# William Morris and the Early Days of the Socialist Movement/12

CHAPTER XII
CAMPAIGNING DAY AT HAMMERSMITH
BETWEEN the years 1889 and 1893 I made occasional week-end visits to Morris at Hammersmith, taking part in the Sunday propaganda of the local branch. The branch, which on the break-up of the League in 1890 changed its name into the Hammersmith Socialist Society, had its headquarters at Kelmscott House, then the most active, as it was the most famous, centre of Socialist propaganda in London. An account of a typical week-end spent with Morris and our Hammersmith comrades will therefore, I think, be interesting to my readers.
Usually I arrived at Hammersmith from Scotland on the Saturday afternoon, and passed the evening with Morris at home. The earlier part of the evening would likely be spent with Mrs. Morris and Jenny in the drawing-room, when Morris would read aloud from some favourite book. Thereafter he and I would sit in the library, where one or two friends would gather for a chat. Among those likely to be with us were Emery Walker, John Carruthers, Philip Webb, Catterson Smith, Cobden-Sanderson, and other Socialist friends living in the neighbourhood; occasionally, after Sunday lectures, other friends from more distant parts of London might call in.
What rare symposia these little gatherings in the library were! Somewhere in the cabinets of my memory a record of the conversations and discussions has doubtless been preserved, but only as dried flowers are in the leaves of a ​book, their colour faded, their fragrance and essence gone. In Morris' company conversation could never sink into banality. His presence inhibited idle and paltry chatter. He was fond of playfulness and humour, but was the deadly enemy of indolence as of mere levity of mind.
The room itself had a spell for the imagination. One could not fail to see that some tutelary genius had its abode in it. Looking around the room, all so charming in the natural simplicity of its furniture—only useful and beautiful things were there, masterpieces of literature and priceless old volumes, Dürer engravings and rare pieces of craftsmanship, and all so kindly lit up in the tranquil candle-light with its ambient shadows—one was conscious of that companionableness in all about one that one feels in a deep forest glade. At times the room seemed a very sanctuary of the Muses or an Abbot's cloister; but its aspects, like its master's moods, were many, and seemed to change responsively. I remember how transfigured it appeared that night—the Saturday night of the week-end visit which I am about to describe. Morris was in a particularly insurgent mood. He had been rating Gladstone and the Liberal Party, which led someone to remark incautiously that the Tories were really more in sympathy with liberty and democracy than the Liberals, citing in support of this view some dictum of Dr. Johnson's.
Morris was Johnsonian in his reply. He asked what liberty or democracy the Tories had ever agitated or fought for? In the country districts the Tories were on their own dunghill, and what sort of liberty or democracy had they given the poor agricultural labourers there? He pursued this vein, recalling facts from history and his own observation, at first in an argumentative way, but gradually firing himself up into a magnificent polemic against the aristocracy, the Church, and eventually the whole property-grabbing class system of modern society. The oppression of Egypt and Ireland, and the police attack in Trafalgar Square, he tossed as flaming faggots into his indictment. ​Amazingly rebellious things took flight in his imagination, and as I sat there enthralled by the marvel of his words and his wonderful personality, the room with its antique emblems seemed to become more and more remote from the outside world. I remember noticing how the tobacco smoke from our pipes hung about the ceiling in dim serpent-like coils, and my enjoying a feeling of mystery and adventure much as a school-boy might feel in a smuggler's cave or on a pirate's quarter-deck.
During the last thirty years of his life it was an established custom with Morris to breakfast every Sunday morning with Burne-Jones, when both were in town. This custom, which was one of his most cherished enjoyments, and one of the few practices of personal regimen which did not give way to the urgency of Socialist engagements, prevented his joining regularly in the Sunday morning propaganda of the movement. Owing, however, to the occasional absence from town of Burne-Jones, and to the fact that Morris often imposed on himself the self-denying ordinance of shortening his after-breakfast chats with his friend, there were for several years few Sunday forenoons that Morris did not take part in the Hammersmith meeting, or speak in Hyde Park, Victoria Park, or elsewhere in London.
The Sunday morning of my visit was not one of his Burne-Jones mornings, and he was scheduled as one of the speakers at Hammersmith Bridge, the favourite Sunday-morning pitch of the branch. Shortly after ten o'clock Emery Walker and one or two other members called in, in order to take with them the literature and banner for the meeting, and together we all (the callers-in, Morris, May Morris, and myself) sallied forth for our rendezvous. The banner of the branch, designed by Crane and worked by May Morris, was a handsome ensign, and Morris, who, as we know, was immensely fond of all communal regalia, bore it furled on its pole over his shoulder—and a fine banner-bearer he was to see.
It was a glorious morning, and the propaganda strength ​of the branch was well represented at the bridge, among those present being Morris, May Morris, Mrs. Cobden-Sanderson, Mrs. Watt, Beasley, Tarleton, Catterson Smith, Bullock, Bridges Adams, Davies, the Grant brothers, Tochatti, and Mordhorst.
At least five or six of us spoke. This was more than usual, and much too many, and Tarleton grumbled that they ought instead to have divided themselves and held another meeting elsewhere. As it was, though the speeches were all, except in one instance, short ones, the meeting was prolonged beyond the usual hour—1 p.m.—with the result that three-fourths of the audience had melted away into the neighbouring public-houses, which opened at that hour, before a collection arranged for that morning could be taken and a proper opportunity afforded for questions.
The audience at the bridge consisted for the most part of working-men, who were accustomed to spend an hour or so on Sunday morning lounging on the bridge before dinner hour—or public-house time. The majority of them seemed quite amicably disposed towards the Socialist meeting, but did not trouble themselves much about politics. Occasionally one of them would join the branch, an event that was announced at the next business meeting. There was not wanting, however, a sufficient spice of opposition on the part of one or two habitués, men from the Tory-Democratic camp, who interjected questions and occasionally insisted on stating their views. One of these—the most harassing of them, in fact—eventually declared himself a convert to Socialism and joined the branch—an acquisition which proved a misfortune in disguise. As an interrupter and opponent this individual excited interest at the meetings, and gave easy points to our speakers; but as an evangelist of Socialism he did not shine. He was so blundering in his argument, and so obviously disreputable in his boozing habits, that the branch prayed audibly for his reconversion to his old anti-Socialist principles and his return to the Tory fold.
​The branch at the period I am speaking of was in great propaganda fettle, and in addition to the usual morning meeting, and an early evening meeting at Walham Green or elsewhere, and the usual indoor evening lecture in the hall, a few of the more ardent propagandists were running a special series of afternoon meetings in Ravenscourt Park. Morris was not asked to take part in this supplementary mission of the branch, his comrades realising the claims which the editing of Commonweal and his own literary work had upon his time.
Together with Bullock, the Grants, Tochatti, and others, I took part in holding the meeting in the park, where we succeeded in gathering a big crowd, mostly of the betterto-do office and shop-keeping class. It was a capital audience to speak to, with its provoking air of respectability, but I doubt if much was achieved in the way of 'making Socialists' among them. They were, I fear, exceedingly stony ground. But, anyway, we were spreading the word.
Later in the afternoon, previous to our going to the evening meeting at Walham Green, Bernard Shaw had called in on his way to some special Fabian committee, which was to be held at May Morris' house farther along the riverside at Hammersmith Terrace. This was the first time I had met Shaw. Morris, I remember, was showing Hooper, Walker and myself proofs of initial letters printed in red for his Kelmscott Press, asking whether we liked the colour. Hooper and Walker expressed themselves pleased with it, but, feeling myself technically incompetent on such a matter, I ventured no remarks. On Shaw's entering, Morris asked his opinion. Examining the print for a moment, Shaw said that he thought the colour a little too light— too yellowish, I think he said. Morris looked at the print again, holding it at various distances from his eyes. 'Umph! Perhaps you may be right,' he said. 'I'll have proofs pulled to-morrow in a deeper tint, and see how it looks.'
On rising to go, Shaw said to me, 'You are lecturing to-night. I should like to hear you, but I expect our ​committee meeting will keep me rather late. Of course, I know that you have some sensible things to say, but are you going to say anything fresh—heretical, I mean? If so, I shall make an effort to come; but if you are going to keep on the beaten track, it's hardly worth my while, is it?' I replied with conventional modesty that I did not suppose that anything I had to say was likely to be either new or particularly heretical to him. 'Ah well,' he said, 'you won't mind if I postpone the pleasure of hearing your Scottish wit and wisdom till another occasion,' and with that he made off. This was the first time I had met Shaw, and the bluntness of his civility was a novel experience. As a matter of fact, he was the only person besides Morris likely to be at the meeting whose opinion on the argument of my lecture I should specially have liked to hear. His announcement, therefore, that he would not be present, was a disappointment to me, none the less so because he had made me unwittingly accessory to his absence.
In the evening Morris accompanied us to Walham Green, where he, Catterson Smith, Bullock, and myself addressed a fair-sized crowd of people of the artisan type, who seemed to take quite an intelligent interest in the speeches. Here, as at Hammersmith Bridge, Morris vigorously pushed the sale of literature while the other speakers were holding forth, going round the ring with a bundle of Commonweals and pamphlets under his arm, and inviting the listeners in a brotherly way to sample some of his wares. Sometimes a listener would seem to hesitate about parting with a penny for a purchase, whereupon Morris would say, 'Well, my friend, never mind about payment. I'll stand that if you'll promise to read the paper. You can hand it on to someone else when you're done with it.'
Morris and I hurried back early from the meeting, as I was due to lecture in the hall at eight o'clock, and he was to take the chair.
The famous meeting-room was an out-building attached ​to the side of Kelmscott House—the house itself having, previous to Morris' tenancy, been the residence of Dr. George MacDonald, the celebrated story writer and mystic, and before that of Sir Francis Rolands, the inventor of the electric telegraph. The outhouse was originally a stable, but was turned by Morris into a carpet-weaving and designing room, and later he had it fitted up as a meeting-place for the Hammersmith Socialists. It was a long room, with the floor raised three steps at the further end, forming a dais or platform with a side door leading into the garden of the house. It was quite simply furnished, and visitors who expected, as it seems many did, to find it fitted up as a sort of Morris art show-room were disappointed with its severely utilitarian character. The furniture consisted of rush-bottom chairs and several long wooden forms, a lecture table on the platform, and a bookstall near the entrance. The plain whitewashed walls were covered with rush matting. One or two engravings, portraits of Sir Thomas More and other Socialist pioneers, and copies of Walter Crane's famous Socialist cartoons were hung on either side of the room. The banner of the branch was displayed behind the platform, on which there were a piano and some copies of Roman mosaics.
The fame of Morris brought visitors—literary men, artists, politicians, and Socialists—almost every Sunday evening to the meetings. Many distinguished people from America and foreign countries had heard Socialism preached here for the first time in their lives. Almost every notable Socialist speaker, irrespective of party, had spoken from its platform, some of them many times. Among the list might be mentioned Kropotkin, Stepniak, Lawrence Gronlund, Bernard Shaw, Sidney and Mrs. Webb, Graham Wallas, Mrs. Besant, Sydney Olivier, Hyndman, Herbert Burrows, J.A. Hobson, John Burns, Pete Curran, John Carruthers, Walter Crane, Philip Webb, Cobden-Sanderson and Ramsay Macdonald. Morris and Shaw, however, were the most frequent lecturers—above all, Morris himself.
​When not engaged lecturing elsewhere, Morris was always present, and was usually called upon to preside, and liked to do so. But, whether in the chair or not, Morris invariably took part in the after discussion. It was also his custom when at home to invite the lecturer of the evening, together with one or two friends, to supper after the meeting. To be asked to these supper gatherings was a coveted privilege, and with his usual consideration Morris was careful to invite, as occasion allowed, one or two of the least prominent members of the branch, so that none was denied the honour and hospitality of his table.
The subject of my lecture was 'Social and Physical Equality.' I had taken great pains in preparing the notes, writing out part of the lecture in full, alike because I felt it was incumbent on me to sustain as best I could the reputation of the Kelmscott House platform, and because the subject was one which I thought would, if well handled, be of interest to the more thoughtful Socialists among my hearers.
It was, I confess, a notable event for me to lecture at Kelmscott House with Morris in the chair.
The main argument of my lecture was (1) that equality of social conditions would inevitably tend towards greater equality of bodily and mental powers, and (2) that this greater equality of physical powers as well as of social conditions would operate to increase the nobler diversity of character and multiply the means of happiness in life, by eliminating the violent, ugly, and hateful contrasts, not only of wealth and poverty, but of health and disease, strength and weakness, ability and stupidity, and beauty and ugliness in the human race. Diversity resulting from defect of mind or body was not and could not be a source of beauty or happiness to any but depraved minds. It was one of Morris' habits when presiding at meetings to murmur assent or disapproval at what was being said, keeping his hand meanwhile employed drawing bits of ornament, ​sprays of foliage, initial letters and such-like, and using for the purpose the backs of envelopes, blotting-paper, handbills, or any scrap of paper that lay at hand. On this occasion he 'illuminated' several envelopes while I was speaking—one of which I have preserved—and commented freely, mostly in monosyllables, on my statements. His expressions were for the most part favourable, chiefly emphasis of approval; but I none the less felt unusually ill at ease when speaking, and often had difficulty in finding the right word. In particular I remember that I stumbled into the frequent use of the word 'predicates' as a verb, in the sense of 'implies' or 'involves' as a consequence (a piece of scientific jargon I had learnt from Spencer, I think). Morris visibly squirmed every time I used the word, but, try as I would to avoid it, the offensive Latinism obtruded itself at every opportunity.
He was on his feet inviting questions almost before I sat down. They came pell-mell, but most of them were irrelevant, and Morris promptly told the questioners concerned that they were so. Discussion followed. Among the first to speak was a young lady sitting near the back of the hall (who, I afterwards learned, was quite a stranger). She was evidently in a state of nervous excitement, and spoke so low that we on the platform only ascertained what she had said after the meeting was over. It appears that she expostulated—'Oh, Mr. Morris, don't you think it is wrong in a man of your great talents and influence to be engaged in leading these young men astray—astray from God's truth—into the dangerous paths of Atheism and revolution?' Adding a few more words of religious appeal, she sat down, but immediately afterwards rose and hastened from the room like an affrighted spirit—poor girl! It is a pity Morris did not hear what she said. His reply would, we may be sure, have quietened if not banished her fears, and maybe have lessened the distress of her soul, evidently deeply sincere, by giving her a juster thought of the ways alike of God and her Socialist fellowmen.
​The discussion, like the questions, was very discursive. The usual 'cranks' had their usual say—each dilating on his own particular theme. Tochatti, an Anarchist tailor from Glasgow, discoursed on the advantages of Anarchism over State Socialism, inasmuch as Anarchism would allow the free play of all our human faculties without artificial hindrances of any kind. This observation brought to his feet Mordhorst, a Danish Socialist, who insisted that it was not less law but more law that we needed—law that would sternly put down landlordism, sweating, and all other abominations of the existing Capitalist system. He was followed by Munsey, a postal telegraphic official, a very earnest worker in the branch, who complained that the lectures were becoming too learned and far-fetched for useful Socialist teaching. What was wanted was plain statements of Socialist economics, such as a workman could understand. The subject discussed by the lecturer was, he said, no doubt interesting, but it did not concern Socialists much at present. What we had to do was to get the workers organised for Socialism. The Social Revolution depended solely on the working class. 'Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow.'
These familiar free-lances, having fired their shafts, the discussion was continued by several speakers who took up the theme of the lecture, and made some instructive points of criticism. Morris himself, in concluding the debate, which he had listened to with much more patience than I had expected, said he had greatly enjoyed the lecture. Many of the ideas in it were fresh and interesting to him. He heartily agreed that all diversities of body and mind which implied suffering, inferiority, or incapacity of any kind for the service or enjoyment of life, were hateful. No right-thinking person could derive pleasure or pride from beholding among their fellows the lack of capacity for giving happiness to others, any more than the lack of means of obtaining happiness for themselves. Yet these were the chief diversities that life afforded to-day.
​At supper-table after the meeting the subject of intellectual and physical equality was taken up again, and we listened to highly interesting accounts of the difference of capacity amongst the races in South America from John Carruthers, who as a railway engineer and contractor had great experience of the industrial habits of the people in that part of the world. It was midnight when Morris wished his guests 'good-night' cheerily at the door.
Such was one Sunday's campaigning at Hammersmith. 'You must feel jolly tired—I do,' said Morris, as he showed me upstairs to bed, candle in hand. 'Making Socialists is rather a stiff sort of art work, don't you think?'