My Memory of Gladstone

by Goldwin Smith

Gladstone’s declaration, at a critical juncture of the American War, that Jefferson Davis had made a nation, gave deep offence to the friends of the North both in the United States and in England. But he atoned for it by frank and honourable repentance. As a statement of fact, it lacked truth only in so far that Davis, instead of making the South a nation, had found it one already made. The schism between the Free and Slave States was inevitable, and the war was from the outset one between nations. That Gladstone subscribed to the Confederate loan was false, nor is there the slightest reason for believing that he was less faithful than any of his colleagues to the policy of strict neutrality, however ready he may have been, in common with the rest, to tender good offices in a contest in which, as it deprived millions of British artisans of the materials of their industry, Great Britain had a manifest and pressing interest. It might be rash to assert that the son of a slave-owner felt the same intense abhorrence of slavery as Wilberforce, or that a High Churchman fully equalled in his zeal for emancipation the Evangelicals whose special heritage it was. But Gladstone’s actuating motives, certainly, were his regard for the bread of the British artisan, and his sympathy with all who were struggling to be free. With a view, probably, to the satisfaction of mortified friends of the North in England, he wrote to me suggesting that, if the North thought fit to let the South go, it might in time be indemnified by the union of Canada with the Northern States. As the letter, on consideration, seemed unlikely to have the desired effect, and not unlikely at some future time to prove embarrassing to the writer, no use was made of it, and it was destroyed.

Had it been possible for the son of a Jamaica proprietor to be an ardent emancipationist and a warm friend of the negro, Gladstone could hardly have failed to show his feelings on the occasion of the Jamaica massacre, that most atrocious outpouring of white hatred, rage, and panic on the black peasantry of Jamaica. However, he had the general sentiment of the upper classes and of the clergy upon his side.

Peel, as Premier, had been master of the Government, as well as head, in the last resort, of every Department. His habit had been to hear what all the members of his Cabinet had to say, and then make up his mind. In his time, there was no voting in the Cabinet nor any disclosure of Cabinet proceedings. Disclosure of Cabinet proceedings is, in fact, at variance with the Privy Councillor’s oath. Gladstone, it appears, put questions to the vote. He also allowed a member of the Cabinet to set forth on a political adventure of his own and proclaim a policy independent of that of his chief and his colleagues, as the same politician is now again doing. The Cabinet system itself under Gladstone’s Premiership was apparently beginning to give way. There was a commencement of the change which has now made the Cabinet an unwieldy body, meeting at long intervals and almost publicly, while the real power and the direction of policy centre in an inner conclave, something like that which, in the reign of Charles II., was called the Cabal.

Not only the Cabinet system but the party system, on which the Cabinet system was based, had begun to show signs of disintegration. Sectionalism had set in, as it was pretty sure to do when political speculation had grown more free and there was no controlling issue, like that of Parliamentary Reform in 1832, to hold a party together. Personal ambition was also becoming restless and difficult to control. More than once, Gladstone’s Government was defeated by the bolting of its own supporters. The task of a Premier was not easy. Allowance must be made for this, when we compare the measure of Gladstone’s success as head of the Government with that of his predecessors, and with the measure of his own success as Chancellor of the Exchequer, giving life and force to the Government by his triumphs in finance.

Of the truth of the charges of want of knowledge of men and of personal tact, often brought against Gladstone as Premier, I cannot pretend to judge. There was certainly no lack in him of social affability or charm. He may not have practised the jovial familiarities of Palmerston or had a counterpart of Lady Palmerston’s salon. But the lack of such things, or a want of what is called personal magnetism, will hardly deprive a great leader, such as Pitt or Peel, of the devotion of partisans, much less of the trust and attachment of the people.

Once, however, it must be owned, Gladstone as Premier was guilty of a mistake in tactics at anyrate, which could not fail to shake the confidence of his party. I happened to be revisiting England and was at Manchester, when, like a bolt out of the blue, without notice or warning of any kind, came upon us the dissolution of 1874. All Liberals saw at once that it was ruin. It seems that the leader himself contemplated, and almost counted on, defeat. What was it, then, that moved him to this desperate act? His Chancellor and devoted friend, Lord Selborne (Roundell Palmer), did not doubt that it was a legal dilemma in which he had involved himself, by taking the Chancellorship of the Exchequer in addition to the First Lordship of the Treasury without going to his constituents for re-election, a violation, there was reason to apprehend, of the law. The only escape from that dilemma, according to the Chancellor, was dissolution. Mr. Morley, to whose authority I should willingly defer, strenuously repels this explanation, and points to another ground, assigned by Mr. Gladstone. Mr. Gladstone was, of course, sure to assign another ground, and equally sure to persuade himself that it was the real one. But what was that other ground? It was, in fact, that the Government was sick, and that the election would put it out of its misery, thereby declaring the situation. But did Mr. Gladstone overlook the fact that he would be depriving a number of his followers of their seats? Why was the stroke so sudden? On the other hand, the charge of bribing the constituencies by promising to repeal the income tax, Mr. Morley is perfectly right in dismissing as baseless. Such expectations are held out by all competitors for power. What is the game of party but that of outbidding the other side?

After this defeat, Achilles retired in dudgeon to his tent. Gladstone insisted on resigning the leadership. But everybody foresaw that his return to it was inevitable; and it was difficult to fix on a man of sufficient eminence to take his place, and yet not too eminent to give it up when the great man might see fit to return. Lord Hartington was chosen as one whose comparative youth would make the surrender easy in his case, while his high rank would continue to sustain his position.

Whenever there was fighting to be done for the party, either in Parliamentary debate or on the stump, Gladstone was the man. His Midlothian campaign displayed his almost miraculous powers as a speaker, while it called forth the enthusiastic feeling of the people for the man in whom they thought, and rightly, that they saw their heartiest friend and the most powerful advocate of their interests. Three speeches in one day and an address this prodigy of nature could deliver, and the speeches were not flummery and clap-trap, but addressed to the intelligence of the people. Yet one cannot help being rather sorry that the stump should have been so much dignified by Gladstone’s practice. It is a great evil. To say nothing of its effect upon the passions of the audience, it wears out the statesman; it deprives him, in the intervals of Parliament, of leisure for study and reflection; worst of all, it tempts him imprudently to commit himself.

In the case of armed intervention in Egypt, Gladstone seemed to swerve from his usual fidelity to a policy of moderation and peace. It lost him Bright, to whom as he advanced in Liberalism he had been drawing closer, and who had been induced to take office in his Government. Bright would have nothing to do with aggrandizement or war, and in private his words were strong, though in public he showed chivalrous forbearance towards his friends. Seeing that Egypt lay on the road to India and commanded the Suez Canal, it does not appear that the illustrious Quaker would have had much reason for finding fault with Gladstone and his Government, so far as the main scope of their policy was concerned. The fatal mistake, as it turned out, was the employment of Gordon, a heroic enthusiast, whose action no one could well foresee, who perhaps could hardly foresee his own, and who was not the best agent to be selected for carrying out a policy of retreat. That Gladstone went to the opera after receiving news of Gordon’s death, as his malignant enemies said, was denied. But, even if he had, would any real want of feeling have been implied in his continuing to take his ordinary relief from the load of toil and anxiety which he bore?