REALMAH’S GREAT PROJECT.

They erred, indeed, who thought that the words of the King, which had expressed his joy, and declared his good fortune, in having been wounded, were the words of delirium. Never had Realmah been more sane than when, with laughter, he had uttered those words; for he saw in that occurrence an additional means of carrying into action a project which, from his earliest years, had been very near to his heart.

He was one of those men who, even when not gifted with genius, or with manifold talents, yet have their way in the world, simply because they never become tired of their projects.

What chance have ordinary men against such men as these? The ordinary man, after he has said his say a few times, begins to be tired of that saying. If he is a person of any refinement, he becomes ashamed of so much repetition. He seeks to clothe his idea, even if he maintains it, in new words; and at last, perhaps, he varies, not only the expression, but the substance of his idea. Now, the world of thought is a thing which requires to be penetrated by constant hammering in the same place. What would be thought of the woodman who became tired or ashamed of driving his axe into the one cutting which he had begun to make in the tree? It would be a long time before that tree would be felled, if it had only such an inconstant woodman to attack it.

In a neighbouring territory, belonging to a people called the Azarees, there was a narrow strip of land which was occupied by a fortress belonging to the Sheviri. Some generations past, the Sheviri had conquered the Azarees; and, after the conquest, had held this strip of land, and built this fortress, as a means of keeping the Azarees in a kind of subjection, and also of controlling all the tribes on the lake which had to pass that way, as it was in the nature of a defile which had to be passed by many peoples.

From his earliest years, bred up in government in the house of his uncle, Realmah had been much accustomed to listen to the talk of statesmen and ambassadors. The silent, reserved boy had heard the old statesmen of his nation gloat over the fact that this fortress was a thorn in the side of all their enemies, and even of their allies. He had also noticed what a bitter subject of complaint the existence of this fortress had often been with the ambassadors from foreign tribes. Without daring to breathe a word of what he thought, the studious boy had come to a conclusion totally different from his elders, and had even, at the age of fourteen, resolved, that if ever he should come to power, he would win the hearts of all the nations of the lake by abolishing, in time of peace, this obnoxious fortress.

He _had_ come to power; and the resolve of his boyhood was as much fixed in his mind as ever. With that patient sagacity, however, which was so striking a part of his character, he waited for some time before he even dared to broach to his wise favourite, the court jester, the strange idea which beset him. Not from the jester even, not from any of his most intimate friends, did he at first win a single word of encouragement for his great project. They had not in their vocabulary the word “romantic,” or they would have used it; but they had the word “starlight,” which they used in the same sense as we use moonshine, signifying something which is unreal, which pretends to be warm, and is not. There was not a soul to whom Realmah at first confided his great project who did not intimate to him that his idea was starlight. Even the Ainah, to whom he told it first, had but said in answer, “If all men were like my Realmah, it would be well to be so generous; but there are none like him.” And Realmah sighed, for the fondness of her words did not console him for the absence of her sympathy with him in this his dearest project.

The way in which his proposition was received by three or four of his principal councillors may well illustrate the difficulties with which Realmah had to contend. When he did at last broach the matter to the court jester, that great functionary, as was natural, conveyed his views chiefly by means of a fable.

He said that of course the great king, who was not only the greatest but the most learned man in his dominions, must know the old fable about “the good-natured Otlocol.”

“That magnificent but fearful creature, the Otlocol, was wont in former days to hold long conversations with mankind; and the particular Otlocol in question would often walk about the ancient streets of Abibah.

“One day a friend of his, a man, said, ‘My good Otlocol, why do you take such trouble in getting your food, being up all night sometimes, as I hear, to hunt after the poor reindeer?[34] If you would but allow me just to break off the ends of those two formidable teeth of yours, and pare your front claws a little, everybody would be delighted to partake their food with you. But now, good-natured as you are, people are a little afraid of you. _Then_, even the little children would share their crusts with you.’

Footnote 34:

The reindeer in those times came as far south as the Swiss lakes, as may be seen from the bones that have been exhumed from the bottom of those lakes.

“The good-natured Otlocol, always ready to believe what his friends told him, consented. The teeth were broken, and the nails were pared, by his kind friend. But somehow or other, from that day forth, the Otlocol grew thinner and thinner. He did not, after all, find so many people ready to share their bones and their crusts with him. He was no longer interesting, now that he could not do anybody any harm; and, in the end, the poor animal died of starvation.

“That is all your poor jester has to say, my prince, to your magnanimous proposal.”

The next person that Realmah tried was Llama-Mah. That courtier was dismayed. He had never yet disagreed with the King; but there are bounds to everything, and even Llama-Mah could not give his approbation to the surrender of this fortress. But though he could not assent, he could flatter; and, after a few minutes’ silence, he said to Realmah: “The King is always wise and judicious; but I have observed sometimes that his wisdom takes a higher flight upon the second discussion of any great subject than that which it did on the first.”

Realmah knew full well what a decided negative was most unwillingly conveyed by Llama-Mah in these flattering words.

Not daunted, however, he resolved to lay the question before Lariska. Here there was not so fatal and immediate a negative, for Lariska was always delighted to discuss anything; but he had so many ingenious things to say against the proposition, as well as some few things for it, that Realmah felt more disheartened by his discourse than by that of either of the others.

The next day the King broached the matter to Londardo. Now, as we know, Londardo was one of those men who think that the reasons for, or against, anything, are about equal, and that the main object in this world’s affairs is to adopt some course, and to keep consistently to that. After listening carefully to Realmah’s explanation of his project, Londardo looked very grave; and, to Realmah’s astonishment, asked for two days’ delay before he should say anything at all about the matter.

When those two days had elapsed, Londardo waited upon the King. Without any preamble he said, “It is a great idea, and I should be for its adoption if only we could, from this moment, act consistently with the continuous generosity that such a plan demands. It will not do to be conquering here, and giving up the results of conquest there. For example, you had thought of punishing the disobedience of the Malquas--that must be abandoned, and you must give them the option of refusing all allegiance to you. From all quarters there must come, at the same time, reports of your generosity and of your unwillingness to place a yoke upon any new tributaries.

“Public affairs differ from private affairs only in largeness; and, if you observe, the effect of great forbearance and generosity in dealing with private individuals, breaks down solely because you do not go far enough. You keep up some restriction, or maintain some advantage; and, in doing this, you retain as much odium as if you had maintained all your advantages, and kept up all your restrictions. I will vote as you wish me in the council, provided you will, from that time, be consistent in a course of complete generosity.”

This conversation took place in the early days of Realmah’s reign. Londardo, as we have seen, was slain by the Northmen; and bitterly did the King mourn over the loss of such a counsellor--especially in regard to this great project.

It is not needful to give in detail the constant efforts made, both in council and out of council, by Realmah to win over his chief friends and councillors. Suffice it to say, however, that gradually he did win them over.

I do not think he would have been able to do so, but that this project of abandoning the fortress called Ravala-Mamee was consistent with the rest of Realmah’s policy, which had proved eminently successful. The older councillors were astounded when they found that embassies came to Realmah, absolutely offering him a kind of suzerainty over nations that had hitherto been in no manner whatever connected with the Sheviri.

These councillors began to see that there really is such a thing as the power of love, as well as the power of hatred. Oh, if Realmah had but been blessed with such a religion as Christianity in his time, what a difference there might have been in the aspect of the world!

The councillors had been at last convinced of the wisdom of Realmah’s policy, but they dreaded its being put forth to the people. Year after year they had persuaded the King to postpone the announcement of his intentions, always using the common phrase of statesmen in all ages and in all nations, that the time was not ripe for it; _as if the time were ever ripe for the utterances of a great man--as if he did not create the time!_

It may appear surprising to the hearers of this tale that these secret conferences of Realmah with his friends and his councillors on this important subject, lasting as these conferences did for so many years, never became known to his people, nor even to the inhabitants of Abibah. This fact was in direct contradiction to a celebrated proverb, or rather trilogy of proverbs, said to have been made by the King himself.

It is this--_The dragon-fly told the bee a secret: the whole hive of bees knew it that evening._

_The dragon-fly told another dragon-fly the secret: for three whole days it remained a secret._

_The dragon-fly told the lark the secret: the lark soared up to heaven and did not think much of the dragon-fly’s secret: the other larks never knew it._

This proverb, naturally a kingly one, meant: “Trust equals a little: inferiors not at all: superiors (that is, me the King) thoroughly.”

Now, Realmah had not been betrayed by these inferiors to whom he had trusted the great secret. But the reason why it had never been betrayed was evidently this--that each man who knew it, feared that he might be considered by the common people as a traitor to his country, if he knew of such a project, and had not at once put his veto upon it.

It was as if, in the times of Louis XIII. of France, a man should have been known to have had correspondence with the Court of Spain.

This will show the dangers and the difficulties which Realmah had to encounter in the execution of this great design. In truth, for the last twenty years he had maintained this project at the risk of his throne, and even of his life.

_Milverton._ I do not think that I am especially timid or nervous on ordinary occasions of speaking or talking. I feel what I suppose all people feel when they have to make a speech. One’s heart beats a little faster for a few minutes before the time, and one feels that, on this particular occasion, one is sure to make a failure of it. But when I have got through my first sentence, and have looked into the eyes of my audience, I am seldom troubled by any further embarrassment.

So, in talking: I never feel nervous or uncomfortable, except when I have to explain something, or to argue about something, that will require a certain portion of time to be given to it, and which time I know my auditors will not, or cannot give. One becomes very nervous then.

_Cranmer._ That is a very frequent case. I have often felt it myself.

_Ellesmere._ Probably; but proceed, Milverton, with what you were going to say.

_Milverton._ Well, I was going to say that to-day I am in a permanent state of nervousness, which has almost hitherto been unknown to me.

I feel that you are to a certain extent representative men. If I fail in persuading any of you, I know that I have no chance with the world in general.

Of course, you see what I have been aiming at, and why I have written the story of Realmah. I do not care at all about your saying that mine has been an inartistic mode of proceeding--namely, the writing of a story with a purpose. It is my way of doing the thing, and you must bear with it. At any rate you must own, that I have followed Goethe’s great maxim of not talking away my interest in the subject. You have never heard me speak about it, and yet it has been in my mind for years.

_Ellesmere._ What a restraint the man must have put upon himself! It is just what my favourites, the dogs, do. They could talk well enough about the subjects nearest to their hearts, but they have read their Carlyle, and they know that stern purpose is gradually frittered away by idle talk.

_Milverton._ Now I want to discuss the matter most carefully with you; and you must allow me to commence the discussion. I should wish to divide my subject into five heads.

_Ellesmere._ Good heavens! this is becoming serious. I should like to tell you my experience about a sermon that was divided into five heads.

_Milverton._ Now, don’t joke, Ellesmere.

_Ellesmere._ Sir Oliver Roundhead come again! who never laughed himself, nor ever permitted any of his family to laugh. But, indeed, I will be a thoroughly good boy, and as serious as the men who sell fish about the streets, for I have observed they never joke with their customers.

_Milverton._ (1) _The diminution of expense._ And to this branch of the subject I especially invite Mr. Cranmer’s attention, reminding him of Tennyson’s words,

“And that eternal want of pence Which vexes public men;”

which I know vexes him and Mr. Gladstone, and sundry other great financial authorities.

You, Sir Arthur, who love the works of the great Greek tragedians, will recollect that passage in the “Prometheus vinctus,” in which Prometheus is exhorted to cease from his philanthropic ways. I have often thought how that applies to modern times. If Governments will indulge in philanthropic ways, they must be prepared for constantly increasing expense in this direction. For instance, if we are to go on taking care of the health and sanitary conditions of the people, the expenses of our Medical Department must go on increasing.

If we are to go on educating the people, the expenses of the Education Department must inevitably increase.

If we are to go on cultivating art and science amongst our people, the expenses of the Art and Science Department must also increase.

If we are to go on caring for the recreation of the people, there will be increased expense in this direction.

And, taking the Civil Service generally, considering that, under the new order of things, it will be required to be strengthened and added to, rather than to be reduced, and that of all men in this country, excepting country surgeons, the public servants are the worst paid, I do not see how we can hope for any reduction of expenditure under the heads I have just enumerated.

I stop here for the moment, and wish to know what Sir Arthur and Mr. Cranmer will say.

_Sir Arthur._ You are quite right, Milverton; these philanthropic ways must not cease.

_Cranmer._ And I have no hope of reducing the Civil Service estimates. That excellent man, Joseph Hume, did not look for much economy in that direction.

_Milverton._ Very good. Where, then, must we look for it? I answer, mainly in the naval, military, and colonial departments.

_Ellesmere._ Of course we all know that. So far the Court is with you.

_Milverton._ Now, I say that the way in which the expenses in those departments are to be reduced, _is not by diminishing expense over the whole surface generally, and so producing general weakness everywhere, but by totally doing away with the need for expense at certain fixed points_.

The above I hold to be a great maxim, applicable alike in private and in public affairs. Don’t stint your wife and your children, and your servants and your horses, but do away with the carriage and horses at once, if you really cannot afford to keep it handsomely. Of course you see how I mean to apply this. The wisest political move in our time was the cession of the Ionian Islands. What was the expense to us annually, Cranmer, of the Ionian Islands?

_Cranmer._ Say 50,000_l._

_Milverton._ May I ask you, Cranmer, what has been the expense to us of fortifying Alderney?

_Cranmer._ About 1,177,000_l._

Milverton. What about Bermuda?

_Cranmer._ The cost incurred by Imperial Funds for the defence of Bermuda, in 1859-60, was, if I remember rightly, about 87,000_l._

_Milverton._ And Gibraltar?

_Cranmer._ About 420,000_l._ for that year; and I do not think that was a heavy year.

_Milverton._ For the present I drop the question of expense. You are men of that degree of intelligence and knowledge of the world, that one need not bother you with details, and need only indicate to you a course of argument.

I am now going to the second branch of my subject.

(2) _The increase of prestige._ Mark you, I have not confined myself to any particular case. I do not choose to tell you whether Realmah’s fortress of Ravala-Mamee means Gibraltar, or Malta, or Bermuda. I argue the case generally; and I say that that nation will gain greatly in prestige which first dares to do some great act of renunciation of the kind that I have intimated. Am I right in this?

_Sir Arthur._ I am with you.

_Cranmer._ I doubt.

_Mauleverer._ Dreams! Moonshine! Starlight!

_Ellesmere._ I should like the question to be more specific. The peculiar circumstances of the case would much affect my opinion.

_Milverton._ Well, then, I will be more specific. Suppose that we possess a fortress naturally belonging to another great nation, which nation this fortress menaces, discourages, and mortifies; and suppose that this great nation is one which is never likely to come into direct hostility with ourselves, and the amity of which great nation we should probably win by such an act of renunciation, what should you say then?

_Ellesmere._ I should say that it would be a grand thing to do; but I should wish to know whether this fortress might not be one which it would be important for us to hold in reference to our own military and naval movements, and our possible hostility with other States. I think that is rather an ugly question, Master Milverton.

_Milverton._ It is; but I shall be prepared to answer it in its proper place. I beg you to keep to the point, and to answer me, whether there would be any loss of prestige in such an act of renunciation as I propose?

_Ellesmere._ No, there would not. Prestige is never lost by anything which indicates fearlessness----

_Sir Arthur._ And magnanimity.

_Ellesmere._ A thing may be very unwise, and yet not cause you to lose prestige.

_Milverton._ Very good. I now come to the third branch of the subject.

(3) _Safety for the State._ That safety, you may be sure, in the present condition of the means and appliances for warfare, depends upon the concentration of the powers and forces of the State.

The more you extend the line of possible attack by the enemy, the more you render yourself liable to be defeated at some point, which, though unimportant in itself, as a place to be guarded, is for the moment all-important to you, as being a part of your empire which you are bound to defend. A great empire cannot bear defeat anywhere. I might bring a host of metaphors and similes to illustrate this assertion, but every-day facts will perhaps do so better. You have to take the same care of some obscure British subject, if that man is unduly molested, as you have of your whole Indian dominions. What have you to say to this branch of the subject?

_Cranmer._ I am with you.

_Sir Arthur._ So am I.

_Milverton._ The rest, I perceive, are silent.

_Ellesmere._ I do not like pledging myself. You see he is gradually getting us into his net. He has nearly gained an assent to three of his propositions, and I do not see what we may be led to. We must beware of letting ourselves be treated as the characters are in an imaginary dialogue. You have your Euphranor and Lycidas and Polyphrastes. Euphranor really represents the author, and the other fellows his opponents. Lycidas and Polyphrastes seem at first to come out very grandly and boldly; but anybody who is experienced in such writing easily discerns that the buttons are on their foils, while Euphranor’s weapon is unguarded. I decline to be Polyphrastes.

I tell you what these unhappy characters always remind me of--the performing monkeys of a showman: the poor little creatures hop about gaily enough, but if, springing to the end of their tether, they struggle to get beyond it, the hard-featured showman jerks them back again, and makes them know their proper place, close to his barrel-organ. They are only to dance to his tunes, and are not to be indulged in caperings of their own.

Now, I am not going to be perverse or unreasonable. I will ultimately admit anything that I am convinced of; but I decline, as we go along, to make more admissions than I can help, so that it may not afterwards happen, that Polyphrastes having admitted this, and Polyphrastes having said that, Euphranor comes forth triumphantly, and shuts poor Polyphrastes up in a syllogism. We are not here to play our parts according to Milverton’s bidding, but to argue out a very serious question seriously and guardedly.

_Milverton._ I proceed to Number 4.

(4) _The physical well-being of the community._

This part of the subject has incidentally been treated in Number 1, when we were considering the question of expense. All projected improvements tending to the physical well-being of the State are now met with the answer, “No funds.”

But I have more to say about it. It is not only that funds are wanting; but time, attention, and forethought are wanting. Look what a lot of time and attention on the part of Ministers and Parliament is taken up by small questions concerning these petty dependencies.

This course of argument will apply to education as well as to physical well-being. The greatest things for our general well-being as a nation fail to have due thought given to them, because we are busied with all manner of details connected with possessions that are really of no use to us.

What do you say to all this?

_Mauleverer._ Are people any the happier for this physical well-being and for education? I doubt.

_Sir Arthur._ No, no, Mauleverer; you mustn’t go into your usual course of depreciation of all human effort. We must keep close to the subject. For my part I have nothing to say against Milverton as regards this last branch of the subject.

_Cranmer._ Nor I. I know I never got sufficient attention to anything; and I believe that we, the British people, are distracted from the consideration of matters that most concern us, by a multiplicity of cares and troubles brought to us from afar.

_Milverton._ I am delighted to hear you say that, Cranmer. I may now proceed to the fifth branch of my subject.

(5) _The advancement and development of Christianity._ I have very little to say upon this head. If you do not feel with me at once, I have no hope of persuading you by long arguments. I would just ask you, is it not most inconsistent to advocate the adoption of Christianity by individuals, and not to ask Governments to act upon principles which are essentially Christian?

You all regret and dread the perpetual increase of armaments in Europe. You admit the cruel and wicked expense of these armaments, the loss occasioned by which has lately been estimated at 178,000,000_l._ per annum, and you ask how on earth this great mischief is to be remedied?

I say that some one nation must make the first move, and why should not this nation be England?

At present it is an auction of folly. Each nation goes on bidding against the other. There is no end to it. It is like the conduct of ostentatious people, contending who shall make most show; and this kind of contest can only be ended by the absolute ruin of almost all the contending parties.

Now, what have you to say to my argument taken as a whole?

Here a curious thing occurred. There was a good deal of whispering between Sir John, Sir Arthur, and Mr. Cranmer; and then Sir John spoke.

_Ellesmere._ Whenever there is a rude thing to be done, I am the unlucky wight upon whom it falls to do it. We wish that our good host and hostess should take a little conjugal walk, arm in arm, to the fountain in the front garden, and there, reclining on the grass in sweet repose, should consider what they would give us for dinner to-morrow, while we make up our minds what we shall reply to this elaborate talk of Milverton’s. He has had time to prepare, and so must we.

Sandy must go too, because, though he is a good and trusty fellow, he so thoroughly belongs to the other camp, that we should be a little afraid of his presence.

_Sir Arthur._ Just write down for us, Milverton, the heads of your discourse.

Mr. Milverton did so, and left the paper with Sir Arthur. We then began to move away.

_Ellesmere._ Fairy stays with us.

But Fairy did not stay with them, but moved away slowly in our direction, in the odd fashion that a dog sometimes does, moving its hind legs like a rheumatic old gentleman, indicating a certain unwillingness to go--just what it does when told to go to its kennel, or to go to bed.

We went to the fountain, and I brought out some railway rugs for us to lie down upon. Mr. Milverton soon fell asleep, for he had been up half the night writing the last chapters. Thus half an hour passed. Afterwards we went into the study and worked. At length we were sent for, and when we had returned to them Sir Arthur began the conversation.

_Sir Arthur._ It was somewhat impertinent in us, Milverton, to send you and your wife and Mr. Johnson away, but we felt we could discuss the matter better without you, and settle amongst ourselves where the argument was weak, and where it was strong, and what we should finally resolve to say. I am to be the spokesman.

I have first the pleasure of informing you that you have made a convert in the person of Mr. Cranmer.

_Cranmer._ No, not exactly a convert. I assure you I had many of these ideas floating in my mind before; and now I only mean, that if I were obliged to vote to-day, I should vote with Milverton.

_Milverton._ I am delighted to hear it, Cranmer.

_Ellesmere._ Milverton does love anybody who agrees with him. That is the sure way to his heart. You have risen thirty-three and a half per cent. in his affections, Cranmer. I know you like exact calculations.

_Sir Arthur._ I now resume my office as your spokesman.

In the first place, we are all agreed, except Mauleverer, that philanthropic ways must not cease, and, in short, we agree with you in the main with regard to all you said about expense.

With regard to the increase of prestige, we do not seem to care much about it. We think, however, that you may be right in what you said.

With regard to safety for the State depending on the concentration of its powers and its forces, we thoroughly agree with you.

Here you must forgive me for a little interruption in the way of illustration that has occurred to me. You know the Highland saying, “Cut your talk with a little drink.” So I say, even in the most serious discussion, the talk may be allowed to be cut with something that is either jocose or fanciful.

Is there any insect that has a particular enmity to the spider? I daresay there is; and, if we had your entomologist here, he would probably tell us all about this insect. I will call him the fly-friend. It is rather a shame, by the way, to compare a great nation to a spider, but still I think you will say the illustration is a good one.

You have observed how spiders’ webs are often formed with filaments thrown out to a great distance, the points of attachment being of great importance for the maintenance of the web.

My fly-friend comes and cuts one of these filaments at the furthest point. Before the spider can reach him, he has gone to another spot and cut the filament there; and before the irritated spider can reach his enemy, half the web is flapping helplessly down; for the damage to these distant points is as fatal as if the spider and the fly-friend had come to close quarters.

You may rely upon it that a great nation, with many distant dependencies, is as liable to mischief in this way as any spider’s web.

_Milverton._ The illustration is admirable; but I think it all comes to be included in the saying of Napoleon, “That the art of war is the art of being strongest at a given time, at a given place.” Now I just wish to ask you this ugly question, How are we to be strongest at a given time in Canada?

How few, even of our greatest statesmen, have given any indication that they are meditating deeply upon our colonial policy?

Johnson’s story about his Spoolans had a great deal of meaning in it. There is next to no looking forward to prepare for great political emergencies.

_Sir Arthur._ I must resume.

With regard to what you said about the physical well-being of a state, we are agreed with you.

With regard to what you said about the advancement of Christianity, we are all of the same mind with you, except Mauleverer, who said that he had observed that the advancement of Christianity generally meant an increase in the number of clergymen and priests. He was not for that. Then he told us that the most malignant human being he had ever known was a parson. We did not see that this had much to do with the present subject, and we outvoted him.

_Milverton._ I scarcely know how to construe what I hear. You appear to have nothing to say against me; and yet you tell me I have only made one convert.

_Sir Arthur._ Lady Ellesmere is on the point of conversion.

_Ellesmere._ I think nothing of that. I do not mean to depreciate women: I am in a thoroughly serious mood to-day; but I knew beforehand that they would be sure to be with you. Your proposition has in it everything to please them. They like anything that looks great and magnanimous; and you are not to expect them to go into all the statesmanship of the matter.

_Sir Arthur._ I am afraid it is now my painful duty, as a schoolmaster would say when he is going to give a boy a whipping, to set before you, Milverton, the great objections that have occurred to us, and which prevent us from being converts, or at least keep us undecided.

Is not this matter for a congress? Should there not be something like give and take, in such affairs? Is our Ravala-Mamee to be given up for nothing? Would not more of what you would wish to be accomplished, be accomplished by making the question European instead of British?

These are grave questions, my friend.

_Milverton._ They are. I wish you had allowed me to be present while you were discussing this part of the subject. I shall merely reply by asking you in turn some grave questions.

Would there have been such a thing as free-trade in our time if we had waited until other nations had been convinced of the wise policy of freedom in trade?

Would slavery have been abolished by us if we had waited till other slave-holding nations had come to an agreement with us upon this point?

And, to take a recent instance, should we ever have ceded the Ionian Islands if we had made that cession a matter of European talk, and haggled about it with other nations?

_Sir Arthur._ I proceed to tell you further what we thought; and I am now really afraid that I shall have to say something very unpleasant, and which you will have great difficulty in getting over.

If any cession of the kind you imagine is to be made, it will have to be discussed in Parliament. You know how injudiciously they often talk there about foreign affairs, and how little power the Ministers have either in preventing or directing dangerous discussions of this kind. Now, the transaction which you mean to be a great and generous thing, winning you the love and amity of the nation to whom you make this cession, will be so be-slimed with disagreeable and injurious talk, that you are as likely to be hated as to be loved for what you do.

_Milverton._ This is a hard blow, I admit; but it is not a fatal one. Such a transaction as I contemplate will never take place without a great burst of generous enthusiasm, and there will be a great many noble as well as ignoble things said about it.

But take the worst: say that we do not win the amity of the nation to whom we cede any possession. Will this affect the surrounding nations? Will it make the act really less noble? Will it be the less an initiation of a great policy? And remember this, that some of the advantages I have held out, affect our own individual interests--such as diminution of expense, and concentration of forces.

_Sir Arthur._ I proceed. I am not to enter into discussion, but simply to tell you what we all thought and felt.

We felt, then, that we were not competent to decide upon such a question without having evidence of a military kind before us.

Of course you are not able to give us that; and we should not quite trust you if you were able to give it. We admit that there would probably be great prejudice from a military point of view against your proposal; but, whether that view is prejudiced or not, we must hear it before pledging ourselves, even in friendly talk, upon such a grave matter.

_Milverton._ I have nothing to say in reply on this head, or rather I have a great deal to say; but it must be said after your military views have been expressed, and when I should be able to call in counter-evidence. I could say a great deal from history, bearing upon this point.

_Ellesmere._ Yes, yes; of course you could. You are better up in such subjects than we are; and you would only give us the instances which are in your favour. I do not mean that you would be intentionally unfair; but, in the course of your reading, the historical examples which are favourable to your own views would naturally have attracted your attention, and have retained the foremost place in your memory.

_Sir Arthur._ I will not allow discussion just yet. I must complete my statement.

We are afraid, Milverton, of being led away, or rather misled, by the consideration of some one of your projects--such as the giving up of a particular fortress. We see that it would be a great change in our imperial policy, especially as regards the colonies, if we were to consent to come over to your idea, and vote as you propose. We must look upon the thing as a whole. The power, influence, and reputation of a great nation are very delicate things. We are afraid, lest in touching some bit, we should derange the whole. In fact, to use an official word, we are not “prepared” to give our assent, however much or little it may be worth to your proposition. We admit that it is worthy of the most serious, the most anxious consideration. From this time forward we shall, no doubt, keep it in our minds, and find many things to bear upon it which may be either for you or against you. In fine, to talk after a parliamentary fashion, we shall not go into the lobby with you, nor will our names be found in the division list amidst your opponents; but we shall walk out before the end of the debate.

_Ellesmere._ A mode of action which, in general, I detest; but, in this particular case, I must hear a great deal more on both sides before I can come to any conclusion upon so grave a matter.

_Milverton._ I do not wish to say anything disrespectful, and I am very deeply obliged to you for the earnest attention you have given to this important subject; but I must remark that some of the arguments, or rather some of the feelings--for it seemed to me rather sentiment than argument that Sir Arthur has just adduced--are such as have been brought forward to stop the way of every great reform. “Touch this, and what will become of that?” “Suppress here, and you will cause detriment there.” You must admit it is hard to meet these vague accusations.

Sir Arthur advised that we should sometimes cut our talk by something that was either jocose or fanciful; and, whilst he was speaking, I couldn’t help thinking of a proverb in vogue amongst the Sheviri:--

“The frog leapt from the bank into the water; and, making a little splash, said that he was so much afraid lest his friend, the pescara,[35] who ate up pike for him in the deep waters of the lake, should be troubled by it.”

Footnote 35:

Mr. Milverton afterwards told me a droll proverb, or rather proverbial story, about the pescara and the frog. They are always supposed to be great friends. The story is this: “The pike had hold of the frog’s leg; the pescara came up and swallowed both of them. As the frog was being swallowed he protested against this breach of friendship. Upon which the pescara said, ‘It is a pity, but how is it I find you in such bad company?’” The story used politically to intimate that a small State cannot get into relation with a larger State, even that of hostility, without partaking of its troubles.

_Ellesmere._ Now that won’t do, Milverton: it is very well meant, and very sarcastic, but it won’t do; for you begin by telling us that the leap of your frog was a most important plunge--the initiation of a new policy.

_Milverton._ Then I will give you another proverb which shall be more applicable. No: it shall not be a proverb, but a fable, which was a favourite with the Sheviri.

In the great wood where the Ramassa curves round the Bidolo-Vamah (I know that Ellesmere always makes fun of this bit of description) there dwelt two lions, occupying respectively the north-east and south-west corners of the wood.

This was in the time when lions and men were very friendly, and often had good talk together.

Both of these lions had scratched out with their powerful fore-claws deep pitfalls near and afar from their respective caves.

These pitfalls troubled the poor men very much when they came to gather beech-mast in the woods. So they said to the lions, whom they met walking out together one fine day in the woods, “These holes that you make everywhere are a great trouble to us; and we have lost some of our people in them. Please fill them up, that friendship may abide between us.”

And the lions said that they would consider about it; and, after the men had gone, they reasoned together, but could not agree.

The lion of the south-west, calling all his friends of the forest together, did fill up these pitfalls: the other lion remained sullen and obdurate.

Now there came a great drought in the land; and the lions, drinking filthy water, fell sick, and the little lions were at death’s door.

Then the men sent their chief medicine-man to the good lion, who restored him and his young lions to their full strength; but the other lion lost his lioness and his young cubs, and became more gloomy and ferocious than ever.

_Ellesmere._ But there was a time when war did break out between men and lions, and what happened then?

_Milverton._ That is exactly what I was going to tell you.

War did break out between men and the lions; and the suspicious lion, flying from a band of armed men who were too strong for him, fell into one of his pitfalls far away from his cave, the existence of which he had forgotten; and he died miserably of starvation. But the good and wise lion mocked at the pursuit of armed men, and roamed freely, or if he fled, fled fast and unharmed, over his part of the forest, for he had not to beware of pitfalls; and he and his descendants occupied his corner of the wood securely, down to the days of the great King Realmah--commonly called Realmah-Lelaipah-Mu,----Realmah, the youth who could foresee things.

_Ellesmere._ I must admit that the fable is a very significant one, and keeps close to the matter it is meant to illustrate; but these kind of illustrations never convince me.

_Milverton._ Before I conclude, there is one point upon which I wish especially not to be misunderstood; and I trust that you will not misunderstand me.

I trust that you will not think that I wish Great Britain to act like a cruel stepmother--the stepmother that we meet with in fiction; for I have often observed that in real life stepmothers are very kind--and to get rid of her colonies in the most summary and careless manner.

All I wish is, that these great colonial questions should be carefully considered by our statesmen. There may be a great State, or what will soon be a great State, which, in case of the outbreak of any European war, will be molested solely in consequence of its being attached to us by ties, however slight. Now, for the interest of such a State (if such a State there be), still more than for our own interest, I wish to disengage it from us, and so to free it from any mischief that might come upon it from its connexion with ourselves.

I have come to no fixed conclusions upon the difficult points connected with this matter. I only wish, both for the sake of our colonies and ourselves, that this great subject should have due and instant consideration.

I do not pretend that I have not some distinct views and principles in my own mind upon this subject; but I do not desire to impress them, at the present moment, upon you. All I ask for, is consideration.

_Sir Arthur._ I must say, Milverton, that you are very good and reasonable upon this great subject. I should have much less faith in you, and much less interest in your treatment of the subject, if you were to endeavour, at this early period of the discussion, to enforce upon us any cut and dried opinions upon it.

_Ellesmere._ Oh, he is as cunning a dog as ever lived, as regards the artful way in which he gradually gets his opinions to sink into your mind! He began with me, as a little boy in a pepper-and-salt jacket and trousers, to convince me about the Corn-laws, and Free-trade, and other great questions about which he had made up his boyish mind most conclusively. To be sure he turned out to be right; but that is no matter. That was a mere accident. I warn you that when he is most fair-spoken, he is most dangerous.

_Milverton._ I cannot talk any more to-day. I am very tired.

Having so said, Mr. Milverton rose to go away. Before doing so, however, he put his arm in a brotherly fashion round Lady Ellesmere, and gave her a kiss, saying, “I am so glad, my dear Mildred, that you are on my side, for I know you are; and you must bring him round. It is an important admission, by the way, that he makes--namely, that all the women would be on my side of the question.”

_Ellesmere._ Oh dear me, how wonderfully affectionate we are to those people who agree with us! It is not often that my poor wife, “a poor thing, sir, but mine own,” is honoured in this way. And I am not sure that I should like it to occur very often.

Please don’t go yet. After a painful and elaborate discussion one ought to have something to amuse one. Do you remember that just before Milverton announced his five propositions, I said I could tell you something about a sermon that was divided into five heads? And Milverton would not let me interrupt.

_Sir Arthur._ Yes.

_Ellesmere._ Well, I was a boy of thirteen, at church with my father; and opposite to us, in the gallery, was a lad of about the same age as I was, in a pew with his family.

The sermon was of the order called drowsy, and we were well into the third head of the discourse, and I was trying to get a glance at the MS. in order to see whether we had got through more than half the number of pages, which I am sorry to say was a favourite device of mine, when my attention was arrested by a noise in the pew opposite. Up started the lad I have told you of (we will call him Tom Brown, remembering Tom Hughes’s story): in the most decisive manner he brushed by his family, banged the pew door, and marched away, making a considerable disturbance.

Immediately after church, my father, one of the most amiable of men (Lady Ellesmere is thinking now how different from her son), said to me, “Johnny, we must go and call at the Browns’ directly. Tommy is either very ill, or there is something extraordinary the matter with the boy.” Accordingly we went to pay a visit to the Browns’, and there we found what really had happened. My little friend Tom Brown had been chaffering the whole week with a gipsy boy from the neighbouring common, about the purchase of a donkey. Late on Saturday evening the negotiation stood thus:--Tommy had offered 1_l._ 15_s._ The gipsy boy stood out for 1_l._ 17_s._ 6_d._

During the first and the second head of the sermon, the wicked Tommy had been thinking over all the good points of the donkey; and in the course of the third head had come to the conclusion that he would give 1_l._ 17_s._ 6_d._ And, being a boy of a most decisive turn of mind, he resolved at once to complete the bargain.

That boy was the only person I ever saw go boldly out of church, banging the pew door, and stamping out as if he thought the whole congregation, if they knew what was in his mind, would entirely approve of what he was doing. You know if one has ever so good a reason for going out of church, one generally sneaks out as if one were doing the most wicked thing possible.

Now the recollection of that transaction has stood me in good stead ever since. When I have been arguing before the House of Lords, or the Privy Council, and have noticed that the attention of one of the Lords is wandering a little, I say to myself, he is thinking whether he will give 1_l._ 17_s._ 6_d._ for the donkey, so I must quit this branch of the subject, and rouse him up with a fresh argument.

How invaluable this story would be to Members of Parliament! When a man, in a long and tiresome speech that he is labouring through, sees that the attention of the House is wandering, he should immediately realize the fact that it is thinking whether it will give its 1_l._ 17_s._ 6_d._ for the donkey, and he should at once conclude by firing off his peroration, long ago prepared. It is the most foolish thing in the world to go on, even with good argumentation, when you see that your audience is tired. I should like it to be told of me that my auditors had always said, “I wish Ellesmere would have given us a longer speech; but he is always so succinct and curt.” What an example the late Sir William Follett was to all of us! There _was_ a man. People did not presume to cough while he was speaking. It was really one of the highest intellectual pleasures to hear that man deal with a difficult case, or a great subject. And how appreciative even the most uncultivated intellects are of such closeness of reasoning! I knew a common soldier who always went to hear the late Archbishop of Dublin preach, because, to use an expression which delighted me, “it was so well argued and put.” By the way, what a good essay that is of that man of many initials, A.K.H.B., on the “Art of Putting Things.”

Now you will all remember this story of mine about the 1_l._ 17_s._ 6_d._ for the donkey. You are very good, Sir Arthur, in respect of speech-making, for you never make a speech in Parliament but it is a great speech, and I honour you for that. You are very seldom tiresome.

_Sir Arthur_ (putting his hand to his heart). It is indeed a compliment to be praised by Sir John Ellesmere, whose praise, from its exceeding rarity, is certainly most valuable. I hope I may always deserve it.

[_Exeunt omnes._