THE WORSHIP OF THE GOLDEN CALF.
Nothing is done for mere glory in England, every undertaking has a
practical aim.
In France, every intelligent boy of the middle class goes through his
classical studies; even though he may only be intended for a commercial
career, his father makes him try to pass his B. A. or B. Sc. In England,
boys learn Latin and Greek in order to pass examinations, which lead to
certain positions. With us, education is an indispensable ornament;
here, it is a means to an end. Thus, though primary education may be
much more widely spread in England, higher education is much more widely
spread in France.
It is at school that young England begins to learn to make genuflections
before the Golden Calf. The best prizes awarded in the large public
schools are prizes of money. These establishments grant exhibitions of
from L40 to L100 a year, during four or five years, to the best of the
pupils who leave them to go to the Universities of Oxford or Cambridge.
This scholarship system would be admirable if its object was to help the
sons of poor[4] parents to continue their studies at the Universities;
but such is not the case; these scholarships are constantly awarded,
either through competitive examination, or through the personal interest
of a governor, to sons of rich parents. And yet, these scholarships were
founded by charitable persons, who bequeathed money to be applied to the
education of the intelligent sons of poor parents. At present, the
scholarships of the great schools of the City are at the disposal of the
City Companies, who have monopolized them for their families and
friends, for charity is organized on an immense scale in England,
especially that well-ordered kind which begins at home.
The consequence of this state of things is that John Bull, that
unsurpassed payer of taxes, is obliged to keep up Board schools in
London at an enormous expense. If the great City schools fulfilled the
purpose for which they were established by their "pious founders,"
school rates would be reduced by one-half.
"No money, no Englishman."
The Royal Academy is closed on Sundays; no free day.
The now annual exhibitions at South Kensington are closed on Sundays.
No free entry during the week.
The Zooelogical Gardens are, as a matter of fact, open free on
Sundays ... but only for the well-to-do classes, who may obtain
special orders from the Fellows of the Zooelogical Society.
All the museums are closed on Sundays.
There is no place for the poor at the banquet of life in England. For
them, beer and Bible, only.
They take beer.
Not even at church is there room for them; for I maintain that the man
or woman whose clothes were not what is called here _decent_, would be
turned away from the door; what the pastors want are sheep who will take
a pew by the year, and put silver pieces on the plate.
And people marvel, or rather lament, that the workman, who has worked
all the week, and has no home fit to spend his Sunday in, spends it at
the public house.
But where is he to go? The English, who are generally so sensible, are
curiously inconsistent in this matter.
* * * * *
I have seen, in English illustrated papers, pictures of Sunday in London
and Sunday in Paris. The first represented a dirty mob of men and
women, drinking, quarreling, and fighting; the second, groups of
workmen, accompanied by their wives, their children, and their old
parents, in contemplation before the pictures in the Louvre Museum.
This was doing us justice for once.
Intelligent and liberal England is moving heaven and earth to get the
museums thrown open to the people on Sundays. The Prince of Wales, and
the leaders of all the aristocracies of the country, are at the head of
the movement; but all the little narrow-minded and bigoted world is
leagued against them, and it is not probable that they will succeed.
Meanwhile, the London taverns remain open, which proves that the English
bigots consider gin and beer more powerful moral stimulants than the
masterpieces of great artists; such appears also to be the decided
opinion of the bishops, who never fail to attend at the House of Lords
in full force when the subject is coming on for discussion.
England erects her statues to the nobility and to finance. You see,
England's great literary men were so numerous, that they had to be
relegated to a corner of Westminster Abbey, for fear they should hinder
circulation in the streets. With the aid of a guidebook, you may succeed
in discovering the tablets erected to their memory by a not too grateful
country.
Thackeray, the immortal author of "Vanity Fair," is rewarded with a
tablet about a foot square. But, then, if you will take a walk around
the Stock Exchange, you will see the third statue of the Duke of
Wellington, and one of Peabody, the millionaire. In a little narrow City
street, a bust of Milton, in an obscure niche, reminds the passer-by
that the author of "Paradise Lost" was born in that place. It is
comparatively unnoticed. In the wild, headlong, guinea chase, there is
no time for trifling! Paris has a _Rue Milton_ to make up for it.
Yet this thirst for gold has been the greatest civilizing power of
modern times. It is this which has opened up new markets for commerce in
the remotest corners of the world. This British Empire, which has been
called a brazen colossus with feet of clay, is the greatest empire it
was ever given to man to found.
In a hundred years' time, Australia will probably be a strong and
independent Republic, a second America; but the separation will mean no
loss of prestige or of profit to England; her commerce will not suffer;
her steamboats will continue to ply between London and Sydney, as they
do between Liverpool and New York.
* * * * *
Who would dare to compare the greater number of England's conquests to
those sterile ones that only survive in man's memory by the tears and
blood that they have caused to flow?
"We are a wonderful people," cries General Gordon, in his _Diary at
Khartoum_; "it was never our Government which made us a great nation;
our Government has ever been the drag on our wheels. England was made by
adventurers, not by her Government; and I believe she will only hold her
place by adventurers."
This is true enough.
They were adventurers, who were the first to set foot on the soil of
those remote regions which have been added one by one to the lists of
England's colonies; but if England is a great nation, it is thanks to
heroic deeds, such as thine, great advanced sentinel of modern
civilization, who for months couldst unaided keep hordes of barbarians
in check; it is thanks to heroes of thy stamp, poor Gordon!
* * * * *
England conquers by the railway. She imposes her civilization and her
commerce in the countries she subdues, puts the natives in the way of
earning money, and sensibly takes care to make her yoke felt as little
as possible. Her commercial power makes her indispensable to the rest of
the world, including the shareholders of the Suez Canal Company, to whom
she pays more than three times as much as all the other powers put
together.
That which makes the strength of this colonial empire, is that each
colony, like each child in the mother-country, serves the apprenticeship
of life in the enjoyment of liberty.
As each colony becomes rich enough to suffice unto itself, and strong
enough to defend itself, England says to the colonists: "You are now big
enough to manage for yourselves, it is time you learnt to do without my
help." This is what the Englishman says to his sons, as they come to
man's estate. The colony forms its government, chooses its ministers,
and its parliament; sends representatives to England to watch over its
interests there, and becomes, as it were, a branch house of that
immense firm, known in every latitude, under the name of "John Bull and
Company."[5]
All forms of worship will lend themselves to exaggeration and develop
eccentricities, and most certainly it is not the worship of the Golden
Calf that is an exception to the rule. Let us look at the question from
this side as well as the other.
You never run the risk of offending an Englishman by offering him money.
Everyone must remember the lamentations of the Madagascar missionary,
Mr. Shaw. The reverend gentleman had been parted from his flock, and
obliged to take pot-luck on board the late Admiral Pierre's vessel. What
meant those jeremiads? Was it apologies he wanted? Not a bit of it! This
apostle wanted cash. From the day that he received $5000 from the French
Government not a word more was heard from him. He was quiet and happy.
$5000 for having eaten a few bad dinners! It does not fall to everyone's
share to dine so satisfactorily as that.
Although the labor of preparing the posthumous works of Victor Hugo for
publication will be enormous, his literary executors have refused to
accept the profits, sure to be immense, which the poet meant should be
the reward of their arduous task. But the thought of receiving money for
such a labor of love is odious to them. English people may look upon
this as sentimentality, but it compares very favorably with the highly
practical proceedings of Thomas Carlyle's literary executor.
M. H----, the French _depute_, who obtained 10,000 francs damages the
other day, in Paris, from an individual who had insulted his wife, gave
the money to the poor the very same day. It is a fact that, in France,
no man, jealous of his honor, would pocket such gains.
"But," you will say, "surely the Reverend Mr. Shaw gave his $5000 to the
poor, or to some good cause----?"
You little know the type.
In England, it is only too much the fashion to carry everything to the
bank--an insult, a kick, the loss of a lover, the faithlessness of a
wife, all possible inconveniences; the almighty guinea consoles for
every wrong, and may be offered to anyone.
On his wedding day (January 28, 1885), the Rev. Stephen Gladstone, Vicar
of Hawarden, and son of the Prime Minister of England, received, among
his numerous wedding presents, a check for a hundred pounds from Dr. Sir
Andrew Clark, and another for the same sum from the Duke of Westminster.
The thing was so natural that not a single English paper commented on
the fact.
In France, such a wedding present could only be offered to a domestic
who had served us faithfully for some time.
I was in France, spending a few days with a farmer in the heart of the
country.
Dressed in a blouse and a large straw hat, I was one day taking a walk
on the main road, when an Englishman, accompanied by a young lad of
fifteen, accosted me, and asked which was the shortest way to the
village of M----.
Delighted to see an Englishman, I volunteered all the information that
was at my command. I even offered to accompany him as far as the lane
which led to M----, and he willingly accepted.
After racking my brains to give my Englishman every detail I could think
of, concerning the interesting village he was about to visit, I proposed
to turn back.
He, after having uttered a formidable "Aoh" for all thanks, went on his
way.
I had spoken in French. I always like to make Englishmen speak French
when I meet them in France. It is my little revenge.
I will admit that, in my rustic attire, I could not have looked much of
a dandy; but, in France, we have still preserved that good old habit of
saying "Thank you," even to our inferiors.
The Briton had simply treated me as he would have a City policeman who
had told him his way.
I called him back.
"_Excusez-moi_," I said.
"_Aoh! mon ami, oui ... je save ce que vo--vole ... je demande
pardonne._"
And, without another word, he drew from his pocket a fifty-centime
piece, which he slipped into my hand.
As you must always keep what an Englishman gives you a chance of
pocketing, I did not hesitate to put the fifty-centimes in a safe place.
This done, I said to him in decent English:
"My dear sir, let me give you a piece of advice. When you have got a
Frenchman to talk himself hoarse to explain to you your way, just thank
him."
"Why, sir, you speak English----"
He was immediately all apologies.
"Above all," I continued, "never offer money in this country before you
are quite sure it will be acceptable. You might have it thrown in your
face," I added laughing.
My Englishman held out his hand, as if to receive back his fifty
centimes.
"Oh! with me," I said to him, "there is no danger. I have lived a long
while in England, and I am pretty businesslike by this time. I never
throw money out of windows or in people's faces ... I put it in my
pocket."
My practical ideas won me his esteem. We laughed heartily over the
adventure, and parted the best of friends.
* * * * *
After having beaten the Ashantees, in 1874, brought home the umbrella of
their king, and burnt their capital, a feat not requiring much talent,
the dwellings being built of wood and straw, General Wolseley, on his
return to England, had a grant of L25,000 made to him. Eight years
later, on his return from Egypt, this same general received a peerage
and L28,000. Lord Alcester, his companion in arms, who had operated on
the walls of Alexandria, while he was operating on the backs of the
Egyptians, also obtained a peerage and L30,000. When I consider that,
during the siege of Alexandria, the English had only three men put _hors
de combat_, it occurs to me that doubtless these rewards were granted to
Lord Alcester at the suggestion of the British Royal Humane Society.
And yet General Roberts, the history of whose celebrated march to
Candahar will remain written in letters of gold among the records of the
great military feats of the present century, had to content himself with
the Grand Cross of the Order of the Bath.
General Wolseley, now Baron of Cairo, a name so grotesque that he has
never yet cared to assume it in public, was one day sent back to the
Soudan to deliver Gordon, that modern _chevalier sans peur et sans
reproche_. The perspective was tempting; there was every prospect of an
ample harvest of honors and banknotes. Unfortunately, the Mahdi cut the
grass under the general's feet, and he arrived too late. Poor Gordon had
to die, not to save his country, but to become, and forever remain, a
specter at England's feast, the victim of her vacillations, a standing
reproach to her indifference.
Gordon and Wolseley! to think that, by the irony of fate, these two
names should have been associated in the same campaign! The soldier
saint, and the noble millionaire, whose victories are sounded with the
clink of guineas.
"Look, here, upon this picture, and on this."
And you, O heroes of antiquity, arise from your long sleep, and see the
progress that military art has made! Veil your faces, O Fabricius,
Cincinnatus, and all you Romans, who, after you had subdued your
country's foes, and drawn fettered kings behind your triumphal chariots,
returned to cultivate your fields, and died so poor that you had to be
buried at the public expense.
It has long been England's practice to reward with money those who had
rendered services to the country.
After the battle of Waterloo, the Duke of Wellington received, as a
present from the nation, L400,000 and a palace at the entrance of Hyde
Park.
With reference to the grants to the famous Duke of Marlborough, that
great general, who filled the hearts of his enemies with terror, and the
pockets of his family with the money of his countrymen, and whose
descendants still receive from the state the sum of L4000 a year, Swift
compares, in the _Examiner_, the generosity of the Romans with the
generosity of the English:
_A Bill of Roman Gratitude._
For frankincense, and earthen pots to burn it in, $22.50
A bull for sacrifice, 40.00
An embroidered garment, 250.00
A crown of laurel, .05
A statue, 500.00
A trophy, 400.00
A thousand copper medals, value half-penny apiece, 10.20
A triumphal arch, 2500.00
A triumphal car, 500.00
Casual charges at the triumph, 750.00
--------
Total, $4972.75
_A Bill of British Gratitude._
Woodstock, $200,000.00
Blenheim, 1,000,000.00
Post-office grant, 500,000.00
Mildenheim, 150,000.00
Pictures, jewels, etc., 300,000.00
Pall Mall grant, 50,000.00
Employments, 500,000.00
-------------
Total, $2,700,000.00
John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough, was pocketing these $2,700,000
about the time when Flechier, comparing Turenne to Maccabaeus, was able
to say of him, "that he would never accept any other reward, for the
services he rendered to his country, than the honor of having served
her."
It is not at the Abbey of Westminster, it is on the facade of the Bank
of England that there ought to be written:
HERE ENGLAND SHOWS HER GRATITUDE TO HER GREAT MEN.