When I opened my paper next morning I read two startling pieces of
news. Lord Mulross had been knocked down by a taxi-cab on his way home
the night before, and was now in bed suffering from a bad shock and a
bruised ankle. There was no cause for anxiety, said the report, but
his lordship must keep his room for a week or two.
The second item, which filled leading articles and overflowed into
"Political Notes," was Mr. Vennard's speech. The Secretary for India
had gone down about eleven o'clock to the House, where an Indian debate
was dragging out its slow length. He sat himself on the Treasury Bench
and took notes, and the House soon filled in anticipation of his reply.
His "tail"--progressive young men like himself--were there in full
strength, ready to cheer every syllable which fell from their idol.
Somewhere about half-past twelve he rose to wind up the debate, and the
House was treated to an unparalleled sensation. He began with his
critics, notably the unfortunate Simpson, and, pretty much in
Westbury's language to the herald, called them silly old men who did
not understand their silly old business. But it was the reasons he
gave for this abuse which left his followers aghast. He attacked his
critics not for being satraps and reactionaries, but because they had
dared to talk second-rate Western politics in connection with India.
"Have you lived for forty years with your eyes shut," he cried, "that
you cannot see the difference between a Bengali, married at fifteen and
worshipping a pantheon of savage gods, and the university-extension
Young Radical at home? There is a thousand years between them, and you
dream of annihilating the centuries with a little dubious popular
science!" Then he turned to the other critics of Indian
administration--his quondam supporters. He analysed the character of
these "members for India" with a vigour and acumen which deprived them
of speech. The East, he said, had had its revenge upon the West by
making certain Englishmen babus. His honourable friends had the same
slipshod minds, and they talked the same pigeon-English, as the
patriots of Bengal. Then his mood changed, and he delivered a solemn
warning against what he called "the treason begotten of restless vanity
and proved incompetence." He sat down, leaving a House deeply
impressed and horribly mystified.
The Times did not know what to make of it at all. In a weighty leader
it welcomed Mr. Vennard's conversion, but hinted that with a convert's
zeal he had slightly overstated his case. The Daily Chronicle talked
of "nervous breakdown," and suggested "kindly forgetfulness" as the
best treatment. The Daily News, in a spirited article called "The
Great Betrayal," washed its hands of Mr. Vennard unless he donned the
white sheet of the penitent. Later in the day I got The Westminster
Gazette, and found an ingenious leader which proved that the speech in
no way conflicted with Liberal principles, and was capable of a quite
ordinary explanation. Then I went to see Lady Caerlaverock.