Amongst the characteristics of the present Government that make them in
Ministries a thing apart is the almost total absence of the air of
mystery that, through the ages, has enveloped Cabinets and their
consultations. Never in times ancient or modern was there on the eve of
a new Session so little mystery about the intentions of the Government.
There was still practised by the morning newspapers the dear old farce
of purporting to forecast the unknown. On the morning that opens the new
Session there appears in all well-conducted morning papers an article
delivered in the style of the Priestess Pythia in the temple at Delphi.
Nothing is positively assumed, but the public are told that when the
Queen's Speech is disclosed "it will probably contain promise of
legislation" on such a head, whilst it will "doubtless be found that Her
Majesty's Ministers have not been unmindful of" such another question.
This fashion was invented generations ago, either by the _Times_ or the
_Morning Chronicle_. The editor, having access to those gilded saloons
to which Lord Palmerston once made historic reference, or profiting by
personal acquaintance with a Minister, obtained more or less full
knowledge of what the Queen's Speech would contain. But he was bound in
honour to preserve his informant from possibly inconvenient consequences
of his garrulity, and so the oracular style was adopted. When other
papers, put on the track, obtained information in the same way they
adopted the same quaint practice, till now it has become deeply
ingrained in journalism. To-day, whilst there is no secret of the
sources of information very properly conveyed to the Press on the eve of
the Session, this same style of dealing with it, in which Mr. Wemmick
would have revelled, is sedulously observed.
At the beginning of this Session other than newspaper editors had been
made aware of the general legislative intentions of the Government.
Ministers speaking at various public meetings had openly announced that
their several departments were at the time engaged upon the preparation
of particular Bills, the main directions of which were plainly
indicated. It is true that details of the Home Rule Bill were lacking,
though two or three weeks in advance of its presentation one journal,
the _Speaker_, gave an exceedingly close summary of its clauses. But
that a Home Rule Bill was to be introduced, that it would take
precedence of all other measures, and that it would be thorough enough
to satisfy the Irish members, were commonplaces of information long
before the Speech was read in the House of Lords. It used to be
different. Within the range of recent memory, the publication of the
Queen's Speech, or at least a forecast in the morning papers, was the
first authoritative indication of the drift of legislation in the new
Session.
[Illustration: LORD PALMERSTON.]
Talking of this new departure with one of the oldest members of the
House, he tells me a delightful story, which I have never found
recalled in print, and it is too good to be buried in the pages of
_Hansard_. At one time, in the run of the Parliament of 1859-65, Lord
Palmerston being Premier, a rumour shook the political world, affirming
the resignation of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Mr. Gladstone. The
newspapers were neither so alert nor so well informed in those days, and
the rumour drifted about, neither confirmed nor contradicted. At length,
Mr. Horsman could stand the uncertainty no longer, and from his place in
the House of Commons he asked Lord Palmerston whether there was any
truth in the report.
The Premier approached the table in his gravest manner, and the crowded
House was hushed in silence for the anticipated disclosure. He had, he
said, just come from a meeting of the Cabinet Council, and could not
pretend to be uninformed on the matter of the question submitted to him.
The House, however, knew how stringent was the oath of a Privy
Councillor, and how impossible it was for one in ordinary circumstances
either to affirm or deny a report current as to what had taken place
within its doors. Lord Palmerston was evidently struggling between a
desire to tell something and disinclination to tamper with his oath. As
his manner grew more embarrassed, the interest of the House was
quickened. All heads, including that of Mr. Horsman, were craned forward
as he went on to observe that, perhaps, in the peculiar circumstances of
the case, he would be justified in saying that, at the Council just
held, the Chancellor of the Exchequer had been present and had displayed
no sign of intended resignation.
"In fact," said Lord Palmerston, turning round to face Mr. Horsman,
seated at the corner bench below the Gangway, "_my right hon. friend has
had his ear at the keyhole of the wrong door_."