TOPICS OF THE DAY.
THE LATE DUKE OF DEVONSHIRE.
THE Duke of Devonshire stood so whole-heartedly for the causes and national interests in which the Spectator believes that it is very difficult for us in writing of him not to fall into a mood of pure eulogy. But pure eulogy, one feels instinctively, is utterly inappropriate to the Duke of Devonshire,—to his wisdom, his reticence, his moderation, and his common-sense. Though in no respect inhuman or untouched by the sympathy of friends and supporters, there was a certain shyness, combined • with truthfulness, in the Duke which rendered anything approaching to flattery of him impossible. His is a shrine upon which no man can heap incense without feeling ashamed.
We shall not try here to deal with the Duke's political career, or to tell how he, who was in the best sense a sound party man, and who believed party government to be, on the whole, best for the country, was twice called upon to break up the parties with which lie was associated, and who yet managed to perform that task without any of those whose personal aims and ambitions were deeply affected by his action accusing him of personal ambition, or of that restlessness and flightiness which statesmen dread so much, and resent so much, in a colleague. When the Duke left the Liberal Party over Home. rule, and the Unionist Party over Protection, it was admitted on all bands that being what he was, and holding the views he did, be could not have done anything else in the circumstances. Instead, then, of tracing the Duke's political actions and political opinions, we prefer to attempt an inalysis of his character. The first and most obvious fact about the Duke was his independence, and what we may call his inevitableness of action. Knowino. the Duke's views on a particular subject, you could always tell in any given circumstances what would be his line of con- duct. With most other politicians at some point of their career explanations have to be found for this or that action. Everything seemed to point to their taking a particular course, and yet they took another. In the case of one man this was due to influence exerted over him by a friend. In that of another it was due to hostility to some colleague or rival. The personal element deflected the course of history. In the case of the Duke of Devonshire such explanations are unthinkable. It is impossible to imagine him a Home-ruler out of devotion to Mr. Gladstone, or a Free-trader out of jealousy or distrust of Mr. Chamberlain. The Duke had no dis- likes or prejudices of this kind. Certainly be had none in the case of Mr. Chamberlain. All the efforts of the Tapers and Tadpoles and paragraph-writers in the Press failed to produce the slightest sense of rivalry between them. The Duke, to use a racing phrase, went exclusively on men's public form, and gave his con- temporaries credit for the same public spirit which he himself showed. He was the last man in the world to think that he had a monopoly of patriotism. The high- mindedness which he showed be assumed to be shared by others. He never betrayed a colleague, and lie never thought it possible that a colleague could think of betraying him, with the result that throughout his career he was never once the victim of any intrigue or con- spiracy. He kept his mind fixed always on questions and not on men, and just as he always endeavoured to solve the real problem at issue rather than secure a party triumph, so his aim was to bring advantage to the nation, not to gain a victory over an opponent. We should be the last to say that the Duke of Devonshire was unique in this. What, however, was unique about his position was the fact that no one ever attributed to him unworthy motives or insinuated that he was playing for his own hand. If any one had ventured to do so, the country would simply have regarded the accuser as mad.
Another striking quality possessed by the Duke of Devonshire was his absolute straightforwardness of conduct and clearness of language. No one ever felt with him that lie had "a card up his sleeve." He told the country straight out exactly what he thought, and his reticence—for reticent he was in a high degree—was due, not to the fact that he did not think it advisable at the moment to let the country know what he was thinking, but simply and solely to the fact that he had not been able to come to a determination. He did not like meeting questions half-way, but waited till circumstances forced them on his attention. The late Duke of Argyll once said of him at a public meeting : "Oh, gentlemen, what a comfort it is to hear the speech of a mai who knows what he means himself and who means you to understand what he intends." Here in a nutshell was the quality which the country most admired in the Duke of Devonshire. They always knew exactly what he stood for, and whether he was a Unionist or a Home-ruler, a Free-trader or a Protectionist. He was never seeking for a safe point to rest on, one which, in the immortal language of the politician in the " Biglow Pagers," would leave him " froutin' south by north." In spite of the inde- pendence, straightforwardness, and clearness of the Duke's attitude, he often showed a curious diffidence, and seemed unable to realise that lie had so absolutely the confidence of the country that no explanations were ever necessary in his case. For example, after the secession of the Unionist Free-traders from Mr. Balfour's Administration in 1903, the Duke thought it necessary to explain in his place in the House of Lords how it was that he remained for a few days longer in the Cabinet than did his Unionist Free. trade colleagues. We have reason to know that the Duke found such an explanation a painful and trying one to make. Nevertheless lie insisted on making it, and this though on the day he spoke he was suffering from the beginnings of a severe attack of influenza. It will be remembered that he then declared, with a sincerity which in one sense deeply touched, and in another sense might almost be said to have amused, the nation, that his mind. was not so clear as it ought to have been during his negotiations with Mr. Balfour, and that he had not at first completely grasped the situation. As a matter of fact, it is safe to say that no one, least of all his Unionist Free-trade colleagues, thought there was the slightest need for such an apology. If the thought of the nation on that occasion could have been put into words, it would have run something like this :—" There was not the least reason for you to say what you have said. Every one recognised that you would in the end do exactly what you did—that is, leave the Ministry—and the fact that you took four or five days longer than your colleagues to realise that this was inevitable was looked on as the most natural thing in the world. It was a proof to the British people as a whole that a Free-trader could do nothing else. If you had acted as quickly as others, it might possibly have been thought that there was something not absolutely necessary in your action."
In a certain sense the Duke of Devonshire was one of the greatest leaders of men in our political annals. He had a larger following of men, and of men of high character and intelligence, who were willing to put them- selves in his hands and to trust him implicitly, than any other statesman of his time. He was the leader, too, of those whom as a rule it is most difficult to lead,—men who usually claim independence, and who are suspicious of being told that it is their duty to follow and not to argue. In other words, men would follow him who would have followed nobody else in the world. Strange as it may seem, however, though the Duke had such an extra- ordinary power of attracting followers, his mind and character were constitutionally opposed to the idea of leadership in politics. He was not one of those men who like to lead, or who feel elated by the notion that where he asked men to follow him, there they would go without inquiring whether he was right or wrong. He very greatly disliked exacting such purely personal devotion, and if one can imagine him being forced to consider so abstract a piece of political metaphysics, we have little doubt that he would have declared that men had no business to follow a leader in politics merely because he was their leader. They ought, he would have said, to make up their minds on the merits of the case, and then to act with others who agreed with them, and not to put their political consciences into anybody's keeping. His attitude was, in fact, that of the man who says : "I know what I feel about this question myself, and I know how I am going to act, and I hope other people will do the same; but it would not be right for me to try to induce them to hold my view unless they deliberately come to the conclusion that they also want what I want." It is part of the irony of English politics that this very unwillingness of the Duke to lead made men specially anxious to be led by him. His mood was an assurance to them that they would never be placed in that position so much detested by Englishmen,—that of being used by a man for his own purposes. No one ever had the least fear that by following the Duke he would thus be made use of, and therefore he was willing to follow without hesitation or reservation.
The Duke of Devonshire was often spoken of as a great aristocrat and as a representative of the aristocratic interests in the country. Nothing, however, could have been further from the truth. Though no doubt the Duke was in a sense intensely proud of being a Cavendish, and though he felt in his heart of hearts very strongly the duty of noblesse oblige, he had nothing of that temperament which people usually mean when they use the word " aristocrat." He was the last man in the world whom one could associate with the idea of the noble who springs upon a prancing war-steed, either real or metaphorical, and waves his sword in the air. His was rather what might be called the old-fashioned English temperament, the possessors of which in effect say to the world :—" I'll mind my own business, and you mind yours. You respect me, and I'll respect you. You stand by me, and I'll stand by you ; and when we have both done our duty to ourselves and each other, for heaven's sake don't let us have any d—d nonsense about it." Yet, though this is true in a sense, one would lose touch altogether of the Duke's character if one insisted on it too much, or gave the impression that the Duke's nature was one of surly defiance such as Goldsmith describes in the famous lines on the Briton in "The Traveller." No doubt one of his colleagues, Robert Lowe, once said of him : "What I like about Hartington is his ' you-be-damnedness.' " But though this element was not wanting in the Duke's character, it did not in any way prevent him from being at heart as kindly, as sympathetic, and as courteous as he was reason- able, straightforward, and plainspoken.
In the public mind the qualities we have just dwelt upon are often regarded as being necessarily dissociated from a high level of intellectual capacity. The Duke of Devonshire was a living proof of the unsoundness of such a view. Though his mind may have moved slowly, it was one not only of vast capacity, but of great acuteness. No one who ever worked with the Duke could help realising this. He never failed to see a point that was put to him, though if it was a bad point he also very soon saw through it. You might, indeed, be sure that the man who complained that the Duke of Devonshire could not understand some scheme or theory or project had in truth got hold of one which was not worth understanding. His intelligence was a rock against which vague and foolish and half- matured proposals soon splintered themselves. "Firm as the rock, and clear as the crystal that adorns the rock," words used of Lord Hartington by the Duke of Argyll, form a very apt description of his mind. The present writer, some twenty years ago, heard one of his colleagues say of him:—" Those who think Hartington stupid are utterly mistaken. His is one of the ablest minds in the country."
One may strive as one will to draw the character of the Duke, but in the end one comes back to the plain fact that he was a great public servant,—one who served, not because he liked service for its own sake or for the rewards it brought in sympathy and public applause, but solely because he was mastered by the notion of duty and by the sense that, like every other Englishman, he owed the State a debt which must be paid. Pope said of one of his ancestors that he cared not to be great except only in that he might "save and serve the State." That was exactly true of the late Duke of Devonshire. This tradition of public service is one which has long been associated with the house of Cavendish, and it is cause for national congratulation to think that there is no risk of that tradition being broken. Mr. Victor Cavendish, who succeeds to the dukedom, will, we believe, be found to possess the high character and the sense of public duty which distinguished his predecessor. Though he may not be destined to play the great part in national affairs played by the late Duke, it may safely be predicted of him that the ideals of public duty maintained by his uncle will not suffer in his keeping.
Previous page
