Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

by John Buchan

  “Well, that is all natural and proper, for it is only a stage, and does not last. The man finds himself prosperous, but fragments of his early recollections come back to him, and he begins to want to know something about his forebears. He used to plume himself on his isolation: now he wants to be related to somebody. He suspects that he is badly educated, and he tries to correct his deficiencies. By-and-by a tremendous fit of humility seizes him. He has made an estate for himself and his children, but he wants some of the graces of life. He sends his boys to European schools, or he hunts up his kin in the old country, or he imports old furniture and pictures for the decoration of his new house. It is the second stage — when he begins to recognise that he cannot isolate himself, that he is bound by ties of kinship and race and inherited culture to a larger world. Once again what happens with the individual happens with the colony. She has attained to a fuller self-consciousness, and is aware not only of her merits but of her defects. On one side, therefore, she is conspicuously humble. She wants to learn all the wisdom of the ages that the old world can teach, but when she has learned a little she will brag once more, and say that she discovered it for herself, and then she will be humble again and want to learn further. On the whole she will show, if considerately treated, a real intellectual docility. But remember, she will never abate one jot of her national pride. The colonist, who is eager to get the best that England can give him, and will sit at the feet of teachers, is yet perfectly certain at the back of his head that he is a monstrously fine fellow, in no way inferior to any man whose advice he asks and takes. This pride rubs off a little with experience, but at first it is raw and nervous, and terribly quick to take offence. It is in her early stages that a colony is most difficult. When she becomes perfectly sure of her foundations and looks around the world with calmer eyes, she is no longer so intolerant of criticism and eager to scent out insult.

  “Colonial nationalism is built up on the basis of this temperament. The chief element in it is pride of achievement and a readiness to fight the world to compel acknowledgment. It may be a little irritating at times, but the statesman will view it approvingly, for it is the spirit which makes a strong people. It will accept advice, but never dictation. At all costs it demands the right to work out salvation on its own lines.”

  Mr Wakefield paused to relight his cigar, which had gone out in the process of his argument.

  “If there were no other elements,” he resumed, “then we might say good-bye to any thought of a United Empire. But, joined with this local pride, is the feeling I have already described, a sentimental attachment to the parent race, an eager desire to acquire those other elements of civilisation which their new land cannot give them. In a sense, therefore, this national pride becomes the chief incentive to union. They admit themselves second to no other people, but, when they look round, their practical good sense tells them that, as isolated nations, they are separated by centuries of development from the greater Powers of the world. They can only realise their ambition by the assistance of the other branches of their race. They wish for union, because it involves no sacrifice of pride. They believe, rightly or wrongly, that they can give as well as receive. If they have less wealth, they can show a high level of sterling manhood. If they have a smaller weight of political thought behind them, they are free from the less worthy accretions of tradition. The contact with mother earth, the struggle with nature in her wilder moods in a land of sunshine and winds and great spaces where man can breathe — surely it all must enable them to think freshly and clearly, and to recognise some of the simple and eternal truths which are clouded over in a more sophisticated life.”

  “That,” said Lord Launceston, “I am very ready to admit.”

  “Good. Well, then, any scheme of union must reckon with this nationalism. It is on the constitutional side that it is most jealous, for to a free colony her constitution is a kind of visible sign of her independence, the very Ark of her Covenant. You must, therefore, devise some scheme which leaves their autonomy for the moment intact, for any change must come as a concession from them and not as a mandate from England. I look forward to the day when the Colonies of their own accord will surrender to the central executive many matters which are now in their complete discretion. But that executive must contain their own members, and the reform must be mooted by some body representative of the whole Empire.

  “And now I come to the practical question of methods. We want a Council, which shall involve no harsh break with our present policy, and shall also do no violence to colonial nationalism. Remember what our aim is. We have an alliance — for that is the real relationship — and we want to make this alliance closer and more organic, and to devise bonds which shall be enduring and yet elastic, expanding with the growth of our corporate life. Now a mere advisory council is good, but it is not enough. It is the form suitable to an alliance, but we want something more. Our Council should therefore be given certain executive functions. Faithful to our principle of making use of existing machinery, we might begin with the Cabinet. Why should not the King on the executive side sit in imperial as well as in national session? The Cabinet at its normal meetings might deal with the affairs of the British Islands; but in imperial session it would deal with questions common to the Empire — the army and navy, foreign affairs, commercial treaties, the conflict of laws, currency, postage, shipping, naturalisation, — there is no end to the list. At present the British Defence Committee has power to summon Colonial representatives to its deliberations. Carry the practice one step further. Give the Cabinet the same power, and let Colonial privy councillors sit in its special session, not merely as advisers but as members of the executive, and you have the nucleus of a true Imperial Council.”

  “It is a nucleus, certainly,” said Hugh, “but if the point about our nucleus is its indefinite capacity for expansion, you have omitted one vital provision. How are your Colonial representatives to be chosen? If, as at present, they are only summoned by the King on the advice of the British Cabinet, that Cabinet will remain the sole real executive.”

  Mr Wakefield smiled indulgently. “You have raised the very point I was coming to. The Colonial members must be representative, otherwise they can claim no mandate from their people. I propose to extend the principle of the triennial conferences of Premiers. Why should not they take place more often, — say every second year, — without any great inconvenience. The Premiers would be Cabinet Ministers ad hoc, and would attend the Cabinet in its imperial session. Few of the greater imperial questions are so urgent as not to be able to wait for such sessions, certainly not the great questions of policy. The Imperial Cabinet would have power to vote money, the Colonial representatives voting according to the proportion of Colonial contributions. As the Colonies grow to their full stature and assume more of the imperial burdens, these contributions will become larger, and their power of control proportionately greater. The Premiers would have a mandate in a true sense from their colonies, for the subjects discussed in the Cabinet would already have been discussed in their own parliaments, and might even have been at issue in the previous elections. In time Colonial officials would be appointed to the great executive posts in the Empire, and we should attain to the only practical form of imperial federation — one central and representative imperial executive. I would also suggest, as a supplement, a permanent committee of the Privy Council, with advisory functions, to discuss imperial questions between the sittings of the executive, and a permanent Imperial Intelligence Department to keep in touch with any new developments. Such is a rough outline of a scheme which seems to me both possible and desirable. It may be amended in detail, but I think it is right in its main lines.”

  “I would like to ask one question,” said Mr Astbury. “To what representative body would your Imperial Cabinet be accountable?”

  “In the first instance to the British Parliament, though the Colonial representatives would of course be accountable to their own parliaments also. If at some future time
there should come any form of imperial legislature, then the Cabinet would naturally account to it.”

  Lady Warcliff had hitherto borne small share in the discussions. Her extreme mental energy was accustomed to take the form of restless organisation rather than the speculations of debate. Since her arrival at Musuru she had been busy investigating every detail of the management of that immense household, and had all but driven the Scotch major-domo into lunacy. She had mastered, too, the principles of the agricultural settlement, and was engaged in the somewhat hopeless task of convicting Mr Lowenstein of error in certain financial methods he had employed in his philanthropy. She had sat through the previous discussions with halfclosed eyes and an air of elegant isolation. Now her preoccupation with other things seemed at an end, for she took up Mr Wakefield’s parable with a surprising vivacity.

  “I quite see the merits of your scheme, but you will permit me one criticism. An imperial executive, such as you propose, would no doubt do admirably all the work of the Empire which concerned the mother-country and the free Colonies. But what about the dependencies — India, Africa, and the Far East? I have always regarded them as in a special sense the domain of England, in which the Colonies had no manner of interest. Would they not, with their fetich of independence, resent the very existence of protectorates, or in any case give them a very perfunctory attention?”

  “Your objection, my lady,” said Mr Wakefield, “springs from a misunderstanding of democracy, and especially colonial democracy. If the people are ever to rule they must learn to trust their servants. At present, I grant you, they are apt to be childishly suspicious of the proconsul. But that suspicion is no true democratic product. The only justification of democracy, as Lord Launceston said yesterday, is that it clears the way for superiority. Until it is realised that its mandate, once given, carries with it complete confidence it will never be a governing creed. And this is beginning to be realised. It is the labour leader who is the best disciplinarian, and the demagogue who is given the most rope. Besides, our democracy in the Colonies is a very curious thing, and I look to it to counteract the vices of the home-grown variety. It advocates conscription and colonial navies, and it is inspired throughout with national pride. If it had its own people sharing in the government of India or Egypt, do you suppose it would talk about ‘satraps’ and ‘prancing proconsuls’? It would think of the protectorates as God-given trusts and fields for the vitality of our race to exercise itself in. Remember, our democracy is a white man’s democracy, and we are not moved by any foolish Rousseauism about the rights of man. It is otherwise, I know, in’ England. When I was there this summer I made it my business to see people of all shades of opinion. At a meeting in the Queen’s Hall I heard Mr Corley-Pratt declare that India was an incubus, a wen, a lifeless weight, a stain upon the conscience of the British people, and everything else that could be metaphorically mixed. I read a protest by some University professors against the annexation of Situnga, on the ground that to keep a people in political tutelage was to be guilty of slavery. I found many good men who still clung to the Gladstonian view that any rising of fanatics was an effort of a people ‘rightly struggling to be free.’ These gentlemen would have all the possessions of England redistributed by some International Labour Congress. I tell you that such infernal nonsense would not be tolerated in the Colonies for one instant, and the man who talked it would be lynched. No, madame; we have our race pride, and any insult to it by professor or politician is hotly resented. Our democracy is the creed of men and not of sentimentalists.”

  Lord Launceston had listened a little anxiously to Mr Wakefield’s closing words.

  “I grant its merits, but it has its dangers too. A high-handed Bismarckianism is as much a risk to the well-being of our dependencies as any academic cult of the rights of man. But I agree with you that democracy will find in itself a cure for its weaknesses, and that it will not endanger those great realms we hold in trust for races who are unfit to struggle single-handed in the arena of the world. In these questions I am what you call a ‘mugwump.’ I lay down no canon, and only ask that our grave responsibility be recognised, and that each problem as it arises be determined on the facts, illumined by reason and conscience. But to return to your Council, with which I am wholly in sympathy. I think that on the whole your account of Colonial feeling is just. There is no doubt about the reality of the impulse towards union. At present our machinery is adequate, but it will not always remain so, and what is right in an alliance will be futile in a more intimate relation. We must recognise this tendency and prepare for change; very cautiously at first, for we are dealing with life, remember, and no dead matter which can be coerced into any mould we please. The reform, we are agreed, must begin on the executive side. We have our Empire, and it is right that its common services should be administered as efficiently as possible. There we are on solid ground. As I have said, on the question of legislative federation I am very doubtful. I am not at all certain whether the world is not passing away from the doctrine that legislation should proceed only from a representative body. So certain German legalists think, and there is a good deal to be said for the view. But at any rate we can neglect that question for the moment, and trust to time to bring its own solution. But the other is a question for the present. There is no need for haste, but a beginning must be made, and the ground prepared for development. It is well to begin early to lay down the lines of the vessel into which we are to change, for if we wait till our present ship goes to pieces we may find ourselves in the water. You cannot improvise an army in the hour of need, and it is no easier to improvise a constitution.”

  Mr Wakefield had lit another large cigar, and, pleased with the ready acceptance of his views, turned a cheerful face to the company.

  “There must be no undue haste, but we should not waste time. As you know, I strongly believe that the moment has come for a reform of imperial tariffs so as to create a system of preference within the Empire. If we delay, the Colonies will make separate treaties with other countries, and where the treasure is there will the heart be also. Further, certain industries which might yet be preserved to us will pass to other hands, killed in British hands by protected rivals abroad. I will not argue the matter, for our host, who does not agree with me, has vetoed the subject as foreign to the purpose of our conference. But my point is that the thing can only be settled by some representative Imperial Council — not a mere conference of Premiers, but a Council with a mandate from the whole Empire to consider and decide the question, and with all the material for decision at its call. Moreover, it could only be worked in practice by an imperial executive. I agree with our opponents to this extent, that without some such machinery it would be madness to elaborate any preferential system. Take again the business of defence, on which Colonel Graham may have something to say.”

  Graham, who was still suffering from the drowsiness begotten of hours unwontedly late, hastily collected his wits, and asked for the question to be repeated.

  “It is a matter I have thought a good deal about, and I have bombarded the War Office with my schemes. Generally speaking, I want to affiliate colonial levies to the regular army for training purposes, and also for mobilisation in time of war. The last war showed that we fought as an Empire, but the difficulty is to organise all our splendid fighting strength so as to give it the maximum of force in a crisis. I will not trouble you with any of my schemes, which are long and intricate. But the rock we shipwreck on is the question of colonial contributions, and this obstacle will remain until we get some kind of joint executive. We cannot get the Colonies to put their men under our control unless they have a share in that control, and no one blames them for the feeling. They want to run their own show themselves, but they would be perfectly content to be affiliated with us if they had a say in the management. The same thing appears in the contributions to the navy. No colony likes to vote a sum and have no voice in expending it. It is the old question of taxation without representation. A commo
n executive would get us over the difficulty, for then it would be the whole Empire which asked for men and money and directed the use of both.”

  Lady Flora had slipped silently into the room and perched herself upon an arm of Malory Haystoun’s chair. She looked a little bored with the discussion, and was preparing to depart again when the stem eye of Mr Wakefield arrested her. Apparently addressing his words to her, though in reality unconscious of her presence, he declared that Colonel Graham had spoken excellent good sense.

  “Our main obstacle after all is the insularity of England. The Colonies are insular too, but that does not matter, for it is with England that the motive power still lies, and from her must come the chief impetus. At this moment London is the centre of gravity for the Empire, perhaps for the world. But how long will that continue? England owes her predominance mainly to two facts. First, she has been outside the arena of European strife, and has not been for centuries the cockpit of wars. Her development, political and economic, has been allowed to proceed unchecked. Again, by the gift of Heaven, she was the fortunate possessor of certain means of production, such as coal and iron, and was able to get a long lead in the industrial movement. But how long will all this continue? Already her lead is shortening. In time her coal and iron supplies will decline. She owes her large population mainly to her industrial pre-eminence, and the loss of it will mean starvation and bankruptcy. She cannot hope to compete with countries which feed themselves and are self-contained towards the world. But where she fails as an island, she may succeed as an empire, for the Empire has within its bounds every ingredient of national wealth which other peoples can show. In time to come the centre of gravity will change according to natural economic laws. If electricity should replace coal as the motive force of the future, a country such as Canada, with her immense water-power, will be far better endowed by nature than England. Or some undreamedof force may be discovered by science which will make some other colony the predominant industrial partner. Further, manufacturers will in the long-run migrate to the site of the raw material, and Birmingham and Lancashire will not always keep their prerogative. At present, again, London, from her position and her vast accumulated wealth, is the financial centre of the globe. But every European nation is turning her eyes to the development of her outlying possessions; and, moreover, we have Japan and the United States, and in the near future China, to carry that centre out of Europe. I can foresee the day when Sydney or Vancouver will be far more eligibly situated than London for transacting the business of the world. Well, if all this will happen some time or other, surely it is wise to make early provision that it shall happen smoothly and comfortably. If you can arrange that industries shall have the chance of transference on natural lines throughout the Empire, and that population shall follow them, you have no need to fear any economic débâcle. At present you have forty millions of people to our ten, but what will be the proportion in a hundred years’ time? We must provide for some elasticity in our interests, and this can only be secured by thinking of the Empire not as England plus a number of poor relations, but as one organic whole, whose centre is to be determined by the evidence of time. This is no new doctrine. Adam Smith, who will not be suspected of wild-cat dogmas, preached it as the logical corollary to any policy of colonisation. In the early centuries of the Christian era the great Councils of the Church were held, now in Spain, now on the shores of the Bosphorus; and such mobility, which is the fruit of true cohesion, must be the ideal of our Empire if it is to survive. We are connected at present, but it is to the interest of us all, and especially of England, to be more closely related if we are to be secure against the future. Insularism must cease to dominate British policy, and be left only to the obscurantists and reactionaries. Such constitutional union as I propose is only a small and formal beginning, but it will make broad the path for the true spiritual change.”