The interest attached to Lord Randolph Churchill's reappearance on the
Parliamentary scene proved one of the most interesting and significant
incidents in the early days of the new Parliament. There is no doubt
that, whatever be his present views and intentions, Lord Randolph years
ago convinced himself that he was cut adrift from the political world,
and that it had no charms to lure him back. He began by giving up to
Newmarket what was meant for mankind, took a share in a stable, and
regulated his social and other engagements in London not by the Order
Book of the House of Commons, but by the fixtures in the "Racing
Calendar." He was seen only fitfully in his place at the corner seat
behind his esteemed friends and leaders then in office. A year later he
went off to Mashonaland, and for a full Session Westminster knew him no
more.
[Illustration: "NEWMARKET."]
[Illustration: "MASHONALAND."]
When the new Parliament began its sittings Lord Randolph in private
conversation was not less insistent as to the permanency of his act of
renunciation. He was tired of politics, he said, and saw no future for
himself in an assembly where at one time he was a commanding figure.
Some of his friends, whilst puzzled and occasionally staggered by his
insistence on this point, have always refused to accept his view of the
possibilities of the future. A dyspeptic duck gloomily eyeing an old
familiar pond might protest that never again would it enter the water.
But as long as the duck lives and the water remains, they are certain to
come together again. So it has been with Lord Randolph Churchill, who
in this Session has, quite naturally, returned to his old haunts, and
with a single speech regained much of his old position.
It is possible that accident, untoward in itself, may have had something
to do with hastening the conclusion. When the House first met amid a
fierce tussle for seats, Lord Randolph found his place at the corner of
the second bench in peril of appropriation. If he desired to retain it,
it would obviously be necessary for him to be down every day in time for
prayers. Rather than face that discipline he would suffer the company of
his old colleagues on the Front Opposition Bench. As a Privy Councillor
and ex-Minister he had a right to a seat on that bench equal, at least,
to that of Sir Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett. One evening, coming in at
question time and finding his seat appropriated by an Irish member, he
dropped on to the remote end of the Front Opposition Bench, hoping he
did not intrude. His old colleagues warmly welcomed him, made much of
him, entreated him to go up higher, and it came to pass that the House
of Commons grew accustomed to seeing the strayed reveller sitting in
close companionship with Mr. Arthur Balfour. If the whole story of the
tragedy of Christmas, 1886, were known, it would appear more remarkable
still that from time to time he should have been observed in friendly
conversation with Mr. Goschen.
[Illustration: "IN CLOSE COMPANIONSHIP."]
It was from this quarter that, within the first fortnight of the
Session, Lord Randolph rose to make his _rentrée_. It was characteristic
of him that he had sat silent through the long debate on the Address.
That meant nothing, except the occupation of a certain space of time.
There was no substantial amendment before the House, nor any prospect of
the existence of the new Government being challenged on a division. But
when the Home Rule Bill was brought in, things were different; there was
a tangible substance round which statesmen might give battle.
[Illustration: "ROSE TO MAKE HIS RENTRÉE."]
It was known that Lord Randolph would resume the debate on this
particular night, and the thronged state of the House testified to the
deathless personal interest he commands. Not since Mr. Gladstone had, a
few nights earlier, risen to expound the Bill was the House so crowded.
The Prince of Wales, accompanied by the Duke of York, returned to his
seat over the clock, whilst noble lords jostled each other in the effort
to obtain seats in the limited space allotted to them. It happened that
the _débutant_ was destined to undergo a serious and unexpected ordeal.
His time should have come not later than five o'clock, questions being
then over, and the House permitted to settle down to the business of the
day. But there intervened a riotous scene, arising on a question of a
breach of privilege. This extended over an hour, and throughout it Lord
Randolph sat in a state of almost piteous nervousness.
That was a sore trial for the intending orator, but it reacted with even
worse effect on the audience. The House of Commons, though it likes its
dishes highly spiced, cares for only one such at a meal. Like the modest
person in the hymn, "all it asks for is enough"; and in such a scene as
that which raged round the Irish indictment of the _Times_ for breach of
privilege it found sufficiency. There are only two, or at most three,
men in the House who could have kept the audience together after the
prolonged excitement sprung upon it. Very few left their seats when, at
six o'clock, Lord Randolph Churchill appeared at the table.
[Illustration: "PITEOUS NERVOUSNESS."]
What had just happened, taken in conjunction with this peculiar
position, plainly told upon him. He was nervous, occasionally to the
point of being inaudible, and did not mend matters by violently thumping
the box at the precise moment when otherwise the conclusion of his
sentence might have been heard. Some people said in their haste he was
but the shadow of his former self, and that he had done well all these
years to remain in the background. But the faults of this speech were
all of manner. Those who listened closely, with whatever painful effort,
recognised in it the old straightforward, vigorous blows, the keen
insight, the lucid statement, the lofty standpoint from which the whole
question was viewed with the gaze of a statesman rather than with the
squint of a politician. Those whose opportunities were limited to
reading a full report of the speech perceived even more clearly that
Lord Randolph had lost none of his ancient power, had even, with added
years and garnered experience, grown in weighty counsel.
His second speech, delivered on the Welsh Suspensory Bill, being free
from the accidental circumstances that handicapped his first effort,
confirmed this impression. Reassured in his position, confident of his
powers, encouraged by a friendly audience, he equalled any of the
earlier efforts that established his fame.
What will happen to Lord Randolph in the future is a matter which, I
believe, depends entirely upon the state of his physical health. I have
written elsewhere, with perhaps tiresome iteration through the six years
he has been wilfully trying to lose himself in the wilderness, that he
might win or regain any prize in public life to the attainment of which
he chose seriously to devote himself. His indispensability to the
Conservative party is testified to by the eagerness with which hands are
held out to him at the earliest indication of desire to return to the
fold. That by his loyalty to the party he has earned such consideration
is a truth not so fully recognised as it might be if he were less modest
in putting forth a claim. If he had been a man of small mind and mean
instincts, what a thorn in the flesh of Lord Salisbury, Mr. Smith, and
Mr. Balfour he might have proved in the whole period following on his
resignation up to the dissolution of the last Parliament!
[Illustration: "BIRMINGHAM."]
There were many inviting turning points in his career where he had only
to lift hand and voice, and a belated Government, living upon the
sufferance of not too-affectionate allies, would have found themselves
in a strait place. It will suffice to recall one. It happened four years
ago last month. On one of the earliest days of April, 1889, the
Conservatives of Birmingham turned to Lord Randolph and invited him to
contest the seat vacated by the death of Mr. Bright. I have reason to
believe that at that time, and for some years earlier, it had been the
dearest object of his political life to represent Birmingham. As early
as 1885 he had, recklessly as it seemed, gone down and tried to storm
the citadel even when it was held by so redoubtable a champion as Mr.
Bright. He had not been very badly beaten then. Now, with the
Conservatives enthusiastically and unanimously clamouring for him, and
with the assistance of the Dissenting Liberals which, had he presented
himself, could not have been withheld under penalty of losing the seat,
he would have been triumphantly returned.
Happening at this particular time, in view of his strained relations
with Lord Salisbury, election by such a constituency would have placed
Lord Randolph in a position of personal influence not equalled by that
of any private member. The moment seemed ripe for the birth of an
organized party raising the standard of social Toryism, and under that
or any other flag there are always ready to rally round Lord Randolph a
number of Conservatives sufficient to make things uncomfortable at
Hatfield. He had only to go in and win, and had he been inclined to play
his own game he would have done so. But it was represented to him that
his candidature was distasteful to a powerful ally of the Government;
that if he insisted in accepting the invitation, the compact between
Dissenting Liberals and the Conservatives would be straightway broken
up; and that thereupon Mr. Gladstone would romp in with his Home Rule
Bill. It was a bitter pill. But Lord Randolph swallowed it. Unmoved by
the angry, almost passionate, protestations of the deputation from
Birmingham that waited upon him, he withdrew his candidature,
sacrificing himself and his prospects on the party shrine.
Now, Lord Randolph, travelling on other less independent and less
interesting lines, seems half inclined to make his way back.
* * * * *
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