The ghost of a French monk clad in long grey robes stalks the Tory party. The spectre’s name is François Leclerc du Tremblay, or Father Joseph; he was the shadowy adviser to Cardinal Richelieu, and he died nearly 400 years ago.
Father Joseph lives on in our language as the origin of the term éminence grise, the influential counsellor who operates behind the throne, largely unseen, wielding real, although not official, power.
Michael Ashcroft is the éminence grise of the Tory Party, the grey eminence whose influence extends deep into Conservative politics but who remains mysterious — and not merely in his tax arrangements. Lord Ashcroft has even referred to himself as a “grey man”.
At first glance the Conservative Party’s deputy chairman and a 17th-century Capuchin friar may seem to have little in common. The 63-year-old businessman and Tory donor made his money in slot machines and contract cleaning, and is worth approximately £1.1 billion. He owns two 150ft yachts. Father Joseph was so profoundly ascetic that he regarded wearing shoes as a sin.
Both, however, occupy a similar niche in cultural and political history: as powerful grey advisers, influential, pervasive and mostly unobserved.
The Ashcroft tax saga is in danger of getting bogged down in the minutiae of his residency status in the UK, his tax liability and who gave which kind of assurance to whom when he was elevated to the peerage. Modern politics is about personality, and far more important, in the eyes of most voters, is the question of Lord Ashcroft’s role within the Tory party.
How much influence does the grey man wield, and to what end? What, exactly, is the web of patronage and indebtedness that lies behind the confusing miasma of assurances and pledges made to and by him? In short, does the Tory party operate like a modern, open political organisation, or a 17th-century French court? And just how powerful is Lord Ashcroft?
The same sort of questions were asked about the very first éminence grise, and everyone to whom that metaphor has been applied since.
Father Joseph was, in theory, one of the lowlier minions of Louis XIII’s court, a mere secretary to Richelieu, the king’s chief minister. In reality, he was a figure of immense prestige and considerable menace, Richelieu’s confessor, confidant and secret agent, de facto foreign minister, warmonger and scourge of heretics.
The inconspicuous friar dreamt of launching another crusade against the Turks and forcing Europe’s Protestants back into the Catholic fold. He had a profound impact on the course of European history and his ruthlessness helped to prolong the bloody Thirty Years War.
Yet he remained all but invisible, his grey eminence in sharp contrast to the flaming scarlet cardinal’s robes of Richelieu himself, the red eminence. His power was great, but cloaked and secretive. He was trusted by a powerful few, feared by his rivals, and a mystery to everyone else: the three essential characteristics of the éminence grise.
Some of the same aura attaches to Lord Ashcroft. He denies attempting to influence Tory policy, and yet his views are undoubtedly listened to. He delights in his image as the party’s Blofeld, the hidden mastermind. His money kept the party afloat after the defeat of 1997. He has selectively supported candidates in target seats, and although George Osborne may be running the overall election campaign, Lord Ashcroft’s team manage polling and strategy in the marginals.
In perhaps the most 17th-century touch, recipients of Lord Ashcroft’s patronage have been encouraged to offer him their thanks in person. The most famous painting of the original éminence grise, by Jean-Léon Gérôme, depicts the French monk in his habit, descending the stairs of the Palais Cardinal, while courtiers bow and scrape in obeisance to his veiled authority. Father Joseph appears buried in his Bible, oblivious to the fawning. It is oddly easy to imagine a similar scene in Tory Central Office, when the rich grey man trots down the stairs from his office.
The British have a particular aversion to the idea of power wielded from the shadows. Rebellions in this country have usually been framed as attacks on the king’s evil courtier, rather than on the king himself.
The term “éminence grise” did not gain currency until the 1920s. Aldous Huxley’s 1941 biography of Father Joseph helped to nail the term into popular parlance, and in cynical modern politics the image of the half-hidden political consigliere, whispering into the ear of power, has become a staple.
Every leader of modern times has had (or has appeared to have) an éminence grise, wielding (or appearing to wield) power behind the scenes. Some, like Churchill’s secret spy chief Desmond Morton, have only recently been revealed. Others have acted as lightning rods for criticism. Margaret Thatcher had Charles Powell. George W. Bush had Karl Rove, popularly known as “the President’s brain”. And Tony Blair had Peter Mandelson, perhaps the most controversial and colourful éminence grise of modern times.
The new Conservative Party has been advertised as more open and modern than any before it, yet Lord Ashcroft’s role harks back to an earlier style of politics. David Cameron owes him a debt because William Hague owes him a debt, and Mr Cameron owes Mr Hague for his loyalty. Several new Tory MPs are likely to owe their seats to Lord Ashcroft’s donations.
This is the politics of the court, of favours, debts and patronage, a word here and a promise there, while Lord Ashcroft himself remains shrouded in vagueness and confusion. If the Tories win, they will owe it in part to his targeting of the marginals, his tactics and his money. He will be more eminent than ever, but no less grey.
Mr Cameron might care to recall that Father Joseph came to be seen as the most powerful politician in France, his influence eclipsing that of his patron Richelieu. As with squirrels, the grey can drive out the red.
There is the power on the throne, and the power behind the throne. Mr Cameron may yet find he has yielded too much power to the grey man with deep pockets before he has even secured his throne.
