# The Strand Magazine/Volume 6/Issue 36/From Behind the Speaker's Chair

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From Behind the Speaker's Chair. XI. (VIEWED BY HENRY W. LUCY.)
THE MINIS-TERIAL MAJORITY.
WITH a House of Commons not yet entered upon its second year, it seems premature to be talking about the next General Election. Yet in political circles the topic is already stale. It came to the front almost as soon as the new Parliament met. There were authorities who declared, and seemed to have convinced themselves of the accuracy of their forecast, that the new House would not live through its first through its first Session. Some, not to be lacking in precision, fixed Easter as the limit of its troubled life.
Mr. T. H. Bolton.
As we know, the House is not only still living but is still sitting, a Session running to the length of nearly eight months not being enough to sap its young energy. As for the Ministerial majority, jeered at as fragile and insufficient for everyday work, those who saw strength in its very narrowness have been justified by the result. A Liberal majority in the House of Commons is bound to crumble away as the sparks fly upward. A majority of from eighty to over one hundred begins the process with a light heart in the first week a Liberal Ministry takes its seat on the Treasury Bench. With such a backing, what does it matter if ten, twenty, or even thirty members, returned to support the Government, set up in business for for themselves? With a majority of only forty, the instinct of self-preservation is alert and predominant. If on any division the majority falls by even a unit below the normal figure, there is a close, sharp examination of the lists, which brings to light the identity of the laggard or the rebel. The condition of affairs places exceptional power in the hands of the Whips, and when it is used with the skill and urbanity that have marked the period of office of Mr. Marjoribanks and his rare team, the position of Ministers is impregnable against persistent, desperate, adroitly-planned and well-led attack.
Mr. Grenfell, having views on bimetallism, breaks away from a party pledged to Home Rule. Mr. T. H. Bolton, yielding at length to innate Imperialistic tendencies, formally joins the ranks of the "gentlemen of England." Mr. Saunders, like Martha, troubled with many things, absents himself from a critical division. By these items the majority is diminished. The main body stands firm, and, according to present appearance, will remain so to the end.
THE GENERAL ELECTION.
Nevertheless, the House of Commons elected in July of last year is predestined to an early dissolution, the circumstances attending which and the approximate date being plainly foreshadowed. The early and greater part of the present Session having been devoted to the Home Rule Bill, the interests of the island adjacent to Ireland will next Session have an innings. It is not yet clearly understood whether a Home Rule Bill will find a place in the programme of the new Session. Such an arrangement is one to be contemplated only in view of the fatal tendency of a Liberal Ministry to attempt to get a quart of Bills into the pint pot of a Session. It would be idle to include a Home Rule Bill in the promises of a Queen's Speech unless it were intended to carry it through all its stages before the prorogation. That done, it would be futile to include a Registration Bill, much less a Church Disestablishment measure.
​ Mr. W. Saunders.
What will doubtless happen will be that next Session will be set apart for clearing the decks for action preparatory to a General Election; that in the Session of 1895 the Home Rule Bill will again be brought in, pressed through the Commons, thrown out again by the Lords, and, somewhere between Easter and Whitsuntide, battle will be given on a field in which will be staked much more than the issue of Home Rule for Ireland. Old electioneering hands know that for an appeal to the popular vote there is no cry more effective than that shouted round the walls of the House of Lords after its inmates have twice, within a brief period of time, set at naught the decrees of the House of Commons.
THE NEXT MINISTRY.
Whilst there is this unusual measure of certainty as to the career of the present Parliament, an influential section of the Opposition are not less definite in their arrangements of what shall follow after the next General Election. They have convinced themselves that in the result the Liberals will be placed in a minority variously estimated at from fifty to seventy. There will then devolve upon the Unionist party the duty of carrying on the Queen's Government. How is it to be done? How are the conflicting claims of the two wings of the party to be adjusted?
It is all cut and dried, all parcelled out in larger and smaller allotments. The only thing not settled is, Who is to be Prime Minister? That is a matter left for final determination when the hour has struck and the man is called for. But as an alternative scheme is devised, no hesitancy or embarrassment need be apprehended. Either Lord Salisbury or the Duke of Devonshire will succeed Mr. Gladstone, Lord Salisbury having precedence, not without expectation that he will yield it to the Duke of Devonshire, as he proffered it to Lord Hartington in 1886. Should Lord Salisbury elect to lead the House of Lords, Mr. Chamberlain will become Leader of the House of Commons. Should the Duke of Devonshire be Premier, Mr. Arthur Balfour will be Leader in the House of Commons, Mr. Chamberlain undertaking the post of Chancellor of the Exchequer, and Lord Salisbury will return to the Foreign Office.
"Tempora mutantus, nos et—"
MR. CHAMBERLAIN'S FUTURE.
I do not know how far this patent adjustable scheme has been accepted at Arlington Street and on the Front Opposition Bench. It was rough-hewn in Liberal Unionist councils, those of the inner circle not making any secret of the matter. It bears on the face of it the mark of a well-considered, equable arrangement, and forms the groundwork of a strong Ministry.
It is noteworthy at the present time as marking an important stage in Mr. Chamberlain's political development. In 1886, when Lord Salisbury's Government was formed, the Member for Birmingham might have had any office he liked to name as the price of his defection from the Liberal party. But he declined to take the Conservative shilling, protesting that he was not less Liberal than he had been at any earlier stage. It was the Liberal party that had gone astray, he and the few that remained with him being the only true Liberals. He would stand in ​with the Tories in their opposition to Home Rule, and even on that, as was shown by the Round Table confabulation, he was desirous of coming to an understanding with his own colleagues. But his new allies would make a fatal mistake if they supposed he was, on other questions of the day, less ruthlessly Radical than when, on the eve of the General Election of 1885, he preached the doctrine of the Unauthorized Programme to an applauding populace.
There were some who, knowing Mr. Chamberlain publicly and privately, through six years combated the assumption that he would finally drift within the ranks of Toryism, wherein he was of yore the most detested and the most feared of political adversaries. There have been times during the present Session when it has been difficult to cling to this belief. It would seem that there is no longer room for conjecture, and that the next time a Tory Ministry is formed, the gas-lit roof of the House of Commons, unabashed at sight of many strange things, will look down on Mr. Chamberlain rising from the Treasury Bench, officially to defend the measures and policy of a Conservative Government.
Mr. L. Courtney.
THE NEXT SPEAKER.
One other important matter settled in anticipation of a Conservative majority after the next General Election is the choice of Speaker. It is assumed that Mr. Peel will not consent to a further term of office, an assumption which, in the interests of the House of Commons and of the country, it is hoped may prove baseless. But it will be seen that, in a particular quarter of the political camp, there is a wholesome disposition to be prepared for every contingency. Should Mr. Peel claim the right to retire with laurels that will remain green as long as the history of Parliament remains on record, Mr. Courtney will be nominated as his successor.
That is a choice which, should opportunity present itself for making it, will receive general if not enthusiastic approval. As Mr. Peel has been incomparably the best Speaker of modern times, so was Mr. Courtney the most unimpeachable Chairman of Committees. It does not follow that because a man has shown aptitude in the Chair at the table, he will, necessarily, be a success as a Speaker. A man may be quick in forming a judgment, may be thoroughly versed in Parliamentary procedure, may have earned the reputation of being inflexibly impartial, and yet may fail when he puts on wig and gown and sits in the Speaker's Chair. Still, long experience as Chairman of Ways and Means is an admirable apprenticeship for the post of Speaker. Outside the House it may seem odd it so rarely leads to it.
Mr. Campbell-Bannerman.
MR. CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN.
There are several men on the Liberal side of the present House of Commons who would make excellent Chairmen of Committees, though, from various reasons, they are impossible. Sir Charles Dilke would make a model Chairman. Mr. Campbell-Bannerman would do well at whatever station ​it pleased the Prime Minister of the day to call him. The mind dwells lingeringly on the picture of him seated in the Chair of Committee of Ways and Means. There possibly was a time when, had the offer come his way, he would have accepted it. He has long ago passed the milestone in a Parliamentary career indicated by such advancement. His name, like some others, is mentioned here, merely as indicating the kind of man who, if circumstances permitted, would make a successful Chairman of Committees. Mr. Campbell-Bannerman's capabilities range. over a wider field. He would make an excellent Speaker, and will probably some day have the opportunity of showing his capacity as Leader of the House of Commons. At that post he would develop into a kind of sublimated Mr. W. H. Smith. That perhaps does not seem extravagant praise, but those most intimate with the House of Commons will know that "Old Morality" was the most successful Leader of the House of Commons since the days of Lord Palmerston.
Nature has bestowed upon Mr. Campbell-Bannerman a number of gifts; Fortune has withheld one that weighs even against their accumulation. If he had only been born a poor man, and had to fight for his living, he would have been something more to-day than Secretary of War. But men cannot expect to enjoy every advantage.
MR. E. ROBERTSON.
I have been told, upon authority that commands attention, that at one time Mr. Gladstone was bent upon inducting Mr. Henry Fowler into the Chair of Committees. Here again was an excellent suggestion made at a time when the subject of it had outgrown the position. Ten years ago Mr. Fowler would have jumped at the offer, and would have filled the Chair with distinction. With the alternative of headship of a department and a seat in the Cabinet, he could not be expected to step down into the Chair.
Mr. E. Robertson.
Mr. Robertson is another member, picked out by Mr. Gladstone's quick glance for Ministerial office, who would make an excellent Chairman of Committees. He has the advantage over others named, inasmuch as he is younger and physically harder, an important qualification for Chairman of Ways and Means in these times. The post of Civil Lord of the Admiralty, even with fair prospect of advancement, does not compete with the emoluments and the dignity of the Chairman of Committees. Should circumstances arise to create a vacancy in the Chair within the life of the present Parliament, it is comforting to know that there is a successor at hand in this self-possessed, gravely-mannered, capable young Scotsman.
THE STRANGER WITHIN THE GATES.
With the resumption of the sittings in the House of Commons, the Strangers' Galleries have once more filled to overflowing. Next to the largeness of the divisions taken night after night, often several times in a sitting—an average unparalleled since Parliament began—there has been nothing more striking than the crowded state of the Strangers' Galleries. The time came when the House itself was tired out with the reiteration of the debate on the Home Rule Bill. The withers of the strangers were to the last unwrung. This was reasonable, since the composition of the House itself was in the main unchanged, whilst the strangers nightly varied with the chances of the ballot-box. Still, that condition exists through all Sessions, and in none of recent date has there been such competition for seats in the galleries.
There was something pathetic in the sight of the row seated in the corridor which used to be St. Stephen's Chapel. They were next in order for admission when by chance a seat was vacated. On a big night it was a mathematical certainty that not more than two, at the utmost five, would gain admission. Nevertheless they all, to the remote hopeless man at the end of the queue, sat hour after hour patiently waiting. For those fortunate enough to attain admission neither hunger nor fatigue availed to damp the ardour of enthusiasm. They listened with delight to Mr. Gladstone, Mr. Balfour, or Mr. Chamberlain; they did not budge even when the debate fell into the doldrums of the dinner-hour.
Sometimes, carried away by the excitement of the moment, they openly applauded a speech. In one case enthusiasm ​was chilled by the applauder being led forth on the Speaker's injunction, and seen safe into Palace Yard. On a still more memorable occasion the strangers in the gallery, looking down on a free fight on the floor of the House of Commons, indignantly hissed. Here was lost an opportunity for fitly ending an unaccustomed scene. In the Christmas pantomime, when the uproar breaks forth, the attendant policeman, with novel and subtle humour, swoops down on the smallest and most inoffensive boy on the outskirts of the throng and leads him to the lock-up. If Mr. Mellor had only thought of it, he might have sternly called "Order! Order!" and directed the Serjeant-at-Arms to remove the disturbers of peace in the Strangers' Gallery. After this episode the fracas on the floor of the House might, or might not, have been resumed.
MR. GLADSTONE ON THE ENLARGEMENT OF THE HOUSE.
The plans for a new House of Commons include fuller accommodation for strangers of both sexes. The scheme comes up with regularity at the mustering of every new Parliament, the clamour dying away even as the first Session advances, and, the novelty of the situation fading, attendance falls off. Mr. Gladstone has never publicly expressed an opinion on the question of the desirability or otherwise of enlarging the House. But in private conversation he makes no secret of his distaste for the proposal. To him it is a place of work, and he is averse to anything that should increase the tendency to make it a rival of the theatre.
The Ladies' Cage.
For this reason he is in favour of retaining the grille before the Ladies' Gallery, an opinion in which he is supported by a large majority of the ladies frequenting the House. Mr. Gladstone well remembers the old House of Commons, in which no accommodation for ladies was provided. Undaunted by this circumstance, ladies were present at all the big debates for some years prior to the destruction of the old House. Discovery was made that in the ventilating chamber in the roof there were shutters, through which persons peering might see and hear what was going on below. It must have been a terrible ordeal, with no air to breathe save the vitiated atmosphere of a crowded House. But there was great competition for the privilege of standing there. Mrs. Canning, wife of the Prime Minister, was, Mr. Gladstone tells me, a frequent visitor to this chamber of horrors at times when her husband was intending to make an important speech.
"I remember one night," said Mr. Gladstone, looking back smilingly over a period of fifty years, "the House being crowded for a big debate, something fell on the floor with a distinct thud. It was a lady's bracelet, which had dropped through the open space in the ventilator."
LADIES IN THE VENTILATOR.
History repeats itself in small things as well as in great. This very Session, a small group of ladies, cachées in the ventilating chamber of the House of Commons, heard a speech delivered by Mr. Gladstone as, sixty years ago, another group in similar circumstances listened to his friend and early master, Mr. Canning. It happened on the night of the introduction of the Home Rule Bill. Every seat in the Ladies' Gallery, including the little-known stalls hidden behind the Strangers' Gallery facing the cage, had been appropriated. But the ladies of this generation are not more easily repulsed from a desired position than they were in the time of Canning.
Immediately under the House of Commons is a chamber running its full length, part of the elaborate construction of the ventilating department. The floor of the House, which to the casual glance seems of solid construction, is composed of perforated iron-work, covered with fine thread matting. Through this the fresh air drawn in from the river-terrace and elaborately treated in the lower vaults, is driven into the House. In this chamber, roofed by the fretwork of iron, speeches made in the House are as audible as if the listener were seated at the table or on one of the front benches. Four ladies, having obtained official permission, here sat and heard every word of Mr. Gladstone's speech. In respect of purity of air the ​conditions were reversed as compared with those of Mrs. Canning and her companions. For them the air was a trifle stale. For these it was decidedly too fresh, and a severe cold was the penalty paid for the privilege of being (more or less) present on the historic occasion.
WHOM THEY WENT OUT FOR TO SEE.
An unfailing test of the place a member of the House of Commons fills in the eye of the public is supplied from the Strangers' Gallery. The attendants in the gallery might, if they gave themselves up to the task, supply a remarkable barometer of the current state of public feeling. Strangers always want to see one, two, or three men, and are not backward in asking to have them pointed out. At one time the eager inquiry incessantly ran upon Lord Randolph Churchill. To see him, and, above all, to hear him, if only putting or answering a question, was guerdon for all the trouble of getting the seat. Now, Lord Randolph is rarely asked for, the run being upon Mr. Balfour first, with Mr. Chamberlain a good second.
Watching Mr. Biggar.
In this respect, as in some others, Mr. Gladstone stands apart. Even for those who have never beheld him in the flesh, his face and figure are so familiar that they are easily recognised on the Treasury Bench, whither the stranger's eyes are first bent on entering the House. Mr. Parnell, whilst he was yet with us, was one of the principal attractions as watched from the Strangers' Gallery. Another prime favourite was Joseph Gillis Biggar, a concatenation of circumstance that shows how wide are human sympathies.
Mr. Biggar had a peculiar attraction for the Prince of Wales. Many a time in the stormy Sessions of 1880-5 I have seen His Royal Highness in his place over the clock looking down with beaming smile, whilst Joseph Gillis, with thumb in the armhole of his imitation sealskin waistcoat, talked of things present and to come. Joseph made a poor return for these marks of Royal favour. One night, just as the Prince had comfortably settled himself in his seat, Joseph Gillis spied strangers, and under the standing order then suffered, he had the gratification of seeing the Heir Apparent compulsorily withdrawn with the rest of the strangers.
THE PREMIER'S VOICE.
Perhaps the most striking testimony to the marvellous vitality of Mr. Gladstone is the recovery of his voice. Time was, a dozen years ago, when he was a chit of something over seventy, his voice suddenly failed. Public speaking became but labour and sorrow, promising shortly to be an impossibility. In the House of Commons he struggled against the growing infirmity with pathetic courage, but was sometimes obliged to own himself beaten. At his age there seemed no reasonable hope of recovery.
Recovery has been achieved, and members new to the present House of Commons cannot realize the existence of a period when Mr. Gladstone stood at the table speaking but almost inaudible. So completely has his voice regained strength that the pomatumpot which used to play an important part in his oratorical efforts has become a tradition. In the delivery of his great speech on the third reading of the Home Rule Bill, he did not find occasion once to refresh himself even with the glass of water that stood at his right hand.
It is a happy dispensation that, in the majority of cases, Nature endows with pleasant voice men who do the most part of our public speaking. That a good voice is not absolutely essential to success as a public speaker is testified in the case of Lord John Russell. As a concomitant with other qualifications it is of priceless value. Of the voices of contemporary statesmen, Mr. Gladstone's is of the richest quality, capable of the widest range. In his prime, Mr. Bright was, I have been told, counted his equal in this respect. But whilst, as the years passed, Mr. Bright's voice deteriorated in quality and grew harshly metallic in the upper notes, Mr. Gladstone's ​voice seems to improve, certainly is more skilfully and effectually modulated.
Addressing the Gallery.
LORD SALISBURY'S.
Lord Salisbury has a sonorous, musical voice that makes it a physical pleasure to listen to him. As compared with Mr. Gladstone's vigorously varied tone, his manner of speech is charmingly equable. Mr. Gladstone sometimes orates; Lord Salisbury always converses. The contrast between him and his son and heir is deeply marked. When Lord Cranborne addresses the House of Commons his word come tumbling out after the fashion of the waters at Lodore. He is always at white heat, and conveys to his audience the impression that if they would excuse him he would find it a great relief to scream.
Lord Salisbury, though when making an important speech he is careful to speak up to the Press Gallery, rarely departs from his conversational manner. He never declaims or overwhelms the adversary with indignant denunciation. But he can upon occasion inflect his voice with a vibration conveying a feeling of scorn and contempt much harder to be borne by persons directly concerned than would be any amount of oratorical beating about the head.
MR. BALFOUR'S.
Mr. Balfour has a musical voice and a delivery that has vastly improved of late years, even of late months. He does not imitate the cynically unemotional manner of his uncle. He is indeed given to let his voice ring through the crowded House, as, with clenched hand beating the air, he pours contumely and scorn on hon. gentlemen below the gangway or seated on the benches opposite. His voice is admirably fitted to himself and his speech, having a certain note of elegance and distinction which forms the complement of his public performance and his social amenities.
MR. CHAMBERLAIN'S.
Mr. Chamberlain has a voice so pleasant that its music must do something to soften the asperity of the Irish member who listens to him. It is soft and low—a beautiful thing in a public speaker, especially when there is added the quality of perfect distinctness. When occasion invites, Mr. Chamberlain can throw into his tone a rasping note, suggestive of jagged edges in the dart he is discharging. That happens seldom, and is least effective. The art of saying the very nastiest things in the most mellifluous voice is a rare possession. Mr. Chamberlain has cultivated it to perfection.