‘The rising unto place is laborious; ... the standing is slippery, and the regress is either a downfall or at least an eclipse which is a melancholy thing.’—Bacon.
Lord Randolph Churchill had divested himself by a single short letter of all that authority which is centred in a political chief and a Minister of the Crown. The solid array of Conservative members who had stoutly sustained him, ‘proud to follow a leader who was proud to lead them on’; the wise and busy secretaries of a great department with their hives of fact and counsel; hundreds of sharp pens, thousands of friendly voices; the vast, pervading, persisting machinery of party, all hitherto obedient in his service, now in a moment fell away. He was only the representative of a Metropolitan constituency who possessed some skill in speaking and a small house overlooking Hyde Park. He had cast away all advantages. He had neglected every preparation. He had chosen bad ground and the worst time. Moreover, as shall be seen, he had bound himself hand and foot. Yet such was the personal importance this man had acquired, so highly were his services valued, so much was his hostility feared, that for a time the British Government tottered and his place remained unfilled.
Mr. Chamberlain to Lord Randolph Churchill.
Highbury, Moor Green, Birmingham: December 23, 1886.
My dear Churchill,—Whew! The cat is among the pigeons with a vengeance.
My sympathies are entirely with you, and I think you may rely on my cordial co-operation, if it can be of any value.
I have to speak to-night, and must express my first thoughts on what is an entirely changed situation.
I wish I was able to communicate with you beforehand, but if you have any wishes or ideas as to immediate action let me know. If necessary we will arrange a meeting, and I will run up to London again.
The Government is doomed, and I suspect we may have to re-form parties on a new basis. You and I are equally adrift from the old organisations.
Yours ever,
J. Chamberlain.