AMERICA--IRELAND
I have associated these two heads of discussion because they have long
been coupled in home politics, at times disastrously, but now, it may
be hoped, under favouring auspices. On the lighter side of American
society and its first invasions of England he also touched. I shall
touch these in the next chapter, reserving this for the political
aspects of the question. My first chapter has already mentioned the
paragraph in his earliest pamphlet, dedicated to Canning.
Disraeli was always intensely interested in America, and watched her
development with vigilance. He predicted her imperial future. He
deprecated jealousy of her power, and, while England was incensed
at her conduct in 1871, he alone maintained that it was due to
the prejudices of a class and the objects of a party, not to the
national sentiment. He descried in America’s essential democracy,
which adheres even to her republican forms, one wholly peculiar to
herself--a democracy of the soil, of which the base and root is land,
underlying the gigantic commerce and colossal finance which are merely
the froth of her wealth; and in such a democracy he perceived an
element of stability lacking to every other known democratic country.
Before her crucial conflict was determined, he prophesied, too, among
the difficulties that must confront her, that of a vast number of
emancipated negroes. When the great struggle arose between the energy
of the North and the traditions of the South, Disraeli also, alone
among the leaders of his party, discerned both the probabilities of
the winning side and its aptitude for moderation and self-control.
For this sagacity he received Mr. Bright’s approbation in 1865. When
the civil war was in process, the gentry of England, naturally and
generously sympathetic with the Southerners, had suspected that Canada
might be threatened, and had wished something “to be done;” Disraeli
restrained and allayed them. Mr. Bright said: “With a thoughtfulness
and statesmanship which you do not all acknowledge, he did not say a
word from that bench likely to create a difficulty with the United
States. I think his chief and his followers might learn something from
his example.” I quote this meed from an opponent, because Mr. Bryce,
in his recent monograph, implies the contrary; but then, Mr. Bryce
sometimes trips, and has made the trifling mistake of naming “Lucian”
as Disraeli’s pet classic, whereas surely it was “Tacitus.”
Disraeli’s leading idea as to America was that, although she had long
achieved independence, her original spirit had remained colonial,
but that her civil war would transform the past colony into a coming
empire. Speaking in 1863, he said--
“I am bound to say that from the first--and subsequent events have
only confirmed my convictions--I have always looked upon the struggle
in America in the light of a great revolution.[135] Great revolutions,
whatever may be their alleged causes, are not likely to be commenced,
or to be concluded, with precipitation. _Before the civil war
commenced, the United States were colonies_, because we should not
forget that such communities do not cease to be colonies because they
are independent. _They were not only colonies, but colonising_; and
they existed under all the conditions of colonial life except that
of mere political dependence. _But even before the civil war_, I
think that all impartial observers must have been convinced that in
that community _there were smouldering elements which indicated the
possibility of a change, and perhaps of a violent change_. The immense
increase of population; the still greater increase of wealth; the
introduction of foreign races in large numbers as citizens, not brought
up under the laws and customs which were adapted to a more limited,
and practically a more homogeneous, race; the character of the
political constitution, consequent, perhaps, on these circumstances;
_the absence of any theatre for the ambitious and refined intellects
of the country, which deteriorated public spirit and lowered public
morality_; and, above all, _the increasing influence of the United
States upon the political fortunes of Europe_;--these were all
circumstances which indicated _the more than possibility that the mere
colonial character of these communities might suddenly be violently
subverted, and those imperial characteristics appear which seem to
be the destiny of man_. I cannot conceal from myself the conviction
that, whoever in this House may be young enough to live to witness
the ultimate consequences of this civil war, will see, whenever the
waters have subsided, a different America from that which was known
to our fathers, and even from that of which this generation has had
so much experience. _It will be an America of armies, of diplomacy,
of rival states and manœuvring cabinets, of frequent turbulence, and
probably of frequent wars._ With these views, I have myself, during the
last session, exerted whatever influence I possessed in endeavouring
to dissuade my friends from embarrassing her Majesty’s Government in
that position of politic and dignified reserve which they appeared to
me to have taken upon this question. It did not appear to me, looking
at these transactions across the Atlantic, _not as events of a mere
casual character, but being such as might probably influence, as the
great French Revolution influenced, and is still influencing, European
affairs_, that there was on our part, due to the _existing authorities_
in America, a large measure of deference in the difficulties which they
had to encounter. At the same time, it was natural to feel ... the
greatest respect for those Southern States, who, representing a vast
population of men, were struggling for some of the greatest objects of
existence--independence and power....”
Long before this--in 1856--he had said, when America’s attitude towards
Central American troubles was irritating England, that in his opinion
“... it would be wise if England would at last recognise that the
United States, like all the great countries of Europe, _had a policy,
and a right to have a policy_. It was foolish for England to regard
with jealousy _any legitimate extension of the territory of the United
States beyond the bounds originally fixed_.” Such a jealousy would
not arrest or retard the development of America; but it might involve
disasters. He instanced California and the gloomy forebodings at home
with regard to it, none of which had been realised; and he impressed
upon the House that “_It was the business of a statesman to recognise
the necessity of an increase of power in the States._” The same year
evoked another speech which forecasts the tenour of that in 1863, and
is a fresh witness of the continuity of his imaginative insight, and
his wakeful constancy of his purpose. After deprecating jealousy of
America’s political and commercial progress, he thus proceeded--
“... I cannot forget that the United States, though independent,
_are still in some sense colonies, and are influenced by colonial
tendencies_; and when they come in contact with large portions of
territory scarcely populated, or at the most sparsely occupied by an
indolent and unintelligent race of men, _it is impossible--and you
yourselves find it impossible--to resist the tendency to expansion;
and expansion in that sense is not injurious to England_, for it
contributes to the wealth of this country (let us say this in a
whisper, lest it cross the Atlantic) more than it diminishes the power
of the United States. In our foreign relations with the United States,
therefore, I am opposed to that litigious spirit of jealousy which
looks upon the expansion of that country and the advance of these young
communities with an eye of jealousy and distrust.”
What he realised and first proclaimed, was that America was ceasing
to be a mongrel blend or a colonial people, and was fast becoming
a national community, with a voice, a vigour, a tendency, and in
every department a twang, so to say, of its own; that, moreover,
this consolidation would tend towards empire, and that England must
prepare for and reckon with it, especially as a partial crudeness and
rudeness are to some extent inseparable from developments so sudden.
It had not always been thus. Even long after the Puritan settlement,
the primæval charm of an aboriginal race clung to its forests and
prairies. The strain, the science of race, fascinated Disraeli;
the unsubdued and the untameable ever appealed to him. Races could
only be replaced by nations; and the interval was always atomic and
confused; but it was also one of primitive dash and daring. As a youth,
Disraeli, in _Contarini_, had dreamed of such a life. In _Venetia_[136]
he had wondered whether the Atlantic would ever be so memorable as
the Mediterranean; whether pushfulness would ever attain refinement;
whether its provincialism might not be doomed to weakness. “... Its
civilisation will be more rapid, but will it be ... as permanent?...
What America is deficient in is creative intelligence. _It has no
nationality._ Its intelligence has been imported like its manufactured
goods. _Its inhabitants are a people, but are they a nation?_ I wish
that the empire of the Incas and the kingdom of Montezuma had not been
sacrificed. I wish that the republic of the Puritans had blended with
the tribes of the Wilderness.”
Two dangers for England, however, emanated from America; and perhaps
they were connected. The one was American Anglophobia, the other
Fenianism. The one might estrange our North American colonies; the
other was to imperil our national unity.
In 1865, Disraeli addressed himself to the former. The American war
was not then decided. He was not of opinion that, when it ended, our
connection with Canada would bring us into collision with America.
He did not believe that if the North was vanquished, it would “feel
inclined to enter immediately into another struggle with a power not
inferior in determination and in resources to the Southern States of
America;” and he saw many rocks ahead to divert the advancing tide--
“I form that opinion because I believe that the people of the United
States are eminently a sagacious people. I don’t think they are
insensible to the glory of great dominion and extended empire, and I
give them equally credit for being influenced by passions which actuate
mankind, and particularly nations which enjoy such freedom as they do.
But ... I do not think they would seize the moment of exhaustion as
being the most favourable for the prosecution of an enterprise which
would require great resources and great exertions.”
He then turned to the opinions which had been ventilated on American
platforms and in certain American newspapers. He refused to judge the
real American character and opinions by them. “I look upon them,” he
said, “as I should look upon those strange and fantastic drinks ...
which are such favourites on the other side of the Atlantic; and I
should as soon suppose this rowdy rhetoric was the expression of the
real feelings of the American people, as that these potations formed
the aliment and nutriment of their bodies.” And he thus explained a
point which I have already noticed: “There is another reason why this
violent course will not be adopted. The democracy of America must not
be confounded with the democracy of the Old World. _It is not formed
by the scum of turbulent cities_: neither is it merely a section of
an exhausted middle class, _which speculates in stocks and calls that
progress. It is a territorial democracy._ Aristotle, who has taught us
most of the wise things we know, never said a wiser one than this--that
the cultivators of the soil are the least inclined to sedition and to
violent courses. Now, being a territorial democracy, their character
has been formed and influenced, in a manner, by the property with
which they are connected, and by the pursuits they follow; and a sense
of responsibility arising from the reality of their possessions may
much influence their future conduct. On the other hand, this great
change would certainly alter the spirit of society, and perhaps of
government.” But he saw clearly the difficulties that still beset her.
“... We must recollect that even if the Federal Government should be
triumphant, it will have to deal with most perplexing questions and
with a discontented population.... The slave population will then be
no longer slaves. _There will be several millions of another race
emancipated and invested with all the rights of freemen; and, so far
as the letter of the law is concerned, they will be upon an equality
with the Saxon race, with whom they can possibly have no sympathy....
Nothing tends more to the discontent of a people than that they should
be in possession of privileges and rights which practically are not
recognised, and which they do not enjoy._”
Such were the elements of disunion. To cope with them a strong
government was requisite; and that meant a _centralising_ government
with a military force at its command to uphold unity and order. Our
colonies, on the other hand, were free from such obstacles, and were
themselves developing an “element of nationality.” They would not be
assailed. But none the less, we must reckon with the United States
in “the balance of power.” He would not say that a class in America
regarded old Europe “with feelings of jealousy or vindictiveness,” “...
but it is undeniable that the United States look to old Europe with _a
want of sympathy. They have no sympathy with a country that is created
and sustained by tradition._” We must, therefore, for the far future,
foster and defend our colonies. If Canada had preferred absorption
by America, “... we might terminate our connection with dignity, and
without disaster.” But if, as appeared, Canada and our North American
colonies desired deeply and sincerely “to form a considerable state
and develop its resources, and to preserve the patronage and aid of
England, ... then it would be the greatest political blunder that
could be conceived, for us to renounce, relinquish, and avoid the
responsibility of maintaining our interests in Canada.”
American Anglophobia once more engaged his attention in 1871. The pith
of his criticism may be summarised by the purport of that elegant
metaphor, “Twisting the lion’s tail.” With regard to the _Alabama_
claims, their “indirect” demands, and the disputes with our colonies,
which once more provoked British feeling, Disraeli now complained that
America’s communications with England had been couched in arrogant
terms, while those with Russia and Germany had been courteous.
He declared that it was caused by rowdy rhetoric addressed to
“irresponsible millions.” “... The reason of this offensive conduct,”
he continued, “is this: there is a _party_ in America, _who certainly
do not monopolise the intelligence, education, and property of the
country, and who, I believe, are not numerically the strongest, who
attempt to obtain political power and excite political passion by
abusing England and its Government, because they believe they can
do so with impunity_.... The danger is this. Habitually exciting the
passions of millions, some unfortunate thing happens, or something
unfortunate is said in either country; the fire lights up, it is beyond
their control, and the two nations are landed in a contest which they
can no longer prevent.... Though I should look upon it as the darkest
hour of my life, if I were to counsel, or even to support, a war with
the United States, still, the United States should know that they are
not an exception to the other countries of the world, that we do not
permit ourselves to be insulted by any other country in the world, and
that they cannot be an exception.” Nevertheless, with regard to these
very matters, he reiterated as late as 1872: “Ever since I sat in this
House, I have always endeavoured to maintain and cherish relations of
cordiality and confidence between the United Kingdom and the United
States. I have felt that between those two great countries the material
interests were so vast, _were likely so greatly to increase_, and were
in their character so mutually beneficial to both countries, that
they alone formed bonds of union.... But I could not forget that,
in the relations between the United States and England, _there was
an element also of sentiment_, which ought never to be despised in
politics, and without which there can be no enduring alliance. When
the unhappy Civil War occurred, I endeavoured, therefore, so far as I
could, to maintain ... a strict neutrality between the Northern and
the Southern states.... There were some at a particular time ... who
were anxious to obtain the recognition of the Southern states by this
country. I never could share that opinion.... We were of opinion that,
had that recognition occurred, it would not have averted the final
catastrophe, ... and it would, at the same time, have necessarily
involved this country in a war with the Northern states, _while there
were circumstances then existing in Europe which made us believe that
the war might not have been limited to America_.”
I must now consider Fenianism. Every one now knows that Fenianism,
at its inception in 1865, though its pretext was Ireland and its
rallying centre America, was really an _international_ ruffianism for
the disruption of the foundations of social order--was, in fact, an
alliance of anarchists with soldiers of misfortune. Disraeli discerned
this from the first. Plots and conspiracies of all kinds piqued at once
his curiosity, his skill, and his fancy. I was told, more than thirty
years ago, by an old gentleman who was a schoolfellow of Disraeli,
that he remembered a boyish mutiny. Disraeli headed the conspiracy,
and the head-master himself listened at the keyhole, spellbound by the
eloquence that controlled it. He loved to unravel their machinations,
to contrast their underground conclaves with their open appearance.
Conspiracies abound in _Vivian Grey_, _Alroy_, _Iskander_, _Contarini
Fleming_, _Sybil_, and _Tancred_; these very secret societies, together
with those of Jesuitry, pervade _Lothair_. “Mirandola” and “Captain
Bruges” are drawn from life. When Fenianism raged in Ireland, Disraeli
himself crossed the Channel and attended their meetings. He spoke
about what he knew; and if secret societies were his hobby, he was yet
undoubtedly right in ascribing most of the unforeseen abroad to their
initiation.
Adverting, in 1872, to its fatal influence on Ireland, he remarked:
“... The Civil War in America had just ceased, and a band of military
adventurers, Poles, Italians, and many Irishmen, concocted at New York
a conspiracy to invade Ireland, with the belief that the whole country
would rise to welcome them. How that conspiracy was baffled ... I
need not now remind you.... You remember how the constituencies were
appealed to, to vote against the Government who had made so unfit an
appointment as that of Lord Mayo to the Viceroyalty of India. It was by
his great qualities when Secretary for Ireland, by his vigilance, his
courage, his patience, and his perseverance, that this conspiracy was
defeated. He knew what was going on at New York, just as well as what
was going on in the city of Dublin?...” And when, only a year before,
the then Lord Hartington, at a moment of Fenian resurrection, withdrew
his motion for a secret committee, Disraeli inveighed against an
indecision that would be flashed in an hour across the Atlantic. This
new movement of Fenianism brought America into dangerous relations
with England. And in many disguises and under mitigated forms, it half
associated itself with the agitation for repeal, and the restless
intrigues of the Papacy. Paid Nationalists and peasant priests were
brought into connection with these Swiss guards of treason, ready to
compass the destruction of property and authority in any country, and
for any cause. It had been otherwise before its invention in America.
When O’Connell--the great O’Connell as, despite everything, Disraeli
publicly confessed when he died--supported Disraeli (who began as an
“Independent”) at his first election in 1832, he did so on the common
ground that both abominated the Whig system and desired the extension
of reform. It was only afterwards, when O’Connell pronouncedly lent
himself to what tended towards a repetition of “Captain Rock,” and
became at once an agitator for dismemberment[137] and a pillar of the
Whigs, that the young Disraeli denounced the fellowship of the dagger
with the mitre, and incensed the degenerating patriot into insult. But
the violence in Ireland of O’Connell’s days was native. It sprang from,
and it disgraced, the soil. Fenianism, however, added to the ancient
terrors of a country distressed to madness and goaded into crime, the
worst horrors of cosmopolitan conspiracies mated with every movement
for the unsettlement of Europe; and for a while it tainted every breath
of Irish nationalism, not only with detestation of England, but with
enthusiasm for her enemies. The “Clan-na-gael” still foments the last
vestiges of genuine discontent; but the headquarters seem to have
shifted from New York to a European capital. And yet so unconcerted and
unprepared was Ireland herself, however equipped and compact were these
mercenary foreigners, that Disraeli makes “Captain Bruges” exclaim in
_Lothair_, after his rescue of the hero at the meeting, held under the
sham banners of St. Joseph and harangued by a mock priest, “They manage
their affairs in general wonderfully close, but I have no opinion of
them. I have just returned from Ireland, where I thought I would go
and see what they really are after. No real business in them. Their
treason is a fairy tale, and their sedition a child talking in its
sleep.”
* * * * *
And this brings me to Disraeli’s ideas concerning the romantic, the
persecuted, the generous, the witty, the pathetic Ireland.
No one who has studied his career can question his intense sympathy.
Many of his earliest friends had been brilliant Irishmen and
Irishwomen. He too sprang from a race once persecuted, still pathetic,
always witty and romantic. Already, in 1843, Disraeli had exclaimed:
“You must reorganise and reconstruct the Government, and even the
social state of Ireland.... By really penetrating into the mystery of
this great misgovernment” might be brought about “a state of society
which would be advantageous both to England and Ireland, and which
would put an end to a state of things that was the bane of England
and opprobrium of Europe.” But his ideas are conspicuously set forth
in the great speech of 1844, which won the high praise of Macaulay,
which Mr. Gladstone, some quarter of a century later, described as
one of the “most closely woven tissues of argument and observation
that had ever been heard in the House,” and the reperusal of which
he recommended as an intellectual “treat;” though Disraeli himself
then ironically observed that when he delivered it, nobody appeared
to listen. “It seemed to me that I was pouring water upon sand, but
it seems now that the water came from a golden goblet.” He showed
that, politically, Ireland was an open question. It was not the
Tories who started the penal code. Mr. Pitt would have settled the
question long ago had not the great war diverted his policy. Again,
the grievances of Ireland were not due to Protestantism. They were
owing to Puritanism--Puritanism in disloyal rebellion against which
loyal Ireland rebelled. Ireland, he proved, was never so contented
as in 1635. There was then perfect civil and religious equality. “At
that period there was a Parliament in Dublin called by a Protestant
king, presided over by a Protestant viceroy, and at that moment there
was a Protestant Established Church in Ireland; yet the majority of
the members of that Parliament were Roman Catholics. The government
was at that time carried on by a council of state presided over
by a Protestant deputy, yet many of the members of that council
were Roman Catholics. The municipalities were then full of Roman
Catholics. Several of the sheriffs also were Roman Catholics, and a
very considerable number of magistrates were Roman Catholics. _It is,
therefore, very evident that it is not the necessary consequence of
English connection--of a Protestant monarchy, or even of a Protestant
Church--that this embittered feeling at present exists; nor that
that system of exclusion, which either in form or spirit has so long
existed, is the consequence of Protestantism._”
It was not the Protestantism, not the connection, but the kind of
Protestantism, the sort of connection, the exclusive and selfish
spirit, that filled Ireland with ferment.
Hitherto Government had offered “a little thing in a great way.”[138]
“Justice to Ireland” had been long cried on the housetops. What was the
meaning of that cry? It only signified a forced _identity_ of English
institutions with Irish. Identity, however, was just what Ireland
resented with disgust.
What were her stumbling-blocks and stones of offence? What was “the
Irish question”? “One says it is a physical question, another a
spiritual. Now it is the absence of the aristocracy, now the absence of
railroads. It is the Pope one day, potatoes the next. Let us consider
Ireland as we should any other country similarly situated.... Then we
shall see a teeming population, which, with reference to the cultivated
soil, is denser to the square mile than that of China; created solely
by agriculture, with none of those sources of wealth which are
developed with civilisation, and sustained, consequently, on the lowest
conceivable diet; so that, in case of failure, they have no other means
of subsistence upon which they can fall back. That dense population
in extreme distress inhabit an island where there is an Established
Church which is not their Church, and a territorial aristocracy, the
richest of whom live in distant capitals. Thus you have a starving
population, an absentee aristocracy, and an alien Church; _and, in
addition, the weakest executive in the world_. That is the Irish
question. What were the remedies?
“To begin with, and before anything else, you must have a
representative, a responsive, a _strong_ Executive. Ireland is an
exceptional piece of the United Kingdom, and she alone demands what is
foreign to the English spirit--_centralisation_ of government. Next,
the administration must be _impartial_. There must be no exclusion
and no favouritism. You must also have _ecclesiastical equality_. The
Church in Ireland must change the tone of its temper. And you must
‘_reconstruct_ the social system’ of Ireland. ‘All great things are
difficult;’ but it is more difficult to reconstruct a society than a
party. Agitation only unsettles: it does not settle; and it means the
incompetence of a Government. You must ‘create public opinion instead
of following it; lead the public instead of always lagging after and
watching others.’
“... What, then, is the duty of an English minister? _To effect by his
policy all those changes which a revolution would do by force...._ It
is quite evident that, to effect this, we must have an Executive in
Ireland which shall bear _a much nearer relation to the leading classes
and characters_ of the country than it does at present. There must
be a much more _comprehensive_ Executive, and then, having produced
order, the rest is a question of time. There is no possible way by
which the physical condition of the people can be improved by Act of
Parliament.”[139]
So I read this pregnant deliverance. So, I believe, will read it any
one who scans it closely in relation to its time and setting. In
1868, when there was capital to be made out of it, Mr. Gladstone did
not so read it. Mr. Gladstone contended--and he had full right to
contend--that, with regard to the Church, at any rate, it spelled out
“Destruction.” Disraeli contented himself with retorting: “... There
are many remarks which, if I wanted to vindicate ... myself, I might
legitimately make.... But I do not care to say it, and I do not wish
to say it, because in my conscience the _sentiment of that speech
was right_....” My view is that it spelled out “Reconstruction.” It
would have settled Ireland and the Irish question by the principles of
1636 and on the lines of 1792, and not either by the Orange lodges of
1795, which answered Pitt’s abortive schemes of improvement, or by the
undemanded spoliation of 1868, which trebled the discontent it designed
to allay. All Pitt’s proposed measures were against _exclusion_.
He tried to grant Ireland that free outlet for her manufactures to
England which had proved her main source of discontent throughout the
eighteenth century. He tried to include the Protestant Dissenters as
well as the Roman Catholics in the avenues to political power. He was
foiled by the selfishness and corruption of an Irish caste, and by
the spread of the French Revolution to the Irish multitude. But in
each case _inclusion_ was his principle; development, not destruction.
Disraeli followed him. It was his hatred of exclusiveness that prompted
his aversion alike to the Whiggism of the Grenvilles and the Toryism of
Eldon. It was his devotion to wide and popular as opposed to democratic
and class principles that drew him to the Toryism of Bolingbroke and
Wyndham, and enabled him to reconstruct the Tory party on its first but
forgotten foundations.
But if we want a practical comment on the speech of 1844, we have it
in an utterance of 1868. In 1868 he defined the position: “... I said
the other night, as I say now, that I think you might elevate the
_status_ of the unendowed clergy in Ireland.... My opinion is, that if
this system of conciliation, founded on the principle that in Ireland
_you ought to create and not destroy_, had been pursued, you might have
elevated the Irish Church greatly to its advantage. You might have
rendered it infinitely more useful.... I do not think it impossible
that you might have introduced measures which would have elevated
the _status_ of the unendowed clergy, and so softened and terminated
those feelings of inequality which now exist, _so that you might
have had the same equality in the state of Ireland which you have in
England_. There is perfect equality in the state of the Dissenter in
England, although his is no established Church. That state of things
might exist in Ireland, if you had taken measures which would, among a
sensitive people, have prevented a sentiment of humiliation.... Without
disestablishment, without the difficulties and dangers of concurrent
endowment, there might have been a system of Government grants both
to Romanists and Dissenters for education and other public objects.
That is how I interpret the ‘ecclesiastical equality’ of 1844; ‘to
create and not to destroy.’”[140] And, speaking again of his desire to
supplement the educational means for the Roman Catholics, he said: “...
That is in accordance with our uniform policy, ... a reconciliation
between creeds and classes.”
After 1844 the Irish question still festered. Nowhere did the repeal
of the Corn Laws inflict more immediate distress than in a country so
dependent on native agriculture as Ireland was then and still remains.
Pauperism became the crying evil of Ireland. Even in 1869, more than a
quarter of the inhabitants were paupers. Pauperism defied “political
palliatives.” The Government of Ireland, despite his warnings, remained
a weak one, and, alluding to this in a famous speech of 1869, he
pertinently brought into prominence the fact that what strength it
has depends now on its connection with England. “... The Government
of Ireland is not a strong one; its sanctions are less valid than
those of the Government of England. It has not the historic basis
which England rests upon. It has not the tradition which the English
Government rests upon. It does not depend upon that vast accumulation
of manners and customs which in England are really more powerful than
laws or statutes.” What Disraeli felt all along was that Ireland
needed security for capital and variety of employment; and that for
these repose and order were requisite. In November, 1868, alluding
to the naturalisation of Fenianism in Ireland at a time when Ireland
was inherently contented and immeasurably superior to her plight in
1844--when she had begun to rest and be thankful--he made the following
comment:--
“... In Ireland there was always a degree of morbid discontent which
the Fenians believe they may fan into flame, and which might lead to
the revolutionary result they desire. The whole nature of the race
will account for it. An Irishman is an imaginative being. He lives in
an island, in a damp climate and contiguous to the melancholy ocean.
_He has no variety of pursuit._ There is no nation in the world that
leads so monotonous a life as the Irish, because _their only occupation
is the cultivation of the soil before them_.... The Irishman in other
countries, _where he has a fair field for his talents in various
occupations, is equal, if not superior, to most races_.... I may say
with frankness that I think this is the fault of the Irish. If they
led that kind of life which would invite the introduction of capital
into the country, all this ability might be utilised; and instead of
those feelings which they acquire by brooding over the history of
their country, a great part of which is merely traditionary, you would
find men acquiring fortunes, and arriving at conclusions on politics
entirely different from those which they now offer.”
The same outlook prompted him in another speech to regret the cry of
a “conquered people” which the manipulators of grievance perpetually
raised. Ireland was no more a conquered country than England. In both
there had been conquerors and conquests;[141] but in both a blend of
races and institutions which had produced a nation in one, and made for
nationality in the other.
Time went on. Ireland had improved by rest. There was even
prosperity in her borders. Fenianism was subsiding.[142] Classes
were less estranged. Emigration had increased, but the Liberals
welcomed emigration. Disraeli had risen into supreme power, and had
constitutionalised the democracy by his Bill of 1867. The Radicals were
incensed at the measure, which they had coveted in another form and
with sectional objects. The stiffer even of his own party stood aghast,
and some seceded. The Liberals began to nibble at the Radical bait. It
is a curious fact that the Whigs, when in political despair, usually
resort to a revolutionary measure. Already, over thirty years before,
they had done so in connection with Ireland. Suddenly, without warning,
without a popular mandate, or even an Irish outcry for the upheaval,
like a bolt from the blue came Mr. Gladstone’s first great conversion
from principles firmly protested only a year before.[143] The question
was sprung on both countries. He brought in, and in a manner so
imperious that a solid portion of his own followers deserted him, his
Act for the Disestablishment and Disendowment of the Irish Church; not
only for its severance from the State, but for its spoliation by the
State.
In the abstract its disestablishment, apart from its disendowment,
was a great, a just, and a generous measure; theoretically it was as
sound as bimetallism. But its logical issues were incompatible with a
united kingdom. They really, on examination, involved that separatist
theory of the “right” of “nationalities” to be self-governing, of
which he grew so fond. “Nationality” is here a wrong expression, for
“nationality” is, by its essence, a term of union, and not of division.
It should be “Locality.” What is meant by this assumed “right” is, that
particular races or particular provinces, absorbed into or dependent on
“nationalities,” are entitled, from the mere fact of their geographical
limits, to withdraw from the greater whole of which they are portions.
This theory would revive the Heptarchy. It would make Jersey and
Guernsey, or the Isle of Man, it would make Scotland or Wales, a
“nation.”
I say that Mr. Gladstone’s measure, introduced when and how it was,
and with its double purport, involved these conclusions, because if
the mere existence of an “alien Church” justifies the severance of the
ties between authority and religion, and the plunder of its revenues
for purposes other than that for which they were created, then the same
reasoning would not only justify the abolition of an alien and the
substitution of a native government, but also a refusal to contribute
any revenue to the deposed government at all. There might be occasions
demanding such a course. An oppressive Church, a tyrannical government,
might well be swept away by a statesman with ears to hear the cries of
impatience and eyes to see the ravages of injustice--a true statesman
who, as Disraeli said in 1844, would accomplish by statute and
conciliation what revolutions necessitate by force.
But this was not one of them. The English Church itself was not
practically resented, however its historical existence might be
made to rankle in common with the other historical anomalies in
Ireland, including its connection with England. The Church itself had
been bettered, and might be still more improved. It was alive with
opportunities. The Catholics and the Dissenters might, apart from
the Establishment, which stood for British authority, be set upon a
complete equality, and helped towards usefulness in many directions.
The Church itself had proved a valuable educational centre. The Roman
clergy called, not for its extinction, but for its disendowment; and
rather because they could not bear to think that it was there at all,
just as they cannot bear to think that it exists in England, than
because they wanted the revenues or suffered under the rebuffs or
rivalry of an English Church. It was an argument, as Disraeli put it,
that might be paralleled if all those Irish gentlemen who had small
estates, but frequented the same society, were to say that their
brethren of large estates should surrender their revenues to the State;
or if the unendowed hospitals of London were to exact the deprival of
the endowments enjoyed by St. Bartholomew’s, St. Thomas’s, and Guy’s,
not with the object of themselves sharing them, but out of wanton envy.
Disraeli delivered three main speeches of great power, interest, and
length on this subject. I shall not quote them in words, but shall only
endeavour to present their pith.
As regards the _Disestablishment_.
He objected to it on principle--the principles outlined in my second
chapter. The union of Church and State is a symbol of the Divine nature
of government, which is the only truth underlying the obsolete fiction
of the “Divine Right of Kings.” He objected to it on policy. Divorce
the religious principle from that of government, and it is the State
that will suffer most. The result must be disorder. One day that might
take a peculiar form. The political power once separated from the
spiritual, a crisis might arise where the two might collide; and where,
though the political power might be right, the spiritual would appeal
in haste to both passion and prejudice.
As regards the _Disendowment_.
He objected to it on principle. The plunder of public corporations was
nothing new, but where the trust for which the corporation had been
endowed was not observed in the application of the spoil by the State,
which was a trustee, it was indefensible. It became confiscation.
“Irish purposes” were vaguely hinted as the destination, but the repeal
of the whisky duty might be an “Irish purpose;” and where was the sense
of dedicating some of this annexed property to Irish pauper lunatics?
Moreover, historically, he had always noticed that the spoil of the
Church went eventually to enrich the large landed proprietors.
He objected to it on policy. One of the causes of discontent was
alleged to be that a particular Church was not connected with the
State. Mr. Gladstone proposed to regenerate the country by having
_three_ Churches not connected with the State. Discontent, however,
would still remain smouldering, and Disraeli prophesied that its next
phase would threaten the tenure of land. What would be the effect in
this relation of having three Churches disconnected from the State? The
land question would, he predicted, assume many threatening forms with
one purpose--a purpose against the rights and the duties of property.
One Church was to be deprived of property which none of the others
claimed. Three sets of clergy were to be equally apart from the State.
A class in the first place, therefore, and that a class of resident
proprietors, was to be destroyed; when it was agreed that one of the
evils in Ireland was the want of a variety of classes and of resident
proprietors. In the second, one of the avowed evils, the curse of
Ireland, was poverty; but here was an Act to confiscate property, and
that property in its nature popular--the appanage of the people.
When the land question should arise, there might ensue a triple danger,
that of three sets of clergy divided in theology and matters of
discipline, but united in discontent; and the three might eventually
demand the restoration of the national property; and if it were
refused, there might be revolution. England could afford no more
revolutions. But, in any case, the spoliation of the Protestant clergy
would breed jealousies among themselves also; for they were actually
invited and induced (by means which he exposed) to co-operate in their
own expropriation. The plunder of the Catholic clergy had bred great
discontent. The plunder of the Protestant clergy would do the same.
And if discontent were left to grow as it went, the land outcry would
produce others, and they again others in their turn and train. There
would be no rest, no finality. It would be discontent without end.
Far more than this, however, he objected to the ultimate consequences
of this revolutionary departure. Confiscation was contagious. What was
now applied--and applied in a form aggravated by its complications--to
the national property, might one day be applied to private property.
What was now applied to Ireland might one day be forcibly applied
to England. If the public disaster of the disestablishment and
disendowment of the English Church ever took place, in deference to
the jealousy of a class and not because of its own inherent decay as a
great civil and ecclesiastical institution, it would be aided by the
precedent of Ireland.
Such is the pith, though many of the details and much of the historical
criticism are omitted; nor have I here dealt with the Maynooth and
“Regium Donum” problems and their bearings on these matters, which
Disraeli discussed in full. But I have condensed enough to point the
path of his ideas.
Not all these dismal forebodings have yet been realised; but many of
them, unfortunately, came to pass. Ireland’s discontent, Catholic
discontent, were, neither of them, allayed by the disestablishment and
disendowment of the Protestant Church. The clergy of that Church are
still far from contented. The land question burst out within a brief
space of Disraeli’s prediction. It brought with it a long and fatal
series of cumulative troubles; and, as Disraeli had also predicted,
the actual rights of civil property, the rights of civilised society,
became invaded. “Compensation for disturbance” asserted the right to
pay no rent. For a time the last state of Ireland was almost worse
than the first. There were “months of murder, incendiarism, and every
conceivable outrage.” “The Executive absolutely abandoned their
functions.” Disraeli’s last trumpet-call was to warn the country, in
his celebrated letter to the Lord-Lieutenant, that there were those
who wished to sever Ireland from England as part of a scheme for the
disruption of the Empire. In 1881 he adverted to that warning.
“... Now what was the consequence of that declaration? The present
Government took an early opportunity soon after I had made that
declaration, to express a contrary opinion. They said there was in
Ireland an absence of crime and outrage, with a general sense of
comfort and satisfaction.... I warned the constituencies that there
was going on in Ireland a conspiracy which aimed at the disunion of
the two countries, and probably at something more. I said that if they
were not careful something might happen almost as bad as pestilence and
famine.... My observations, of course, were treated with that ridicule
which a successful election always secures....”
We all know the rest. The country was only saved by a secession of the
light and leading of the Liberal party from their rash and misguided
leader. Wisdom has been justified of her child.
In conclusion, let me say that none would have welcomed more gratefully
than Disraeli the statesmanlike effort to settle the land question
which has recently made England the landlord of Ireland. He might have
descried in it elements of difficulty, and even of some danger for the
future. But it would, in the main, I am confident, have received his
unstinted support; for it is founded on the rock of conciliation--on
Disraeli’s policy “_To create and not to destroy_.”