candidature. One must be very young indeed to find it even tolerable. A
candidate engaged in a house-to-house canvass has always seemed to me
(and not least clearly when I was the candidate) to sink beneath the
level of humanity. To beg for votes, as if they were alms or broken
victuals, is a form of mendicancy which is incompatible with common
self-respect, and yet it is a self-abasement which thirty years ago
custom imperatively demanded. "If my vote ain't worth calling for, I
suppose it ain't worth 'aving" was the formula in which the elector
stated his requirement.
To trudge, weary and footsore, dusty and deliquescent, from door to
door; to ask, with damnable iteration, if Mr. So-and-so is at home, and
to meet the invariable rejoinder, "No, he isn't," not seldom running on
with--"And, if he was, he wouldn't see you;" to find oneself (being
Blue) in a Red quarter, where the very children hoot at you, and
inebriate matrons shout personalities from upper windows--all this is
detestable enough. But to find the voter at home and unfriendly is an
experience which plunges the candidate lower still. A curious tradition
of privileged insolence, which runs through all English history from the
days when great men kept Jesters and the Universities had their _Terræ
Filii_, asserts itself, by immemorial usage, at an election. People who
would be perfectly civil if one called on them in the ordinary way, and
even rapturously grateful if they could sell one six boxes of lucifers
or a pound of toffee, permit themselves a freedom of speech to the
suppliant candidate, which tests the fibre of his manhood. If he loses
his temper and answers in like sort, the door is shut on him with some
Parthian jeer, and, as he walks dejectedly away, the agent says--"Ah,
it's a pity you offended that fellow. He's very influential in this
ward, and I believe a civil word would have won him." If, on the other
hand, the candidate endures the raillery and smiles a sickly smile, he
really fares no better. After a prolonged battle of wits (in which he
takes care not to be too successful) he discovers that the beery
gentleman in shirtsleeves has no vote, and that, in the time which he
has spent in these fruitless pleasantries, he might have canvassed half
the street.
There is, of course, a pleasanter side to canvassing. It warms the
cockles of one's heart to be greeted with the words, "Don't waste your
time here, sir. My vote's yours before you ask for it. There's your
picture over the chimney-piece." And when a wife says, "My husband is
out at work, but I know he means to vote for you," one is inclined to
embrace her on the spot.
These are the amenities of electioneering; but a man who enters on a
political campaign expecting fair treatment from his opponents is indeed
walking in a vain shadow. The ordinary rules of fairplay and
straightforward conduct are forgotten at an election. In a political
contest people say and do a great many things of which in every-day life
they would be heartily ashamed. An election-agent of the old school once
said to me in the confidence of after-dinner claret, "For my own part,
when I go into a fight, I go in to win, and I'm not particular to a
shade or two." All this is the common form of electioneering, but in one
respect I think my experience rather unusual. I have been all my life as
keen a Churchman as I am a Liberal, and some of my closest friends are
clergymen. I never found that the Nonconformists were the least
unfriendly to me on this account. They had their own convictions, and
they respected mine; and we could work together in perfect concord for
the causes of Humanity and Freedom. But the most unscrupulous opponents
whom I have ever encountered have been the parochial clergy of the
Church to which I belong, and the bands of "workers" whom they direct.
Tennyson once depicted a clergyman who--
"From a throne
Mounted in heaven should shoot into the dark
Arrows of lightnings,"
and graciously added that he "would stand and mark." But, when the Vicar
from his pulpit-throne launches barbed sayings about "those who would
convert our schools into seminaries of Atheism or Socialism, and would
degrade this hallowed edifice into a Lecture-Hall--nay, a Music-Hall,"
then the Liberal candidate, constrained to "sit and mark" these bolts
aimed at his cause, is tempted to a breach of charity. The Vicar's
"workers" follow suit, but descend a little further into personalities.
"You know that the Radical Candidate arrived drunk at one of his
meetings? He had to be lifted out of the carriage, and kept in the
Committee Room till he was sober. Shocking, isn't it? and then such
shameful hypocrisy to talk about Local Option! But can you wonder? You
know he's an atheist? Oh yes, I know he goes to Church, but that's all a
blind. His one object is to do away with Religion. Yes, they do say he
has been in the Divorce Court, but I should not like to say I know it,
though I quite believe it. His great friend, Mr. Comus, certainly was,
and Mr. Quickly only got off by paying an immense sum in hush-money.
They're all tarred with the same brush, and it really is a religious
duty to keep them out of Parliament."
Such I have observed to be the attitude of parochial clergy and
church-workers towards Liberal candidates.
"They said their duty both to man and God
Required such conduct--which seemed very odd."
I suppose they would have justified it by that zeal for Established
Churches and Sectarian Schools which, if it does not actually "eat up"
its votaries, certainly destroys their sense of proportion and
perspective.[29]
Though I have said so much about the pugnacity of the clergy, I would
not have it supposed that the Tory laity were slack or backward in
political activity. To verbal abuse one soon became case-hardened; but
one had also to encounter physical violence. In those days, stones and
cabbage-stalks and rotten eggs still played a considerable part in
electioneering. Squires hid their gamekeepers in dark coppices with
instructions to pelt one as one drove past after dark. The linch-pin was
taken out of one's carriage while one was busy at a meeting; and it was
thought seriously unsafe for the candidate to walk unescorted through
the hostile parts of the borough.
But, after all, this animosity, theological, moral, physical, did no
great harm. It quickened the zeal and strengthened the resolve of one's
supporters; and it procured one the inestimable aid of young, active,
and pugnacious friends, who formed themselves into a body-guard and a
cycle-corps, protecting their candidate when the play was rough, and
spreading the light all over the constituency.
Why did not Lord Beaconsfield dissolve Parliament in July, 1878, when he
returned in a blaze of triumph from the Congress of Berlin? Probably
because his nerve had failed him, and he chose to retain his supremacy
unquestioned, rather than commit it to the chances of a General
Election. Anyhow, he let the moment pass; and from that time on his
Government began to lose ground. In 1879 _Vanity Fair_, a strongly
Disraelitish organ, pronounced (under a cartoon) that Gladstone was the
most popular man in England. In the autumn of that year, the
"Mid-Lothian Campaign" raised him to the very summit of his great
career; and, when Christmas came, most Liberals felt that it was all
over except the shouting.
On the 9th of March, 1880, Lord Beaconsfield announced that he had
"advised the Queen to recur to the sense of her people." His opponents
remarked that the nonsense of her people was likely to serve his turn a
good deal better; and to the task of exposing and correcting that
nonsense we vigorously applied ourselves during the remaining weeks of
Lent. It is true that the same statesman had once declared himself "on
the side of the Angels" in order to reassure the clergy, and had once
dated a letter on "Maundy Thursday" in order to secure the High Church
vote. Encouraged by these signs of grace, some of his followers mildly
remonstrated against a Lenten dissolution and an Easter poll. But
counsels which might have weighed with Mr. Disraeli, M.P. for Bucks (who
had clerical constituents), were thrown away on Lord Beaconsfield, who
had the Crown, Lords, and Commons on his side; and on the 24th of March
the Parliament which he had dominated for six years was scattered to the
winds.
Electioneering in rural districts was pure joy. It was a delicious
spring, bright and yet soft, and the beech-forests of the Chilterns were
in early leafage.
"There is a rapturous movement, a green growing,
Among the hills and valleys once again,
And silent rivers of delight are flowing
Into the hearts of men.
"There is a purple weaving on the heather,
Night drops down starry gold upon the furze;
Wild rivers and wild birds sing songs together,
Dead Nature breathes and stirs."[30]
In the spring of 1880, Nature had no monopoly of seasonable life.
Humanity was up and doing. Calm people were roused to passion, and
lethargic people to activity. There was hurrying and rushing and
plotting and planning, and all the fierce but fascinating bustle of a
great campaign. One hurried across the Vale from a Farmers' Ordinary,
where one had been exposing Lord Beaconsfield's nonsense about the
"Three Profits" of agricultural land, to a turbulent meeting in a chapel
or a barn (for the use of the schoolroom was denied to the Liberal
candidate). As we drove through the primrose-studded lanes, or past the
village green, the bell was ringing from the grey tower of the Parish
Church, and summoning the villagers to the daily Evensong of Holy Week.
The contrast was too violent to be ignored; and yet, for a citizen who
took his citizenship seriously, the meeting was an even more imperative
duty than the service. Hostilities were suspended for Good Friday,
Easter Even, and Easter Day, but on Easter Monday they broke out again
with redoubled vigour; and, before the week was over, the Paschal
Alleluias were blending strangely with pæans of victory over conquered
foes. When even so grave and spiritually-minded a man as Dean Church
wrote to a triumphant Gladstonian, "I don't wonder at your remembering
the Song of Miriam," it is manifest that political fervour had reached a
very unusual point.
On the 2nd of April I was returned to Parliament, as colleague of Sir
Nathaniel de Rothschild, in the representation of Aylesbury. We were the
last Members for that ancient Borough, for, before the next General
Election came round, it had been merged, by Redistribution, in Mid
Bucks. The Liberal victory was overwhelming. Lord Beaconsfield, who had
expected a very different result, resigned on the 18th of April, and
Gladstone became Prime Minister for the second time. Truly his enemies
had been made his footstool. On the 30th of April I took the oath and my
seat in the House of Commons, and a fresh stage of life began.
FOOTNOTES:
[29] I must except from this general indictment the Rev. A. T. Lloyd,
Vicar of Aylesbury in 1880, and afterwards Bishop of Newcastle. A strong
Conservative, but eminently a Christian gentleman.
[30] Archbishop Alexander.
X
PARLIAMENT
"Still in the Senate, whatsoe'er we lack,
It is not genius;--call old giants back,
And men now living might as tall appear;
Judged by our sons, not us--_we_ stand too near.
Ne'er of the living can the living judge--
Too blind the affection, or too fresh the grudge."
BULWER-LYTTON, _St. Stephen's_.
"In old days it was the habit to think and say that the House of Commons
was an essentially 'queer place,' which no one could understand until he
was a Member of it. It may, perhaps, be doubted whether that somewhat
mysterious quality still altogether attaches to that assembly. 'Our own
Reporter' has invaded it in all its purlieus. No longer content with
giving an account of the speeches of its members, he is not satisfied
unless he describes their persons, their dress, and their characteristic
mannerisms. He tells us how they dine, even the wines and dishes which
they favour, and follows them into the very mysteries of their
smoking-room. And yet there is perhaps a certain fine sense of the
feelings, and opinions, and humours of this Assembly which cannot be
acquired by hasty notions and necessarily superficial remarks, but must
be the result of long and patient observation, and of that quick
sympathy with human sentiment, in all its classes, which is involved in
the possession of that inestimable quality styled tact.
"When Endymion Ferrars first took his seat in the House of Commons, it
still fully possessed its character of enigmatic tradition. For himself,
Endymion entered the Chamber with a certain degree of awe, which, with
use, diminished, but never entirely disappeared. The scene was one over
which his boyhood even had long mused, and it was associated with all
those traditions of genius, eloquence, and power that charm and inspire
youth. His acquaintance with the forms and habits of the House was of
great advantage to him, and restrained that excitement which dangerously
accompanies us when we enter into a new life, and especially a life of
such deep and thrilling interests and such large proportions."[31]
I quote these words from a statesman who knew the House of Commons more
thoroughly than anyone else has ever known it; and, though Lord
Beaconsfield was describing the Parliament which assembled in August,
1841, his description would fit, with scarcely the alteration of a word,
the Parliament in which I took my seat in April, 1880.[32]
The "acquaintance with the forms and habits of the House," which Lord
Beaconsfield attributes to his favourite Endymion, was also mine; from
my earliest years I had been familiar with every nook and corner of the
Palace of Westminster. My father's official residence in Speaker's Court
communicated by a private door with the corridors of the Palace, and my
father's privilege as Sergeant-at-Arms enabled him to place me in, or
under, the Gallery whenever there was a debate or a scene of special
interest. I was early initiated into all the forms and ceremonies of
the House; the manoeuvres of the mace, the obeisances to the Chair,
the rap of "Black Rod" on the locked door, the daily procession of Mr.
Speaker and his attendants (which Sir Henry Irving pronounced the most
theatrically effective thing of its kind in our public life).
The Sergeant-at-Arms has in his gift the appointment of all the
doorkeepers, messengers, and attendants of the House; and, as my father
was Sergeant from 1848 to 1875, the staff was almost exclusively
composed of men who had been servants in our own or our friends'
families. This circumstance was vividly brought home to me on the day on
which I first entered the House. In the Members' Lobby I was greeted by
a venerable-looking official who bowed, smiled, and said, when I shook
hands with him, "Well, sir, I'm glad, indeed, to see you here; and, when
I think that I helped to put both your grandfather and your grandmother
into their coffins, it makes me feel quite at home with you."
The first duty of a new House of Commons is to elect a Speaker, and on
the 7th of April, 1880, we re-elected Mr. Henry Brand (afterwards Lord
Hampden), who had been Speaker since 1872. Mr. Brand was a short man,
but particularly well set up, and in his wig and gown he carried himself
with a dignity which fully made up for the lack of inches. His voice was
mellow, and his utterance slightly pompous, so that the lightest word
which fell from his lips conveyed a sense of urbane majesty. He looked
what he was, and what the traditions of the House required--a country
gentleman of the highest type. One of the most noticeable traits was his
complexion, fresh and rosy as a boy's. I well remember one day, after a
stormy "all-night sitting," saying to his train-bearer, "The Speaker has
borne it wonderfully. He looks as fresh as paint." Whereupon the
train-bearer, a man of a depressed spirit, made answer, "Ah! sir, it's
the Speaker's 'igh colour that deceives you. 'E'll 'ave that same 'igh
colour when 'e's laid out in 'is coffin."
The election of the Speaker having been duly accomplished, and the
Members sworn in, the House adjourned till the 20th of May, then to meet
for the despatch of business; and this may be a convenient point for a
brief recapitulation of recent events.
Lord Hartington (afterwards eighth Duke of Devonshire) had been, ever
since the beginning of 1875, the recognized leader of the Liberal Party.
But, when Gladstone re-entered the field as the foremost assailant of
Lord Beaconsfield's policy, Lord Hartington's authority over his party
was sensibly diminished. Indeed, it is not too much to say that he was
brushed on one side, and that all the fervour and fighting power of the
Liberal Party were sworn to Gladstone's standard.
When the General Election of 1880 reached its close, everyone felt that
Gladstone was now the real, though not the titular, leader of the
Liberal Party, and the inevitable Prime Minister. Lord Beaconsfield did
not wait for an adverse vote in the new House, but resigned on the 18th
of April. We do not at present know, but no doubt we shall know when Mr.
Monypenny's "Life" is completed, whether Queen Victoria consulted Lord
Beaconsfield as to his successor. A friend of mine once asked the Queen
this plain question: "When a Prime Minister goes out, does he recommend
a successor?" And the Queen replied, with equal plainness, "Not unless I
ask him to do so." There can, I think, be little doubt that Her Majesty,
in April, 1880, asked Lord Beaconsfield's advice in this delicate
matter, and we may presume that the advice was that Her Majesty should
follow the constitutional practice, and send for Lord Hartington, as
being the leader of the victorious party. This was done, and on the 22nd
of April Lord Hartington waited on Her Majesty at Windsor, and was
invited to form an Administration. Feeling in the Liberal Party ran very
high. It was not for this that we had fought and won. If Gladstone did
not become Prime Minister, our victory would be robbed of half its joy;
and great was our jubilation when we learned that the task had been
declined. As the precise nature of the transaction has often been
misrepresented, it is as well to give it in Lord Hartington's own
words--
"The advice which Lord Hartington gave to the Queen from first to last
was that Her Majesty should send for Mr. Gladstone, and consult him as
to the formation of a Government; and that, if he should be willing to
undertake the task, she should call upon him to form an Administration.
"Lord Hartington had up to that time had no communication with Mr.
Gladstone on the subject, and did not know what his views as to
returning to office might be. With the Queen's permission, Lord
Hartington, on his return from Windsor, informed Mr. Gladstone and Lord
Granville, but no other person, of what had passed between Her Majesty
and himself."
The result of that interview was a foregone conclusion. If Lord
Hartington consented to form an Administration, Gladstone would not take
a place in it. If he was not to be Prime Minister, he must remain
outside. Having put this point beyond the reach of doubt, Lord
Hartington returned next day to Windsor, accompanied by Lord Granville,
who led the Liberal Party in the House of Lords. They both assured the
Queen that the victory was Gladstone's, and that the Liberal Party would
be satisfied with no other Prime Minister. The two statesmen returned to
London in the afternoon, and called on Gladstone. He was expecting them
and the message which they brought. He went down to Windsor without an
hour's delay, and that evening "kissed hands" as Prime Minister for the
second time.
This was the climax of his career. He had dethroned Lord Beaconsfield.
He had vindicated the cause of humanity and freedom all over the world;
and he had been recalled, by unanimous acclamation, to the task of
governing the British Empire. On the 20th of May he met his twelfth
Parliament, and the second in which he had been Chief Minister of the
Crown. "At 4.15," he wrote in his diary, "I went down to the House with
Herbert.[33] There was a great and fervent crowd in Palace Yard, and
much feeling in the House. It almost overpowered me, as I thought by
what deep and hidden agencies I have been brought into the midst of the
vortex of political action and contention.... Looking calmly on the
course of experience, I do believe that the Almighty has employed me for
His purposes in a manner larger or more special than before, and has
strengthened me and led me on accordingly, though I must not forget the
admirable saying of Hooker, that even ministers of good things are like
torches--a light to others, waste and destruction to themselves."
The conviction so solemnly expressed by Gladstone was entertained by not
a few of his followers. We felt that, _Deo adjuvante_, we had won a
famous victory for the cause of Right; and, as a Party, we "stood on the
top of golden hours." An overwhelming triumph after a desperate fight;
an immense majority, in which internecine jealousies were, at least for
the moment, happily composed; a leader of extraordinary powers and
popularity; an administration of All the Talents; an attractive and
practicable programme of Ministerial measures--these were some of the
elements in a condition unusually prosperous and promising. But trained
observers of political phenomena laid even greater stress on Gladstone's
personal ascendancy over the House of Commons. Old and experienced
Members of Parliament instructed the newcomer to watch carefully the
methods of his leadership, because it was remarkable for its
completeness, its dexterity, and the willing submission with which it
was received.
The pre-eminence of the Premier was, indeed, the most noteworthy feature
which the new House presented to the student of Parliamentary life.
Whether considered morally or intellectually, he seemed to tower a head
and shoulders above his colleagues, and above the Front Opposition
Bench. The leader of the Opposition was the amiable and accomplished Sir
Stafford Northcote, afterwards Lord Iddesleigh, a
"scrupulous, good man,
Who would not, with a peremptory tone,
Assert the nose upon his face his own."
In his youth he had been Gladstone's Private Secretary, and he still
seemed to tremble at his old chief's glance.
But, when everything looked so fair and smiling, Speaker Brand quietly
noted in his diary, that the Liberal Party "were not only strong, but
determined to have their way in spite of Mr. Gladstone." And this
determination to "have their way" was soon and startlingly manifested,
and challenged the personal ascendancy of which we had heard so much.