May 9, 2013

FINEST HOUR 144, AUTUMN 2009

BY HERBERT VIVIAN

Herbert Vivian (1865-1940) wrote prolifically on politics, travel and war for half a century, and lived to see Churchill reach the summit he had predicted for him. Vivian published this remarkable glimpse of Churchill’s character and oratory anonymously in his book, Myself Not Least: Being the Personal Reminiscences of “X” (New York: Henry Holt, 1923; London: Thornton Butterworth, 1925), when it was nearly a quarter century old. Our late cuttings editor, John Frost, found the original, with the author identified, in Pall Mall for April 1905. *The “Fourth Party” was a nickname for young Tory bloods, led by Lord Randolph, bidding to make the Conservative Party more populist.

ABSTRACT
“Sir, I love the acquaintance of young people; because, in the first place, I don’t like to think myself growing old. In the next place, young acquaintances must last longer, if they do last; and then, Sir, young men have more virtue than old men; they have more generous sentiments in every respect. I love the young dogs of this age; they have more wit and humour and knowledge of life than we had.” —DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON

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To express in the space of a few pages the versatile character and the strange magnetic charms of him who has taken so high a place in so short a space of time is an arduous and may be reckoned in me a presumptuous task. As I have had the honour and happiness of enjoying his acquaintance during the most active part of his career, as the fascination which his society exercised over me quickened my observation and recollection to an unusual degree, I have spared no pains to discover whatever might help me to learn the secret of his success. I flatter myself that few biographers have embarked upon their task with more advantages, certainly none with greater sympathies.

Compare the opening sentences of James Boswell’s famous biography of Samuel Johnson: “To write the Life of him who excelled all mankind in writing the lives of others, and who, whether we consider his xtraordinary endowments, or his various works, has been equalled by few in any age, is an arduous and may be reckoned in me a presumptuous task.”

Before I won the privilege of seeing Mr. Winston Churchill, I confess that rumour and the chatter of newspapers did not at once predispose me in his favour. But some of his speeches in 1901 aroused my interest by their energetic protests against the tyranny of the political machine (see the first question and answer on page 11 —Ed.) and I was moved to desire his acquaintance.

I confess it was with a monstrous curiosity that I presented myself at his door, wondering what comparison I should have to make between him and his father, who had lavished many and great kindnesses upon me during as well as after the days of the old Fourth Party.* A comparison between that distinguished statesman and his still more brilliant son—patre pulchro filius pulchrior -would be invidious: but this much I may assert, after careful observation of both, that Mr. Churchill has inherited many rare qualities from Lord Randolph, while he has added many others no less necessary to permanent success in the political arena. It is no exaggeration to say that since Mr. Gladstone, perhaps even since Mr. Pitt, there has been no more thorough parliamentarian.

HUMOUR WITH A RELIGIOUS INSTINCT

Many readers of his works must often have asked themselves how he contrived to call into being so lucid and convincing a literary style. Harrow and Sandhurst, the rough and tumble of a subaltern’s life, hairbreadth escapes in South Africa, the Sudan and the Indies, though a sufficient training for practical life, do not usually form the particular type of mind necessary to a stylist. Moreover, he is an outdoor man, who finds his greatest pleasures in hunting and polo, and few outdoor men breathe comfortably in a library. But Disraeli, as usual, has a solution for the problem when he tells us that Nature is stronger than Education.

Mr. Churchill has certainly inherited his father’s surprising quickness of assimilation. He can master most subjects while others are groping at the gate of the avenue; he can imbibe an atmosphere as others toss off a brandy-peg. And in literature the atmosphere is the thing. He has created his own, but a careful student of his works may detect a flavour of the gases of Macaulay, an aroma of the intoxicating ozone of Disraeli. He has confessed to me his admiration for the form of their writings.

“When a man reads Macaulay,” said he, “the attention is not taken by the praise or blame so much as by the persistent effect of innumerable small touches. When the picture of one of Macaulay’s characters is complete you can scarcely help yourself, but are irresistibly driven to admire without reservation or to loathe with the fullest detestation. If, then, you desire to convey an impression of perfection or turpitude, do not proclaim your own opinion, but spread out your fact, elaborate your details, return to the charge and inflict the same wounds upon a different part. Thus, and thus only, can you make sure of convincing the obstinate.”

He had not spoken many words before I was mightily impressed by a strong personal resemblance to his father, which had entirely escaped me at the outset. It was his speech which betrayed him. I noted in a moment the peculiar intonation, not to be described as a lisp, which I had not heard since the occasion of my last conversation with Lord Randolph. I detected from time to time the same gestures, the same mannerisms, the same sense of humour; but the laugh was different.

He has a laugh unlike that of any one else—so infectious and so full of hilarity that none may refuse to partake of it. I have seen him share in the merriment aroused by one of his quips at a public meeting, and the audience has been spurred on to chew the cud of his humour; but when he enjoys a joke in private he is much more free from restraint, and the infection is instantaneous. Mr. Churchill’s laughter introduces us frankly to the devil-may-care, boyish, hang-it-all, honest, reckless side of his character. Anything for a joke, it seems to say; and in an age of demure, calculating, irresponsive persons, it is an unalloyed delight to find some one who will let himself go.

Few probably possess so large a sense of humour, so frank an entrance even into jokes which might at first sight appear to tell against himself. He showed me with delight a poster which had been issued by the Transvaal Government offering a reward of £25 for his capture after he escaped from Pretoria. I remarked upon the strange experience of having a price set upon his head. “Yes,” he replied; “but what a miserably small price. I have been in gaol, I have been a fugitive from justice, and all that was offered for my capture, dead or alive, was a paltry five-and-twenty pounds.”

He is one of the very few people who combine a sense of humour with a true religious instinct. His musings when a vulture watched him starving upon the veldt have caused thorns to crackle under many pots, but were undoubtedly inspired by those pious inspirations which underlie our national character. And his most intimate friends have always found him uncommonly reserved in the expression of his religious feelings.

But I am telling my tale too quickly. At this my first audience I was still a comparative stranger. There was little to distinguish me from the throng of solicitors who fill the antechambers of coming men.

VIVIAN: “I seek your advice and help in order to make my way into Parliament.”

CHURCHILL (surveying me thoughtfully, with his chin upon his hand): How old are you? [Then, when I had told him:] Why have you waited so long?”

This was a palpable hit. I murmured something about the cares of this world and the deceitfulness of riches. I went on to say that I desired to stand as an independent candidate who hoped to support his policy.

CHURCHILL: “This is the age of the party machine. Unless you belong to one or another of the recognised parties you will not in 999 cases out of 1000 stand the ghost of a chance. The party machine is very strong. Of course nothing is impossible, but unless you have very active local influences behind you, it must take you years and years to build up a party which will carry you through. And even when you are elected, you may find yourself a mere unit, buffeted by a torrent or floating helplessly upon a stream. Men come to the House of Commons [this he said with solemnity and some feeling] full of self-confidence, with hopes, with ambition, even with high reputations which they have acquired outside.

“But the House of Commons is the graveyard of reputations. Its floor is strewn with the corpses of reputationists—there is, perhaps, no sadder sight than the quick death which is meted out there to careers which have carried everything before them in the country. The House of Commons [he went on in a lighter vein] is the great leveller. To win its heart may not require the highest attainments or the noblest enthusiasms, but it pricks every bubble, it shatters every sham. The way to get on there is not to be a great orator, who has at his command those glowing periods which the populace can never resist. Indeed, the most successful demagogues have often proved the most abject failures when they rose to address Mr. Speaker. The only short cut to the ear of the House is sober common sense, a businesslike way of saying the right thing at the right moment, and a resolute avoidance of claptrap or gush.”

After this conversation, I saw him frequently and at short intervals. He was never twice in precisely the same mood, but always agreeable, amusing and encouraging. One day, when I was with a friend in the strangers’ tea-room of the House, Mr. Churchill joined us, laughing very heartily.

Before he greeted us at all, he proceeded to declaim a long passage from an article which I had just published on the subject of the Japanese. I was amazed by this feat of memory, and told him so, adding my appreciation of the compliment he paid me.

CHURCHILL: “It is delightful. If you delivered something like that as a speech in the House of Commons you would establish your right to a hearing at once. There is nothing the House likes so much as to be amused. So long as you give it something fresh and unusual, it is always satisfied.”

THE POLITICS OF FREE TRADE

Perhaps the conversation which remains most vivid in my mind is one which took place on the morrow after Mr. Chamberlain’s first declaration in favour of Tariff Protection. My interviews with Mr. Churchill generally took place at about eleven in the morning, and on this occasion stress of business had prevented me from giving more than a cursory glance to the newspapers.

When I reached his chambers, I found him in his dressing-room, putting the finishing touches to his toilet. “Well,” he began, “politics are becoming exciting at last.” I have a very sharp recollection of his serious, almost anxious mien. He stood before me in his shirtsleeves, twisting a long silver chain around his waist. His eyebrows were knitted in deep thought, and I could see that he was revolving great ideas.

VIVlAN: “You mean about Chamberlain? I have not read his speech yet, but it looks as though he were going in for Protection.”

CHURCHILL (walking up and down the room in agitation): “Of course he is going for Protection. What will be the end of it all, Heaven only knows.” Then, pausing before me, he inquired, “Are you a Free Trader?”

VIVIAN: “Of course. Anyone who has had an elementary education must believe that Free Trade is the only just and reasonable policy. But whether private interests are going to prevail and make Protection a popular cry, I have no means of knowing.”

CHURCHILL: “It can never be a popular cry. It is foredoomed to failure. But it is going to be a big fight. Joe will stick at nothing to carry it through. He will use all his influence. He will bribe the landlords. Already he has offered old age pensions as a bait to the poor. He will multiply all manner of devices. But be has committed an irreparable blunder. He cannot have realised all the consequences of his action. I believe it will be the death-warrant of his career. It may sound a plausible manoeuvre for diverting attention from the blunders of his administration, and no doubt he will obtain support from many strong men, many rich men [these words he pronounced in loud, threatening tones, as though conveying a warning of the dangers which would confront opponents of the new policy].

“But he is bound to be beaten. The country will never stand a tax upon food, and without a tax upon food, protection is impossible. The masses know too well, for their fathers have told them from bitter experience, what frightful sufferings, what famine, what poverty, what starvation are the inevitable consequences of such a policy.”

VIVIAN: “Then what will you do?”

CHURCHILL: “Do! The accursed thing must be fought, it must be denounced from every platform, it must be resisted as we would resist the advent of some loathsome pestilence. [With growing excitement:] It will mean the break-up of the Unionist Party. But whose will be the fault? Whose will be the responsibility? This great iconoclast has already broken up one party; he will not shrink from destroying another.”

VIVIAN: “Then shall we have to go over to the other side?”

CHURCHILL: “Who can tell what may happen? The position is hedged in with perplexity—it bristles with difficulties. It may mean the end of their career for those who are bold enough to stand up against this powerful minister. Time alone can tell what will happen. All that can be said at present is that we are confronted by a perilous crisis in the history of our party, in the history of our country.”

I had many opportunities of discussing this important topic with him as Mr. Chamberlain’s tariff campaign developed itself. I think that at first he anticipated a larger secession of Unionist members of Parliament than actually took place. But he never wavered in his confidence that the country would unhesitatingly reject the fiscal revolution which had been so suddenly proposed.

He never swerved nor faltered, but, as time went on, be realised more and more the toughness of the fight which lay before him. It evidently enlarged his horizon and added fresh qualities to his political character. Becoming more and more independent, in emancipating himself more completely from the party machine, he acquired a self-restraint and sense of responsibility which belong only to party leaders. This development was particularly conspicuous to those who, like myself, had the privilege of sharing his platform at Birmingham and the Alexandra Palace. The meeting in the stronghold of the champion of the new doctrines was extraordinarily plucky, admirably organised, and altogether successful.

YOUNG WINSTON’S ORATORY

That gift is well illustrated by the nature of his oratorical gestures with every appearance of calm, holding himself perfectly upright, he makes use of his hands and arms in a very telling manner, and I have never been able to make up my mind whether his action is entirely spontaneous, or whether, like most of his other expressions, it is the offspring of profound thought.

Sometimes, in the middle of an unexpected outburst of enthusiasm, I have seen him caught in the middle of an elaborate gesture, say with his arms extended and his mouth wide open, reminding one of frozen music. But whatever happens, he is never abashed. I could almost see the next word poised on the tip of his tongue, ready to be launched at precisely the right moment. In this and, other ways, his speeches show traces of careful preparation; but so skilfully are they designed that even the most polished epigrams always seem to be spontaneous. What could be happier, for instance, than his playful retort at the Alexandra Palace?

“Some kind people have been kind enough to tell me that I ought to go over and join the Liberal Party.” From all parts of the crowded hall came exuberant shouts of “Why don’t you?”

He put his head on one side in a very comical way, and there was a droll twinkle in his eyes, which tempted me to believe that he had anticipated some such commentary. With a rollicking affectation of surprise, he retorted, “That is not a bad idea.” Then after a pause and a tempest of cheering, “I will give it my best consideration.”

At Manchester one day he surprised his audience by exclaiming, “Mr. Chamberlain loves the working man!” Then in a conical stage aside, he went on, “He loves to see him work.”

EFFORTLESS INDUSTRY

Next to his versatility, Mr. Churchill’s industry must be noted as one of the prime factors in his career. Without any apparent effort he contrives to crowd into one day the work of half a dozen busy men. He will address meetings night after night in all parts of the country, sandwiching between them thoughtful speeches in the House of Commons and long tiring discussions in standing committee; meanwhile he is always ready to see any one who wishes to consult him on political matters, he deals promptly with an enormous correspondence, and keeps the press in a good humour by writing letters, answering questions, and leaving no stone unturned to hearten possible supporters.

“You must forgive me for having kept you waiting,” he said to me on one occasion, when he had arrived a few minutes late for an appointment, “for I am very much hunted today.” I will quote some of his counsels at random, as they may prove of service to others who may be engaged in the anxious task of wooing a constituency.

“Get among the people as much as you can,” said he. “They are in themselves a liberal education. You will find them kinder, more generous, more natural, more tolerant, and on the whole far quicker in their powers of observation, than those who lead a lazy life. You must expect a certain amount of rough-and-tumble, not only in their manners, but in their ideas. Yet when you come to understand them you cannot help liking them, and you cannot help trusting them.

“Make a great number of speeches. Never mind if only a score of persons are present. Treat each of them as though he were a missionary, to whom you were delivering a message which he should go forth and preach. You have no idea how large a number may be affected by the impressions you convey to a few. Also, if you are a good observer, you will learn as much by your speeches as you can hope to teach. Watch men’s faces, and endeavour to realise how much and how little they understand, what amuses and interests them, what moves them to enthusiasm, and what leaves them listless or unmoved.

“Little meetings are the best practice of all, for they are the most difficult to wake up. Besides which, each affords you an entirely different audience, so that you may permit yourself to repeat the same speech over and over again, modifying and improving it as you go along. Do not deliver ambitious orations, full of epigrams, redolent of midnight oil, when only twenty or thirty are gathered together without any reporters.

“Above all, do nothing rash. If you have unpopular opinions on topics of no immediate importance, nothing is gained and a great deal may be lost by thrusting your private judgment down unwilling throats. Be frank, but talk to people about what they want to know. After all, there are certain great issues before the country, and your business is to unite as many voters as possible on those issues. Your opponents will be quick enough to start any questions which are likely to provoke discord. Remember that you cannot afford to throw away a single vote.”

One day I gave utterance to the opinion that it must be very difficult for persons like ourselves who had uttered their thoughts with frankness for a long time both in speeches and writings, to avoid giving offence. Considering what vehement prejudices most people have on the minor matters of the law, a casual allusion may suffice to estrange some one who would otherwise he an enthusiastic and valued supporter.

CHURCHILL (smiling): “We must not exaggerate the importance of our ephemeral utterances. When I first began to make speeches, I was in a fever lest some one should haul me over the coals for a verbal or trivial contradiction. I soon found that the greater part of a speech goes in at one ear and comes out at the other. A man pays us the compliment of coming to a meeting and listening to what we have to say. But he does not study our books with a blue pencil in his hand, or paste a report of every speech in a scrapbook.”

VIVIAN: “But if there be found even one just man to bring us to repentance in this way, he may make it very awkward for us by his questions.”

CHURCHILL: “No, no! You can always silence a questioner, though it be only by a bad joke. Life would be too short if we had to set so rigid a watch upon our lips as all that. Besides which, if we were always calculating and hesitating over the precise effect, the painful consistency of every sentence, we should cease to be natural and spontaneous and therefore convincing. Never take yourself more seriously than other people do. You must not mistake the hustings for the witness-box or the confessional. It is quite enough if you are honest to yourself and state your beliefs frankly on broad, general lines. There are plenty of greater gifts and higher forms of truthfulness than meticulous consistency.”

VIVIAN: “I remember your father saying to me once, ‘never revise your speeches. If you are ever reproached with an inconvenient expression, you can always say that you have been badly reported.'”

CHURCHILL: “Besides, life would be much too short if we had to turn ourselves into amateur reporters as well. A public speaker provides the raw material for the reporter, who then manufactures it according to his ability. It lies with him to send us forth to the world as finished orators, resplendent in our gift of tongues, or as stuttering exponents of bald, unconvincing commonplaces. You are no more responsible for a published report than you are for the success of an artist or a photographer, to whom you may have given a sitting.”

On another occasion I mentioned to him the severe criticisms which had been passed upon me for a change of party which I did not imagine to embrace a change of principles. “Everybody changes nowadays,” he exclaimed. “Look at Balfour. I remember going to the House of Commons when I was a boy, and hearing him denounce the unconstitutional practice of closure by guillotine. I came away mightily impressed, and I thought to myself: Here at least is a statesman who will spare no effort in combating this monstrous invasion of the privileges of Parliament.

“That was when his party was in opposition. I remember also how persuasive he was in his condemnation of the principle of Irish land purchase, and yet I have seen him defending that very same principle with the same old arguments which he had proclaimed to be unworthy of notice. Believe me, the average modern politician cares very little about consistency. He produces an assortment of wares with which to tempt the public, but as soon as the interest in them has declined, he quietly sets himself to work to dress the window with still later novelties. As long as he can sell something for the votes, upon which he depends for a livelihood, he is quite content. I daresay politics are regarded by most people as a game, in which the cleverest sharper wins.

“But I confess that I really do feel angry when I observe the monstrous and cynical manner in which public personages too often regard public expenditure. In writing my father’s life, I have been greatly impressed by study of the old Budgets. There you found ministers struggling and scraping. and using all their utmost endeavours to effect savings, however apparently trivial. Now the public are regarded merely as a milch cow, from whom the utmost possible must be extracted.

Money is spent right and left with that insane generosity begotten of disregard for other people’s pockets. That is a question which must not be treated as a game. We cannot afford to pass over the imminent menace of ruin as though extravagance were merely a move in the contest between the ins and the outs.”

On Wednesday, June 29th, 1904, I went to the House of Commons in the company of a young friend who was desirous of making Mr. Churchill’s acquaintance. He met us in the lobby, appearing more than ordinarily cheerful, and we went down with him to the terrace. As we passed through the knots of legislators and the bevies of ladies, I marked the general interest which he aroused. All turned to observe him, the greater part with a smile of approval. He seemed little concerned with the attention which he aroused, but led the way with many a merry quip.

When we emerged upon the terrace, a strong wind was agitating the river. Every seat being taken in that part of the terrace which is reserved for members of the Lower Chamber, we took possession of a table which had been assigned to the House of Lords. Here a difficulty arose, for the servants refused to supply us with refreshment there. An amicable parley ensued, the Commons servant declaring that they were not permitted to cross an imaginary line.

CHURCHILL (smiling and pointing to the floor): “Very well; put the tea down there, and I will carry it across myself.”

He drew our attention to a pigeon, which hopped familiarly upon the balustrade, and for some minutes he concentrated his attention upon its perky movements. Then he remarked upon the pleasures of the view, surely (said he) one of the most agreeable in London. His eyes wandered away to the throng of teadrinkers that stretched away in a variegated blur.

“If I had my way,” said he, “I would abolish all this nonsense. The House of Commons should be a place of business, not a place of entertainment. Many members make this the one resort for their hospitality—Tea on the Terrace!” He chuckled to himself.

At this point our tea arrived, and he asked the servant whether it had come from the House of Commons kitchen. Receiving an affirmative reply, he assumed an air of satisfaction.

On my inquiring what he considered to be the prospects of a dissolution of Parliament he said, “Heaven only knows. Any other Government would have been out long ago. I am in no hurry for a dissolution.” Here a dissolution bell rang, and he went off to discover whether it concerned the Lords or the Commons. A servant informed him that it was the Commons. I asked him whether we should wait for him or rejoin him in the Lobby.

CHURCHILL (reflecting): “I’ll come back. No, on the whole I think I won’t vote. I don’t know what it’s about, and I have to be very careful over my votes now that I am an independent member.”

He inquired as to the progress of my candidature at Deptford. “What do they say,” he asked roguishly, “about your admiration for the House of Stuart?”

VlVIAN: “I tell them of my admiration for King Edward VII, and so forth. But I disturbed the consciences of some temperance advocates by turning to my glass of water and exclaiming, ‘If this were full of whisky I would quaff it as a bumper to the health of His Most Gracious Majesty.'”

CHURCHILL: “Oh, oh ! What you ought to have said was, ‘Such is my admiration for His Majesty that I am proud to drink his health, and I am delighted to recall the consideration which he showed to those who share my temperance principles when he gave his graciouspermission that we might for the future drink his health in water.'”

HE MAY ANTICIPATE THE FUTURE…

Almost alone among the hard fighters of politics, Winston Churchill commands universal respect and affection. His noisiest critics unite in admiring his unimpeachable honesty, his conspicuous courage, and perhaps above all his imperturbable good-humour. He can lash out with the polished rapier of his sarcasm, he can charge headlong in an outburst of indignation, he is a past-master in his vocabulary of comminations. But malice is utterly foreign to his nature. He can keep cool in a thunderstorm; he remains modest despite high ambitions, for they possess no taint of selfishness. He may anticipate the future with equanimity because he has made no mistakes in the past. My only regret about him is that Disraeli did not live to be his Boswell.