Imagens das páginas
PDF
ePub

Commons like the present one impossible. A joint sitting under these conditions would be a mockery. Should the suggestion of a joint sitting ever come to be seriously considered, Unionists must take care that they are not caught napping. Say the House of Lords was reduced to 200-and this has been proposed,-probably at least one-fourth of them would be Liberals, in which case the Ministerial party would still have a clear majority. This is a contingency against which the Unionist reformers must be on their guard. That is all. There might be liberty and fraternity in such an arrangement, but there would be very little equality.

The suggestion that Peers should be elected by members of the House of Commons is scarcely worth consideration. We should only have the House of Commons over again. What we want in the first place in the election of a Second Chamber is to get rid, if possible, of all sectional local, or provincial interests. The Chamber should be formed on as broad a basis as possible. And members should be chosen by constituencies too large to be affected by the usual party machinery which plays so large a part in the election of members of the House of Commons. In a word, our new senators must not be delegates. That is a sine quâ non. When Sir James Graham, "in his stately cynicism," adjured the House of Commons to rise out of "the region of nisi prius," he was unconsciously paying tribute to the qualities which we must all desire to see prevailing in the deliberations of a great Senate.

Lord Curzon's proposal is an Upper Chamber consisting of three hundred members-one hundred to be chosen by the Peers themselves from among the Peers; fifty to be men who had held high office or "acquired renown" in the service of the State; fifty to be nom

inated by the Crown on the recommendation of the Prime Minister; and one hundred to be elected by municipal bodies, such as County Councils, Borough Councils, &c., these to be grouped together where, singly, they would not represent a sufficiently large popula-' tion. Lord Curzon would like to see a Peer representing a county or some great centre of population. A man would be proud of saying that he was Peer for Yorkshire or Peer for Liverpool. The defect of this plan is that it lacks simplicity. There are Unionists who would agree with Lord Crewe that a "tessellated" House would not be popular. The reader may remember that, in 1858, Mr. Disraeli proposed some such plan for the election of his Indian Council. But it did not meet with public approval, and had to be withdrawn. This scheme, however, is not to be dismissed lightly. Lord Curzon, who backs it, is an authority of great weight. That one hundred members of the Upper Chamber should be Peers chosen by the Peers themselves is a provision by which the constitutional claims of the aristocracy would be recognized, and a principle maintained which it might be hazardous to part with altogether.

On the other hand, a suggestion which finds favor in important quarters is that the House of Lords should be entirely elective-the members to be chosen by proportional representation from large areas with populations of, perhaps, a million or more. It is thought that great Peers and distinguished men generally would be sure to be chosen These spacious constituencies could not be canvassed, it is said, from house to house by one man; nor could obscure individuals conduct a Mid-Lothian campaign or the famous Northern peregrination of Mr. Bright in 1858. It takes men of great eminence to do that kind of thing. It is asserted that great Peers like the late

Lord Salisbury, the Duke of Devonshire, Lord Derby, Lord Lansdowne, the Duke of Westminster, the Duke of Buccleuch, Lord Londonderry, &c., would be sure of their election; and that men belonging to the same station in life would be generally chosen, were the question raised above the atmosphere of pure party politics, and freed from the machinations of the local Tadpoles and Tapers. It is alleged, however, that for the success of this plan it is essential that the whole House should be chosen by popular election. Were a certain number to be elected by the Peers themselves, and take their seats in virtue of their hereditary right, the Peer who presented himself for election to a large constituency would be told to "Get along!" -that his proper constituents were his brother-Peers, and that his place was elsewhere.

This particular plan has some support among the Unionists who count much on the hold which the aristocracy still possesses on the English nation, and no doubt when a Peer, dissociated from the idea of a privileged class, sought their votes on terms of equality with themselves, the people might experience the force of those social instincts which undoubtedly still survive among them more strongly than perhaps they do at present. Were the scheme to be adopted and these anticipations to be realized, we should unquestionably have a Second Chamber of superlative excellence, and one for the sake of which we might be justified in trying the experiment. But it would certainly be a bold one. If the new system failed, we could hardly go back to the old one. We believe, indeed, that the British aristocracy is still popular with the country; that its great national services still linger in the memory of the people; and that its gracious influence and generous sympathies, its efficient and gratuitous dis

charge of great public duties, and the wise and liberal spirit which it displays in the administration of the large properties which still belong to it, are fully appreciated by millions. But there is now among us what until lately was unknown in this country, an organized combination for counteracting that influence, and for representing the character and conduct of the aristocracy as exactly the reverse of what the people for many generations, trusting to their own experience and the traditions of their fathers, have believed it to be. It is difficult to gauge the extent to which lying tongues have undermined this ancient faith. But that they have not been without their effect is pretty certain; and any scheme for the reform of the House of Lords, depending on its survival, however excellent in itself, must be very carefully considered before it is finally adopted.

We doubt, moreover, whether it would be quite so easy to prevent the intrusion into these same large areas of the sectional influences and prejudices which operate in smaller ones. Could any constituency be so large but that Tadpole and Taper could worm their way into it. For these gentlemen are to be found in both parties alike. Could any county or borough council be found capable of selecting a candidate without any regard to local interests or prejudices? Could the widest possible extent of electoral areas do anything to lower the influence of the Trades Unions?

Mr. Balfour says that in no great country has a purely elective Upper Chamber been found consistent with the predominance of the Lower. He referred to France and the United States in support of this assertion The Second Chamber in Australia is mainly a Labor Chamber, which would be hardly likely to answer the purpose for which we desire one in England.

The great body of the English people, who are but imperfectly represented in the present Parliament, call on the Unionist party to save their ancient heritage from the hand of the destroyer. This can never be done by a policy of hesitation or vacillation. We must have no "waverers" in our ranks. As was said of the Whig Ministers in 1832, they might have made terms with a resolute foe: they trampled on a hesitating opponent. The present Cabinet might recoil from coming to extremities with a determined and united Opposition having a much larger body of public opinion at their Blackwood's Magazine.

back than their mere numbers represent. At all events, that is the only game to play. Its failure could bring no worse consequences than a policy of cowardice and concession must inevitably bring with it. Let the Unionists wait till the Lords have matured their own scheme of reform, and then appeal to the people to support their constitutional authority. We firmly believe that this appeal would not be in vain. But if it was, let the defenders of that "Old England," which would then be lost to us for ever, fall with their faces to the foe.

THE GENIUS OF MR. THACKERAY.

The centenary of Mr. Thackeray is an appropriate occasion for a declaration of faith. Not that there has been any substantial heresy, but of late the curious may have noticed a persistent campaign of depreciation among the minor critics. All Grub Street would seem to have formed a bearing trust. No one would wish to be hard on them. After all, critics have to live. To live they must write and if, as we are told, people do not read Mr. Thackeray's works they have always been ready to read about them. One generation had exhausted the language of appreciation. The next ready with sharpened quills waited only for inspiration. Unfortunately, it requires some literary craft to make an old story readable and inspiration halted. Then some glowworm of Grub Street discovered Mr. Thackeray was a sentimentalist and ink ran almost in a spate.

We all know the unpardonable sin in literature is sentiment. You may be obscene, dull, even historical, and be respected and possibly read, but venture sentiment and you are damned, unless indeed, you happen to be a

Scotchman. It is as if a host were nowadays to offer his guests sweet champagne-and so Mr. Thackeray's fame is cast to the jackals. It is a little hard for an author to be resented in one age as a cynic, only to be rejected in the next as a sentimentalist.

But

We all remember how Harriet Martineau professed to be unable to read Vanity Fair "from the disgust it occasions." Even Anthony Trollope, a sincere admirer was of opinion "he was too thoroughly saturated with the aspect of the evil side of things." In those Victorian days even the elect confused subject and treatment. has not the modern attack on sentiment been a trifle overdone? Your novel should deal with life and everything which makes life tolerable is based on sentiment. True sentiment is the equity of thought and sentiment need not necessarily be false. The moderns are like the temperance fanatics who see no distinction between a reputed pint and an orgy.

Now Mr. Thackeray's sentiment was never false. Of all those kindly touches giving that intimate charm to

The

the green volumes, there is not one that after all the years does not ring true. But he wrote decently and like a gentleman, and what is more unpardonable, with a sense of his responsibility as a power for good or evil. odd thing is, that when authors were a race apart and mostly of a Bohemian habit, the tone and principles of their output would have been acceptable to Miss Pinkerton's Academy. Now Bohemia has disappeared. The modern Pall Mall Gazette is not edited from Holloway nor do distinguished authors drink brandy and water in cider cellars. So the writer has to seek relief from his blameless suburb in a riot of print recalling the "daring essay in defence of suicide" by Pendennis's contemporary at Oxbridge. One has less sympathy with those who ought to know better.

Only the other day, Mr. Bernard Shaw said, in his courteous way, Thackeray was a fool. Mr. Shaw's position is of course a difficult one; he is a genius and a genius in an age of stress and hustle. It would be unreasonable to expect him to rely for recognition on some entertaining, if rather inhuman, plays. Insistent genius demands more immediate attention, and to insult one of the greatest figures in English literature certainly achieves it. Mr. Bernard Shaw, however, would have been wiser if he had not given his reasons. There were twoone, that Mr. Thackeray would not have liked Mr. Bernard Shaw (which seems hardly conclusive); the other, that Mr. Thackeray sympathized with his weak characters whereas Dickens did not. One does not quite follow why sympathy is not for the weak, but to cite Dickens in such case is merely to talk nonsense. When one thinks of Tom Pinch, Little Nell and her grandfather, poor Smike and the meekness of Oliver, the falseness of the point is apparent. Then Mr. George Moore does not like Thackeray; he says, the

public were bullied into admiration by the Book of Snobs. When we remember Thackeray's famous definition of the type, why the Book of Snobs does not appeal to the author of My Dead Life is intelligible. Then he complains about Becky Sharp-"Fancy writing the history of Becky Sharp and not discussing whether she had a temperament or not"-whereas the key to Becky's character is that she is a cold-blooded, good-natured woman, swayed by no feeling except self-interest.

Even that charming writer Mr. Street who, by the way, would not be nearly so charming if he had not read Mr. Thackeray, affects to find him "Parochial." It is almost incredible that an author of Mr. Street's distinction should so write of the creator of Barry Lyndon and Esmond. One regrets to find Mr. Whibley among the detractors. His recent "Oposcule” (as "Thunder and small beer" has it) on Mr. Thackeray contains, as one would expect, some admirable criticism, but is tainted with the sentimental heresy. Vanity Fair, we are told, is spoilt because it has a moral. "If he had suppressed the sentiment which ever rose up in his heart, Vanity Fair might have been as a-moral as The Way of the World, and what a masterpiece it would have been," and almost as unreadable one may add.

Then he objects to the author playing the part of chorus and especially to his moralizing-he is accused of "forgetting the impartiality of the artist and taking sides against his own characters." But why must an artist be impartial? Is it a pure assumption. The partiality of Thackeray is a concession to the actuality of his people. To reader and author alike they are so alive it is impossible to be indifferent to their actions-and therefore, in logical sequence, to withhold praise or blame.

wha'dye

mean a

weeck?"

The best criticism I have heard of Mr. Thackeray's works was, oddly enough, my introduction to them. Years ago, in a certain house library at Eton, some boys were discussing, and I need hardly say, adversely, the books in it, and one of them, pointing to the green volumes of Mr. Thackeray said, "Fancy anybody buying stuff like that," to which another said, indignantly, "They are very good books." "What are they about," he was asked. "About people," he said. Like Mr. Pickwick's famous remark on the management of crowds, "volumes could not say more." They are about people-live people—uncannily alive—it is almost impossible to believe they haven't actual existence. I declare, when I saw Vanity Fair on the stage, I was almost frightened when our old friends came on. Yes, you may dislike the books, you may criticize their philosophy and methods, but never were books written whose characters were so full of red blood.

This explains the lack of form which we find in Mr. Thackeray's books-it is the difference between talent and genius. Talent may produce good work out of materials of knowledge and intellect, master of its medium it keeps itself well in hand; genius knows no calculation surrendering itself entirely to the influence of unknown powers, has as little control over its works as a prophet over his inspiration. This is why all the greatest geniuses are formless-Dickens, Balzac and Thackeray. This is why the moderns, academically correct, leave us so cold. Over-attention to form is always a sign of the second-rate in literature and art. What does Mr. Thackeray himself say about it: he says somewhere, "I have no idea where it all comes from. I have never seen the people I describe or heard the conversation I put down; I am often astonished myself to read it when I have got it on paper. It

seems as if an occult power were moving the pen." When asked once by a young lady to allow Ethel to marry Clive Newcombe, he said, "Characters once created lead me and I follow where they direct; I cannot tell the events which await on Ethel and Clive." He is such a creator, he gives independent life.

There is one thing one must not lose sight of in considering Mr. Thackeray's works-that he never wrote a novel until he was thirty-seven. It explains their melancholy. Few of us keep many illusions after thirty-five, and his thirty-five years had not been without their tragedy. It was a shock to all of us when we read a few years ago that Mrs. Thackeray was dead, but to those to whom she was so much she had been lost for over fifty years. Yet he writes years after, "Though my· marriage was a wreck, I would do it over again, for behold, love is the crown and completion of all earthly good." Until he wrote Vanity Fair outside the actual world of letters he was almost unknown. It is astonishing that a man who had then done such admirable work should obtain so little recognition. When we think that at that time he had written the Yellow Plush Papers, had given to the world the satire of the Book of Snobs, the tenderness of the Hoggarty Diamond, the grim Catherine and the magnificent irony of Barry Lyndon, to say nothing of delightful gems of Humor in Fraser and Colburn's Magazine, one can almost understand his diffidence when he was engaged upon the strongest novel in English literature.

Talking at Brighton to Miss Smith, the daughter of Rejected Addresses, he said referring to Vanity Fair which had not then a name, "I wonder if this will take, the publishers accept it and the world read it." A name was at last foundso good a name that as he told Miss Perry when it came to him in the

« AnteriorContinuar »