Chapter 29
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 29
Chapter Title: Tectonic Shift
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Though the Tory Party had been trumpeting its discovery of young politicians day after day, it was, to be frank, a mere smokescreen.
It was one thing to speak of hope and a bright future immediately after an election.
But as the time for Parliament to formally convene drew near, the overwhelming difference in seats became painfully apparent.
The results of the 1832 general election, which would form the cabinet of 1833, were as follows:
The ruling Whig Party.
439 seats, an increase of 69 from their previous 370.
The opposition Tory Party.
177 seats, a decrease of 58 from their previous 235.
To top it all off, the new party founded by Irish politician Daniel O'Connell had achieved the remarkable feat of securing 42 seats.
Although all 42 seats were won in Ireland, this was by no means a number to be taken lightly.
It was a signal that Ireland, a nation too large for England to simply swallow whole, was beginning to assert its presence.
Amidst this sense of crisis, Britain’s Conservative Party was showing signs of division, pointing fingers and playing the blame game.
“Our party, which had 428 seats seven years ago, dwindled to 250 three years ago, and now we’re at 177! We’ve failed to secure even thirty percent of the seats, let alone a majority!”
“This is a crisis. A crisis for us conservatives!”
“Someone has to take responsibility for this.”
“No, but surely this isn’t all His Grace the Duke’s fault. It’s because our party’s entire platform was overturned.”
The Duke of Wellington felt a growing sense of fatigue from the recent series of events.
This damned politics, with its endless headaches, sometimes made him think the battlefield was preferable.
Even when fighting Napoleon, it had been difficult, but he didn't recall feeling this surge of irritation. It was truly astonishing.
Initially, as the head of the Tory Party, he had harbored ambitions of making his mark on the nation’s politics, but that passion had now faded.
Was it a sign of old age, or was it because politics simply wasn’t his forte?
Thinking simply, it was likely both.
Fortunately, it seemed his second son had been blessed with a different kind of talent.
Watching him during the election, it was clear that while he might not be a soldier, as a politician, he was far more skilled than his father.
He had even sown the seeds of a plan to somehow deal with the Irish faction led by Daniel O’Connell.
Judging by the information continuously flowing in from the Duke of Rutland’s second son, Killian Gore was an asset who could be of great help to their side.
His academic performance alone was said to be unrivaled among the new students, and his reputation with the teachers was excellent.
On top of that, he had become acquainted with outstanding graduates like Gladstone and was close with his own son, Charles.
‘If Charles can manage Killian well and suppress the discontent in Ireland, he could achieve great success as a politician.’
The present situation might be bleak, but thinking of the future, things didn't seem so bad after all.
The Duke of Wellington opened his mouth and spoke softly to the still-arguing members.
“Enough. No matter what is said, a loss is a loss, and in war, a defeated general must take responsibility. I will step down from my position as party leader for now and continue to devote myself to our party’s interests in the House of Lords.”
“Then the next leader will surely be…?”
“Yes. We have Robert Peel in our party, do we not? With him here, I can step down with peace of mind.”
A next-generation giant of the conservatives who, during his tenure as Home Secretary, had successfully reformed London’s security system by establishing the Metropolitan Police Service.
It was the general consensus within the Tory Party that there was no one else fit to succeed the Duke of Wellington as leader, so there were no particular objections.
“In any case, no matter how hard the Whigs try in the House of Commons, we have a firm grip on the House of Lords. They will be unable to do anything without our cooperation. Don’t be too shaken by this party crisis. For now, let’s do our best to shed our old image.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Your Grace! Thank you for your hard work!”
Not only the members who had been on his side, but also those who had hinted he should step down, now changed their tune and bowed their heads.
This is just how politics is.
The Duke of Wellington let out a sigh mixed with a laugh and rose from his seat.
For a moment, he thought that his long-departed archnemesis must have had a much easier time with politics.
Of course, considering his end was death on Saint Helena, he didn't envy him in the slightest.
* * *
With the general election ending in a landslide victory for the Whigs and a new force, the Irish Party, making its powerful debut, discussions naturally abounded at Eton.
Since they were elites destined for high positions in society, it was perhaps an expected reaction.
“The way I see it, the Tory Party is finished. It’s the age of the Whigs. I’m telling you, you should just switch sides.”
“Bullshit. So they won a couple of elections, so what? The conservatives are still much stronger in the House of Lords. If they exercise their veto, the Whigs can’t do a thing, can they?”
“Don’t you even know the basic fact that if they keep using their veto, public opinion will turn against them and they’ll be even more screwed? It’s that kind of thinking that got the conservatives into this mess in the first place.”
“Ah, just wait a few more years. I’ll bet you a pound that by the time we graduate, the conservatives will be firmly back in control.”
After classes ended, this sort of political chatter was incessant no matter where you went.
Even ordinary people tend to get overly invested when politics comes up, and since most here were actual stakeholders, it was even more intense.
While it never came to blows, it was common to see raised voices or hear curses flying.
But to me, it was all a distant affair.
As the saying goes, no flower blooms forever. The Whigs might seem to rule the world now, but power is cyclical.
If it weren't, there's no way Disraeli, a Conservative, would have been Prime Minister in my memory.
Even before Disraeli, the time would come when Robert Peel, the Duke of Wellington's successor, would reclaim the premiership.
If my memory served me right, it was the politician Robert Peel who had repealed the infamous Corn Laws.
So, the best course of action was to avoid getting caught up in the current results and quietly amass my ammunition from behind the scenes.
The time when I would come of age and officially enter politics was a period that could only be described as pandemonium.
That was no exaggeration.
If the 1830s I was living in now could be called a time of upheaval, the coming 1840s could be called an era of utter chaos, and it wouldn't be enough.
War, famine, electoral reform, labor movements—every problem imaginable was set to erupt.
To avoid being swept away by that massive current and to profit as much as possible, no amount of money was enough.
Fortunately, society was in constant flux, with new opportunities appearing and disappearing in great numbers.
In a few years, when the bubble-filled market burst, an opportunity to sweep in and rake up a fortune would come.
Until then, my immediate goal was to grow my money, and grow it, and grow it some more.
And what would give wings to that goal was precisely this.
“Killian! Something’s brewing.”
“Of course something is brewing. His Grace the Duke stepped down as party leader.”
“No, no. Not that. I’m telling you, something big is about to happen in Parliament.”
The existence of my partners, who could scurry over and tell me the latest information just like this.
With information coming not only from Wellesley but also from Disraeli, there was no risk of it being distorted by a single person's judgment.
If need be, I could ask Gladstone for his opinion, so it was safe to say there was no chance of making a wrong decision.
“What kind of big event? Did the Whigs declare they’re going to exclude the Tories now that their number of seats has exploded?”
“With a bit of exaggeration, you could say that. The atmosphere is that unsettled.”
“Really?”
No. The new Parliament has only been in session for a few days, and they’re already acting so rashly?
Sensing my disbelieving gaze, Wellesley thumped his chest and grumbled.
“It’s true. Do you know what the Whigs are trying to do? They announced they’re forming a committee of inquiry under the pretext of improving labor conditions in factories!”
“...Is that so? What specifically are they trying to improve?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? They’re trying to regulate things like the working hours of factory laborers. This is clearly an attack on our party.”
As I listened with a lukewarm expression, James, who was standing beside me, posed a question.
“The Tories will naturally oppose it, and the Whigs will ignore that opposition, so this is effectively legislative tyranny. Is that how you interpret it?”
“Of course. The party is in an uproar over this. The selection of the committee is already confirmed, and the investigation is about to begin. The committee will just write a report that suits the Whig Party’s agenda.”
“Are they planning to apply this to all industries across the board?”
“No. For now, it seems to be limited to the textile industry... Of course, they wouldn't target every class at once. First children, then women, and finally all adult men. Once this first step is taken, it’s bound to proceed in that order.”
So that's what all the fuss was about. The time had come for the bill regulating child labor hours to be introduced.
Considering the timing, I had been expecting it.
A little research had shown me that there were virtually no laws in Britain guaranteeing workers' hours.
A few bills existed, but without a system to enforce them, they were essentially null and void.
It was known that laborers in mines and factories worked an average of 80 to 90 hours a week.
Even machines break down if run for too long. How could people be any different?
Naturally, dissatisfaction would accumulate, and things like this were bound to explode once they reached a tipping point.
“James, do you know anything about these textile factories the committee is investigating? How many hours a week do children work?”
“No, I don’t know the details. But these days, children work at a similar level to adults, so wouldn’t it be around 80 hours?”
“I see. Eighty...”
Ah, the romantic 19th century.
Making not just adults, but children, toil for 80 hours a week in factories—it was a textbook case of labor exploitation and child abuse, the kind I’d only read about in history books.
Looking at it this way, I could see why the ‘reds’ emerged in 19th-century Europe.
It was so unbearable, you couldn't help but think of just running them all through with spears and distributing everything equally.
“But if what James says is true, when this comes out in a report, won’t public opinion naturally clamor for regulation? It might be one thing for adults, but making kids who aren't physically mature work 80 hours a week is a bit much, isn’t it?”
“It might have been different in the old days, but now even children can operate simple machinery. The businessmen who run the factories will definitely oppose it.”
“Is that the Tory Party’s official stance now?”
“No. There are a few who are in favor. But the vast majority have probably already decided to oppose this bill.”
“Because the capitalists will oppose it?”
“Not just that, but also because they believe government intervention in the labor market could lead to more severe side effects in the long run, don't you think? If the government intervenes and throws the factories into chaos, industrial development will be hindered, and it could put the brakes on our current economic growth, right? The market will eventually find its own optimal equilibrium if left alone.”
That was the perfect logic representing the conservative class of this era.
If Adam Smith could see how his theory of the invisible hand was being used for this kind of rationalization, so contrary to his original intent, he would rise from his grave. But this was the reality now.
It wasn't that they were evil to the core or stupid for making such arguments.
The idea that working people to death would actually have a negative impact on the economy was something that could only be objectively verified in the modern era.
Productivity, long-term medical costs, human capital development, and social stability were all intricately linked, but there were limits to analyzing such factors in this period.
And telling individual capitalists to consider the impact on the entire economy was simply absurd.
However, for me, who had a rough idea of what was to come, there couldn't be a better hand to be dealt.
I needed a way to drastically increase my influence within the fading Tory Party and appeal to the public, and an opportunity had just rolled right into my lap.
I… no.
This was a good chance for Wellesley and Disraeli to solidify their positions in the Tory Party.
“Lord Wellesley. You trust me, don’t you?”
“Of course, I trust you completely. If you were to name the three people in this world who trust you the most, one of them would undoubtedly be me.”
“Then trust me and follow my lead again this time.”
“Oh, it seems you have another plan. I’m excited to hear what you have in mind.”
I pointed in the exact opposite direction of Wellesley's hopes, who was expecting a brilliant move to neutralize the investigation committee.
“Please give a speech in Parliament on the justification for passing the Factory Act. I will arrange for colleagues to support you.”
“Excellent! We’ll show those Whig bastards a… huh? What did you say? A speech in support?”
You don't fight the current; you ride it.
Those who can't are the first to fall.