Volume I Part 11 (1/2)
By thunder, he's doing _his_ job, isn't he? Whether you like the job or not, you've got to grant that. When I first came over here, I found a mild curiosity about Wilson--only mild. But now they sit up and listen and ask most eager questions. He has pressed his personality most strongly on the governing cla.s.s here.
Yours heartily, W.H.P.
_To the President_
American Emba.s.sy, London [May 11, 1914.]
DEAR MR. PRESIDENT:
The King of Denmark (I always think of Hamlet) having come to make his royal kinsman of these Isles a visit, his royal kinsman to-night gave a state dinner at the palace whereto the Amba.s.sadors of the eight Great Powers were, of course, invited. Now I don't know how other kings do, but I'm willing to swear by King George for a job of this sort. The splendour of the thing is truly regal and the friendliness of it very real and human; and the company most uncommon. Of course the Amba.s.sadors and their wives were there, the chief rulers of the Empire and men and women of distinction and most of the royal family. The dinner and the music and the plate and the decorations and the jewels and the uniforms--all these were regal; but there is a human touch about it that seems almost democratic.
All for His Majesty of Denmark, a country with fewer people and less wealth than New Jersey. This whole royal game is most interesting. Lloyd George and H.H. Asquith and John Morley were there, all in white knee breeches of silk, and swords and most gaudy coats--these that are the radicals of the Kingdom, in literature and in action. Veterans of Indian and South African wars stood on either side of every door and of every stairway, dressed as Sir Walter Raleigh dressed, like so many statues, never blinking an eye. Every person in the company is printed, in all the papers, with every t.i.tle he bears. Crowds lined the streets in front of the palace to see the carriages go in and to guess who was in each.
To-morrow the Diplomatic Corps calls on King Christian and to-morrow night King George commands us to attend the opera as his guests.
Whether it's the court, or the honours and the orders and all the social and imperial spoils, that keep the illusion up, or whether it is the Old World inability to change anything, you can't ever quite decide. In Defoe's time they put pots of herbs on the desks of every court in London to keep the plague off. The pots of herbs are yet put on every desk in every court room in London. Several centuries ago somebody tried to break into the Bank of England. A special guard was detached--a little company of soldiers--to stand watch at night. The bank has twice been moved and is now housed in a building that would stand a siege; but that guard, in the same uniform goes on duty every night. Nothing is ever abolished, nothing ever changed. On the anniversary of King Charles's execution, his statue in Trafalgar Square is covered with flowers.
Every month, too, new books appear about the mistresses of old kings--as if they, too, were of more than usual interest: I mean serious, historical books. From the King's palace to the humblest house I've been in, there are pictures of kings and queens. In every house, too (to show how nothing ever changes), the towels are folded in the same peculiar way. In every grate in the kingdom the coal fire is laid in precisely the same way. There is not a salesman in any shop on Piccadilly who does not, in the season, wear a long-tail coat. Everywhere they say a second grace at dinner--not at the end--but before the dessert, because two hundred years ago they dared not wait longer lest the parson be under the table: the grace is said to-day _before_ dessert! I tried three months to persuade my ”Boots” to leave off blacking the soles of my shoes under the instep. He simply couldn't do it. Every ”Boots” in the Kingdom does it. A man of learning had an article in an afternoon paper a few weeks ago which began thus: ”It is now universally conceded by the French and the Americans that the decimal system is a failure,” and he went on to concoct a scheme for our money that would be more ”rational” and ”historical.” In this hot debate about Ulster a frequent phrase used is, ”Let us see if we can't find the right formula to solve the difficulty”; their whole lives are formulas. Now may not all the honours and garters and thistles and O.M.'s and K.C.B.'s and all manner of gaudy sinecures be secure, only because they can't abolish anything? My servants sit at table in a certain order, and Mrs. Page's maid wouldn't yield her precedence to a mere housemaid for any mortal consideration--any more than a royal person of a certain rank would yield to one of a lower rank. A real democracy is as far off as doomsday. So you argue, till you remember that it is these same people who made human liberty possible--to a degree--and till you sit day after day and hear them in the House of Commons, mercilessly pounding one another. Then you are puzzled. Do they keep all these outworn things because they are incapable of changing anything, or do these outworn burdens keep them from becoming able to change anything? I daresay it works both ways.
Every venerable ruin, every outworn custom, makes the King more secure; and the King gives veneration to every ruin and keeps respect for every outworn custom.
Praise G.o.d for the Atlantic Ocean! It is the geographical foundation of our liberties. Yet, as I've often written, there are men here, real men, ruling men, mighty men, and a vigorous stock.
A civilization, especially an old civilization, isn't an easy nut to crack. But I notice that the men of vision keep their thought on us. They never forget that we are 100 million strong and that we dare do new things; and they dearly love to ask questions about--Rockefeller! Our power, our adaptability, our potential wealth they never forget. They'll hold fast to our favour for reasons of prudence as well as for reasons of kins.h.i.+p. And, whenever we choose to a.s.sume the leaders.h.i.+p of the world, they'll grant it--gradually--and follow loyally. They cannot become French, and they dislike the Germans. They must keep in our boat for safety as well as for comfort.
Yours heartily, WALTER H. PAGE.
The following extracts are made from other letters written at this time:
. . . To-night I had a long talk with the d.u.c.h.ess of X, a kindly woman who spends much time and money in the most helpful ”uplift” work; that's the kind of woman she is.
Now she and the Duke are invited to dine at the French Amba.s.sador's to-morrow night. ”If the Duke went into any house where there was any member of this Government,” said she, ”he'd turn and walk out again. We thought we'd better find out who the French Amba.s.sador's guests are. We didn't wish to ask him nor to have correspondence about it. Therefore the Duke sent his Secretary quietly to ask the Amba.s.sador's Secretary--before we accepted.”
This is now a common occurrence. We had Sir Edward Grey to dinner a little while ago and we had to make sure we had no Tory guests that night.
This same d.u.c.h.ess of X sat in the Peeresses' gallery of the House of Lords to-night till 7 o'clock. ”I had to sit in plain sight of the wives of two members of the Cabinet and of the wife and daughter of the Prime Minister. I used to know them,” she said, ”and it was embarra.s.sing.”
Thus the revolution proceeds. For that's what it is.
. . . On the other hand the existing order is the most skilfully devised machinery for perpetuating itself that has ever grown up among civilized men. Did you ever see a London directory? It hasn't names alphabetically; but one section is ”Tradesmen,” another ”The City,”
etc., etc., and another ”The Court.” Any one who has ever been presented at Court is in the ”Court” section, and you must sometimes look in several sections to find a man. Yet everybody so values these distinctions that n.o.body complains of the inconvenience. When the Liberal party makes Liberals Peers in order to have Liberals in the House of Lords, lo! they soon turn Conservative after they get there.
The system perpetuates itself and stifles the natural desire for change that most men in a state of nature instinctively desire in order to a.s.sert their own personalities. . . .
. . . All this social life which engages us at this particular season, sets a man to thinking. The ma.s.s of the people are very slow--almost dull; and the privileged are most firmly entrenched. The really alert people are the aristocracy. They see the drift of events. ”What is the pleasantest part of your country to live in?” Dowager Lady X asked me on Sunday, more than half in earnest. ”My husband's ancestors sat in the House of Lords for six hundred years. My son sits there now--a dummy.
They have taken all power from the Lords; they are taxing us out of our lands; they are saving the monarchy for destruction last. England is of the past--all is going. G.o.d knows what is coming.” . . .