House of Commons, Monday Night, March 11.—A great cloud fallen over House to-day. Soon the stately presence that fills the Chair will step forth, never to return. The sonorous voice that can still the storm in its angriest mood will no more resound through the hushed Chamber. The best Speaker the House of Commons in its long history has known, will be merged in the mediocrity of the House of Lords. A hard succession of blows to fall on an assembly. First Mr. G., then Grandolph, and now Arthur Peel, three men of wholly varied type, each unique, in his way reaching the highest level.
Suppose we shall get along somehow, though for all concerned in business of House, in maintaining its usefulness and supporting its dignity, the future without Peel in the Chair not to be regarded without foreboding. He has every quality and gift that go to make the ideal Speaker. A noble presence, a fine voice, a courtly manner, a resolute will, a full knowledge of the forms of the House, a keen though decently suppressed sense of humour—a scholar and a gentleman. These things are seen and recognised from outside. Only those who live and work in the House of Commons know how marvellous is the combination, how infinite in its magnitude the loss impending.
Tuesday.—Talk to-night all about successor to the Speaker. A dozen names mentioned; general conclusion that whoever may be selected, he's not to be envied. The Member for Sark, turning up to-night for first time this Session, brings strange news. Has been on the Riviera, daily expecting influenza. Saw Mr. G. yesterday; the talk at Cap Martin, as here, all about the soon-to-be emptied Chair, and who is to fill it. Sark tells me he is quite certain Mr. G. is thinking of coming forward as candidate; is (so Sark says, and he is a most reliable person) evidently eating out his heart in voluntary retirement. Now he's got his Psalter out, doesn't know what to do next.
"I asked him," Sark says, "whether there was any precedent for an ex-Prime Minister, however young in years and untamed in energy, becoming Speaker."
"Not exactly," he said; "but there is the case of a Speaker who became Prime Minister. Addington, you will remember, Speaker in 1789, was Premier at the turn of the century. It was said of him, by the way, that he never quite overcame the force of old habits. When engaged with the Cabinet in consideration of foreign affairs he had difficulty in refraining from saying 'The French to the right, the Austrians to the left.' Don't see why the case shouldn't be taken the other way about, and an ex-Premier become Speaker. Fancy I may take it that I have some qualifications for the post. Know the House pretty intimately; have been familiar with it for some years. Am told I never looked so picturesque as when, on public occasions, I wore official gown of Chancellor of Exchequer. Think the Speaker's dress would suit me. But that a mere trifle. What I hanker after, at my time of life, at the close of a career not absolutely free from hard work, is some post not too arduous. Seems to me the Speakership would be the very thing; just enough to do, and not too much."
Mr. G. (disguised in Speaker's wig and gown). "Rather fancy the costume would suit me down to the ground!"
If it had been anyone but Sark had said this, would have listened with incredulity. But Sark most respectable man.
Business done.—Robertson in excellent speech explained Navy Estimates.
Thursday.—The Silence of Silomio. No, it's not the title of a novel. You're thinking of the late Dean Maitland. This quite another story; equally tragic. Came about this way. House met to deal with Army Estimates. Cawmel-Bannerman in his place, after ten days in his bedroom with a cold. The cold must have had most amusing companion, that is if Cawmel was as pawky with it as he was to-night with the semi-military horde led by Private Hanbury, who swooped down and barred approach to Committee, These deployed in the open; placed their amendments on the paper. House knew what to expect. Never suspected Silomio in ambush.