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diff --git a/old/61758-0.txt b/old/61758-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e8966c5..0000000 --- a/old/61758-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4322 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Irish Impressions, by G. K. Chesterton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: Irish Impressions - -Author: G. K. Chesterton - -Release Date: April 5, 2020 [EBook #61758] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IRISH IMPRESSIONS *** - - - - -Produced by Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - -IRISH IMPRESSIONS - - - - - THE HISTORY OF - RUHLEBEN - BY JOSEPH POWELL (CAPTAIN OF THE CAMP) - AND FRANCIS GRIBBLE 10/6 _net_ - - TRUE LOVE - BY ALLAN MONKHOUSE 7/- _net_ - - THE YOUNG PHYSICIAN - BY FRANCIS BRETT YOUNG 7/- _net_ - - A GARDEN OF PEACE - BY F. LITTLEMORE 10/6 _net_ - - NEW WINE - BY AGNES AND EGERTON CASTLE 7/- _net_ - - MADELEINE - BY HOPE MIRRLEES 7/- _net_ - - - COLLINS LONDON - - - - - IRISH IMPRESSIONS - - _by_ G. K. CHESTERTON - - [Illustration] - - LONDON: 48 PALL MALL - - W. COLLINS SONS & CO. LTD. - - GLASGOW MELBOURNE AUCKLAND - - - - -Copyright - - First Impression, November, 1919 - Second ” January, 1920 - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAP. PAGE - - I. TWO STONES IN A SQUARE 1 - - II. THE ROOT OF REALITY 17 - - III. THE FAMILY AND THE FEUD 45 - - IV. THE PARADOX OF LABOUR 67 - - V. THE ENGLISHMAN IN IRELAND 93 - - VI. THE MISTAKE OF ENGLAND 115 - - VII. THE MISTAKE OF IRELAND 141 - - VIII. AN EXAMPLE AND A QUESTION 173 - - IX. BELFAST AND THE RELIGIOUS PROBLEM 207 - - - - -CHAPTER I - - - - -TWO STONES IN A SQUARE - - -When I had for the first time crossed St George’s Channel, and for the -first time stepped out of a Dublin hotel on to St Stephen’s Green, -the first of all my impressions was that of a particular statue, or -rather portion of a statue. I left many traditional mysteries already -in my track, but they did not trouble me as did this random glimpse or -vision. I have never understood why the Channel is called St George’s -Channel; it would seem more natural to call it St Patrick’s Channel -since the great missionary did almost certainly cross that unquiet -sea and look up at those mysterious mountains. And though I should be -enchanted, in an abstract artistic sense, to imagine St George sailing -towards the sunset, flying the silver and scarlet colours of his -cross, I cannot in fact regard that journey as the most fortunate of -the adventures of that flag. Nor, for that matter, do I know why the -Green should be called St Stephen’s Green, nor why the parliamentary -enclosure at Westminster is also connected with the first of the -martyrs; unless it be because St Stephen was killed with stones. The -stones, piled together to make modern political buildings, might -perhaps be regarded as a cairn, or heap of missiles, marking the place -of the murder of a witness to the truth. And while it seems unlikely -that St Stephen was pelted with statues as well as stones, there are -undoubtedly statues that might well kill a Christian at sight. Among -these graven stones, from which the saints suffer, I should certainly -include some of those figures in frock coats standing opposite St -Stephen’s Westminster. There are many such statues in Dublin also; but -the one with which I am concerned was at first partially veiled from -me. And the veil was at least as symbolic as the vision. - -I saw what seemed the crooked hind legs of a horse on a pedestal and -deduced an equestrian statue, in the somewhat bloated fashion of the -early eighteenth century equestrian statues. But the figure, from where -I stood, was wholly hidden in the tops of trees growing round it in a -ring; masking it with leafy curtains or draping it with leafy banners. -But they were green banners, that waved and glittered all about it in -the sunlight; and the face they hid was the face of an English king. Or -rather, to speak more correctly, a German king. - -When laws can stay ... it was impossible that an old rhyme should not -run in my head, and words that appealed to the everlasting revolt -of the green things of the earth.... ‘And when the leaves in summer -time their colour dare not show.’ The rhyme seemed to reach me out of -remote times and find arresting fulfilment, like a prophecy; it was -impossible not to feel that I had seen an omen. I was conscious vaguely -of a vision of green garlands hung on gray stone; and the wreaths were -living and growing, and the stone was dead. Something in the simple -substances and elemental colours, in the white sunlight, and the sombre -and even secret image held the mind for a moment in the midst of all -the moving city, like a sign given in a dream. I was told that the -figure was that of one of the first Georges; but indeed I seemed to -know already that it was the White Horse of Hanover that had thus grown -gray with Irish weather or green with Irish foliage. I knew only too -well, already, that the George who had really crossed the Channel was -not the saint. This was one of those German princes whom the English -aristocracy used when it made the English domestic polity aristocratic -and the English foreign policy German. Those Englishmen who think the -Irish are pro-German, or those Irishmen who think the Irish ought to -be pro-German, would presumably expect the Dublin populace to have -hung the statue of this German deliverer with national flowers and -nationalist flags. For some reason, however, I found no traces of Irish -tributes round the pedestal of the Teutonic horsemen. I wondered how -many people in the last fifty years have ever cared about it, or even -been conscious of their own carelessness. I wonder how many have ever -troubled to look at it, or even troubled not to look at it. If it -fell down, I wonder whether anybody would put it up again. I do not -know; I only know that Irish gardeners, or some such Irish humorists, -had planted trees in a ring round that prancing equestrian figure; -trees that had, so to speak, sprung up and choked him, making him more -unrecognisable than a Jack-in-the-Green. Jack or George had vanished; -but the Green remained. - -About a stone’s-throw from this calamity in stone there stood, at -the corner of a gorgeously coloured flower-walk, a bust evidently by -a modern sculptor, with modern symbolic ornament surmounted by the -fine falcon face of the poet Mangan, who dreamed and drank and died, -a thoughtless and thriftless outcast, in the darkest of the Dublin -streets around that place. This individual Irishman really was what we -were told that all Irishmen were, hopeless, heedless, irresponsible, -impossible, a tragedy of failure. And yet it seemed to be his head -that was lifted and not hidden; the gay flowers only showed up this -graven image as the green leaves shut out the other; everything around -him seemed bright and busy, and told rather of a new time. It was -clear that modern men did stop to look at _him_; indeed modern men had -stayed there long enough to make him a monument. It was almost certain -that if his monument fell down it really would be put up again. I -think it very likely there would be competition among advanced modern -artistic schools of admitted crankiness and unimpeachable lunacy; -that somebody would want to cut out a Cubist Mangan in a style less -of stone than of bricks; or to set up a Vorticist Mangan, like a -frozen whirlpool, to terrify the children playing in that flowery -lane. For when I afterwards went into the Dublin Art Club, or mixed -generally in the stimulating society of the intellectuals of the -Irish capital, I found a multitude of things which moved both my -admiration and amusement. Perhaps the best thing of all was that it -was the one society that I have seen where the intellectuals were -intellectual. But nothing pleased me more than the fact that even -Irish art was taken with a certain Irish pugnacity; as if there could -be street fights about æsthetics as there once were about theology. -I could almost imagine an appeal for pikes to settle a point about -art needlework, or a suggestion of dying on the barricades for a -difference about bookbinding. And I could still more easily imagine -a sort of ultra-civilised civil war round the half-restored bust of -poor Mangan. But it was in a yet plainer and more popular sense that -I felt that bust to be the sign of a new world, where the statue of -Royal George was only the ruin of an old one. And though I have since -seen many much more complex, and many decidedly contradictory things in -Ireland, the allegory of those two stone images in that public garden -has remained in my memory, and has not been reversed. The Glorious -Revolution, the great Protestant Deliverer, the Hanoverian Succession, -these things were the very pageant and apotheosis of success. The -Whig aristocrat was not merely victorious; it was as a victor that he -asked for victory. The thing was fully expressed in all the florid and -insolent statuary of the period, in all those tumid horsemen in Roman -uniform and rococo periwigs shown as prancing in perpetual motion down -shouting streets to their triumphs; only to-day the streets are empty -and silent, and the horse stands still. Of such a kind was the imperial -figure round which the ring of trees had risen, like great green fans -to soothe a sultan or great green curtains to guard him. But it was in -a sort of mockery that his pavilion was thus painted with the colour -of his conquered enemies. For the king was dead behind his curtains, -his voice will be heard no more, and no man will even wish to hear it, -while the world endures. The dynastic eighteenth century is dead if -anything is dead; and these idols at least are only stones. But only -a few yards away, the stone that the builders rejected is really the -head of a corner, standing at the corner of a new pathway, coloured and -crowded with children and with flowers. - -That, I suspect, is the paradox of Ireland in the modern world. -Everything that was thought progressive as a prancing horse has come to -a standstill. Everything that was thought decadent as a dying drunkard -has risen from the dead. All that seemed to have reached a _cul de sac_ -has turned the corner, and stands at the opening of a new road. All -that thought itself on a pedestal has found itself up a tree. And that -is why those two chance stones seem to me to stand like graven images -on either side of the gateway by which a man enters Ireland. And yet I -had not left the same small enclosure till I had seen one other sight -which was even more symbolic than the flowers near the foot of the -poet’s pedestal. A few yards beyond the Mangan bust was a model plot of -vegetables, like a kitchen garden with no kitchen or house attached -to it, planted out in a patchwork of potatoes, cabbages, and turnips, -to prove how much could be done with an acre. And I realised as in a -vision that all over the new Ireland that patch is repeated like a -pattern; and where there is a real kitchen garden there is also a real -kitchen; and it is not a communal kitchen. It is more typical even than -the poet and the flowers; for these flowers are also food, and this -poetry is also property; property which, when properly distributed, -is the poetry of the average man. It was only afterwards that I could -realise all the realities to which this accident corresponded; but even -this little public experiment, at the first glance, had something of -the meaning of a public monument. It was this which the earth itself -had reared against the monstrous image of the German monarch; and I -might have called this chapter Cabbages and Kings. - -My life is passed in making bad jokes and seeing them turn into true -prophecies. In the little town in South Bucks, where I live, I -remember some talk of appropriate ceremonies in connection with the -work of sending vegetables to the Fleet. There was a suggestion that -some proceedings should end with ‘God Save the King,’ an amendment by -some one (of a more naval turn of mind) to substitute ‘Rule Britannia’; -and the opposition of one individual, claiming to be of Irish -extraction, who loudly refused to lend a voice to either. Whatever I -retain, in such rural scenes, of the frivolity of Fleet Street led -me to suggest that we could all join in singing ‘The Wearing of the -Greens.’ But I have since discovered that this remark, like other -typical utterances of the village idiot, was in truth inspired; and -was a revelation and a vision from across the sea, a vision of what -was really being done, not by the village idiots but by the village -wise men. For the whole miracle of modern Ireland might well be summed -up in the simple change from the word ‘green’ to the word ‘greens.’ -Nor would it be true to say that the first is poetical and the second -practical. For a green tree is quite as poetical as a green flag; and -no one in touch with history doubts that the waving of the green flag -has been very useful to the growing of the green tree. But I shall -have to touch upon all such controversial topics later, for those -to whom such statements are still controversial. Here I would only -begin by recording a first impression as vividly coloured and patchy -as a modernist picture; a square of green things growing where they -are least expected; the new vision of Ireland. The discovery, for -most Englishmen, will be like touching the trees of a faded tapestry, -and finding the forest alive and full of birds. It will be as if, on -some dry urn or dreary column, figures which had already begun to -crumble magically began to move and dance. For culture as well as mere -caddishness assumed the decay of these Celtic or Catholic things; there -were artists sketching the ruins as well as trippers picnicking in -them; and it was not the only evidence that a final silence had fallen -on the harp of Tara, that it did not play ‘Tararaboomdeay.’ Englishmen -believed in Irish decay even when they were large-minded enough to -lament it. It might be said that those who were most penitent because -the thing was murdered, were most convinced that it was killed. The -meaning of these green and solid things before me is that it is not a -ghost that has risen from the grave. A flower, like a flag, might be -little more than a ghost; but a fruit has that sacramental solidity -which in all mythologies belongs not to a ghost, but to a god. This -sight of things sustaining, and a beauty that nourishes and does not -merely charm, was a premonition of practicality in the miracle of -modern Ireland. It is a miracle more marvellous than the resurrection -of the dead. It is the resurrection of the body. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - - - -THE ROOT OF REALITY - - -The only excuse of literature is to make things new; and the chief -misfortune of journalism is that it has to make them old. What is -hurried has to be hackneyed. Suppose a man has to write on a particular -subject, let us say America; if he has a day to do it in, it is -possible that, in the last afterglow of sunset, he may have discovered -at least one thing which he himself really thinks about America. It is -conceivable that somewhere under the evening star he may have a new -idea, even about the new world. If he has only half an hour in which to -write, he will just have time to consult an encyclopædia and vaguely -remember the latest leading articles. The encyclopædia will be only -about a decade out of date; the leading articles will be æons out of -date--having been written under similar conditions of modern rush. If -he has only a quarter of an hour in which to write about America, he -may be driven in mere delirium and madness to call her his Gigantic -Daughter in the West, to talk of the feasibility of Hands Across the -Sea, or even to call himself an Anglo-Saxon, when he might as well -call himself a Jute. But whatever debasing banality be the effect of -business scurry in criticism, it is but one example of a truth that can -be tested in twenty fields of experience. If a man must get to Brighton -as quickly as possible, he can get there quickest by travelling on -rigid rails on a recognised route. If he has time and money for -motoring, he will still use public roads; but he will be surprised to -find how many public roads look as new and quiet as private roads. -If he has time enough to walk, he may find for himself a string of -fresh footpaths, each one a fairy-tale. This law of the leisure needed -for the awakening of wonder applies, indeed, to things superficially -familiar as well as to things superficially fresh. The chief case for -old enclosures and boundaries is that they enclose a space in which -new things can always be found later, like live fish within the four -corners of a net. The chief charm of having a home that is secure is -having leisure to feel it as strange. - -I have often done the little I could to correct the stale trick of -taking things for granted: all the more because it is not even taking -them for granted. It is taking them without gratitude; that is, -emphatically as not granted. Even one’s own front door, released by -one’s own latchkey, should not only open inward on things familiar, -but outward on things unknown. Even one’s own domestic fireside should -be wild as well as domesticated; for nothing could be wilder than -fire. But if this light of the higher ignorance should shine even on -familiar places, it should naturally shine most clearly on the roads of -a strange land. It would be well if a man could enter Ireland really -knowing that he knows nothing about Ireland; if possible, not even the -name of Ireland. The misfortune is that most men know the name too -well, and the thing too little. This book would probably be a better -book, as well as a better joke, if I were to call the island throughout -by some name like Atlantis, and only reveal on the last page that I -was referring to Ireland. Englishmen would see a situation of great -interest, objects with which they could feel considerable sympathy, and -opportunities of which they might take considerable advantage, if only -they would really look at the place plain and straight, as they would -at some entirely new island, with an entirely new name, discovered -by that seafaring adventure which is the real romance of England. In -short, the Englishman might do something with it, if he would only -treat it as an object in front of him, and not as a subject or story -left behind him. There will be occasion later to say all that should -be said of the need of studying the Irish story. But the Irish story -is one thing and what is called the Irish Question quite another; and -in a purely practical sense the best thing the stranger can do is to -forget the Irish Question and look at the Irish. If he looked at them -simply and steadily, as he would look at the natives of an entirely new -nation with a new name, he would become conscious of a very strange -but entirely solid fact. He would become conscious of it, as a man in -a fairy tale might become conscious that he had crossed the border of -fairyland, by such a trifle as a talking cow or a haystack walking -about on legs. - -For the Irish Question has never been discussed in England. Men have -discussed Home Rule; but those who advocated it most warmly, and as -I think wisely, did not even know what the Irish meant by Home. Men -have talked about Unionism; but they have never even dared to propose -Union. A Unionist ought to mean a man who is not even conscious of the -boundary of the two countries; who can walk across the frontier of -fairyland, and not even notice the walking haystack. As a fact, the -Unionist always shoots at the haystack; though he never hits it. But -the limitation is not limited to Unionists; as I have already said, -the English Radicals have been quite as incapable of going to the root -of the matter. Half the case for Home Rule was that Ireland could not -be trusted to the English Home Rulers. They also, to recur to the -parable, have been unable to take the talking cow by the horns; for I -need hardly say that the talking cow is an Irish bull. What has been -the matter with their Irish politics was simply that they were English -politics. They discussed the Irish Question; but they never seriously -contemplated the Irish Answer. That is, the Liberal was content with -the negative truth, that the Irish should not be prevented from having -the sort of law they liked. But the Liberal seldom faced the positive -truth, about what sort of law they would like. He instinctively avoided -the very imagination of this; for the simple reason that the law the -Irish would like is as remote from what is called Liberal as from -what is called Unionist. Nor has the Liberal ever embraced it in his -broadest liberality, nor the Unionist ever absorbed it into his most -complete unification. It remains outside us altogether, a thing to be -stared at like a fairy cow; and by far the wisest English visitor is -he who will simply stare at it. Sooner or later he will see what it -means; which is simply this: that whether it be a case for coercion or -emancipation (and it might be used either way) the fact is that a free -Ireland would not only _not_ be what we call lawless, but might not -even be what we call free. So far from being an anarchy, it would be an -orderly and even conservative civilisation--like the Chinese. But it -would be a civilisation so fundamentally different from our own, that -our own Liberals would differ from it as much as our own Conservatives. -The fair question for an Englishman is whether that fundamental -difference would make division dangerous; it has already made union -impossible. Now in turning over these notes of so brief a visit, -suffering from all the stale scurry of my journalistic trade, I have -been in doubt between a chronological and a logical order of events. -But I have decided in favour of logic, of the high light that really -revealed the picture, and by which I firmly believe that everything -else should be seen. And if any one were to ask me what was the sight -that struck me most in Ireland, both as strange and as significant, I -should know what to reply. I saw it long after I had seen the Irish -cities, had felt something of the brilliant bitterness of Dublin and -the stagnant optimism of Belfast; but I put it first here because I -am certain that without it all the rest is meaningless; that it lies -behind all politics, enormous and silent, as the great hills lie beyond -Dublin. - -I was moving in a hired motor down a road in the North-West, towards -the middle of that rainy autumn. I was not moving very fast; because -the progress was slowed down to a solemn procession by crowds of -families with their cattle and live stock going to the market beyond; -which things also are an allegory. But what struck my mind and stuck in -it was this; that all down one side of the road, as far as we went, -the harvest was gathered in neatly and safely; and all down the other -side of the road it was rotting in the rain. Now the side where it -was safe was a string of small plots worked by peasant proprietors, -as petty by our standards as a row of the cheapest villas. The land -on which all the harvest was wasted was the land of a large modern -estate. I asked why the landlord was later with his harvesting than -the peasants; and I was told rather vaguely that there had been -strikes and similar labour troubles. I did not go into the rights -of the matter; but the point here is that, whatever they were, the -moral is the same. You may curse the cruel Capitalist landlord or you -may rave at the ruffianly Bolshevist strikers; but you must admit -that between them they had produced a stoppage, which the peasant -proprietorship a few yards off did not produce. You might support -either where they conflicted, but you could not deny the sense in -which they had combined, and combined to prevent what a few rustics -across the road could combine to produce. For all that we in England -agree about and disagree about, all for which we fight and all from -which we differ, our darkness and our light, our heaven and hell, were -there on the left side of the road. On the right side of the road lay -something so different that we do not even differ from it. It may be -that Trusts are rising like towers of gold and iron, overshadowing the -earth and shutting out the sun; but they are only rising on the left -side of the road. It may be that Trade Unions are laying labyrinths -of international insurrection, cellars stored with the dynamite of a -merely destructive democracy; but all that international maze lies to -the left side of the road. Employment and unemployment are there; Marx -and the Manchester School are there. The left side of the road may even -go through amazing transformations of its own; its story may stride -across abysses of anarchy; but it will never step across the road. -The landlord’s estate may become a sort of Morris Utopia, organised -communally by Socialists, or more probably by Guild Socialists. It may -(as I fear is much more likely) pass through the stage of an employer’s -model village to the condition of an old pagan slave-estate. But the -peasants across the road would not only refuse the Servile State, but -would quite as resolutely refuse the Utopia. Europe may seem to be -torn from end to end by the blast of a Bolshevist trumpet, sundering -the bourgeois from the proletarian; but the peasant across the road is -neither a bourgeois nor a proletarian. England may seem to be rent by -an irreconcilable rivalry between Capital and Labour; but the peasant -across the road is both a capitalist and a labourer. He is several -other curious things; including the man who got his crops in first; who -was literally first in the field. - -To an Englishman, especially a Londoner, this was like walking to -the corner of a London street and finding the policeman in rags, -with a patch on his trousers and a smudge on his face; but the -crossing-sweeper wearing a single eyeglass and a suit fresh from a -West End tailor. In fact, it was nearly as surprising as a walking -haystack or a talking cow. What was generally dingy, dilatory, and -down-at-heels was here comparatively tidy and timely; what was orderly -and organised was belated and abandoned. For it must be sharply -realised that the peasant proprietors succeeded here, not only because -they were really proprietors, but because they were only peasants. -It was _because_ they were on a small scale that they were a great -success. It was because they were too poor to have servants that -they grew rich in spite of strikers. It was, so far as it went, the -flattest possible contradiction to all that is said in England, both -by Collectivists and Capitalists, about the efficiency of the great -organisation. For in so far as it had failed, it had actually failed, -not only through being great, but through being organised. On the left -side of the road the big machine had stopped working, _because_ it was -a big machine. The small men were still working, because they were -not machines. Such were the strange relations of the two things, that -the stars in their courses fought against Capitalism; that the very -clouds rolling over that rocky valley warred for its pigmies against -its giants. The rain falls alike on the just and the unjust; yet here -it had not fallen alike on the rich and poor. It had fallen to the -destruction of the rich. - -Now I do, as a point of personal opinion, believe that the right side -of the road was really the right side of the road. That is, I believe -it represented the right side of the question; that these little -pottering peasants had got hold of the true secret, which is missed -both by Capitalism and Collectivism. But I am not here urging my own -preferences on my own countrymen; and I am not concerned primarily to -point out that this is an argument against Capitalism and Collectivism. -What I do point out is that it is the fundamental argument against -Unionism. Perhaps it is, on that ultimate level, the only argument -against Unionism; which is probably why it is never used against -Unionists. I mean, of course, that it was never really used against -English Unionists by English Home Rulers, in the recriminations of that -Irish Question which was really an English Question. The essential -demanded of that question was merely that it should be an open -question; a thing rather like an open wound. Modern industrial society -is fond of problems, and therefore not at all fond of solutions. A -consideration of those who really have understood this fundamental fact -will be sufficient to show how confusing and useless are the mere party -labels in the matter. George Wyndham was a Unionist who was deposed -because he was a Home Ruler. Sir Horace Plunkett is a Unionist who is -trusted because he is a Home Ruler. By far the most revolutionary piece -of Nationalism that was ever really effected for Ireland was effected -by Wyndham, who was an English Tory squire. And by far the most brutal -and brainless piece of Unionism that was ever imposed on Ireland was -imposed in the name of the Radical theory of Free Trade, when the -Irish juries brought in verdicts of wilful murder against Lord John -Russell. I say this to show that my sense of a reality is quite apart -from the personal accident that I have myself always been a Radical -in English politics, as well as a Home Ruler in Irish politics. But I -say it even more in order to re-affirm that the English have first to -forget all their old formulæ and look at a new fact. It is not a new -fact; but it is new to them. - -To realise it we must not only go outside the British parties but -outside the British Empire, outside the very universe of the ordinary -Briton. The real question can be easily stated, for it is as simple -as it is large. What is going to happen to the peasantries of Europe, -or for that matter of the whole world? It would be far better, as I -have already suggested, if we could consider it as a new case of some -peasantry in Europe, or somewhere else in the world. It would be far -better if we ceased to talk of Ireland and Scotland, and began to -talk of Ireland and Serbia. Let us, for the sake of our own mental -composure, call this unfortunate people Slovenes. But let us realise -that these remote Slovenes are, by the testimony of every truthful -traveller, rooted in the habit of private property, and now ripening -into a considerable private prosperity. It will often be necessary to -remember that the Slovenes are Roman Catholics; and that, with that -impatient pugnacity which marks the Slovene temperament, they have -often employed violence, but always for the restoration of what they -regarded as a reasonable system of private property. Now in a hundred -determining districts, of which France is the most famous, this system -has prospered. It has its own faults as well as its own merits; but -it has prospered. What is going to happen to it? I will here confine -myself to saying with the most solid confidence what is not going to -happen to it. It is not going to be _really_ ruled by Socialists; and -it is not going to be really ruled by merchant princes, like those who -ruled Venice or like those who rule England. - -It is not merely that England ought not to rule Ireland but that -England cannot. It is not merely that Englishmen cannot rule Irishmen, -but that merchants cannot rule peasants. It is not so much that we have -dealt benefits to England and blows to Ireland. It is that our benefits -for England would be blows to Ireland. And this we already began to -admit in practice, before we had even dimly begun to conceive it in -theory. We do not merely admit it in special laws against Ireland like -the Coercion Acts, or special laws in favour of Ireland like the Land -Acts; it is admitted even more by specially exempting Ireland than by -specially studying Ireland. In other words, whatever else the Unionists -want, they do not want to unite; they are not quite so mad as that. I -cannot myself conceive any purpose in having one parliament except to -pass one law; and one law for England and Ireland is simply something -that becomes more insanely impossible every day. If the two societies -were stationary, they would be sufficiently separate; but they are -both moving rapidly in opposite directions. England may be moving -towards a condition which some call Socialism and I call Slavery; -but whatever it is, Ireland is speeding farther and farther from it. -Whatever it is, the men who manage it will no more be able to manage a -European peasantry than the peasants in these mud cabins could manage -the Stock Exchange. All attempts, whether imperial or international, to -lump these peasants along with some large and shapeless thing called -Labour, are part of a cosmopolitan illusion which sees mankind as a -map. The world of the International is a pill, as round and as small. -It is true that all men want health; but it is certainly not true that -all men want the same medicine. Let us allow the cosmopolitan to survey -the world from China to Peru; but do not let us allow the chemist to -identify Chinese opium and Peruvian bark. - -My parallel about the Slovenes was only a fancy; yet I can give a -real parallel from the Slavs which is a fact. It was a fact from -my own experience in Ireland; and it exactly illustrates the real -international sympathies of peasants. Their internationalism has -nothing to do with the International. I had not been in Ireland many -hours when several people mentioned to me with considerable excitement -some news from the Continent. They were not, strange as it may seem, -dancing with joy over the disaster of Caporetto, or glowing with -admiration of the Crown Prince. Few really rejoiced in English defeats; -and none really rejoiced in German victories. It was news about the -Bolshevists; but it was not the news of how nobly they had given votes -to the Russian women, nor of how savagely they had fired bullets into -the Russian princesses. It was the news of a check to the Bolshevists; -but it was not a glorification of Kerensky or Korniloff, or any of the -newspaper heroes who seem to have satisfied us all, so long as their -names began with K and nobody knew anything about them. In short, it -was nothing that could be found in all our myriad newspaper articles -on the subject. I would give an educated Englishman a hundred guesses -about what it was; but even if he knew it he would not know what it -meant. - -It had appeared in the little paper about peasant produce so -successfully conducted by Mr George Russell, the admirable ‘A. E.,’ and -it was told me eagerly by the poet himself, by a learned and brilliant -Jesuit, and by several other people, as the great news from Europe. -It was simply the news that the Jewish Socialists of the Bolshevist -Government had been attempting to confiscate the peasants’ savings in -the co-operative banks; and had been forced to desist. And they spoke -of it as of a great battle won on the Danube or the Rhine. That is what -I mean when I say that these people are of a pattern and belong to a -system which cuts across all our own political divisions. They felt -themselves fighting the Socialist as fiercely as any Capitalist can -feel it. But they not only knew what they were fighting against, but -what they were fighting for; which is more than the Capitalist does. I -do not know how far modern Europe really shows a menace of Bolshevism, -or how far merely a panic of Capitalism. But I know that if any honest -resistance has to be offered to mere robbery, the resistance of Ireland -will be the most honest, and probably the most important. It may be -that international Israel will launch against us out of the East an -insane simplification of the unity of Man, as Islam once launched out -of the East an insane simplification of the unity of God. If it be so, -it is where property is well distributed that it will be well defended. -The post of honour will be with those who fight in very truth for their -own land. If ever there came such a drive of wild dervishes against us, -it would be the chariots and elephants of plutocracy that would roll in -confusion and rout; and the squares of the peasant infantry would stand. - -Anyhow, the first fact to realise is that we are dealing with a -European peasantry; and it would be really better, as I say, to think -of it first as a Continental peasantry. There are numberless important -inferences from this fact; but there is one point, politically -topical and urgent, on which I may well touch here. It will be well -to understand about this peasantry something that we generally -misunderstand, even about a Continental peasantry. English tourists -in France or Italy commonly make the mistake of supposing that the -people cheat, because the people bargain, or attempt to bargain. When -a peasant asks tenpence for something that is worth fourpence, the -tourist misunderstands the whole problem. He commonly solves it by -calling the man a thief and paying the tenpence. There are ten thousand -errors in this, beginning with the primary error of an oligarchy, of -treating a man as a servant when he feels more like a small squire. -The peasant does not choose to receive insults; but he never expected -to receive tenpence. A man who understood him would simply suggest -twopence, in a calm and courteous manner; and the two would eventually -meet in the middle at a perfectly just price. There would not be what -we call a fixed price at the beginning, but there would be a very -firmly fixed price at the end: that is, the bargain once made would be -a sacredly sealed contract. The peasant, so far from cheating, has his -own horror of cheating; and certainly his own fury at being cheated. -Now in the political bargain with the English, the Irish simply think -they have been cheated. They think Home Rule was stolen from them -_after_ the contract was sealed; and it will be hard for any one to -contradict them. If ‘_le Roi le veult_’ is not a sacred seal on a -contract, what is? The sentiment is stronger because the contract was a -compromise. Home Rule was the fourpence and not the tenpence; and, in -perfect loyalty to the peasant’s code of honour, they have now reverted -to the tenpence. The Irish have now returned in a reaction of anger to -their most extreme demands; _not_ because we denied what they demanded, -but because we denied what we accepted. As I shall have occasion to -note, there are other and wilder elements in the quarrel; but the -first fact to remember is that the quarrel began with a bargain, that -it will probably have to end with another bargain; and that it will -be a bargain with peasants. On the whole, in spite of abominable -blunders and bad faith, I think there is still a chance of bargaining, -but we must see that there is no chance of cheating. We may haggle -like peasants, and remember that their first offer is not necessarily -their last. But we must be as honest as peasants; and that is a hard -saying for politicians. The great Parnell, a squire who had many of the -qualities of a peasant (qualities the English so wildly misunderstood -as to think them English, when they were really very Irish) converted -his people from a Fenianism fiercer than Sinn Fein to a Home Rule more -moderate than that which any sane statesmanship would now offer to -Ireland. But the peasants trusted Parnell, not because they thought he -was asking for it, but because they thought he could get it. Whatever -we decide to give to Ireland, we must give it; it is now worse than -useless to promise it. I will say here, once and for all, the hardest -thing that an Englishman has to say of his impressions of another great -European people; that over all those hills and valleys our word is -wind, and our bond is waste paper. - -But, in any case, the peasantry remains: and the whole weight of the -matter is that it will remain. It is much more certain to remain than -any of the commercial or colonial systems that will have to bargain -with it. We may honestly think that the British Empire is both more -liberal and more lasting than the Austrian Empire, or other large -political combinations. But a combination like the Austrian Empire -could go to pieces, and ten such combinations could go to pieces, -before people like the Serbians ceased to desire to be peasants, and -to demand to be free peasants. And the British combination, precisely -because it is a combination and not a community, is in its nature more -lax and liable to real schism than this sort of community, which might -almost be called a communion. Any attack on it is like an attempt to -abolish grass; which is not only the symbol of it in the old national -song, but it is a very true symbol of it in any new philosophic -history; a symbol of its equality, its ubiquity, its multiplicity, and -its mighty power to return. To fight against grass is to fight against -God; we can only so mismanage our own city and our own citizenship that -the grass grows in our own streets. And even then it is our streets -that will be dead; and the grass will still be alive. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - - - -THE FAMILY AND THE FEUD - - -There was an old joke of my childhood, to the effect that men might -be grouped together with reference to their Christian names. I have -forgotten the cases then under consideration; but contemporary -examples would be sufficiently suggestive to-day. A ceremonial -brotherhood-in-arms between Father Bernard Vaughan and Mr Bernard Shaw -seems full of possibilities. I am faintly pleased with the fancy of Mr -Arnold Bennett endeavouring to extract the larger humanities of fiction -from the political differences of Mr Arnold White and Mr Arnold Lupton. -I should pass my own days in the exclusive society of Professor Gilbert -Murray and Sir Gilbert Parker; whom I can conceive as differing on -some points from each other, and on some points from me. Now there is -one odd thing to notice about this old joke; that it might have been -taken in a more serious spirit, though in a saner style, in a yet older -period. This fantasy of the Victorian Age might easily have been a -fact of the Middle Ages. There would have been nothing abnormal in the -moral atmosphere of mediævalism in some feast or pageant celebrating -the fellowship of men who had the same patron saint. It seems mad and -meaningless now, because the meaning of Christian names has been lost. -They have fallen into a kind of chaos and oblivion which is highly -typical of our time. I mean that there are still fashions in them, -but no longer reasons for them. For a fashion is a custom without a -cause. A fashion is a custom to which men cannot get accustomed; simply -because it is without a cause. That is why our industrial societies, -touching every topic from the cosmos to the coat-collars, are merely -swept by a succession of modes which are merely moods. They are customs -that fail to be customary. And so amid all our fashions in Christian -names, we have forgotten all that was meant by the custom of Christian -names. We have forgotten all the original facts about a Christian name; -but, above all, the fact that it was Christian. - -Now if we note this process going on in the world of London or -Liverpool, we shall see that it has already gone even farther and -fared even worse. The surname also is losing its root and therefore -its reason. The surname has become as solitary as a nickname. For it -might be argued that the first name is meant to be an individual and -even isolated thing; but the last name is certainly meant, by all -logic and history, to link a man with his human origins, habits, or -habitation. Historically, it was a word taken from the town he lived -in or the trade guild to which he belonged; legally it is still the -word on which all questions of legitimacy, succession, and testamentary -arrangements turn. It is meant to be the corporate name; in that sense -it is meant to be the impersonal name, as the other is meant to be the -personal name. Yet in the modern mode of industrialism, it is more and -more taken in a manner at once lonely and light. Any corporate social -system built upon it would seem as much of a joke as the joke about -Christian names with which I began. If it would seem odd to require a -Thomas to make friends with any other Thomas, it would appear almost as -perplexing to insist that any Thompson must love any other Thompson. It -may be that Sir Edward Henry, late of the Police Force, does not wish -to be confined to the society of Mr Edward Clodd. But would Sir Edward -Henry necessarily seek the society of Mr O. Henry, entertaining as that -society would be? Sir John Barker, founder of the great Kensington -emporium, need not specially seek out and embrace Mr John Masefield; -but need he, any more swiftly, precipitate himself into the arms of Mr -Granville Barker? This vista of varieties would lead us far; but it -is enough to notice, nonsense apart, that the most ordinary English -surnames have become unique in their social significance; they stand -for the man rather than the race or the origins. Even when they are -most common they are not communal. What we call the family name is not -now primarily the name of the family. The family itself, as a corporate -conception, has already faded into the background, and is in danger of -fading from the background. In short, our Christian names are not the -only Christian things that we may lose. - -Now the second solid fact which struck me in Ireland (after the success -of small property and the _failure_ of large organisation) was the fact -that the family was in a flatly contrary position. All I have said -above, in current language, about the whole trend of the modern world, -is directly opposite to the whole trend of the modern Irish world. Not -only is the Christian name a Christian name; but (what seems still more -paradoxical and even pantomimic) the family name is really a family -name. Touching the first of the two, it would be easy to trace out -some very interesting truths about it, if they did not divert us from -the main truth of this chapter; the second great truth about Ireland. -People contrasting the ‘education’ of the two countries, or seeking to -extend to the one the thing which is called education in the other, -might indeed do worse than study the simple problem of the meaning of -Christian names. It might dawn at last, even on educationists, that -there is a value in the content as well as the extent of culture; or -(in other words), that knowing nine hundred words is not always more -important than knowing what some of them mean. It is strictly and -soberly true that any peasant, in a mud cabin in County Clare, when he -names his child Michael, may really have a sense of the presence that -smote down Satan, the arms and plumage of the paladin of paradise. I -doubt whether it is so overwhelmingly probable that any clerk in any -villa on Clapham Common, when he names his son John, has a vision of -the holy eagle of the Apocalypse, or even of the mystical cup of the -disciple whom Jesus loved. In the face of that simple fact, I have -no doubt about which is the more educated man; and even a knowledge -of the _Daily Mail_ does not redress the balance. It is often said, -and possibly truly, that the peasant named Michael cannot write his -own name. But it is quite equally true that the clerk named John -cannot read his own name. He cannot read it because it is in a foreign -language, and he has never been made to realise what it stands for. He -does not know that John means John, as the other man does know that -Michael means Michael. In that rigidly realistic sense, the pupil of -industrial intellectualism does not even know his own name. - -But this is a parenthesis; because the point here is that the man in -the street (as distinct from the man in the field) has been separated -not only from his private but from his more public description. He has -not only forgotten his name, but forgotten his address. In my own view, -he is like one of those unfortunate people who wake up with their minds -a blank, and therefore cannot find their way home. But whether or no -we take this view of the state of things in an industrial society like -the English, we must realise firmly that a totally opposite state of -things exists in an agricultural society like the Irish. We may put it, -if we like, in the form of an unfamiliar and even unfriendly fancy. We -may say that the house is greater than the man; that the house is an -amiable ogre that runs after and recaptures the man. But the fact is -there, familiar or unfamiliar, friendly or unfriendly; and the fact -is the family. The family pride is prodigious, though it generally -goes along with glowing masses of individual humility. And this family -sentiment does attach itself to the family name; so that the very -language in which men think is made up of family names. In this the -atmosphere is singularly unlike that of England though much more like -that of Scotland. Indeed, it will illustrate the impartial recognition -of this, apart from any partisan deductions, that it is equally -apparent in the place where Ireland and Scotland are supposed to meet. -It is equally apparent in Ulster, and even in the Protestant corner of -Ulster. - -In all the Ulster propaganda I came across, I think the thing that -struck me most sharply was one phrase in one Unionist leading article. -It was something that might fairly be called Scottish; something -which was really even more Irish; but something which could not in -the wildest mood be called English, and therefore could not with any -rational meaning be called Unionist. Yet it was part of a passionately -sincere, and indeed truly human and historic outburst of the politics -of the north-east corner, against the politics of the rest of Ireland. -Most of us remember that Sir Edward Carson put into the Government a -legal friend of his named Campbell; it was at the beginning of the war, -and few of us thought anything of the matter except that it was stupid -to give posts to Carsonites at the most delicate crisis of the cause -in Ireland. Since then, as we also know, the same Campbell has shown -himself a sensible man, which I should translate as a practical Home -Ruler; but which is anyhow something more than what is generally meant -by a Carsonite. I entertain, myself, a profound suspicion that Carson -also would very much like to be something more than a Carsonite. But -however this may be, his legal friend of whom I speak made an excellent -speech, containing some concession to Irish popular sentiment. As might -have been expected, there were furious denunciations of him in the -press of the Orange party; but not more furious than might have been -found in the _Morning Post_ or any Tory paper. Nevertheless, there -was one phrase that I certainly never saw in the _Morning Post_ or -the _Saturday Review_; one phrase I should never expect to see in any -English paper, though I might very probably see it in a Scotch paper. -It was this sentence, that was read to me from the leading article of -a paper in Belfast: ‘There never was treason yet but a Campbell was -at the bottom of it.’ I give the extract as it was given to me; I -am quite conscious of a curious historical paradox about it. A curse -against Campbells would seem to be a Jacobite rather than a Williamite -tradition. It may suggest interesting complications of Scottish feuds -in Ireland; but it serves as one of a thousand cases of this fact about -the family. - -Let anybody imagine an Englishman saying, about some business quarrel, -‘How like an Atkins!’ or ‘What could you expect of a Wilkinson?’ A -moment’s reflection will show that it would be even more impossible -touching public men in public quarrels. No English Liberal ever -connected the earlier exploits of the present Lord Birkenhead with -atavistic influences, or the totem of the wide and wandering tribe -of Smith. No English patriot traced back the family tree of any -English pacifist; or said there was never treason yet but a Pringle -was at the bottom of it. It is the indefinite article that is here -the definite distinction. It is the expression ‘a Campbell’ which -suddenly transforms the scene, and covers the robes of one lawyer -with the ten thousand tartans of a whole clan. Now that phrase is the -phrase that meets the traveller everywhere in Ireland. Perhaps the -next most arresting thing I remember, after the agrarian revolution, -was the way in which one poor Irishman happened to speak to me about -Sir Roger Casement. He did not praise him as a deliverer of Ireland; -he did not abuse him as a disgrace to Ireland; he did not say anything -of the twenty things one might expect him to say. He merely referred -to the rumour that Casement meant to become a Catholic just before his -execution, and expressed a sort of distant interest in it. He added: -‘He’s always been a Black Protestant. All the Casements are Black -Protestants.’ I confess that, at that moment of that morbid story, -there seemed to me to be something unearthly about the very idea of -there being other Casements. If ever a man seemed solitary, if ever a -man seemed unique to the point of being unnatural, it was that man on -the two or three occasions when I have seen his sombre handsome face -and his wild eye; a tall, dark figure walking already in the shadow of -a dreadful doom. I do not know if he was a Black Protestant; but he -was a black something, in the sad if not the bad sense of the symbol. -I fancy, in truth, he stood rather for the third of Browning’s famous -triad of rhyming monosyllables. A distinguished Nationalist Member, -who happened to have had a medical training, said to me, ‘I was quite -certain, when I first clapped eyes on him, the man was mad.’ Anyhow the -man was so unusual, that it would never have occurred to me or any of -my countrymen to talk as if there were a class or clan of such men. I -could almost have imagined he had been born without father or mother. -But for the Irish, his father and mother were really more important -than he was. There is said to be a historical mystery about whether -Parnell made a pun when he said that the name of Kettle was a household -word in Ireland. Few symbols could now be more contrary than the name -of Kettle and the name of Casement (save for the courage they had in -common); for the younger Kettle, who died so gloriously in France, -was a Nationalist as broad as the other was cramped, and as sane as -the other was crazy. But if the fancy of a punster, following his own -delightful vein of nonsense, should see something quaint in the image -of a hundred such Kettles singing as he sang by a hundred hearths, a -more bitter jester, reading that black and obscure story of the capture -on the coast, might utter a similar flippancy about other Casements, -opening on the foam of such very perilous seas, in a land so truly -forlorn. But even if we were not annoyed at the pun, we should be -surprised at the plural. And our surprise would be the measure of the -deepest difference between England and Ireland. To express it in the -same idle imagery, it would be the fact that even a casement is a part -of a house, as a kettle is a part of a household. Every word in Irish -is a household word. - -The English would no more have thought of a plural for the word -Gladstone than for the word God. They would never have imagined -Disraeli compassed about with a great cloud of Disraelis; it would -have seemed to them altogether too apocalyptic an exaggeration of -being on the side of the angels. To this day in England, as I have -reason to know, it is regarded as a rabid and insane form of religious -persecution to suggest that a Jew very probably comes of a Jewish -family. In short, the modern English, while their rulers are willing -to give due consideration to Eugenics as a reasonable opportunity for -various forms of polygamy and infanticide, are drifting farther and -farther from the only consideration of Eugenics that could possibly be -fit for Christian men, the consideration of it as an accomplished fact. -I have spoken of infanticide; but indeed the ethic involved is rather -that of parricide and matricide. To my own taste, the present tendency -of social reform would seem to consist of destroying all traces of the -parents, in order to study the heredity of the children. But I do not -here ask the reader to accept my own tastes or even opinions about -these things; I only bear witness to an objective fact about a foreign -country. It can be summed up by saying that Parnell is the Parnell for -the English; but a Parnell for the Irish. - -This is what I mean when I say that English Home Rulers do not know -what the Irish mean by home. And this is also what I mean when I say -that the society does not fit into any of our social classifications, -liberal or conservative. To many Radicals this sense of lineage will -appear rank reactionary aristocracy. And it is aristocratic, if we -mean by this a pride of pedigree; but it is not aristocratic in the -practical and political sense. Strange as it may sound, its practical -effect is democratic. It is not aristocratic in the sense of creating -an aristocracy. On the contrary, it is perhaps the one force that -permanently prevents the creation of an aristocracy, in the manner of -the English squirearchy. The reason of this apparent paradox can be put -plainly enough in one sentence. If you are _really_ concerned about -your relations, you have to be concerned about your poor relations. -You soon discover that a considerable number of your second cousins -exhibit a strong social tendency to be chimney-sweeps and tinkers. -You soon learn the lesson of human equality, if you try honestly and -consistently to learn any other lesson, even the lesson of heraldry -and genealogy. For good or evil, a real working aristocracy has to -forget about three-quarters of its aristocrats. It has to discard the -poor who have the genteel blood, and welcome the rich who can live -the genteel life. If a man is interesting because he is a McCarthy, -it is so far as he is interesting because he is a man; that is, he is -interesting whether he is a duke or a dustman. But if he is interesting -because he is Lord FitzArthur and lives at FitzArthur House, then he is -interesting when he has merely bought the house, or when he has merely -bought the title. To maintain a squirearchy it is necessary to admire -the new squire, and therefore to forget the old squire. The sense of -family is like a dog and follows the family; the sense of aristocracy -is like a cat and continues to haunt the house. I am not arguing -against aristocracy, if the English choose to preserve it in England; I -am only making clear the terms on which they hold it, and warning them -that a people with a strong family sense will not hold it on any terms. -Aristocracy, as it has flourished in England since the Reformation, -with not a little national glory and commercial success, is in its very -nature built up of broken and desecrated homes. It has to destroy a -hundred poor relations to keep up a family. It has to destroy a hundred -families to keep up a class. - -But if this family spirit is incompatible with what we mean by -aristocracy, it is quite as incompatible with three-quarters of what -many men praise and preach as democracy. The whole trend of what -has been regarded as Liberal legislation in England, necessary or -unnecessary, defensible and indefensible, has for good or evil been -at the expense of the independence of the family, especially of the -poor family. From the first most reasonable restraints of the Factory -Acts to the last most maniacal antics of interference with other -people’s nursery games or Christmas dinners, the whole process has -turned sometimes on the pivot of the State, more often on the pivot -of the employer, but never on the pivot of the home. All this may be -an emancipation; I only point out that Ireland really asked for Home -Rule chiefly to be emancipated from this emancipation. But indeed the -English politicians, to do them justice, show their consciousness -of this by the increasing number of cases in which the other nation -is exempted. We may have harried this unhappy people with our -persecutions; but at least we spare them our reforms. We have smitten -them with plagues; but at least we dare not scourge them with our -remedies. The real case against the Union is not merely a case against -the Unionists; it is a far stronger case against the Universalists. -It is this strange and ironic truth; that a man stands up holding a -charter of charity and peace for all mankind; that he lays down a law -of enlightened justice for all the nations of the earth; that he claims -to behold man from the beginnings of his evolution equal, without -any difference between the most distant creeds and colours; that he -stands as the orator of the human race, whose statute only declares all -humanity to be human; and then slightly drops his voice and says, ‘This -Act shall not apply to Ireland.’ - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - - - -THE PARADOX OF LABOUR - - -My first general and visual impression of the green island was that it -was not green but brown; that it was positively brown with khaki. This -is one of those experiences that cannot be confused with expectations; -the sort of small thing that is seen but not foreseen in the verbal -visions of books and newspapers. I knew, of course, that we had a -garrison in Dublin, but I had no notion that it was so obvious all over -Dublin. I had no notion that it had been considered necessary to occupy -the country in such force, or with so much parade of force. And the -first thought that flashed through my mind found words in the single -sentence: ‘How useful these men would have been in the breach at St -Quentin.’ - -For I went to Dublin towards the end of 1918, and not long after those -awful days which led up to the end of the war, and seemed more like -the end of the world. There hung still in the imagination, as above -a void of horror, that line that was the last chain of the world’s -chivalry; and the memory of the day when it seemed that our name and -our greatness and our glory went down before the annihilation from -the north. Ireland is hardly to blame if she has never known how -noble an England was in peril in that hour; or for what beyond any -empire we were troubled when, under a cloud of thick darkness, we -almost felt her ancient foundations move upon the floor of the sea. -But I, as an Englishman, at least knew it; and it was for England and -not for Ireland that I felt this first impatience and tragic irony. -I had always doubted the military policy that culminated in Irish -conscription, and merely on military grounds. If any policy of the -English could deserve to be called in the proverbial sense Irish, -I think it was this one. It was wasting troops in Ireland because -we wanted them in France. I had the same purely patriotic and even -pugnacious sense of annoyance, mingling with my sense of pathos, in -the sight of the devastation of the great Dublin street, which had -been bombarded by the British troops during the Easter Rebellion. I -was bitterly distressed that such a cannonade had ever been aimed at -the Irish; but even more distressed that it had not been aimed at the -Germans. The question of the necessity of the heavy attack, like the -question of the necessity of the large army of occupation, is of course -bound up with the history of the Easter Rebellion itself. That strange -and dramatic event, which came quite as unexpectedly to Nationalist -Ireland as to Unionist England, is no part of my own experiences, and -I will not dogmatise on so dark a problem. But I will say, in passing, -that I suspect a certain misunderstanding of its very nature to be -common on both sides. Everything seems to point to the paradox that -the rebels needed the less to be conquered, because they were actually -aiming at being conquered, rather than at being conquerors. In the -moral sense they were most certainly heroes, but I doubt if they -expected to be conquering heroes. They desired to be in the Greek and -literal sense martyrs; they wished not so much to win as to witness. -They thought that nothing but their dead bodies could really prove -that Ireland was not dead. How far this sublime and suicidal ideal was -really useful in reviving national enthusiasm it is for Irishmen to -judge; I should have said that the enthusiasm was there anyhow. But if -any such action is based on international hopes, as they affect England -or a great part of America, it seems to me founded on a fallacy about -the facts. I shall have occasion to note many English errors about -the Irish; and this seems to me a very notable Irish error about the -English. If we are often utterly mistaken about their mentality, they -were quite equally mistaken about our mistake. And curiously enough, -they failed through not knowing the one compliment that we had really -always paid them. Their act presupposed that Irish courage needed -proof; and it never did. I have heard all the most horrible nonsense -talked against Ireland before the war; and I never heard Englishmen -doubt Irish military valour. What they did doubt was Irish political -sanity. It will be seen at once that the Easter action could only -disprove the prejudice they hadn’t got, and actually confirmed the -prejudice they had got. The charge against the Irishman was not a lack -of boldness, but rather an excess of it. Men were right in thinking -him brave, and they could not be more right. But they were wrong in -thinking him mad, and they had an excellent opportunity to be more -wrong. Then, when the attempt to fight against England developed by -its own logic into a refusal to fight for England, men took away the -number they first thought of, and were irritated into denying what -they had originally never dreamed of doubting. In any case, this was, -I think, the temper in which the minority of the true Sinn Feiners -sought martyrdom. I for one will never sneer at such a motive; but it -would hardly have amounted to so great a movement but for another force -that happened to ally itself with them. It is for the sake of this -that I have here begun with the Easter tragedy itself; for with the -consideration of this we come to the paradox of Irish Labour. - -Some of my remarks on the stability and even repose of a peasant -society may seem exaggerated in the light of a Labour agitation that -breaks out in Ireland as elsewhere. But I have particular and even -personal reasons for regarding that agitation as the exception that -proves the rule. It was the background of the peasant landscape that -made the Dublin strike the peculiar sort of drama that it was; and this -operated in two ways; first, by isolating the industrial capitalist as -something exceptional and almost fanatical; and second, by reinforcing -the proletariat with a vague tradition of property. My own sympathies -were all with Larkin and Connolly as against the late Mr Murphy; but -it is curious to note that even Mr Murphy was quite a different kind -of man from the Lord Something who is the head of a commercial combine -in England. He was much more like some morbid prince of the fifteenth -century, full of cold anger, not without perverted piety. But the -first few words I heard about him in Ireland were full of that vast, -vague fact which I have tried to put first among my impressions. I -have called it the family; but it covers many cognate things; youth -and old friendships, not to mention old quarrels. It might be more -fully defined as a realism about origins. The first things I heard -about Murphy were facts of his forgotten youth, or a youth that would -in England have been forgotten. They were tales about friends of his -simpler days, with whom he had set out to push some more or less -sentimental vendetta against somebody. Suppose whenever we talked of -Harrod’s Stores we heard first about the boyish day-dreams of Harrod. -Suppose the mention of Bradshaw’s Railway Guide brought up tales of -feud and first love in the early life of Mr Bradshaw, or even of Mrs -Bradshaw. That is the atmosphere, to be felt rather than described, -that a stranger in Ireland feels around him. English journalism and -gossip, dealing with English business men, are often precise about the -present and prophetic about the future, but seldom communicative about -the past; _et pour cause_. They will tell us where the capitalist is -going to, as to the House of Lords, or to Monte Carlo, or inferentially -to heaven; but they say as little as possible about where he comes -from. In Ireland a man carries the family mansion about with him like a -snail; and his father’s ghost follows him like his shadow. Everything -good and bad that could be said was said, not only about Murphy but -about Murphys. An anecdote of the old Irish Parliament describes an -orator as gracefully alluding to the presence of an opponent’s sister -in the Ladies’ Gallery, by praying that wrath overtake the whole -accursed generation ‘from the toothless old hag who is grinning in the -gallery to the white-livered poltroon who is shivering on the floor.’ -The story is commonly told as suggesting the rather wild disunion of -Irish parties; but it is quite as important a suggestion of the union -of Irish families. - -As a matter of fact, the great Dublin Strike, a conflagration of -which the embers were still glowing at the time of my visit, involved -another episode which illustrates once again this recurrent principle -of the reality of the family in Ireland. Some English Socialists, it -may be remembered, moved by an honourable pity for the poor families -starving during the strike, made a proposal for taking the children -away and feeding them properly in England. I should have thought the -more natural course would have been to give money or food to the -parents. But the philanthropists, being English and being Socialists, -probably had a trust in what is called organisation and a distrust -of what is called charity. It is supposed that charity makes a man -dependent; though in fact charity makes him independent, as compared -with the dreary dependence usually produced by organisation. Charity -gives property, and therefore liberty. There is manifestly much more -emancipation in giving a beggar a shilling to spend, than in sending -an official after him to spend it for him. The Socialists, however, -had placidly arranged for the deportation of all the poor children, -when they found themselves, to their astonishment, confronted with the -red-hot reality called the religion of Ireland. The priests and the -families of the faithful organised themselves for a furious agitation, -on the ground that the faith would be lost in foreign and heretical -homes. They were not satisfied with the assurance, which some of the -Socialists earnestly offered, that the faith would not be tampered -with; and, as a matter of clear thinking, I think they were quite -right. Those who offer such a reassurance have never thought about what -a religion is. They entertain the extraordinary idea that religion is -a topic. They think religion is a thing like radishes, which can be -avoided throughout a particular conversation with a particular person, -whom the mention of a radish may convulse with anger or agony. But a -religion is simply the world a man inhabits. In practice, a Socialist -living in Liverpool would not know when he was or was not tampering -with the religion of a child born in Louth. If I were given the -complete control of an infant Parsee (which is fortunately unlikely) -I should not have the remotest notion of when I was most vitally -reflecting on the Parsee system. But common sense, and a comprehension -of the meaning of a coherent philosophy, would lead me to suspect -that I was reflecting on it every other minute. But I mention the -matter here, not in order to enter into any of these disputes, but to -give yet another example of the way in which the essentially domestic -organisation of Ireland will always rise in rebellion against any -other organisation. There is something of a parable in the tales of -the old evictions, in which the whole family was besieged and resisted -together and the mothers emptied boiling kettles on the besiegers; -for any official who interferes with them will certainly get into hot -water. We cannot separate mothers and children in that strange land. We -can only return to some of our older historical methods and massacre -them together. - -A small incident within my own short experience, however, illustrated -the main point involved here; the sense of a peasant base even of -the proletarian attack. And this was exemplified not in any check to -Labour, but rather in a success for Labour, in so far as the issue -of a friendly and informal debate may be classed with its more solid -successes. The business originally began with a sort of loose-jointed -literary lecture which I gave in the Dublin Theatre, in connection with -which I only mention two incidents in passing, because they both struck -me as peculiarly native and national. One concerned only the title -of my address, which was ‘Poetry and Property.’ An educated English -gentleman, who happened to speak to me before the meeting, said with -the air of one who foresees that such jokes will be the death of him, -‘Well, I have simply given up puzzling about what you can possibly -mean, by talking about poetry as something to do with property.’ He -probably regarded the combination of words as a mere alliterative -fantasy, like Peacocks and Paddington, or Polygamy and Potatoes; if -indeed he did not regard it as a mere combination of incompatible -contrasts, like Popery and Protestants, or Patriotism and Politicians. -On the same day an Irishman of similar social standing remarked quite -carelessly, ‘I’ve just seen your subject for to-morrow. I suppose the -Socialists will reply to you,’ or words to that effect. The two terms -told him at once, not about the lecture (which was literary if it was -anything), but about the whole philosophy underlying the lecture; the -whole of that philosophy which the lumbering elephant called by Mr Shaw -the Chesterbelloc laboriously toils to explain in England, under the -ponderous title of Distributivism. As Mr Hugh Law once said, equally -truly, about our pitting of patriotism against imperialism, ‘What is a -paradox in England is a commonplace in Ireland.’ My actual monologue, -however, dealt merely with the witness of poetry to a certain dignity -in man’s sense of private possessions, which is certainly not either -vulgar ostentation or vulgar greed. The French poet of the Pleiade -remembers the slates on his own roof almost as if he could count them. -And Mr W. B. Yeats, in the very wildest vision of a loneliness remote -and irresponsible, is careful to make it clear that he knows how many -bean-rows make nine. Of course there were people of all parties in the -theatre, wild Sinn Feiners and conventional Unionists, but they all -listened to my remarks as naturally as they might have all listened to -an equally incompetent lecture on Monkeys or on the Mountains of the -Moon. There was not a word of politics, least of all party politics, -in that particular speech; it was concerned with a tradition in art, -or at the most, in abstract ethics. But the one amusing thing which -makes me recall the whole incident was this; that when I had finished -a stalwart, hearty, heavy sort of legal gentleman, a well-known Irish -judge I understand, was kind enough to move a vote of thanks to me. And -what amused me about him was this: that while I (who am a Radical, in -sympathy with the revolutionary legend) had delivered a mild essay on -minor poets to a placid if bored audience, the judge, who was a pillar -of the Castle and a Conservative sworn to law and order, proceeded -with the utmost energy and joy to raise a riot. He taunted the Sinn -Feiners and dared them to come out; he trailed his coat if ever a -man trailed it in this world; he glorified England; not the Allies, -but England; splendid England, sublime England (all in the broadest -brogue), just, wise, and merciful England, and so on, flourishing what -was not even the flag of his own country, and a thing that had not -the remotest connection with the subject in hand, any more than the -Great Wall of China. I need not say that the theatre was soon in a -roar of protests and repartees; which I suppose was what he wanted. -He was a jolly old gentleman, and I liked him. But what interested me -about him was this; and it is of some importance in the understanding -of his nationality. That sort of man exists in England; I know and -like scores of him. Often he is a major; often a squire; sometimes a -judge; very occasionally a dean. Such a man talks the most ridiculous -reactionary nonsense in an apoplectic fashion over his own port wine; -and occasionally in a somewhat gasping manner at an avowedly political -meeting. But precisely what the English gentleman would not do, and the -Irish gentleman did do, would be to make a scene on a non-political -occasion; when all he had to do was to move a formal vote of thanks -to a total stranger, who was talking about Ithaca and Innisfree. An -English Conservative would be less likely to do it than an English -Radical. The same thing that makes him conventionally political would -make him conventionally non-political. He would hate to make too -serious a speech on too social an occasion, as he would hate to be in -morning-dress when every one else was in evening dress. And whatever -coat he wore he certainly would not trail it solely in order to make -a disturbance, as did that jolly Irish judge. He taught me that the -Irishman is never so Irish as when he is English. He was very like some -of the Sinn Feiners who shouted him down; and he would be pleased to -know that he helped me to understand them with a greater sympathy. - -I have wandered from the subject in speaking of this trifle, thinking -it worth while to note the positive and provocative quality of all -Irish opinion; but it was my purpose only to mention this small -dispute as leading up to another. I had some further talk about poetry -and property with Mr Yeats at the Dublin Arts Club; and here again -I am tempted to irrelevant but for me interesting matters. For I am -conscious throughout of saying less than I could wish of a thousand -things, my omission of which is not altogether thoughtless, far less -thankless. There have been and will be better sketches than mine of -all that attractive society, the paradox of an intelligentsia that is -intelligent. I could write a great deal, not only about those I value -as my own friends, like Katherine Tynan or Stephen Gwynn, but about men -with whom my meeting was all too momentary; about the elvish energy -conveyed by Mr James Stephens; the social greatness of Dr Gogarty, -who was like a witty legend of the eighteenth century; of the unique -universalism of A. E., who has something of the presence of William -Morris, and a more transcendental type of the spiritual hospitality -of Walt Whitman. But I am not in this rough sketch trying to tell -Irishmen what they know already, but trying to tell Englishmen some of -the large and simple things that they do not always know. The large -matter concerned here is Labour; and I have only paused upon the other -points because they were the steps which accidentally led up to my -first meeting with this great force. And it was none the less a fact -in support of my argument because it was something of a joke against -myself. - -On the occasion I have mentioned, a most exhilarating evening at the -Arts Club, Mr Yeats asked me to open a debate at the Abbey Theatre, -defending property on its more purely political side. My opponent was -one of the ablest of the leaders of Liberty Hall, the famous stronghold -of Labour politics in Dublin; Mr Johnson, an Englishman like myself, -but one deservedly popular with the proletarian Irish. He made a most -admirable speech, to which I mean no disparagement when I say that I -think his personal popularity had even more weight than his personal -eloquence. My own argument was confined to the particular value of -small property as a weapon of militant democracy, and was based on the -idea that the citizen resisting injustice could find no substitute for -private property; for every other impersonal power, however democratic -in theory, must be bureaucratic in form. I said, as a flippant figure -of speech, that committing property to any officials, even guild -officials, was like having to leave one’s legs in the cloakroom along -with one’s stick or umbrella. The point is that a man may want his legs -at any minute, to kick a man or to dance with a lady; and recovering -them may be postponed by any hitch, from the loss of the ticket to -the criminal flight of the official. So in a social crisis, such as a -strike, a man must be ready to act without officials who may hamper -or betray him; and I asked whether many more strikes would not have -been successful, if each striker had owned so much as a kitchen garden -to help him to live. My opponent replied that he had always been in -favour of such a reserve of proletarian property, but preferred it -to be communal rather than individual; which seems to me to leave my -argument where it was; for what is communal must be official, unless -it is to be chaotic. Two minor jokes, somewhat at my expense, remain -in my memory; I appear to have caused some amusement by cutting a -pencil with a very large Spanish knife, which I value (as it happens) -as the gift of an Irish priest who is a friend of mine, and which may -therefore also be regarded as a symbolic weapon, a sort of sword of the -spirit. Whether the audience thought I was about to amputate my own -legs in illustration of my own metaphor, or that I was going to cut Mr -Johnson’s throat in fury at finding no reply to his arguments, I do -not know. The other thing which struck me as funny was an excellent -retort by Mr Johnson himself, who had said something about the waste -of property on guns, and who interrupted my remark that there would -never be a good revolution without guns, by humorously calling out, -‘Treason.’ As I told him afterwards, few scenes would be more artistic -than that of an Englishman, sent over to recruit for the British -army, being collared and given up to justice (or injustice) by a -Pacifist from Liberty Hall. But all throughout the proceedings I was -conscious, as I say, of a very real popular feeling supporting the mere -personality of my opponent; as in the ovation he received before he -spoke at all, or the applause given to a number of his topical asides, -allusions which I could not always understand. After the meeting a -distinguished Southern Unionist, who happens to own land outside -Dublin, said to me, ‘Of course, Johnson has just had a huge success in -his work here. Liberty Hall has just done something that has really -never been done before in the whole Trade Union movement. He has really -managed to start a Trade Union for agricultural labourers. I know, -because I’ve had to meet their demands. You know how utterly impossible -it has always been really to found a union of agricultural labourers in -England.’ I did know it; and I also knew why it had been possible to -found one in Ireland. It had been possible for the very reason I had -been urging all the evening; that behind the Irish proletariat there -had been the tradition of an Irish peasantry. In their families, if -not in themselves, there had been some memory of the personal love of -the land. But it seemed to me an interesting irony that even my own -defeat was an example of my own doctrine; and that the truth on my -side was proved by the popularity of the other side. The agricultural -guild was due to a wind of freedom that came into that dark city from -very distant fields; and the truth that even these rolling stones of -homeless proletarianism had been so lately loosened from the very roots -of the mountains. - -In Ireland even the industrialism is not industrial. That is what I -mean by saying that Irish Labour is the exception that proves the -rule. That is why it does not contradict my former generalisation that -our capitalist crisis is on the English side of the road. The Irish -agricultural labourers can become guildsmen because they would like to -become peasants. They think of rich and poor in the manner that is as -old as the world; the manner of Ahab and Naboth. It matters little in -a peasant society whether Ahab takes the vineyard privately as Ahab or -officially as King of Israel. It will matter as little in the long -run, even in the other kind of society, whether Naboth has a wage to -work in the vineyard, or a vote that is supposed in some way to affect -the vineyard. What he desires to have is the vineyard; and not in -apologetic cynicism or vulgar evasions that business is business, but -in thunder, as from a secret throne, comes the awful voice out of the -vineyard; the voice of this manner of man in every age and nation: -‘The Lord forbid that I should give the inheritance of my fathers unto -thee.’ - - - - -CHAPTER V - - - - -THE ENGLISHMAN IN IRELAND - - -With no desire to decorate my travels with too tall a traveller’s tale, -I must record the fact that I found one point upon which all Irishmen -were agreed. It was the fact that, for some reason or other, there had -been a very hopeful beginning of Irish volunteering at the beginning -of the war; and that, for some reason or other, this had failed in -the course of the war. The reasons alleged differed widely with the -moods of men; some had regarded the beginnings with hope and some with -suspicion; some had lived to regard the failure with a bitter pleasure, -and some with a generous pain. The different factions gave different -explanations of why the thing had stopped; but they all agreed that -it had begun. The Sinn Feiner said that the people soon found they -had been lured into a Saxon trap, set for them by smooth subservient -Saxons like Mr Devlin and Mr Tim Healy. The Belfast citizen suggested -that the Popish priest had terrorised the peasants when they tried to -enlist, producing a thumbscrew from his pocket and a portable rack -from his handbag. The Parliamentary Nationalist blamed both Sinn Fein -and the persecution of Sinn Fein. The British Government officials, if -they did not exactly blame themselves, at least blamed each other. The -ordinary Southern Unionist (who played many parts of a more or less -sensible sort, including that of a Home Ruler) generally agreed with -the ordinary Nationalist that the Government’s recruiting methods had -been as bad as its cause was good. But it is manifest that multitudes -at the beginning of the war thought it really had a very good cause; -and, moreover, a very good chance. - -The extraordinary story of how that chance was lost may find mention -on a later page. I will begin by touching on the first incident that -befell me personally in connection with the same enterprise. I went to -Ireland at the request of Irish friends who were working warmly for -the Allied cause, and who conceived (I fear in far too flattering a -spirit) that I might at least be useful as an Englishman who had always -sympathised as warmly with the Irish cause. I am under no illusions -that I should ever be efficient at such work in any case; and under -the circumstances I had no great hopes of doing much, where men like -Sir Horace Plunkett and Captain Stephen Gwynne, far more competent, -more self-sacrificing, and more well-informed than I, could already -do comparatively little. It was too late. A hundredth part of the -brilliant constancy and tragic labours of these men might easily, at -the beginning of the war, have given us a great Irish army. I need not -explain the motives that made me do the little I could do; they were -the same that at that moment made millions of better men do masses of -better work. Physical accident prevented my being useful in France, -and a sort of psychological accident seemed to suggest that I might -possibly be useful in Ireland; but I did not see myself as a very -serious figure in either field. Nothing could be serious in such a case -except perhaps a conviction; and at least my conviction about the great -war has never wavered by a hair. _Delenda est_--and it is typical of -the power of Berlin that one must break off for want of a Latin name -for it. Being an Englishman, I hoped primarily to help England; but -not being a congenital idiot, I did not primarily ask an Irishman to -help England. There was obviously something much more reasonable to -ask him to do. I hope I should in any case have done my best for my -own country. But the cause was more than any country; in a sense it -was too good for any country. The Allies were more right than they -realised. Nay, they hardly had a right to be so right as they were. -The modern Babylon of capitalistic States was hardly worthy to go on -such a crusade against the heathen; as perhaps decadent Byzantium was -hardly worthy to defend the Cross against the Crescent. But we are glad -that it did defend the Cross against the Crescent. Nobody is sorry -that Sobieski relieved Vienna; nobody wishes that Alfred had not won -in Wessex. The cause that conquered is the only cause that survived. -We see now that its enemy was not a cause but a chaos; and that is -what history will say of the strange and recent boiling up of barbaric -imperialism, a whirlpool whose hollow centre was Berlin. This is where -the extreme Irish were really wrong; perhaps really wrong for the first -time, I entirely sympathise with their being in revolt against the -British Government. I am in revolt in most ways against the British -Government myself. But politics are a fugitive thing in the face of -history. Does anybody want to be fixed for ever on the wrong side at -the Battle of Marathon, through a quarrel with some Archon whose very -name is forgotten? Does anybody want to be remembered as a friend of -Attila, through a breach of friendship with Aëtius? In any case, it -was with a profound conviction that if Prussia won Europe must perish, -and that if Europe perished England and Ireland must perish together, -that I went to Dublin in those dark days of the last year of the war; -and it so happened that the first occasion when I was called upon for -any expression of opinion was at a very pleasant luncheon party given -to the representatives of the British Dominions, who were then on an -official tour in the country inspecting its conditions. What I said is -of no importance except as leading up to later events; but it may be -noted that though I was speaking perhaps indirectly to Irishmen, I was -speaking directly, if not to Englishmen, at least to men in the more -English tradition of the majority of the Colonies. I was speaking, if -not to Unionists, at least largely to Imperialists. - -Now I have forgotten, I am happy to say, the particular speech that -I made, but I can repeat the upshot of it here, not only as part of -the argument, but as part of the story. The line I took generally in -Ireland was an appeal to the Irish principle, yet the reverse of a mere -approval of the Irish action, or inaction. It postulated that while the -English had missed a great opportunity of justifying themselves to the -Irish, the Irish had also missed a similar opportunity of justifying -themselves to the English. But it specially emphasised this; that what -had been lost was not primarily a justification against England, but -a joke against England. I pointed out that an Irishman missing a joke -against an Englishman was a tragedy, like a lost battle. And there was -one thing, and one thing only, which had stopped the Irishman from -laughing and saved the Englishman from being laughable. The one and -only thing that rescued England from ridicule was Sinn Fein. Or, at any -rate, that element in Sinn Fein which was pro-German, or refused to be -anti-German. Nothing imaginable under the stars _except_ a pro-German -Irishman could at that moment have saved the face of a (very recently) -pro-German Englishman. - -The reason for this is obvious enough. England in 1914 encountered -or discovered a colossal crime of Prussianised Germany. But England -could not discover the German crime without discovering the English -blunder. The blunder was, of course, a perfectly plain historical fact; -that England made Prussia. England was the historic, highly civilised -western state, with Roman foundations and chivalric memories; Prussia -was originally a petty and boorish principality used by England and -Austria in the long struggle against the greatness of France. Now in -that long struggle Ireland had always been on the side of France. -She had only to go on being on the side of France, and the Latin -tradition generally, to behold her own truth triumph over her own -enemies. In a word, it was not a question of whether Ireland should -become anti-German, but merely of whether she should _continue_ to be -anti-German. It was a question of whether she should suddenly become -pro-German, at the moment when most other pro-Germans were discovering -that she had been justified all along. But England, at the beginning -of her last and most lamentable quarrel with Ireland, was by no means -in so strong a controversial position. England was right; but she -could only prove she was right by proving she was wrong. In one sense, -and with all respect to her right action in the matter, she had to be -ridiculous in order to be right. - -But the joke against the English was even more obvious and topical. -And as mine was only meant for a light speech after a friendly lunch, -I took the joke in its lightest and most fanciful form, and touched -chiefly on the fantastic theory of the Teuton as the master of the -Celt. For the supreme joke was this: that the Englishman has not only -boasted of being an Englishman; he has actually boasted of being a -German. As the modern mind began to doubt the superiority of Calvinism -to Catholicism, all English books, papers, and speeches were filled -more and more with a Teutonism which substituted a racial for a -religious superiority. It was felt to be a more modern and even a more -progressive principle of distinction, to insist on ethnology rather -than theology; for ethnology was supposed to be a science. Unionism -was simply founded on Teutonism. Hence the ordinary honest patriotic -Unionist was in a highly humorous fix when he had suddenly to begin -denouncing Teutonism as mere terrorism. If all superiority belonged -to the Teuton, the supreme superiority must clearly belong to the -most Teutonic Teuton. If I claim the right to kick Mr Bernard Shaw on -the specific ground that I am fatter than he is, it is obvious that I -look rather a fool if I am suddenly kicked by somebody who is fatter -still. When the earth shakes under the advancing form of one coming -against me out of the east who is fatter than I (for I called upon -the Irish imagination to embrace so monstrous a vision), it is clear -that whatever my relations to the rest of the world, in my relations -to Mr Bernard Shaw I am rather at a disadvantage. Mr Shaw, at any -rate, is rather in a position to make game of me; of which it is not -inconceivable that he might avail himself. I might have accumulated a -vast mass of learned sophistries and journalistic catchwords, which -had always seemed to me to justify the connection between waxing fat -and kicking. I might have proved from history that the leaders had -always been fat men, like William the Conqueror, St Thomas Aquinas, -and Charles Fox. I might have proved from physiology that fatness is -a proof of the power of organic assimilation and digestion; or from -comparative zoology that the elephant is the wisest of the beasts. -In short, I might be able to adduce many arguments in favour of my -position. Only, unfortunately, they would now all become arguments -against my position. Everything I had ever urged against my old enemy -could be urged much more forcibly against me by my new enemy. And -my position touching the great adipose theory would be exactly like -England’s position touching the equally sensible Teutonic theory. If -Teutonism was creative culture, then on our own showing the German was -better than the Englishman. If Teutonism was barbarism, then on our own -showing the Englishman was more barbaric than the Irishman. The real -answer, of course, is that we were not Teutons but only the dupes of -Teutonism; but some were so wholly duped that they would do anything -rather than own themselves dupes. These unfortunates, while they are -already ashamed of being Teutons, are still proud of not being Celts. - -There is only one thing that could save my dignity in such an -undignified fix as I have fancied here. It is that Mr Bernard Shaw -himself should come to my rescue. It is that Mr Bernard Shaw himself -should declare in favour of the corpulent conqueror from the east; -that _he_ should take seriously all the fads and fallacies of that -fat-headed superman. That, and that alone, would ensure all my own -fads and fallacies being not only forgotten but forgiven. There is -present to my imagination, I regret to say, a wild possibility that -this is what Mr Bernard Shaw might really do. Anyhow, this is what a -certain number of his countrymen really did. It will be apparent, I -think, from these pages that I do not believe in the stage Irishman. I -am under no delusion that the Irishman is soft-headed and sentimental, -or even illogical and inconsequent. Nine times out of ten the Irishman -is not only more clear-headed, but even more cool-headed than the -Englishman. But I think it is true, as Mr Max Beerbohm once suggested -to me in connection with Mr Shaw himself, that there is a residual -perversity in the Irishman, which comes after and not before the -analysis of a question. There is at the last moment a cold impatience -in the intellect, an irony which returns on itself and rends itself; -the subtlety of a suicide. However this may be, some of the lean men, -instead of making a fool of the fat man, did begin almost to make a -hero of the fatter man; to admire his vast curves as almost cosmic -lines of development. I have seen Irish-American pamphlets which -took quite seriously (or, I prefer to think, pretended to take quite -seriously) the ridiculous romance about the Teutonic tribes having -revived and refreshed civilisation after the fall of the Roman Empire. -They revived civilisation very much as they restored Louvain or -reconstructed the _Lusitania_. It was a romance which the English for -a short time adopted as a convenience, but from which the Irish have -continually suffered as from a curse. It was a suicidal perversity that -they themselves, in their turn, should perpetuate their permanent curse -as a temporary convenience. That was the worst error of the Irish, or -of some of the best of the Irish. That is why the Easter Rising was -really a black and insane blunder. It was not because it involved the -Irish in a military defeat; it was because it lost the Irish a great -controversial victory. The rebel deliberately let the tyrant out of a -trap; out of the grinning jaws of the gigantic trap of a joke. - -Many of the most extreme Nationalists knew this well; it was what -Kettle probably meant when he suggested an Anglo-Irish history called -‘The Two Fools’; and of course I do not mean that I said all this in my -very casual and rambling speech. But it was based on this idea, that -men had missed the joke against England, and that now unfortunately the -joke was rather against Ireland. It was Ireland that was now missing -a great historical opportunity for lack of humour and imagination, as -England had missed it a moment before. If the Irish would laugh at -the English and help the English, they would win all along the line. -In the real history of the German problem, they would inherit all the -advantages of having been right from the first. It was now not so much -a question of Ireland consenting to follow England’s lead as of England -being obliged to follow Ireland’s lead. These are the principles which -I thought, and still think, the only possible principles to form -the basis of a recruiting appeal in Ireland. But on the particular -occasion in question I naturally took the matter much more lightly, -hoping that the two jokes might, as it were, cancel out and leave the -two countries quits and in a better humour. And I devoted nearly all -my remarks to testifying that the English had really, in the mass, -shed the cruder Teutonism that had excused the cruelties of the past. -I said that Englishmen were anything but proud of the past government -of Ireland; that the mass of men of all parties were far more modest -and humane in their view of Ireland than most Irishmen seem to suppose. -And I ended with words which I only quote here from memory, because -they happen to be the text of the curious incident which followed: -‘This is no place for us to boast. We stand here in the valley of our -humiliation, where the flag we love has done very little that was -not evil, and where its victories have been far more disastrous than -defeats.’ And I concluded with some general expression of the hope -(which I still entertain) that two lands so much loved, by those who -know them best, are not meant to hate each other for ever. - -A day or two afterwards a distinguished historian who is a professor -at Trinity College, Mr Alison Phillips, wrote an indignant letter -to the _Irish Times_. He announced that he was not in the valley of -humiliation, and warmly contradicted the report that he was, as he -expressed it, ‘sitting in sackcloth and ashes.’ He remarked, if I -remember right, that I was middle-class, which is profoundly true; -and he generally resented my suggestions as a shameful attack upon my -fellow Englishmen. This both amused and puzzled me; for of course I had -not been attacking Englishmen, but defending them; I had merely been -assuring the Irish that the English were not so black, or so red, as -they were painted in the vision of ‘England’s cruel red.’ I had not -said there what I have said here, about the anomaly and absurdity of -England in Ireland; I had only said that Ireland had suffered rather -from the Teutonic theory than the English temper; and that the English -temper, experienced at close quarters, was really quite ready for a -reconciliation with Ireland. Nor indeed did Mr Alison Phillips really -complain especially of my denouncing the English, but rather of my -way of defending them. He did not so much mind being charged with the -vice of arrogance. What he could not bear was being charged with the -virtue of humility. What worried him was not so much the supposition -of our doing wrong, as that anybody should conceive it possible that -we were sorry for doing wrong. After all, he probably reasoned, it may -not be easy for an eminent historical scholar actually to deny that -certain tortures have taken place, or certain perjuries been proved; -but there is really no reason why he should admit that the memory of -using torture or perjury has so morbid an effect on the mind. Therefore -he naturally desired to correct any impression that might arise, to the -effect that he had been seen in the valley of humiliation, like a man -called Christian. - -But there was one fancy that lingered in the mind over and above the -fun of the thing; and threw a sort of random ray of conjecture upon -all that long international misunderstanding which it is so hard to -understand. Was it possible, I thought, that this had happened before, -and that I was caught in the treadmill of recurrence? It may be that -whenever, throughout the centuries, a roughly representative and fairly -good-humoured Englishman has spoken to the Irish as thousands of such -Englishmen feel about them, some other Englishman on the spot has -hastened to explain that the English are not going in for sackcloth -and ashes, but only for phylacteries and the blowing of their own -trumpets before them. Perhaps whenever one Englishman said that the -English were not so black as they were painted in the past, another -Englishman always rushed forward to prove that the English were not -so white as they were painted on the present occasion. And after all -it was only Englishman against Englishman, one word against another; -and there were many superiorities on the side which refused to believe -in English sympathy or self-criticism. And very few of the Irish, I -fear, understood the simple fact of the matter, or the real spiritual -excuses of the party thus praising spiritual pride. Few understood -that I represented large numbers of amiable Englishmen in England, -while Mr Phillips necessarily represented a small number of naturally -irritable Englishmen in Ireland. Few, I fancy, sympathised with him so -much as I do; for I know very well that he was not merely feeling as an -Englishman, but as an exile. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - - - -THE MISTAKE OF ENGLAND - - -I met one hearty Unionist, not to say Coercionist in Ireland, in such a -manner as to talk to him at some length; one quite genial and genuine -Irish gentleman, who was solidly on the side of the system of British -government in Ireland. This gentleman had been shot through the body by -the British troops in their efforts to suppress the Easter Rebellion. -The matter just missed being tragic; but since it did, I cannot help -feeling it as slightly comic. He assured me with great earnestness that -the rebels had been guilty of the most calculated cruelties, and that -they must have done their bloody deeds in the coldest blood. But since -he is himself a solid and (I am happy to say) a living demonstration -that the firing even on his own side must have been rather wild, I am -inclined to give the benefit of the doubt also to the less elaborately -educated marksmen. When disciplined troops destroy people so much at -random, it would seem unreasonable to deny that rioters may possibly -have been riotous. I hardly think he was, or even professed to be, a -person of judicial impartiality; and it is entirely to his honour that -he was, on principle, so much more indignant with the rioters who did -not shoot him than with the other rioters who did. But I venture to -introduce him here not so much as an individual as an allegory. The -incident seems to me to set forth, in a pointed, lucid, and picturesque -form, exactly what the British military government really succeeded -in doing in Ireland. It succeeded in half-killing its friends, and -affording an intelligent but somewhat inhumane amusement to all its -enemies. The fire-eater held his fire-arm in so contorted a posture as -to give the wondering spectator a simple impression of suicide. - -Let it be understood that I speak here, not of tyranny thwarting -Irish desires, but solely of our own stupidity in thwarting our own -desires. I shall discuss elsewhere the alleged presence or absence of -practical oppression in Ireland; here I am only continuing from the -last chapter my experiences of the recruiting campaign. I am concerned -now, as I was concerned then, with the simple business matter of -getting a big levy of soldiers from Ireland. I think it was Sir Francis -Vane, one of the few really valuable public servants in the matter -(I need not say he was dismissed for having been proved right) who -said that the mere sight of some representative Belgian priests and -nuns might have produced something like a crusade. The matter seems -to have been mostly left to elderly English landlords; and it would -be cruel to record their adventures. It will be enough that I heard, -on excellent testimony, that these unhappy gentlemen had displayed -throughout Ireland a poster consisting only of the Union Jack and the -appeal, ‘Is not this your flag? Come and fight for it!’ It faintly -recalls something we all learnt in the Latin grammar about questions -that expect the answer no. These remarkable recruiting-sergeants did -not realise, I suppose, what an extraordinary thing this was, not -merely in Irish opinion, but generally in international opinion. Over -a great part of the globe, it would sound like a story that the Turks -had placarded Armenia with the Crescent of Islam, and asked all the -Christians who were not yet massacred whether they did not love the -flag. I really do not believe that the Turks would be so stupid as to -do it. Of course it may be said that such an impression or association -is mere slander and sedition, that there is no reason to be tender -to such treasonable emotions at all, that men ought to do their duty -to that flag whatever is put upon that poster; in short, that it is -the duty of an Irishman to be a patriotic Englishman, or whatever -it is that he is expected to be. But this view, however logical and -clear, can only be used logically and clearly as an argument for -conscription. It is simply muddle-headed to apply it to any appeal -for volunteers anywhere, in Ireland or England. The whole object of a -recruiting poster, or any poster, is to be attractive; it is picked out -in words or colours to be picturesquely and pointedly attractive. If -it lowers you to make an attractive offer, do not make it; but do not -deliberately make it, and deliberately make it repulsive. If a certain -medicine is so mortally necessary and so mortally nasty, that it must -be forced on everybody by the policeman, call the policeman. But do not -call an advertisement agent to push it like a patent medicine, solely -by means of ‘publicity’ and ‘suggestion,’ and then confine him strictly -to telling the public how nasty it is. - -But the British blunder in Ireland was a much deeper and more -destructive thing. It can be summed up in one sentence; that whether or -no we were as black as we were painted, we actually painted ourselves -much blacker than we were. Bad as we were, we managed to look much -worse than we were. In a horrible unconsciousness we re-enacted history -through sheer ignorance of history. We were foolish enough to dress -up, and to play up, to the part of a villain in a very old tragedy. We -clothed ourselves almost carelessly in fire and sword; and if the fire -had been literally stage-fire or the sword a wooden sword, the merely -artistic blunder would have been quite as bad. For instance, I soon -came on the traces of a quarrel about some silly veto in the schools, -against Irish children wearing green rosettes. Anybody with a streak of -historical imagination would have avoided a quarrel in that particular -case about that particular colour. It is touching the talisman, it is -naming the name, it is striking the note of another relation in which -we were in the wrong, to the confusion of a new relation in which we -were in the right. Anybody of common sense, considering any other case, -can see the almost magic force of these material coincidences. If the -English armies in France in 1914 considered themselves justified -for some reason in executing some Frenchwoman, they would perhaps be -indiscreet if they killed her (however logically) tied to a stake in -the market-place of Rouen. If the people of Paris rose in the most -righteous revolt against the most corrupt conspiracy of some group of -the wealthy French Protestants, I should strongly advise them not to -fix the date for the vigil of St Bartholomew, or to go to work with -white scarfs tied round their arms. Many of us hope to see a Jewish -commonwealth reconstituted in Palestine; and we could easily imagine -some quarrel in which the government of Jerusalem was impelled to -punish some Greek or Latin pilgrim or monk. The Jews might even be -right in the quarrel and the Christian wrong. But it may be hinted that -the Jews would be ill-advised if they actually crowned him with thorns, -and killed him on a hill just outside Jerusalem. Now we must know by -this time, or the sooner we know it the better, that the whole mind -of that European society which we have helped to save, and in which -we have henceforth a part right of control, regards the Anglo-Irish -story as one of those black and white stories in a history book. It -sees the tragedy of Ireland as simply and clearly as the tragedy of -Christ or Joan of Arc. There may have been more to be said on the -coercive side than the culture of the Continent understands. So there -was a great deal more than is usually admitted to be said on the side -of the patriotic democracy which condemned Socrates; and a very great -deal to be said on the side of the imperial aristocracy which would -have crushed Washington. But these disputes will not take Socrates -from his niche among the pagan saints, or Washington from his pedestal -among the republican heroes. After a certain testing time substantial -justice is always done to the men who stood in some unmistakable manner -for liberty and light against contemporary caprice and fashionable -force and brutality. In this intellectual sense, in the only competent -intellectual courts, there is already justice to Ireland. In the wide -daylight of this world-wide fact we or our representatives must get -into a quarrel with children, of all people, and about the colour -green, of all things in the world. It is an exact working model of -the mistake I mean. It is the more brutal because it is not strictly -cruel; and yet instantly revives the memories of cruelty. There need be -nothing wrong with it in the abstract, or in a less tragic atmosphere -where the symbols were not talismans. A schoolmaster in the prosperous -and enlightened town of Eatanswill might not unpardonably protest -against the school-children parading in class the Buff and Blue favours -of Mr Fizkin and Mr Slumkey. But who but a madman would not see that to -say that word, or make that sign, in Ireland, was like giving a signal -for keening and the lament over lost justice that is lifted in the -burden of the noblest of national songs; that to point to that rag of -that colour was to bring back all the responsibilities and realities -of that reign of terror when we were, quite literally, hanging men -and women too for wearing of the green? We were not literally hanging -these children. As a matter of mere utility, we should have been more -sensible if we had been. - -But the same fact took an even more fantastic form. We not only dressed -up as our ancestors, but we actually dressed up as our enemies. I need -hardly state my own conviction that the Pacifist trick of lumping the -abuses of one side along with the abominations of the other was a -shallow pedantry come of sheer ignorance of the history of Europe and -the barbarians. It was quite false that the English evil was exactly -the same as the German. It was quite false; but the English in Ireland -laboured long and devotedly to prove it was quite true. They were not -content with borrowing old uniforms from the Hessians of 1798; they -borrowed the newest and neatest uniforms from the Prussians of 1914. I -will give only one story that I was told, out of many, to show what I -mean. There was a sort of village musical festival at a place called -Cullen in County Cork, at which there were naturally national songs -and very possibly national speeches. That there was a sort of social -atmosphere, which its critics would call Sinn Fein, is exceedingly -likely; for that now exists all over Ireland, and especially that -part of Ireland. If we wish to prevent it being expressed at all, we -must not only forbid all public meetings but all private meetings, -and even the meeting of husband and wife in their own house. Still -there might have been a case, on coercionist lines, for forbidding -this public meeting. There might be a case, on coercionist lines, -for imprisoning all the people who attended it; or a still clearer -case, on those lines, for imprisoning all the people in Ireland. But -the coercionist authorities did not merely forbid the meeting, which -would mean something. They did not arrest the people at the meeting, -which would mean something. They did not blow the whole meeting to -hell with big guns, which would also mean something. What they did -apparently was this. They caused a military aeroplane to jerk itself -backwards and forwards in a staggering fashion just over the heads of -the people, making as much noise as possible to drown the music, and -dropping flare rockets and fire in various somewhat dangerous forms in -the neighbourhood of any men, women, and children who happened to be -listening to the music. The reader will note with what exquisite art, -and fine fastidious selection, the strategist has here contrived to -look as Prussian as possible without securing any of the advantages of -Prussianism. I do not know exactly how much danger there was, but there -must have been some. Perhaps about as much as there generally has been -when boys have been flogged for playing the fool with fireworks. But -by laboriously climbing hundreds of feet into the air, in an enormous -military machine, these ingenuous people managed to make themselves a -meteor in heaven and a spectacle to all the earth; the English raining -fire on women and children just as the Germans did. I repeat that they -did not actually destroy children, though they did endanger them; for -playing with fireworks is always playing with fire. And I repeat that, -as a mere matter of business, it would have been more sensible if they -had destroyed children. That would at least have had the human meaning -that has run through a hundred massacres: ‘wolf-cubs who would grow -into wolves.’ It might at least have the execrable excuse of decreasing -the number of rebels. What they did would quite certainly increase it. - -An artless Member of Parliament, whose name I forget, attempted an -apology for this half-witted performance. He interposed in the Unionist -interests, when the Nationalists were asking questions about the -matter, and said with much heat, ‘May I ask whether honest and loyal -subjects have anything to fear from British aeroplanes?’ I have often -wondered what he meant. It seems possible that he was in the mood of -that mediæval fanatic who cried, ‘God will know his own’; and that he -himself would fling any sort of flaming bolts about anywhere, believing -that they would always be miraculously directed towards the heads -harbouring, at that moment, the most incorrect political opinions. -Or perhaps he meant that loyal subjects are so superbly loyal that -they do not mind being accidentally burnt alive, so long as they are -assured that the fire was dropped on them by Government officials out -of a Government apparatus. But my purpose here is not to fathom such a -mystery, but merely to fix the dominant fact of the whole situation; -that the Government copied the theatricality of Potsdam even more -than the tyranny of Potsdam. In that incident the English laboriously -reproduced all the artificial accessories of the most notorious crimes -of Germany; the flying men, the flame, the selection of a mixed crowd, -the selection of a popular festival. They had every part of it, except -the point of it. It was as if the whole British army in Ireland had -dressed up in spiked helmets and spectacles, merely that they might -_look_ like Prussians. It was even more as if a man had walked across -Ireland on three gigantic stilts, taller than the trees and visible -from the most distant village, solely that he might look like one of -those unhuman monsters from Mars, striding about on their iron tripods -in the great nightmare of Mr Wells. Such was our educational efficiency -that, before the end, multitudes of simple Irish people really had -about the English invasion the same particular psychological reaction -that multitudes of simple English people had about the German invasion. -I mean that it seemed to come not only from outside the nation, but -from outside the world. It was unearthly in the strict sense in which a -comet is unearthly. It was the more appallingly alien for coming close; -it was the more outlandish the farther it went inland. These Christian -peasants have seen coming westward out of England what we saw coming -westward out of Germany. They saw science in arms; which turns the very -heavens into hells. - -I have purposely put these fragmentary and secondary impressions -before any general survey of Anglo-Irish policy in the war. I do -so, first because I think a record of the real things, that seemed -to bulk biggest to any real observer at any real moment, is often -more useful than the setting forth of theories he may have made up -before he saw any realities at all. But I do it in the second place -because the more general summaries of our statesmanship, or lack of -statesmanship, are so much more likely to be found elsewhere. But if -we wish to comprehend the queer cross-purposes, it will be well to -keep always in mind a historical fact I have mentioned already; the -reality of the old Franco-Irish Entente. It lingers alive in Ireland, -and especially the most Irish parts of Ireland. In the fiercely Fenian -city of Cork, walking round the Young Ireland monument that seems to -give revolt the majesty of an institution, a man told me that German -bands had been hooted and pelted in those streets out of an indignant -memory of 1870. And an eminent scholar in the same town, referring to -the events of the same ‘terrible year,’ said to me: ‘In 1870 Ireland -sympathised with France and England with Germany; and, as usual, -Ireland was right!’ But if they were right when we were wrong, they -only began to be wrong when we were right. A sort of play or parable -might be written to show that this apparent paradox is a very genuine -piece of human psychology. Suppose there are two partners named John -and James; that James has always been urging the establishment of a -branch of the business in Paris. Long ago John quarrelled with this -furiously as a foreign fad; but he has since forgotten all about it; -for the letters from James bored him so much that he has not opened -any of them for years. One fine day John, finding himself in Paris, -conceives the original idea of a Paris branch; but he is conscious in a -confused way of having quarrelled with his partner, and vaguely feels -that his partner would be an obstacle to anything. John remembers that -James was always cantankerous, and forgets that he was cantankerous -in favour of this project, and not against it. John therefore sends -James a telegram, of a brevity amounting to brutality, simply telling -him to come in with no nonsense about it; and when he has no instant -reply, sends a solicitor’s letter to be followed by a writ. How James -will take it depends very much on James. How he will hail this happy -confirmation of his own early opinions will depend on whether James is -an unusually patient and charitable person. And James is not. He is -unfortunately the very man, of all men in the world, to drop his own -original agreement and everything else into the black abyss of disdain, -which now divides him from the man who has the impudence to agree with -him. He is the very man to say he will have nothing to do with his own -original notion, because it is now the belated notion of a fool. Such -a character could easily be analysed in any good novel. Such conduct -would readily be believed in any good play. It could not be believed -when it happened in real life. And it did happen in real life; the -Paris project was the sense of the safety of Paris as the pivot of -human history; the abrupt telegram was the recruiting campaign, and the -writ was conscription. - -As to what Irish conscription was, or rather would have been, I cannot -understand any visitor in Ireland having the faintest doubt, unless (as -is often the case) his tour was so carefully planned as to permit him -to visit everything in Ireland except the Irish. Irish conscription -was a piece of rank raving madness, which was fortunately stopped, -with other bad things, by the blow of Foch at the second battle of the -Marne. It could not possibly produce at the last moment allies on whom -we could depend; and it would have lost us the whole sympathy of the -allies on whom we at that moment depended. I do not mean that American -soldiers would have mutinied; though Irish soldiers might have done so; -I mean something much worse. I mean that the whole mood of America -would have altered; and there would have been some kind of compromise -with German tyranny, in sheer disgust at a long exhibition of English -tyranny. Things would have happened in Ireland, week after week, and -month after month, such as the modern imagination has not seen except -where Prussia has established hell. We should have butchered women -and children; they would have _made us_ butcher them. We should have -killed priests, and probably the best priests. It could not be better -stated than in the words of an Irishman, as he stood with me in a high -terraced garden outside Dublin, looking towards that unhappy city, who -shook his head and said sadly, ‘They will shoot the wrong bishop.’ - -Of the meaning of this huge furnace of defiance I shall write when I -write of the national idea itself. I am concerned here not for their -nation but for mine; and especially for its peril from Prussia and -its help from America. And it is simply a question of considering -what these real things are really like. Remember that the American -Republic is practically founded on the fact, or fancy, that England is -a tyrant. Remember that it was being ceaselessly swept with new waves -of immigrant Irishry telling tales (too many of them true, though not -all) of the particular cases in which England had been a tyrant. It -would be hard to find a parallel to explain to Englishmen the effect -of awakening traditions so truly American by a prolonged display of -England as the tyrant in Ireland. A faint approximation might be found -if we imagined the survivors of Victorian England, steeped in the -tradition of _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_, watching the American troops march -through London. Suppose they noted that the negro troops alone had -to march in chains, with a white man in a broad-brimmed hat walking -beside them and flourishing a whip. Scenes far worse than that would -have followed Irish conscription; but the only purpose of this chapter -is to show that scenes quite as stupid marked every stage of Irish -recruitment. For it certainly would not have reassured the traditional -sympathisers with Uncle Tom to be told that the chains were only a part -of the uniform, or that the niggers moved not at the touch of the whip, -but only at the crack of it. - -Such was our practical policy; and the single and sufficient comment -on it can be found in a horrible whisper which can scarcely now be -stilled. It is said, with a dreadful plausibility, that the Unionists -were deliberately trying to prevent a large Irish recruitment, which -would certainly have meant reconciliation and reform. In plain words, -it is said that they were willing to be traitors to England, if they -could only still be tyrants to Ireland. Only too many facts can be made -to fit in with this; but for me it is still too hideous to be easily -believed. But whatever our motives in doing it, there is simply no -doubt whatever about what we did, in this matter of the Pro-Germans -in Ireland. We did not crush the Pro-Germans; we did not convert -them, or coerce them, or educate them or exterminate them or massacre -them. We manufactured them; we turned them out patiently, steadily, -and systematically as if from a factory; we made them exactly as we -made munitions. It needed no little social science to produce, in any -kind of Irishman, any kind of sympathy with Prussia; but we were equal -to the task. What concerns me here, however, is that we were busy at -the same work among the Irish-Americans, and ultimately among all the -Americans. And that would have meant, as I have already noted, the -thing that I always feared; the dilution of the policy of the Allies. -Anything that looked like a prolonged Prussianism in Ireland would -have meant a compromise; that is, a perpetuated Prussianism in Europe. -I know that some who agree with me in other matters disagree with me -in this; but I should indeed be ashamed if, having to say so often -where I think my country was wrong, I did not say as plainly where I -think she was right. The notion of a compromise was founded on the -coincidence of recent national wars, which were only about the terms -of peace, not about the type of civilisation. But there do recur, at -longer historic intervals, universal wars of religion, not concerned -with what one nation shall do, but with what all nations shall be. They -recommence until they are finished, in things like the fall of Carthage -or the rout of Attila. It is quite true that history is for the most -part a plain road, which the tribes of men must travel side by side, -bargaining at the same markets or worshipping at the same shrines, -fighting and making friends again; and wisely making friends quickly. -But we need only see the road stretch but a little farther, from a hill -but a little higher, to see that sooner or later the road comes always -to another place, where stands a winged image of victory; and the ways -divide. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - - - -THE MISTAKE OF IRELAND - - -There is one phrase which certain Irishmen sometimes use in -conversation, which indicates the real mistake that they sometimes -make in controversy. When the more bitter sort of Irishman is at last -convinced of the existence of the less bitter sort of Englishman, -who does realise that he ought not to rule a Christian people by -alternations of broken heads and broken promises, the Irishman has -sometimes a way of saying, ‘I am sure you must have Irish blood in your -veins.’ Several people told me so when I denounced Irish conscription, -a thing ruinous to the whole cause of the Alliance. Some told me so -even when I recalled the vile story of ’98; a thing damned by the -whole opinion of the world. I assured them in vain that I did not need -to have Irish blood in my veins, in order to object to having Irish -blood on my hands. So far as I know, I have not one single drop of -Irish blood in my veins. I have some Scottish blood; and some which, -judging merely by a name in the family, must once have been French -blood. But the determining part of it is purely English, and I believe -East Anglian, at the flattest and farthest extreme from the Celtic -fringe. But I am here concerned, not with whether it is true, but with -why they should want to prove it is true. One would think they would -want to prove precisely the opposite. Even if they were exaggerative -and unscrupulous, they should surely seek to show that an Englishman -was forced to condemn England, rather than that an Irishman was -inclined to support Ireland. As it is, they are labouring to destroy -the impartiality and even the independence of their own witness. It -does not support, but rather surrender Irish rights, to say that only -the Irish can see that there are Irish wrongs. It is confessing that -Ireland is a Celtic dream and delusion, a cloud of sunset mistaken for -an island. It is admitting that such a nation is only a notion, and a -nonsensical notion; but in reality it is this notion about Irish blood -that is nonsensical. Ireland is not an illusion; and her wrongs are -not the subjective fancies of the Irish. Irishmen did not dream that -they were evicted out of house and home by the ruthless application -of a land law no man now dares to defend. It was not a nightmare that -dragged them from their beds; nor were they sleepwalkers when they -wandered as far as America. Skeffington did not have a delusion that -he was being shot for keeping the peace; the shooting was objective, -as the Prussian professors would say; as objective as the Prussian -militarists could desire. The delusions were admittedly peculiar to -the British official whom the British Government selected to direct -operations on so important an occasion. I could understand it if the -Imperialists took refuge in the Celtic cloud, conceived Colthurst -as full of a mystic frenzy like the chieftain who fought with the -sea, pleaded that Piggott was a poet whose pen ran away with him, or -that Sergeant Sheridan romanced like a real stage Irishman. I could -understand it if they declared that it was merely in the elvish ecstasy -described by Mr Yeats that Sir Edward Carson, that famous First Lord of -the Admiralty, rode on the top of the dishevelled wave; and Mr Walter -Long, that great Agricultural Minister, danced upon the mountains like -a flame. It is far more absurd to suggest that no man can see the green -flag unless he has some green in his eye. In truth this association -between an Irish sympathy and an Irish ancestry is just as insulting -as the old jibe of Buckingham, about an Irish interest or an Irish -understanding. - -It may seem fanciful to say of the Irish nationalists that they are -sometimes too Irish to be national. Yet this is really the case in -those who would turn nationality from a sanctity to a secret. That -is, they are turning it from something which every one else ought to -respect, to something which no one else can understand. Nationalism is -a nobler thing even than patriotism; for nationalism appeals to a law -of nations; it implies that a nation is a normal thing, and therefore -one of a number of normal things. It is impossible to have a nation -without Christendom; as it is impossible to have a citizen without a -city. Now normally speaking this is better understood in Ireland than -in England; but the Irish have an opposite exaggeration and error, and -tend in some cases to the cult of real insularity. In this sense it is -true to say that the error is indicated in the very name of Sinn Fein. -But I think it is even more encouraged, in a cloudier and therefore -more perilous fashion, by much that is otherwise valuable in the cult -of the Celts and the study of the old Irish language. It is a great -mistake for a man to defend himself as a Celt when he might defend -himself as an Irishman. For the former defence will turn on some tricky -question of temperament, while the latter will turn on the central -pivot of morals. Celticism, by itself, might lead to all the racial -extravagances which have lately led more barbaric races a dance. Celts -also might come to claim, not that their nation is a normal thing, but -that their race is a unique thing. Celts also might end by arguing -not for an equality founded on the respect for boundaries, but for an -aristocracy founded on the ramification of blood. Celts also might come -to pitting the prehistoric against the historic, the heathen against -the Christian, and in that sense the barbaric against the civilised. -In that sense I confess I do not care about Celts; they are too like -Teutons. - -Now of course every one knows that there is practically no such danger -of Celtic Imperialism. Mr Lloyd George will not attempt to annex -Brittany as a natural part of Britain. No Tories, however antiquated, -will extend their empire in the name of the True Blue of the Ancient -Britons. Nor is there the least likelihood that the Irish will overrun -Scotland on the plea of an Irish origin for the old name of the -Scots; or that they will set up an Irish capital at Stratford-on-Avon -merely because _avon_ is the Celtic word for water. That is the sort -of thing that Teutonic ethnologists do; but Celts are not quite so -stupid as that, even when they are ethnologists. It may be suggested -that this is because even prehistoric Celts seem to have been rather -more civilised than historic Teutons. And indeed I have seen ornaments -and utensils in the admirable Dublin museum, suggestive of a society -of immense antiquity, and much more advanced in the arts of life -than the Prussians were, only a few centuries ago. For instance, -there was something that looked like a sort of safety razor. I doubt -if the godlike Goths had much use for a razor; or if they had, if -it was altogether safe. Nor am I so dull as not to be stirred to an -imaginative sympathy with the instinct of modern Irish poetry to -praise this primordial and mysterious order, even as a sort of pagan -paradise; and that not as regarding a legend as a sort of lie, but a -tradition as a sort of truth. It is but another hint of a suggestion, -huge yet hidden, that civilisation is older than barbarism; and that -the farther we go back into pagan origins, the nearer we come to the -great Christian origin of the Fall. But whatever credit or sympathy -be due to the cult of Celtic origins in its proper place, it is none -of these things that really prevents Celticism from being a barbarous -imperialism like Teutonism. The thing that prevents imperialism is -nationalism. It was exactly because Germany was not a nation that it -desired more and more to be an empire. For a patriot is a sort of -lover, and a lover is a sort of artist; and the artist will always love -a shape too much to wish it to grow shapeless, even in order to grow -large. A group of Teutonic tribes will not care how many other tribes -they destroy or absorb; and Celtic tribes when they were heathen may -have acted, for all I know, in the same way. But the civilised Irish -nation, a part and product of Christendom, has certainly no desire to -be entangled with other tribes, or to have its outlines blurred with -great blots like Liverpool and Glasgow, as well as Belfast. In that -sense it is far too self-conscious to be selfish. Its individuality -may, as I shall suggest, make it too insular; it will not make it too -imperial. This is a merit in nationalism too little noted; that even -what is called its narrowness is not merely a barrier to invasion, but -a barrier to expansion. Therefore, with all respect to the prehistoric -Celts, I feel more at home with the good if sometimes mad Christian -gentlemen of the Young Ireland movement, or even the Easter Rebellion. -I should feel more safe with Meagher of the Sword than with the -primitive Celt of the safety razor. The microscopic meanness of the -Mid-Victorian English writers, when they wrote about Irish patriots, -could see nothing but a very small joke in modern rebels thinking -themselves worthy to take the titles of antique kings. But the only -doubt I should have, if I had any, is whether the heathen kings were -worthy of the Christian rebels. I am much more sure of the heroism of -the modern Fenians than of the ancient ones. - -Of the artistic side of the cult of the Celts I do not especially speak -here. And indeed its importance, especially to the Irish, may easily be -exaggerated. Mr W. B. Yeats long ago dissociated himself from a merely -racial theory of Irish poetry; and Mr W. B. Yeats thinks as hard as -he talks. I often entirely disagree with him; but I disagree far more -with the people who find him a poetical opiate, where I always find -him a logical stimulant. For the rest, Celticism in some aspects is -largely a conspiracy for leading the Englishman a dance, if it be a -fairy dance. I suspect that many names and announcements are printed -in Gaelic, not because Irishmen can read them, but because Englishmen -can’t. The other great modern mystic in Dublin, entertained us first by -telling an English lady present that she would never resist the Celtic -atmosphere, struggle how she might, but would soon be wandering in the -mountain mists with a fillet round her head; which fate had apparently -overtaken the son or nephew of an Anglican bishop who had strayed into -those parts. The English lady, whom I happen to know rather well, made -the characteristic announcement that she would go to Paris when she -felt it coming on. But it seemed to me that such drastic action was -hardly necessary, and that there was comparatively little cause for -alarm; seeing that the mountain mists certainly had not had that effect -on the people who happen to live in the mountains. I knew that the -poet knew, even better than I did, that Irish peasants do not wander -about in fillets, or indeed wander about at all, having plenty of much -better work to do. And since the Celtic atmosphere had no perceptible -effect on the Celts, I felt no alarm about its effect on the Saxons. -But the only thing involved, by way of an effect on the Saxons, was a -practical joke on the Saxons; which may, however, have lasted longer in -the case of the bishop’s son than it did in mine. Anyhow, I continued -to move about (like Atalanta in Calydon) with unchapleted hair, with -unfilleted cheek; and found a sufficient number of Irish people in the -same condition to prevent me from feeling shy. In a word, all that sort -of thing is simply the poet’s humour, especially his good humour, which -is of a golden and godlike sort. And a man would be very much misled by -the practical joke if he does not realise that the joker is a practical -man. On the desk in front of him as he spoke were business papers of -reports and statistics, much more concerned with fillets of veal than -fillets of vision. That is the essential fact about all this side of -such men in Ireland. We may think the Celtic ghost a turnip ghost; but -we can only doubt the reality of the ghost; there is no doubt of the -reality of the turnip. - -But if the Celtic pose be a piece of the Celtic ornament, the spirit -that produced it does also produce some more serious tendencies to the -segregation of Ireland, one might almost say the secretion of Ireland. -In this sense it is true that there is too much separatism in Ireland. -I do not speak of separation from England, which, as I have said, -happened long ago in the only serious sense, and is a condition to -be assumed, not a conclusion to be avoided. Nor do I mean separation -from some federation of free states including England; for that is a -conclusion that could still be avoided with a little common sense and -common honesty in our own politics. I mean separation from Europe, -from the common Christian civilisation by whose law the nations live. -I would be understood as speaking here of exceptions rather than the -rule; for the rule is rather the other way. The Catholic religion, the -most fundamental fact in Ireland, is itself a permanent communication -with the Continent. So, as I have said, is the free peasantry which is -so often the economic expression of the same faith. Mr James Stephens, -himself a spiritually detached man of genius, told me with great -humour a story which is also at least a symbol. A Catholic priest, -after a convivial conversation and plenty of good wine, said to him -confidentially: “You ought to be a Catholic. You can be saved without -being a Catholic; but you can’t be Irish without being a Catholic.” - -Nevertheless, the exceptions are large enough to be dangers; and -twice lately, I think, they have brought Ireland into danger. This -is the age of minorities; of groups that rule rather than represent. -And the two largest parties in Ireland, though more representative -than most parties in England, were too much affected, I fancy, by the -modern fashion, expressed in the world of fads by being Celtic rather -than Catholic. They were just a little too insular to accept the old -unconscious wave of Christendom; the Crusade. But the case was more -extraordinary than that. They were even too insular to appreciate, -not so much their own international needs, as their own international -importance. It may seem a strange paradox to say that both nationalist -parties underrated Ireland as a nation. It may seem a more startling -paradox to say that in this the most nationalist was the least -national. Yet I think I can explain, however roughly, what I mean by -saying that this is so. - -It is primarily Sinn Fein, or the extreme national party, which thus -relatively failed to realise that Ireland is a nation. At least it -failed in nationalism exactly so far as it failed to intervene in the -war of the nations against Prussian imperialism. For its argument -involved, unconsciously, the proposition that Ireland is not a nation; -that Ireland is a tribe or a settlement, or a chance sprinkling of -aborigines. If the Irish were savages oppressed by the British Empire, -they might well be indifferent to the fate of the British Empire; but -as they were civilised men, they could not be indifferent to the fate -of civilisation. The Kaffirs might conceivably be better off if the -whole system of white colonisation, Boer and British, broke down and -disappeared altogether. The Irish might sympathise with the Kaffirs, -but they would not like to be classed with the Kaffirs. Hottentots -might have a sort of Hottentot happiness if the last European city had -fallen in ruins, or the last European had died in torments. But the -Irish would never be Hottentots, even if they were pro-Hottentots. -In other words, if the Irish were what Cromwell thought they were, -they might well confine their attention to Hell and Connaught, and -have no sympathy to spare for France. But if the Irish are what Wolfe -Tone thought they were, they must be interested in France, as he was -interested in France. In short, if the Irish are barbarians, they need -not trouble about other barbarians sacking the cities of the world; -but if they are citizens, they must trouble about the cities that -are sacked. This is the deep and real reason why their alienation -from the Allied cause was a disaster for their own national cause. It -was not because it gave fools a chance of complaining that they were -anti-English, it was because it gave much cleverer people the chance -of complaining that they were anti-European. I entirely agree that -the alienation was chiefly the fault of the English Government; I even -agree that it required an abnormal imaginative magnanimity for an -Irishman to do his duty to Ireland, in spite of being so insolently -told to do it. But it is none the less true that Ireland to-day would -be ten thousand miles nearer her deliverance if the Irishman could have -made that effort; if he had realised that the thing ought to be done, -not because such rulers wanted it, but rather although they wanted it. - -But the much more curious fact is this. There were any number of -Irishmen, and those among the most Irish, who did realise this; who -realised it with so sublime a sincerity as to fight for their own -enemies against the world’s enemies, and consent at once to be insulted -by the English and killed by the Germans. The Redmonds and the old -Nationalist party, if they have indeed failed, have the right to be -reckoned among the most heroic of all the heroic failures of Ireland. -If theirs is a lost cause, it is wholly worthy of a land where lost -causes are never lost. But the old guard of Redmond did also in its -time, I fancy, fall into the same particular and curious error, but -in a more subtle way and on a seemingly remote subject. They also, -whose motives like those of the Sinn Feiners were entirely noble, did -in one sense fail to be national, in the sense of appreciating the -international importance of a nation. In their case it was a matter -of English and not European politics; and as their case was much more -complicated, I speak with much less confidence about it. But I think -there was a highly determining time in politics when certain Irishmen -got on to the wrong side in English politics, as other Irishmen -afterwards got on to the wrong side in European politics. And by the -wrong side, in both cases, I not only mean the side that was not -consistent with the truth, but the side that was not really congenial -to the Irish. A man may act against the body, even the main body, of -his nation; but if he acts against the soul of his nation, even to save -it, he and his nation suffer. - -I can best explain what I mean by reaffirming the reality which an -English visitor really found in Irish politics, towards the end of -the war. It may seem odd to say that the most hopeful fact I found, -for Anglo-Irish relations, was the fury with which the Irish were all -accusing the English of perjury and treason. Yet this was my solid -and sincere impression; the happiest omen was the hatred aroused by -the disappointment over Home Rule. For men are not furious unless -they are disappointed of something they really want; and men are not -disappointed except about something they were really ready to accept. -If Ireland had been entirely in favour of entire separation, the loss -of Home Rule would not be felt as a loss, but if anything as an escape. -But it is felt bitterly and savagely as a loss; to that at least I can -testify with entire certainty. I may or may not be right in the belief -I build on it; but I believe it would still be felt as a gain; that -Dominion Home Rule would in the long run satisfy Ireland. But it would -satisfy her if it were given to her, not if it were promised to her. -As it is, the Irish regard our Government simply as a liar who has -broken his word; I cannot express how big and black that simple idea -bulks in the landscape and blocks up the road. And without professing -to regard it as quite so simple, I regard it as substantially true. -It is, upon any argument, an astounding thing the King, Lords, and -Commons of a great nation should record on its statute-book that a law -exists, and then illegally reverse it in answer to the pressure of -private persons. It is, and must be, for the people benefited by the -law, an act of treason. The Irish were not wrong in thinking it an act -of treason, even in the sense of treachery and trickery. Where they -were wrong, I regret to say, was in talking of it as if it were the -one supreme solitary example of such trickery; when the whole of our -politics were full of such tricks. In short, the loss of justice for -Ireland was simply a part of the loss of justice in England; the loss -of all moral authority in government, the loss of the popularity of -Parliament, the secret plutocracy which makes it easy to take a bribe -or break a pledge, the corruption that can pass unpopular laws or -promote discredited men. The law-giver cannot enforce his law because, -whether or no the law be popular, the law-giver is wholly unpopular, -and is perpetually passing wholly unpopular laws. Intrigue has been -substituted for government; and the public man cannot appeal to the -public because all the most important part of his policy is conducted -in private. The modern politician conducts his public life in private. -He sometimes condescends to make up for it by affecting to conduct his -private life in public. He will put his baby or his birthday book into -the illustrated papers; it is his dealings with the colossal millions -of the cosmopolitan millionaires that he puts in his pocket or his -private safe. We are allowed to know all about his dogs and cats; but -not about those larger and more dangerous animals, his bulls and bears. - -Now there was a moment when England had an opportunity of breaking -down this parliamentary evil, as Europe afterwards had an opportunity -(which it fortunately took) of breaking down the Prussian evil. The -corruption was common to both parties; but the chance of exposing -it happened to occur under the rule of a Home Rule party; which the -Nationalists supported solely for the sake of Home Rule. In the -Marconi Case they consented to whitewash the tricks of Jew jobbers -whom they must have despised, just as some of the Sinn Feiners -afterwards consented to whitewash the wickedness of Prussian bullies -whom they also must have despised. In both cases the motive was wholly -disinterested and even idealistic. It was the practicality that was -unpractical. I was one of a small group which protested against the -hushing up of the Marconi affair, but we always did justice to the -patriotic intentions of the Irish who allowed it. But we based our -criticism of their strategy on the principle of _falsus in uno, falsus -in omnibus_. The man who will cheat you about one thing will cheat you -about another. The men who will lie to you about Marconi, will lie to -you about Home Rule. The political conventions that allow of dealing -in Marconis at one price for the party, and another price for oneself, -are conventions that also allow of telling one story to Mr John Redmond -and another to Sir Edward Carson. The man who will imply one state of -things when talking at large in Parliament, and another state of things -when put into a witness-box in court, is the same sort of man who will -promise an Irish settlement in the hope that it may fail; and then -withdraw it for fear it should succeed. Among the many muddle-headed -modern attempts to coerce the Christian poor to the Moslem dogma about -wine and beer, one was concerned with abuse by loafers or tipplers -of the privilege of the Sunday traveller. It was suggested that the -travellers’ claims were in every sense travellers’ tales. It was -therefore proposed that the limit of three miles should be extended -to six; as if it were any harder for a liar to say he had walked six -miles than three. The politicians might be as ready to promise to walk -the six miles to an Irish Republic as the three miles to an Irish -Parliament. But Sinn Fein is mistaken in supposing that any change of -theoretic claim meets the problem of corruption. Those who would break -their word to Redmond would certainly break it to De Valera. We urged -all these things on the Nationalists whose national cause we supported; -we asked them to follow their larger popular instincts, break down a -corrupt oligarchy, and let a real popular parliament in England give a -real popular parliament to Ireland. With entirely honourable motives, -they adhered to the narrower conception of their national duty. They -sacrificed everything for Home Rule, even their own profoundly national -emotion of contempt. For the sake of Home Rule, or the solemn promise -of Home Rule, they kept such men in power; and for their reward they -found that such men were still in power; and Home Rule was gone. - -What I mean about the Nationalist Party, and what may be called its -prophetic shadow of the Sinn Fein mistake, may well be symbolised in -one of the noblest figures of that party or any party. An Irish poet, -talking to me about the pointed diction of the Irish peasant, said he -had recently rejoiced in the society of a drunken Kerry farmer, whose -conversation was a litany of questions about everything in heaven and -earth, each ending with a sort of chorus of ‘Will ye tell me that now?’ -And at the end of all he said abruptly, ‘Did ye know Tom Kettle?’ and -on my friend the poet assenting, the farmer said, as if in triumph, -‘And why are so many people alive that ought to be dead, and so many -people dead that ought to be alive? Will ye tell me that now?’ That is -not unworthy of an old heroic poem, and therefore not unworthy of the -hero and poet of whom it was spoken. ‘Patroclus died, who was a better -man than you.’ Thomas Michael Kettle was perhaps the greatest example -of that greatness of spirit which was so ill rewarded on both sides of -the channel and of the quarrel, which marked Redmond’s brother and so -many of Redmond’s followers. He was a wit, a scholar, an orator, a man -ambitious in all the arts of peace; and he fell fighting the barbarians -because he was too good a European to use the barbarians against -England, as England a hundred years before had used the barbarians -against Ireland. There is nothing to be said of such things except what -the drunken farmer said, unless it be a verse from a familiar ballad -on a very remote topic, which happens to express my own most immediate -feelings about politics and reconstruction after the decimation of the -great war. - - The many men so beautiful - And they all dead did lie: - And a thousand thousand slimy things - Lived on, and so did I. - -It is not a reflection that adds any inordinate self-satisfaction to -the fact of one’s own survival. - -In turning over a collection of Kettle’s extraordinary varied and -vigorous writings, which contain some of the most pointed and piercing -criticisms of materialism, of modern capitalism and mental and moral -anarchism generally, I came on a very interesting criticism of myself -and my friends in our Marconi agitation; a suggestion, on a note of -genial cynicism, that we were asking for an impossible political -purity; a suggestion which, knowing it to be patriotic, I will venture -to call pathetic. I will not now return on such disagreements with a -man with whom I so universally agree; but it will not be unfair to find -here an exact illustration of what I mean by saying that the national -leaders, so far from merely failing as wild Irishmen, only failed -when they were not instinctive enough, that is, not Irish enough. -Kettle was a patriot whose impulse was practical, and whose policy -was impolitic. Here also the Nationalist underrated the importance of -the intervention of his own nationality. Kettle left a fine and even -terrible poem, asking if his sacrifices were in vain, and whether he -and his people were again being betrayed. I think nobody can deny -that he was betrayed; but it was not by the English soldiers with whom -he marched to war, but by those very English politicians with whom he -sacrificed so much to remain at peace. No man will ever dare to say -his death in battle was in vain, not only because in the highest sense -it could never be, but because even in the lowest sense it was not. -He hated the icy insolence of Prussia; and that ice is broken, and -already as weak as water. As Carlyle said of a far lesser thing, that -at least will never through unending ages insult the face of the sun -any more. The point is here that if any part of his fine work was in -vain, it was certainly not the reckless romantic part; it was precisely -the plodding parliamentary part. None can say that the weary marching -and counter-marching in France was a thing thrown away; not only in -the sense which consecrates all footprints along such a _via crucis_, -or highway of the army of martyrs; but also in the perfectly practical -sense, that the army was going somewhere, and that it got there. But -it might possibly be said that the weary marching and counter-marching -at Westminster, in and out of a division lobby, belonged to what the -French call the _salle des pas perdus_. If anything was practical it -was the visionary adventure; if anything was unpractical it was the -practical compromise. He and his friends were betrayed by the men whose -corruptions they had contemptuously condoned, far more than by the men -whose bigotries they had indignantly denounced. There darkened about -them treason and disappointment, and he that was the happiest died in -battle; and one who knew and loved him spoke to me for a million others -in saying: ‘And now we will not give you a dead dog until you keep your -word.’ - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - - - -AN EXAMPLE AND A QUESTION - - -We all had occasion to rejoice at the return of Sherlock Holmes when -he was supposed to be dead; and I presume we may soon rejoice in his -return even when he is really dead. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, in his -widespread new campaign in favour of Spiritualism, ought at least to -delight us with the comedy of Holmes as a control and Watson as a -medium. But I have for the moment a use for the great detective not -concerned with the psychical side of the question. Of that I will only -say, in passing, that in this as in many other cases, I find myself in -agreement with an authority about where the line is drawn between good -and bad, but have the misfortune to think his good bad, and his bad -good. Sir Arthur explains that he would lift Spiritualism to a graver -and more elevated plane of idealism; and that he quite agrees with his -critics that the mere tricks with tables and chairs are grotesque and -vulgar. I think this quite true if turned upside down, like the table. -I do not mind the grotesque and vulgar part of Spiritualism; what I -object to is the grave and elevating part. After all, a miracle is a -miracle and means something; it means that Materialism is nonsense. But -it is not true that a message is always a message; and it sometimes -only means that Spiritualism is also nonsense. If the table at which -I am now writing takes to itself wings and flies out of the window, -perhaps carrying me along with it, the incident will arouse in me a -real intelligent interest, verging on surprise. But if the pen with -which I am writing begins to scrawl, all by itself, the sort of things -I have seen in spirit writing; if it begins to say that all things are -aspects of universal purity and peace, and so on, why, then I shall -not only be annoyed, but also bored. If a great man like the late Sir -William Crookes says a table went walking upstairs, I am impressed by -the news; but not by news from nowhere to the effect that all men are -perpetually walking upstairs, up a spiritual staircase, which seems to -be as mechanical and labour-saving as a moving staircase at Charing -Cross. Moreover, even a benevolent spirit might conceivably throw the -furniture about merely for fun; whereas I doubt if anything but a devil -from hell would say that all things are aspects of purity and peace. - -But I am here taking from the Spiritualistic articles a text that has -nothing to do with Spiritualism. In a recent contribution to _Nash’s -Magazine_, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle remarks very truly that the modern -world is weary and wicked and in need of a religion; and he gives -examples of its more typical and terrible corruptions. It is perhaps -natural that he should revert to the case of the Congo, and talk of it -in the torrid fashion which recalls the days when Morel and Casement -had some credit in English politics. We have since had an opportunity -of judging the real attitude of a man like Morel in the plainest case -of black and white injustice that the world has ever seen. It was at -once a replica and a reversal of the position expressed in the Pious -Editor’s Creed, and might roughly be rendered in similar language. - - I do believe in Freedom’s cause - Ez fur away ez tropics are; - But Belgians caught in Prussia’s claws - To me less tempting topics are. - It’s wal agin a foreign king - To rouse the chapel’s rigours; - But Liberty’s a kind of thing - We only owe to niggers. - -He had of course a lurid denunciation of the late King Leopold, of -which I will only say that, uttered by a Belgian about the Belgian -king in his own land and lifetime, it would be highly courageous and -largely correct; but that the parallel test is how much truth was told -by British journalists about British kings in their own land and -lifetime; and that until we can pass that test, such denunciations do -us very little good. But what interests me in the matter at the moment -is this. Sir Arthur feels it right to say something about British -corruptions, and passes from the Congo to Putumayo, touching a little -more lightly; for even the most honest Britons have an unconscious -trick of touching more lightly on the case of British capitalists. He -says that our capitalists were not guilty of direct cruelty, but of an -attitude careless and even callous. But what strikes me is that Sir -Arthur, with his taste for such protests and inquiries, need not have -wandered quite so far from his own home as the forests of South America. - -Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is an Irishman; and in his own country, within -my own memory, there occurred a staggering and almost incredible crime, -or series of crimes, which were worthier than anything in the world of -the attention of Sherlock Holmes in fiction, or Conan Doyle in reality. -It always will be a tribute to the author of _Sherlock Holmes_ that -he did, about the same time, do such good work in reality. He made an -admirable plea for Adolf Beck and Oscar Slater; he was also connected, -I remember, with the reversal of a miscarriage of justice in a case -of cattle-mutilation. And all this, while altogether to his credit, -makes it seem all the more strange that his talents could not be used -for, and in, his own home and native country, in a mystery that had -the dimensions of a monstrosity, and which did involve, if I remember -right, a question of cattle-maiming. Anyhow, it was concerned with -moonlighters and the charges made against them, such as the common one -of cutting off the tails of cows. I can imagine Sherlock Holmes on such -a quest, keen-eyed and relentless, finding the cloven hoof of some -sinister and suspected cow. I can imagine Dr Watson, like the cow’s -tail, always behind. I can imagine Sherlock Holmes remarking, in a -light allusive fashion, that he himself had written a little monograph -on the subject of cows’ tails; with diagrams and tables solving the -great traditional problem of how many cows’ tails would reach the moon; -a subject of extraordinary interest to moonlighters. And I can still -more easily imagine him saying afterwards, having resumed the pipe and -dressing-gown of Baker Street, ‘A remarkable little problem, Watson. -In some of its features it was perhaps more singular than any you -have been good enough to report. I do not think that even the Tooting -Trouser-Stretching Mystery, or the singular little affair of the Radium -Toothpick, offered more strange and sensational developments.’ For -if the celebrated pair had really tracked out the Irish crime I have -in mind, they would have found a story which, considered merely as a -detective story, is by far the most dramatic and dreadful of modern -times. Like nearly all such sensational stories, it traced the crime -to somebody far higher in station and responsibility than any of those -suspected. Like many of the most sensational of them, it actually -traced the crime to the detective who was investigating it. For if -they had really crawled about with a magnifying glass, studying the -supposed footprints of the peasants incriminated, they would have -found they were made by the boots of the policeman. And the boots of a -policeman, one feels, are things that even Watson might recognise. - -I have told the astounding story of Sergeant Sheridan before; and I -shall often tell it again. Hardly any English people know it; and I -shall go on telling it in the hope that all English people may know -it some day. It ought to be first in every collection of _causes -célèbres_, in every book about criminals, in every book of historical -mysteries; and on its merits it would be. It is not in any of them. -It is not there because there is a motive, in all modern British -plutocracy, against finding the big British miscarriages of justice -where they are really to be found; and that is a great deal nearer -than Putumayo. It is a place far more appropriate to the exploits of -the family of the Doyles. It is called Ireland; and in that place a -powerful British official named Sheridan had been highly successful -in the imperial service by convicting a series of poor Irishmen of -agrarian crimes. It was afterwards discovered that the British official -had carefully committed every one of the crimes himself; and then, with -equal foresight, perjured himself to imprison innocent men. Any one who -does not know the story will naturally ask what punishment was held -adequate for such a Neronian monster; I will tell him. He was bowed out -of the country like a distinguished stranger, his expenses politely -paid, as if he had been delivering a series of instructive lectures; -and he is now probably smoking a cigar in an American hotel, and much -more comfortable than any poor policeman who has done his duty. I defy -anybody to deny him a place in our literature about great criminals. -Charles Peace escaped many times before conviction; Sheridan escaped -altogether after conviction. Jack the Ripper was safe because he was -undiscovered; Sheridan was discovered and was still safe. But I only -repeat the matter here for two reasons. First, we may call our rule in -Ireland what we like; we may call it the union when there is no union; -we may call it Protestant ascendancy when we are no longer Protestants; -or Teutonic lordship when we could only be ashamed of being Teutons. -But this is what it _is_, and everything else is waste of words. And -second, because an Irish investigator of cattle-maiming, so oblivious -of the Irish cow, is in some danger of figuring as an Irish bull. - -Anyhow, that is the real and remarkable story of Sergeant Sheridan, and -I put it first because it is the most practical test of the practical -question of whether Ireland is misgoverned. It is strictly a fair -test; for it is a test by the minimum and an argument _a fortiori_. -A British official in Ireland can run a career of crime, punishing -innocent people for his own felonies, and when he is found out, he -is found to be above the law. This may seem like putting things at -the worst, but it is really putting them at the best. This story was -not told us on the word of a wild Irish Fenian, or even a responsible -Irish Nationalist. It was told, word for word as I have told it, by -the Unionist Minister in charge of the matter and reporting it, with -regret and shame, to Parliament. He was not one of the worst Irish -Secretaries, who might be responsible for the worst _régime_; on the -contrary, he was by far the best. If even he could only partially -restrain or reveal such things, there can be no deduction in common -sense except that in the ordinary way such things go on gaily in the -dark, with nobody to reveal and nobody to restrain them. It was not -something done in those dark days of torture and terrorism, which -happened in Ireland a hundred years ago, and which Englishmen talk -of as having happened a million years ago. It was something that -happened quite recently, in my own mature manhood, about the time -that the better things like the Land Acts were already before the -world. I remember writing to the _Westminster Gazette_ to emphasise -it when it occurred; but it seems to have passed out of memory in an -almost half-witted fashion. But that peep-hole into hell has afforded -me ever since a horrible amusement, when I hear the Irish softly -rebuked for remembering old unhappy far-off things and wrongs done in -the Dark Ages. Thus I was especially amused to find the Rev. R. J. -Campbell saying that ‘Ireland has been petted and coddled more than -any other part of the British Isles’; because Mr Campbell was chiefly -famous for a comfortable creed himself, for saying that evil is only -‘a shadow where light should be’; and there is no doubt here of his -throwing a very black shadow where light is very much required. I -will conceive the policeman at the corner of the street in which Mr -Campbell resides as in the habit of killing a crossing-sweeper every -now and then for his private entertainment, burgling the houses of Mr -Campbell’s neighbours, cutting off the tails of their carriage horses, -and otherwise disporting himself by moonlight like a fairy. It is his -custom to visit the consequences of each of these crimes upon the Rev. -R. J. Campbell, whom he arrests at intervals, successfully convicts by -perjury, and proceeds to coddle in penal servitude. But I have another -reason for mentioning Mr Campbell, a gentleman whom I heartily respect -in many other aspects; and the reason is connected with his name, as it -occurs in another connection on another page. It shows how in anything, -but especially in anything coming from Ireland, the old facts of -family and faith outweigh a million modern philosophies. The words in -_Who’s Who_--‘Ulster Protestant of Scottish ancestry’--give the really -Irish and the really honourable reason for Mr Campbell’s extraordinary -remark. A man may preach for years, with radiant universalism, that -many waters cannot quench love; but Boyne Water can. Mr Campbell -appears very promptly with what Kettle called ‘a bucketful of Boyne, to -put the sunrise out.’ I will not take the opportunity of saying, like -the Ulsterman, that there never was treason yet but a Campbell was at -the bottom of it. But I will say that there never was Modernism yet but -a Calvinist was at the bottom of it. The old theology is much livelier -than the New Theology. - -Many other such true tales could be told; but what we need here is a -sort of test. This tale is a test; because it is the best that could be -said, about the best that could be done, by the best Englishman ruling -Ireland, in face of the English system established there; and it is -the best, or at any rate the most, that we can know about that system. -Another truth which might also serve as a test, is this; to note among -the responsible English not only their testimony against each other, -but their testimony against themselves. I mean the consideration of -how very rapidly we realise that our own conduct in Ireland has been -infamous, not in the remote past, but in the very recent past. I have -lived just long enough to see the wheel come full circle inside one -generation; when I was a schoolboy, the sort of Kensington middle -class to which I belong was nearly solidly resisting, not only the -first Home Rule Bill, but any suggestion that the Land League had a -leg to stand on, or that the landlords need do anything but get their -rents or kick out their tenants. The whole Unionist Press, which was -three-quarters of the Press, simply supported Clanricarde, and charged -any one who did not do so with supporting the Clan-na-Gael. Mr Balfour -was simply admired for enforcing the system, which it is his real -apologia to have tried to end, or at least to have allowed Wyndham to -end. I am not yet far gone in senile decay; but already I have lived to -hear my countrymen talk about their own blind policy in the time of the -Land League, exactly as they talked before of their blind policy in the -time of the Limerick Treaty. The shadow on our past, shifts forward as -we advance into the future; and always seems to end just behind us. I -was told in my youth that the age-long misgovernment of Ireland lasted -down to about 1870; it is now agreed among all intelligent people that -it lasted at least down to about 1890. A little common sense, after -a hint like the Sheridan case, will lead one to suspect the simple -explanation that it is going on still. - -Now I heard scores of such stories as the Sheridan story in Ireland, -many of which I mention elsewhere; but I do not mention them here -because they cannot be publicly tested; and that for a very simple -reason. We must accept all the advantages and disadvantages of a -rule of absolute and iron militarism. We cannot impose silence and -then sift stories; we cannot forbid argument and then ask for proof; -we cannot destroy rights and then discover wrongs. I say this quite -impartially in the matter of militarism itself. I am far from certain -that soldiers are worse rulers than lawyers and merchants; and I am -quite certain that a nation has a right to give abnormal power to its -soldiers in time of war. I only say that a soldier, if he is a sensible -soldier, will know what he is doing and therefore what he cannot do; -that he cannot gag a man and then cross-examine him, any more than -he can blow out his brains and then convince his intelligence. There -may be; humanly speaking, there must be, a mass of injustices in the -militaristic government of Ireland. The militarism itself may be the -least of them; but it must involve the concealment of all the rest. - -It has been remarked above that establishing militarism is a thing -which a nation had a right to do, and (what is not at all the same -thing) which it may be right in doing. But with that very phrase ‘a -nation,’ we collide of course with the whole real question; the alleged -abstract wrong about which the Irish talk much more than about their -concrete wrongs. I have put first the matters mentioned above, because -I wish to make clear, as a matter of common sense, the impression of -any reasonable outsider that they certainly have concrete wrongs. -But even those who doubt it, and say that the Irish have no concrete -grievance but only a sentiment of Nationalism, fall into a final and -very serious error about the nature of the thing called Nationalism, -and even the meaning of the word ‘concrete.’ For the truth is that, in -dealing with a nation, the grievance which is most abstract of all is -also the one which is most concrete of all. - -Not only is patriotism a part of practical politics, but it is -more practical than any politics. To neglect it, and ask only for -grievances, is like counting the clouds and forgetting the climate. -To neglect it, and think only of laws, is like seeing the landmarks -and never seeing the landscape. It will be found that the denial of -nationality is much more of a daily nuisance than the denial of votes -or the denial of juries. Nationality is the most practical thing, -because so many things are national without being political, or without -being legal. A man in a conquered country feels it when he goes to -market or even goes to church, which may be more often than he goes -to law; and the harvest is more general than the General Election. -Altering the flag on the roof is like altering the sun in the sky; the -very chimney-pots and lamp-posts look different. Nay, after a certain -interval of occupation they are different. As a man would know he was -in a land of strangers before he knew it was a land of savages, so he -knows a rule is alien long before he knows it is oppressive. It is not -necessary for it to add injury to insult. - -For instance, when I first walked about Dublin, I was disposed to -smile at the names of the streets being inscribed in Irish as well as -English. I will not here discuss the question of what is called the -Irish language, the only arguable case against which is that it is not -the Irish language. But at any rate it is not the English language, -and I have come to appreciate more imaginatively the importance of -that fact. It may be used rather as a weapon than a tool; but it is a -national weapon if it is not a national tool. I see the significance -of having something which the eye commonly encounters, as it does a -chimney-pot or a lamp-post; but which is like a chimney reared above -an Irish hearth or a lamp to light an Irish road. I see the point -of having a solid object in the street to remind an Irishman that -he is in Ireland, as a red pillar-box reminds an Englishman that he -is in England. But there must be a thousand things as practical as -pillar-boxes which remind an Irishman that, if he is in his country, it -is not yet a free country; everything connected with the principal seat -of government reminds him of it perpetually. It may not be easy for an -Englishman to imagine how many of such daily details there are. But -there is, after all, one very simple effort of the fancy, which would -fix the fact for him for ever. He has only to imagine that the Germans -have conquered London. - -A brilliant writer who has earned the name of a Pacifist, and even -a Pro-German, once propounded to me his highly personal and even -perverse type of internationalism by saying, as a sort of unanswerable -challenge, ‘Wouldn’t you rather be ruled by Goethe than by Walter -Long?’ I replied that words could not express the wild love and loyalty -I should feel for Mr Walter Long, if the only alternative were Goethe. -I could not have put my own national case in a clearer or more compact -form. I might occasionally feel inclined to kill Mr Long; but under -the approaching shadow of Goethe, I should feel more inclined to kill -myself. That is the deathly element in denationalisation; that it -poisons life itself, the most real of all realities. But perhaps the -best way of putting the point conversationally is to say that Goethe -would certainly put up a monument to Shakespeare. I would sooner die -than walk past it every day of my life. And in the other case of the -street inscriptions, it is well to remember that these things, which -we also walk past every day, are exactly the sort of things that -always have, in a nameless fashion, the national note. If the Germans -conquered London, they would not need to massacre me or even enslave me -in order to annoy me; it would be quite enough that their notices were -in a German style, if not in a German language. Suppose I looked up -in an English railway carriage and saw these words written in English -exactly as I have seen them in a German railway carriage written in -German: ‘The out-leaning of the body from the window of the carriage is -because of the therewith bound up life’s danger strictly prohibited.’ -It is not rude. It would certainly be impossible to complain that it is -curt. I should not be annoyed by its brutality and brevity; but on the -contrary by its elaborateness and even its laxity. But if it does not -exactly shine in lucidity, it gives a reason; which after all is a very -reasonable thing to do. By every cosmopolitan test, it is more polite -than the sentence I have read in my childhood: ‘Wait until the train -stops.’ This is curt; this might be called rude; but it never annoyed -me in the least. The nearest I can get to defining my sentiment is to -say that I can sympathise with the Englishman who wrote the English -notice. Having a rude thing to write, he wrote it as quickly as he -could, and went home to his tea; or preferably to his beer. But what is -too much for me, an overpowering vision, is the thought of that German -calmly sitting down to compose that sentence like a sort of essay. It -is the thought of him serenely waving away the one important word till -the very end of the sentence, like the Day of Judgment to the end of -the world. It is perhaps the mere thought that he did not break down in -the middle of it, but endured to the end; or that he could afterwards -calmly review it, and see that sentence go marching by, like the whole -German army. In short, I do not object to it because it is dictatorial -or despotic or bureaucratic or anything of the kind, but simply because -it is German. Because it is German I do not object to it in Germany. -Because it is German I should violently revolt against it in England. -I do not revolt against the command to wait until the train stops, -not because it is less rude, but because it is the kind of rudeness -I can understand. The official may be treating me casually, but at -least he is not treating himself seriously. And so, in return, I can -treat him and his notice not seriously but casually. I can neglect -to wait until the train stops, and fall down on the platform, as I -did on the platform of Wolverhampton, to the permanent damage of that -fine structure. I can, by a stroke of satiric genius, truly national -and traditional, the dexterous elimination of a single letter, alter -the maxim to ‘Wait until the rain stops.’ It is a jest as profoundly -English as the weather to which it refers. Nobody would be tempted to -take such a liberty with the German sentence; not only because he would -be instantly imprisoned in a fortress, but because he would not know at -which end to begin. - -Now this is the truth which is expressed, though perhaps very -imperfectly, in things like the Gaelic lettering on streets in Dublin. -It will be wholesome for us who are English to realise that there -is almost certainly an English way of putting things, even the most -harmless things, which appears to an Irishman quite as ungainly, -unnatural, and ludicrous as that German sentence appears to me. As the -famous Frenchman did not know when he was talking prose, the official -Englishman does not know when he is talking English. He unconsciously -assumes that he is talking Esperanto. Imperialism is not an insanity of -patriotism; it is merely an illusion of cosmopolitanism. - -For the national note of the Irish language is not peculiar to what -used to be called the Erse language. The whole nation used the tongue -common to both nations with a difference far beyond a dialect. It -is not a difference of accent, but a difference of style; which -is generally a difference of soul. The emphasis, the elision, the -short cuts and sharp endings of speech, show a variety which may be -almost unnoticeable but is none the less untranslatable. It may be -only a little more weight on a word, or an inversion allowable in -English but abounding in Irish; but we can no more copy it than copy -the compactness of the French _on_ or the Latin ablative absolute. -The commonest case of what I mean, for instance, is the locution -that lingers in my mind with an agreeable phrase from one of Mr -Yeats’s stories: ‘Whom I shall yet see upon the hob of hell, and -them screeching.’ It is an idiom that gives the effect of a pointed -postscript, a parting kick or sting in the tail of the sentence, which -is unfathomably national. It is noteworthy and even curious that -quite a crowd of Irishmen, who quoted to me with just admiration the -noble ending of _Kathleen-na-Hulahan_, where the newcomer is asked -if he has seen the old woman who is the tragic type of Ireland going -out, quoted his answer in that form, ‘I did not. But I saw a young -woman, and she walking like a queen.’ I say it is curious, because I -have since been told that in the actual book (which I cannot lay my -hand on at the moment) a more classic English idiom is used. It would -generally be most unwise to alter the diction of such a master of style -as Mr Yeats: though indeed it is possible that he altered it himself, -as he has sometimes done, and not always, I think, for the better. -But whether this form came from himself or from his countrymen, it -was very redolent of his country. And there was something inspiring -in thus seeing, as it were before one’s eyes, literature becoming -legend. But a hundred other examples could be given, even from my own -short experience, of such fine turns of language, nor are the finest -necessarily to be found in literature. It is perfectly true, though -prigs may overwork and snobs underrate the truth, that in a country -like this the peasants can talk like poets. When I was on the wild -coast of Donegal, an old unhappy woman who had starved through the -famines and the evictions, was telling a lady the tales of those times, -and she mentioned quite naturally one that might have come straight -out of times so mystical that we should call them mythical, that some -travellers had met a poor wandering woman with a baby in those great -gray rocky wastes, and asked her who she was. And she answered, ‘I am -the Mother of God, and this is Himself, and He is the boy you will all -be wanting at the last.’ - -There is more in that story than can be put into any book, even on a -matter in which its meaning plays so deep a part, and it seems almost -profane to analyse it however sympathetically. But if any one wishes -to know what I mean by the untranslatable truth which makes a language -national, it will be worth while to look at the mere diction of that -speech, and note how its whole effect turns on certain phrases and -customs which happen to be peculiar to the nation. It is well known -that in Ireland the husband or head of the house is always called -‘himself’; nor is it peculiar to the peasantry, but adopted, if -partly in jest, by the gentry. A distinguished Dublin publicist, a -landlord and leader among the more national aristocracy, always called -me ‘himself’ when he was talking to my wife. It will be noted how a -sort of shadow of that common meaning mingles with the more shining -significance of its position in a sentence where it is also strictly -logical, in the sense of theological. All literary style, especially -national style, is made up of such coincidences, which are a spiritual -sort of puns. That is why style is untranslatable; because it is -possible to render the meaning, but not the double meaning. There is -even a faint differentiation in the half-humorous possibilities of the -word ‘boy’; another wholly national nuance. Say instead, ‘And He is -the child,’ and it is something perhaps stiffer, and certainly quite -different. Take away, ‘This is Himself’ and simply substitute ‘This -is He,’ and it is a piece of pedantry ten thousand miles from the -original. But above all it has lost its note of something national, -because it has lost its note of something domestic. All roads in -Ireland, of fact or folk-lore, of theology or grammar, lead us back -to that door and hearth of the household, that fortress of the family -which is the key-fortress of the whole strategy of the island. The -Irish Catholics, like other Christians, admit a mystery in the Holy -Trinity, but they may almost be said to admit an experience in the -Holy Family. Their historical experience, alas, has made it seem to -them not unnatural that the Holy Family should be a homeless family. -They also have found that there was no room for them at the inn, or -anywhere but in the jail; they also have dragged their new-born babes -out of their cradles, and trailed in despair along the road to Egypt, -or at least along the road to exile. They also have heard, in the dark -and the distance behind them, the noise of the horsemen of Herod. - -Now it is this sensation of stemming a stream, of ten thousand things -all pouring one way, labels, titles, monuments, metaphors, modes of -address, assumptions in controversy, that make an Englishman in Ireland -know that he is in a strange land. Nor is he merely bewildered, as -among a medley of strange things. On the contrary, if he has any sense, -he soon finds them unified and simplified to a single impression, as -if he were talking to a strange person. He cannot define it, because -nobody can define a person, and nobody can define a nation. He can -only see it, smell it, hear it, handle it, bump into it, fall over it, -kill it, be killed for it, or be damned for doing it wrong. He must be -content with these mere hints of its existence; but he cannot define -it, because it is like a person, and no book of logic will undertake to -define Aunt Jane or Uncle William. We can only say, with more or less -mournful conviction, that if Aunt Jane is not a person, there is no -such thing as a person. And I say with equal conviction that if Ireland -is not a nation, there is no such thing as a nation. France is not a -nation, England is not a nation; there is no such thing as patriotism -on this planet. Any Englishman, of any party, with any proposal, may -well clear his mind of cant about that preliminary question. If we -free Ireland, we must free it to be a nation; if we go on repressing -Ireland, we are repressing a nation; if we are right to repress -Ireland, we are right to repress a nation. After that we may consider -what can be done, according to our opinions about the respect due to -patriotism, the reality of cosmopolitan and imperial alternatives, -and so on. I will debate with the man who does not want mankind -divided into nations at all; I can imagine a case for the man who -wants specially to restrain one particular nation, as I would restrain -anti-national Prussia. But I will not argue with a man about whether -Ireland is a nation, or about the yet more awful question of whether -it is an island. I know there is a sceptical philosophy which suggests -that all ultimate ideas are only penultimate ideas, and therefore -perhaps that all islands are really peninsulas. But I will claim to -know what I mean by an island and what I mean by an individual; and -when I think suddenly of my experience in the island in question, the -impression is a single one; the voices mingle in a human voice which I -should know if I heard it again, calling in the distance; the crowds -dwindle into a single figure whom I have seen long ago upon a strange -hill-side, and she walking like a queen. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - - - -BELFAST AND THE RELIGIOUS PROBLEM - - -Of that cloud of dream which seems to drift over so many Irish poems -and impressions, I felt very little in Ireland. There is a real meaning -in this suggestion of a mystic sleep, but it does not mean what most -of us imagine, and is not to be found where we expect it. On the -contrary, I think the most vivid impression the nation left on me, was -that it was almost unnaturally wide awake. I might almost say that -Ireland suffers from insomnia. This is not only literally true, of -those tremendous talks, the prolonged activities of rich and restless -intellects, that can burn up the nights from darkness to daybreak. -It is true on the doubtful as well as the delightful side, and the -temperament has something of the morbid vigilance and even of the -irritability of insomnia. Its lucidity is not only superhuman, but it -is sometimes in the true sense inhuman. Its intellectual clarity cannot -resist the temptation to intellectual cruelty. If I had to sum up in -a sentence the one fault really to be found with the Irish, I could -do it simply enough. I should say it saddened me that I liked them -all so much better than they liked each other. But it is our supreme -stupidity that this is always taken as meaning that Ireland is a sort -of Donnybrook Fair. It is really quite the reverse of a merely rowdy -and irresponsible quarrel. So far from fighting with shillelaghs, they -fight far too much with rapiers; their temptation is in the very nicety -and even delicacy of the thrust. Of course there are multitudes who -make no such deadly use of the national irony; but it is sufficiently -common for even these to suffer from it; and after a time I began to -understand a little that burden about bitterness of speech, which -recurs so often in the songs of Mr Yeats and other Irish poets. - - Though hope fall from you and love decay - Burning in fires of a slanderous tongue. - -But there is nothing dreamy about the bitterness; the worst part -of it is the fact that the criticisms always have a very lucid and -logical touch of truth. It is not for us to lecture the Irish about -forgiveness, who have given them so much to forgive. But if some one -who had not lost the right to preach to them, if St Patrick were to -return to preach, he would find that nothing had failed, through all -those ages of agony, of faith and honour and endurance; but I think he -might possibly say, what I have no right to say, a word about charity. - -There is indeed one decisive sense in which the Irish are very -poetical; in that of giving a special and serious social recognition -to poetry. I have sometimes expressed the fancy that men in the Golden -Age might spontaneously talk in verse; and it is really true that half -the Irish talk is in verse. Quotation becomes recitation. But it is -much too rhythmic to resemble our own theatrical recitations. This is -one of my own strongest and most sympathetic memories, and one of my -most definable reasons for having felt extraordinarily happy in Dublin. -It was a paradise of poets, in which a man who may feel inclined to -mention a book or two of _Paradise Lost_, or illustrate his meaning -with the complete ballad of the _Ancient Mariner_, feels he will be -better understood than elsewhere. But the more this very national -quality is noted, the less it will be mistaken for anything merely -irresponsible, or even merely emotional. The shortest way of stating -the truth is to say that poetry plays the part of music. It is in -every sense of the phrase a social function. A poetical evening is as -natural as a musical evening, and being as natural it becomes what is -called artificial. As in some circles ‘Do you play?’ is rather ‘Don’t -you play?’ these Irish circles would be surprised because a man did -not recite rather than because he did. A hostile critic, especially an -Irish critic, might possibly say that the Irish are poetical because -they are not sufficiently musical. I can imagine Mr Bernard Shaw saying -something of the sort. But it might well be retorted that they are not -merely musical because they will not consent to be merely emotional. It -is far truer to say that they give a reasonable place to poetry, than -that they permit any particular poetic interference with reason. ‘But -I, whose virtues are the definitions of the analytical mind,’ says Mr -Yeats, and any one who has been in the atmosphere will know what he -means. In so far as such things stray from reason, they tend rather to -ritual than to riot. Poetry is in Ireland what humour is in America; it -is an institution. The Englishman, who is always for good and evil the -amateur, takes both in a more occasional and even accidental fashion. -It must always be remembered here that the ancient Irish civilisation -had a high order of poetry, which was not merely mystical, but rather -mathematical. Like Celtic ornament, Celtic verse tended too much to -geometrical patterns. If this was irrational, it was not by excess -of emotion. It might rather be described as irrational by excess of -reason. The antique hierarchy of minstrels, each grade with its own -complicated metre, suggests that there was something Chinese about -a thing so inhumanly civilised. Yet all this vanished etiquette is -somehow in the air in Ireland; and men and women move to it, as to the -steps of a lost dance. - -Thus, whether we consider the sense in which the Irish are really -quarrelsome, or the sense in which they are really poetical, we find -that both lead us back to a condition of clarity which seems the very -reverse of a mere dream. In both cases Ireland is critical, and even -self-critical. The bitterness I have ventured to lament is not Irish -bitterness against the English; that I should assume as not only -inevitable, but substantially justifiable. It is Irish bitterness -against the Irish; the remarks of one honest Nationalist about another -honest Nationalist. Similarly, while they are fond of poetry, they -are not always fond of poets, and there is plenty of satire in their -conversation on the subject. I have said that half the talk may consist -of poetry; I might almost say that the other half may consist of -parody. All these things amount to an excess of vigilance and realism; -the mass of the people watch and pray, but even those who never pray -never cease to watch. If they idealise sleep, it is as the sleepless -do; it might almost be said that they can only dream of dreaming. If -a dream haunts them, it is rather as something that escapes them; and -indeed some of their finest poetry is rather about seeking fairyland -than about finding it. Granted all this, I may say that there was -one place in Ireland where I did seem to find it, and not merely to -seek it. There was one spot where I seemed to see the dream itself in -possession, as one might see from afar a cloud resting on a single -hill. There a dream, at once a desire and a delusion, brooded above a -whole city. That place was Belfast. - -The description could be justified even literally and in detail. A man -told me in north-east Ulster that he had heard a mother warning her -children away from some pond, or similar place of danger, by saying, -‘Don’t you go there; there are wee popes there.’ A country where -that could be said is like Elfland as compared to England. If not -exactly a land of fairies, it is at least a land of goblins. There is -something charming in the fancy of a pool full of these peculiar elves, -like so many efts, each with his tiny triple crown or crossed keys -complete. That is the difference between this manufacturing district -and an English manufacturing district, like that of Manchester. There -are numbers of sturdy Nonconformists in Manchester, and doubtless -they direct some of their educational warnings against the system -represented by the Archbishop of Canterbury. But nobody in Manchester, -however Nonconformist, tells even a child that a puddle is a sort -of breeding place for Archbishops of Canterbury, little goblins in -gaiters and aprons. It may be said that it is a very stagnant pool -that breeds that sort of efts. But whatever view we take of it, it -remains true, to begin with, that the paradox could be proved merely -from superficial things like superstitions. Protestant Ulster reeks of -superstition; it is the strong smell that really comes like a blast out -of Belfast, as distinct from Birmingham or Brixton. But to me there is -always something human and almost humanising about superstition; and -I really think that such lingering legends about the Pope, as a being -as distant and dehumanised as the King of the Cannibal Islands, have -served as a sort of negative folk-lore. And the same may be said, in so -far as it is true that the commercial province has retained a theology -as well as a mythology. Wherever men are still theological there is -still some chance of their being logical. And in this the Calvinist -Ulsterman may be more of a Catholic Irishman than is commonly realised, -especially by himself. - -Attacks and apologies abound about the matter of Belfast bigotry; -but bigotry is by no means the worst thing in Belfast. I rather think -it is the best. Nor is it the strongest example of what I mean, when -I say that Belfast does really live in a dream. The other and more -remarkable fault of the society has indeed a religious root; for nearly -everything in history has a religious root, and especially nearly -everything in Irish history. Of that theoretical origin in theology -I may say something in a moment; it will be enough to say here that -what has produced the more prominent and practical evil is ultimately -the theology itself, but not the habit of being theological. It is the -creed, but not the faith. In so far as the Ulster Protestant really has -a faith, he is really a fine fellow; though perhaps not quite so fine -a fellow as he thinks himself. And that is the chasm; and can be most -shortly stated as I have often stated it in such debates: by saying -that the Protestant generally says, ‘I am a good Protestant,’ while the -Catholic always says, ‘I am a bad Catholic.’ - -When I say that Belfast is dominated by a dream, I mean it in the -strict psychological sense; that something inside the mind is stronger -than everything outside it. Nonsense is not only stronger than sense, -but stronger than the senses. The idea in a man’s head can eclipse the -eyes in his head. Very worthy and kindly merchants told me there was -no poverty in Belfast. They did not say there was less poverty than -was commonly alleged, or less poverty than there had been, or less -than there was in similar places elsewhere. They said there was none. -As a remark about the Earthly Paradise or the New Jerusalem, it would -be arresting. As a remark about the streets, through which they and -I had both passed a few moments before, it was simply a triumph of -the sheer madness of the imagination of man. These eminent citizens -of Belfast received me in the kindest and most courteous fashion, and -I would not willingly say anything in criticism of them beyond what -is necessary for the practical needs of their country and mine. But -indeed I think the greatest criticism on them, is that they would not -understand what the criticism means. I will therefore clothe it in a -parable, which is none the worse for having also been a real incident. -When told there was no poverty in Belfast, I had remarked mildly that -the people must have a singular taste in dress. I was gravely assured -that they had indeed a most singular taste in dress. I was left with -the general impression that wearing shirts or trousers decorated with -large holes at irregular intervals was a pardonable form of foppery -or fashionable extravagance. And it will always be a deep indwelling -delight, in the memories of my life, that just as these city fathers -and I came out on to the steps of the hotel, there appeared before us -one of the raggedest of the ragged little boys I had seen, asking for a -penny. I gave him a penny, whereon this group of merchants was suddenly -transfigured into a sort of mob, vociferating, ‘Against the law! -Against the law!’ and bundled him away. I hope it is not unamiable -to be so much entertained by that vision of a mob of magistrates, so -earnestly shooing away a solitary child like a cat. Anyhow, they knew -not what they did; and, what is worse, knew not that they knew not. And -they would not understand, if I told them, what legend might have been -made about that child, in the Christian ages of the world. - -The point is here that the evil in the delusion does not consist in -bigotry, but in vanity. It is not that such a Belfast man thinks he -is right; for any honest man has a right to think he is right. It is -that he does think he is good, not to say great; and no honest man can -reach that comfortable conviction without a course of intellectual -dishonesty. What cuts this spirit off from Christian common sense is -the fact that the delusion, like most insane delusions, is merely -egotistical. It is simply the pleasure of thinking extravagantly -well of oneself, and unlimited indulgence in that pleasure is far -more weakening than any indulgence in drink or dissipation. But so -completely does it construct an unreal cosmos round the ego, that the -criticism of the world cannot be felt even for worldly purposes. I -could give many examples of this element in Belfast, as compared even -with Birmingham or Manchester. The Lord Mayor of Manchester may not -happen to know much about pictures, but he knows men who know about -them. But the Belfast authorities will exhibit a maniacally bad picture -as a masterpiece, merely because it glorifies Belfast. No man dare put -up such a picture in Manchester, within a stone’s-throw of Mr Charles -Rowley. I care comparatively little about the case of æsthetics; -but the case is even clearer in ethics. So wholly are these people -sundered from more Christian traditions that their very boasts lower -them; and they abase themselves when they mean to exalt themselves. -It never occurs to them that their strange inside standards do not -always impress outsiders. A great employer introduced me to several of -his very intelligent employees, and I can readily bear witness to the -sincerity of the great Belfast delusion even among many of the poorer -men of Belfast. But the sincere efforts of them and their master, to -convince me that a union with the Catholic majority under Home Rule was -intolerable to them, all went to one tune, which recurred with a kind -of chorus, ‘We won’t have the likes of them making laws for the likes -of us.’ It never seemed to cross their minds that this is not a high -example of any human morality; that judged by pagan _verecundia_ or -Christian humility or modern democratic brotherhood, it is simply the -remark of a snob. The man in question is quite innocent of all this; -he has no notion of modesty, or even of mock modesty. He is not only -superior, but he thinks it a superiority to claim superiority. - -It is here that we cannot avoid theology, because we cannot avoid -theory. For the point is that even in theory the one religious -atmosphere now differs from the other. That the difference had -historically a religious root is really unquestionable; but anyhow it -is very deeply rooted. The essence of Calvinism was certainty about -salvation; the essence of Catholicism is uncertainty about salvation. -The modern and materialised form of that certainty is superiority; -the belief of a man in a fixed moral aristocracy of men like himself. -But the truth concerned here is that, by this time at any rate, the -superiority has become a doctrine as well as an indulgence. I doubt if -this extreme school of Protestants believe in Christian humility even -as an ideal. I doubt whether the more honest of them would even profess -to believe in it. This can be clearly seen by comparing it with other -Christian virtues, of which this decayed Calvinism offers at least -a version, even to those who think it a perversion. Puritanism is a -version of purity; if we think it a parody of purity. Philanthropy is a -version of charity; if we think it a parody of charity. But in all this -commercial Protestantism there is no version of humility; there is not -even a parody of humility. Humility is not an ideal. Humility is not -even a hypocrisy. There is no institution, no commandment, no common -form of words, no popular pattern or traditional tale, to tell anybody -in any fashion that there is any such thing as a peril of spiritual -pride. In short, there is here a school of thought and sentiment that -does definitely regard self-satisfaction as a strength, as against the -strong Christian tradition in the rest of the country that does as -definitely regard it as a weakness. That is the real moral issue in -the modern struggle in Ireland, nor is it confined to Ireland. England -has been deeply infected with this pharisaical weakness, but as I have -said, England takes things vaguely where Ireland takes them vividly. -The men of Belfast offer that city as something supreme, unique and -unrivalled; and they are very nearly right. There is nothing exactly -like it in the industrialism of this country; but for all that, the -fight against its religion of arrogance has been fought out elsewhere -and on a larger field. There is another centre and citadel from which -this theory, of strength in a self-hypnotised superiority, has -despised Christendom. There has been a rival city to Belfast; and its -name was Berlin. - -Historians of all religions and no religion may yet come to regard -it as an historical fact, I fancy, that the Protestant Reformation -of the sixteenth century (at least in the form it actually took) was -a barbaric breakdown, like that Prussianism which was the ultimate -product of that Protestantism. But however this may be, historians -will always be interested to note that it produced certain curious and -characteristic things, which are worth studying whether we like or -dislike them. And one of its features, I fancy, has been this; that it -has had the power of producing certain institutions which progressed -very rapidly to great wealth and power; which the world regarded at a -certain moment as invincible; and which the world, at the next moment, -suddenly discovered to be intolerable. It was so with the whole of -that Calvinist theology, of which Belfast is now left as the lonely -missionary. It was so, even in our own time, with the whole of that -industrial capitalism of which Belfast is now the besieged and almost -deserted outpost. And it was so with Berlin as it was with Belfast; -and a subtle Prussian might almost complain of a kind of treachery, in -the abruptness with which the world woke up and found it wanting; in -the suddenness of the reaction that struck it impotent, so soon after -it had been counted on omnipotent. These things seem to hold all the -future, and in one flash they are things of the past. - -Belfast is an antiquated novelty. Such a thing is still being excused -for seeming _parvenu_ when it is discovered to be _passé_. For -instance, it is only by coming in touch with some of the controversies -surrounding the Convention, that an Englishman could realise how much -the mentality of the Belfast leader is not so much that of a remote -seventeenth century Whig, as that of a recent nineteenth century -Radical. His conventionality seemed to be that of a Victorian rather -than a Williamite, and to be less limited by the Orange Brotherhood -than by the Cobden Club. This is a fact most successfully painted and -pasted over by the big brushes of our own Party System, which has the -art of hiding so many glaring facts. This Unionist Party in Ireland -is very largely concerned to resist the main reform advocated by -the Unionist Party in England. A political humorist, who understood -the Cobden tradition of Belfast and the Chamberlain tradition of -Birmingham, could have a huge amount of fun appealing from one to the -other; congratulating Belfast on the bold Protectionist doctrines -prevalent in Ireland; adjuring Mr Bonar Law and the Tariff Reformers -never to forget the fight made by Belfast for the sacred principles -of Free Trade. But the fact that the Belfast school is merely the -Manchester school is only one aspect of this general truth about the -abrupt collapse into antiquity: a sudden superannuation. The whole -march of that Manchester industrialism is not only halted but turned; -the whole position is outflanked by new forces coming from new -directions; the wealth of the peasantries blocks the road in front -of it; the general strike has risen menacing its rear. That strange -cloud of self-protecting vanity may still permit Belfast to believe in -Belfast, but Britain does not really believe in Belfast. Philosophical -forces far wider and deeper than politics have undermined the -conception of progressive Protestantism in Ireland. I should say myself -that mere English ascendancy in that island became intellectually -impossible on the day when Shaftesbury introduced the first Factory -Act, and on the day when Newman published the first pages of the -_Apologia_. Both men were certainly Tories and probably Unionists. -Neither were connected with the subject or with each other; the one -hated the Pope and the other the Liberator. But industrialism was never -again self-evidently superior after the first event, or Protestantism -self-evidently superior after the second. And it needed a towering and -self-evident superiority to excuse the English rule in Ireland. It is -only on the ground of unquestionably doing good that men can do so much -evil as that. - -Some Orangemen before the war indulged in a fine rhetorical comparison -between William of Prussia and William of Orange, and openly suggested -that the new Protestant Deliverer from the north would come from -North Germany. I was assured by my more moderate hosts in Belfast -that such Orangemen could not be regarded as representative or even -responsible. On that I cannot pronounce. The Orangemen may not have -been representative; they may not have been responsible; but I am quite -sure they were right. I am quite sure those poor fanatics were far -nearer the nerve of historical truth than professional politicians like -Sir Edward Carson or industrial capitalists like Sir George Clark. If -ever there was a natural alliance in the world, it would have been the -alliance between Belfast and Berlin. The fanatics may be fools, but -they have here the light by which the foolish things can confound the -wise. It is the brightest spot in Belfast, bigotry, for if the light -in its body be darkness, it is still brighter than the darkness. By -the vision that goes everywhere with the virility and greatness of -religion, these men had indeed pierced to the Protestant secret and the -meaning of four hundred years. Their Protestantism is Prussianism, not -as a term of abuse, but as a term of abstract and impartial ethical -science. Belfast and Berlin are on the same side in the deepest of all -the spiritual issues involved in the war. And that is the simple issue -of whether pride is a sin, and therefore a weakness. Modern mentality, -or great masses of it, has seriously advanced the view that it is a -weakness to disarm criticism by self-criticism, and a strength to -disdain criticism through self-confidence. That is the thesis for which -Berlin gave battle to the older civilisation in Europe; and that for -which Belfast gave battle to the older civilisation in Ireland. It may -be, as I suggested that such Protestant pride is the old Calvinism, -with its fixed election of the few. It may be that the Protestantism -is merely Paganism, with its brutish gods and giants lingering in -corners of the more savage north. It may be that the Calvinism was -itself a recurrence of the Paganism. But in any case, I am sure that -this superiority, which can master men like a nightmare, can also -vanish like a nightmare. And I strongly suspect that in this matter -also, as in the matter of property as viewed by a peasantry, the -older civilisation will prove to be the real civilisation, and that -a healthier society will return to regarding pride as a pestilence, -as the Socialists have already returned to regarding avarice as a -pestilence. The old tradition of Christendom was that the highest -form of faith was a doubt. It was the doubt of a man about his soul. -It was admirably expressed to me by Mr Yeats, who is no champion of -Catholic orthodoxy, in stating his preference for mediæval Catholicism -as compared with modern humanitarianism: ‘Men were thinking then -about their own sins, and now they are always thinking about other -peoples.’ And even by the Protestant test of progress, pride is seen -to be arrested by a premature paralysis. Progress is superiority to -oneself, and it is stopped dead by superiority to others. The case -is even clearer by the test of poetry, which is much more solid and -permanent than progress. The Superman may have been a sort of poem, but -he could never be any sort of poet. The more we attempt to analyse that -strange element of wonder, which is the soul of all the arts, the more -we shall see that it must depend on some subordination of the self to -a glory existing beyond it, and even in spite of it. Man always feels -as a creature when he acts as a creator. When he carves a cathedral, -it is to make a monster that can swallow him. But the Nietzschean -nightmare of swallowing the world is only a sort of yawning. When the -evolutionary anarch has broken all links and laws and is at last free -to speak, he finds he has nothing to say. So German songs under the -imperial eagle fell silent like songbirds under a hawk; and it is -but rarely, and here and there, that a Belfast merchant liberates his -soul in a lyric. He has to get Mr Kipling to write a Belfast poem, in -a style technically attuned to the Belfast pictures. There is the true -Tara of the silent harp, and the throne and habitation of the dream; -and it is there that the Celtic pessimists should weep in silence -for the end of song. Blowing one’s own trumpet has not proved a good -musical education. - -In logic a wise man will always put the cart before the horse. That -is to say, he will always put the end before the means; when he is -considering the question as a whole. He does not construct a cart in -order to exercise a horse. He employs a horse to draw a cart, and -whatever is in the cart. In all modern reasoning there is a tendency -to make the mere political beast of burden more important than the -chariot of man it is meant to draw. This has led to a dismissal of all -such spiritual questions in favour of what are called social questions; -and this to a too facile treatment of things like the religious -question in Belfast. There is a religious question; and it will not -have an irreligious answer. It will not be met by the limitation of -Christian faith, but rather by the extension of Christian charity. But -if a man says that there is no difference between a Protestant and a -Catholic, and that both can act in an identical fashion everywhere but -in a church or chapel, he is madly driving the cart-horse when he has -forgotten the cart. A religion is not the church a man goes to but the -cosmos he lives in; and if any sceptic forgets it, the maddest fanatic -beating an Orange drum about the Battle of the Boyne is a better -philosopher than he. - -Many uneducated and some educated people in Belfast quite sincerely -believe that Roman priests are fiends, only waiting to rekindle the -fires of the Inquisition. For two simple reasons, however, I declined -to take this fact as evidence of anything except their sincerity. -First, because the stories, when reduced to their rudiment of truth, -generally resolved themselves into the riddle of poor Roman Catholics -giving money to their own religion, and seemed to deplore not so much -a dependence on priests as an independence of employers. And second, -for a reason drawn from my own experience, as well as common knowledge, -concerning the Protestant gentry in the south of Ireland. The southern -Unionists spoke quite without this special horror of Catholic priests -or peasants. They grumbled at them or laughed at them as a man grumbles -or laughs at his neighbours; but obviously they no more dreamed that -the priest would burn them than that he would eat them. If the priests -were as black as the black Protestants painted them, they would be at -their worst where they are with the majority, and would be known at -their worst by the minority. It was clear that Belfast held the more -bigoted tradition, not because it knew more of priests, but because -it knew less of them; not because it was on the spot, but because the -spot was barred. An even more general delusion was the idea that all -the southern Irish dreamed and did no work. I pointed out that this -also was inconsistent with concrete experience; since all over the -world a man who makes a small farm pay has to work very hard indeed. -In historic fact, the old notion that the Irish peasant did no work, -but only dreamed, had a simple explanation. It merely meant that he did -no work for a capitalist’s profit, but dreamed of some day doing work -for his own profit. But there may also have been this distorted truth -in the tradition; that a free peasant, while he extends his own work, -creates his own holidays. He is not idle all day, but he may be idle -at any time of the day; he does not dream whenever he feels inclined, -but he does dream whenever he chooses. A famous Belfast manufacturer, -a man of capacity, but one who shook his head over the unaccountable -prevalence of priests, assured me that he had seen peasants in the -south doing nothing, at all sorts of odd times; and this is doubtless -the difference between the farm and the factory. The same gentleman -showed me over the colossal shipping of the great harbour, with all -machinery and transport leading up to it. No man of any imagination -would be insensible to such titanic experiments of his race; or deny -the dark poetry of those furnaces fit for Vulcan or those hammers -worthy of Thor. But as I stood on the dock I said to my guide: ‘Have -you ever asked what all this is for?’ He was an intelligent man, an -exile from metaphysical Scotland, and he knew what I meant. ‘I don’t -know,’ he said, ‘perhaps we are only insects building a coral reef. -I don’t know what is the good of the coral reef.’ ‘Perhaps,’ I said, -‘that is what the peasant dreams about, and why he listens to the -priest.’ - -For there seems to be a fashionable fallacy, to the effect that -religious equality is something to be done and done with, that we may -go on to the real matter of political equality. In philosophy it is -the flat contrary that is true. Political equality is something to be -done and done with, that we may go on to the much more real matter -of religion. At the Abbey Theatre I saw a forcible play by Mr St John -Irvine, called _The Mixed Marriage_, which I should remember if it were -only for the beautiful acting of Miss Maire O’Neill. But the play moved -me very much as a play; yet I felt that the presence of this fallacy -falsified it in some measure. The dramatist seemed to resent a schism -merely because it interfered with a strike. But the only object of -striking is liberty; and the only object of liberty is life: a thing -wholly spiritual. It is economic liberty that should be dismissed as -these people dismiss theology. We only get it to forget it. It is right -that men should have houses, right that they should have land, right -that they should have laws to protect the land; but all these things -are only machinery to make leisure for the labouring soul. The house is -only a stage set up by stage carpenters for the acting of what Mr J. B. -Yeats has called ‘the drama of the home.’ All the most dramatic things -happen at home, from being born to being dead. What a man thinks -about these things is his life; and to substitute for them a bustle of -electioneering and legislation is to wander about among screens and -pulleys on the wrong side of pasteboard scenery, and never to act the -play. And that play is always a miracle play; and the name of its hero -is Everyman. - -When I came back from the desolate splendour of the Donegal sea and -shore, and saw again the square garden and the statue outside the -Dublin hotel, I did not know I was returning to something that might -well be called more desolate. For it was when I entered the hotel that -I first found that it was full of the awful tragedy of the _Leinster_. -I had often seen death in a home, but never death decimating a vast -hostelry; and there was something strangely shocking about the empty -seats of men and women with whom I had talked so idly a few days -before. It was almost as if there was more tragedy in the cutting short -of such trivial talk than in the sundering of life-long ties. But there -was all the dignity as well as the tragedy of man; and I was glad, -before I left Ireland, to have seen the nobler side of the Anglo-Irish -garrison, and to have known men of my own blood, however mistaken, so -enduring the end of things. With the bad news from the sea came better -news from the war; the Teutonic hordes were yielding everywhere, at -the signal of the last advance; and with all the emotions of an exile, -however temporary, I knew that my own land was secure. Somehow, the bad -and good news together turned my mind more and more towards England; -and all the inner humour and insular geniality which even the Irish -may some day be allowed to understand. As I went homewards on the next -boat that started from the Irish port, and the Wicklow hills receded -in a rainy and broken sunlight, it was with all the simplest of those -ancient appetites with which a man should come back to his own country. -Only there clung to me, not to be denied, one sentiment about Ireland, -one sentiment that I could not transfer to England; which called me -like an elfland of so many happy figures, from Puck to Pickwick. As I -looked at those rainy hills I knew at least that I was looking, perhaps -for the last time, on something rooted in the Christian faith. There at -least the Christian ideal was something more than an ideal; it was in a -special sense real. It was so real that it appeared even in statistics. -It was so self-evident as to be seen even by sociologists. It was a -land where our religion had made even its vision visible. It had made -even its unpopular virtues popular. It must be, in the times to come, -a final testing-place, of whether a people that will take that name -seriously, and even solidly, is fated to suffer or to succeed. - -As the long line of the mountain coast unfolded before me I had an -optical illusion; it may be that many have had it before. As new -lengths of coast and lines of heights were unfolded, I had the fancy -that the whole land was not receding but advancing, like something -spreading out its arms to the world. A chance shred of sunshine -rested, like a riven banner, on the hill which I believe is called in -Irish the Mountain of the Golden Spears; and I could have imagined -that the spears and the banner were coming on. And in that flash I -remembered that the men of this island had once gone forth, not with -the torches of conquerors or destroyers, but as missionaries in the -very midnight of the Dark Ages; like a multitude of moving candles, -that were the light of the world. - - -GLASGOW: WM. COLLINS SONS AND CO. LTD. - - - - -‘_Books published by the firm of Collins are invariably good to look at -and good to read._’ - - MAN OF KENT in the _British Weekly_ - - -SOME RECENT NOVELS - -_from_ - -MESSRS COLLINS’ LIST - - -THE YOUNG PHYSICIAN - -By FRANCIS BRETT YOUNG - -‘One of the most vital stories ever written.’--_Illustrated London -News._ - -‘Being written by his supple yet precise and sensitive pen, _The -Young Physician_ is naturally lifted far above the average story in -expression.’--_Morning Post._ - -‘Giving its author’s best, and placing him high indeed on the æsthetic -plateau.’--_Daily Chronicle._ - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net._ - -(_Second Impression._) - - -_Read also by the same Author_ - -MARCHING ON TANGA - -_A New Edition with Six Coloured Plates._ - -‘It is hard to recall a book about the war at once so imaginative and -so real.’--_Westminster Gazette._ - -_Small 4to. 10s. 6d. net._ - - -POEMS: 1916-1918 - -Handsomely Printed on Fine Paper - -_Large Crown 8vo. 5s. net._ - - -CAPTAIN SWING: A PLAY - -By FRANCIS BRETT YOUNG AND W. EDWARD STIRLING - -_Large Crown 8vo. 2s. net._ - - -Cousin Philip - -MRS HUMPHRY WARD - -Author of _The War and Elizabeth_, _Missing_, etc. - -_Cousin Philip_ is chiefly a study of the change which the war has -brought about, on the modern girl and the relations of men and women. -Helena, an orphan girl of great beauty and some wealth, has consented, -to please her dying mother, to spend two years, from her 19th to her -21st birthday under the care of her guardian, Lord Buntingford, rather -than go at once, as she herself wishes, to a University, in preparation -for an independent life. She is headstrong, wilful, and clever; as keen -intellectually as she is fond of dancing and flirting. Mrs Humphry -Ward shows all her well-known skill in the handling of the subsequent -situation, that skill which has made her books models of the novel -writer’s art. Lord Buntingford’s modern yet chivalrous character, with -his poetic personality, make him a charming figure. The _dénouement_ is -unexpected. - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net._ - - -RECENTLY PUBLISHED BY THE SAME AUTHOR - -A WRITER’S RECOLLECTIONS - -_Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net._ - -(_Third Impression_) - - -The Young Physician - -FRANCIS BRETT YOUNG - -Author of _Marching on Tanga_, etc. - -_The Young Physician_ is the history of the formative years of a boy -who, after leaving one of our public schools, decides more from force -of circumstances than from inclination to enter the medical profession. -Side-light is thrown upon our educational system in the first part -of the book, which is devoted to home and school life; while in the -second, the impressions and experiences which went to the moulding of -his character are presented side by side with a picture of student life -at the Midland Hospital where he pursues his medical curriculum. The -success of such a book lies no less in its truth to life than in its -ability to entertain the reader, both of which conditions are fulfilled -in Major Brett Young’s new novel where, once again, the author breaks -entirely new ground. - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net._ - -(_Second Impression_) - - -NEW WINE - -By AGNES AND EGERTON CASTLE - -‘Mr and Mrs Egerton Castle are old hands at the game, and can be relied -on to tell a good story and tell it well.’--_Daily Chronicle._ - -‘Not only very readable but worth pondering over.’--_British Weekly._ - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net._ - -(_Second Impression._) - - -THE PLAIN GIRL’S TALE - -By H. H. BASHFORD - -_The Plain Girl’s Tale_, by H. H. Bashford, is the longest novel -that the author of _The Corner of Harley Street_ has yet written, -and the first that he has produced since the publication of _Pity -the Poor Blind_, six years ago. Though dealing with the adventures -and development of a girl of the artisan class in various spheres of -contemporary life, it stands apart from the war and is in no sense -merely topical. In the delineation of the central character, through -whose eyes most of the action of the novel is seen, the author has -endeavoured to expand the ethical theme that was the basis of his -previous novel. - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._ - - -MADELEINE - -By HOPE MIRRLEES (_Second Impression._) - -‘Marked by very considerable distinction.’--_Westminster Gazette._ - -‘A first novel that deserves the warmest applause.’--_Morning Post._ - -‘It is well worth while to read this difficult and interesting -novel.’--_Times Literary Supplement._ - -‘It will be interesting to see if, with a supposed intellectual revival -going on, _Madeleine_ becomes “a good seller.”’--_Evening Standard._ - -‘A remarkable piece of erudition.’--_Truth._ - -‘A remarkable first novel.’--_Manchester Guardian._ - -‘Really promising.’--_Outlook._ - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net._ - - -TRUE LOVE - -By ALLAN MONKHOUSE - -Author of _Men and Ghosts_, etc. - -‘A thoughtful and provocative work, full of energy.’--_Daily Chronicle._ - -‘The observation is notably close and vivid, the character drawing -subtle and true. Mr Monkhouse has put enough sheer cleverness into this -book to vivify half a dozen novels.’--_Sunday Times._ - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net._ - - -FULL CIRCLE - -By MARY AGNES HAMILTON - -Author of ‘_Dead Yesterday_,’ etc. - -Placed first in Scotland and later in London, and timed more than -a dozen years before the war, this story follows the intertwined -fortunes of a brother and sister, members of a singularly happy, -artistically-sensitive, and romantically-minded family, into whose -tranquillity there crashes a queer, brilliantly gifted realist. Contact -with him indeed colours, whether they will or no, the lives of all -the people who meet him, even after his mysterious disappearance; and -especially that of the girl whom, judged by ordinary standards, he -treats so ill. Happiness has a hundred faces, and that which she learns -to see will set readers questioning. - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net._ - - -THE HUMAN CIRCUS - -By J. MILLS WHITHAM - -Author of ‘_Fruit of Earth_.’ - -In his new novel, Mr Mills Whitham, while developing his realistic -art, leaves sombre tragedy for picaresque comedy. The tale carries the -girl Zillah through early years in a North Devon hamlet, adventures -on Exmoor, the roads, and at the West Country Fairs, excitements in -London, and leaves her back again at the hamlet, ripe in her own -wisdom. Peasants, show-folk, gipsies, nimble vagabonds, philosophers -and fools, make their bow and enliven the Circus. - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net._ - - -SIR LIMPIDUS - -By MARMADUKE PICKTHALL - -Author of ‘_Oriental Encounters_,’ etc. - -A Novel of the plenteous days before the war. The author has essayed -the high imaginative task of investing the established order with the -mantle of romance. It is not the mantle of Don Quixote nor of Tartarin -de Tarascon: but it is the best and gayest cloak of humour which -the author could devise consistently with the sentiments of awe and -reverence with which he naturally approached the subject. - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net._ - - -THE QUIETNESS OF DICK - -By R. E. VERNÈDE - -Author of ‘_Letters to His Wife_.’ - -‘Has all the high spirits and gaiety which characterised his -writings.’--_Times._ - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net._ - - -THE CARAVAN-MAN - -By ERNEST GOODWIN - -‘A happy, charming story, introducing us to a lot of happy -people.’--_Sheffield Daily Telegraph._ - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net._ - - -THE SHINING ROAD - -By GEO. AGNEW CHAMBERLAIN - -‘A first-rate adventure tale.’--_Westminster Gazette._ - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net._ - - -OVER AND ABOVE - -By J. E. GURDON - -‘The goodness of the book is based on certain rare and attractive -features. Not only by airmen, but also by the laity, _Over and Above_ -will be read with more than ordinary interest.’--_Times._ - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._ - - -COCKTAILS - -By LIEUT. C. PATRICK THOMPSON - -‘This is a collection of very fine stories. No other book has given us -the atmosphere of adventure and, what is more, of mystery peculiar to -air-fighting.’--_New Witness._ - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._ - - -UNDER THE PERISCOPE - -By LIEUT. MARK BENNETT, R.N.R. - -‘Bright with entertaining touches and humour.’--_Scotsman._ - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._ - - -THE PROBLEM CLUB - -By BARRY PAIN - -‘Excellent fooling.’--_The Times._ - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net._ - -(_Second Impression._) - - -LOVE LANE - -By J. C. SNAITH - -Author of _Mary Plantagenet_, etc. - -‘It is a splendid, manly, simple story.’--_New Witness._ - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net._ - -(_Third Impression._) - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - -Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - -Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Irish Impressions, by G. K. Chesterton - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IRISH IMPRESSIONS *** - -***** This file should be named 61758-0.txt or 61758-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/7/5/61758/ - -Produced by Tim Lindell, David E. 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