. It seemed to
me, therefore, that if I jotted down, even in a disjointed manner, some
of my recollections of his great personality, I should be easing my own
mind and conferring a pleasure on many readers. Beyond that I was not
ambitious. The time for writing Mr. Brad-laugh's life is not yet,
but when it arrives my jottings may furnish a point or two to his
biographer.
G. W. FOOTE, March 30, 1891.
REMINISCENCES OF CHARLES BRADLAUGH.
When I came to London, in January, 1868, I was eighteen years of age. I
had plenty of health and very little religion. While in my native town
of Plymouth I had read and thought for myself, and had gradually passed
through various stages of scepticism, until I was dissatisfied even with
the advanced Unitarianism of a preacher like the Rev. J. K. Applebee.
But I could not find any literature in advance of his position, and
there was no one of whom I could inquire. Secularism and Atheism I had
never heard of in any definite way, although I remember, when a little
boy, having an Atheist pointed out to me in the street, Naturally I
regarded him as a terrible monster. I did not know what Atheism was
except in a very vague way; but I inferred from the tones, expressions,
and gestures of those who pointed him out to me, that an Atheist was a
devil in human form.
Soon after I came to London I found out an old school-fellow, and went
to lodge with his family: They were tainted with Atheism, and my once
pious playmate was as corrupt as the rest of them. They took me one
Sunday evening to Cleveland Hall, where I heard Mrs. Law knock the Bible
about delightfully. She was not what would be called a woman of culture,
but she had what some devotees of "culchaw" do not possess--a great deal
of natural ability; and she appeared to know the "blessed book" from
cover to cover. Her discourse was very different from the Unitarian
sermons I had heard at Plymouth. She spoke in a plain, honest,
straightforward manner, and I resolved to visit Cleveland Hall again.
Three or four weeks afterwards I heard Mr. Bradlaugh for the first time.
It was a very wet Sunday evening, but as 'bus-riding was dearer then
than it is now, and my resources were slender, I walked about three
miles through the heavy rain, and sat on a backless bench in Cleveland
Hall, for which I think I paid twopence. I was wet through, but I was
young, and my health was flawless. Nor did I mind the discomfort a bit
when Mr. Bradlaugh began his lecture. Fiery natural eloquence of that
sort was a novelty in my experience. I kept myself warm with applauding,
and at the finish I was pretty nearly as dry outside as inside. From
that time I went to hear Mr. Bradlaugh whenever I had an opportunity.
He became the "god" of my young idolatry. I used to think of him
charging the hosts of superstition, and wish I could be near him in the
fight. But it was rather a dream than any serious expectation of such an
honor.
When the new Hall of Science was opened I became a pretty regular
attendant. I heard Mr. Charles Watts, who was then as now a capital
debater; Mr. G. J. Holyoake, Mr. C. C. Cattell, Mr. Austin Holyoake.
and perhaps one or two other lecturers whom I have forgotten. Mr.
Austin Holyoake frequently took the chair, especially at Mr. Bradlaugh's
lectures, and a capital chairman he was, giving out the notices in a
pleasant, graceful manner, and pleading for financial support like a
true man. He was working hard for the success of the enterprise himself,
and had a right to beg help from others.
Mr. Bradlaugh, however, was the great attraction in my case. Perhaps
I was more impressionable at that time, but I fancy he was then at his
best as an orator. In later life he grew more cautious under a sense of
responsibility; he had to think what he should not say as well as what
he should. He cultivated the art of persuasion, and he was right in
doing so. But at the earlier period I am writing of he gave a full swing
to his passionate eloquence. His perorations were marvellously glowing
and used to thrill me to the very marrow.
Gradually I began to make acquaintances at the Hall. I got to know Mr.
Austin Holyoake and his charming wife, Mr. and Mrs. Bayston, Mr. Herbert
Gilham, Mr. R. O. Smith, and other workers. By and bye I was introduced
to Mr. Bradlaugh and shook hands with him. It was the proudest moment of
my young life. I still remember his scrutinising look. It was keen but
kindly, and the final expression seemed to say, "We may see more of each
other."
In 1870 I wrote my first article in the _National Reformer_. For a year
or two I wrote occasionally, and after that with tolerable frequency. I
was also engaged in various efforts at the Hall; helping to carry on a
Secular Sunday School, a Young Men's Secular Association, etc. Naturally
I was drawn more and more into Mr. Bradlaugh's acquaintance, and when he
found himself unable to continue the Logic Class he had started at the
Hall he asked me to carry it on for him. Of course I was proud of the
invitation. But the Class did not live long. It was not Logic, but Mr.
Bradlaugh, that had brought the members together. Nor do I think they
would have learnt much of the art from Mr. Bradlaugh, except in an
empirical way. He had a very logical cast of mind, but as far as I could
see he had little acquaintance with formal Logic as it is taught by
Mill and Whately, whom I select as typical masters of Induction and
Deduction, without wishing to depreciate the host of other authorities.
Mr. Bradlaugh really gave his class lessons in Metaphysics; his talk
was of substance, mode, and attribute, rather than of premises and
conclusions. Mr. Bradlaugh and I were brought into closer acquaintance
by the Republican agitation in England after the proclamation of
the present French Republic. I attended the Republican Conference
at Birmingham in 1871, when I first met my old friend Dr. Guest of
Manchester, Mr. R. A. Cooper of Norwich, Mr. Daniel Baker, Mr. Ferguson
the Glasgow Home Ruler, and other veterans of reform. We held our
Conference on Sunday in the old meeting-place of the Secular Society,
which was approached by very abrupt steps, and being situated over
stables, was not devoid of flavor. On Monday the Conference was
continued in one of the rooms under the Town Hall. A long political
programme was concocted. I was elected Secretary, and had the honor
of speaking at the public meeting in the large hall. It was my first
appearance in such a perilous position. I was apprehensive, and I said
so. But Mr. Bradlaugh put his hand on my shoulder and told me not to
fear. His kind looks and words were an excellent tonic. When I rose
to speak I thought next to nothing about the audience. I thought "Mr.
Bradlaugh is listening, I must do my best." And now as I am writing, I
recall his encouraging glance as I looked at him, and the applause he
led when I made my first point. He was my leader, and he helped me in
an elder-brotherly way. Nothing could exceed his considerate generosity.
Other people did not see it, but I remember it, and it was typical of
the man.
One incident at the Conference is worth noting. It occurred in the
afternoon, when Mr. R. A. Cooper (I think) was in the chair. The
question of Free Education was being discussed. Mr. Bradlaugh did not
quite like it, nor did I. He asked me to go with him into an ante-room
and consider an amendment. What it was I can hardly remember, although I
recollect that Mr. Cooper was very sarcastic about it. Since then my own
opinion has changed, as I dare say Mr. Bradlaugh's had changed; and the
incident would not be worth recalling if it did not throw a light upon
Mr. Bradlaugh's philosophy. He was always in favor of self-help and
individual responsibility, and he was naturally hostile to everything
that might weaken those precious-elements of English life.
During the years immediately after the opening of the Hall of Science,
Mr. Bradlaugh was there a good deal. Sometimes he attended the
week-night entertainments and gave a reading from Shelley or Whittier
or some other poet. The audience applauded as a matter of course. They
always applauded Mr. Bradlaugh. But he was no reader. He delivered
his lines with that straightforward sincerity which characterised
his speeches. He cultivated none of the graces or dexterities of the
elocutionist. Besides, he was too original to be a successful echo of
other men. I think he only did justice to Shelley's lines "To the Men of
England." But this is a piece of simple and vigorous declamation; very
fine, no doubt but rather rhetoric than poetry.
Mr. Bradlaugh was anything but a cold man. I should say he was electric.
But his tastes, so far as I could discover, did not lie in the direction
of poetry. Certainly I heard him once, in those old days, read a great
part, if not the whole of Shelley's "Sensitive Plant." He loved Shelley,
however, as an Atheist and a Republican, and I suppose he took Shelley's
poetry on trust. But I do not think, though I speak under correction,
that he cared very much for poetry _as such_. I could never discover
from his conversation or writings that he had read a line of
Shakespeare--the god of Colonel Ingersoll. His mind was of the practical
order, like Oliver Cromwell's. He had a genius for public affairs. He
was not only a born orator, but a born ruler of men. Naturally he had,
as the French say, the defects of his qualities. And it may be that the
terrible stress of his life tended to repress the poetical side of
his nature, and less developed his subtlety than his strength. Yet
his feelings were deep, and his heart was easily touched. When William
O'Brien delivered that great speech in the House of Commons after his
imprisonment by Mr. Balfour, with all its needless indignities, there
were two men who could not restrain their tears. One was an Irish
member. The other was Charles Bradlaugh. One who witnessed the scene
told me it was infinitely pathetic to see that gigantic man, deemed so
hard by an ignorant world, wiping away his tears at the tale of a brave
man's unmerited suffering.
Mr. Bradlaugh used to attend the social parties pretty often in those
old days. He did not dance and he stood about rather awkwardly. It must
have been a great affliction, but he bore it with exemplary fortitude.
Once or twice I saw Mrs. Bradlaugh there. She had a full-blown matronly
figure. Miss Alice and Miss Hypatia came frequently. They were not
then living in the enervating air of London, and they looked extremely
robust. I also remember the boy Charles, of whom Mr. Bradlaugh seemed
very proud. He was a remarkably bright lad, and full of promise. But he
was carried off by a fever. Only a day or two after the lad's death Mr.
Bradlaugh had to lecture at the Hall. I was away, and I wondered whether
he would fulfil the engagement. He did fulfil it. A friend wrote to me
that Mr. Bradlaugh walked through the hall and mounted the platform with
a face as white and rigid as that of a statue. He made no reference or
allusion to his loss, but all could see he carried a bleeding heart.
His lecturing in such circumstances was characteristic. Weaker men would
have indulged their grief; he was made of sterner stuff, and would not
let it interfere with what he deemed his duty.
Splendid as was his eloquence at that time, Mr. Bradlaugh did not draw
the large audiences that flocked around him a few years later. The Hall
of Science was at first but half its present size, the platform standing
on the right as you entered, with a small gallery on the opposite side.
Its holding capacity could not have been more than half what it is at
present, yet I have seen the place far from full. But the audiences grew
larger and larger, and eventually the hall was increased to its present
proportions, although for a long time there was not cash enough to put
on a proper roof, and the building was defaced by a huge unsightly beam,
on each side of which there was an arch of corrugated iron.
Those were glorious times. Difficulties were great, but there was a
spirit at the Hall that laughed at them. How the foremost men about the
place did work! Mr. R. O. Smith and Mr. Trevilion, senior, could a tale
unfold. Whenever Freethinkers are at all dejected they should have a
chat with one of those gentleman. Perhaps it would make them ashamed of
their dejection, and fill them with the spirit of the heroic days.
Friends have told me with what energy Mr. Bradlaugh fought the battles
of the old Reform League. I _know_ with what energy he threw himself
into the Republican agitation that followed the downfall of Napoleon
III. He tried to get to Paris but failed. Jules Favre and his friends
did not want him. Favre himself was an eloquent historion, and no doubt
he felt afraid of a man like Mr. Bradlaugh. But if Mr. Bradlaugh could
not get to Paris he fought hard for France in London. Meetings at the
Hall of Science did not suffice. There was money from French sources and
St. James's Hall was taken for a big demonstration.
The Positivists shared in the proceedings. Their chief man was Mr.
Frederic Harrison. Mr. Bradlaugh and he were a tremendous contrast. In
fact a London paper (I think the _Echo_) remarked that Mr. Bradlaugh
spoke as well as Mr. Harrison wrote, and Mr. Harrison spoke as badly
as Mr. Bradlaugh wrote. There was some truth in this, though like most
epigrams it was not all true. Mr. Bradlaugh was a born orator, but not
a born writer. Yet he often wrote with a forthright power, naked and
unadorned, which could dispense with the aid of literary artifices.
During this English agitation on behalf of France, held firmly under
German feet, Mr. Bradlaugh came into contact with a French countess,
who, I believe, either supplied or was the channel of supplying the
necessary funds. As the lady is mentioned in Mr Headingley's _Life of
Charles Bradlaugh_, which was published with Mr. Bradlaugh's sanction,
there is no reason why I should not refer to her. She came several times
to the Hall of Science, and I was introduced to her. She had been a
beauty, and although time was beginning to tell on her, she retained a
good deal of charm and distinction, which, like a true Frenchwoman, she
heightened by the art of dressing. Then as now, of course, foul tongues
wagged in foolish heads, and Mr. Bradlaugh's enemies were not slow
to point to the French countess with prurient grimaces. Unable to
understand friendship between man and woman, owing to their Puritan
training or incurable rankness, they invited the orthodox in religion
and politics to note this suspicious connection. Something of this
malicious folly must have reached Mr. Brad-laugh's ears, but I imagine
he was too proud and self-contained to let it disturb him.
After the Birmingham meeting, and the founding of the Republican League,
of which Mr. Bradlaugh became president, and I secretary, he visited
Spain on private business, taking with him a message from the Conference
to Senor Castelar, the leading spirit of the short-lived Spanish
Republic. I remember writing out the message in a clear, bold hand, and
addressing the foolscap envelope in the same way. When Mr. Bradlaugh
fell among the Carlists he cursed my caligraphy. Happily, however, the
officer who scrutinised that envelope could not read at all, and Mr.
Bradlaugh escaped the consequences of being known to carry about letters
addressed to the devilish Castelar.
During Mr. Bradlaugh's first visit to America I was a frequent
contributor to his journal, and I corresponded with him privately. I
went down to Northampton and delivered a lecture at his request, under
the auspices of his electoral committee. The old theatre--a dirty,
ramshackle place as I recollect it--was crowded, and I had my first
taste of the popularity of Mr. Bradlaugh in the borough. Every mention
of his name excited the wildest enthusiasm.
While Mr. Bradlaugh was lecturing in the States a general election took
place in England. It was impossible for him to return in time, but his
friends looked after his interests. A committee was formed at the Hall
of Science to raise the necessary funds, and Mr. Charles Watts and I
went down to Northampton to conduct the election. We addressed outdoor
meetings in the day, and crowded indoor meetings at night.
Again I saw what a hold Mr. Bradlaugh had on his Northampton followers.
They sang "Bradlaugh for Northampton" in the Circus with all the fervor
of Scotch Covenanters on their hillsides "rolling the psalm to wintry
skies."
Mr. Watts and I did not win the seat for Mr. Bradlaugh, nor did he win
it himself at the next election, but we managed to increase his vote,
and he expressed his pleasure at the result.
Soon after the election Mr. Bradlaugh returned to England. Mr. Watts and
I went down with him to Northampton. There was a crowded public meeting,
I believe in the Circus; and I saw Mr. Bradlaugh, for the first time,
in the presence of his future constituents. They were simply intoxicated
with excitement. The shouts of "Bradlaugh" and "Charley" were deafening.
Hats and handkerchiefs were waved in the air. The multitude rose to
its feet and gave its hero a splendid welcome. Then we settled down to
speech-making, but all that followed was somewhat tame and flat after
that first glorious outburst of popular devotion.
The next election came quickly. It resulted in the return of a Tory
majority for Benjamin Disraeli, and Mr. Gladstone went off to sulk
in his tent. Two Tories were returned for Radical Northampton. Mr.
Bradlaugh let them in. He was determined to have one of the Northampton
seats. To get it he had to make himself inevitable. He had to prove that
if Northampton wanted two Liberal members, one of them must be Charles
Bradlaugh. It took him thirteen years to demonstrate this, but he
succeeded, as he succeeded in most things. At last, in 1880, he ran as
official Liberal candidate with Mr. Labouchere, and both were returned.
I assisted Mr. Bradlaugh during his second (1874) election. It was then
that I first saw Mrs. Besant. She had not yet taken to the platform,
but she was writing for the _National Reformer_, and her pen was active
during the contest. Mr. Watts was also there. Another figure I
remember was Mr. George Odger, who labored among the Trade Unionists
of Northampton in Mr. Bradlaugh's interest. George Odger was one of the
ablest of all the working-class leaders I have ever met. He came from my
own county, Devonshire, being born at Horrabridge, on the road between
Plymouth and Tavistock. He was honest to the heart's core, as well as
very able, but he was incurably indolent. You never could be sure of
him at a public meeting. He had to be looked up beforehand, or he
might forget the engagement and spend his time more agreeably. He was
passionately fond of the theatre, and could talk by the hour on
famous performances of old actors and actresses. During the daytime at
Northampton I had long chats with him. He objected to fine hotels,
and he objected to walking; so I had to sit with him in the garden of
a semi-rural public-house, where our conversation was altogether out
of proportion to our liquor. Odger liked beer; not much of it, but
just enough; it suited his palate and his purse; and as I drank next to
nothing, the landlord must have thought us unprofitable customers.
Mr. Bradlaugh had rooms at the George Hotel. It was the Tory house, but
he preferred it, and Mrs. Besant, Mr. Watts, and the rest of us, fed and
slept there during the election. This gave rise to a good deal of silly
talk among Mr. Bradlaugh's enemies.. One evening we were returning from
a Town Hall meeting, and the Tories had been holding a small meeting
at the "George." As we reached the foot of the stairs, we encountered a
knot of Tories. One of them was Mr. Merewether, the Tory candidate.
He was nearly of the same height as Mr. Bradlaugh, and well built. His
friends were holding him back, but he broke from them, exclaiming,
"Hang it! I _will_ have a look at him." He stood at the very foot of the
staircase and looked hard at Mr. Bradlaugh ascending. His expression was
one of good-tempered insolence. After a long look at Mr. Bradlaugh,
he returned to his friends, shouting, "Well, I'm damned if he's as
bad-looking as I thought."
I left Northampton before the close of the poll, Mr. Bradlaugh was
leaving the same night for America, having barely time to catch the boat
at Liverpool. I drove round with him before leaving, on a visit to some
of the polling stations. He had paid me a modest sum for my services,
but he found he had hardly enough to take him across the Atlantic, and
he asked me to lend him what money I had. I fished seven or nine pounds
out of my pocket--I forget which--and handed it to him. It was paid back
to me by his order a few weeks subsequently; and the incident would
not be worth mentioning if it did not throw a light on the libellous
nonsense of Mr. Bradlaugh's enemies that he was rolling in wealth.
While at Northampton with Mr. Bradlaugh, and on other occasions, I
saw something of his personal tastes and habits. He struck me as an
abstemious man. He was far from a great eater, and I never noticed
him drink anything at dinner but claret, which is not an intoxicating
beverage. On the whole, I should say, it is less injurious to the
stomach and brain than tea or coffee. He was rather fond of a cup of
tea seventeen years ago, and latterly his fondness for it developed into
something like a passion. More than once I found him at St. John's Wood
drinking a big cup of pretty strong tea, and was seduced by his genial
invitation into joining him in that reckless indulgence.
He used to smoke too in the old days, but he afterwards gave up the
practice for several years. About seven years ago, however, he resumed
it. I do not think he ever attained to the dignity of a pipe. He smoked
cigars. Some time in April, 1889, I spent an hour with him at the
House of Commons. He got the Speaker's leave to take me into the lower
smoke-room, and we "discussed" a cigar and some claret while discussing
some Freethought business. The claret he seemed indifferent to, but he
puffed the cigar with an air of enjoyment.
During the Northampton election times I used to take a good stiff daily
walk. All through my youth I had plenty of exercise in the open air, and
I still grow desperately fusty without a brisk tramp at least once
in the twenty-four hours. Mr. Bradlaugh generally took a drive, and I
remember telling him with youthful audacity that he ought to walk for
his health's sake. Of course it was difficult for him to walk in the
streets. His stature and bulk made him too noticeable, and mobbing was
very unpleasant. But he might have driven out of town and trudged a mile
or two on the country roads. My opinion is that his neglect of physical
exercise helped to shorten his life. Occasional bouts of fishing were
very well in their way, but _daily_ exercise is the necessary thing.
I do not forget the tremendous labor, physical as well as mental, of
lecturing on burning questions to large audiences. All that, however,
goes on in hot, crowded rooms, full of vitiated air; and it gives no
proper exercise to the legs and loins or the lower vital organs. After
one of my remonstrances Mr. Bradlaugh invited me to play a game of
billiards. It was the only time I ever played with him. His style with
the cue was spacious and splendid; The balls went flying about the
board, and I chaffed him on his flukes. He had not the temperament of a
billiard-player. Still, I have heard that he played a fair game at St.
Stephen's; but I can hardly believe it without first-hand testimony.
I am willing to believe, however, that he was a good chess-player.
Certainly he had a head for it But chess is a vile game for a
brain-worker, whose recreations should never involve a mental strain.
When I first knew Mr. Bradlaugh he was living at Tottenham. I never
visited him there, but I often called on him at his later lodgings in
Turner-street, Commercial-road. He occupied the ground floor, consisting
of two rooms. The back was his bedroom, and the front his library and
workshop. It was what the Americans call a one-horse affair. Shelves all
round the room were filled with books. Mr. Bradlaugh sat at a desk with
his back to the fireplace. On his right was the door communicating with
his bedroom facing him the door opening on the passage, and on his right
(? left) the street window. The room itself could hardly have been more
than twelve or thirteen feet square. I once told him he was too near the
fireplace, and he said it was sometimes good to have the poker handy. At
that I stared, and he told me the following story.
One day a gentleman called on him and was invited to take a chair. He
sat down facing Mr. Bradlaugh, and explained that he wanted advice on a
very particular matter. God Almighty had told him to kill someone, and
he had a difficulty in selecting a victim. Mr. Bradlaugh put his hand
behind him and quietly grasped the poker. The inspired gentleman put the
problem as a knotty one, and begged the assistance of the clever
Iconoclast. "Well," said Mr. Bradlaugh, keeping quite cool, "what do you
say to the Archbishop of Canterbury?" "The very man!" exclaimed the
inspired gentleman. He got Mr. Bradlaugh to give him the Archbishop's
address, and said, "Good-day," with a profusion of thanks. Mr. Bradlaugh
went to the door to look for a policeman, but none was visible, and the
inspired gentleman was soon out of sight.
"So you see," said Mr. Bradlaugh, "It's good to have the poker handy. I
never saw or heard of the man again, and I knew he couldn't get near the
Archbishop. There are too many flunkeys in the way."
Those were my struggling days, and Mr. Bradlaugh was very kind to me. I
remember the Sunday evening when I told him I thought of taking to the
Freethought platform. He pointed out the hard and thorny path I should
have to tread, but when he saw I was resolved on the attempt, he put his
hand on my shoulder and said, "There is no young man in the movement I
would sooner welcome."
In the very same room, on another Sunday evening a little later, I
first saw James Thomson. He came down to the Hall of Science with Mr.
Bradlaugh, in whose employment he then was, and I gave him the article I
had brought for the _National Reformer_. He shook hands very cordially,
and I was delighted to meet one for whose poetry I had a profound
admiration.
It was also at the Hall of Science, about the same time, that I met the
eccentric Mr. Turberville, brother to Mr. Blackmore, the novelist. He
was a man of parts with a bee in his bonnet. He claimed kinship with
Turberville, a minor poet of the sixteenth century, and he loved to
talk of poetry. His knowledge of Shakespeare was profound and minute.
He admired Mr. Bradlaugh's perorations immensely, as well as his bold
defence of Freethought. He made out a will in Mr. Bradlaugh's favor,
but he subsequently made another will, and died in circumstances that
necessitated an inquest. By agreement, however, Mr. Bradlaugh obtained
£2,500 from the estate, and the windfall came opportunely, for his
struggles and litigations had involved him in considerable debt. I
know he often had to borrow money on heavy interest. One day, at
Turner-street, he told me that a creditor of this species had coolly
invited him to dinner. "Hang it," he said, "you can't dine with a man
who charges you sixty per cent."
Another recollection I have of Mr. Bradlaugh is in connexion with the
funeral of Mr. Austin Holyoake. The death of this gentleman was a great
loss to the Freethought cause. He was highly respected by all who knew
him. The geniality of his disposition was such that he had many friends
and not a single enemy. For some years he was Mr. Bradlaugh's printer
and publisher, and a frequent contributor to his journal. He was
foremost in every good work, but he was one of those modest men who
never get the credit of their labors. He died at 17 Johnson's-court,
Fleet-street, in an upstairs room above the printing office, where his
devoted wife had for many weeks nursed his flickering life. The funeral
was a notable event. Those of us who could afford it rode in the
undertaker's coaches, and the rest walked in procession to Highgate
Cemetery. I can still see Mr. Bradlaugh in my mind's eye, bustling about
on the ground floor, taking everything as usual on his own shoulders. He
sorted us in fours for the coaches, my _vis à vis_ being James Thomson.
At the graveside, after the reading of Austin Holyoake's own funeral
service by Mr. Charles Watts, Mr. Bradlaugh delivered a brief address
which he had written for the occasion. On the whole it was too much a
composition, but one sentence was true "Bradlaugh," and it sounds in my
ears still:--"Twenty years of friendship lie buried in that grave."
How such scenes are impressed on one's memory! As I write I see the set
face of Charles Bradlaugh. I behold the sob-shaken back and bowed
head of Herbert Gilham just in front of me. I hear and feel the cool,
rustling wind, like a plaintive requiem over the dead.
Once again, years afterwards, I saw Mr. Bradlaugh in the same cemetery,
supporting the helpless figure of Mrs. Ernestine Rose as she left the
open grave of the dear partner of her long life of labor for the cause
of human redemption.
Owing to circumstances, into which I need not enter, I saw little of Mr.
Bradlaugh between 1875 and 1880. When he was returned for Northampton
I rejoiced, and when he was committed to the Clock Tower I saw my duty
sun-clear. It was to participate as I could, and might, in the struggle.
My contributions to Mr. Bradlaugh's journal were resumed, and I spoke
at meetings in his behalf. In May, 1881, I started the _Freethinker_, my
oldest living child. Mr. Bradlaugh acted with his natural generosity.
He advertised my bantling gratuitously in his own journal, and gave it
every possible facility. This was not known at the time, but I ought to
state it now.
Throughout that long, terrible struggle with the House of Commons I was
with Mr. Bradlaugh on every point. If he made a single mistake I
have yet to see it indicated. My article in the first number of the
_Freethinker_ was entitled "Mr. Bradlaugh's Advisers." Its object was to
show the absurdity of the plentiful advice offered him, and the absolute
justice of the course he was pursuing.
Three weeks afterwards the bigots convened a ticket meeting at Exeter
Hall. The chief promoters were Earl Percy, Sir Bartle Frere, and butcher
Varley. Mr. Bradlaugh was afraid the meeting would have a pre-judicial
effect on public opinion in the provinces. The fact of the _tickets_
would be kept back, and the report would go forth that a vote was
unanimously passed against him at a big London demonstration. It was
necessary, therefore, that the meeting should be _spoiled_. And it
_was_. Mr. Bradlaugh gave me the task of moving an amendment. We had
a chat in his library at St. John's Wood, and as we parted he said, "I
rely on you, Foote." He looked at me steadily, holding my eyes as though
to read the depths.
We got tickets somehow. But the Protestant Alliance smelt mischief, and
Mr. Bradlaugh's supporters had to fight their way in. Two hundred and
fifty police were not enough to keep them all out. I was naturally a
marked man, and fighting had to be supplemented by diplomacy. When
the noble Smithson (Earl Percy), had drivelled for a few minutes as
chairman, and the resolution against Mr. Bradlaugh had been proposed
and seconded by Sir John Kennaway and Canon Taylor, I rose to move an
amendment. But the amendment was refused. The resolution was put, and
the Christians stood up and voted, while the organ played "God Save the
Queen." Then, at a signal, our people jumped on the forms, and rent the
air with cheers for "Bradlaugh." At another signal they all trooped
out, went off to Trafalgar-square with the big crowd outside, and passed
resolutions in Mr. Bradlaugh's favor. The bigots' meeting was completely
spoiled. They had to barricade the doors and keep out their own people
as well as the enemy; the hall was never half full, and their resolution
was passed after refusing an amendment, amidst loud execrations. Such a
lesson was taught the bigots that they never made another attempt. Mr.
Bradlaugh had trusty lieutenants and stern supporters, and the bigots
knew he would spoil every _private_ meeting that professed to be
_public_. He acted with wisdom and determination, and the result showed
he knew the stake he was playing for when he said, "I rely on you," with
that steady Napoleonic look.
*****
Mr. Bradlaugh's legal exploits, if properly recorded, would fill a
good-sized volume. When his life is adequately written, as it will be
some day, this department will have to be entrusted to a skilled lawyer.
No other person could do anything like justice to a most important part
of the career of one whom the Tories used to call "that litigious man,"
when they were trying to ruin him in the law courts and he was only
defending himself against their base attacks.
Those who had only known Mr. Bradlaugh as a platform orator had some
difficulty in recognising him when they first met him in one of our
"halls of justice." His whole manner was changed. He was polite,
insinuating, and deferential. His attitude towards the judges was
admirably calculated to conciliate their favor. I do not mean that _he_
calculated. He had quite a superstitious veneration for judges. It was
perfectly sincere and it never wavered. He would not hear a word against
them. When he pleaded before them his personal sentiments ran in a line
with his best interests; for although judges are above most temptations,
their vanity is often sensitive, and Mr. Bradlaugh's manner was
intensely flattering.
Had he followed the legal profession, Mr. Bradlaugh would have easily
mounted to the top and earned a tremendous income. I have heard some of
the cleverest counsel of our time, but I never heard one to be
compared with him in grasp, subtlety and agility. He could examine and
cross-examine with consummate dexterity. In arguing points of law he had
the tenacity of a bull-dog and the keenness of a sleuth-hound. He always
fortified himself with a plethora of "cases." The table in front of him
groaned with a weight of law. Here as elsewhere he was "thorough." An
eminent jurisprudist once remarked to me, "there is little gleaning to
be done after Bradlaugh."
As a pleader before juries, however, I doubt whether he would have
achieved a great success. He was too much of a born orator. He began
well, but he soon forgot the limited audience of twelve, and spoke to
a wider circle. This is not the way to humor juries. They like to
feel their own importance, and he succeeds best who plays upon their
weakness. "Remember," their looks say, "you are talking to _us_; the
other gentlemen listen accidentally; _we_ make you or damn you."
My first recollection of Mr. Bradlaugh in the law courts is twenty-two
years old. How many survivors are there of the friends who filled that
dingy old court at Westminster where he argued before a full bench of
judges in 1869? He was prosecuted for note giving sureties in the sum of
£400 against the appearance of blasphemy or sedition in his paper. The
law was resuscitated in his single case to crush him; but he fought, as
he said he would, to the bitter end, and the Gladstone Government was
glad to repeal the obsolete enactments. The Crown retired from the
suit with a _stet processus_, and Mr. Bradlaugh was left with the
laurels--and his costs.
I obtained an hour or two's leave from my employment, and heard a
portion of Mr. Bradlaugh's argument It gave me a new conception of his
powers. That is the only impression I retain. The details have dropped
out of my memory, but there remains as fresh as ever the masterful
figure of Charles Bradlaugh.
The best view I ever had of Mr. Bradlaugh in litigation was in the old
Court of Queen's Bench on Tuesday and Wednesday, July 19 and 20, 1881,
when he cross-examined poor Mr. Newdegate. For a good deal of the time
I sat beside him, and could watch _him_ closely as well as the case. By
raising the point whether the writ against him for penalties had been
issued before or after he gave his vote in the House, he-was able to put
all the parties to the prosecution into-the witness-box and make them
give an account of themselves. Mr. Newdegate was one of the victims, and
the poor man made confessions that furnished Mr. Bradlaugh with ground
for a successful action against him under the law of Maintenance. Mr.
Newdegate was a hard-mouthed witness, but he-was saddled, bridled, and
ridden to the winning-post. His lips opened literally, making his
mouth like the slit of a pillar-box. Getting evidence from him was like
extracting a rotten cork from the neck of a bottle but it all came out
bit by bit, and the poor man must have left the witness-box feeling
that he had delivered himself into the hands of that uncircumcised
Philistine. His cross-examination lasted three hours. It was like
flaying alive. Once or twice I felt qualms of pity for the old man,
he was such an abject figure in the hands-of that terrible antagonist.
Every card he held had to-be displayed. Finally he had to produce the
bond of indemnity he had given the common informer Clarke against
all the expenses he might incur in the suit; When this came out Mr.
Bradlaugh bent down to me and said, "I have him." And he _did_ have him.
Despite the common notion that the old law of Maintenance was obsolete,
Mr. Bradlaugh pursued him under it triumphantly, and instead of ruining
"Bradlaugh," poor Newdegate was nearly ruined himself.
What a contrast to Mr. Newdegate was Mr. Bradlaugh! He was the very
picture of suppressed fire, of rampant energies held in leash: the
nerves of the face playing like the ripple on water, the whole frame
quivering, and the eyes ablaze. It was wonderful how he managed to keep
his intellect alert and his judgment steady. Six hours of such work
as he had in court that day were enough to tax the greatest strength.
Before it was over I saw bodeful blood-rims under his eyes. It did
not surprise me, on meeting him at the Cobden Workmen's Club the next
evening, to learn that he had been frightfully ill. "Mr. Bradlaugh," I
wrote at the time, "is a wonderfully strong man, but the Tories and the
bigots are doing their best to kill him, and if this sort of thing is to
continue very much longer they may succeed." Alas, they _did_ succeed.
That terrible struggle killed him. No man ever lived who could have
passed through it unbroken.
Mr. Bradlaugh was clearly right on the point raised, but the jury went
against him, apparently out of sheer prejudice. When he went out into
Westminster Hall he was loudly cheered by a crowd of sympathisers, who,
as the _Times_ sneered, "applauded as lustily as though their champion
had won." Precisely so. Their applause would have greeted him in the
worst defeat. He was not a champion on whom they had "put their money."
He represented their principles, and the _Times_ forgot, if it ever
knew, that men are devoted to leaders in proportion to the depth of the
interests they espouse. Conviction "bears it out even to the edge of
doom."
Now let me mention something that shows Mr. Bradlaugh's tact and
consideration. My work on the _Freethinker_ brought me no return. I had
just read the proof of an article for Mr. Bradlaugh's paper. While we
were waiting for the jury's verdict he referred to the article, and
guessing my need he said, "Shall I give you the guinea now?" My answer
was an expressive shrug and a motion of the eye-brows.
Taking the two coins out of his pocket, he wrapt them in a piece of
paper _under the table_, and presently slipped the packet into my hand.
The whole proceeding touches me deeply as I recall it. He might well
have thought only of himself in that time of suspense; but he thought of
me too, and the precautions he took against being seen to pay me money
were expressive of his inbred delicacy. Reader do not say the incident
is trivial. These little things reveal the man.
Little did I dream, as I watched Mr. Bradlaugh fighting bigotry in the
law courts, that the time would come when he and I would be included in
a common indictment and stand in a criminal dock together. But as the
French say, it is always the unexpected that happens. Early in July,
1882, I was served with a summons from the Lord Mayor of London,
ordering me to appear at the Mansion House on the following Tuesday
and take my trial on a charge of Blasphemy. Two other gentlemen were
included in the summons, and all three of us duly appeared. We were all
members of the National Secular Society, and Mr. Bradlaugh attended to
render any possible assistance. The case was adjourned to the following
Monday, by which time a summons had been served on Mr. Bradlaugh,
who took his place beside us in the dock. After an animated day's
proceedings we were committed for trial at the Old Bailey.
The object of this prosecution was, of course, to stab Mr. Bradlaugh in
the back. He had fought all the bigots face to face, and held them all
at bay; so they put a stiletto into Sir Hardinge Giffard's hands, and
paid him his blood-money to attack the hero from behind.
Mr. Bradlaugh had to play the fox again. He wanted to gain time, and he
wanted to be tried, if at all, in the Court of Queen's Bench. He always
told me that being tried at the Old Bailey was going like a lamb to
the slaughter, and that a verdict of guilty there would certainly mean
twelve months' imprisonment. The obvious resource, therefore, was to
obtain a writ of _certiorari_ removing our indictment to the superior
court. Happily it was in the long vacation, and application had to be
made to a judge in chambers. By another piece of good luck, it was Mr.
Justice Stephen who sat behind the table on the fatal morning when the
writ had to be finally granted or refused. It was obtained on July 29,
1882. Poor Mr. Maloney, who represented the prosecution, was no match
for Mr. Bradlaugh, who treated him like a child, and only let him say a
word now and then as a special favor.
Roaming the law courts with Mr. Bradlaugh, I was able to see his
intimate knowledge of legal practice. He threaded the labyrinth with
consummate ease and dexterity. We went from office to office, where
everything seemed designed to baffle suitors conducting their own cases.
Our case, too, was somewhat peculiar; obsolete technicalities, only half
intelligible even to experts, met us at every turn; and when we got out
into the open air I felt that the thing was indeed done, but that it
would puzzle omniscience to do it in exactly the same way again. Seven
pounds was spent on stamps, documents, and other items, and securities
for costs had to be given to the extent of six hundred pounds. As I
walked home I pondered the great truth that England is a free country. I
had seen with my own eyes that _there is_ one law for rich and poor. But
I could not help reflecting that only the rich could afford it, and that
the poor might as well have no law at all.
Mr. Bradlaugh next moved to quash the indictment. He argued that the
public prosecutor's fiat was bad, as it did not name the persons who
were to be proceeded against, and thus resembled a general warrant,
which in the famous Wilkes case the judges had held to be invalid. On
this point, however, two judges, one of them being Sir James Stephen,
gave judgment against him. The case was argued on Mr. Bradlaugh's part,
the judges said, with "great power and learning." For my part, I think
he showed a greater knowledge of "cases" than both the legal luminaries
on the bench, who laid their heads close together over many a knotty
point of the argument.
Beaten on the main issue, Mr. Bradlaugh was successful, however, on
the subsidiary one. Two counts were struck out of the indictment. The
excision made no difference to me, but a great deal of difference to
him. Two numbers of the _Freethinker_ were thus disposed of bearing
the imprint of the Freethought Publishing Company--under which name Mr.
Bradlaugh and Mrs. Beasant traded--and owing to the lapse of time it
was impossible to open a fresh indictment. Of course I saw what Mr.
Bradlaugh was driving at, and I could not but admire the way in which he
made light of this point, arguing it baldly as a formal matter on which,
as their lordships would see at a glance, he was absolutely entitled
to a judgment. They would see that he was still open to all the other
counts of the indictment, and therefore it might make very little
difference, but right was right and law was law. Under the spell of
his persuasive speech, it was amazing to see the judges smoothing their
wrinkled fronts. I fancy they gave him his second point the more readily
because they were against him on the first; indeed, they seemed to think
it a pity, if not a shame, that all his learning and ability should be
displayed for _nothing_.
Our indictment went into the list of Crown Cases Reserved, and did not
come on for trial till the following April. Meanwhile I was prosecuted
again, and failing to get a writ of _certiorari_, owing to the flagrant
bigotry of Baron Huddleston and Justice North, I was tried at the Old
Bailey, and sentenced to twelve months' imprisonment like a common
thief--as Mr. Bradlaugh had predicted.
During my trouble Mr. Bradlaugh lent me every assistance, furnishing
me with legal books and advice and visiting me in Newgate between the
first and second trials, while Judge North's underlings were preparing a
more pliant jury than the one which had declined to return a verdict of
guilty.
In Holloway Gaol I lost sight of Mr. Bradlaugh and everyone else, except
persons I had no desire to see. But one morning, early in April, 1883,
the Governor informed me that Mr. Bradlaugh was going to pay me a visit,
having the Home Secretary's order to see me on urgent business. The same
afternoon I was marched from my cell into one of the Governor's offices,
where Mr. Bradlaugh was wailing. Compared with the pale prisoners I saw
day by day, he looked the very picture of health. Fresh, clean-shaven,
neatly dressed, he was a most refreshing sight to eyes accustomed to
rough faces and the brown convict's garb. And it was a friend too, and I
could take his hand and exchange human speech with him. How vivid is
my recollection of him at that moment! He seemed in the prime of life,
little the worse for his terrible struggles, only the gray a trifle more
decided about the temples, but the eyes full of light, and the mobile
mouth full of vitality. And now he is dead! Dead! It is hard to realise.
But I rang the muffled bell as he lay fighting his last battle, and I
followed his corpse to the grave; and I know that the worm is busy about
those leonine features, and the rain trickles through with a scent of
faded flowers. Yes, it is true; he _is_ dead. Dead like the king and
dead like the clown; yet living truly beyond the dust of death in
the lives of others, an inextinguishable light, a vivifying fire, a
passionate hope, an ardent aspiration.
Till the Future dares
Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be
An echo and a light unto eternity.
On the morning of April 10, 1883, I put on my own clothes and was driven
in a four-wheeler from Holloway Gaol to the Law Courts, in company
with Warder Smith, who superintended the wing of the prison in which a
grateful country lodged and boarded me at its own expense. It was lovely
spring weather, and I felt like a man new-born.
Inside the court where the great Blasphemy case was to be tried I found
Mr. Bradlaugh with his usual load of law books. The court was crowded
with friends of the defendants and legal gentlemen anxious to witness
the performance.
Mr. Bradlaugh applied for a separate trial, on the ground that as there
was no charge of conspiracy it was unjust to prejudice his case by
evidence admitted against his co-defendants; and Lord Coleridge, who
obviously meant to see fair play, granted the application.