All Things Considered
most ordinary men know what is happening; it is kept up precisely
because most ordinary men do not know what is happening. The ordinary
curtain of decorum covers normal proceedings. But no one will say that
being bribed is a normal proceeding.
And if we apply the third test to this problem of political secrecy,
the case is even clearer and even more funny. Surely no one will say
that the purchase of peerages and such things are kept secret because
they are so light and impulsive and unimportant that they must be
matters of individual fancy. A child sees a flower and for the first
time feels inclined to pick it. But surely no one will say that a
brewer sees a coronet and for the first time suddenly thinks that he
would like to be a peer. The child’s impulse need not be explained to
the police, for the simple reason that it could not be explained to
anybody. But does any one believe that the laborious political
ambitions of modern commercial men ever have this airy and
incommunicable character? A man lying on the beach may throw stones
into the sea without any particular reason. But does any one believe
that the brewer throws bags of gold into the party funds without any
particular reason? This theory of the secrecy of political money must
also be regretfully abandoned; and with it the two other possible
excuses as well. This secrecy is one which cannot be justified as a
sensational joke nor as a common human freemasonry, nor as an
indescribable personal whim. Strangely enough, indeed, it violates all
three conditions and classes at once. It is not hidden in order to be
revealed: it is hidden in order to be hidden. It is not kept secret
because it is a common secret of mankind, but because mankind must not
get hold of it. And it is not kept secret because it is too unimportant
to be told, but because it is much too important to bear telling. In
short, the thing we have is the real and perhaps rare political
phenomenon of an occult government. We have an exoteric and an esoteric
doctrine. England is really ruled by priestcraft, but not by priests.
We have in this country all that has ever been alleged against the evil
side of religion; the peculiar class with privileges, the sacred words
that are unpronounceable; the important things known only to the few.
In fact we lack nothing except the religion.
EDWARD VII. AND SCOTLAND
I have received a serious, and to me, at any rate, an impressive
remonstrance from the Scottish Patriotic Association. It appears that I
recently referred to Edward VII. of Great Britain and Ireland, King,
Defender of the Faith, under the horrible description of the King of
England. The Scottish Patriotic Association draws my attention to the
fact that by the provisions of the Act of Union, and the tradition of
nationality, the monarch should be referred to as the King of Britain.
The blow thus struck at me is particularly wounding because it is
particularly unjust. I believe in the reality of the independent
nationalities under the British Crown much more passionately and
positively than any other educated Englishman of my acquaintance
believes in it. I am quite certain that Scotland is a nation; I am
quite certain that nationality is the key of Scotland; I am quite
certain that all our success with Scotland has been due to the fact
that we have in spirit treated it as a nation. I am quite certain that
Ireland is a nation; I am quite certain that nationality is the key to
Ireland; I am quite certain that all our failure in Ireland arose from
the fact that we would not in spirit treat it as a nation. It would be
difficult to find, even among the innumerable examples that exist, a
stronger example of the immensely superior importance of sentiment to
what is called practicality than this case of the two sister nations.
It is not that we have encouraged a Scotchman to be rich; it is not
that we have encouraged a Scotchman to be active; it is not that we
have encouraged a Scotchman to be free. It is that we have quite
definitely encouraged a Scotchman to be Scotch.
A vague, but vivid impression was received from all our writers of
history, philosophy, and rhetoric that the Scottish element was
something really valuable in itself, was something which even
Englishmen were forced to recognise and respect. If we ever admitted
the beauty of Ireland, it was as something which might be loved by an
Englishman but which could hardly be respected even by an Irishman. A
Scotchman might be proud of Scotland; it was enough for an Irishman
that he could be fond of Ireland. Our success with the two nations has
been exactly proportioned to our encouragement of their independent
national emotion; the one that we would not treat nationally has alone
produced Nationalists. The one nation that we would not recognise as a
nation in theory is the one that we have been forced to recognise as a
nation in arms. The Scottish Patriotic Association has no need to draw
my attention to the importance of the separate national sentiment or
the need of keeping the Border as a sacred line. The case is quite
sufficiently proved by the positive history of Scotland. The place of
Scottish loyalty to England has been taken by English admiration of
Scotland. They do not need to envy us our titular leadership, when we
seem to envy them their separation.
I wish to make very clear my entire sympathy with the national
sentiment of the Scottish Patriotic Association. But I wish also to
make clear this very enlightening comparison between the fate of Scotch
and of Irish patriotism. In life it is always the little facts that
express the large emotions, and if the English once respected Ireland
as they respect Scotland, it would come out in a hundred small ways.
For instance, there are crack regiments in the British Army which wear
the kilt—the kilt which, as Macaulay says with perfect truth, was
regarded by nine Scotchmen out of ten as the dress of a thief. The
Highland officers carry a silver-hilted version of the old barbarous
Gaelic broadsword with a basket-hilt, which split the skulls of so many
English soldiers at Killiecrankie and Prestonpans. When you have a
regiment of men in the British Army carrying ornamental silver
shillelaghs you will have done the same thing for Ireland, and not
before—or when you mention Brian Boru with the same intonation as
Bruce.
Let me be considered therefore to have made quite clear that I believe
with a quite special intensity in the independent consideration of
Scotland and Ireland as apart from England. I believe that, in the
proper sense of the words, Scotland is an independent nation, even if
Edward VII. is the King of Scotland. I believe that, in the proper
sense of words, Ireland is an independent nation, even if Edward VII.
is King of Ireland. But the fact is that I have an even bolder and
wilder belief than either of these. I believe that England is an
independent nation. I believe that England also has its independent
colour and history, and meaning. I believe that England could produce
costumes quite as queer as the kilt; I believe that England has heroes
fully as untranslateable as Brian Boru, and consequently I believe that
Edward VII. is, among his innumerable other functions, really King of
England. If my Scotch friends insist, let us call it one of his quite
obscure, unpopular, and minor titles; one of his relaxations. A little
while ago he was Duke of Cornwall; but for a family accident he might
still have been King of Hanover. Nor do I think that we should blame
the simple Cornishmen if they spoke of him in a rhetorical moment by
his Cornish title, nor the well-meaning Hanoverians if they classed him
with Hanoverian Princes.
Now it so happens that in the passage complained of I said the King of
England merely because I meant the King of England. I was speaking
strictly and especially of English Kings, of Kings in the tradition of
the old Kings of England. I wrote as an English nationalist keenly
conscious of the sacred boundary of the Tweed that keeps (or used to
keep) our ancient enemies at bay. I wrote as an English nationalist
resolved for one wild moment to throw off the tyranny of the Scotch and
Irish who govern and oppress my country. I felt that England was at
least spiritually guarded against these surrounding nationalities. I
dreamed that the Tweed was guarded by the ghosts of Scropes and Percys;
I dreamed that St. George’s Channel was guarded by St. George. And in
this insular security I spoke deliberately and specifically of the King
of England, of the representative of the Tudors and Plantagenets. It is
true that the two Kings of England, of whom I especially spoke, Charles
II. and George III., had both an alien origin, not very recent and not
very remote. Charles II. came of a family originally Scotch. George
III. came of a family originally German. But the same, so far as that
goes, could be said of the English royal houses when England stood
quite alone. The Plantagenets were originally a French family. The
Tudors were originally a Welsh family. But I was not talking of the
amount of English sentiment in the English Kings. I was talking of the
amount of English sentiment in the English treatment and popularity of
the English Kings. With that Ireland and Scotland have nothing whatever
to do.
Charles II. may, for all I know, have not only been King of Scotland;
he may, by virtue of his temper and ancestry, have been a Scotch King
of Scotland. There was something Scotch about his combination of
clear-headedness with sensuality. There was something Scotch about his
combination of doing what he liked with knowing what he was doing. But
I was not talking of the personality of Charles, which may have been
Scotch. I was talking of the popularity of Charles, which was certainly
English. One thing is quite certain: whether or no he ever ceased to be
a Scotch man, he ceased as soon as he conveniently could to be a Scotch
King. He had actually tried the experiment of being a national ruler
north of the Tweed, and his people liked him as little as he liked
them. Of Presbyterianism, of the Scottish religion, he left on record
the exquisitely English judgment that it was “no religion for a
gentleman.” His popularity then was purely English; his royalty was
purely English; and I was using the words with the utmost narrowness
and deliberation when I spoke of this particular popularity and royalty
as the popularity and royalty of a King of England. I said of the
English people specially that they like to pick up the King’s crown
when he has dropped it. I do not feel at all sure that this does apply
to the Scotch or the Irish. I think that the Irish would knock his
crown off for him. I think that the Scotch would keep it for him after
they had picked it up.
For my part, I should be inclined to adopt quite the opposite method of
asserting nationality. Why should good Scotch nationalists call Edward
VII. the King of Britain? They ought to call him King Edward I. of
Scotland. What is Britain? Where is Britain? There is no such place.
There never was a nation of Britain; there never was a King of Britain;
unless perhaps Vortigern or Uther Pendragon had a taste for the title.
If we are to develop our Monarchy, I should be altogether in favour of
developing it along the line of local patriotism and of local
proprietorship in the King. I think that the Londoners ought to call
him the King of London, and the Liverpudlians ought to call him the
King of Liverpool. I do not go so far as to say that the people of
Birmingham ought to call Edward VII. the King of Birmingham; for that
would be high treason to a holier and more established power. But I
think we might read in the papers: “The King of Brighton left Brighton