the reign of Anarchy was over, and order was in the hands of one who could maintain it against all men, and against the whole House if needs be.  And then, to my astonishment, Mr. Gibbs complained of my use of the term “Judas” to Mr. Chamberlain.  As I have said, all this had passed from everybody’s memory, it really had nothing to do with the awful scene which had just been enacted, and, in fact, it was like some sudden return to ancient and forgotten history.  Moreover, it had the disadvantage of conveying an entirely wrong impression of what had really taken place; it shifted back the attention to what was after all more or less playfulness, or at the worst, mere verbal disorder, from the odious, brutal resort to physical violence which had just taken place.  Moreover, it put a wrong complexion on even the verbal disorder, for it put the initiative with me instead of with Mr. Chamberlain, and, finally, it entirely removed from view the gross and scandalous breach of order which Mr. Gibbs and his friends had committed by retaining their seats and refusing to leave the House.

[Sidenote:  My apology.]

But the great consideration with the Speaker—­and, indeed, with everybody else who had the dignity and honour of the House of Commons at heart—­was to shove underground as soon, as promptly, as roughly as possible, the corpse of its dignity and reputation; and without making any attempt to explain my conduct—­to shift on the responsibility to where it really lay—­to draw attention, except by a mere sentence, to that scene of physical violence—­I made my apology.  I cannot claim that it was all that I ought to have said; several people have blamed me for not calling attention to the use of the word “Herod” by Mr. Chamberlain.  But really the Speaker was so generous; I entered so fully into his idea that recrimination would only prolong an odious, detestable, and degrading scene—­that I could not haggle about terms; and was determined to do my part towards getting back the House to a sense of its honour, dignity, and self-respect.

[Footnote:  Mr. Hayes Fisher.]

There were some allusions to the deplorable business of July 27, during the following week.  But the allusions were few—­very brief, and very shamefaced.  Indeed, the House of Commons was so heartily ashamed of itself that it had not the strength nor the courage to face its own ill-doing, and wanted to get away from the horrid thing as soon as it possibly could.  Yet there was a strong sense that an incident so unprecedented—­so disgraceful, so utterly lowering to the dignity of a great, august and historic assembly—­should not, and could not be allowed to pass as though nothing had occurred.  It was also pretty clear, amid so many conflicting statements, that the responsibility for the passing over the gulf between mere verbal encounter and physical violence rested with Mr. Hayes Fisher, and that, therefore, it was on him any punishment should be visited which the House of Commons deemed necessary for the protection of its outraged dignity.  However, as I have said, the House of Commons was so heartily ashamed of itself, and desired to get its shame out of sight and out of memory as soon as possible.