Lloyd George

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I pass over some of the intervening stages--the howls that came from
the Lords, who saw their prestige departing with this wholesale
dilution of their order; the choking attempts which the peer leaders
made to be civil of tongue and to arrange a compromise. Merciless was
the determination of Lloyd George. Another general election on the
specific issue of the power of the Lords again resulted in the return
of the Liberals to office.

The Government proposals for the restriction of the future functions of
the Lords were embodied in a measure called the Parliament bill, and it
was for the Lords to pass this measure or else to suffer the immediate
creation of the army of new peers who had been nominated by Mr. Asquith
and who would immediately vote down the existing Conservative majority
in the gilded chamber.

The climax was reached on August 9, 1911, when the bill, having passed
through the Commons, was brought up to the House of Lords for their
decision. The peers by this time were torn between two impulses. One,
the most natural, was to defy Mr. Asquith and Lloyd George and all
their wicked companions, and let them create what peers they liked, and
the other to swallow the medicine, pass the Parliament bill, and thus,
while limiting their own powers for the future, preserve their ancient
caste and dignity.

It was touch and go throughout an excited discussion. Lord Morley,
plain John Morley of the years gone by, made a speech of three
sentences in which he said he was authorized to state that the King
would assent to the creation of the extra peers if the bill were not
passed. Wild hopes that the King would stand by the Lords were thus
extinguished. There were dramatic scenes never to be forgotten by
those who witnessed them, and then finally the bill was accepted by a
majority of seventeen votes. The power of the House of Lords, strong
for centuries, had been broken. The man who had broken it was Lloyd
George.

VII

AT HOME AND IN DOWNING STREET

In the midst of all the stormy times of the fight with the House of
Lords and afterward up to the present moment Lloyd George's personal
life in its simplicity and happiness has been a standing contrast to
the turmoil and passion of his public energy. Meet Lloyd George among
his family, and it is hard to realize that such a homely, genial person
could be the man who tackled so rancorously the House of Lords. I went
to 11 Downing Street one day after the Budget fight was over, and when,
as Chancellor of the Exchequer, Lloyd George was preparing further
legislative changes. Eleven Downing Street, it should be explained, is
the official residence of the Chancellor of the Exchequer and joins
number 10, where the Prime Minister lives. It is a dingy, ugly-looking
building, attractive only by reason of its associations. In the year
that America declared her independence number 10 Downing Street was the
residence of Lord North, and it may then, as now, have had connecting
doors which made the two houses into practically one official home.

Lloyd George discussed public affairs in a corner of the old library
lined with books which Gladstone used to consult half a century ago and
his predecessors before him. A glance round the rows of volumes,
nearly all of them ponderous and many of them venerable, caused me to
ask Lloyd George who was his favorite author. He gave me no
philosopher, not even a poet, in reply. "I like romance," he said,
"historical romance. I am fond of Dumas and of modern writers like
Stanley Weyman." Possibly Lloyd George has never looked into those
old, handsome, leather-covered volumes at his official residence. His
secretaries may have pondered over them in securing material for their
chief, but Lloyd George has been too busy doing things to devote much
time to ancient philosophical reflections or to learned economic
theories. It is easy to understand how his temperament found
satisfaction and relaxation at the same time in the cut-and-thrust work
of Dumas and Weyman. I ought, perhaps, to add that he explained with a
smile how politics did not leave him much time for serious reading just
then. They have certainly left him still less since that time.

We were in the thick of talk about the busy political era when a little
girl of twelve, with a ribbon of blue round her tumbling hair, came
running into the room, not knowing that a visitor was present. She
would have run out again, upon seeing me, if her father had not stopped
her and caught her into his arms. For the rest of the interview she
sat on his knee, listening with big, live eyes to the conversation.
Once she cuddled closer to her father and laughed merrily as he
confessed to me that his next bill before Parliament was one to
prohibit the holidays of little girls at school from lasting more than
six weeks. Megan was the darling of her father's heart. Two or three
mornings of the week you could have seen them hand in hand walking from
11 Downing Street across St. James's Park to watch the ducks feeding in
the lake. With sparkling blue eyes, a sensitive mouth, and vivacious
manner, little Megan had some of her father's characteristics. She was
a daughter any father might be proud of. I guarantee Lloyd George was
prouder of her--and still is--than of his epoch-making Budget or his
historic victory over the House of Lords. Just now in Parliamentary
session, or indeed out of it, Lloyd George has not very much time for
walks in the parks--but I am sure Megan gets her share of attention in
spite of the European war.

The war has, of course, intensified Lloyd George's life and somewhat
altered its channels, but its main directions are preserved. At all
hours of day and night he must be prepared for service. He could not,
however, carry on his work without proper rest and sleep, and the
following is the kind of routine to which he has accustomed himself.
Awakening at seven in the morning, he has a quick glance through the
principal newspapers, not only of London, but those from the provinces
and from abroad as well. Occasionally while he is dressing, and always
before he leaves his room, he looks through documents and papers which
he has brought up to his bedside on the previous night. (They are
arranged in their proper order on a table by the side of his bed so
that in any waking fit at night he can put his hand on them readily.)

Visitors begin to arrive early, because Lloyd George has re-established
the practice of Victorian statesmen in having guests to breakfast with
him and his family. By this means he not only saves time from many
social functions, but gets through a lot of business as well, for his
breakfast guests include politicians, editors, leading officials,
prominent travelers from overseas, indeed practically the whole range
of persons who for state or private reasons he desires to meet.

Soon after ten o'clock he is busy with his secretaries. These have
already been at work on the morning letters, which in the days when he
was Chancellor of the Exchequer numbered a thousand a day and are now
probably three or four times as many. Work of a widely different kind
keeps Lloyd George on the go till lunch-time--departmental conferences,
visits from or to Cabinet Ministers, the supervision of answers to
questions to be put to him in the House of Commons that afternoon, the
reception of deputations from various interests affected by current
proposals or future proposals that he is making. At least once a week,
and sometimes more frequently, there is a Cabinet meeting in the
morning that probably lasts well into the afternoon. On days when
there is no Cabinet meeting there will be other visitors at lunch-time,
and these are generally of an official character. Big plans affecting
the social future of England have undoubtedly been worked out over
Lloyd George's lunch-table. He is a vivid talker himself, but he is
also a good listener, and there is not any one more ready to give an
ear to tactful and helpful advice--only those who offer it must have
something to say.

At a quarter to three in the afternoon the House of Commons assembles,
and from that time onward to eleven o'clock at night Lloyd George is to
be found either on the Treasury bench or in his private room behind the
Speaker's chair. Endless are the occupations for a busy Minister in
Parliament, and whether he is answering questions, expounding policy,
fighting through details of proposals, or merely listening to the
speeches of opponents, he is pretty well on the stretch the whole time.
Even in his own room there is business to be done, deputations to be
received, "whips" to be consulted, friendly or hostile talks to be gone
through with members, and frequently also the reception of individual
visitors. All this takes no account of social usages, the little
hospitalities which must not be forgotten--the accompanying of groups
of constituents to the public galleries, the entertainment of other
groups to tea on the Terrace overlooking the river. Sometimes an hour
may be seized for the House of Lords at the other end of the corridor
when they are dealing with Commons legislation.

I asked Lloyd George how he managed to sleep after such days as these,
and he said: "I never have any difficulty about that. Downing Street
is only about four minutes' walk from the House of Commons. If the
House adjourns at eleven I am usually away by twenty minutes past, and
at a quarter to twelve I am in bed--probably asleep. This power for
quick sleep has always been a great help to me."

The Lloyd George family at home consisted of Mr. and Mrs. George, two
sons, and two daughters. Of the two boys, both in the twenties, one
was at Cambridge University and the other in a responsible position as
a civil engineer. Both are now soldiers, fighting in France. There
are two girls, Megan and her sister, Olwen, a charming girl who has
lately become engaged to a medical officer in the army. There is
another person who frequently completes the family circle at 11 Downing
Street. It is Richard Lloyd, the old shoemaker who forty years ago
risked his little all to educate his orphan nephew. It was one of the
pleasurable anticipations of Lloyd George, when he was appointed
Chancellor of the Exchequer with the privileges of this historic
residence, that Richard Lloyd would be able to come and stay there.
"My dear old uncle," he said, "will be so proud to come and stay at the
house in which Gladstone, his great hero, at one time lived."

Lloyd George is wiry, but no man, however strong, could continue
indefinitely to put himself under such a strain as I have indicated
without occasional complete rest. When he is not under too heavy a
time he will go for a weekend's golf to Walton Heath, some twenty miles
from London, in Surrey, or spend a couple of days at Brighton on the
south coast. But when he is really exhausted there is only one place
for him, and that is his beautiful home near Criccieth, about a mile
from Llanystumdwy, where he spent his boyhood. On the hills rising
from behind Criccieth and forming the foot of the Snowdon range he has
built a graceful residence, whence he can look down over the wooded
slopes to Criccieth and thence to Carnarvon Bay. On the other side the
house faces the snow-capped mountains. From every window there is a
beautiful scene. A lane leading from the gates, between towering
hedges, winds through fields and woods down to Llanystumdwy.

With the charm of mountains, countryside, and sea there goes an
invigorating atmosphere. "When I am exhausted," said Lloyd George to
me once, "I come down here from London and I sleep long nights. In the
daytime I sit out here on the veranda in a basket-chair with a rug
around me, facing the sea, and here I rest and sometimes sleep. This
beautiful Welsh air wraps me all round with its healing touch, and I
let it do its work, and I am soon well again." During these
recuperative days Lloyd George does no business, writes no letters,
receives no visitors, sees no one but members of his own family. After
about three days of this treatment he is recovering himself.

One day in a lane near Criccieth I met him in tweed suit and soft gray
hat, with field-glasses strapped around him, and a stout walking-stick
in his hand. He had been at Criccieth a fortnight, and thoughts of
work were again seizing hold of him. He had in prospect a big scheme
of land legislation that was to continue and develop the movement begun
in the Budget. (A little later the war cut the project short.) "I am
going for a walk up to the mountains," he said. "I can do my thinking
best when I am out walking alone." Afterward I wondered what new
revolution to startle the landed aristocracy of Britain he devised on
that summer day by himself among the mountains. Curiously enough,
Lloyd George does not like exercise for his own sake, but he enjoys it
when he has a mental task in hand; he also enjoys it during a game of
golf. I once heard him say that without golf he would never have
thought of taking a four-mile walk for recreation. It is worthy of
mention in connection with this that he has been described at second
hand on his own confession as being a very lazy man, and that he has
sometimes absolutely to force himself to a settled task--and, strange
as it may appear, there is nothing in this inconsistent with the public
estimation of him as a person of uncontrollable energy. Let his heart
be given to an object, and there is no effort he will spare, no degree
of fatigue to which he will not drive himself.

Intensely fond of an open-air life, Lloyd George's days at Criccieth
are always a joy to him. You will come across him unexpectedly on the
bank of the river Dwyfor with a fishing-rod in his hand, trying for
trout. You will see him sometimes in the early morning at work in his
garden in his endeavor to demonstrate that fruit trees will grow as
well in Welsh soil as in the warm, red earth of Devonshire. Sometimes
he and his wife, with perhaps one of his sons, will put a couple of
tents into an automobile, start off up among the mountains, and camp
out in some lonely and romantic spot for days at a time, living the
primitive life entirely by themselves.

Strange it is to observe the attitude of the people of the countryside
where he was brought up and where he built his early fame. There are a
scattered few of the middle classes who in this remote country spot
cannot understand the heights he has reached in public estimation. It
is really a weird sensation to come from the outer world and talk to
these people. No, no, he may to some extent have secured notoriety in
circles even as far off as London, but really there is nothing in the
man. Why, he was brought up here in the village! But these quaintly
prejudiced folk are, after all, but a remnant, and the great mass of
people all around in the farms and cottages prize his fame highly. The
pride with which a villager refers to the fact that he went to school
with Mr. Lloyd George must be one of the highest pleasures experienced
by the Welsh statesman. It is an event to go to a meeting in the
institute at Llanystumdwy and hear him address a crowded meeting of his
compatriots in their native tongue and with all the old affectionate
familiarity of a long-standing friend and neighbor. The rolling music
of the ancient language is echoed back from the enthusiastic Celts in a
kind of rhythmic ecstasy which thrills even the ignorant and alien
Sassenach visitor. Lloyd George is still one of themselves. It is
indeed hard for them to realize his position in the outside world,
though they are so proud of it. To Criccieth and Llanystumdwy he is
not so much the prominent statesman of the United Kingdom as just Lloyd
George, the friend who grew up with them. He will never be anything
else to them. It is all quite delightful and, one may add, quite
bewildering to his enemies, who cannot understand that such unconcealed
and regardless simplicity is an integral part of the nature of him whom
they regard as a malignant. I have seen Lloyd George in a hundred
capacities, electrifying a multitude, in the thick of battle with the
cleverest minds of Parliament, attacking to their faces with relentless
ferocity men of the noblest descent in Britain, and yet I know of
nothing in his life which approaches in interest his relations with his
old village friends of long ago. They like him for himself and not for
what he has become, though they are so proud of him. One elderly lady,
a friend of the Lloyd George family, when paying a visit to London
heard that Lloyd George was to address a London meeting, and she
thought she would like to go and hear him. She presented herself at
the hall and was nearly swept off her feet by the surging crowd making
its way in. After reaching one of the corridors with difficulty, she
got an attendant to take her name in to Mrs. Lloyd George. The latter,
who was on the platform, hurried out to her old friend and took her to
a seat in the front of the hall. The building was packed in every
part. Lloyd George got one of his usual receptions and made one of his
usual speeches. The old lady was staggered. She went back to Wales
full of the wonderful experience--and it has to be remembered that she
had known Lloyd George all her life. "I have heard that he has become
a well-known man," she said, "but I never understood what an important
man he was till I went to that meeting."

There is another reflection about his home life which must occur to any
visitor to the locality. Big houses and lovely grounds lay off the
main road in the neighborhood, undoubtedly the homes of country
gentlefolk. And one may venture to surmise their attitude toward this
public firebrand who lives in their vicinity and used to be a village
boy under the care of his uncle, the shoemaker. Is he on their
visiting-list? I rather suspect not. The world must be turning
topsy-turvy for them when they allow themselves to reflect, as they
must at times, that this upstart has the entry to royal palaces and is
one of the principal advisers of the King of England. I have an idea
that something more potent than gall and wormwood is required to
express their feelings. All this before the war. What can possibly be
the attitude of mind of the local squires and lordlings now that this
man has become an international statesman, probably the most forcible
personality among that group of men who sit in conference to direct the
activities and formulate the destinies of great European nations.
Possibly I do them an injustice, and their habits of mind have changed
of late.

During the big Budget fight Lloyd George, by virtue of his official
position, had to attend occasional society functions. There was a
duchess who could not avoid shaking hands with this person, who to her
and her class was a monstrosity. After he had gone she spoke of the
encounter to a friend with surprise in her voice. "I have just met
Lloyd George," she said. "Do you know that he is really quite a nice
man?" I have the impression that neither squires nor duchesses trouble
Lloyd George very much, and that when this war is over and victory for
his country secured he will go down to Criccieth and enjoy himself
thoroughly in a golf-match with the local schoolmaster or one of the
farmers of the district.

VIII

A CHAMPION OF WAR

The psychology of a community is as mysterious and subtle as that of an
individual, and Lloyd George, despite all his so-called extravagance,
all his depredations, and all his wounding words, was by way of being
an acknowledged power in the country by the time the war with Germany
burst out of the sky. The mysterious strength of the man worked on
people against their will. Besides, there were tangible things which
had to be faced. He had settled the great railway strike, he had
passed several sweeping Acts of Parliament, he had brought into effect
the iniquitous Budget, he had dismantled the British constitution by
taking away the powers of the House of Lords. You may sneer at such a
man, you may hate him, but you cannot ignore him. Sincere and
religiously minded ladies used to write to the papers, wondering in all
sincerity why Heaven permitted such a man to continue to live. A peer
of the realm told his tenants that he would roast an ox whole for them
in celebration of the day that Lloyd George went out of office, and, on
top of this, the announcement that Lloyd George was going to speak drew
together the unprecedented gathering of sixteen thousand people to hear
him on a special day in the Midlands. You can sort out these varied
facts to suit yourself, but taken altogether they convey a lesson. Let
me add another point. Lloyd George, growing in influence, for years
had been the special mark of attack for the _Daily Mail_, Lord
Northcliffe's popular morning paper. When, after his House of Lords
fight had been brought to a finish, Lloyd George set himself to a new
colossal piece of legislation--namely, national health insurance--there
was a concentrated attack by the _Daily Mail_ to break the "poll tax"
and Lloyd George with it. There had been a stream of violent criticism
from the Northcliffe papers during the Budget days and the House of
Lords battle, but the abuse was distributed pretty evenly upon the
Government, though Lloyd George and Mr. Asquith got the major share.
On this occasion all the guns were brought to bear on Lloyd George.
The insurance tax was unpopular, and nothing that ridicule, covert
insult, or open denunciation could achieve was left undone by the
Northcliffe papers to smash Lloyd George and his policy. There was
plenty of scope for attack. The Insurance Act was undoubtedly
hurriedly conceived, and its complexities incompletely dovetailed.
Whatever the merit of the conception, there had to be a score of
rectifications when the measure came into operation. Some of Lloyd
George's best friends complained of the injustices and irregularities
of the Act. The _Daily Mail_ was in the van of attack. To me it is
surprising his assailants did not get Lloyd George down over this
matter. They did not get him down. He carried the insurance bill, he
forced it into operation, and he had left another milestone in his
career behind him some time before the catastrophe of the European war
appeared.

The country took a deep breath when the first shock of hostilities with
Germany occurred, and then turned a passing attention to the British
Cabinet, from which two or three members, including Lord Morley and Mr.
John Burns, had resigned, presumably on account of their disapproval of
the Government's action in going to war. Remarks came thick and fast
as to the attitude of Ministers, and for a time it was suggested that
Lloyd George was one of those who were on the verge of resignation.
There was nothing impossible in the suggestion. A hater of wars, a
fighter against wars all his life, he seemed just the kind of man to go
adrift, and a good deal of movement was in readiness for the event.
Special writers on the Conservative press sharpened their pencils
assiduously for the announcement which could not be very long delayed.
It must be remembered that Lloyd George in his earlier years had seemed
to take a perverse delight in being on the unpopular side, and now to
join what were called the "Pro-Germans" would really give him a chance
for unpopularity such as he might never meet again.

He did not resign, and then the bigger men among his late opponents
began to express the hope that in the conjunction of the parties now
set up Lloyd George would come forward with his unexampled power over
the democracy of Britain and stimulate them with trumpet note to the
great effort that lay before them. I remember that Mr. Garvin, a
doughty Conservative writer, came forward with a well-attuned appeal to
Lloyd George to take the place which belonged to him as the leader of
the common people of Britain. Little did he think that before many
months were past Lloyd George would, by consent, be the leader of the
whole nation, rich and poor alike.

For a week or two Lloyd George was quiet, and then it was announced
that he would speak at a gathering in the Queen's Hall in the West End
of London. A rush for tickets followed. I remember how crowded was
the hall and how intensely silent was every soul when Lloyd George,
wearing a gray summer suit with a black necktie, stepped to the front
of the platform. There was none of the old, fierce, gay, fighting
glitter about him. His mobile face was touched with gravity, his eyes
were thoughtful, not provocative. He stood very erect, but his chin
was drawn in a little, and his head canted forward. Responsibility lay
on him, and every one could see it.

We all speculated on what he would say. Was he to make a half-and-half
defense of the Cabinet war policy? Was he to try to explain why he had
not resigned? He was always a master of the unexpected. What had he
in store for us now? Speaking in the midst of a dramatic silence he
said these words, slowly, almost conversationally: "There is no man who
has always regarded the prospect of engaging in a great war with
greater reluctance and greater repugnance than I have done through all
my political life. There is no man more convinced that we could not
have avoided it without national dishonor." That was the beginning of
the most effective war speech since the start of hostilities. With
scorn and logic and invective he raked the German position, and in a
thrilling outburst invoked all that was honest, loyal, and strong in
the British people to strike hard and deep on behalf of outraged
Belgium. That was the first war speech of his life. The second was
not long in following. It was made at the City Temple, a famous
Nonconformist church in the heart of London. There it was that he said
the same reason that made him a "Pro-Boer" made him an advocate of this
war by Britain. He referred to the riotous Birmingham meeting. "It
was a meeting convened to support exactly the same principle of
opposition to the idea that great and powerful empires ought to have
the right to crush small nationalities. We might have been right, we
might have been wrong, but the principle that drove me to resist even
our own country is the one that has brought me here to-night to support
my country."

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