when asked what would happen if we left India, replied that in a

week his men would be in the saddle, and in six months not a rupee

nor a virgin would he left in Lower Bengal. That is always given as

our conclusive justification. But is it our business to preserve

the rupees and virgins of Lower Bengal in a sort of magic

inconclusiveness? Better plunder than paralysis, better fire and

sword than futility. Our flag is spread over the peninsula, without

plans, without intentions-a vast preventive. The sum total of our

policy is to arrest any discussion, any conferences that would

enable the Indians to work out a tolerable scheme of the future for

themselves. But that does not arrest the resentment of men held

back from life. Consider what it must be for the educated Indian

sitting at the feast of contemporary possibilities with his mouth

gagged and his hands bound behind him! The spirit of insurrection

breaks out in spite of espionage and seizures. Our conflict for

inaction develops stupendous absurdities. The other day the British

Empire was taking off and examining printed cotton stomach wraps for

seditious emblems and inscriptions…

In some manner we shall have to come out of India. We have had our

chance, and we have demonstrated nothing but the appalling dulness

of our national imagination. We are not good enough to do anything

with India. Codger and Flack, and Gates and Dayton, Cladingbowl in

the club, and the HOME CHURCHMAN in the home, cant about

"character," worship of strenuous force and contempt of truth; for

the sake of such men and things as these, we must abandon in fact,

if not in appearance, that empty domination. Had we great schools

and a powerful teaching, could we boast great men, had we the spirit

of truth and creation in our lives, then indeed it might be

different. But a race that bears a sceptre must carry gifts to

justify it.

It does not follow that we shall be driven catastrophically from

India. That was my earlier mistake. We are not proud enough in our

bones to be ruined by India as Spain was by her empire. We may be

able to abandon India with an air of still remaining there. It is

our new method. We train our future rulers in the public schools to

have a very wholesome respect for strength, and as soon as a power

arises in India in spite of us, be it a man or a culture, or a

native state, we shall he willing to deal with it. We may or may

not have a war, but our governing class will be quick to learn when

we are beaten. Then they will repeat our South African diplomacy,

and arrange for some settlement that will abandon the reality, such

as it is, and preserve the semblance of power. The conqueror DE

FACTO will become the new "loyal Briton," and the democracy at home

will be invited to celebrate our recession-triumphantly. Iam no

believer in the imminent dissolution of our Empire; Iam less and

less inclined to see in either India or Germany the probability of

an abrupt truncation of those slow intellectual and moral

constructions which are the essentials of statecraft.

6

I sit writing in this little loggia to the sound of dripping water-

this morning we had rain, and the roof of our little casa is still

not dry, there are pools in the rocks under the sweet chestnuts, and

the torrent that crosses the salita is full and boastful,-and I try

to recall the order of my impressions during that watching, dubious

time, before I went over to the Conservative Party. I was trying-

chaotic task-to gauge the possibilities inherent in the quality of

the British aristocracy. There comes a broad spectacular effect of

wide parks, diversified by woods and bracken valleys, and dappled

with deer; of great smooth lawns shaded by ancient trees; of big

facades of sunlit buildings dominating the country side; of large

fine rooms full of handsome, easy-mannered people. As a sort of

representative picture to set off against those other pictures of

Liberals and of Socialists I have given, I recall one of those huge

assemblies the Duchess of Clynes inaugurated at Stamford House. The

place itself is one of the vastest private houses in London, a huge

clustering mass of white and gold saloons with polished floors and

wonderful pictures, and staircases and galleries on a Gargantuan

scale. And there she sought to gather all that was most

representative of English activities, and did, in fact, in those

brilliant nocturnal crowds, get samples of nearly every section of

our social and intellectual life, with a marked predominance upon

the political and social side.

I remember sitting in one of the recesses at the end of the big

saloon with Mrs. Redmondson, one of those sharp-minded, beautiful

rich women one meets so often in London, who seem to have done

nothing and to be capable of everything, and we watched the crowd-

uniforms and splendours were streaming in from a State ball-and

exchanged information. I told her about the politicians and

intellectuals, and she told me about the aristocrats, and we

sharpened our wit on them and counted the percentage of beautiful

people among the latter, and wondered if the general effect of

tallness was or was not an illusion.

They were, we agreed, for the most part bigger than the average of

people in London, and a handsome lot, even when they were not subtly

individualised. "They look so well nurtured," I said, "well cared

for. I like their quiet, well-trained movements, their pleasant

consideration for each other."

"Kindly, good tempered, and at bottom utterly selfish," she said,

"like big, rather carefully trained, rather pampered children. What

else can you expect from them?"