When William Came

“And that is—?”

“The youth of the country, the generation that is at the threshold now.  It is them that we must capture.  We must teach them to learn, and coax them to forget.  In course of time Anglo-Saxon may blend with German, as the Elbe Saxons and the Bavarians and Swabians have blended with the Prussians into a loyal united people under the sceptre of the Hohenzollerns.  Then we should be doubly strong, Rome and Carthage rolled into one, an Empire of the West greater than Charlemagne ever knew.  Then we could look Slav and Latin and Asiatic in the face and keep our place as the central dominant force of the civilised world.”

The speaker paused for a moment and drank a deep draught of wine, as though he were invoking the prosperity of that future world-power.  Then he resumed in a more level tone:

“On the other hand, the younger generation of Britons may grow up in hereditary hatred, repulsing all our overtures, forgetting nothing and forgiving nothing, waiting and watching for the time when some weakness assails us, when some crisis entangles us, when we cannot be everywhere at once.  Then our work will be imperilled, perhaps undone.  There lies the danger, there lies the hope, the younger generation.”

“There is another danger,” said the banker, after he had pondered over von Kwarl’s remarks for a moment or two amid the incense-clouds of a fat cigar; “a danger that I foresee in the immediate future; perhaps not so much a danger as an element of exasperation which may ultimately defeat your plans.  The law as to military service will have to be promulgated shortly, and that cannot fail to be bitterly unpopular.  The people of these islands will have to be brought into line with the rest of the Empire in the matter of military training and military service, and how will they like that?  Will not the enforcing of such a measure enfuriate them against us?  Remember, they have made great sacrifices to avoid the burden of military service.”

“Dear God,” exclaimed Herr von Kwarl, “as you say, they have made sacrifices on that altar!”

VII: The Lure

Cicely had successfully insisted on having her own way concerning the projected supper-party; Yeovil had said nothing further in opposition to it, whatever his feelings on the subject might be.  Having gained her point, however, she was anxious to give her husband the impression of having been consulted, and to put her victory as far as possible on the footing of a compromise.  It was also rather a relief to be able to discuss the matter out of range of Joan’s disconcerting tongue and observant eyes.

“I hope you are not really annoyed about this silly supper-party,” she said on the morning before the much-talked-of first night.  “I had pledged myself to give it, so I couldn’t back out without seeming mean to Gorla, and in any case it would have been impolitic to cry off.”

“Why impolitic?” asked Yeovil coldly.

“It would give offence in quarters where I don’t want to give offence,” said Cicely.

“In quarters where the fait accompli is an object of solicitude,” said Yeovil.

“Look here,” said Cicely in her most disarming manner, “it’s just as well to be perfectly frank about the whole matter.  If one wants to live in the London of the present day one must make up one’s mind to accept the fait accompli with as good a grace as possible.  I do want to live in London, and I don’t want to change my way of living and start under different conditions in some other place.  I can’t face the prospect of tearing up my life by the roots; I feel certain that I shouldn’t bear transplanting.  I can’t imagine myself recreating my circle of interests in some foreign town or colonial centre or even in a country town in England.  India I couldn’t stand.  London is not merely a home to me, it is a world, and it happens to be just the world that suits me and that I am suited to.  The German occupation, or whatever one likes to call it, is a calamity, but it’s not like a molten deluge from Vesuvius that need send us all scuttling away from another Pompeii.  Of course,” she added, “there are things that jar horribly on one, even when one has got more or less accustomed to them, but one must just learn to be philosophical and bear them.”

“Supposing they are not bearable?” said Yeovil; “during the few days that I’ve been in the land I’ve seen things that I cannot imagine will ever be bearable.”

“That is because they’re new to you,” said Cicely.

“I don’t wish that they should ever come to seem bearable,” retorted Yeovil.  “I’ve been bred and reared as a unit of a ruling race; I don’t want to find myself settling down resignedly as a member of an enslaved one.”

“There’s no need to make things out worse than they are,” protested Cicely.  “We’ve had a military disaster on a big scale, and there’s been a great political dislocation in consequence.  But there’s no reason why everything shouldn’t right itself in time, as it has done after other similar disasters in the history of nations.  We are not scattered to the winds or wiped off the face of the earth, we are still an important racial unit.”

“A racial unit in a foreign Empire,” commented Yeovil.