Joe smiles.
Finally he came to the passage in which he drew an elaborate comparison between Mr. Gladstone and Herod. I had no doubt at the time, and my impression has since been corroborated by words reported to have been used by Mr. Chamberlain himself—that he used the word "Herod" in a moment of happy and almost impish inspiration with a view to provoking the retort which was so obvious. There was a self-conscious smile on his face when he uttered the words, and he seemed to be quite prepared, and almost delighted by the retort which followed so promptly. Furthermore, when several Tories rose to denounce the interruption he beckoned to them with his hand; there was a gratified smile on his face; and his whole air suggested that he was so delighted with the success of his little manoeuvre that he thought it a pity anybody should spoil it; and especially as the result was to create such a din as to prevent him from finishing his final sentence. And he wanted very badly to finish that sentence; for over and over again, with an obstinacy that suggested the delighted author, he sought to get the sentence out; and no doubt he was very disappointed that the guillotine finally fell upon him with that sentence still unuttered. And there is one other point about this moment which I see has been completely lost. It is supposed that I and the others who shouted "Judas, Judas," did so in pure provocation—with deliberate intent to apply the word to Mr. Chamberlain personally and with fierce political and personal passion. That was not my impression of what was meant; and that certainly was not what I meant. I took Mr. Chamberlain's mood as I think anybody looking at him could see that he meant it to be taken; that is to say, I did not regard his speech as in the least serious; and his allusion to Mr. Gladstone as "Herod" appeared to me a self-conscious joke, and not, as some earnest Liberals seemed to think, a gross, foul, and deliberate insult. Indeed, I believed—and subsequent events have confirmed that view—that Joe was thinking a good deal more of himself as the centre of a dramatic and historic scene than of wounding Mr. Gladstone. And, then, the use of the word "Judas" must be taken with the context. Mr. Chamberlain was talking of the "days of Herod," and when I called out "Judas," what I really meant was why not select Judas, and not Herod, who was his contemporary, if you will refer to this particular epoch of human history. I say all these things, not by way of extenuation; for really I regard the incident as closed; not by way of defending myself from rancour, for I felt none; but with a view to preventing an entirely incorrect view and impression of an historical evening from being stereotyped.
"I used it on purpose."
And I can call a very potent and trustworthy witness as to this being the proper view of the incident; for I understand that, almost immediately after the scene, a good-natured Liberal said to Mr. Chamberlain that he must confess that the use of the word "Herod" was calculated to produce the retort of "Judas"; and the report is that Mr. Chamberlain replied, "I used it on purpose," or "That was my intention," or some such phrase as that, which implied that he was neither surprised nor annoyed by the retort, but had rather invited it. I lost sight of Joe for a good time after this—there were other things which had to be looked after; but I am told by those who were able to watch him closely, that his face wore all through the scene which followed a look of almost beatific happiness—the happiness of an artist who saw slowly unfolding the drama to which he had given the impetus, and which he had fashioned out in his own reveries.
Opening of the row.
At all events, it was not either Mr. Chamberlain's use of the word "Herod," nor my use of the word "Judas," which really brought about the subsequent row—except in the most indirect and remote way. Mr. Vicary Gibbs seemed possessed by the idea that he should call the attention of the Chairman to the use of the word "Judas"; and he singled me out—although, of course, he knew that I was only one of many who had used the word. I don't complain of this—I merely state a fact—a fact which, laughingly, was admitted later in the evening; for here I may say in passing that such is the extraordinary volatility and such the real good-nature of the House of Commons, this terrible evening ended up in the exchange of hearty and friendly jokes between some of the fiercest combatants in the whole business. I had not the least idea of what Mr. Gibbs was saying—what his complaint really was I knew for the first time after the whole row was over; indeed, nobody could hear anything in the din that was almost deafening. Mr. Mellor made several attempts to catch Mr. Gibbs's statement; and only when, after straining his ears to the utmost, he failed to catch one single word, did Mr. Mellor resolve to take no notice of what Mr. Gibbs was trying to say. This seemed to drive Mr. Gibbs almost beside himself—he shouted angrily and wildly, at the top of his voice, with fierce and almost frenzied gesture; and, after a while, he rushed down with every appearance of passion to the Front Opposition Bench to renew his attempts to make his point of order. All this time his passion had been rising higher and higher—until, in the end, he was almost a painful sight to witness. His own friends were foremost in trying to bring him back to composure; and Lord Randolph Churchill expressed, with the fine, full-flavoured plainness of ancient speech, his opinion of the conduct of his friends.
Keeping the seats.
This plain-spoken opinion of Lord Randolph Churchill was induced by the fact that Mr. Gibbs and his friends had now resolved on a desperate step to secure attention to his complaint. This was no other than refusing to leave the House, and take part in the division. It is more than twelve years since this extreme, violent, and almost revolutionary step was adopted before. On the dreadful night—how well I remember it!—when the news came that Michael Davitt had been sent back to penal servitude, the information sent a thrill of such horror and almost despair amongst the Irish Benches, that some method of manifesting their feelings became inevitable. By a series of circumstances, into which I need not now go, the manifestation took the shape of refusing to go into the division lobby, and retaining our seats. We were all suspended in turn, and removed from the House by the Serjeant-at-Arms.
Logan.
Meantime, the unexpected and extraordinary delay in taking the division had brought back some members from the division lobbies; and some had actually recorded their votes, and were returning in the ordinary course to their seats. Among these was Mr. Logan. Mr. Logan peered somewhat curiously at the angry faces and the shouting figures on the Tory Benches, and approached them with the view of finding out what it was all about. His air, somehow or other, suggested—quite wrongly, as it turned out—to the Tories that he was meditating an assault upon some of them: and there rose angry cries from them of "Bar! Bar!" This, in Parliamentary language, means that the member is violating the rule against any member standing on the floor of the House, except in the narrow and short interspace which lies between the entrance door and the bar—a very small bit of free territory. Logan, in his turn, was exasperated by these remarks, and used some retort. Then there were renewed cries that he was not in order in standing up on the floor, together with a multitude of expletives at the expense of his party and himself. And Mr. Logan thereupon said he would put himself in order, and sat down on the Front Opposition Bench. In doing so, he certainly did put himself in order, for a member can take his seat where he likes during the progress of a division. But this step is what led to the violent and unprecedented scene which followed. For Mr. Hayes Fisher immediately caught hold of Mr. Logan by the collar, Ashmead Bartlett, I understand, followed suit, and thus the first blow was struck.