CHAPTER
I
POWERS
IN POLITICS
T
here
were some great Victorian men who did not appreciate the
era in which they lived. Lord Morley was one. He was a
Little Englander, in other words he was anti-British. In
Ireland, in India and elsewhere, he worked “agin the
government ”
and thus set himself the task of breaking up the Empire. No
doubt he believed he was in the right. “Honest
John ”
he was called, and as Honest John he was known to many. He
was not the only “Honest John.” John Burns, of a different
stratum of mentality, was also opposed to war, to
controlling influence of all kinds. Indeed, it is curious
to observe how Johns become “honest,” but never Toms, Dicks
or Harrys. Despite his politics, John Morley was
honest ;
he was also great in literature with his Edmund Burke,
Cobden, Voltaire, Rousseau and Diderot, to say nothing of
an exhaustive life of his political master, Gladstone.
As an
editor he wielded a powerful influence. The
Pall
Mall Gazette under
him was the best-written paper of the day. In the editorial
chair he was a martinet, and when he travelled he did not
shed his editorial martinetship.
W. T. Stead was his assistant on the Pall
Mall Gazette, and he
records that some of the notes written by Mr. Morley when
away from home, to his assistant, were both interesting and
entertaining. Here is one dated August,
1881 :
“By the divinities I beseech you not to let D—— or anybody
else talk about ‘their Lordships.’ If it is irony it’s very
poor ;
if it’s serious it’s very vulgar.”
Another, sent in the same month, expresses concern at “the
washy ending of the article on Friday on Coercion.” Whilst
a third, written a month later, contains this bomb-shell
for the acting editor :
“Your article to-night turned my hair grey.”
Lord Morley was one of the most difficult subjects for the
caricaturist. His clean, cold intellectual features were
almost impossible to represent—or rather misrepresent. He
was more easily “drawn ”
by conversation than by pencil. He always looked the
picture of solemnity in the House of Commons.
Responsibility seemed to weigh upon him. His very gait was
peculiar. His hat well down on his head, hands clasped
behind his back, he walked across the lobby of the House,
with slow, measured, lengthened strides, exactly as if he
were measuring the lobby for a carpet. No prominent
politician has been less written of in current periodicals.
As a matter of fact, he was not good copy for the pen or
the pencil, for which, no doubt, he felt much gratitude.
To refresh my memory, I will now dip into my diary, that
has several references to Morley’s introduction to the
House, beginning in the year eighteen hundred and
eighty-three.
1883, Feb.
Agnew (Sir William Agnew, M.P., one of
the Proprietors of Punch)
waxed very loquacious at the Punch
dinner
last evening concerning John Morley’s triumph at Newcastle.
Agnew disagreed profoundly with the prevailing impression
of the Table, that Morley would be out of his element in
Parliament and had far better keep to literature. He gave
us a long tirade, to the effect that it was he—Agnew—who
persuaded Morley to take an active part in politics. John
was miserably conscious of his shortcomings. He said that
he had not the nerve for public speaking, he would never be
a success and failure was absolutely certain. But Agnew
refused to listen. He insisted that John could speak, and,
what was more, Agnew could force him to speak. And on that
supposition Agnew escorted John Morley to a political
meeting in his own constituency. John was not good, Agnew
admitted, for he was horribly nervous, but Agnew led the
applause and John seemed pleased.
1883, Feb.
28th.
Punch
dinner
last night, Lucy (“Toby M.P.”) was very excited about
Morley taking his place in the House. He had, so Lucy says,
an enthusiastic reception, and every one predicts that he
will be a great personality in Parliament. I suggested a
small drawing for the “Essence of
Parliament ”—Morley
as “the Member who could speak fortnightly.”
Lucy says, however, that he has advised John Morley not to
speak for a year, or, at least until the House gets
accustomed to him, and he to the House. (Sound
advice)—Moreover, Morley gave up the editorship of
The
Fortnightly last
October !
1884, May
13th. John
Morley, after listening and watching for more than a year,
spoke in the House for
the first time. He was barely heard, and certainly not
understood by the Press Gallery. Great excitement among the
Pressmen, but proportionately great disappointment. His
delivery is bad, his articulation indistinct, he seems to
gargle words somewhere down in his throat. It was a
thousand pities, as his matter was excellent, epigrammatic
and well phrased—so we learn when reading his speech in the
newspapers. His is not an easy subject for my pencil. His
bright red socialistic tie is the only conspicuous thing
about him, though the curious shape of his nose suggests
possibilities.
1890, March.
On my way to St. James’s I called to see Beerbohm Tree at
the Haymarket Theatre. When I was leaving up drove a
hansom, and (to my surprise) out got Joe Chamberlain and
John Morley and entered the Theatre. I mentioned this fact
to George Alexander. He said the two often came to St.
James’s Theatre together. One evening Chamberlain brought
Morley “round ”
and introduced him to Alexander. They seemed to be great
friends.
1893, Sept.
9th. The
discussion on the Home Rule Bill came to an end last night.
When the division was taken a sigh of relief went round St.
Stephen’s at the thought that we should be free, for a time
at least, from the Home Rule Bill. The curtain was a poor
one. In fact, the whole of the last act dragged. The
facetious Dr. Wallace gave a long address, but, after his
splendid effort a few weeks before, it fell very fiat. Mr.
Chamberlain, as usual, was vigorous and effective. Neither
Mr. Balfour nor John Morley rose to the occasion. Mr.
Gladstone, after the division (and his majority of
thirty-five), sat tranquilly enough at the bench writing
to Her Majesty informing her that he had at last forced the
House to carry the Bill. The cheers that came from the
gentlemen on the Irish benches were feeble in the extreme.
As I have said, the feeling that predominated was one of
relief—not triumph.
1895. End of Session. Hypnotic experiment at Westminster
(good subject !)—Morley
as a professor of hypnotism putting the Home Rule Bill in a
trance.
1898. June.
Sketched John Morley for my open letter in the July number
of Fair
Game, and I
think I have got him. He is now quite a good speaker, but
he does not much resemble the philosopher which is the
subject of the illustration. For the life of me I cannot
make John Morley a philosopher.
. . . .
. .
I must
stop quoting from my diary in order to quote the article
mentioned above, which is written in the form of an address
to Morley :
“There is too much of the philosopher about you, too much
of the student, for the rough and tumble game of
politics :
although I am free to confess that, when you are worked up
to it, you can make a very good platform speech. It must be
exceedingly repugnant to you to have occasionally to
address masses of unliterary and semi-educated persons, and
you have my warmest condolences on the misfortune that what
stands for ambition in your character should have ever led
you into such a position. You have proved your erudition
and mastery of the English language by editing a daily, a
weekly, and two monthlies, besides writing several severe
essays which are, I suspect, more talked about
than read by the ordinary run of your political admirers.
Your essay on ‘Compromise,’ or at least its title, has, I
doubt not, eased the conscience of many a doubting and
reluctant Home Ruler. That you abandoned letters for
politics has been regretted by all who, like myself, wish
you well.”
. . . .
. .
But to
resume my diary, I must refer back a few years preceding
the last extract
1905, Nov.
6th. Found
the (hitherto) lugubrious Ritchie (who married Thackeray’s
daughter) actually enjoying a jocular mood—in the smoking
room of the Garrick Club after lunch. Never saw him smile
before. He could not resist the temptation of recounting
his interview with his new chief at the India Office—John
Morley. He was rather nervous of meeting the great
man—which of course he had to do as soon as Morley accepted
the Ministerial appointment. Although he was well aware
that Morley was a literary man, he had never read any of
his books, and was only vaguely aware that his most
important work was the Life
of Gladstone. Primed
with this fact, he ventured to remark :
“It is a great honour, I assure you, to work under so
distinguished a writer.”
“Indeed ! ”
replied Lord Morley. “And may I inquire which of my books
pleased you most ? ”
Ritchie, being a diplomatic and resourceful man, quickly
responded :
“Your Life
of Gladstone appeals
to me as your finest effort.”
The author, palpably pleased, said, after a pause, “I am
glad to hear that, but I must admit to a fault—yes, and a
bad fault too,”
“May I venture to inquire what that can
be ?
It seems to me perfect work.”
“No :
it has a bad fault. It is not long enough.”
Bearing in mind the exceeding length of the book that was
“not long enough,” one is inclined to doubt the statement
that Morley lacked a sense of humour. Yet he certainly had
not the reputation of a wit, and I have always been told
that, like Gladstone, he was devoid of humour.
The Rt. Hon. W. E. Forster was a somewhat unique
personality, and a great force in Victorian politics.
Though he never rose higher than Chief Secretary for
Ireland, his period of office made history and coined a new
name in politics. He was forthwith known as “Buckshot
Forster,” because of his efforts to put down sedition by
force.
He was an early and favourite subject of mine for
caricature. I shall always remember his terrible sufferings
when Chief Secretary for Ireland. Very able and strictly
honourable, he was not the man to stand such bastings. And
this last word recalls to memory a sketch I did for
Punch
for the
“Essence of Parliament,” June, 1881, entitled, “Roasting
the Police Force-ter,” which represented the Chief
Secretary for Ireland roasted on a spit in front of the
fire. Toby M.P. wrote “around ”
that sketch the following words :
“Things are past a joke now. The sympathy of the House
entirely with Mr. Forster, as he makes an indignant stand
against the violent vituperation and unmannerly attacks
made upon him night after night. They do no harm in the
estimation of those who hear and see. There may or not be
something in the case which Irish members
desire to present. What is certain is that it never will be
listened to from the men who assume to represent Ireland
under the leadership of Mr. Parnell. They have so often
showed themselves incapable of distinguishing between fact
and fancy, truth and deliberate lying, that men with other
business to attend to cannot spare time to listen on the
chance of hearing a few facts.
“To-day he has it out with them. He trembles in every limb
with honest indignation, whilst the Irish members sit and
watch him as the audience in a theatre sit and watch the
champion dancer who gyrates for their amusement. The Chief
Secretary’s will may be law at the
Castle :
but there is a sweet revenge to be taken at Westminster.”
Thus Sir Henry Lucy sums up the treatment and the effect of
that treatment meted out to Mr. Forster. But neither Toby
M.P., nor myself, nor anyone else would care to place on
record the full effect of this “Roasting ”
on the unhappy Forster.
This reference to Irish Home Rule is interesting, showing
the manner in which Radical opinion differentiates between
“fact and fancy, truth and deliberate
lying ”—as
distinguished in Punch
by the
letterpress. The same was hotly resented when recorded by
the pencil afterwards. And the substance of Toby M.P.’s
argument of the treatment received by Mr. Forster might be
applied with equal truth to every Chief Secretary since,
Birrell excepted.
Mr. Forster was a man naturally impulsive, with an
impetuous eye, furrowed and wrinkled forehead and intensity
showing in every line of his face. Forced as an official to
shove his head through the political pillory
labelled Ireland, he was not the man to assume an
indifference he could not call his own. Mr. Balfour could
bear the thumb-screw of question time, and the rack of
debate. He never winced, in fact he rather seemed to enjoy
it. It was his meat, but it was Mr. Forster’s poison. Mr.
Forster was never at rest. He writhed under the basting he
received from the Irish benches. His hair had the
appearance of being fired by electricity, his forehead the
aspect of suffering. He sat, as it were, on pins and
needles. When he stood to make a speech he had a habit of
placing his hand under his coat over his hip as if he had
an attack of lumbago. Eventually the Irish played him out
of the Government. Weary, worn and troubled, he turned a
back-somersault and disappeared from the Ministerial Bench
to one, if not of repose at least of independence, behind
the Government. There he sat in the same familiar attitude
with his legs crossed, with his head buried in his chest,
his hand thrust in his grey trouser pocket, his coloured
waistcoat ruffled—still in fact anything but peaceful. The
explanation he gave to the House for his retirement from
the Government—that he was unable to follow their Irish
policy—was delivered in a rough but honest speech, which
deeply impressed the House. A few days afterwards he had
again to rise, the grey trousers and coloured waistcoat and
tie now a solemn black, paying touching tribute to the
memory of Lord Frederick Cavendish and Mr. Burke, who had
been foully murdered in Phœnix Park. And then came the
Kilmainham Treaty debate, one of the most sensational and
certainly the most dramatic of the time. There were
conspiracy, sensational accusation and dramatic reprisals,
although in this
Forster played the honest man who had washed his hands of
the secret tricks played by the Government. But he got no
repose, he was not the man to take rest. Most old
parliamentary hands when heckled refuse to be drawn by
ingenious and embarrassing questions, but Mr. Forster, like
Mr. Gladstone, was unable to resist replying to personal
attacks and innuendoes. It was in this very debate that Mr.
Forster was asked, if he was not making political use of a
private letter received by some member of the Government.
To which he would have replied in detail, had the Speaker
not intervened and ruled the question out of order. A less
sensitive man would not have required the Speaker’s
intervention, he would have sat still. In the same debate,
Mr. Gibson (Lord Ashbourne) referred to Mr. Gladstone’s
temper in the matter under discussion and his unmeasured
vituperation of Lord Beaconsfield, which brought Mr.
Gladstone with a bound to his feet. A scene followed that
is not easily forgotten. Had anyone twitted Mr. Disraeli
with virulent attacks on Mr. Gladstone (in debate), Mr.
Disraeli would not have moved a muscle until the time was
ripe.
The Victorian era can boast of greater politicians than
poor Forster, but few as honest and respected. I wonder
what respect the present-day politicians will command after
their ignominious surrender to the Irish rebels, those
rebels Forster refused to shake by the hand.
On the Victorian political horizon Sir William Harcourt
loomed very large—in every sense of the word. In appearance
an inflated Sir Robert Peel, but there comparison ends, for
he never became Prime Minister, and he was most unlucky.
After years of hard work,
that he should be denied the highest prize gained him
universal sympathy. More especially as the man by whom he
was robbed—Lord Rosebery—proved himself a failure. Poor
Harcourt was then getting old, and the parliamentary
Pecksniff might have ruminated in the words of
Dickens :
“ ‘Time
and tide will wait for no man,’ saith the adage. But all
men have to wait for time and tide. Mr. Pecksniff had in
this respect endured the common lot of men. ‘An uncommon
lot of that common lot,’ Mr. Pecksniff opined.”
With the exception of Gladstone, I do not think I have
caricatured any politician more often than Harcourt, and
yet, strange to say, he did not like it !
Disraeli, when he first saw a caricature of himself,
exclaimed :
“Now I am famous ! ”
Lord Rosebery, W. E. Gladstone’s greatest political friend,
collected (or rather Lady Rosebery did) my caricatures of
the G.O.M. Sir William Harcourt sent me word that I made
him too stout.
Sir William was fair game. As a matter of fact, the pen has
run the pencil very close in holding the late Sir William
up to ridicule, sometimes using my caricatures as pegs on
which to hang some elaborate pen-portrait. For
instance—“Here is the Great Sir William Harcourt—Mr.
Furniss’s Harcourt—bearing before him reef over reef of
that hundredfold chin :
wearing ever that sinuous smile, curling ever a finger at
one of his own disciples, a vision of personified
complacency,” is a pen description of my pencil portrait.
. . . .
. .
I sent
Sir William a letter through the pages of my
Fair
Game, which
contained the essence of a Harcourt biography in the
following :
“As the inheritor of archiepiscopal traditions you might
have aspired to a bishopric, but circumstances impelled you
to join a calling that knows no distinction between black
and white, provided the brief is well and truly marked.
“In the fullness of time you found yourself in the House of
Commons ;
and there your forensic gifts served you in good stead,
enabling you to argue with irresponsible freedom on behalf
of Faction, while making brave show of abundant Patriotism.
One so well equipped for the strife and hurly-burly of the
Babble Shop could not fail to succeed ;
and you have
succeeded—in
a measure. Your qualifications were varied. For we have it
on the authority of your sponsors that you were launched on
the world as William George Granville Venables Vernon
Harcourt. Coupled with this is your own statement that you
are a scion of the Plantagenets :
you are a Knight Bachelor ;
and you have even been described—wholly without warrant—as
‘the Squire of Malwood.’ As befits one so happily endowed
by nature and art, you have held the candle to blatant
Democracy ;
you have lost no opportunity of girding at the Church of
your forefathers ;
and you are the author of that monumental saying, ‘We are
all Socialists now.’
“Moreover, you are ‘Historicus,’ of The
Times. You
have written much, and with a show of erudition, on the Law
of Nations :
and you have done what in you lies to impose as many bad
laws as possible on the nation to which you belong.
Altogether, yours is a noble record—a record of golden
opportunities just missed.
“In debate you have contrived to unite the methods of the
bully with the special pleadings of the police-court
attorney. Over and over again you have shown that, though
you can strike a heavy blow, you take your punishment
badly.
“From Solicitor-General you soared to Home Secretary (and
the best Home Secretary we ever had) :
later in life you developed a genius for finance, and an
admiring country saw you a full-blown Chancellor of the
Exchequer. As author of the Finance Act you sent out the
undying signal, ‘England, Home and
Duties !’—Death
Duties.
“You nearly escaped being Lord
Chancellor ;
you ought to have been Prime Minister—but your loss was
England’s gain. Time was when you could make an amusing
speech. Your annual addresses to the ‘Druids’ of Oxford are
an abiding memory ;
but nowadays you are only a preacher of heavy sermons,
studded with platitudes that faintly echo epigrams. . . .”
In February, 1877, when Disraeli undramatically walked out
of the House of Commons, and quietly entered the House of
Lords as the Earl of Beaconsfield, Sir Stafford Northcote
took his place. I was then cartoonist to a paper
called Yorick,
and for it drew a cartoon representing Sir Stafford
standing at the table with a paper labelled Power in his
hand ;
on the seat behind him was seated the ghost—or astral
body—of Beaconsfield in full robes, whispering, “Go
on !
Go on !
My body may be in ‘another place,’ but my guiding spirit is
with you still.”
Sir Stafford, however, lacked the spirit of Disraeli. He
was a painstaking “safe ”
politician. As a younger
man he was a Liberal and Gladstone’s secretary, but he was
unlike his early as well as his later master. Yet in one
particular he had a greater influence than Gladstone. Sir
Stafford, or as he was later Lord Iddesleigh, influenced
quite a number of junior politicians, who imitated his
peculiar parliamentary manner. The reason possibly being
that he had the best style of any in the House of Commons.
Gladstone had too strong an individuality for anyone to
attempt an imitation, moreover he was too flamboyant. Sir
Stafford spoke in a monotone. He had a peculiar lisping
delivery, but it was clear and effective ;
and he was, in my opinion, a great Victorian
statesman, pace
Lord
Randolph Churchill and other ambitious Conservatives, who
looked upon Disraeli’s successor as an old woman—and as
such he was frequently caricatured. This, no doubt,
encouraged the young aggressive Fourth Party, and led in
time to Lord Randolph Churchill’s (self-constituted)
leadership of the House.
Lord Randolph departed from the world of politics, a
disappointed failure, without power and without friends.
Lord Iddesleigh died in harness and in Downing Street.