William Hogarth, “Canvassing for Votes”
Today being Election Day in the United States, I share excerpts from Anthony Trollope’s account of an election in his wonderful novel Doctor Thorne. (The novel can be found here.) In chapter 17 Thorne trumpets the significance of an election between the self-made railway magnate Sir Roger Scatcherd and the son of a wealthy tailor Mr. Moffat. He expresses amazement that people are willing to run given all the money and labor involved:
And now the important day of the election had arrived, and some men’s hearts beat quickly enough. To be or not to a member of the British Parliament is a question of very considerable moment in a man’s mind. Much is often said of the great penalties which the ambitious pay for enjoying this honor; of the tremendous expenses of elections; of the long, tedious hours of unpaid labor: of the weary days passed in the House; but, nevertheless, the prize is one very well worth the price paid for it—well worth any price that can be paid for it short of wading through dirt and dishonor.
Today, as we know to our sorrow, some are more than willing to wade through dirt and dishonor. I have in mind the blatant lying that has been customary for some.
Why do people go through all of this? Egotism is, as always, a primary factor:
To some men, born silver-spooned, a seat in Parliament comes as a matter of course. From the time of their early manhood they hardly know what it is not to sit there; and the honor is hardly appreciated, being too much a matter of course. As a rule, they never know how great a thing it is to be in Parliament; though, when reverse comes, as reverses occasionally will come, they fully feel how dreadful it is to be left out.
But to men aspiring to be members, or to those who having been once fortunate have again to fight the battle without assurance of success, the coming election must be matter of dread concern. Oh, how delightful to hear that the long-talked-of rival has declined the contest, and that the course is clear! or to find by a short canvass that one’s majority is safe, and the pleasures of crowing over an unlucky, friendless foe quite secured!
In Trollope’s election, each side claims to be purer than the other and vows to avoid bribery and other underhanded tactics. And like elections today, the money flows freely. Let’s start with what the campaigns say about themselves:
The two parties had outdone each other in the loudness of their assertions, that each would on his side conduct the election in strict conformity to law. There was to be no bribery. Bribery! who, indeed, in these days would dare to bribe; to give absolute money for an absolute vote, and pay for such an article in downright palpable sovereigns? No. Purity was much too rampant for that, and the means of detection too well understood. But purity was to be carried much further than this. There should be no treating; no hiring of two hundred voters to act as messengers at twenty shillings a day in looking up some four hundred other voters; no bands were to be paid for; no carriages furnished; no ribbons supplied. British voters were to vote, if vote they would, for the love and respect they bore to their chosen candidate. If so actuated, they would not vote, they might stay away; no other inducement would be offered.
Mr. Moffat, running for reelection, likes the idea of purity because he doesn’t like to spend money. His political consultants are not so pure and don’t have the same aversion to spending his money. I love the sentence in the following passage about “wallowing swine”:
[H]ad he considered the matter, he should have known that with him money was his only passport into that Elysium in which he had now lived for two years. He probably did not consider it; for when, in those canvassing days immediately preceding the election, he had seen that all the beer-houses were open, and half the population was drunk, he had asked Mr Nearthewinde whether this violation of the treaty was taking place only on the part of his opponent, and whether, in such case, it would not be duly noticed with a view to a possible future petition.
Mr Nearthewinde assured him triumphantly that half at least of the wallowing swine were his own especial friends; and that somewhat more than half of the publicans of the town were eagerly engaged in fighting his, Mr Moffat’s battle.
The two political consultants in Doctor Thorne are the aptly named Mr. Nearthewinde (who knows which way the wind is blowing) and Mr. Closerstil (who also knows the pulse of the electorate). Think of them as 19th century versions of Karl Rove:
[Mr. Moffatt’s] last election had not been a cheap triumph. In one way or another money had been dragged from him for purposes which had been to his mind unintelligible; and when, about the middle of his first session, he had, with much grumbling, settled all demands, he had questioned with himself whether his whistle was worth its cost.
And later:
He, Mr Nearthewinde, was doing his business as he well knew how to do it; and it was not likely that he should submit to be lectured by such as Mr Moffat on a trumpery score of expense.
In this election, as in our own, there is a war party and a peace party, although Trollope doubts that either party will deliver on its promises. Think of “England’s honor” as their version of “American exceptionalism”:
At the time of this election there was some question whether England should go to war with all her energy; or whether it would not be better for her to save her breath to cool her porridge, and not meddle more than could be helped with foreign quarrels. The last view of the matter was advocated by Sir Roger, and his motto of course proclaimed the merits of domestic peace and quiet. “Peace abroad and a big loaf at home,” was consequently displayed on four or five huge scarlet banners, and carried waving over the heads of the people. But Mr Moffat was a staunch supporter of the Government, who were already inclined to be belligerent, and “England’s honor” was therefore the legend under which he selected to do battle. It may, however, be doubted whether there was in all Barchester one inhabitant—let alone one elector—so fatuous as to suppose that England’s honor was in any special manner dear to Mr Moffat; or that he would be a whit more sure of a big loaf than he was now, should Sir Roger happily become a member of the legislature.
In the end, the entire election comes down to two votes controlled by the local tavern keeper Mr. Reddypalm, who is ready to support whoever crosses his palm with silver.
It feels somewhat quaint and Jeffersonian to read about such a personal election. Today, the money goes for multi-million dollar ad buys. Other than that, however, the dynamics of popular elections remain always the same.
Despite his satire, however, Trollope sees the process as a noble one, and we should see our own elections that way also. Sure, not everything is pure, but what in life is? So go vote, perhaps with the following Trollope declaration ringing in your mind:
No other great European nation has anything like it to offer to the ambition of its citizens; for in no other great country of Europe, not even in those which are free, has the popular constitution obtained, as with us, true sovereignty and power of rule. Here it is so; and when a man lays himself out to be a member of Parliament, he plays the highest game and for the highest stakes which the country affords.
Note on the illustration: Here’s Wikipedia’s explanation for the above Hogarth painting:
This scene depicts Tory and Whig agents, both attempting to bribe an innkeeper to vote for them. The crowd outside the tavern is visible in the background. In a reference to the antisemitism of the crowd behind, a Jewish peddler is being employed by another agent who is offering jewels and ribbons to the wives of voters.
On the margins of the composition a soldier (left) and two old sailors (right) represent uncorrupted patriotism. The soldier peeps out from behind a now-impotently decorative figurehead depicting the British lion devouring the French fleur-de-lis. A woman sits on it looking at her bribes. The sailors on the right are re-enacting a naval victory using pieces of broken clay pipe.
