Gladstone: A Biography (53 page)

He was not pressing. He had a calm summer. In the last week of the parliamentary session, at the strong invitation of Lady Palmerston, he went to Broadlands, where he had never been in
Palmerston’s day, but only for the shortest possible time; he was back in London by 11.00 the next morning. After ten days at Hawarden and one of speechmaking in Liverpool and St Helens he
went to Penmaenmawr on 10 August and remained there, interrupted only by another short Lancashire excursion, for five weeks (twenty-eight sea-bathes). His Hawarden six weeks from mid-September to
the beginning of November were then broken by one night in Warrington and two visits of four nights each at his brother’s house in Liverpool, all for electioneering purposes. An aspect of his
character, at once endearing and incorrigible, was revealed by his diary entries for two successive meetings. On 12 October, at Warrington: ‘Spoke over 1½ hours: too long.’ On
the 14th at Liverpool: ‘Meeting in Amphitheatre, 7½–11. Spoke 1¾ hours.’
⁷
He then retreated to Hawarden and Homer for
three weeks, which were interrupted by the death at the age of sixty-three of Harriet Sutherland, a painful loss for him, and a journey to Staffordshire for her funeral at Trentham. He also
diverted from Homer to read the two volumes of the twenty-five-year-old Charles Dilke’s
Greater Britain
(which he referred to as
Greater World
, but compensated for his
inaccuracy by annotating it heavily). Then he returned to Liverpool and another twelve days of electioneering.

South Lancashire had been divided, and Gladstone had become candidate for the new South-west division, which excluded the Manchester area and, with Warrington (now in Cheshire but historically
Lancashire) and Preston added, was not very different from that part of the recent Merseyside Metropolitan County which was north of the estuary. H. R. Grenfell, a brother-in-law of the Earl of
Sefton, who was a Liverpool grandee almost on the Derby scale, had been adopted as his running mate. Grenfell himself was a man of substance, later to be Governor of the Bank of England, and was
thought greatly to strengthen their joint appeal to the Whig elements in the constituency. Gladstone
was even led by the choice of Grenfell to write (on 1 August) of
‘brilliant prospects’ in the constituency.

What in fact occurred was a brilliant campaign followed by a dismal result, as, except in Midlothian, was frequently Gladstone’s experience. Morley wrote that ‘the breadth, the
elevation, the freshness, the power, the measure, the high self-command of these [1868 Lancashire] speeches was never surpassed by any of his performances’.
⁸
Morley supported the claim by reference to Gladstone’s speech at Leigh on 20 October, in which he delivered even-handed blows against both ‘constructive’
radicalism and constitutional conservatism. On the first point ‘he assailed the system of making things pleasant all round, stimulating local cupidity to feed upon the public purse, and
scattering grants at the solicitation of individuals and classes’. On the second he responded to the accusation that his Irish proposals would destroy the constitution by mockingly recalling
that he had already known it wholly ruined and destroyed seven times, starting in 1828 with the repeal of the Corporation and Test Acts and ending (for the moment) with the Russell
government’s attempt at suffrage reform. Understandably in the circumstances, he omitted to mention that he had himself been violently opposed to the first three of the seven measures.

The result was declared on 24 November, and put Gladstone in third place (with only two elected), about 300 behind both R. A. Cross (later Disraeli’s Home Secretary) who headed the poll
and Cross’s Conservative colleague. It was not much consolation that Gladstone was 500 votes ahead of Grenfell. It was an extraordinary result. Other party leaders have occasionally lost
their own constituencies, Balfour in Manchester in 1906, Asquith in Fife in 1918, MacDonald at Seaham in 1935, but in all these cases it has been when their party was caught in a severe ebb-tide or
when the circumstances were otherwise exceptional. But Gladstone in 1868 swept the country. The Liberal expectations, which had been modest in the summer and early autumn, were far exceeded. The
conventional figure for the Liberal majority was 112, although there was still room for ambiguity at the edges. Even more striking was the Liberal plurality in votes: 1,355,000 to 883,500. And
deeply paradoxical was the fact that the best Conservative performance in the three countries was in Ireland. In Scotland they polled only 16 per cent.

In the midst of this Conservative massacre there were one or two notable Liberal defeats. John Stuart Mill was beaten in Westminster by the stationer–statesman W. H. Smith. But this was
small beer compared
with the defeat in Lancashire of the Prime Minister-elect of the new (quasi-) democracy. Palmerston’s 1864 warning that Gladstone might win Lancashire
but lose England was shown to be singularly wide of the mark. What Gladstone did was to win England (and Scotland and Wales and even Ireland) for his party but to lose Lancashire for himself.

This perverse result created remarkably little reaction among the public, and no dismay comparable with that which followed his Oxford defeat in Gladstone himself. The public were used to
politicians shuffling constituencies about as quickly as a Mississippi steamboat gambler did a pack of cards and Gladstone had the cushion that, a week before the Lancashire result and almost
inadvertently, he had been comfortably but not gloriously elected for Greenwich. It was not glorious because he was 300 votes behind a local alderman, but it was comfortable because he was nearly
2000 ahead of the challenging Tories.

It was ironical, and perhaps a little chastening, that the greatest platform campaigner of his age should, on the threshold of his first and most powerfully reforming ministry, have been
rejected in the constituency in which he had orated mightily and elected in one which he had not visited. South-west Lancashire was not easy territory in which to conduct a campaign centred on
Irish religion. There was a substantial ‘orange’ element among those on the electoral register, while the balancing ‘greens’ were mostly excluded from it. But nor did
Greenwich, for different reasons, prove to be easy when the next election came, and the Merseyside setback undoubtedly took a little of the gilt off Gladstone’s gingerbread. He had also, as a
further mildly exacerbating factor, been defeated for the chancellorship of Edinburgh University three days before.

His diary entry for the day of the Lancashire defeat read:

The next day he went off on two short Cheshire country-house visits before returning to Hawarden on Saturday, 28 November. The newly created Lord Halifax (formerly Charles Wood) came for that
night at his own request, as an unofficial envoy from Windsor. He was an odd choice for such a role, as he was not particularly close to Gladstone, and, although he had been in Palmerston’s
Cabinet, he was originally
unwilling to join Gladstone’s, although he came in as Lord Privy Seal in 1870. However, the intelligence which he brought, some of it welcome,
some of it less so, was of more than sufficient interest to make up for any inappropriateness as a go-between. He said that Disraeli proposed to resign immediately and not wait to meet Parliament.
This was then an unusual course, which made the outgoing Prime Minister wish secrecy maintained until the following Tuesday. Halifax added that the Queen objected to Clarendon as Foreign Secretary
and also to one or two possible lords-in-waiting (including one of Gladstone’s Cheshire hosts) who had been in the previous Liberal government.

Gladstone was not concerned about the lords-in-waiting, but the Clarendon objection was both surprising and serious. It might have been supposed that the urbane old Whig, who had known the Queen
throughout her reign and been in Cabinets since Melbourne’s day, would have been very acceptable. However, he was also a mocking old Whig and had taken to referring to the Queen as ‘the
Missus’, a nickname which, when it got back to her, was not popular. (As he also habitually referred to Gladstone as ‘Merrypebble’ it might have been thought that the honours were
even.) Gladstone was however committed to Clarendon, not emotionally (he would have preferred Granville) but because he had given him an undertaking six months earlier. Perhaps because of this
detachment and thanks also to the good offices of General Grey, the Queen’s private secretary, he managed to handle tactfully this first disagreement, and got her to see that Clarendon could
be avoided only at the worse price of letting it be known that he was a victim of royal disfavour.

Grey, who was to be the next significant arrival on the Hawarden stage, carried some embarrassing luggage for his dealings with Disraeli and Gladstone alike. When he had waited upon the former
nine months earlier to tell him that he was to be Prime Minister it was thirty-four years since he had beaten him in the High Wycombe election of 1835 (having done so twice before in the two
elections of 1832). When he came to Gladstone on the same mission it was thirty-three years since his wife (then Caroline Farquhar) had reacted so dismissively to Gladstone’s presumption as a
suitor and his unfortunate manner of carrying a bag across the park at Polesden Lacey. Grey, younger son of the Earl Grey of the first Reform Bill, was, however, a skilled and sensible courtier who
surmounted with aplomb these hillocks of difficulty. He telegraphed to Gladstone on Tuesday, 1 December, saying that he had a letter from the Queen and asking where he should personally deliver
it. He expected Gladstone to come to London, but Gladstone, entering into the spirit of secrecy, said it would attract less attention if Grey came to Hawarden. It also gave
Gladstone an extra day of recoil before action.

Grey accordingly took the 9.45 morning train from Windsor (Slough?) ‘direct to Chester’. It took until 4.15 to get there, thereby illustrating the pre-1890s joke that GWR stood for
‘Great Way Round’. The arrival both of his telegram and of himself led to dramatic legends. Evelyn Ashley, the then thirty-two-year-old younger son of Lord Shaftesbury, formerly private
secretary to Palmerston and later his biographer, was staying at Hawarden and was watching Gladstone tree-felling in the park when the telegram was brought out. According to an account which Ashley
published in a magazine article thirty years later, Gladstone opened the little buff envelope himself, read the telegram, handed it to Ashley (no excessive secrecy there), saying only ‘Very
significant’ and continued to attack the tree. After a few more blows he rested on his axe and said, ‘My mission is to pacify Ireland.’ Then he continued his onslaught until the
tree was down, after which he went into the house and sent Grey a reply ensuring that the mountain came to Mahomet.
¹⁰

The account of Grey’s arrival was provided by the General himself. To his surprise he was met at Chester station by Mrs Gladstone, who insisted that he stayed the night at Hawarden,
whereas he had intended to return by the 2.15 a.m. Irish Mail train. At the castle he was ‘taken at once by Mrs Gladstone into an almost dark room – the only light being the fire, and
the two candles by which Mr Gladstone was working’. He further commented that he ‘was received with the most open, frank and cordial manner by Mr G’.
¹¹
He made just as good an impression on Gladstone. ‘He [Grey] was very kind and true,’ the new Prime Minister wrote.
¹²
In this mood of mutual respect they travelled together from Chester to Slough on the following day. During the journey they established a
modus vivendi
on Irish Church
matters. The Queen would not like disestablishment, but Grey accepted that Gladstone was committed. The Prime Minister would however endeavour to massage her susceptibilities. On the specific issue
the limited accord held well.

When the train was specially stopped at Slough (Grey had telegraphed to the station master) Gladstone walked to Eton, saw his son Harry (where was Herbert?) and then continued across the river
and up to the Castle, thereby missing a crowd which had assembled to greet him at Windsor station. By then the Queen had returned from her afternoon drive, and he had a full audience of discussion
and not merely a formal
session of appointment. Indeed he had to ask her whether he ought not to kiss hands: ‘she said yes & it was done’.
¹³
She was mainly concerned with matters of personnel (what she called Lord Clarendon’s ‘indelicacy’ – although this matter was well on
the way to resolution – the importance, if Lord Hartington became Viceroy of Ireland, of the Duchess of Manchester, whom he subsequently married, but not until 1892, ‘not do[ing] the
honours’), and the Irish Church came up only when ‘the time for the train was fast approaching’. Altogether it was a signal-box-dominated approach to the premiership.

All went well for the moment. He found the Queen ‘kind, cheerful, even playful’.
¹⁴
By 6.00 he was formally Prime Minister. By 7.00 he
was at Carlton House Terrace and engaged on Cabinet-making. He was a month short of fifty-nine years of age, a member of Parliament of thirty-six years’ standing (with a short break) who had
been a Cabinet minister (mostly as Chancellor of the Exchequer) for twelve years. Rivalled in previous ministerial service by the heterogeneous mixture of Palmerston, Russell (on his return to
Downing Street), Lloyd George (because of the length of his Treasury tenure), Churchill and Callaghan (because of the width of his departmental spread), he was on balance ahead of them all, the
most ministerially experienced man ever to become Prime Minister. But there was nothing
réchauffé
about him. In the context of 1868 he was a new man, full of elemental and even
dangerous force. He had four premierships of varying success ahead of him. He also had behind him nearly six decades of unusual interest and achievement.