It was in the year 1866 that Lord John Russell introduced a bill for the extension of the suffrage, a measure mild enough in view of more recent enactments, but a measure that aroused in Lowe all the opposition of his peculiar nature. For the moment he became more Tory than the Tories; and in the debates over the bill developed powers perhaps unsuspected by himself,—certainly so by his colleagues. The one voice that was heard above all others was that of Lowe, a voice emphatic, sincere, and, as the event proved, dominant. The bill was rejected.
The National Biographer says: “Lowe’s triumph at the time was complete.... He had the success which attends those who believe all they are saying. At no other time did he attain to such a high level of perfection in speaking.... Mr. Gladstone and he vied with each other in aptness of classical quotation, and the keenest partisan on the ministerial side could not fail to admire Lowe’s courage and sincerity of purpose.”
It was his annus mirabilis. It is whimsical now to read that contemporaries thought they saw in Lowe a superior to Gladstone; more whimsical to learn that the very next year the Conservatives, switched skilfully about by Disraeli, passed a much more sweeping extension of the franchise than the one Lowe had so successfully opposed. For the moment, however, his reputation was secure.
In 1868, he was chosen Chancellor of the Exchequer, apparently a step upward, in reality the beginning of his decline. For he soon became unpopular, personally by his brusque manner, officially because his conception of his duty would not allow him to apply the public moneys to such purposes as the purchase of Epping Forest for a public park, and the installation of gardens along the Thames Embankment. This office he eventually resigned. Although, in 1873, he was made Home Secretary, he had already passed not so much out of the public eye as out of the public mind. The next year, with the defeat of the Gladstone Ministry, he made his definitive departure from political life. The further honor of the peerage awaited Lowe,—from 1880 he was Viscount Sherbrooke,—but the last twenty years of his life were those of anti-climax and decay. The peculiar malignancy of fate that latterly seemed to pursue him was shown in the accidental publication in 1884 of the inconsiderable booklet, Poems of a Life, which he had privately printed for private circulation. He died in 1892, at the age of eighty-one. The world had almost forgotten him.
Such, briefly, are the facts of Lowe’s history, a record of honorable achievement surely, but not the record which others—and probably the man himself—had dreamed of. It may be asked how the career of a man who from modest beginnings attained cabinet rank could be in any sense a failure. But when the supreme episode of his life—the brief hour of glory, followed by the gradual reversal from almost universal laudation to wide-spread unpopularity—is remembered the question should be answered. The causes of Lowe’s failure to justify his own promise were perhaps largely personal. The temper of the man was brusque, independent, imperious. In his love for invective and satire as weapons of oratory, there was something Swiftian; Swiftian, too, was his general disregard for the feelings of others. This did not arise from any native insensibility—it is the sensitive who can inflict the keenest wounds—but from a pride of intellect that made him despise the slow-minded and the ill-informed. He was not so much tactless as disdaining tact. Some of the projects he favored were signally progressive: in 1856 he introduced an unsuccessful bill for the conversion of partnerships comprising more than twenty persons into incorporated companies; he was an advocate of public libraries, of undenominational education; as Chancellor he devised ingenious budgets and proposed a revenue stamp on match-boxes, a tax which had already been levied in America; and Mr. A. Patchett Martin claims for him the original project of Imperial Federation. He was also one of the earliest enthusiasts over the bicycle. On the other hand, he was personally opposed to the democratic idea, especially as represented by universal suffrage. He was never strictly a party man. It is a tribute to him that the Liberals, under whose banners he nominally fought, acquiesced in the free play that his erratic temperament demanded. Something of a cynic, he could laugh about himself or his own classical attainments; but it is agreed that, with all his satire and asperity, Lowe was free from that mean joy in another’s misfortunes—Aristotle’s ἐπιχαιρεκακία—that so often accompanies the masters of epigram and of scorn.
ROBERT LOWE, VISCOUNT SHERBROOKE
AGAINST THE REFORM ACT: HOUSE OF COMMONS, MAY 31, 1866.
The Reform Act of 1866, against which this speech was directed, was introduced by Mr. Gladstone on March 12th of that year. Among other provisions, it proposed to reduce the county franchise from fifty pounds to fourteen; the borough franchise from ten pounds to seven; and included a savings-bank franchise and a lodger franchise. These provisions were not so sweeping as they appeared. It is stated that the Bill would only have enfranchised a few hundreds of people. And among its supporters, Mr. Bright was thought to feel more enthusiasm for its sponsors, Mr. Gladstone and Lord John Russell, than for the measure itself; while Mr. Mill favored it largely because Mr. Bright did. Nevertheless, Mr. Gladstone, during the Easter holidays, stumped the country for it, and at Liverpool made a famous remark about the Government’s “burning bridges and crossing the Rubicon.” Mr. McCarthy pertinently says of this, that it was only true of the speaker; as for the Government, it had to get back over the river again. In his opposition to the Bill, Lowe was the spokesman of the reactionary tendencies of the time,—in which such events as trades unions, strikes, Irish mutterings, socialistic perorations in London, dislike of American principles, and genuine sorrow that the Republic had survived the Confederacy stung to bitter speech the conservatives and the haters of change. Thus Lowe stood for the Aristocratic Principle incarnate; he desired an oligarchy of the brightest and best. With Lowe there stood against this measure of reform not only the rank and file of the Conservative party, but a group of political independents like himself, men of various crotchets, united only in their aversion to change and the encroachments of universal suffrage. This element, which would now, perhaps, be called “mugwump,” was then wittily compared to the adherents who rallied to David in the cave Adullam (1 Samuel xxii., 2): “And every one that was in distress, and every one that was in debt, and every one that was discontented, gathered themselves unto him.” And yet, by sheer force of eloquence, for the moment these had their way; and the Bill failed. As has been said, Lowe’s was the greatest share in the victory. His voice is the voice of Old England, eloquent with a haughty dignity against the incoming of the New.
Mr. Speaker
We are now called upon to go into Committee on a Bill which has never been read a second time.[23] The two halves of it have been read, each of them a second time, but the whole measure we have never until this moment had before. The first half this House was induced—or shall I say coerced?—into reading a second time without knowledge of the other part. The second half was really hurried on so fast to a second reading—only an interval of a week being given to master all its complicated details—that I, for one, was quite unable to take part in the discussion on the second reading for want of time to make up my mind as to an opinion by which I should be willing to stand. I hope, therefore, the House will allow me, even at this stage, to question the principle of the measure. What is that principle? I must apologize to the House for the monotonous nature of my complaints, which are, I think, justified by the uniform nature of the provocation I receive. That provocation is that the Government keeps continually bringing in measures, attacking, as it seems to me, the very vital and fundamental institutions of the country, and purposely abstains from telling us the principle of those measures. I made the same complaint, I am sorry to say, against the Chancellor of the Exchequer on that Franchise Bill. I make it again now. The Chancellor of the Exchequer in introducing the Redistribution Bill said that the Government was not desirous of innovation—that is to say, they went upon no principle. Their principle, he said, was the same as the principle of every Redistribution Bill. Now, that appears to me to be impossible, because Redistribution Bills may be divided into two classes. There is one, the great Reform Bill,—the only successful Redistribution Bill that any one ever heard of,—and then there are the four which succeeded it, and which all failed from one cause or another.[24] The principle of the Reform Bill was one thing, and the principle of the four bills which followed it was another. The principle of the Reform Bill was, no doubt, disfranchisement. The feeling of the country at that time was that the deliberations of this House were overruled, and the public opinion of the country stifled by an enormous number of small boroughs under the patronage of noblemen and persons of property. That state of things was considered a public nuisance, and one which it was desirable to abate, and hence the principle of the Reform Bill was disfranchisement, and 141 members were taken away from the small boroughs. The Government proposition was to reduce the number of the House of Commons by fifty, because they were very anxious to get rid of these members, and they had no means which appeared suitable of filling up the vacancies they had created. It was only on an amendment carried against the Government that it was determined not to diminish the number of members in this House. But has that been the principle of any subsequent Reform Bill? I think not; it has been quite the contrary. It has been the principle of enfranchisement; and of disfranchisement only so far as may be necessary in order to fill up the places which require enfranchisement. As I have shown the House, there are two different principles, and the Right Honorable Gentleman does not tell me which is his, but says the principle is that of all other Redistribution Bills. This puts me in mind of the story of a lady who wrote to a friend to ask how she was to receive a particular lover, and the answer was, “As you receive all your other lovers.” Well, as the Chancellor of the Exchequer will not tell us what the principle of his measure is, I must, I am sorry to say, with the same monotony of treatment, try to puzzle it out for myself; for it seems to me preposterous to consider the Bill without the guiding thought of those who constructed it. There is one principle of redistribution upon which it clearly ought not to be founded, and that is the principle of abstract right to equality of representation. The principle of equal electoral districts is not the principle upon which a Redistribution Bill ought to be based. To adopt such a principle would be to make us the slaves of numbers—very good servants, but very bad masters. I do not suppose we are generally eager to see the time