LORD H.A.RTINGTON'S POSITION. T HE fright which the country has had
about Lord Hartington,—and we believe we may say that it has been a national fright, and not merely a party fright,— brings out into strong relief his unique position. We do not, of course, mean to assert that the Gladstonian Party would regard his loss with the dismay with which they would regard that of Mr. Gladstone, nor that the Con- servatives would regard it with the same dismay with which they would regard Lord Salisbury's. But this we think we can say,—that, considering that Lord Hartington is the head of very much the smallest of the parties which now exert a great practical influence over the politics of the United Kingdom, he is far more profoundly respected in proportion to the Parliamentary votes he can command, than any other political leader in the United Kingdom. Lord Salisbury, Mr. Gladstone, even, in all probability, Mr. Parnell, can command more votes ; but not one of the three commands as much deference in the ranks which he does not lead, as Lord Hartington. Even the Radicals, who are never weary of making merry over what they treat as his rapidly expiring influence, cannot afford to ignore his opinion, or to make light of his political character.
To what is this unique influence owing ? In the first place, to the universal conviction that Lord Hartington's in- fluence in politics is not in any respect due to his power of oratory. Not that the people of Great Britain have learned to despise oratory, or even to depreciate it. They love it as much as they ever loved it, perhaps more than they ever loved it. But the more they love it, the more clearly do they become aware that it may often count for a good deal more than it ought to count for, that it is not everything, and that it needs counterbalancing by the judgment of men whose minds are not swayed by the bias of an oratorical imagination. They have probably been impressed by the fact that if Mr. Gladstone's oratory is on the right side now, it cannot have been on the right side eight years ago, and this conviction must have brought home to them the danger of a policy which is determined by the sway of a great orator. The more they believe in Mr. Gladstone's present policy, the more they must bewail themselves that they allowed him to influence them as he did in 1881 and 1882, and this fact alone would tend to diminish their estimate of oratory as the chief influence in guiding the democracy to its highest and wisest policy. Of course Glad- stonians think Lord Hartington wrong now, though they must be aware that he has not been guided to his present firm conviction by any merely oratorical instinct. But at least they must have learned to hesitate as to the unerring character of oratorical instinct, and be readier to consider the bias of a calm and tranquil judgment, even though it be against them, than they would have been had they not had the fallibility of a great orator's mind so conspicuously illustrated as it was by what they regard as Mr. Gladstone's mistaken policy in 1881 and 1882. And if the Glad- stonians who think Mr. Gladstone right now, though they see that he must, in that case, have been wrong in 1882, have learned to feel a distinct distrust of the oratorical mind as the determining influence in choosing a policy, still more have the other parties in the state who think Mr. Gladstone wrong now, though they thought him right on Irish policy in 1881 and 1882, learned to distrust oratorical statesmanship pure and simple. To them, Lord Hartington's firm, clear, and strong convictions, which have wavered so little on this great subject, appear something like a standard by which to measure the waxing and waning, the shifting and veering, of the orator's quick and changeful sympathies. And thus it happens that probably all parties in the State look to Lord Hartington's calm and steadfast judgment with a certain real deference, even though, in the case of one of these great parties, with disappointment and disapproval.
The second element in the great respect felt on all sides for Lord Hartington is due to the conviction that he, and he almost alone among politicians, is all but free from personal ambition, and, indeed, would be better pleased to be out of politics than mixed up so deeply as he is with all its gravest complications. This is not true of any other of the chief figures in the English arena. It is not true of Mr. Gladstone, though we believe him to be as disin- terested and, in purpose at least, as genuinely patriotic as any of his own followers believe him to be. Still, he is identified heart and soul with the policy he has proposed, and every one is aware that it would be to him the bitterest mortifi- cation to be compelled to retire from the struggle while the issue is yet undecided. The same must be said of Mr. John Morley, of Lord Salisbury, of Mr. Goschen, of Mr. Balfour, of Mr. Chamberlain. Each one of these able and high-minded men is, in our opinion, quite sincere, and quite disinterested in the position he has taken up ; but each one of them is full of ardour, full of vehemence for the side he has espoused, and would feel it a bitter fate to have to give up the struggle before the decisive hour came. But hardly any one would pass the same verdict on Lord Hartington. We do not say that he would entertain no feeling of regret if such a fate came upon him. That would be hardly human. But we do say that we should be surprised not to learn that this feeling of regret was comparatively weak in comparison with the feeling of relief which Lord Hartington would experience, if he could see it to be perfectly compatible with his sense of duty and of political honour, that he should draw out of the battle. He is far the most reluctant of the great leaders, far the most disposed to bewail himself that he cannot honourably disentangle himself from the strife. He has no real joy in the battle, no sense of enhanced vitality in giving and receiving the blows which the fight involves. Lord Hartington's deep sense of political duty brings him up to the conflict, but he always wears the air of one who does not gladly breathe the air of political battle, and who has to strain every nerve to take the interest in it which the responsi- bilities of the situation require him to take. We are far from thinking that this is the kind of temper in which we should desire to see all our leading politicians fighting their battles. But certainly it is a most valuable temper for one of the leaders, and gives Lord Hartington's position its singularly judicial character. Not only is his mind not a mind steeped in the feelings whirl go to produce popular oratory, but it is not even steeped in political partisanship. There is not a leader amongst the statesmen who can see the weak side of his own case as distinctly, and confess it as frankly.
as Lord Hartington. He has none of the contentious- ness of ordinary politicians. He wants to win only because he has made up his mind that it will be a great blow to the country if he does not. Otherwise he would be blithe to be out of the fash of the fighting, and able to command his own leisure again. His opinion is the opinion of a statesman who, for his own part, would much rather have decided that it was right to keep step with Mr. Gladstone, than to oppose him. Only he could not so decide. It went against his inner judgment. Now, this profound political uncontentiousness of Lord Harting- ton is pretty generally admitted by all parties, and no doubt it adds greatly to the impression of the judicial character of his judgment. But besides his cool, unoratotical temperament, and h1,4 unambitious and almost reluctant political career,— a career as reluctant as that of Lord Althorp, though marked by a more vivid and masculine political sagacity,—Lord Hartington commands influence in consequence of the remarkably English character of his mind and states- manship. No one can say, no one does say, that he has either shown himself indifferent to the ties of party, or, on the other hand, has been so utterly bound by them that he could not shake them off when a great patriotic emergency made itself visible to him. Mr. Gladstone, through many years of doubtful and difficult policy, had no more loyal follower. When he surrendered the leadership in 1874, and the Liberal Party chose Lord Harlington to succeed him, Lord Harlington took up the dielicate and difficult task without a murmur. When Mr. Gladstone was not satisfied with Lord Hartington's foreign policy, and. moved that string of resolutions as to the Eastern policy of the Tory Government, which virtually shook Lord Hartingtou's authority, Lord Hartington showed not a sign of pique. And when in 1880 the Liberal Party in the country expressed a wish to be again led by Mr. Glad- stone, Lord. Harlington gave as cheerful a consent as if he had never been called upon to lead in years of reverse and disaster, with the implied promise, of course, that when the chance of victory returned to the Liberals, he would lead them to that victory. And no one could have followed Mr. Gladstone more faithfully than did Lord Hartington during the whole time between 1880 and 1885. Therefore, no one can assert for a moment that he has shown either a sensitive or self-willed spirit, or any want of patriotism, when at. length the ties of party seemed to him inconsistent with the ties of country. He has always had the English love of compromise and the English good sense in being de- termined not to carry compromise too far, not to give up the substance under the appearance of merely giving up the form. This kind of steady English measuring of the situation, this hearty and unvacillating loyalty to his leader while loyalty to his leader was consistent with loyalty to his country, and this equally firm and steadfast refusal to continue this loyalty after they had visibly diverged,—this calm and prudent good sense which neither sways from one policy to another with the shiftiness of Opportunism, nor holds obstinately to one line of policy where it has become clear that that line is disastrous, is just what Englishmen most thoroughly respect; and never has any leader displayed it in greater perfection, with less trace of caprice and less trace of personal bias, than Lord Hartington. That is why the loss of Lord Harlington would have seemed to all England the loss of a great reserve force, the loss of a sort of umpire to whom all politicians concerned in the political contest look up with either willing or reluctant admiration, —with a deference they cannot always fully account for even to their own satisfaction.
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