war, and it needed Armageddon to burst the bladder of Sir Edward
Carson's threats. In justice be it said that when the tocsin sounded
the Tories responded to the nation's need, and forgot for a time their
ineffective selves.
But as soon as the gravity of the task was revealed they decided
that the authorities were useless without their judgment in aid.
Cabal succeeded criticism, plots of exquisite silliness were hatched,
matched, and dispatched. Then came the call for more soldiers, and our
Prussians turned Conscriptionists.
The suggestion that conscription of men should be associated with
conscription of wealth was dismissed as an impertinence, it sufficed if
all that others possess were sacrificed for the State. Our Prussians
talked incessantly of men and duty, but where finance was concerned
they were content to warn the worker not to squander his extra wages
earned by unremitting labour during a week seven days long. They saw
with clear vision the iniquity of depriving the capitalist of half the
wealth he is amassing as a result of the bloodiest war in history,
and have protested almost in unison against the decree. They forgot
with amazing ease that conscription is the force that has set the
Prussian Jack-boot above all law human and divine; they clamoured for
it here, doubtless with an eye upon the possibilities of coercing in
days to come a proletariat of toilers forced to live under military
law in time of peace. Disguised as patriots they thundered from a
hundred platforms, they thumped a thousand tubs, while their hirelings
in the Press wrote stodgily in admiration and support, pointing out
that certain hard-jawed, soulless politicians would alone avail to
save England from itself. As though England would endure to-day the
undiluted political opinions of a Carson, a Milner, a Halsbury, or a
Walter Long. Excellent men, no doubt, but never in their lives less
than half a century behind the times.
Politicians and papers were aided by the truth that even the voluntary
system has its flaws and hardships, its inequalities and petty
tyrannies, and the Prussian remedy for the whip of voluntary service is
the scorpion of conscription.
Those who do not agree with our Prussians are traitors to the height,
although if our Prussians are patriots Dr. Johnson's definition of
patriotism becomes dangerously true.
The question of peace discussion has been the latest consideration of
these gentry. Personally I have no use for peace until we have won our
victory or suffered our defeat. I believe we shall win, and that our
first duties as victors will be to take whatever steps are needed to
give peace permanence.
But I cannot follow our Prussians over one yard of their mile-long way.
They would impose the methods of Berlin and Vienna upon all who dare
to have opinions of their own, they would repress individuality, they
would out Herod the Herods of the censorship who daily murder so much
childishness, they would in fact reduce free men to the level of the
citizens who serve their rulers for "cannon fodder."
In one of the reactionary dailies written by Tories for Tories I have
been reading with infinite disgust a tribute of admiration to the
"Stern Methods" of the Central Empires in dealing with "War Cranks,"
_i.e._ with people whose sense of what they, rightly or wrongly,
believe to be truth is so strong that they will sacrifice position,
even life, to tell the truth when they see it. "Hungarians," writes our
Prussian, "who were only suspected of not approving of the war were
interned or publicly shot." Such a policy has more to justify it "than
have the liberties which are accorded to certain sects who with their
ideas form an insignificant, and almost negligible minority." These
sentiments are even worse than the English used to express them. One
Hungarian publicist, M. Pazmaudy, aged sixty-nine, went to prison for
three months for writing an unpublished letter to a newspaper in which
he denounced the war as wholesale murder. A teacher who pointed out to
his class that war is the fruit of rulers' jealousy rather than of the
people's animosities, a statement that is probably true of nine-tenths
of the war recorded by history, was condemned to three years' hard
labour. Our anonymous Prussian rejoices in these barbarities, and a
paper supposed to represent the educated classes of England is not
ashamed to print this revelation of an unsound or distorted mind.
In the early days of the war, Bernard Shaw reminded us that we, too,
have our Junkers, and his statement has been proved up to the hilt.
Our soldiers and sailors are fighting the Prussians abroad, and it is
the duty of those of us who cannot help beyond England's boundaries,
to fight the Prussians at home, for it is abundantly clear that we
have them in our midst, those who are working night and day to give
us Militarism, Absolutism, and every form of Central European slavery
under another name. They desire an England of conscript workmen, they
seek the destruction of Trade Unionism, and the abolition of socialism,
though it is only by adopting that dread creed that the Government
contrived to save our credit and to feed us. They wish to destroy the
German militarism, and what it stands for, but only to take over the
whole business, lock, stock, and barrel as a going concern. The truth
is that the Tories can no more change their skin than the leopard his
spots.
It is to them the ideal, merely the ideal, in the wrong hands. They
see beyond the horizon of war the dawning of a democratic era that
shall destroy privilege, and make our national freedom greater than it
has ever been, and the prospect is more bitter to them than defeat.
So while our men, so recently civilians, are proving the strength and
resources of comparative freedom--what has been done is as little with
what still remains to be done--our Prussians are putting forward all
manner of chains for unfettered limbs, and are declaring that without
them nothing can save the Empire. It is pleasant to reflect that
after this war comes to its appointed close the vigorous democracies
of Canada and Australia that have followed the United States along
the road of political freedom will be finding representatives at the
Council Board of Empire, and that they will be alert and vigorous to
put an end to the machinations of our Prussians whose attack upon
liberty will not readily be forgotten. When we attempt to measure the
sacrifices that have been made in freedom's name since August, 1914,
when we remember the spirit that has led men contentedly into the
jaws of death, when we understand what our fighters have fought for,
there is an indescribable sense of loathing for the men who, secure in
England, are plotting to transfer Prussian principles across the North
Sea. Their failure to achieve anything commensurate with the villainy
of the attempt is neither palliation nor excuse.
Every one who has studied social conditions knows that our national
ability to pit the unprepared British Empire against Germany armed to
the teeth, has been due to the fact that our Empire holds millions who
believe from the bottom of their hearts that it is worth living in and
dying for. What would the Prussians make of our Empire if they were
allowed to direct it? A happy hunting-ground for Junkers and a hell
upon Earth for free men is the very best that they could accomplish.
Political insight, democratic foresight, prevision of the inevitable
march of events, all these gifts are denied them. They have no sympathy
with any freedom that could exist beyond the realms of the privileged
classes, they are too blind to see the writing on the wall that tells
them they have been found wanting.
This war has witnessed plenty of mistakes, some trivial, some serious;
it has witnessed the birth of a certain number of oppressive and
retrograde measures, and the death of national liberties of which we
look with hope, even with certainty for the joyful resurrection.
Whatever has been bad, retrograde, or dangerous to democracy has won
the unstinted approval of our Prussians; every other act of our rulers
they have condemned.
XX
THE GROWN-UP GIRLS OF ENGLAND
Before the war, I heard some shrewd feminists say that the frivolity
associated with the life of women at the time when they have ceased
to be girls and have "come out," is a matter of environment rather
than choice. They went so far as to assert that if a worthier goal
were offered, a majority would seek it without a moment's hesitation.
For all my sympathy with feminism, despite my heartfelt conviction
that man needs woman's help in the task of administering the world
that lies beyond the home, I had doubts, grave doubts. I thought
that those who said these things had gone a little beyond their
brief, and I remembered the French aphorism, "_la jeunesse n'a qu'un
jour_." It seemed to me that an innate knowledge of the time-limit was
the foundation of frivolity, and here, perhaps, I was looking back
thirty years or more to the radiant season of my own _début_, and was
remembering how the girls who became matrons were expected to play the
rest of their part in the life symphony on muted strings. True it is
that I helped to post-date the passing of the girl and the coming of
the matron, but in those feverish times we all thought that the race
was to the swift.
It may be that this conviction coloured my views; I believed that
for the vast majority of young girls with prospects of a good time,
there would be no pleasure in serious endeavour of any kind: that a
sense of responsibility could not precede the State recognition of
women and a sweeping measure of educational reform. As recently as the
summer season of 1914, I found the new players feverishly excited by
the old, old game, and pleasure instead of losing its savour seemed
to have widened its boundaries and assumed shapes more fantastic than
ever. I heard girls who were standing on the threshold of their career
prattling of the joys to come as though life did not compass within its
horizon one solitary sorrow or disappointment. Women of experience are,
I think, stirred by these enthusiasms in their sisters or daughters, or
young friends: they have learned a part of life's lesson, and know glad
memories for an inalienable possession. It follows that they rejoice
to see those who are near and dear to them treading the primrose path
in the spring of their years, realising that when they look over the
old road in the autumn days, their memory will help to gladden it
with even fairer blossoms. If we know youth for the season of mental
intoxication, we are not the less grateful to the gods who grant it to
one and all, and if we are quite honest with ourselves we have been
rather a little sorry for the girls who are serious before their time.
But, while so many happy children, for after all they were little more,
were bringing their healthy appetite to the banquet of life, "dawn was
at hand to strike the loud feast dumb."
The effect of the upheaval upon the girls who had been presented
in 1914, or would in the ordinary course of events have made their
_début_ since, has been startling, and it has taught me that not only
are the working classes sound at the core--I never doubted this--but
the leisured classes are in no whit inferior. Only an insignificant
minority pursue pleasure at any price, and find in the horrors of our
time a medium for publicity or dissipation. Over the not inconsiderable
circle that I have the opportunity of observing there came, in the vast
majority of cases, a startling change. The opportunities for frivolity
under the rose were accepted only by a few who are constitutionally and
irretrievably decadent, or actually vicious. The others passed pleasure
by, sought duty wherever it was to be found, and became supremely happy
in its pursuit. They taught me to realise that my feminist friends were
right, and that environment which could have moulded their plastic
natures in one mould, had no trouble in moulding them in another.
To do full justice to the fortunately circumstanced girls of England,
for I take it that what is true of London and many country homes will
apply elsewhere, it is necessary to remember that they have known less
of the horrors of war than their sisters of almost all belligerent
countries. Some, very few, have heard one or two bombs dropped from
air-ships, the rest have seen no more than the wounded men who are
sufficiently well to be brought over to England. They cannot even have
visualised the full tragedy of the struggle as French and Belgian
girls must have done, and, above all, they are seldom imaginative, but
just as they were prepared less than two years ago to enjoy as good a
time as life could afford, they are now committed to the hardest tasks
within their competence. What they have lost in pleasure, they have
gained in self-respect, and a sense of true citizenship; above all,
they realise that they are of signal use to the State in the hour of
its exceeding great need. Part of the _rôle_ so long denied to them
they have assumed, not only without challenge, but with acclamation.
They have one additional advantage in their new sphere: they have never
known the pursuits of normal times. While the doors of the ball-room
and all that lies beyond were still shut, the doors of the Temple of
Janus were torn asunder. They have no regrets, they do not miss the
flavour of what they have never tasted. Life is so full for them that
if pleasure were within their grasp they would lack the leisure as
well as the inclination to grasp it. The example of fathers, brothers,
boy friends, is an unending stimulus; all those they love best are
looking to them with a gratitude or admiration that no pursuit of
pleasure could have evoked. They have realised the high tension of the
hour, they have risen silently and unostentatiously to the heights.
Such tragedy as has come into their lives--and the mourning that so
many wear is eloquent beyond all speech--has increased rather than
diminished their labours; it has brought them nearer to the actuality
of things. Where one hoped that all would gather roses many have
gathered rue, but they have learned to know it by the older name,
herb-of-grace. They wear it as they work, and it has become one of the
symbols of the bond that binds those who serve with those who suffer.
I have seen the girls of whom I write labouring with deft yet
unaccustomed hands in the canteens, undertaking in the hospitals the
menial work that falls to those who are yet untrained, giving to pain
longer hours than they would have given to pleasure in happy times.
They bring to their tasks the subtle indefinite charm that is the gift
of their hour and was intended for a setting so different. Is it a part
of their reward that their lives should not lack a generous gift of
high romance? I cannot recall in any season over which my memory has
control so many engagements and marriages as there have been of late.
The old huckstering conditions would seem to have passed, the girls are
no longer weighing chances, the men are no longer calculating coldly.
Each sees the other at best. The girl knows that the lad who has given
all and risked all for his country must be sound at heart, and that
his scars are honourable; the young man knows that he cannot go wrong
in choosing a girl who has left pleasure for duty, who has found high
ideals and pursues them. These unions coming about in hours of deepest
uncertainty, when the bride of one month may be the widow of the next,
are calculated to bring out what is best in both, for the natural
affection is leavened by mutual respect. I have heard worldly minded
parents grieve, some have brought their tales of woe to my utterly
unsympathetic ear; I rejoice in these marriages, and believe they are
of happiest augury for the State. Surely those who wed under these
conditions may hope to live on the high plane of idealism longer than
those whose unions have been dictated by what is mis-called prudence,
while the fruits of unions consummated in such solemn hours when the
future of Europe trembles in the balances of God, will be a source
of strength in the years to come. They will surely not be like the
offspring of exaggerated comfort or monstrous luxury.
It seems to me, reviewing the accomplishment of so many girls I know
best, that war, for all its tragedy, may well leave the poor remains
of our civilisation better than it was in the season of our opulence.
Without regard to money or to good looks some of the best elements
of the race have mated, each partner to the union understanding in
fashion hitherto unimaginable not only that the Empire is worth the
best we have to offer, but that one and all, regardless of the world's
favours, are bringing their sacrifice. The minorities, noisy or silent,
with which we must hereafter deal, the residue of profit-hunters and
pleasure-seekers, pass almost out of mind as one sees the extraordinary
transformation that war has wrought in a class that was supposed to be
utterly deaf to any call save the call of amusement. That there have
been larger tributes to the national cause is a commonplace, that there
has been a more striking one I, at least, deny.
Who was the cynic who said that woman was the last animal that man
would civilise? I hope and believe he has not lived as long as his
libel, and yet I could wish that somewhere in the realms reserved for
liars he could be permitted to see a few at least of the sights that
have gladdened and stimulated me in the past twelve months, ever since
the women workers in the Empire's cause became fully representative of
every class in the realm.
XXI
THE SOCIAL HORIZON
Very early in the war, almost before the Expeditionary Force was under
arms, the Government was forced by the grave urgency of the national
case to apply the principles of socialism to certain outstanding
problems. To name only one instance, we may mention the work of the
railways. Socialists have always urged that the railroads should be
taken over by Government in the national interest, and countless
reams of paper have been wasted by individualists to demonstrate
the impossibility. But needs grew paramount, and the Government, by
a stroke of the pen, took the railroads into its inexpert keeping.
Nothing has happened to make the country regret the change. The fashion
in which our railways (with a few notable exceptions) are conducted
is so utterly bad and so profoundly inefficient, that Government, in
giving precedence to Government business, made them very little worse.
Fares are a trifle higher, trains rather less frequent, carriages
dirtier than heretofore, but Government's proper needs and unpractised
handling could do little or nothing to depress the normal standard. As
the war progressed, and various common-sense measures were required
to deal with war profits, war contracts, and war crises generally, it
was recognised with something akin to dismay by the hierarchy that
lives behind the times that in many instances socialism had anticipated
common-sense. Then a strange thing happened. In a very unguarded
moment, Mr. Runciman, that bright young man whose statesmanlike
qualities and keen sympathy with our poor shipowners have endeared him
to a small minority at least of English-speaking people, was heard
to declare before a pained and startled House of Commons that where
Socialism was practical and met the needs of the hour, he was prepared
to adopt it. In other words, he would not discard a useful measure
because it was socialistic in origin or tendencies! What magnanimity;
what a sterling recognition of a nation's needs!
Nobody perhaps quite knows what measure of concession to hard truth
was here intended, but as a statement made by a President of the Board
of Trade, the utterance deserved more attention than it received.
Perhaps the Press Bureau asked newspapers to take no marked notice of a
hard-worked "statesman's" slip of the tongue. One would wager that it
did not pass altogether unrebuked by those descendants of the wise men
of Gotham, who would rather see the Empire lost by party politicians
than saved by Socialists or Socialism.
It is a curious fact, and one that the historian of the future will
surely acknowledge, that Individualism has been discredited by the war,
and that the appeal of both our leaders and misleaders, whatever the
colour of their party-political opinions, has been to the principles
underlying Socialism. Even in Russia, an autocracy, a land in which
the Tsar comes in the popular mind very near to God, the appeal to
the nation has been an appeal, however unconsciously, to Socialism.
The root principle of Socialism lies in a great National Act. The
nation must work together for the national good. So far has this idea
developed that in the last days of February, a reputed reactionary, M.
Markoff, rose in the Duma to implore the Government "to withdraw its
shield from the old gang of officials who look upon their country's
adversities merely as a favourable opportunity for increasing their
perquisites" (_Daily Telegraph_, Feb. 28th). Here, under the pressure
of giant circumstance, we find an appeal made for the united action
and the national act. In Germany, as all our responsible, and not a
little of the irresponsible, Press has frankly admitted, the Socialist
party is the only one that has kept its head, and endeavoured in very
difficult circumstances to preserve ideals. The _Vorwarts_, leading
organ of German Socialism, though it regards the war as an evil for
which Germany was not responsible, has courageously opposed all the
actions of the governing class that have tended to lower the character
of the German people, and I have heard some of the best informed
students of European politics declare that, had Social Democracy been
allowed another ten years of peaceful development throughout the German
Empire, no German ruler would have dared provoke a war for the hegemony
of Europe. They cannot deny that Socialism, in its International
aspect, was making for the brotherhood of man. No other force in
national life was working with any approach to equal strength and
sincerity along the same road and in pursuit of the same goal.