CHAPTER XVII.
TO THE DEFEAT OF THE GOVERNMENT (1885).
More Antagonism towards Forster—A Household Suffrage Demonstration at
Leeds—A Meeting at the Carlton Club and a Coincidence—Forster and "the
most Powerful Man in Europe"—Single-Member Constituencies and the
Cumulative Vote—Dynamite Outrages—Police Protection for Statesmen—I
Receive Threatening Letters and Get a Fright—Death of Lord
Houghton—Lord Derby and how he was Misunderstood—An Unconventional
Dinner at Lord Houghton's—A Visit to Tangier—In Peril of the
Sea—Gibraltar "a Magnificent Imposture"—Captain W. and the M.P.—To the
North Cape—Cheering a Funeral Party—News of Mr. Gladstone's
Overthrow—Home Again.
The extension of Household Suffrage to the counties was the chief political topic of 1884. I have told how Forster was the first to announce his resolve to support a Household Suffrage Bill for Ireland. He was always an ardent reformer, and a genuine, as opposed to a sham, Radical. In the public agitation for the Bill Forster took a leading part, though he was still regarded with suspicion by many advanced Liberals. Sometimes these gentlemen treated him with distinct unfairness, because they could not forgive him his resolute antagonism to Mr. Chamberlain. In the autumn before the Bill passed we held a great Yorkshire demonstration in its favour on Woodhouse Moor, Leeds. John Morley had promised to attend as the principal speaker, and it was understood that the whole of the Liberal members for the West Riding would also be invited. I need hardly say that by far the most eminent of these gentlemen was Mr. Forster. When the executive committee, of which I was a member, met to make arrangements for the demonstration, I found, to my intense indignation, that many members were opposed to the sending of an invitation to Mr. Forster! He was our nearest neighbour, for his house was only a few miles from Leeds; he was our most distinguished representative, and he was an ardent supporter of the Franchise Bill. Yet not even these facts could serve him in the eyes of men who regarded Mr. Chamberlain as being, next to Mr. Gladstone, the heaven-born leader of English Liberalism. I hotly contested the proposal to exclude Forster from the gathering, and succeeded in carrying my point, though I could only do so by agreeing that instead of a special invitation, such as we sent to all other men in his position, he should receive nothing but the ordinary printed circular sent wholesale to the known Liberals of the district. Forster, who cared nothing about forms and ceremonies, wrote promptly declaring his intention to be present.
The meeting was to be addressed from three platforms, at each of which was a principal speaker. To John Morley, as a stranger, we assigned the leading position on the middle platform. Herbert Gladstone took a similar post on one of the side platforms, and on the third Forster was to be the chief speaker. To my great amazement, a couple of days before the meeting, we received word from Mr. Morley that under the new arrangements he did not think it desirable to attend. It was the first evidence I had received of what I now know to be one of the peculiarities in the character of this eminent and gifted man. The new arrangement which led to his wishing to withdraw from the meeting seemed to be the announcement that Forster was to be one of the speakers. I saw at once that if Morley did not come it would not only lessen the effect of the meeting, but would lead to a fresh outbreak of what I may call the Forster dissensions in the party. This was a disaster at all hazards to be prevented, and accordingly I took what most of my readers, I imagine, will consider not only strong but somewhat presumptuous action. I telegraphed to Morley, warning him that if he maintained his determination to stay away, the reason for his absence would undoubtedly become public property, and his "laudable ambition" would not be aided by the revelation of the truth. A strong measure, indeed; and I am prepared for the censure of my critics; but I succeeded in my purpose. Morley promised to come, and contented himself with writing a letter to me in which he disclaimed the imputation that he carried about with him any of that "perilous explosive" called ambition. The meeting was a great success; all the chief speakers were well received, but I confess I was not altogether grieved when I saw that the greatest crowd was that which gathered round platform number three, and that the loudest cheers of the vast multitude were those given to Forster.
It will be remembered that the Tories offered a stubborn opposition to the passing of the Household Suffrage Bill, and it was only carried in the end in a winter session, specially convened for that purpose. According to popular rumour at the time, it was eventually passed as the result of compromise between Mr. Gladstone and Lord Salisbury. I do not believe that there is a word of truth in this story. Mr. Gladstone, at all events, stoutly denied that there had been any such compromise, and once wrote a long letter to me, maintaining this denial. But before the Tories could be induced to accept the Bill, a meeting of their party had to be held at the Carlton Club, and in connection with that meeting I have to tell a curious story of my own.
As most of my readers know, the Carlton Club and the Reform stand side by side in Pall Mall, only separated from each other by a narrow street which gives access to Carlton House Gardens. The windows of the smoking-room at the Reform Club face those of the large library of the Carlton, so that the members of the two clubs may, if they choose, see each other across the narrow roadway. The Conservative meeting was held in the big library of the club. Going into our own smoking-room on the afternoon of the meeting, I saw a well-known member of the club gazing intently across the way at the corresponding apartment in the Carlton. "If you come here," he said, turning to me, "you can see all the members of the Tory party gathering for their meeting." I saw no harm in accepting X.'s invitation, and joined him at the window. We picked out the various notables of the party. By-and-by an evil inspiration seized X. "Let us go upstairs to F.'s room," he said. "We shall see much better from there." I am ashamed to say that I yielded to the temptation, and accompanied X. to the room of a friend who occupied one of the club chambers facing the Carlton.
The window happened to be open, so that we had an unimpeded view of the meeting of the Tory party. We could not, of course, hear anything that was said, nor could we see the speakers, who were evidently placed with their backs to us between two of the windows; but we saw the audience, and were amused by the varying expression upon their faces as they listened to their leaders. X.'s insatiable curiosity led him to snatch up an opera-glass that was lying on F.'s dressing-table, and, despite my remonstrance, he took a long survey of the Tory gathering through this instrument. Suddenly I saw a man in the body of the meeting rise to his feet and point straight at our window. Instantly every face in the room flashed round, and I found myself under the concentrated gaze of some hundreds of manifestly indignant men. I seized the wretched X. by the collar and dragged him back from the window. "See what you have done with that abominable opera-glass of yours!" I cried; and then, to my shame and mortification, I saw the blinds pulled down at every window of the Carlton library, and I felt that by our foolish curiosity we had caused this gathering of political opponents to hold their conference in the dark. It is quite true that neither I nor X. had any ulterior motive in our observation of the meeting at the Carlton Club, but all the same I cannot pretend that the use of the opera-glass was not indefensible.
I was dining that evening at the Oxford and Cambridge Club with Mr. Andrew Lang. When I arrived there I was ushered into the club drawing-room, with the intimation that Mr. Lang would join me in a moment, and that I would find another of his guests already in the room. I stepped to the fireplace, where this gentleman was standing, and my feelings may be imagined when I discovered that it was the very man who had pointed us out at the window of the Reform Club a few hours earlier. He was Mr. Charles Elton, then one of the members for Somersetshire. I saw that he did not recognise me, but the desire to confess my offending was irresistible. "You were at the meeting at the Carlton Club this afternoon, were you not?" I said to him. He looked at me rather curiously, before replying in the affirmative, and then added, "But you were not there?" "No," I said, "but did you observe anything curious at the Reform Club?" At once his face lighted up with angry intelligence. "Yes!" he said, "I did. There were a couple of scallywags"—it was the first time I had ever heard this modern term of reproach, and it is not surprising that I have nearly forgotten it—"watching us through opera-glasses from one of the windows, and signalling to a man whom they had put on the top of our club, and who was listening through the ventilator to the speeches." No words can express the sense of relief I felt when I heard this absurd statement. "No," I replied, "I assure you that you are mistaken. I am sorry to say that I was one of the scallywags who were looking out of the Reform Club, and I apologise sincerely for my untimely curiosity; but we had only one opera-glass between us, and we had nobody posted on the top of the Carlton Club to listen to the speeches. Upon that you may rely." Elton stared at me for a moment, and then burst into a roar of laughter, in which I joined him. It was an immense relief to me to have got the burden off my soul; but I had received another proof of the frequency with which that long arm of coincidence asserts itself.
As a result of the passing of the Franchise Bill, and the creation of single-member constituencies which accompanied it, a Boundary Commission had to be appointed, to settle the boundaries of the new electoral divisions. In order to prevent gerrymandering it was agreed that this Commission should not only be quite independent of both parties, but that it should have absolute powers. Its chairman was Sir John Lambert, secretary of the Local Government Board; and his powers were, of course, very great. Forster, coming to see me one day, began to talk to me about the Boundary Commission, and the supreme powers vested in Sir John Lambert. Suddenly he burst into a chuckling laugh, and I knew that he had a story to tell me. "I was going up the stairs of the Local Government office to see Lambert the other day," he said, "and I met ——," mentioning the name of the former holder of a subordinate Government post, "coming down. 'Hullo, Forster!' he cried, 'what in the world are you doing here?' 'Well, I was just going to call on the most powerful man in England,' I replied. —— took off his hat and made me a low bow. 'I hope you didn't undeceive him,' I said. 'Oh, yes, I did,' replied Forster. I told him that I didn't mean him, but Sir John Lambert." I wrung my hands over this fresh illustration of my friend's inability to set his sails in such a fashion as to catch the approval of others.