Chapter 36

MY stepfather, Mr. Ellice, having been in two Ministries -Lord Grey's in 1830, and Lord Melbourne's in 1834 - hadnecessarily a large parliamentary acquaintance; and as Icould always dine at his house in Arlington Street when Ipleased, I had constant opportunities of meeting most of theprominent Whig politicians, and many other eminent men of theday. One of the dinner parties remains fresh in my memory -not because of the distinguished men who happened to bethere, but because of the statesman whose name has sincebecome so familiar to the world.

　　Some important question was before the House in which Mr.

　　Ellice was interested, and upon which he intended to speak.

　　This made him late for dinner, but he had sent word that hisson was to take his place, and the guests were not to wait.

　　When he came Lord John Russell greeted him with -'Well, Ellice, who's up?'

　　'A younger son of Salisbury's,' was the reply; 'Robert Cecil,making his maiden speech. If I hadn't been in a hurry Ishould have stopped to listen to him. Unless I am very muchmistaken, he'll make his mark, and we shall hear more ofhim.'

　　There were others dining there that night whom it isinteresting to recall. The Grotes were there. Mrs. Grote,scarcely less remarkable than her husband; Lord Mahon,another historian (who married a niece of Mr. Ellice's), LordBrougham, and two curious old men both remarkable, if fornothing else, for their great age. One was George Byng,father of the first Lord Strafford, and 'father' of the Houseof Commons; the other Sir Robert Adair, who was Ambassador atConstantinople when Byron was there. Old Mr. Byng looked asaged as he was, and reminded one of Mr. Smallweed doubled upin his porter's chair. Quite different was his compeer. Wewere standing in the recess of the drawing-room window afterdinner when Sir Robert said to me:

　　'Very shaky, isn't he! Ah! he was my fag at Eton, and I'vegot the best of it still.'

　　Brougham having been twice in the same Government with Mr.

　　Ellice, and being devoted to young Mrs. Edward Ellice, hischarming daughter-in-law, was a constant visitor at 18Arlington Street. Mrs. Ellice often told me of hispeculiarities, which must evidently have been known toothers. Walter Bagehot, speaking of him, says:

　　'Singular stories of eccentricity and excitement, even ofsomething more than either of these, darken these latteryears.'

　　What Mrs. Ellice told me was, that she had to keep a sharpwatch on Lord Brougham if he sat near her writing-table whilehe talked to her; for if there was any pretty little knick-knack within his reach he would, if her head were turned,slip it into his pocket. The truth is perhaps better thanthe dark hint, for certainly we all laughed at it as nothingbut eccentricity.

　　But the man who interested me most (for though when in theNavy I had heard a hundred legends of his exploits, I hadnever seen him before) was Lord Dundonald. Mr. Ellicepresented me to him, and the old hero asked why I had leftthe Navy.

　　'The finest service in the world; and likely, begad, to havesomething to do before long.'

　　This was only a year before the Crimean war. With his strongrough features and tousled mane, he looked like a grey lion.

　　One expected to see him pick his teeth with a pocketboarding-pike.

　　The thought of the old sailor always brings before me theoften mooted question raised by the sentimentalists andhumanitarians concerning the horrors of war. Not long afterthis time, the papers - the sentimentalist papers - werefurious with Lord Dundonald for suggesting the adoption bythe Navy of a torpedo which he himself, I think, hadinvented. The bare idea of such wholesale slaughter wasrevolting to a Christian world. He probably did not see muchdifference between sinking a ship with a torpedo, and firinga shell into her magazine; and likely enough had as muchrespect for the opinions of the woman-man as he had for theman-woman.

　　There is always a large number of people in the world whosuffer from emotional sensitiveness and susceptibility tonervous shocks of all kinds. It is curious to observe thedifferent and apparently unallied forms in which thesecharacteristics manifest themselves. With some, they exhibitextreme repugnance to the infliction of physical pain forwhatever end; with others there seems to be a morbid dread ofviolated pudicity. Strangely enough the two phases arefrequently associated in the same individual. Bothtendencies are eminently feminine; the affinity lies in ahysterical nature. Thus, excessive pietism is a frequentconcomitant of excessive sexual passion; this, though notablythe case with women, is common enough with men of undulyneurotic temperaments.

　　Only the other day some letters appeared in the 'Times' aboutthe flogging of boys in the Navy. And, as a sentimentalargument against it, we were told by the HumanitarianLeaguers that it is 'obscene.' This is just what might beexpected, and bears out the foregoing remarks. But suchsaintly simplicity reminds us of the kind of squeamishness ofwhich our old acquaintance Mephisto observes:

　　Man darf das nicht vor keuschen Ohren nennen,Was keusche Herzen nicht entbehren konnen.

　　(Chaste ears find nothing but the devil inWhat nicest fancies love to revel in.)The same astute critic might have added:

　　And eyes demure that look away when seen,Lose ne'er a chance to peep behind the screen.

　　It is all of a piece. We have heard of the parlour-maid whofainted because the dining-table had 'ceder legs,' but neverbefore that a 'switching' was 'obscene.' We do not envy theunwholesomeness of a mind so watchful for obscenity.

　　Be that as it may, so far as humanity is concerned, thishypersensitive effeminacy has but a noxious influence; andall the more for the twofold reason that it is sometimessincere, though more often mere cant and hypocrisy. At thebest, it is a perversion of the truth; for emotion combinedwith ignorance, as it is in nine hundred and ninety-ninecases out of a thousand, is a serious obstacle in the path ofrational judgment.

　　Is sentimentalism on the increase? It seems to be so, if weare to judge by a certain portion of the Press, and byspeeches in Parliament. But then, this may only mean thatthe propensity finds easier means of expression than it didin the days of dearer paper and fewer newspapers, and alsothat speakers find sentimental humanity an inexhaustible fundfor political capital. The excess of emotional attributes inman over his reasoning powers must, one would think, havebeen at least as great in times past as it is now. Yet it isdoubtful whether it showed itself then so conspicuously as itdoes at present. Compare the Elizabethan age with our own.

　　What would be said now of the piratical deeds of such men asFrobisher, Raleigh, Gilbert, and Richard Greville? SupposeLord Roberts had sent word to President Kruger that if fourEnglish soldiers, imprisoned at Pretoria, were molested, hewould execute 2,000 Boers and send him their heads? Theclap-trap cry of 'Barbaric Methods' would have gone forth tosome purpose; it would have carried every constituency in thecountry. Yet this is what Drake did when four Englishsailors were captured by the Spaniards, and imprisoned by theSpanish Viceroy in Mexico.

　　Take the Elizabethan drama, and compare it with ours. Whatshould we think of our best dramatist if, in one of histragedies, a man's eyes were plucked out on the stage, and ifhe that did it exclaimed as he trampled on them, 'Out, vilejelly! where is thy lustre now?' or of a Titus Andronicuscutting two throats, while his daughter ''tween her stumpsdoth hold a basin to receive their blood'?

　　'Humanity,' says Taine, speaking of these times, 'is as muchlacking as decency. Blood, suffering, does not move them.'

　　Heaven forbid that we should return to such brutality! Icite these passages merely to show how times are changed; andto suggest that with the change there is a decided loss ofmanliness. Are men more virtuous, do they love honour more,are they more chivalrous, than the Miltons, the Lovelaces,the Sidneys of the past? Are the women chaster or moregentle? No; there is more puritanism, but not more truepiety. It is only the outside of the cup and the platterthat are made clean, the inward part is just as full ofwickedness, and all the worse for its hystericalfastidiousness.

　　To what do we owe this tendency? Are we degenerating morallyas well as physically? Consider the physical side of thequestion. Fifty years ago the standard height for admissionto the army was five feet six inches. It is now lowered tofive feet. Within the last ten years the increase in theurban population has been nearly three and a half millions.

　　Within the same period the increase in the rural populationis less than a quarter of one million. Three out of fiverecruits for the army are rejected; a large proportion ofthem because their teeth are gone or decayed. Do thesefigures need comment? Can you look for sound minds in suchunsound bodies? Can you look for manliness, for self-respect, and self-control, or anything but animalisticsentimentality?

　　It is not the character of our drama or of our works offiction that promotes and fosters this propensity; but may itnot be that the enormous increase in the number of theatres,and the prodigious supply of novels, may have a share in it,by their exorbitant appeal to the emotional, and henceneurotic, elements of our nature? If such considerationsapply mainly to dwellers in overcrowded towns, there is yetanother cause which may operate on those more favoured, - thevast increase in wealth and luxury. Wherever these havegrown to excess, whether in Babylon, or Nineveh, or Thebes,or Alexandria, or Rome, they have been the symptoms ofdecadence, and forerunners of the nation's collapse.

　　Let us be humane, let us abhor the horrors of war, and strainour utmost energies to avert them. But we might as wellforbid the use of surgical instruments as the weapons thatare most destructive in warfare. If a limb is rotting withgangrene, shall it not be cut away? So if the passions whichoccasion wars are inherent in human nature, we must face theevil stout-heartedly; and, for one, I humbly question whetherany abolition of dum-dum bullets or other attempts tomitigate this disgrace to humanity, do, in the end, more goodthan harm.

　　It is elsewhere that we must look for deliverance, - to theoverwhelming power of better educated peoples; to closerintercourse between the nations; to the conviction that, fromthe most selfish point of view even, peace is the only pathto prosperity; to the restraint of the baser Press which, formere pelf, spurs the passions of the multitude instead ofcurbing them; and, finally, to deliverance from the 'all-potent wills of Little Fathers by Divine right,' and from theignoble ambition of bullet-headed uncles and brothers andcousins - a curse from which England, thank the Gods! is, andlet us hope, ever will be, free. But there are morecountries than one that are not so - just now; and the worldmay ere long have to pay the bitter penalty.