High Minds

by Simon Heffer

  Gladstone replied on 25 May to ‘my dear Sir’ and said that ‘the letter you have been so kind as to address to me will enable me I trust to remove from your mind some impressions with which you will not be sorry to part.’57

  He observed that Disraeli had given him a narrative of his role as leader of his party, and said that he had ‘never thought your retention of that office matter of reproach to you’ and that he ‘acknowledged . . . the handsomeness of your conduct in offering to resign it to Sir James Graham.’ But he continued: ‘You consider that the relations between yourself and me have proved the main difficulty in the way of certain political arrangements – will you allow me to assure you that I have never in my life taken a decision which turned upon those relations.’

  He warmed to his theme. ‘You assure me that I have ever been mistaken in failing to place you among my friends or admirers. Again I pray you to let me say that I have never known you penurious in admiration towards anyone who had the slightest claim to it, and that at no period of my life, not even during the limited one where we were in sharp political conflict, have I either felt any enmity towards you or believed that you felt any towards me.’ Gladstone talked to Derby, but told Disraeli that ‘the difficulties which he [Derby] wishes me to find means of overcoming are broader than you may have supposed . . . you have yourself reminded me that there is a Power beyond us that disposes of what we will do, and I find the limits of choice in public life to be very narrow.’ From that moment, the old enmities reasserted themselves.

  V

  It was sometimes the case in the political class that good and bad were mixed up in the same character – Gladstonian principle and Disraelian expediency coming together in the same person. This could give rise to the charge of hypocrisy for which the Victorians were so noted. Even Gladstone has been victim of this charge, because of doubts – unsupported by evidence – about the nature of his interest in prostitutes. However, in others, not all public service was what it seemed.

  Some, such as the now forgotten figure of Sir Edwin Pearson, did their Christian duty of good works for the poor and for society in general with a distinct view towards social advancement: and of course there were those in high politics, such as Disraeli, who set them a very good example in such full-blooded hypocrisy. A memo in Gladstone’s papers from Pearson, dated January 1872, states that: ‘In July 1845 the Westminster Improvement Commission [which Pearson chaired] was incorporated for the purpose of removing the most wretched and unwholesome district of Westminster, and of constructing on its site, a new thoroughfare, 80 feet in width between the Houses of Parliament and Buckingham Palace’.58 This work was completed, at a cost of £50,000, and the new road opened on 1 August 1851. Five lateral streets were also constructed, and 9,300 feet of sewers laid underneath, with more than 12,000 feet of pavement.

  ‘The social and sanitary results of this important improvement’, the memo continues, ‘have fully corresponded with the extent and character of the works themselves: and this district, which was formerly the most depraved and sickly, is now well ordered, and has become one of the healthiest portions of the Metropolis.’ The memo quotes observations by the Dean of St Paul’s, H. H. Milman, who had been Canon of Westminster and Rector of St Margaret’s.

  Nothing could be more deplorable than the state of Westminster before the Westminster Improvement Commissioners began their labours. From the first period of my Ministry as Rector of St Margaret’s, I made up my mind that nothing could be done for the moral change (to speak of the spiritual condition would be a mockery) of the dense and swarming population, without a most extensive demolition of the wretched buildings which they inhabited.

  There was a considerable area covered with houses, in which to have lived was to forfeit all character, and to be set down as thief or prostitute. These houses were old, worn-out, not worth repair. [This included houses owned by the Dean and Chapter of the Abbey, on short leases.] These could only be underlet to persons who gave high rents and remunerated themselves by reletting them for the worst of purposes . . . no moral or religious influences could approach those places with any possibility of success. Some years before I came to Westminster they were hardly safe, not indeed till the establishment of the new Police . . . and though neither myself nor my curates met with insult, it was generally said, that no-one but the Parson and the Doctor could enter them without danger. I speak of the moral state rather than as regards sanitary questions, yet even on this account it was absolutely necessary for the public good to sweep away an immense number of these miserable hovels, the established, recognised, irreclaimable haunts of rogues of every description, and women of the lowest profligacy.

  Their wholesale demolition delighted the Dean. Pearson also set in train the construction of new dwellings for the poor and the ‘industrial inhabitants’ of Westminster. He sought to ensure there would be no repeat of the cholera epidemic of 1832, which killed a number of parishioners, and it was he who obtained an Act of Parliament for the improvement works. In 1844 an inquiry had found the area ‘without any common sewers at all; or where they existed were from dilapidation or other causes inefficient to the extent. All endeavours of the Inhabitants to keep their vicinity clean and wholesome were frustrated for want of drainage.’ All this information and more is contained in a specially printed collection of written testimonials to Pearson: who sent them to Gladstone seeking a government job, possibly a financial reward, and hinting at an honour higher than his knighthood.

  This bid failed. So Pearson wrote again to Gladstone in April 1873 with a new specially printed memorandum modestly entitled Correspondence . . . on the subject of Sir Edwin Pearson’s Claim on her Majesty’s Government for some substantial recognition of his Public Services.59 It included letters from various grandees and public officials, among them Gladstone himself, on the wonder of Sir E. Pearson. It again referred to events many years earlier, such as a note of congratulation from the Earl of Carlisle – the First Commissioner of Works under whom the Westminster improvement had been conducted – to Pearson on his achievements, dated 10 April 1851. There follows several thousand words of Sir Edwin’s egomania. One can only begin to imagine the effect this had on so self-effacing a man as Gladstone. The same Lord Carlisle, for example, ‘with an honourable appreciation of the injustice done to Sir Edwin Pearson, who, notwithstanding the great services he had rendered, still remained neglected and unnoticed by the Government’ had lobbied Palmerston in 1855 for something for Pearson. Thereafter the Duke of Argyll (‘I am sure that any mark of Royal favour which may have been usual on such occasions, will be more than usually well-deserved in your case’) and various bishops and judges were quoted on the marvels of Sir Edwin.

  Pearson persuaded Lord Hatherley, the Lord Chancellor, to advance his case to Gladstone; which he did in April 1870. Gladstone replied that ‘I cannot doubt the claim of Sir Edwin Pearson; I can readily promise to consider it, if occasion offer, but I know not when that would be. I have had no office yet to which he could have been appointed; and would advise him to have other strings to his bow.’ When Pearson had heard nothing after a few weeks he importuned other Cabinet ministers of his acquaintance, including Cardwell, Hatherley, Argyll and the Attorney General, Sir John Coleridge. They could do nothing for him: so he continued to nag Gladstone directly, asking him outright for a baronetcy. He cited the precedent of Sir James Lawrence, ‘having lately [been] recommended for the honour of a Baronetcy in consideration of the Metropolitan Improvements completed under his mayoralty.’ Pearson asserted that all such men had baronetcies ‘and there is no instance on record where this rule has been departed from, except my own . . . I feel a boldness, therefore, in submitting my claims to you, which I do, not as a matter merely of favour, but as one of precedent and right.’

  Gladstone was losing patience. He had his secretary reply in January 1872 that ‘he is unable to give you any promise to bring your name before Her Majesty for a Baronetcy’. Pearson asked again, with the sa
me result. He then claimed that Gladstone had promised him a baronetcy through the Lord Chancellor, which prompted the curt statement: ‘Mr Gladstone is aware of no such promise as you allude to, and he trusts that you will not impose upon him the task of again correcting such misapprehensions as those you appear to be labouring under.’ Pearson’s rhinoceros skin was astonishing: not least that he should print all these rebuffs in his next submission to Gladstone. He then started splitting hairs about what had been meant by Gladstone’s letter to Hatherley of April 1870 – the meaning of which was clear to all but Pearson who ‘began to apprehend, for the first time, that Mr Gladstone did not seem to attach the same meaning to his letter to the Lord Chancellor as Sir Edwin Pearson and his friends had done.’ This astonishing document concluded by asserting that Pearson’s interpretation of the letter to Hatherley was more accurate than Gladstone’s; and that it was Gladstone’s duty and not his privilege to recommend him to the Queen for a Baronetcy, reinforcing his recommendation by informing the Queen of Hatherley’s strong opinion of Pearson’s merits. Gladstone’s office kept up an iron defence, that he had ‘nothing to add’ to his former letters.

  For a moment it seemed that Pearson had gone away: but on 6 August 1873, on, as he put it, ‘the anniversary of the opening of Victoria Street’, he wrote again asserting his ‘claims’.60 A line scribbled on the back of the letter observes: ‘He has behaved rather badly’. He wrote again on 29 September ‘as I have not had the honour to receive any answer to my letter written to you last month’ and hoping, somewhat in vain, that ‘I shall not appear importunate’.61 The blackmail continued. ‘I am informed by several persons who are intimate with you, that you never failed to do what you had promised to do; and that I may confidently rely upon the fulfilment of any matter about which you had made a promise,’ he wrote.

  He insisted Gladstone had made a ‘promise’ to have him honoured. This was too much for Gladstone, the tone of whose marginalia about Sir Edwin had now risen to ‘he seems a most troublesome fellow’.62 Gladstone had his secretary reply, speaking of his ‘regret that he must decline to prolong the correspondence, from which he fears no benefit can be derived.’ He continued: ‘I am directed to add, with reference to your allusion to Mr Gladstone’s promise, that if you refer to his engagement to consider your claims, he is able to assure you that it has been fulfilled, although the results have been (he regrets to say) unfavourable. Mr Gladstone is really unable to admit of the existence of any other pledge.’

  Pearson was determined to have the last word: so he wrote, on 7 October, to ‘ask your indulgence, once more, to allow me to set myself right with regard to the interpretation of your letter to the late Lord Chancellor [Hatherley], on the subject of my claim to some acknowledgment for my public services’.63 There followed much analysis of Gladstone’s earlier words, Pearson becoming excited by the phrases ‘I cannot doubt the claim of Sir Edwin Pearson’ and ‘I can readily promise to consider it if occasion offer – I have no office yet to which he could have been appointed.’ He took this to mean that Gladstone saw he merited an honour: the only question was what and when. He made this point, he said ‘humbly’, ‘because I am anxious to vindicate myself from the least appearance of having put a forced interpretation upon the words of your letter.’ Scrawled on an adjoining note is the phrase: ‘Seems to require no answer’.64 Sir Edwin’s reward for improving the lot of the poor was, no doubt, in heaven.

  CHAPTER 9

  THE PROGRESSIVE MIND: THE GREAT EXHIBITION AND ITS LEGACY

  I

  THE GREAT EXHIBITION of 1851 showcased British innovation, engineering and design. It was one of the turning points of the Victorian age, and one of the events that confirmed Britain’s status as the world’s foremost power. It raised the ambition of Victorian England to an unprecedented height. However, it also confirmed the great Victorian traits of determination and achievement; the aims were high, but they were accomplished thanks to the clear vision and energy of those who undertook them. Snobbery about manufacturing and trade was diluted by the wider recognition of the international respect paid to Britain on account of its achievements in those areas, and the prosperity that resulted from them. As well as obtaining greater international influence for Britain by means other than war, and giving a country so recently riven by conflict and civil disturbance something of which all could be proud, the Exhibition would present the triumph of free trade, and its supremacy over protectionism: something Albert and the Queen had felt strongly for years, and which had driven them to support repeal of the Corn Laws. It was a microcosm of two prime Victorian traits: ambition, and the ability to do great things relatively quickly. The fulfilment of the ambition required leadership, and the Queen’s husband provided it. Prince Albert’s enduring significance in British history rests in his determination to create the Exhibition. It has become synonymous with his memory: as has the estate of museums and other cultural and educational institutions in South Kensington, which became known as Albertopolis, and which were partly funded by the £213,000 profit made from the Exhibition.

  Albert never intended his legacy to be confined to a few acres of west London. The Exhibition was designed to stimulate a nationwide interest in science and the arts, the former reflecting Albert’s very German idea of the importance of technological advancement. Thanks to his leadership, people from the highest circles in the land were motivated to commit themselves to endorsing and financially supporting social reform. It took a German, from a society unencumbered by snobbery about trade, to harness the force of commerce to the glory of his adopted country. He did so, perhaps appropriately, with the help of pushing, ambitious men on the make who were also typical of the new order that social and economic change was creating. The lasting result, ironically, was institutions that became part of the national focus of cultural life, and that underpinned the civilising goal of the pursuit of perfection.

  That Albert was able to bring such a radically different, and un-English, cast of mind to bear on the potential for the society over which his wife reigned was down to quirks of his upbringing. He was the second son of the Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, born near Coburg in August 1819, making him a few weeks younger than his wife. His father was a womaniser and his much younger wife – Albert’s mother – had her revenge by having affairs with various courtiers. They divorced when Albert was seven, and his mother died of cancer when he was twelve. Albert roundly disliked his father and had a miserable childhood. It was enriched, however, by his tutor Christoph Florschütz, who devised a rigorous programme of education in a range of subjects far broader than anything an English public schoolboy of the era would have experienced.

  This, and his sense of isolation (though he was educated with his brother), caused him to develop into a serious, earnest, high-minded youth, but also one of some talent. Among other accomplishments he wrote, composed music, designed clothes and was largely responsible for the design of Osborne House, the royal couple’s private retreat on the Isle of Wight. Early on matchmakers marked him out as a suitable husband for his cousin Princess Victoria of Kent, who seemed likely to become Queen of England. Albert continued his education at the University of Bonn, starting in the autumn of 1837, months after his cousin ascended the throne. He came increasingly under the influence of Baron Stockmar, physician to his uncle King Leopold of the Belgians, who would become his chief adviser. He and Victoria were engaged in August 1839 and married in February 1840; the first of their nine children, a daughter who would become the Kaiserin, was born the following November, and their first son, who became Edward VII, a year after that. Public opinion in Britain had lamented the possible influence a foreigner might have over their Queen, who was not yet twenty-one. The government did all it could to put Albert in his place: it refused him a peerage, granted him a comparatively small allowance (£30,000 a year against the £50,000 Leopold had had when he married the ill-fated Princess Charlotte of Wales in 1816), and imposed various people on his household. Albert began ma
rried life feeling humiliated, and soon became frustrated too as he searched for a role that the British constitution could not provide for him.

  Yet Albert soon began to start changing the monarchy. The Royal Household was overmanned, poorly structured and woefully inefficient. Albert spotted this quickly and set about overseeing its reform along lines of Teutonic efficiency. His stern, almost puritanical morality was a cold blast after the loucheness and venality of the later Hanoverians. He began to help his wife with her constitutional responsibilities, not least because of her frequent indispositions during her pregnancies. A Regency Act confirmed he would take charge if she died while the heir was a minor. He made formal studies of English constitutional law and history, to help ensure he was not out of his depth.

  His big break came with the departure of Melbourne and the succession of Peel in 1841. He quickly befriended Albert and suggested the Prince become head of the Royal Commission on Fine Arts, the main purpose of which was to encourage the arts in Britain. Peel had suggested his name to the Queen on 26 September, linking it to the subject ‘of the promotion of the Fine Arts in connection with the Building of the New Houses of Parliament.’1 He said that if the Queen thought a Royal Commission appropriate for dealing with this subject, perhaps ‘YM would deem it desirable that the Prince should be invited in the name of YM to place himself at the head of this Commission, and to give to it the authority and influence of his high name, and the advantage of his Taste and Knowledge.’