seditious emblems and inscriptions…
In some manner we shall have to come out of India. We have had our
chance, and we have demonstrated nothing but the appalling dulness
of our national imagination. We are not good enough to do anything
with India. Codger and Flack, and Gates and Dayton, Cladingbowl in
the club, and the HOME CHURCHMAN in the home, cant about
"character," worship of strenuous force and contempt of truth; for
the sake of such men and things as these, we must abandon in fact,
if not in appearance, that empty domination. Had we great schools
and a powerful teaching, could we boast great men, had we the spirit
of truth and creation in our lives, then indeed it might be
different. But a race that bears a sceptre must carry gifts to
justify it.
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 DE
FACTO will become the new "loyal Briton," and the democracy at home
will be invited to celebrate our recession-triumphantly. Iam no
believer in the imminent dissolution of our Empire; Iam 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 I
couldn'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