Xi’s Costly Obsession With Security
How a Quest for Control Threatens China’s Economic Growth
IN 1894, the tax reform of Sir William V. Harcourt, then Chancellor of the Exchequer, brought a formal end to the privileged position of the British landed aristocracy. Yet only about 50 years later, the Labor Government of Great Britain has felt it necessary to move once again to restrict the power of the peers. The vitality of the old ruling class as shown by its long tenure of power, and the British record of two and a half centuries without revolution, take on new significance for Americans in the present international situation. When one Great Power is deliberately fomenting revolution in every country which it does not wholly control, every other country will in the literal sense of the word be conservative; and the United States, which enjoys a higher standard of living than any other, will be so most inescapably of all. But as the requisite for the enjoyment of their wealth and power, Americans are at the same time faced with the necessity of taking the lead in bettering the conditions of men and nations within the world they wish to preserve. This is the task which the British aristocracy performed so successfully in its own country in the nineteenth century, when it set the classic example of intelligent conservatism.
Lord Salisbury described what might be called the minimum components of the conservative approach to the adjustment of conflicts of interest, in a letter which he sent to Lord Randolph Churchill, in 1886. His effort was to compose an inter-party dispute, just before Lord Randolph impetuously resigned from Salisbury's Government. He wrote of the "varying elements" of the Tory Party and of the difficulty of satisfying "the masses" without antagonizing "the classes." "But I believe," he concluded, "that with patience, feeling our way as we go, we may get the one element to concede and the other to forbear."[i]
"Concede and forbear," in the last analysis, is the principle of majority rule; but the last analysis was something with which Salisbury was totally unconcerned. How different is this low-pitched plea for conciliation from that given in John Morley's essay, "On Compromise," for example -- a searching theoretical analysis in which the long-range interest provided the criterion which distinguished principle from expediency. Salisbury was interested only in an immediate and plain objective -- to hold his party in office and, for that purpose, to prevent young Churchill from committing political suicide. The advice was useless because it depended for success upon a temperament which, as it happened, Lord Randolph lacked. It was an appeal to knowledge of the world, motivated by a desire to keep the world much as it was for as long as might be, and in pursuit of that objective to forestall great changes by small ones.
To trace the body of experience on which Salisbury drew would be to attempt a history of England. The British aristocracy was never a closed caste; even to the outside view all aristocrats plainly are not peers, and all viscounts are not aristocrats. The third Marquess of Salisbury never spoke to Viscount Morley -- as Morley himself rather bitterly remarks in his memoirs -- though they began their careers in the same anteroom of the Saturday Review and moved onto and off the same political stage throughout their lifetimes. No American can disentangle the blood lines, or would be taken seriously if he could. But which of this group of Whigs or Tories at the summit of British power and prosperity toward the close of the century does not tempt analysis as a politician? They were all unalike; yet they were as compact a political group as the modern world has seen. Perhaps this is the common bond: simply that they enjoyed the world they lived in very much. And one of the most enjoying of them all is the one nearest to us in spirit and easiest for us to comprehend -- Sir W. V. Harcourt himself, a notable figure in his day, a great House of Commons man, younger son of a great family, who married a pretty Boston girl, twice Chancellor of the Exchequer, foremost Liberal orator after Gladstone, author of the famous quip "We are all Socialists now," and of another even more relevant -- "We are all Americans now!"
William George Granville Venables Vernon Harcourt was six feet three and a half inches tall and cut to suit in all particulars. His vitality and his appetites were immense -- not least his appetite for combat -- but the details of his tumultuous life throw no light on the obscure practices of the human heart or of the political animal. As Gardiner, his biographer, says, he wore his heart on his sleeve, and his mind was "all daylight." He took for granted that he would devote his life to governing the English people, and he did so in the grand manner. He did so likewise in the parliamentary manner, by gaining power through gaining votes. He was called an opportunist, a charge in the main irrelevant, and sometimes called a traitor to his class, a charge in perspective false. He was domineering in personal relationships, but the weakness is interesting, for we see that, placed within the parliamentary system, it acted to diminish his power, not to aggrandize it. His contribution is that he made the nature of the system a little more plain, and that he helped men of his time to take a step or two toward the decent life on earth which is that system's objective.
Though Harcourt's older brother inherited the large estate of Nuneham Courtney, the family was not wealthy. Harcourt could count on no money at all. But as a younger son he was perfectly located for a political career. What he could count on was that influential people would think it to their advantage to help him, if he was capable of providing the central impetus for the career himself. The family was Tory, but at Cambridge Harcourt acquired what his father, Canon Harcourt, called "wild convictions," that is to say, a belief in free trade. This was in the late forties; in an undergraduate, a stand for free trade was a sign of intellectual emancipation. The less easily explicable attribute of a kindly nature was to draw Harcourt on to humanitarianism, and thus to Gladstonian liberalism. But in temperament he was always a Whig; he chose Gladstone's party but Hartington's company. (Whenever I make a joke, Mr. Gladstone misunderstands me, Hartington once remarked sadly.)
Harcourt lost no time in attracting attention. When he was 20, J. D. Cook, whose instinct for locating brilliant young Englishmen was one of the wonders of the day, sought him out at Cambridge, where he was a prize man and President of the Union, and engaged him at a handsome honorarium to send in editorials to the Peelite Morning Chronicle. The Duke of Bedford, alert for promising Whig material, likewise noticed him, and offered then and there to back him in a political career. Harcourt sensibly declined so early a commitment, but he accepted Cook's offer. After he left Cambridge, he supported himself by writing for the Chronicle and then the Saturday Review while he was reading law. Though he was only a free lance in politics, he was listened to. A balancing aspect of the conservative British system was the willingness to make use of the drive and even the unorthodoxy of youth: the fences were so strong that there was not too much concern about the tether. A pamphlet of Harcourt's attacking the Derby Government scored a hit and was instrumental in overthrowing the ministry. He was an attraction at the salon of his aunt, Lady Waldegrave, one of the great political hostesses. He was sometimes also put down as insufferable.
All this, though evidence of ability, was unremarkable. As by predestination, the Victorian politicians seem to have gathered armfuls of school prizes (there were six Oxford "double first" men in Palmerston's cabinet of 1859), to have written for Cook and to have been confident young men. But Harcourt's first campaign for Parliament, at age 31, revealed his special style. He heard that the electors of the Kirkcaldy Burghs were weary of the local squire who had for years represented them by prescriptive right, and were on the lookout for an alternative candidate. With a by-your-leave to no one he took a train for Scotland, summoned a meeting at the town hall, and explained that the call had been answered. The Scots were no less interested than surprised, and he was nominated on the spot. It was flagrant buccaneering, for the incumbent was a Liberal, and so, said Harcourt, was he. Lord John Russell, appealed to by the indignant M. P., was unable to say the same; the welcome which as leader he would otherwise have been delighted to give Harcourt could not cover such a breach of the rules of party politics. Harcourt, scion of a Tory house and grandson of the Archbishop of York, had no recommendation to the Free Kirk save his own joy of battle. It came within an ace of electing him; the poll was 294 for Harcourt to 312 for the much-put-upon incumbent, and it united Harcourt and the majority of the townspeople in bonds of exuberant mutual admiration.
"I have had the very best fun I could possibly have conceived," wrote the defeated candidate to a friend, Lady Melgund. "I have learnt to talk to mobs which is a blessed experience, I have sat under the Free Kirk and am greatly edified, I have pitched right and left into my foes and have returned amidst the benedictions of my friends. Can human felicity reach a higher point? There are two things which I am most proud of: (1) I have kept a whole Scotch community for a month in a state of laughter and enthusiasm; (2) I have made them put their hands in their pockets." [ii] The non-electors had subscribed £53 for a silver claret jug as a mark of gratitude, and the electors scaled the Victorian heights with a presentation épergne costing £125: a silver giraffe beneath silver palm trees. "I believe that I am absolutely the first Saxon who has ever taken bullion out of Scotland," said the enchanted recipient.
Underlying the enthusiasm was the fact that he had an issue, and a good one. Kirkcaldy was a flourishing port and manufacturing center, and it joined with four neighboring towns to choose one member of Parliament; yet in this heated election only about 600 votes could be cast. Harcourt played up the question of extension of the franchise for all it was worth, to the disgust of his opponent and the delight of "the mob." But what he said in 1859, though less dignified than Lord Grey's famous promise of 1810 to move for reform when the English people had taken it up "seriously and affectionately," was in effect the same thing, and followed directly from it. The requirements of practical politics had in the interval made the identification of the self-interest of the old ruling class with the development of democracy more explicit. It is interesting to note that at Kirkcaldy Harcourt spoke against the secret ballot; he believed that it would cause corruption, as did many proponents of electoral reform at that date. Seldom in his career was he ahead of his time. His distinction was that he was able to give expression to its realities. In a word, he was representative. Perhaps one of the costly illusions of parliamentary government is that this is a commonplace quality. Only a very intelligent man could estimate himself and his relation to others with as few concessions to pretense as did Harcourt in a remarkable letter written a few years later to a woman whom he had once hoped to marry:
I don't pretend to originality, because I don't possess it. I think I have pretty fairly and honestly gauged myself and know what I can and what I can't do. I have fair, not extraordinary, intellectual powers, rather above the average logical faculty, a power of illustration rather than of imagination, a faculty of acquiring knowledge of particular things rather than much store of knowledge itself, a passion for politics as a practical pursuit, which has been cultivated by a good deal of study (a thing nowadays rare) so that I appear less ignorant of them than ordinary politicians. A tendency to believe in general principles rather than in small expedients. A natural disposition towards vanity, wilfulness, and exaggeration, which I have tried a good deal to correct. An ambition not of an ignoble order which cares little for place or pelf but a good deal for honor. A nature not ungenerous in its impulses, but strong in its passions and its prejudices.
With all this a good deal of courage, obstinacy and determination, not discouraged by mistakes or deterred by disparagement. Too careless of the feelings and too little respectful of the power of others. Positive, confident, I fear I must add overbearing. With a profound belief in myself. A queer jumble of good and bad. A good deal that is high, still more that is weak, not much I think that is mean. That is what nature has made me, and which I have done too little to alter. A character which may end by being a great failure but which will never be a small success. I was not made to be a philosopher or a discoverer. I should never have found out steam, but I can make a steam engine -- and drive it. I am a thoroughgoing Englishman, and perhaps may one day govern Englishmen, not (as you suppose) by practising upon their weaknesses but by really sharing them. I forgot to claim for myself a certain power of discourse which in a debating country is valuable, as it seems to me, principally because it is rare.
Why do I tell you all this? Because I want your good opinion; because I want you to see that I don't deceive myself and don't wish to deceive others.[iii]
In the interval after Kirkcaldy, Harcourt became a leader of the bar, and his series of "Historicus" letters to the Times, which exerted strong influence upon the Government for neutrality in the American Civil War, led to his appointment as first Whewell Professor of International Law at Cambridge. He was elected to the House as member for Oxford in 1868, and entered Gladstone's Cabinets as Solicitor-General, Home Secretary, and then Chancellor of the Exchequer. In the Cabinet, the traits which he had "done too little to alter" made him at times an annoying colleague. When Gladstone retired as Prime Minister in 1892, Harcourt was the logical candidate for the succession, and the choice of the Liberal rank and file. But the post went to Lord Rosebery. In view of Rosebery's far more difficult character, and of the forbearance which Harcourt could display when in a position of plain responsibility, it is a pity that he did not have the chance of leadership. John Morley, whose personal opposition to Harcourt was the deciding factor, could smart after a quarrel long after his huge friend had joyously celebrated the reconciliation; and more than sensitive feelings were involved at this juncture, for Morley had his eye on the Foreign Office, which he hoped he could obtain by elevating Rosebery. But it is likely enough that had not Morley's attitude turned the scales against Harcourt, something else would have, for no one in a position of influence, save his own son, was prepared to fight for him.[iv] Harcourt was careless of the feelings of the powerful, and he paid a price for the luxury.
But in perspective it seems a venial sin. And, after all, only three Liberals besides Gladstone became Prime Minister of Great Britain in the half century of the apogee of Liberalism from the sixties to the First World War. It is not the defect of a hasty temper, but Harcourt's very happiness and his overflowing confidence in himself and in the English people that provide the significant aspect of his career. An exchange with Balfour on the floor of the House, during the debate on the Budget of 1894, may be put beside the story of Kirkcaldy to suggest how little Harcourt's approach to politics changed with the years:
Mr. Balfour wished to remind Sir W. Harcourt that he had not only to consider the interests of the Exchequer, but also the equities of the case as it affected the individual. He was told a story the other day of an eminent counsel, Mr. Scarlett --
Sir W. Harcourt: I told you. (Much laughter.)
Mr. Balfour: Oh! You told me. (Laughter.) Then I will not repeat it. (Renewed laughter and cries of "Go on.")
Sir W. Harcourt: But it was about Lord Erskine. (Laughter.)
Mr. Balfour could not understand how the Chancellor of the Exchequer could have told it. (Laughter.) As he had been invited to tell the story he would do so. The eminent counsel being asked on his deathbed if he had not got off a great many scoundrels in his time, said: Unfortunately that was true, but at the same time he had got a good many innocent persons condemned so that on the average justice was done. (Much laughter.) No doubt the average claims of the Treasury were just, but in the case of a great many individuals great injustice was done, and he therefore supported the clause.[v]
Harcourt's realism gave rise to a charge of insincerity. Can a man who enjoys political life so much and so frankly be in earnest? Or, in the terms of the indictment so familiar in our own time, was all this parliamentary procedure sham warfare, diverting the attention of the English people from the struggle for their own interests, which lay in a different arena?
The use of humor as a weapon in politics can hardly be the substance of the charge. Instances of uproar and indecorum in the Victorian House of Commons that would today shock the supposedly less-inhibited American legislatures can as readily be cited as scenes of entertainment and amusement; but though Harcourt thumped the tub with the best of them, his specialty was laughter (as Balfour's was the dialectical stiletto between the ribs, after the fraternal embrace). Like so witty a fighter as Alfred E. Smith, in American politics of our own day, Harcourt's laughter was reinforced by a painstaking knowledge of the business at hand. His industry was immense: even the Editor of the Times was staggered by the bulk of his researches. He was confident, for one reason, because he was an uncommonly able man. Central to his detachment and his humor, moreover, was his enjoyment of the prerogatives of younger son -- that "happy estate," as he called it. He looked about him secure at the center of the world, seeing in the main what others saw, and seeing it a little at an angle only because he was more at ease than most who were there.
He was blessed also with great good health; he loathed exercise, smoked 16 cigars a day, and was never ill. His life was not without tragedy. The death of his first wife, and then of his first son, were cruel blows. But when he had at length remarried, his personal life was cloudless. "What can be more enjoyable!" he would exclaim with irrepressible candor when he could take a friend around the gardens at Malwood, the house he had built in the New Forest. He loved the country, he liked to read poetry, he liked books about real people and events, he enjoyed the company of his friends and his family beyond satiety. Like Walter Bagehot, he had little desire to listen to music: the tangible world was more interesting. The material of politics is men and women; wherever these were, he was in his element.
The famous Budget of 1894 is a fair sample of the way the system operated. Since the reform is so often yet so vaguely referred to, we may note in some detail what this Victorian Chancellor actually did. When Harcourt took office in Rosebery's Ministry he found a small deficit, in the main from military appropriations. He proposed to balance the budget by increases in the income tax (one penny) and the tax on beer and spirits (sixpence on a gallon) and by instituting a graduated death duties tax which would yield £1,000,000. A graduated income tax had been the theme of constant agitation, notably by Joseph Chamberlain and Lord Randolph Churchill, and succession duties had been levied by Gladstone, as Chancellor of the Exchequer, as early as Lord Aberdeen's Ministry of 1853. They were not levied on the value of the estate, however, but by a somewhat complicated formula, on the "interest" of the successor. Harcourt proposed that land henceforth be appraised at its capital value, as was all property subject to probate duty.
The aristocracy, led by the Duke of Devonshire, argued frankly that unless the large agricultural estates continued to enjoy the exemption, they could not be maintained. The argument was not irresponsible. As Devonshire pointed out, such great country places as his Chatsworth were much more than private houses. They were not only museums and libraries used by scholars from all parts of the world, and open to the public, but were, in a sense, part of the governmental apparatus. The aristocracy had its share of the incompetent and the profligate; but its political leaders had a good conscience. The very existence of these great houses scattered about the countryside had been the guarantee that there would be no centralized absolutism such as developed on the Continent. Beside the record of the continental nobilities, the rule of the British aristocracy was incomparably enlightened. It is revealing that as late as 1899 the German Ambassador in London was careful to warn Wilhelm II's entourage, on the occasion of the Kaiser's visit to England, that in England a lieutenant was spoken to in the same tone as a colonel, or even a general. Von Bülow marveled at such democracy.
Democracy was scarcely an aim of the British landed aristocracy, but the welfare of the nation was. And with granting of household suffrage in Disraeli's day, the decision that England was to be one nation and not two had been taken. The fight against Harcourt's reform was sharp, and the opposition in the House took the unprecedented step of moving the rejection of a finance bill. Harcourt was conciliatory. He accepted amendments and reduced the scale of the tax; but he threatened to go to the people on the principle. It was not an issue on which the Tories cared to contest an election. The Budget was passed, though the vote on the second reading was close -- 308 to 294 -- and it was accepted likewise by the Lords.
It is said that had the aristocracy known to what length the death duties would be carried today they would never have accepted the bill. That is probable enough; a full view of the changes of 50 years ahead would be likely to paralyze political action by anyone. But in retrospect it is also apparent that had Britain retained the principle of supporting a landed aristocracy by granting exemption from taxes, the degree of privilege would have had to be made constantly greater and greater. Incomes of business classes and of wage earners were rising, but revenue from agriculture was steadily falling. That was the central fact of the matter in 1894. Had it been disregarded, the aristocracy would have entered the century of world wars and revolutions mortally exposed. Harcourt's tax completed the destruction of the economic base of the old ruling class, but by persuading that class to move with its time, he gave it a new lease on life.
If the test of earnest political activity is the shedding of blood in irreconcilable conflict, then Harcourt must indeed be written off as a superficial politician. Honest slaughter was not his ideal, and he gave unstinted allegiance to representative government precisely because, better than any political system that men have devised, it can adjust conflicts of interest without killings. But the charge of lack of earnestness levelled against Harcourt in his day was in fact brought by those who thought, not that he was ineffectual, but that he had too forthrightly and successfully supported the advance of the English people toward popular government. "I do not wonder at your casting a longing, lingering look on the 'variety and richness and intellectual forces' which have passed away, but these are not the appendage of democracy," wrote Harcourt to Lord Rosebery, one of those who made the protest. Whether that is the correct verdict upon government by all the people remains to be disclosed. But however that may be, Sir William Harcourt looked upon democracy with open eyes, and was one of its effective friends.
The charge of sham levelled against the parliamentary method is logical enough when brought by those who hold that popular welfare requires that conflicts should be sharpened, not ameliorated. In the nineties, Keir Hardie felt that Beatrice and Sidney Webb, working so successfully within the parliamentary system, were the worst enemies of the social revolution. Beatrice Webb agreed that he might be right. "What idiot believes that the armed bourgeoisie can be overthrown without a struggle?" asked Lenin in his courteous way. "It is simply insane to talk about abolishing capitalism without a frightful civil war or without a succession of such wars." [vi]
The actual possibility of a rapid succession of civil wars on a world scale in our time is the new factor which throws a fresh light backward on Harcourt's era, on which so many assumptions concerning both revolutionary and parliamentary methods have been based. Harcourt himself was nearing the end of his active career in 1894, and his own reform was the last he chose to sponsor. The Webbs' opinion of the skeptical Whig was almost as unflattering as Lenin's opinion of Fabianism. But despite cosmic differences in temperament, Harcourt and Beatrice and Sidney Webb were closer together than the Webbs admitted. The idea that they were propagating -- that the power of the state should be used when necessary to meet a particular need -- was as old as the aristocracy itself, and did not astonish or alarm Sir William. He was quite willing to agree to a prescribed eight-hour day, for example. Harcourt had been schooled in public finance by Gladstone, and had a habit of asking by what means the money to pay for various measures of social welfare was to be provided. But the central fact was that for him, no less than for the Fabians, the brief reign of laissez faire was over. That was the meaning of his famous jest, "We are all Socialists now." The much-quoted remark seems, incidentally, to appear nowhere on the record, and in the House of Commons on April 12, 1893, Harcourt said he did not know whether he had ever made it. References to it began to appear in print in 1888; but the significant thing about it, in any event, is merely that everyone took it up. By Socialism, he meant what we might call parliamentary Socialism, or ethical Socialism -- economic reforms motivated by practical politics and a sense of fair play. Like his kind, Harcourt was interested in the thing, not the label. Talk of the unearned increment of land, which Joseph Chamberlain had taken up to promote tax reform, he dismissed as "perfectly philosophical." And at this time the Webbs' distaste for the generalities of Marxism differed from Harcourt's only in that they were inclined to weep where he would laugh. For Beatrice, attendance at a congress of Marxist Socialists in 1896 was "a public humiliation." [vii]
Sidney and Beatrice Webb knew what they meant by liberty and by democracy. "Liberty is such conditions of existence in the community as do, in practice, result in the utmost possible development of faculty in the individual human being." And democracy, government by all the people, was the expedient which secured liberty -- "perhaps the only practicable expedient, for preventing the concentration in any single individual or in any single class of what inevitably becomes, when so concentrated, a terrible engine of oppression." [viii] The opposite of democracy was plain and unambiguous: autocracy.
In the general disillusion of the First World War the Webbs abandoned their own tradition and asked of government, not particular actions to meet demonstrated needs, but a way of life for every member of society. Socialism, in the Marxist sense of equality of income based on state ownership of the means of production, was then an abstraction -- and measured against the abstraction, progress toward economic betterment seemed insupportably slow. By the time an abuse has been remedied, a generation has been wasted, cried the Webbs in 1923, in their indictment, "The Decay of Capitalist Civilization." They indicted capitalist civilization in particular for inefficiency, idleness, bad manners, "the dysgenic influence of money selection on the race," i.e. restrictions on marriage (an idea of Shaw's); and they expected from Marxist civilization greater freedom for the individual to buy food, shelter and clothing, to travel, to select his own reading material, and to exchange ideas with the best minds abroad. Their great work done, they had closed their eyes and were reciting from the book.
That "economic" and "political" democracy are separate and probably antithetical was the conclusion of the generation of western intellectuals which the Webbs represented. It became the unexamined premise of the next.[ix] But 25 years have passed, and in place of the Marxist abstraction is the actuality of Soviet autocracy. Marxism, which offered plenty, cannot even make peace. In the armed camp of the Soviet Union, power is the bright face of poverty. In the light of this dénouement, the pace of the advance to greater material well-being in Harcourt's era assumes a different aspect. The "unauthorized" Liberal program of 1884, to take but one example, which was thought the epitome of Jacobin radicalism, was substantially put into effect by Salisbury's Tory Government in 1892, seven years after the extension of the franchise of 1885. Neither those measures, nor others, solved "the problem of poverty." Nor, for that matter, had the extension of the electorate in 1885 given Britain a fully democratic franchise. That was not to come until 1928; and a national system of free education comparable to that in the United States was not to be achieved until 1944. But though Irish issues were always unassimilated in Britain, measures relating to franchise, free trade, free education, factory acts, local self-government and so on so plainly stimulated one another, and wages (including real wages) so steadily, if unevenly, increased, that in perspective it is apparent that democracy and economic advancement were not separate, and not divergent, but went hand in hand.
Perhaps the willingness to believe that man should find comfort and happiness on this earth is the weakness that Harcourt spoke of in his early letter of self-examination. Some in every age will say so. But after the wastage of the most recent revolutionary war, and with another foreshadowed in Communist doctrine, who that is free to speak will not now ask the chance for the liberty and material well-being that democracy has shown it can provide? It is in this sense that we may say -- if it is said with a smile, as Harcourt said it to his friend Joe Chamberlain, who also took a bride from New England -- that we are all Americans now.
"What is to be desired," wrote Sir William, when Home Secretary, to a correspondent who had demanded that he suppress itinerant shows, "is not only that people should live, but that they should enjoy life." He enjoyed it mightily. He died suddenly in 1904, one night in his sleep, at the age of 77. On his bedside table was a current periodical, containing an article with a complimentary reference to himself, which he had been reading. Harcourt had refused a peerage, for he wished to remain a House of Commons man to the last. "I have come to look upon human affairs as a great series of stratifications built up by slow deposits out of the wrecks of succeeding generations," he once said. Of these forward movements, the development of constitutional government seemed to him the greatest, for it offered man the best chance of happiness here and now. He found his satisfaction within the limitations of that conservative tradition and in the performance of the obligation of public service which it entailed.
[i] "Lord Randolph Churchill," by Winston Spencer Churchill. New York: Macmillan, 1906. Vol. II, p. 224.
[ii] A. G. Gardiner, "The Life of Sir William Harcourt." New York: Doran, 1923. Vol. I, p. 107.
[iii] Harcourt to Mrs. Ponsonby. Gardiner, p. 175-176.
[iv] Queen Victoria preferred Lord Rosebery, and on her own initiative sent for him. But by that time it was apparent that Harcourt did not have the support of his colleagues. Lewis Harcourt, who conducted his father's campaign for the Prime Ministership with skill and intense application, never thought of Windsor as a source of the difficulty. "J. M. is the man who has deprived W. V. H. of first place," he noted in his Journal.
[v]Westminster Gazette, July 10, 1894. Quoted by Gardiner.
[vi]Sozialdemokrat, November 11, 1914. Quoted by David Shub, "Lenin." Garden City: Doubleday, 1948, p. 126.
[vii] Beatrice Webb, "Our Partnership." New York: Longmans, Green, 1948, p. 134.
[viii] Beatrice and Sidney Webb, "Industrial Democracy," 2nd edition. London: Longmans, Green, 1911, p. 845, 847.
[ix] The author of the Encyclopaedia Britannica's "English History" formulates the standard indictment with great simplicity: "Parliamentary politics [1880-1895] were not concerned with the English people, and the English people impinged but slightly on parliamentary politics." (14th Edition, Vol. 8, p. 538.)