There is probably no statesman of whom such widely different estimates have been formed as the present Prime Minister of Great Britain. I have heard him compared with Themistocles, with Macchiavelli, with Mirabeau (I think it was Mirabeau, but it may have been one of those other people beginning with "M" in French history. Almost everybody in French history began with an "M," like the things that were drawn by the three little girls in the well), and even with the younger Pitt. I have heard him spoken of as a charlatan, as a chameleon, as a chatterbox, and, by a man who had hoped that the Kaiser would be hanged in Piccadilly Circus, as a chouser. Almost all of these estimates are thoroughly fallacious. Let us take, for instance, Macchiavelli. It was the declared opinion of Macchiavelli that for the establishment and maintenance of authority all means may be resorted to and that the worst and most treacherous acts of the ruler, however unlawful in themselves, are justified by the wickedness and treachery of the governed. Has Mr. Lloyd George ever said this? He may have thought it, of course, but has he ever said it? No. When one considers that besides this dictum Macchiavelli wrote seven books on the art of war, a highly improper comedy, a life of Castruccio Castracani (unfinished, and can you wonder?), and was very naturally put to the torture in 1513, it will be seen how hopelessly the parallel with Mr. Lloyd George breaks down.
Let us turn then to the younger Pitt. I have read somewhere of the younger Pitt that he cared more for power than for measures, and was ready to sacrifice great causes with which he had sincerely sympathised rather than raise an opposition that might imperil his ascendency. That is just the kind of nasty and long-winded thing that anybody might say about anybody. It was by disregarding this kind of criticism that the younger Pitt kept on being younger. But apart from this, does Mr. Lloyd George quote Horace in the House? Never, thank goodness. How many times did William Pitt cross the English Channel? Only once in his whole life. That settles it.
The predominant note—I may almost say the keynote—of the Prime Minister's character is rather a personal magnetism such as has never been exercised by any statesman before or after. When he rises to speak in the House all eyes are riveted on him as though with a vice until he has finished speaking. Even when he has finished they sometimes have to be removed by the Serjeant-at-Arms with a chisel. His speeches have the moral fervour and intensity of one of the Minor Prophets—Nahum or Amos, in the opinion of some critics, though I personally incline to Malachi or Habakkuk. This personal magnetism which Mr. Lloyd George radiates in the House he radiates no less in 10, Downing Street, where a special radiatorium has been added to the breakfast-room to radiate it. Imagine an April morning, a kingfisher on a woody stream, poplar-leaves in the wind, a shower of sugar shaken suddenly from a sifter, and you have the man.
It has been said that Mr. Lloyd George has quarrelled with some of his nearest friends; but this again is a thing that might happen to anybody. Mr. Lloyd George may have had certain slight differences of opinion with Lord Northcliffe, but what about Henry VIII. and Wolsey? and Henry V. and Falstaff? and Henry II. and Thomas à Becket?
Talking of Thomas à Becket, rather a curious story has been told to me, which I give for what it is worth. It is stated that some time ago Mr. Lloyd George was so enraged by attacks in a certain section of the Press that he shouted suddenly, after breakfast one morning in Downing Street, "Will no one rid me of this turbulent scribe?" Whereupon four knights in his secretarial retinue drew their swords and set out immediately for Printing House Square. Fortunately there happened to be a breakdown on the Metropolitan Railway that day, so that nothing untoward occurred.
I sometimes think that if one can imagine the eloquence of Savonarola blended with the wiliness of Ulysses and grafted on to the strength and firmness of Oliver Cromwell, we have the best historical parallel for Mr. Lloyd George. It ought to be remembered that the grandfather of Oliver Cromwell came from Wales and that the Protector is somewhere described as "Oliver Cromwell alias Williams." Something of that old power of dispensing with stupid Parliamentary opinion seems to have descended to our present Prime Minister. There is one difference, however. Oliver Cromwell's famous advice to his followers was to trust in Divine Providence "and keep your powder dry." Mr. Lloyd George puts his powder in jam.
K.
Our Patient Fishermen.
"Mr. ——, jun., had another salmon on the Finavon Water. This is the second he has secured since the flood."
—Scotch Paper.