It does not follow that we shall be driven catastrophically from India.That was my earlier mistake.We are not proud enough in our bones to be ruined by India as Spain was by her empire.We may be able to abandon India with an air of still remaining there.It is our new method.We train our future rulers in the public schools to have a very wholesome respect for strength, and as soon as a power arises in India in spite of us, be it a man or a culture, or a native state, we shall he willing to deal with it.We may or may not have a war, but our governing class will be quick to learn when we are beaten.Then they will repeat our South African diplomacy, and arrange for some settlement that will abandon the reality, such as it is, and preserve the semblance of power.The conqueror DEFACTO will become the new "loyal Briton," and the democracy at home will be invited to celebrate our recession--triumphantly.I am no believer in the imminent dissolution of our Empire; I am less and less inclined to see in either India or Germany the probability of an abrupt truncation of those slow intellectual and moral constructions which are the essentials of statecraft.
6
I sit writing in this little loggia to the sound of dripping water--this morning we had rain, and the roof of our little casa is still not dry, there are pools in the rocks under the sweet chestnuts, and the torrent that crosses the salita is full and boastful,--and I try to recall the order of my impressions during that watching, dubious time, before I went over to the Conservative Party.I was trying--chaotic task--to gauge the possibilities inherent in the quality of the British aristocracy.There comes a broad spectacular effect of wide parks, diversified by woods and bracken valleys, and dappled with deer; of great smooth lawns shaded by ancient trees; of big facades of sunlit buildings dominating the country side; of large fine rooms full of handsome, easy-mannered people.As a sort of representative picture to set off against those other pictures of Liberals and of Socialists I have given, I recall one of those huge assemblies the Duchess of Clynes inaugurated at Stamford House.The place itself is one of the vastest private houses in London, a huge clustering mass of white and gold saloons with polished floors and wonderful pictures, and staircases and galleries on a Gargantuan scale.And there she sought to gather all that was most representative of English activities, and did, in fact, in those brilliant nocturnal crowds, get samples of nearly every section of our social and intellectual life, with a marked predominance upon the political and social side.
I remember sitting in one of the recesses at the end of the big saloon with Mrs.Redmondson, one of those sharp-minded, beautiful rich women one meets so often in London, who seem to have done nothing and to be capable of everything, and we watched the crowd--uniforms and splendours were streaming in from a State ball--and exchanged information.I told her about the politicians and intellectuals, and she told me about the aristocrats, and we sharpened our wit on them and counted the percentage of beautiful people among the latter, and wondered if the general effect of tallness was or was not an illusion.
They were, we agreed, for the most part bigger than the average of people in London, and a handsome lot, even when they were not subtly individualised."They look so well nurtured," I said, "well cared for.I like their quiet, well-trained movements, their pleasant consideration for each other.""Kindly, good tempered, and at bottom utterly selfish," she said, "like big, rather carefully trained, rather pampered children.What else can you expect from them?""They are good tempered, anyhow," I witnessed, "and that's an achievement.I don't think I could ever be content under a bad-tempered, sentimentalism, strenuous Government.That's why Icouldn't stand the Roosevelt REGIME in America.One's chief surprise when one comes across these big people for the first time is their admirable easiness and a real personal modesty.I confess I admire them.Oh! I like them.I wouldn't at all mind, I believe, giving over the country to this aristocracy--given SOMETHING--""Which they haven't got."
"Which they haven't got--or they'd be the finest sort of people in the world.""That something?" she inquired.
"I don't know.I've been puzzling my wits to know.They've done all sorts of things--""That's Lord Wrassleton," she interrupted, "whose leg was broken--you remember?--at Spion Kop."
"It's healed very well.I like the gold lace and the white glove resting, with quite a nice awkwardness, on the sword.When I was a little boy I wanted to wear clothes like that.And the stars! He's got the V.C.Most of these people here have at any rate shown pluck, you know--brought something off.""Not quite enough," she suggested.
"I think that's it," I said."Not quite enough--not quite hard enough," I added.
She laughed and looked at me."You'd like to make us," she said.
"What?"
"Hard."
"I don't think you'll go on if you don't get hard.""We shan't be so pleasant if we do."
"Well, there my puzzled wits come in again.I don't see why an aristocracy shouldn't be rather hard trained, and yet kindly.I'm not convinced that the resources of education are exhausted.I want to better this, because it already looks so good.""How are we to do it?" asked Mrs.Redmondson.
"Oh, there you have me! I've been spending my time lately in trying to answer that! It makes me quarrel with"--I held up my fingers and ticked the items off--"the public schools, the private tutors, the army exams, the Universities, the Church, the general attitude of the country towards science and literature--""We all do," said Mrs.Redmondson."We can't begin again at the beginning," she added.
"Couldn't one," I nodded at the assembly in general, start a movement?
