Fifteen Chapters of Autobiography
Endeavouring to parry a question which must have revealed my own guilt,
I feebly asked if by Socialism my venerable Leader meant the practice of
taking private property for public uses, or the performance by the State
of what ought to be left to the individual; whereupon he replied, with
startling emphasis: "I mean both, but I reserve my worst Billingsgate
for the attack on private property."
On the 18th of September Gladstone issued his Address to the Electors of
Midlothian--an exceedingly long-winded document, which seemed to commit
the Liberal Party to nothing in particular. _Verbosa et grandis
epistola_, said Mr. John Morley. "An old man's manifesto," wrote the
_Pall Mall_. By contrast with this colourless but authoritative
document, Mr. Chamberlain's scheme became known as "The Unauthorized
Programme," and of that programme I was a zealous promoter.
As soon as the Franchise Bill and the Redistribution Bill had passed
into law, it was arranged that the dissolution should take place in
November. The whole autumn was given up to electioneering. The
newly-enfranchised labourers seemed friendly to the Liberal cause, but
our bewildered candidates saw that their leaders were divided into two
sections--one might almost say, two camps. This was a condition of
things which boded disaster to the Liberal Party; but Gladstone never
realized that Chamberlain was a power which it was madness to alienate.
On the 2nd of October I went on a visit to Hawarden, and the next day
Gladstone opened a conversation on the state of the Party and the
prospects of the Election. He said: "I believe you are in Chamberlain's
confidence. Can you tell me what he means?" I replied that I was not the
least in Chamberlain's confidence, though he had always been very
friendly to me, and I admired his Programme. "But," I said, "I think
that what he means is quite clear. He has no thought of trying to oust
you from the Leadership of the Liberal Party; but he is determined that,
when you resign it, he, and not Hartington, shall succeed you." This
seemed to give the Chief some food for reflection, and then I ventured
to follow up my advantage. "After all," I said, "Chamberlain has been
your colleague for five years. Surely your best plan would be to invite
him here, and ascertain his intentions from himself." If I had
suggested that my host should invite the Sultan or the Czar, he could
not have looked more surprised. "I have always made a point," he said,
"of keeping this place clear of political transactions. We never invite
anyone except private friends." "Well," I said, "but we are within six
weeks of the Election, and it will never do for us to go to the country
with you and Chamberlain professing two rival policies."
Backed by Mrs. Gladstone, I carried my point, and with my own hand wrote
the telegram inviting Mr. Chamberlain. Unfortunately I had to leave
Hawarden on the 6th of October, so I was not present at the meeting
which I had brought about; but a few days later I had a letter from Mr.
Chamberlain saying that, though his visit had been socially pleasant, it
had been politically useless. He had not succeeded in making Gladstone
see the importance of the Unauthorized Programme, and "if I were to drop
it now," he said, "the stones would immediately cry out."
What then ensued is matter of history. Parliament was dissolved on the
18th of November. When the elections were finished, the Liberal Party
was just short of the numerical strength which was requisite to defeat
a combination of Tories and Parnellites. Lord Salisbury, therefore,
retained office, but the life of his administration hung by a thread.
On the 24th of November, 1884, the great Lord Shaftesbury, moved by the
spirit of prophecy, had written: "In a year or so we shall have Home
Rule disposed of (at all hazards) to save us from daily and hourly
bores." On the 17th of December, 1885, the world was astonished by an
anonymous announcement in two newspapers--and the rest followed suit
next day--that, if Gladstone were returned to power, he would be
prepared to deal, in a liberal spirit, with the demand for Home Rule.
This announcement was an act of folly not easy to explain or condone. We
now know whose act it was, and we know that it was committed without
Gladstone's privity. As Lord Morley says: "Never was there a moment when
every consideration of political prudence more imperatively counselled
silence." But now every political tongue in the United Kingdom was set
wagging, and Gladstone could neither confirm nor deny. Our bewilderment
and confusion were absolute. No one knew what was coming next; who was
on what side; or whither his party--or, indeed, himself--was tending.
One point only was clear: if Gladstone meant what he seemed to mean, the
Parnellites would support him, and the Tories would be turned out. The
new Parliament met on the 21st of January, 1886. On the--, the
Government were defeated on an amendment to the Address, in favour of
Municipal Allotments, and Lord Salisbury resigned. It was a moment of
intense excitement, and everyone tasted for a day or two "the joy of
eventful living."
On the 29th of January, I dined with Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone. The host
was in a grim mood of suppressed excitement, anger, and apprehension.
All day long he had been expecting a summons from the Queen, and it had
not arrived. "It begins to look," he said, "as if the Government meant
after all to ignore the vote of the House of Commons, and go on. All I
can say is that, if they do, the Crown will be placed in a worse
position than it has ever occupied in my lifetime." But after the party
had broken up, Sir Henry Ponsonby arrived with the desired message from
the Queen; and on the 1st of February Gladstone kissed hands, as Prime
Minister for the third time.
"When Gladstone runs down a steep place, his immense majority, like the
pigs in Scripture but hoping for a better issue, will go with him,
roaring in grunts of exultation." This was Lord Shaftesbury's prediction
in the previous year; but it was based on an assumption which proved
erroneous. It took for granted the unalterable docility of the Liberal
Party. I knew little at first hand of the transactions and tumults which
filled the spring and early summer of 1886. At the beginning of February
I was laid low by serious illness, resulting from the fatigue and
exposure of the Election; and when, after a long imprisonment, I was out
of bed, I went off to the seaside for convalescence. But even in the
sick-room I heard rumours of the obstinate perversity with which the
Liberal Government was rushing on its fate, and the admirably effective
resistance to Home Rule engineered by Lord Hartington and Mr.
Chamberlain. The Liberal leaders ran down the steep place, but an
important minority of the pigs refused to follow them. The Home Rule
Bill was thrown out on the 8th of June. Parliament was immediately
dissolved. The General Election gave a majority of more than a hundred
against Home Rule; the Government retired and Lord Salisbury again
became Prime Minister.
In those distant days, there was a happy arrangement by which once a
year, when my father was staying with me, Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone dined
with me to meet him. My father and Gladstone had both entered public
life at the General Election of 1832, and my father loved to describe
him as he appeared riding in Hyde Park on a grey Arabian mare, "with his
hat, narrow-brimmed, high up on the centre of his head, sustained by a
crop of thick, curly hair," while a passer-by said: "That's Gladstone.
He is to make his maiden speech to-night. It will be worth hearing." The
annual rencounter took place on the 21st of July, 1886. After dinner,
Gladstone drew me into a window and said: "Well, this Election has been
a great disappointment." I replied that we could certainly have wished
it better, but that the result was not unexpected. To my amazement,
Gladstone replied that it was completely unexpected. "The experts
assured me that we should sweep the country." (I always wish that I
could have had an opportunity of speaking my mind to those "experts.")
Pursuing the subject, Gladstone said that the Queen had demurred to a
second election in six months, and that some of his colleagues had
recommended more moderate courses. "But I said that, if we didn't
dissolve, we should be showing the white feather."
It is no part of my purpose to trace the dismal history of the Liberal
Party between 1886 and 1892. But one incident in that time deserves to
be recorded. I was dining with Lord and Lady Rosebery on the 4th of
March, 1889; Gladstone was of the company, and was indulging in
passionate diatribes against Pitt. One phrase has always stuck in my
memory. "There is no crime recorded in history--I do not except the
Massacre of St. Bartholomew--which will compare for a moment with the
means by which the Union was brought about." When the party was breaking
up, one of the diners said: "I hope Mr. Gladstone won't draw that
parallel, between the Union and the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, on a
public platform, or we shall stand even less well with the thinking
public than we do now."
Parliament was dissolved in June, 1892, and, when the elections were
over, it was found that the Liberal Party, including the Irish, had only
a majority of 40. When Gladstone knew the final figures, he saw the
impossibility of forcing Home Rule through the Lords, and exclaimed: "My
life's work is done." However, as we all remember, he took the
Premiership for a fourth time, and during the Session of 1893 passed a
Home Rule Bill through the House of Commons. The Lords threw it out by
419 to 41, the minority being mainly wage-receivers. Other troubles
there were, both inside the Government and outside it; Mr. Gladstone
told his friends that the Naval Estimates demanded by the Admiralty were
"mad and drunk"; and people began to suspect that the great change was
at hand.
On the 1st of March, 1894, Gladstone made his last speech in the House
of Commons. In that speech he bequeathed to his party the legacy of a
nobly-worded protest against the irresponsible power of the "Nominated
Chamber"; and then, having accomplished sixty-one years of Parliamentary
service, he simply disappeared, without ceremony or farewell. In my
mind's eye I see him now, upright as ever, and walking fast, with his
despatch-box dangling from his right hand, as he passed the Speaker's
Chair, and quitted the scene of his life's work for ever.
In spite of warnings and anticipations, the end had, after all, come
suddenly; and, with a sharp pang of regretful surprise, we woke to the
fact that "our master was taken away from our head to-day." Strong men
were shaken with emotion and hard men were moved to unaccustomed tears,
as we passed out of the emptied House in the dusk of that gloomy
afternoon.
On the 6th of March, 1894, Gladstone wrote to me as follows, in reply to
my letter of farewell:
"My speculative view into the future shows me a very mixed spectacle,
and a doubtful atmosphere. I am thankful to have borne a part in the
emancipating labours of the last sixty years; but entirely uncertain
how, had I now to begin my life, I could face the very different
problems of the next sixty years. Of one thing I am, and always have
been, convinced--it is not by the State that man can be regenerated, and
the terrible woes of this darkened world effectually dealt with. In
some, and some very important, respects, I yearn for the impossible
revival of the men and the ideas of my first twenty years, which
immediately followed the first Reform Act. But I am stepping out upon a
boundless plain.
"May God give you strength of all kinds to perform your appointed work
in the world."
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