HOME AND FOREIGN POLICY COMBINED.
Knowest thou the House where the members elected
Consider the measure apart from the brand,
Where Voting by Party is quite unaffected,
And solely concerned with the good of the land?
Knowest thou the House of Amendments and Clauses,
Where Reason may reel but debate never pauses,
Where words, the grand note of Humanity, reign
(Oh Müller, Max Müller, expound us the gain!),
Articulate always, if often insane?
'Tis the Temple of Justice, the home of M.P.'s,
Our noble, our own representatives these,
But endless as sands of the desert, and worse,
Are the Bills they discuss and the rules they rehearse.
'What about the Government?' said Queen Mab to the Owl one day. 'Is
there anything that it would do to introduce into Polynesia—that is, if
the Germans and the missionaries have gone away again? If they
haven't—!' and she sighed.
'I think you had better not try,' returned her counsellor, after
considering the point. 'You have got a queen already, and I should
think the Polynesians are hardly ripe for a representative Government.
No doubt, in the course of the struggle for existence, they will get
into a good many difficulties, but I rather think that a British
constitution on the top of them would not improve matters. If you could
get up a Witenagemot now!'
'Oh, the gathering of the Wise Men,' said the fairy. 'I remember that.
Has not England got a Witenagemot now, then?' she inquired. Her
historical notions, during her long residence in Polynesia, had got
fearfully mixed up and hazy.
'They don't call it so,' said the Owl gravely. 'I wonder they don't, it
would be very suitable.'
'And what is it for?' asked Mab.
'Chiefly to legislate for the Millennium, I think,' replied the Owl.
'They have been legislating now for a considerable time, but it hasn't
come yet. It is late. We expect, however, that it will arrive when the
New Democracy is in power. There has been a good deal of annoyance with
the Established Church lately for not telegraphing for it sooner, and
people say that but for the Church's neglect the Millennium would have
been here a very long time ago. Therefore, when the New Democracy
comes, it intends, as the Democrat was saying, to be mild but firm, and
see if the Millennium can't be got to travel faster. And the first mild
but firm thing it will do will be to pull down the Established Church
of England and level it with the—with other denominations.'
'What _is_ the Millennium?' said Queen Mab.
'Some think one thing and some another,' returned the Owl. 'Perhaps we
had better not discuss it; it is so easy to be profane on the subject
before you know where you are. But you can hear Parliament legislating
for it any day, and see people living up to it under the gangway.'
'I should like to go and see how they do it,' said Mab, 'just for
once.'
'Well, so you can,' said the Owl. 'We can start directly if you like.
It is the safest place in London now that the session is on, because of
the Home Rulers. The dynamiters couldn't very well blow it up with the
Irish members in, and it would look too pointed for them all to be away
at the time of its being blown up. Make me invisible and we will go.'
So Queen Mab made them both invisible, and they flew away to the House
of Commons. There ensconcing themselves on a high beam, they soon
forgot the cobwebs in the interest of the debate. It was a remarkable
debate, and, what is also remarkable, I can find no traces of it in the
Hansard for that year, and it hardly conforms to the latest rules.
Sometimes I am inclined to think that the Owl must have invented it or
dreamed it, but he says that every word is mathematically correct, and
I know him for a most truthful bird, who never told, or at all events
never meant to tell, a lie. The debate was on a Bill introduced by
Government for the colonisation of the lunar world by emigration of the
able-bodied unemployed, and the House was full. All the Home Rulers
were present, a fact which gave the Owl a feeling of pleasant security,
and members generally were wide awake and very attentive.
In a brief speech of three hours the Prime Minister advocated the
principles of the Bill.
'I am not what is vulgarly called a Jingo' (hear, hear!) he said
finally, 'and measures of simple aggrandisement, sir, I have never been
known to advocate.'
'How about Bechuana?' from Mr. Jacob Bright.
'If the rules of courtesy demanded a reply to that interruption,' said
the Prime Minister, 'I would answer,' and he did so for an hour by
Shrewsbury clock. He then proceeded:
'But there is a wide difference between annexation necessary to
maintain the integrity of our glorious realm, as in the case of
Bechuana, and the annexations so often observed in the policy of
Continental Powers, springing from a mere greed of empire. We may
deplore, indeed, that a preceding Administration has involved us in
responsibilities almost beyond the power of statesmen to grapple with
successfully; but that is the habit of preceding Administrations, and
now that such measures are beyond recall we shall not shirk their
consequences. The recent annexation of Mercury by Russia, and the
presence in Jupiter of a German emissary, whose ulterior object, though
the Press of that country states him to have gone there solely for the
benefit of his health, cannot be viewed with too much suspicion, make
it incumbent on all parties to unite in speedy measures for the
security of our home and colonial interests.' (Ministerial cheers.) 'I
am at a loss to conceive,' said a member of the Opposition, rising—and
here the irregularity comes in, for which we can only refer readers to
the Owl—'what is the drift of the remarks we have just listened to. I
am no enemy to annexation, as honourable members know well. We have
been annexing ever since we had a rood of land to make annexations to,
and it would be a pity to begin to stop now. But as for occupying a
place like the Moon, without water, without air, without
inhabitants—that, sir, appears to me to be adding folly to madness. Is
the Government not content with the proofs of utter
imbecility'—(order)—'I will say, of excruciating feebleness, it has
given to the public, that it must squander the resources of the nation
for the sake of a wild-goose chase like this? As for the German envoy,
he has gone to Jupiter for the benefit of a settled climate, and to
drink the waters, not to annex a planet which, with the present
indifferent means of communication, could be of no service to his
country. This is the simple explanation, which anybody but an old owl
like the Prime Minister—'
'Order, order!' shouted several voices, and the Speaker, rising
gravely, called upon the honourable member to withdraw the epithet of
'old owl' as unparliamentary.
'I withdraw it,' said the member readily. 'I should have said, the
gentleman so highly distinguished for youth and sanity, who has plunged
us into oceans of disaster at home and abroad, and, not content with
making the world we live in too hot to hold us, intends to make all the
planets related to us in the Solar System too hot to hold us, as well.
He has determined wantonly to attack a sphere with which we have always
maintained the most cordial relations, to invade its territories,
ravage its villages, and introduce the atrocious benefits of Maxim guns
and Gladstone claret to the Selenites.'
'The honourable member observed a moment ago,' said the Prime Minister
ironically, 'that there were no Selenites.'
'So I did,' returned the Opposition member unabashed. 'I am not ashamed
of that. If the Moon has no inhabitants, you can have no commercial
relations with the Moon; if it has, you can only demoralise an
unsophisticated population. But I refuse to be held responsible for the
opinions I expressed two minutes ago. I am a true Briton, and I
absolutely decline to limit myself to a single contradiction, or to a
dozen, in the course of a quarter of an hour's harangue.'
'We can quite believe _that_!' said the Home Secretary blandly. 'But
till my honourable friend undertakes the management of affairs—before
which may heaven remove me! ("Hear, hear!" from the honourable
friend)—it is the business of competent statesmen to preserve relations
friendly yet firm with foreign Powers terrestrial and celestial, and we
shall do it, sir, if we have to annex the Pleiades (cheers). To
illustrate by a single case the urgency of an action which the
honourable member, in his own choice and happy phraseology, stigmatised
as a wild-goose chase. If a Power which I will not specify is allowed
to occupy that interesting orb which it is our hope to link closely
with our own destinies in national union—_what of the tides_? (Cheers.)
Sir, it has long been our proud boast that Britannia rules the waves.
How much longer, I ask you, would she continue to rule them, if once
the sway with which the studies of our childhood have made us all
familiar passed into the hands of alien and perhaps hostile
authorities? (Prolonged cheers.) Can we doubt that unfriendly
arbitration would eventually turn away all the tides from our hitherto
favoured island, and would divert the current of the Gulf Stream to
Powers with whom our relations are strained, while punctually supplying
us with icebergs and a temperature below zero from the Arctic Zone?
Once hemmed in (or surrounded) by icebergs, what becomes of your
carrying trade? Can we doubt that the trade-winds, too, would be mere
playthings in the hands of a lunar colonial Government, inspired in
every action by the malice of an unfriendly terrestrial Admiralty, and
that, in short, by a terrible reversal of the national motto for which
we feel so just a reverence, Britannia would cease to rule the waves,
while the waves would rule Britannia?' (Loud and prolonged Ministerial
cheers, during which another member of the Opposition rose and inquired
the precise policy of Her Majesty's Government towards the Selenites.)
'I am instructed,' said a Cabinet Minister, 'to inform the honourable
member that the Selenites have no existence. The step contemplated is
therefore a mere peaceful annexation, and war and bloodshed, such as
were pathetically alluded to by the honourable member for Putney, are
out of the question. I may here bring clearly before the minds of the
House the fact that, as the Moon is destitute of any atmosphere,
scientific men have unanimously declared the impossibility of animal
life upon it.'
'I should like to know,' said a member, rising below the gangway,
'whether the Government has given its attention to one point, namely,
that as where there is no atmosphere there can be no inhabitants, where
there can be no inhabitants there can be no representatives of rival
terrestrial Powers. Unless the forces of a certain Power are capable of
living without air, I fail to see that we have anything to apprehend
from their occupation of the Moon. Russians, for instance, are not
personally dear to me; and I should say that the more of them introduce
civilisation to that extinct and uninhabitable sphere the better; but I
utterly decline to go there myself, or to vote for sending even our
convicts there, much less our able-bodied unemployed. I should like
this little difficulty explained, for I confess that, to an
unstatesmanlike mind, this debate seems to be verging on nonsense.' 'I
had not thought it necessary, at this early stage of the debate,'
observed the Prime Minister plaintively, 'to remind the House that no
such difficulty as that present to the mind of the honourable member
really exists. Has my honourable friend below the gangway never heard
of a mental or a moral atmosphere? Is it not one which inevitably
surrounds us, in the incandescent Soudan or in the chill abode of
departed Selenites? What he regards as an insuperable drawback only
furnishes me with another reason for urging the Bill upon you. Would it
not be a disgrace to the British flag, ever the friend of civilisation
and of virtue, to allow a perverted moral atmosphere to be introduced
into an orb which has done so much for us in the way of tidal action,
of artistic enjoyment, and, I will say, of amatory
sentiment—(cheers)—as our satellite? Now what kind of moral atmosphere,
I would ask, surrounds the average Russian? Of a mental atmosphere I
will not speak—suffice it to say that that also is immeasurably
inferior; but is it fitting for a nation like ours, in the van of
progress, to suffer a moral atmosphere degraded, pernicious, and
suffocating to circulate in regions to which we could furnish one so
infinitely more salubrious?' (Prolonged Ministerial cheers.)