HIS MAJESTY'S SERVANTS
Parliament is not an administrative body. Summoned by the Crown, with
its assent it passes laws, gives and takes away rights, authorises and
directs taxation and expenditure; but in executive business the Crown
acts through Ministers who are not appointed by Parliament, though
undoubtedly responsible to it for their conduct.
Alfred the Great called together Councils, which in some ways
resembled our present Cabinets or the Privy Council, to consider such
measures as were afterwards submitted to the Witenagemot. In William
the Conqueror's time the _Curia Regis_ was the Great Council which he
consulted on questions of State policy. Later on, in Henry I.'s reign,
the King formed a smaller consultative body from the royal household,
whose duty it was to deal with administrative details, legislation
being left in the hands of the National Council.
In Tudor days the Sovereign had almost dispensed with Parliament
altogether--in the course of Queen Elizabeth's lengthy reign it was
only summoned thirteen times--and the country was governed
autocratically by the monarch, with the aid of his Privy Council. This
advisory body varied in size from year to year. In Henry VIII.'s reign
it consisted of about a dozen members; later on, the number was much
increased. In time the Privy Council became too large and cumbersome
an assembly to act together without friction, and was gradually
subdivided into various committees, to each of which was given some
specific legislative function.
In the reign of Edward VI. one of these smaller bodies was known as
the Committee of State, and from this has slowly developed the Cabinet
to which we are accustomed to-day. When the Great Council of Peers was
convened at York in 1640, the Committee of State was reproachfully
referred to as the "Cabinet Council,"--from the fact that its meetings
were held in a small room in the Royal Palace,--and afterwards as the
"Juncto." It consisted of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Earl of
Strafford, and a few other leading men, and met at odd times to
discuss important intelligence, the Privy Council only meeting when
specially summoned.
James I. acquired the habit of entrusting his confidence to a few
advisers, and his successors followed suit. The inner council, or
cabal, thus originated, was the cause of much parliamentary jealousy
and popular suspicion. After the fall of Clarendon in 1677, and of
Danby twelve years later, Charles II. promised, in accordance with the
general desire, to be governed by the Privy Council, and to have no
secrets from that body. It soon became evident, however, that the King
had no intention of keeping his promise, and the Remonstrance of 1682
complained that great affairs of State were still managed "in Cabinet
Councils, by men unknown, and not publicly trusted."
In Stuart days the Commons had grown in strength from year to year,
and the Privy Council had weakened proportionately, though it had
increased in size. Besides being so unwieldy as to be impracticable
for administrative purposes, it was largely composed of men who were
not in any way fitted for the post of responsible advisers. Naunton,
writing of Elizabeth's day, observed that "there were of the Queen's
Councell that were not in the Catalogue of Saints."[123] And much the
same criticism would apply to the Privy Councillors of Stuart times.
The inner Cabinet, therefore, gradually assumed all the more important
functions of the Legislature, and eventually became the ruling power
in the State.
[123] "Fragmenta Regalia," p. 23.
In the time of Charles II. the Ministry was not a united body, but was
composed of men of different political opinions, each of whom held his
office at the King's pleasure. The Cabinet long remained, therefore,
in a disorganised and subordinate condition, largely dependent upon
the royal will. Under the Tudors and Stuarts, Ministers were the
masters or servants of the Crown, according as the Sovereign was a
weak or a strong one. They did not necessarily sit in Parliament, nor
did they act together in response to the views of a parliamentary
majority. The Cabinet itself consisted of an inner group of
responsible advisers and an outer circle of members with whom they
often differed fundamentally. There was no need for unanimity of
political thought in the Cabinet of those days, so long as its members
were unanimous in their subservience to the King.
After the Revolution of 1688, however, the powers of the Crown were
limited and those of Parliament extended. Ministers now customarily
sat in Parliament, and gradually acquired unanimity of thought and
purpose, working together with common responsibility and for common
interests.[124] The Cabinet thus became what Walter Bagehot calls a
"combining committee--a hyphen which joins, a buckle which fastens,
the legislative to the executive part of the State"--and remained an
essentially deliberative assembly, as opposed to the Privy Council, or
administrative body.
William III. had begun by convening mixed Cabinets of Whigs and
Tories, but in 1693 he determined to appoint Ministers all of one
party, and in two years his Cabinet was entirely composed of Whigs.
This example was followed by his successor, though unwillingly, and
the Cabinet system, as we understand it to-day, may be said to date
from the moment when Godolphin forced Queen Anne to accept Sunderland,
and, later, to remove Harley, in accordance with the views expressed
by the country at elections.
[124] It is not absolutely necessary for a Cabinet Minister to sit in
either House. Gladstone was a Secretary of State from December 1845,
to July, 1846, without a seat in Parliament.
By this time Parliament had learnt to tolerate the idea of a Cabinet,
and the word itself appears for the first time officially in the
Lords' Address to the Queen in 1711. In that year a lengthy debate
took place on the meaning of the words "Cabinet Council," several
peers preferring the term "Ministers." Among the latter was the Earl
of Peterborough, who declared that sometimes there was no Minister at
all in the Cabinet Council. He seems to have regarded the members of
the Privy Council and of the Cabinet with equal contempt. The Privy
Councillors, he said, "were such as were thought to know everything
and knew nothing, and the Cabinet Councillors those who thought that
nobody knew anything but themselves."
When Walpole was Prime Minister, the country was governed by three
bodies--the Great Council, somewhat similar to the modern Privy
Council; the Committee of Council, a smaller assembly which met at the
Cockpit in Whitehall, and seems to have concerned itself chiefly with
foreign affairs; and the Cabinet.
[Illustration: SIR ROBERT WALPOLE
FROM THE PAINTING BY FRANCIS HAYMAN, R.A., IN THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT
GALLERY]
The members of the Cabinet varied in number from eight to fourteen,
and included the Great Officers of the Royal Household. In April,
1740, for instance, it consisted of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the
Lord Chancellor, the Lord President of the Council, the Lord Privy
Seal, the Lord Steward, the Lord Chamberlain, the Master of the Horse,
the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, two Secretaries of State, the Groom of
the Stole, the First Minister for Scotland, the Chancellor of the
Exchequer, the First Commissioner of the Admiralty, and the Master of
the Ordnance. Besides these, the Duke of Bolton was also included, for
the somewhat inadequate reason that "he had been of it seven years
ago."[125] As such an immense body must have been quite unmanageable
from a business point of view, there also existed an interior council,
consisting of Walpole, the Lord Chancellor, and the two Secretaries of
State, who consulted together, in the first instance, on the more
confidential points, and reported the result of their deliberations
to the rest of the Cabinet.
[125] Hervey's "Memoirs of George II.," vol. ii. p. 551.
The size and composition of a Cabinet is a question which has always
been left entirely to the discretion of the Prime Minister. In 1770
and 1783, when Lord North and Pitt were Premiers, the number was
reduced to seven. Later on, this was increased; but Lord Wellesley, in
1812, expressed his conviction that thirteen was an inconveniently
large number, and Sir Robert Peel, some twenty years later, declared
that the Executive Government would be infinitely better conducted by
a Cabinet composed of only nine members.
Among His Majesty's advisers in Georgian days, and earlier, peers
usually preponderated. The younger Pitt was the only Commoner in his
first Cabinet. Nowadays both Houses are suitably represented.
There is no definite rule laid down as to which posts in the
Administration carry with them a seat in the Cabinet; but the First
Lord of the Treasury, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the First Lord
of the Admiralty, the Lord President of the Council, the Lord Privy
Seal, and the Lord Chancellor are invariably included. Statesmen who
hold no office at all, as we have seen in the case of the Duke of
Bolton, have occasionally been given a seat. Hyde, afterwards Lord
Clarendon, sat in Charles I.'s Cabinet without office; and, later on,
Lord Fitzwilliam, the Duke of Wellington, and Lord John Russell were
each accorded a similar privilege. Lord Mansfield, on his elevation to
the seat of the Lord Chief Justice, in 1756, became a member of the
Cabinet, and did not cease to take part in the discussions until 1765.
The precedent he thus created was afterwards cited in the case of Lord
Ellenborough, another Lord Chief Justice, who was admitted to the
Cabinet of "All the Talents" in 1806. By this time, however, the
inclusion of any but the actual holders of parliamentary offices was
considered unusual, and it has never been repeated.
Cabinet meetings in Charles II.'s time were first of all held twice a
week, and then on Sunday evenings. It was long customary for the
Sovereign to be present, and Queen Anne presided regularly over these
Sunday gatherings. Indeed, the absence of the King from Cabinet
meetings did not occur until the time of George I., and only arose
from that monarch's inability to speak English. Since his day,
however, no Sovereign has thought it necessary, or even politic, to
attend.
Besides the regular official meetings of the Cabinet, informal
gatherings of Ministers were occasionally convened. Walpole used often
to invite a few colleagues to dinner to discuss the affairs of the
nation, and in the Aberdeen Government a Cabinet dinner was held
weekly.[126] After the tablecloth had been removed, and the port began
to circulate, measures of State were agitated and discussed, and
questions of policy decided upon. Whether Ministers were always in a
condition fit for the consideration of such grave topics is a matter
of doubt. Lord Chancellor Thurlow sometimes refused to take part in
these post-prandial discussions. "He has even more than once left his
colleagues to deliberate," says Wraxall, "whilst he sullenly stretched
himself along the chair, and fell, or appeared to fall, fast
asleep."[127]
[126] "Our immemorial Cabinet Dinner was at Lord Lonsdale's," writes
Lord Malmesbury, on March 17, 1852. "Each of us gives one on a
Wednesday."--"Memoirs of an Ex-Minister," vol. i. p. 321.
[127] Wraxall's "Memoirs," vol. i. p. 527.
The Cabinet no longer meets on Sundays, and the practice of holding
weekly dinners has been given up. It has no regular times of
assembling, but can be summoned at any moment when the Prime Minister
wishes to consult his colleagues. It is not necessary for all the
members of the Cabinet to be present, as no quorum is needed to
validate the proceedings, nor is there any rule laid down as to the
length of a Cabinet meeting, which may last from a brief half-hour to
as much as half a day.[128]
[128] "Granville dined at the Lord Chancellor's yesterday," wrote Lady
Granville to the Duke of Devonshire, on November 8, 1830, when the
question of the postponement of the King's visit to the city was
filling the minds of Ministers. "The Chancellor came in after they
were all seated from a Cabinet that had lasted five hours, returned to
be at it again till two, and the result you see in the papers."--Lady
Granville's "Letters," vol. ii. p. 63.
The chief point with regard to Cabinet meetings is their absolute
secrecy. No minutes are kept, no secretary or clerk is present, and
only in exceptional circumstances is some private record made of any
matter that may have been discussed. The meetings are usually held at
No. 10, Downing Street, the official residence of the Prime Minister,
or occasionally at the Foreign Office, a practice instituted by Lord
Salisbury when he was Foreign Secretary, his Cabinet being so large
that the room in Downing Street could barely contain it.
In George II.'s time, No. 10, Downing Street--called after Sir George
Downing, a statesman of Charles II.'s day, whom Pepys styles "a
niggardly fellow"--belonged to the Crown, and was the town residence
of Bothmar, the Hanoverian Minister. On the latter's death, King
George offered the house to Walpole as a gift. The Prime Minister
declined it, however, and suggested that it should henceforward
accompany the offices of the First Lord of the Treasury and the
Chancellor of the Exchequer. Externally the Prime Minister's house is
not a very imposing structure, but the traditions attached to it as
the official residence of so many eminent Englishmen enchance its
value in the eyes of its occupants and of the public.
Here, then, the Cabinet assembles to discuss the problems of Empire,
whose solution at times of stress the country awaits with such
breathless interest. Here the Prime Minister presides over that
assembly which, however internally discordant, must ever present an
harmonious and united front to the public. The decisions arrived at by
"His Majesty's Servants"--no longer known as the "Lords of the Cabinet
Council," as in olden times--must always be presumably unanimous. Each
Minister is held responsible for the opinions of the Cabinet as a
whole. His only escape from such responsibility lies in resignation,
in either sense of that word. The defending and supporting in public
of what they are really opposed to in private, is the common practice
of Ministers. It is thought that one man's scruples should yield to
the judgment of the many, and "minorities must suffer" that
Governments may be carried on and Ministries remain undivided.[129]
There is a well-known story of Lord Melbourne's Ministry which
illustrates this point. The Government had proposed to put an
eight-shilling duty on corn. Melbourne, who was strongly opposed to
the tax, found himself out-voted and overruled by the other members of
the Cabinet. At the end of the meeting he put his back against the
door. "Now, is it to lower the price of corn, or isn't it?" he asked.
"It doesn't much matter what we say, but mind, we must all say the
same!" In 1860, again, Lord Palmerston as Prime Minister was in favour
of the House of Lords throwing out the Paper Duties Bill, which was
the measure of his own Chancellor of the Exchequer.
[129] See Speaker Onslow's "Essay on Opposition," "Hist. MSS.
Commission" (1895), App. ix. p. 460.
It is not perhaps easy to imagine a modern Premier being placed in a
situation similar to that of either Lord Melbourne or Lord Palmerston.
He must necessarily, to a certain extent, have the whip hand of the
Cabinet. For if several of his colleagues disagree with him on a
question of principle, and resign, he can generally appoint others;
whereas, if he resigns, the whole Ministry crumbles and falls to
pieces.
The Prime Minister nowadays has indeed acquired a position which is
almost that of a dictator. In many ways his power is absolute and his
will autocratic. More especially is this true as regards his dealings
with the Crown. In olden days he was the servant and creature of the
sovereign. He had no voice in the selection of his colleagues; he
acted merely as His Majesty's chief adviser, and, as such, was liable
to instant dismissal. When Pelham resigned in 1746, because he could
no longer agree with the King, he was acting in a fashion that was
then unprecedented. Before that time, a Prime Minister whose views did
not coincide with those of his sovereign, was summarily dismissed.
Many kings had, indeed, been in the habit of themselves undertaking
the duties of Prime Minister--Charles II. delighted in referring to
himself as his own _Premier Ministre_, though he was far too indolent
to perform the work of that official--and merely looked upon their
chief adviser as a convenient channel of communication between
themselves and Parliament.
It was not until the eighteenth century that a Premier of the modern
type came into existence. With the development of the party system,
the gradual growth of the Cabinet's prestige, and the consequent
weakening of the sovereign's prerogatives, the Prime Minister ceased
to be the choice of the Crown, and became the nominee of the nation.
As the leader of the party in office, he acquired the unquestioned
right of selecting his own Ministers. To-day, though the King still
nominally chooses his Prime Minister, little individual freedom is
left to the sovereign, who is guided in his choice by the advice of
the outgoing Premier and his interpretation of the wishes of the
country.
For a very long time the very name of Prime Minister stank in the
nostrils of the public and of Parliament. The word "Premier" was used
in 1746,[130] but as late as 1761 we find George Grenville in a debate
in the Commons declaring "Prime Minister" to be an odious title. The
holder of it long occupied an anomalous position. Legally and
constitutionally he had no superiority over any other Privy
Councillor. Eight members of the Cabinet took precedence of him, by
virtue of office--a fact which naturally resulted in situations
puzzling to the lay mind--the exact rank of the Prime Minister being
apparently impossible to define. When Lord Palmerston visited Scotland
in 1863, the commander of the naval guardship was very anxious to
receive that distinguished statesman with all the ceremony befitting
his exalted position. On the subject of salutes due to a Prime
Minister the naval code-book unfortunately maintained an impenetrable
silence, and gave the officer no information as to how he should act.
He eventually solved the difficulty in a thoroughly tactful manner by
giving Palmerston the salute of nineteen guns which were due to him
as Lord Warden of the Cinq Ports.[131] Mr. Gladstone, who was ever
most punctilious in matters of etiquette, always resolutely declined
to leave a room in front of any person of higher social rank, and many
a youthful peer vainly endeavoured to induce the aged Prime Minister
to precede him.
[130] Coxe's "Pelham Administration," vol. i. p. 486.
[131] Ashley's "Life of Palmerston," vol. ii. p. 233.
The Prime Minister continued to occupy an ambiguous position until
quite recently. It was not, indeed, until the close of Mr. Balfour's
Premiership that his proper precedence was recognised. Matters were
simplified, however, when he held some ministerial office, as First
Lord of the Treasury, Lord President of the Council, or Foreign
Secretary, whereby he became entitled to an adequate salary and an
assured, if inadequate, precedence.
Sir Robert Walpole, who held the Premiership for twenty-one
years--though not consecutively[132]--was the first Prime Minister in
the modern sense of the word, the first to sit in the Commons, and the
first to resign because of an adverse vote of Parliament.
[132] Walpole was First Lord of the Treasury for more than twenty-one
years, but Macaulay says that he cannot be called Prime Minister until
some time after he had been First Lord.--"Miscellaneous Writings," p.
359.
Walpole was in many ways a model Premier. Though not, indeed, as
incorruptible as Harley, he yet possessed many of the qualities which
contributed to that statesman's success.[133] It was not genius, it
was not eloquence, it was not statesmanship that gave Harley his
astounding power in Parliament, as Forster has remarked; it was
"House of Commons tact." Sir Robert Peel, Lord John Russell, and
Disraeli each understood that art of "managing Parliament," which is
probably of far greater value to a Prime Minister than either virtue
or eloquence. Lord Rockingham, George Grenville, and Lord Bute--the
last uttering his words with hesitation and at long intervals, causing
Charles Townshend to liken them to "minute-guns"--each lacked that
power of oratory for which another Premier, Lord Derby, the "Rupert of
debate," was more famous than for any intellectual ability.[134] Lord
Castlereagh had a great influence with his party, and was a most
successful leader of the House of Commons. Yet he was a shocking
speaker, tiresome, involved, and obscure.[135] On one occasion he
harangued the House for an hour, during no single moment of which
could any of his hearers make out what on earth he was driving at "So
much, Mr. Speaker, for the law of nations!" he finally exclaimed, as
he prepared to turn to other matters.
[133] Walpole distributed government patronage freely among the
members of his own family. His relations held offices worth nearly
£15,000 a year, and, two years after he relinquished office, his own
places brought him in an annual income of £2000. He made his eldest
son Auditor of the Exchequer, and his second son Clerk of the Pells.
He gave his son Horace two posts, as Clerk of the Estreats and
Comptroller of the Pipe, when the boy was still an infant. Later on he
gave him a position in the Customs, and lastly made him Usher of the
Exchequer, an office worth about £1000 a year. See "Memoirs of Sir
Robert Walpole," vol. i. p. 730; Cunningham's "Letters of Horace
Walpole," vol. i. pp. lxxxiv. and 314.
[134] "My father would be a very able man--if he knew anything," Lord
Stanley is supposed to have said of him. Hutton's "Studies," p. 48.
[135] "He evidently attempts to imitate Mr. Pitt in his manner and
rhetorick; but the clumsy attempts of a heavy domestic fowl to take
wing are very different from the vivid and lofty soaring of the lark."
Courtney's "Characteristics," p. 42.
Parliament will, indeed, put up with a great deal from a Minister
whose honesty is unquestioned, and who has sufficient common-sense not
to blunder at a moment of crisis. Nowadays, however, no man who was
utterly lacking in ordinary power of speaking would be given a place
on the front bench. A talent for debate may not necessarily be a gauge
of a man's capacity as a Minister, but only in debate can he show his
powers. His success in Parliament is a test of intellect, for there,
at any rate, he cannot conceal departmental ignorance. But it requires
judgment, ability, and tact to become a leader. Charm and personal
magnetism are the qualities that endear a man to his followers. A
kindly word, a smile, or a glance of recognition will often win the
affection of a supporter more surely than the most eloquent speech,
and it was in this respect that Lord John Russell, Gladstone, and Lord
Salisbury, either from shortness of sight or absence of mind, failed.
The same qualities which young Grattan considered necessary for a
successful leader of Opposition may also prove invaluable to a Prime
Minister. "He must be affable in manner, generous in disposition, have
a ready hand, an open house, and a full purse. He must have a good
cook for the English members, fine words and fair promises for the
Irish, and sober calculations for the Scotch."[136] He must, indeed,
be a man who breeds confidence and inspires affection among his
subordinates.
[136] Grattan's "Life and Times," vol. v. p. 417.
[Illustration: CHATHAM
FROM THE PAINTING BY WILLIAM HOARE, R.A., IN THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT
GALLERY]
Men in the House of Commons, as Bolingbroke said, "grow, like hounds,
fond of the man who shows them sport, and by whose halloos they are
used to be encouraged." If, in addition, the Prime Minister possesses
singleness of purpose and supreme self-confidence, his power in
Parliament is supreme. The "Great Commoner" owed his political success
as much to his courage and assurance as to his splendid gifts as an
orator. "I know that I can save the country," he once observed to the
Duke of Devonshire, "and I know that no other man can!"[137] The Duke
of Cumberland, a political adversary, described him very justly when
he said that he was "that rare thing--a man!" His position in the
House of Commons was in many ways unique. His very presence seemed to
instil fear into the hearts of his opponents, and promote confidence
in those of his supporters. A member named Moreton, Chief Justice of
Chester, in a speech in the Lower House, once made some allusion to
"King, Lords, and Commons, or, as that Right Honourable
Member"--looking across at Pitt--"would call them, Commons, Lords, and
King!" The Prime Minister rose at once in that slow dignified manner
which always commanded silence, and, fixing the speaker with a cold
and terrifying gaze, asked the Clerk of the House to make a note of
Moreton's words. "I have heard frequently in this house doctrines
that have surprised me," he said; "but now my blood runs cold!"
Moreton, in some alarm, hastened to apologise for his ill-chosen
words, saying that he had intended nothing offensive. "King, Lords,
and Commons; Lords, King, and Commons; Commons, Lords, and King--_tria
juncta in uno_! Indeed, I meant nothing!" he explained. Pitt gravely
accepted this apology, but took the opportunity of giving the
trembling Moreton some very sound advice. "Whenever that honourable
gentleman means nothing," he said, in his sternest and most frigid
tones, "I strongly recommend him to say nothing!"
[137] Hayward's "Biographical Essays," vol. ii. p. 39.
The terror he inspired among his opponents was shown on another
occasion when he replied to an attack of Murray, the Solicitor-General,
afterwards Lord Mansfield. "I must now address a few words to Mr.
Solicitor," said Pitt; "they shall be few, but they shall be daggers!"
Murray at once became much agitated. "Judge Festus trembles,"
continued Pitt relentlessly, pointing his finger on him. "He shall
hear me some other day." He sat down, Murray made no reply, and a
languid debate showed the paralysis of the House.[138]
[138] Butler's "Reminiscences," pp. 154-157.
It was not only in Parliament that Pitt's power made itself felt, or
that his words were received with a kind of reverential awe bordering
on terror. Government officials knew well that he was not a man to be
trifled with, or, if they did not know it, he soon found occasion to
bring the fact to their notice. Once, when he had sent a message to
the Admiralty saying that the Channel Fleet was to be got ready to
sail on the following Tuesday, the Board of Admiralty respectfully
replied that such a thing was an impossibility; the time was too
short. The Prime Minister drily rejoined that in that case he would
recommend the King to name a new Board of Admiralty. Needless to say,
the Channel Fleet sailed on Tuesday.[139]
[139] Russell's "Recollections," p. 263.
Pitt, indeed, possessed all the attributes of a successful Prime
Minister. He was himself infused with a fervid enthusiasm which he
could transmit into the hearts of all who shared his confidences. His
courage was infectious. No man, said Colonel Barré, could come out of
the Minister's private room without feeling himself braver than when
he entered. He was gifted with a serene composure, a perfect
self-possession, and understood the House of Commons as well as did
Disraeli after him, and as well as Lord Salisbury understood the
Lords.
Both these two last statesmen possessed that polished style, dry
humour and sarcasm which are beloved of parliamentary audiences.
Disraeli was the more ornamental speaker of the two, but seldom wasted
time in rhetoric, and, like Lord North, never weakened his argument by
superfluous declamation. One of the secrets of his success was that he
knew when to keep silent--knowledge that is of infinite importance to
a Prime Minister. Gladstone--great as a Premier, and still greater as
Chancellor of the Exchequer--could not always stay his speech. His
earnestness and enthusiasm carried him away, and he thereby often
dissipated in debate those powers which his rival was reserving for
great occasions. Lord Salisbury adopted a studiously common-place tone
in the House; he did not orate, he talked confidentially. And
Parliament has always preferred this quiet fashion of speaking, to
what Dizzy once called the "somewhat sanctimonious eloquence" of
Gladstone. Lord Palmerston's jaunty manner was far more popular than
the exuberant eloquence of greater orators. People said that they
preferred his "ha! ha!" style to the wit of Canning or the gravity of
Peel.
The Premiership is not a bed of roses, and it requires the phlegm of a
Lord North to sleep there at all. It is, no doubt, the pinnacle of
political ambition, but from that giddy height many a statesman has
looked down with envy, like St. Simon on his column, at the
groundlings who walk securely beneath his feet. Elevation brings with
it many disadvantages. The searchlight of public opinion beats
relentlessly upon a Prime Minister; even his private life is open to
criticism. Enemies lay snares for him on every side; friends and
political allies have to be treated with tact and tenderness; his
labours never cease, day or night.[140] It is his duty, as Gladstone
said, "to stand like a wall of adamant between the people and the
sovereign," and the burden of an Empire hangs heavy upon his
shoulders. From the very moment of a Prime Minister's appointment his
responsibilities commence. Entrusted by the sovereign with the
delicate duty of forming a Ministry, he is at once faced with a task
of exceptional difficulty. Whom shall he choose? This problem awaits
his instant solution. Luckily, as Bagehot says, the position of most
men in Parliament forbids their being invited to the Cabinet, while
that of a few men ensures their being invited.[141] Between the
compulsory list, whom he must take, and the impossible list, whom he
cannot take, a Prime Minister's independent choice is not very large;
it extends rather to the division of the Cabinet offices than to the
choice of Cabinet Ministers.
[140] Among the unpublished manuscripts at Welbeck Abbey are some
private notes made by the Duke of Portland, who was Prime Minister in
1783, suggesting methods of treatment suitable for various political
allies at the time of the Coalition Ministry. The following extracts
are of interest:--
"Lord Salisbury. Irish jobs.
Lord Thanet. Personal attention.
Lord Cornwallis. Should be spoken to: has two members in the
House of Commons.
Lord Clarendon. Anything for himself or Lord Hyde.
Lord Wentworth. Wants something. He voted against.
Duke of Argyle. Great attention. Scotch jobs.
Gen. Luttral. To be sent for next session. Lord Temple should not
be allowed all the merit of the job that we done for him lately.
Gen. Vaughan. Quebec, or a Command anywhere.
Lord Westcote. Distant hopes of a Peerage.
Mr. Gibbon. Will vacate his seat for an employment out of Parliament:
very much wished by Lord Loughborough."
(N.B.--This Gibbon is the historian.)
[141] "Fortnightly Review," No. I, p. 10.
This distribution of places is, however, an invidious duty; there are
so many reasons governing a Premier's choice of his colleagues.
Valuable services to the party have to be rewarded; the claims of men
who have held Cabinet rank in former Governments cannot be
disregarded; the wishes of the Sovereign must be considered.[142] To
satisfy all who expect office is impossible; to satisfy the few who
deserve it is a laborious and not altogether grateful business. The
statesman whom it is proposed to appoint as Minister for War may yearn
for the Lord Chancellorship; the prospective President of the Board of
Trade desires to become Irish Secretary. It is for the Prime Minister,
by coaxing or entreaties, to content them both. But there are less
pleasant duties than this to perform. Certain ex-Cabinet Ministers who
have not proved a success in their various departments must be shelved
with as little damage to their feelings as possible; salves in the
form of peerages must be administered to other aggrieved politicians
who have been left out. At times ex-Ministers who are no longer
members of the Cabinet have shown signs of disinclination to retire.
In 1801, for instance, when Addington became Prime Minister, Lord
Loughborough, who had been Chancellor in Pitt's administration,
resigned the Great Seal, but continued to attend Cabinet meetings, and
Addington was eventually compelled to write and ask him to deprive the
Cabinet of the pleasure of his distinguished presence.[143]
[142] The necessity of pleasing George III. compelled many Prime
Ministers to include his friend Addington in their administrations,
and inspired Canning to remark that this Minister was like the
small-pox, which everybody was obliged to have once in their lives.
[143] Campbell's "Lives of the Chancellors," vol. v. p. 327.
The manner of appointing a Minister, as also the manner of acquainting
a colleague that his services are no longer required, varies with
different Premiers. One may be as curt in his methods of appointment
as another is in his mode of dismissal. Walpole and North provide
excellent examples of this. On the death of Lord Chancellor Talbot in
1736-7, Walpole offered the Great Seal to Lord Hardwicke who was then
Lord Chief Justice. The latter hesitated about accepting the office,
until one day the Prime Minister impatiently informed him that unless
he made up his mind without any further delay, the Seal would be
given to Fazakerley, another famous lawyer. Hardwicke remonstrated
that Fazakerley was quite unfit for the post of Lord Chancellor, being
both a Tory and a Jacobite. "Never mind," replied Walpole, pulling out
his watch. "It is now exactly noon. If you do not let me know that you
have closed with my offer before eight o'clock this evening, I can
only tell you that, by twelve, Fazakerley will be as good a Whig as
any man in His Majesty's dominions!" Hardwicke hesitated no
longer.[144]
[144] "Life of Eldon," vol. iii. p. 486.
Lord North's method of dismissing Fox from his Cabinet in 1774 was no
less peremptory. "Sir," wrote the Prime Minister, "His Majesty has
thought proper to order a new commission of the Treasury to be made
out, in which I do not perceive your name."[145]
[145] "History of the Political Life of C. J. Fox," pp. 76-7.
It is seldom that a Prime Minister can give complete satisfaction in
the formation of a Ministry, though the task is perhaps lightened by
the fact that the possession of rare ability is not an absolute
necessity for a Cabinet Minister.
In 1851 the Prince Consort sent Lord Derby the examination papers
which Prince Alfred had been set when he passed as a naval cadet "As I
looked over them," wrote the Prime Minister in his reply, "I couldn't
but feel very grateful that no such examination was necessary to
qualify Her Majesty's Ministers for their offices, as it would very
seriously increase the difficulty of framing an administration!"
A curious list, as Macaulay suggested, could be made out of successful
Lord Chancellors ignorant of the principles of equity, and of First
Lords of the Admiralty ignorant of the principles of navigation.
Sheridan even went so far as to say that a competent knowledge of the
Rule of Three was a sufficient qualification for the Chancellorship of
the Exchequer. Fox never understood what was meant by Consols. He only
knew them to be things which rose and fell, and he was delighted when
they fell, because, as he said, it annoyed Pitt so much. Lowe, who
took a gloomy view of his office,[146] always admitted that he was "a
bad hand at figures," and his financial statements as Chancellor were
both obscure and unintelligible. Lord Randolph Churchill, too, when he
was at the Treasury, is always supposed to have remarked to a clerk
who brought him a list of decimal figures, that he "never could
understand what those d----d dots meant!"
[146] "The Chancellor of the Exchequer exists to distribute a certain
amount of human misery," he once remarked, "and he who distributes it
most equally is the best Chancellor."
Government departments are to a great extent run by the permanent
officials. As Sir George Lewis, himself successively Chancellor of the
Exchequer, Home Secretary, and Minister for War, justly observed, it
is not the business of a Cabinet Minister to work his department. His
business is to see that it is properly worked. If he does too much, he
is probably doing harm. The permanent staff of the office can do what
he chooses to do much better than he, or, if they cannot, they ought
to be removed. Strength of purpose, quickness of decision, and a good
supply of sterling common-sense are worth more to a Minister than mere
technical knowledge.[147]
[147] See Bagehot's "English Constitution," p. 200.
Besides the appointment of his colleagues, the Prime Minister also has
in his patronage a number of posts in the Royal Household, which
become vacant when an Administration changes. These are not so
difficult to fill, and are usually distributed among members of the
House of Lords, who are thus bound to their party by ties even
stronger than those of sentiment.[148]
[148] Among the offices in the Royal Household which are filled by the
Prime Minister, the most important are those of the Master of the
Horse, the Lord Steward, the Lord Chamberlain, the seven Lords in
Waiting, and the Mistress of the Robes.
The actual Ministry consists of over forty persons, of whom perhaps a
quarter form the Cabinet.[149] The annual cost to the country in
ministerial salaries is well under £200,000, and cannot therefore be
considered excessive, considering the delicacy of the administrative
machine, the efficiency with which it is run, and the amount of work
that has to be accomplished.
[149] A complete list of the salaries and offices of Ministers does
not lie within the scope of this volume. It will be sufficient to
enumerate briefly the most important members of the administration.
First in order of precedence stand the Prime Minister, the Lord High
Chancellor, the Lord President of the Council, the Lord Privy Seal (an
office to which, like that of the Prime Minister, no salary is
attached), and the First Lords of the Treasury and Admiralty. After
these come the five Secretaries of State: for Home Affairs, Foreign
Affairs, the Colonies, War, and India. These are followed by the
Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Secretaries for Scotland and Ireland,
the Postmaster-General, the Presidents of the Board of Trade, Local
Government Board, Board of Agriculture, and Board of Education, the
Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, and the First Commissioner of
Works. There are, besides, eight Parliamentary Under-Secretaries, four
Junior Lords of the Treasury (one of whom is unpaid), a Patronage
Secretary, a Financial Secretary, a Paymaster-General,
Attorney-General, and Solicitor-General. Scotland is represented by a
Lord-Advocate and a Scottish Solicitor-General; Ireland by a
Lord-Lieutenant, a Lord Chancellor, an Attorney-General, and a
Solicitor-General.
The labours of Cabinet Ministers have increased enormously in modern
times. This is perhaps one of the reasons why they no longer deem it
necessary to attend debates as regularly as their predecessors. In
Disraeli's time all the members of the Cabinet sat on the Treasury
Bench throughout a debate, and listened attentively to every speech.
It was considered obligatory upon the Leader of the House to be
present perpetually in his place in Parliament. Neither Gladstone nor
Disraeli would have thought of leaving the Chamber, except for a
hurried dinner, until the House rose. The sittings have become so
lengthy of late that it would be impossible for any Minister thus to
give up his whole time to debate. Ministers are consequently provided
with private rooms within the precincts of the House, whither they
betake themselves as soon as question time is over, leaving one or two
of their number to act as sentinels.
The cup of a young politician's happiness is filled to the brim on
that glad day when he is offered a post in the Ministry. It does not
actually overflow until he has been given a seat in the Cabinet
itself. Should such success attend him, the summit of his ambition is
within sight. In imagination he sees the mantle of Walpole descending
upon his shoulders. Before his eyes stretches a vista of political
splendour which only reaches a glorious conclusion when the vaults of
Westminster Abbey open to receive his ashes. There is but one fly in
the ointment. A member of the House of Commons who is appointed to
ministerial office has perforce to submit himself once more to the
judgment of the electors, and beg his constituents to return him again
to Parliament. This rule is some two centuries old, and was designed
to prevent the corruption of unworthy members who might otherwise be
bought by the offer of lucrative Crown appointments.[150] It is no
longer of any practical value for this purpose, and so tiresome a
practice, entailing as it does much hardship and expense upon a newly
created Minister, could well be abolished. Old customs die hard,
however, and nowhere do they take so "unconscionably long a time
a-dying" as in Parliament.
[150] Exceptions are made by Statute in favour of the Secretary of the
Treasury and some other officers, or of a Minister who is transferred
from one office to another in the same Administration.
The ratification by the sovereign of the Prime Minister's choice in
the matter of colleagues is a brief but not unimposing ceremony. To
each of the three Secretariats of State there belongs a seal which is
the outward and visible sign of the authority attaching to the post.
When a Government goes out of office and a fresh Ministry is
appointed, the seals are delivered up in person to the sovereign by
the outgoing Ministers. His Majesty then hands them to the members of
the new Administration, who receive their badges of office in a
suitably humble attitude, on their knees, and kiss the royal hand that
confers these favours.
[Illustration: A CABINET MEETING (THE COALITION MINISTRY OF 1854)
FROM THE DRAWING BY SIR JOHN GILBERT]
The seals of office have been the unconscious cause of more
indifferent puns than any other parliamentary institution. Statesmen
who have never previously been guilty of a sense of humour, and have
otherwise led blameless lives, seem unable to refrain from making
little jokes on the subject of seal fisheries--jokes which their
biographers affectionately enshrine as epigrams in their published
Lives.[151] We have fortunately outgrown such humour as this, and puns
are nowadays only to be found elsewhere among the _obiter dicta_ of
our judges and magistrates upon their respective benches.
[151] Lord Chancellors and Keepers of the Great Seal are very prone to
puns. When Lord Campbell replaced Lord Plunket as Chancellor of
Ireland he had to cross the Channel in a storm. Plunket's secretary
remarked that if the new Chancellor were not drowned, he would be very
sick. "Perhaps," said Plunket, "he'll throw up the seals!" Lord
Chancellor Westbury once told an eminent counsel that he was getting
as fat as a porpoise. "In that case," replied the other, "I am
evidently a fit companion of the great Seal." Lord Lyndhurst is
another Chancellor who made a joke of this sort. There must be
something, too, in the atmosphere of a change of Ministry which evokes
bad puns. When Disraeli was appointed to Lord Derby's Cabinet in 1852,
more than one eminent politician facetiously remarked that now
Benjamin's mess would be five times as great as that of the others.
And, fourteen years later, when the same statesman was bidden to form
a Ministry of his own, Lord Chelmsford, whom he had relieved of the
Chancellorship of the Exchequer, shamelessly observed that if the old
Government was "the Derby," this new one was certainly "the Hoax" (see
Martin's "Life of Lyndhurst," p. 481 n., and the "Life of Lord
Granville," vol. i. p. 479, etc.).
The Ministry is now formed. The Prime Minister moves into Downing
Street; his colleagues hasten to make themselves acquainted with the
work of their various departments. The parliamentary concert is about
to commence, and it is for the Premier as leader of the Government
orchestra to keep his band together as best he may. This is no easy
task. A single false note may mar the harmony of the whole
performance; the failure of one solitary instrumentalist may cause the
dismissal of the entire band. It is the conductor's duty to see that
his orchestra plays in unison, or, if not in unison, at least in
harmony. He must keep a watchful eye upon each individual, and quash
the efforts of any one member to perform a solo upon his own peculiar
trumpet. All round the platform sit the members of a former band,
stern critics anxious to seize the instruments from the hands of their
rivals and show the public how the tune should be played. Their
chance will soon arrive. For when the concert has gone on sufficiently
long, the popular audience grows weary of the performance and demands
something fresh. Another conductor is chosen, and another orchestra
engaged to play. The old band is dismissed, and its members are free
to return to their former avocations, wiser no doubt, but perhaps
poorer men.[152] But though from Parliament to Parliament the
performers may vary and the leaders change, the music remains very
much the same; and, while the country enjoys the privilege of paying
the piper, it is generally the piper who calls the tune.
[152] If Pitt had been dismissed from office "after more than five
years of boundless power," says Macaulay, "he would hardly have
carried out with him a sum sufficient to furnish a set of chambers in
which, as he cheerfully declared, he meant to resume the practice of
the Law."--"Miscellaneous Writings," p. 347.