THE TIME
At midnight, when she was alone in her room, Caroline's mind passed from
an intense personal realization of the Blackburns to a broader
conception of the time in which she was living--the time which this
generation had helped to create, and which, like some monster of the
imagination, was now devouring its happiness. She thought of her
father--a man of intellectual abilities who had spent his life out of
touch with his environment, in an uncongenial employment. Young as she
was when he died, she had been for years the solitary confidant of his
mind, for he also, like these strangers into whose lives she was about
to enter, had been the victim of the illimitable and inscrutable forces
which shape the thought of an age. He had been different from his
generation, and because he had been different, it had destroyed him. Yet
his single idea had outlived the multitudinous actions and reactions
that surrounded him. He saw not to-day, but to-morrow; and though he was
of another mettle from this Blackburn of whom she had been reading, he
appeared now in her fancy to take a place beside him in the vivid life
of the age.
The lamp was smoking, and after lowering the wick, she sat gazing into
the darkness beyond the loosened shutters, which rattled when the wind
shook them.
* * * * *
It was in the early autumn of nineteen hundred and sixteen, the moment
in history when America, hesitating on the verge of war, discovered that
it was no longer an Anglo-Saxon nation; that, in spite of its language
and literature, its shell of customs and traditions, a new race had been
created out of a complicated mass of diverse interacting sympathies,
prejudices, attractions, and repulsions. Confronted now with problems
demanding a definite expression of the national will, it became evident
that the pioneer stock had undergone profound modifications, and that
from a mingling of many strains had been born an emphatic American
spirit, with aspirations essentially different from those of the races
from which its lifeblood was drawn. In the arrogant vigour of youth this
spirit resented any disposition on the part of its kindred to dictate or
even influence its policy or its purpose.
For two years Europe had been at war. The outbreak of the struggle had
come as a distant thunderbolt to a nation unaccustomed to threatening
armies, and ignorant of the triumphant menace of military ideals; and
stunned by a calamity which it had believed impossible, America had been
inclined at first to condemn indiscriminately those who had permitted
the disaster for apparently insignificant causes. There was sympathy
with Belgium because it had been destroyed; with France because it had
been invaded; and with England because it had worked sincerely in the
interests of peace; but as early as the autumn of nineteen hundred and
sixteen this sympathy was little more than uncrystallized sentiment. To
the people the problem was irrelevant and disguised in words. For a
century they had been taught that their geographical isolation was
indestructible, and that European history concerned them only after it
had been successfully transmuted into literature. The effect of these
political illusions had been accentuated by the immediate demands upon
the thoughts and energies of the nation, by the adventure of conquering
a rich and undeveloped continent, and by the gradual adjustment of
complex institutions to a rapidly expanding social and economic life.
Secure in its remoteness, the country had grown careless in its
diplomacy. Commerce was felt to be vital, but foreign relations were
cheerfully left to the President, with the assumption that he was acting
under the special guidance of Providence, on those memorable occasions
when he acted at all. With the sinking of the _Lusitania_, the spirit of
the country had flamed into a passionate demand for redress or war. Then
the indignation had been gradually allayed by diplomatic phrases and
bewildering technicalities; and the masses of the people, busy with an
extravagant war prosperity, resigned international matters into the
hands of the Government, while, with an uneasy conscience but genuine
American optimism, they continued actively to hope for the best.
To an aerial philosopher the Government of the hour might have appeared
a composite image of the time--sentimental, evasive of realities,
idealistic in speech, and materialistic in purpose and action. Dominated
by a single strong intellect, it was composed mainly of men who were
without knowledge of world questions or experience in world affairs. At
the moment war was gathering, yet the demand for preparation was either
ignored or ridiculed as hysteria.
As the national elections approached both parties avoided the direct
issue, and sought by compromise and concession to secure the support of
the non-American groups. While the country waited for leadership, the
leaders hesitated in the midst of conflicting currents of public
sentiment, and endeavoured to win popularity through an irresolute
policy of opportunism. To Virginians, who thought politically in terms
of a party, the great question was resolved into a personal problem.
Where the President led they would follow.
From the beginning there had been many Americans who looked beneath the
shifting surface of events, and beheld in this war a challenge to the
principles which are the foundation-stones of Western civilization. They
realized that this was a war not of men, not of materials, but of
ideals--of ideals which are deeper than nationality since they are the
common heritage of the human race. They saw that the ideals assailed
were the basis of American institutions, and that if they should be
overthrown the American Republic could not endure. As in the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries the problems of European civilization were
fought out in the forests of America, so to-day, they felt, the future
of America would be decided on the battlefields of Europe. The cause was
the cause of humanity, therefore it was America's war.
And now as the elections drew nearer, these clearer thinkers stood apart
and watched the grotesque political spectacle, with its unctuous
promises of "peace and prosperity," in the midst of world tragedy.
Though the struggle would be close, it was already evident that the
sentiment of the country was drifting, not so much toward the policies
of the administration, as away from the invectives of the opposite
party. Since neither party stood for principle, nor had the courage to
declare fearlessly for the maintenance of American rights, there was a
measure of comfort in the reflection that, though the purposes of the
Government were not wholly approved, they were at least partly known.
By the early autumn the campaign had passed through a fog of
generalization and settled into a sham battle of personal and sectional
issues, while in Europe the skies grew darker, and the events of the
coming year gathered like vultures before the approaching storm.
And always, while America waited and watched, the forces that mould the
destinies of men and of nations, were moving, profound, obscure, and
impenetrable, beneath the surface of life.
* * * * *
Caroline's lamp flickered and went out, while her thoughts rushed back
to the shelter of the house. The room was in darkness, but beyond the
shutters, where the wind swept in gusts, the clouds had scattered, and a
few stars were shining.