French & English

This is a more agreeable chapter to write than the two which have preceded it, for the idea of patriotic duty is always ennobling, even when that difficult kind of duty is irregularly practised and imperfectly understood.

If England were a continental Power the sense of patriotic duty would probably be the same with Englishmen that it is with Frenchmen. The insular position of England has given an exceptional character to the national views of duty.

They are more ideal in England, more practical in France. The Englishman thinks, “If I were called upon to make sacrifices for my country I would certainly make them.” No doubt he would, but most Englishmen pass through life without being obliged to make any patriotic sacrifice except the payment of taxes, and the French are taxed still more heavily, even in money.

English patriotism may be absolutely relied upon by the Government so far as the sentiment is concerned, and the consequent willingness to accept the burden of practical duty in a time of national calamity; but the danger is that the calamity might be sudden, in which case the efforts of a national patriotism would be unorganised and the patriots themselves untrained.

The sense of this danger produced the volunteer movement, which was excellent as an example and as an exercise of patriotic feeling; but if we compare the English volunteers with any one of the great Continental armies, we see at once that their value is moral rather than material. The militia is less an affair of patriotic sentiment and more of an ordinary military institution. It is a sort of reserve answering in the length of its annual exercises to the French réserve de l’armée active, but with this important difference, that the militiamen have not necessarily passed through the regular army, and their officers have not necessarily received a military education. Some men and some officers have these advantages, but only by accident.

Neither the militia nor the volunteers are taken seriously by the regular army in England, so that the sentiment of patriotic duty which exists in them does not receive that full encouragement which would be desirable for its maintenance. The English army is a special profession, it is not the nation, and its feelings, though patriotic, are at the same time strictly professional. The regulars look upon the militia and volunteers as professional artists look upon meritorious amateurs, that is to say, at the best with good-natured indulgence, and at the worst with undisguised contempt.

Under the old purchase system English officers formed a caste, and were looked upon with great respect, not because they were ready to sacrifice their lives for their country, since the privates were equally ready to do that, and the privates were not respected. Officers in those days were respected for being rich and fashionable, or because they were supposed to be the sons of rich men, and the more expensive the habits of the regiment, the deeper was the sentiment of respect. In a word, it was social distinction that was respected in them. The privates were looked upon as a low caste, and the fact that they might have to die for their country did not suffice to elevate them.[20]

I well remember the old feeling about the army in France under the Second Empire. It was national in the sense of being raised by conscription, but it was not regarded as national by the people. It was looked upon as an instrument of oppression in the hands of Louis Napoleon. In those days the rich avoided military service by paying substitutes. The common word for that transaction was not “paying” as you pay a servant, but “buying” as one buys a slave. The substitute was considered to have sold himself, and was specially despised, instead of being honoured as a man willing to serve his country, whilst no contempt whatever attached to the rich man who paid money to shirk an unpleasant and dangerous patriotic duty.

Amongst the benefits of the Franco-German war, and they have been many, there is not one more happy for France than the healthy revolution in public opinion concerning military service. As almost all Frenchmen have now to serve in one way or another, and as they cannot all be officers, the status of the common soldier has risen. He is not regarded as a mercenary, he is not the guard of a tyrant nor his tool, but a citizen who is paying “the tax of blood” to his mother country, or, in other words, who is doing the most honourable work of his whole life. Whatever he may afterwards accomplish as a private citizen, whatever gold or fame he may win by his industry or talent, he will never do anything with more true dignity in it than that ill-paid work with his regiment. It is nobler to perspire on a dusty road in rough soldier’s clothing, with a heavy knapsack and rifle, than to display spotless linen in a carriage. It is higher to groom a war-horse and clean the stirrups or the stable pour la patrie, than to be oneself groomed by a hairdresser. A state of public opinion is conceivable in which the humblest services would be held honourable if they belonged to patriotic duty, and this healthy state of opinion is now establishing itself in France. Nothing can exceed the simple cheerfulness with which military duty is generally accepted. It is not always liked, and it is not always pleasant, but it is borne with unflinching good-humour.

The same change in public opinion which has made the humblest military service honourable, has produced a friendly, almost an affectionate, sentiment towards the army. Formerly regarded with distrust, it is now looked upon as the strength and defence of the nation. Nobody now believes that the national forces could be used against civil liberty. The prettiest example of the present state of things was seen at the election of President Carnot. A few hundreds of civilians, unarmed, and who might have been dispersed by one company of soldiers, met in the old palace at Versailles, to elect the Chief of the State. The palace was amply guarded, but only to ensure the independence of the electors. A regiment of cavalry waited to escort the new President to Paris without knowing his name. When he stepped into the carriage that quiet civilian was “Commander of the armies of France by land and sea.”

This absolute unity of sentiment between the military and civil populations is a great compensation for the burden of universal service. Another is the increase of manliness and the improvement of national health. Of the reality of this improvement I cannot entertain a doubt, having myself frequently known young men who had gained greatly in strength and activity by their military service, and who felt and acknowledged the benefit. This is peculiarly valuable in France on account of the too close confinement of youths in the public schools. The universality of military service has been accompanied by a great increase in the number and activity of the gymnastic societies, and it has led to much military drill within the schools themselves. The sons of peasants acquire some education in the army, which is a valuable instrument for spreading a certain amount of elementary culture, and even more than that, through the regimental libraries. The sons of gentlemen, besides the benefit of physical exercise, are often stimulated, by the hope of promotion, to improve the education they already possess.[21]

Before leaving the subject of a national army in France, it may be well to consider its effect on peace and war. Experience proves that national armies are essentially peaceful institutions, on condition that they are combined with parliamentary government. Everybody has relations in the national army, consequently it is everybody’s desire that unnecessary bloodshed be avoided. Popular French feeling was intensely, and I believe universally, averse to the war in Tonquin; and the sacrifices required for those distant expeditions ruined the political career of a most able minister, Jules Ferry, a man of extraordinary capacity and strength of will. Under free institutions ministers dread a personal effacement of this kind, and Ferry’s example has had a salutary effect. As it is, the occupation of Tonquin may at any time be abandoned through a refusal of the credits. It is not improbable that with an English national army there might be a growing objection to the prolonged occupation of India. Even the authoritative monarch of Germany could not, by an imperial caprice, despatch the national army to conquer the Chinese Empire. In France, every imaginable war is unpopular, except the one for the recovery of the lost provinces, and there is no desire to undertake even that patriotic war of deliverance without the certainty of success.

The formation of a national army by means of conscription is repugnant to English feeling as an interference with personal liberty, but it is improbable that it can for ever be postponed in the British Empire. If the English should ever find themselves engaged in a contest with a great European Power, without an ally on their side, they would be compelled to adopt the conscription in a hurry, and therefore in the worst possible conditions for success. Unless England is prepared to abandon her European position altogether, and content herself with being the greatest of Colonial Powers, the wiser course would be for her to reorganise her forces on a broadly national basis, whilst there is time to do it at leisure. A national army is one of those evils which appear enormous at a distance, but diminish on a nearer approach. The burden which is borne equally by all is not felt to be intolerable. It may be objected that with the sharper social distinctions in England a gentleman would feel himself degraded by serving in the ranks. The answer to this objection has been already indicated. The patriotic spirit in the nation might be trusted to form a rational opinion about what is or is not really degrading, if the army were national, and not, as at present, divided into the two jealous classes of professionals and amateurs. Even already a gentleman has no objection to being “full private” in the volunteers. If England were once invaded, and a single English town held by an enemy, all vanities and gentilities would vanish before the nobility of patriotic duty, and a gentleman would feel himself honoured in digging a trench or driving a provision cart.

There is one form of patriotic duty in times of peace which is much better understood and much more generally practised in England than in France. The English are violent in party dissension, but they readily sink their own differences in the consideration of foreign affairs, so that there is, on the whole, a remarkable continuity in the foreign policy of England. In February 1888 Mr. Gladstone gave cordial support in the House of Commons to Lord Salisbury’s foreign policy, an incident by no means new in English parliamentary history, and if ever the occasion shall arise when to rally round the Government of the day shall be clearly a patriotic duty, as it was when a conflict with Russia appeared imminent, then all the bitter expressions of political enemies will be forgotten and forgiven, and Tory, Liberal, and Radical will be simply Englishmen.

In France this patriotic union is only seen after war has been actually declared and whilst the conflict is going on. It was, no doubt, shown during the war with Germany, when reactionary noblemen fought under the orders of Gambetta, whom they inwardly execrated, but in times of peace the conduct of French oppositions is rarely patriotic. The line of policy pursued by the reactionary parties at the present day is simply to discredit the Republic, even at the expense of France. To that end they are always willing to upset every cabinet in order to prove the instability of existing institutions, yet at the same time they must be fully aware that their policy is against all the commercial and foreign interests of the country. The disingenuousness of their conduct is clear when they first join the radicals in upsetting a cabinet and then turn round and say, “How lamentable it is that no cabinet, under the Republic, can last more than a few months!” As this book deals only with the present I need not do more than refer to the alliance between the French reactionists and foreign Powers early in the present century, and to the contentment with which they accepted the defeat that led to the Restoration. I should be sorry to attribute to the reactionists opinions which are made for them by their enemies, but it is not too much to say that some of them prefer the Prussians to the republicans, and look to a civil war without disfavour, in spite of all the horrors that it would inflict upon their country. Nor is this bitter spirit of reckless hate by any means confined to the monarchical parties. Is it possible to imagine anything more completely anti-patriotic than the conduct of the Parisian communards in 1871?

The idea of patriotic duty has usually, in the past, been confounded with the passion of hatred. An Englishman who did not hate the French was considered to be unpatriotic, especially if he objected to useless bloodshed and advocated, whenever possible, a policy of conciliation. A few reasonable beings on both sides of the Channel are now beginning to perceive that it is not always, in reality, the most patriotic policy to waste the treasure of their own country and send their own countrymen to slaughter; for this is what blind hatred always comes to in the end. The objects of a patriotic mind alter with the degree of its enlightenment. In rude and ignorant natures patriotism is hatred of the foreigner; in cultivated and generous natures it is a wise and watchful desire for the happiness and prosperity of one’s native land. When vulgar patriotism blusters and is quarrelsome, intelligent patriotism keeps a cool head and cleverly steers the ship. The passion of hatred ought to be kept out of international affairs, as a lawyer keeps it out of legal business, looking only to the interest of his client. The vulgar French are childish enough to hate the English; if the English do not hate them in return, the advantage will be all their own.