The only fact of importance which fails to emerge with sufficient
clearness from the foregoing conversation is the fact--possibly the
courteous American suppressed it from motives of delicacy--that
America is by comparison more pro-Ally than pro-British. The fact is,
the American is on the side of right and justice in this War, and
earnestly desires to see the Allied cause prevail; but he has a
sub-conscious aversion to seeing slow-witted, self-satisfied John Bull
collect yet another scalp. American relations with France, too, have
always been of the most cordial nature; while America's very existence
as a separate nation to-day is the fruit of a quarrel with England.
In this regard it may be noted that American school history books are
accustomed to paint the England of 1776 in unnecessarily lurid
colours. The young Republic is depicted emerging, after a heroic
struggle, from the clutches of a tyranny such as that wielded by the
nobility of France in the pre-Revolution days. In sober fact, the
secession of the American Colonies was brought about by a series of
colossal blunders and impositions on the part of the most
muddle-headed ministry that ever mismanaged the affairs of Great
Britain--which is saying a good deal. It is probable that if the elder
Pitt had lived a few years longer, the secession would never have
occurred. It was only with the utmost reluctance that Washington
appealed to a decision by battle. In any case the fact remains, that
while in an American school-book the war of 1776 is given first place,
correctly enough, as marking the establishment of American
nationality, it figures in the English school-book, with equal
correctness, as a single regrettable incident in England's long and
variegated Colonial history. It is well to bear these two points of
view in mind. Naturally all this makes for degrees of comparison in
America's attitude toward the Allies. One might extend the comparison
to Russia, and more especially to Japan; but that, mercifully, is
outside the scope of our present inquiry.
To America, friendship with France is an historic tradition, as the
Statue of Liberty attests, and rests upon the solid foundation of a
common ideal--Republicanism. The tie between America and Great Britain
is the tie of a common (but rapidly diminishing) blood-relationship;
and, as every large family knows, blood-relationship carries with it
the right to speak one's mind with refreshing freedom whenever
differences of opinion arise within the family circle. But our
idealists have persistently overlooked this handicap. They cling
tenaciously to the notion that it is easier to be friendly with your
relations than with your friends; and that in dealing with your own
kin, tact may be economized. "Blood is thicker than water," we
proclaim to one another across the sea; "and we can therefore afford
to be as rude to one another as we please." This principle suits the
Briton admirably, because he belongs to the elder and more
thick-skinned branch of the clan. But it bears hardly upon a young,
self-conscious, and adolescent nation, which has not yet "found"
itself as a whole; and which, though its native genius and genuine
promise carry it far, still experiences a certain youthful diffidence
under the supercilious condescension of the Old World.
Our mutual relations are further complicated by the possession of a
common language.
In theory, a common tongue should be a bond of union between
nations--a channel for the interchange of great thoughts and friendly
sentiments. In practice, what is it?
Let us take a concrete example. Supposing an American woman and a
Dutch woman live next door to one another in a New York suburb. As a
rule they maintain friendly relations; but if at any time these
relations become strained--say, over the encroachments of depredatory
chickens, or the obstruction of some one's ancient lights by the
over-exuberance of some one else's laundry--the two ladies are enabled
to say the most dreadful things to one another without any one being a
penny the worse. _They do not understand one another's language._ But
if they speak a common tongue, the words which pass when the most
ephemeral squabble arises stick and rankle.
Again, for many years the people of Great Britain were extremely
critical of Russia. Well-meaning stay-at-home gentlemen constantly
rose to their feet in the House of Commons and made withering remarks
on the subject of knouts, and Cossacks, and vodka. But they did no
harm. The Russian people do not understand English. In the same way,
Russians were probably accustomed to utter equally reliable criticisms
of the home-life of Great Britain--land-grabbing, and hypocrisy, and
whiskey, and so on. But we knew nothing of all this, and all was well.
There was not the slightest difficulty, when the great world-crash
came, in forming the warmest alliance with Russia.
But as between the two great English-speaking nations of the world, it
is in the power of the most foolish politician or the most
irresponsible sub-editor, on either side of the Atlantic, to create an
international complication with a single spoken phrase or stroke of
the pen. And as both countries appear to be inhabited very largely by
persons who regard newspapers as Bibles and foolish politicians as
inspired prophets, it seems advisable to take steps to regulate the
matter.
This brings us to another matter--the attitude of the American Press
toward the War. A certain section thereof, which need not be
particularized further, has never ceased, probably under the combined
influences of bias and subsidy, to abuse the Allies, particularly the
British, and misrepresent their motives and ideals. This sort of
journalism "cuts no ice" in the United States. It is just "yellow
journalism." _Voilà tout!_ Why take it seriously? But the British
people do not know this; and as the British half-penny Press, when it
does quote the American Press, rarely quotes anything but the most
virulent extracts from this particular class of newspaper, one is
reduced yet again to wondering whence the blessings of a common
language are to be derived.
But taking them all round, the newspapers of America have handled the
questions of the War with conspicuous fairness and ability. They are
all fundamentally pro-Ally; and the only criticism which can be
directed at them from an Allied quarter is that in their anxiety to
give both sides a hearing, they have been a little too indulgent to
Germany's claims to moral consideration, and have been a little
over-inclined to accept the German Chancellor's pious manifestoes at
their face value. But generally speaking it may be said that the
greater the newspaper, the firmer the stand that it has taken for the
Allied cause. The New York _Times_, the weightiest and most
authoritative newspaper in America, has been both pro-Ally and
pro-British throughout the War, and has never shrunk from the delicate
task of interpreting satisfactorily to the British people the attitude
of the President.
Journalistic criticism of Great Britain in America is frequently
extremely candid, and not altogether unmerited. Occasionally it goes
too far; but the occasion usually arises from ignorance of the
situation, or the desire to score an epigrammatic point. For instance,
during the struggle for Verdun in the spring, a New York newspaper,
sufficiently well-conducted to have known better, published a cartoon
representing John Bull as standing aloof, but encouraging the French
to persevere in their efforts by parodying Nelson's phrase:--"England
expects that every Frenchman will do his duty." The truth of course
was that Sir Douglas Haig had offered General Joffre all the British
help that might be required. The offer was accepted to this extent,
that the British took over forty additional miles of trenches from
the French, thus setting free many divisions of French soldiers to
participate in a glorious and purely French victory.
But this sort of foolish calumny dies hard, together with such phrases
as:--"England is prepared to hold on, to the last Frenchman!" While
not strictly relevant to our present discussion, the following figures
may be of interest. In August 1914 the British Regular Army consisted
of about a hundred and fifty thousand men. To-day, British troops in
France number two million; in Salonica, a hundred and forty thousand;
in Egypt, a hundred and eighty thousand; in Mesopotamia, a hundred and
twenty thousand. The Navy absorbs another four hundred thousand,
while a full million are occupied in purely naval construction and
repair. And at home again enormous masses of new troops are undergoing
training. This seems to dispose of the suggestion that Great Britain
is winning the War by proxy.
And for the upkeep of this mighty host, and for this general
comforting of the Allies, the British taxpayer is now paying
cheerfully and willingly, in addition to such trifling impositions as
a 60 per cent tax on his commercial profits, income tax at the rate of
twenty-five cents in the dollar.
On the other side of the account, _Life_, the American equivalent of
_Punch_, (if it is possible for the humour of a particular nation to
find its equivalent in any other nation), published not long ago a
special "John Bull" number, which will for ever remain a monument of
journalistic generosity and international courtesy. _Life's_ good deed
was gracefully acknowledged by _Punch_ and _The Spectator_.
But in spite of _Life's_ good example, enough has been said under this
head to illuminate the fact that a common language is a doubtful
blessing. The joint possession of the tongue that Shakespeare and
Milton and Longfellow and Abraham Lincoln spoke has bestowed little
upon our two nations but a convenient medium, too often, for shrewish
altercation, coupled with the profound conviction of either side that
the other side is unable to speak correct English.
Well, this nonsense must stop.