The Lord Mayor and his suite, having resumed their places, were driven rapidly down Fleet Street toward St. Paul’s, the Royal party following them. The whole ceremony at Temple Bar, the shadow of former ceremonies hardly more real, had not occupied much over five minutes. The crowd dispersed, Fleet Street and the Strand immediately resumed their wonted appearance except for the bunting and decorations, and I was left to discuss with myself the question, what does this King business really mean?
Many years ago Andrew Carnegie wrote a book, “Triumphant Democracy,” in which, as I vaguely remember, he likened our form of government to a pyramid standing on its base, while a pyramid representing England was standing on its apex. There is no doubt whatever that a pyramid looks more comfortable on its base than on its apex; but let us drop these facile illustrations of strength and weakness and ask ourselves, “In what way are we better off, politically, than the English?”
In theory, the king, from whom no real authority flows, may seem a little bit ridiculous, but in practice how admirably the English have learned to use him! If he is great enough to exert a powerful influence on the nation for good, his position gives him an immense opportunity. How great his power is, we do not know,—it is not written down in books,—but he has it. If, on the other hand, he has not the full confidence of the people, if they mistrust his judgment, his power is circumscribed: wise men rule and Majesty does as Majesty is told to do.
“We think of our Prime Minister as the wisest man in England for the time being,” says Bagehot. The English scheme of government permits, indeed, necessitates, her greatest men entering politics, as we call it. Is it so with us?
Our plan, however excellent it may be in theory, in practice results in our having constantly to submit ourselves—those of us who must be governed—to capital operations at the hands of amateurs who are selected for the job by drawing straws. That we escape with our lives is due rather to our youth and hardy constitution than to the skill of the operators.
To keep the king out of mischief, he may be set the innocuous task of visiting hospitals, opening expositions, or laying corner-stones. Tapping a block of granite with a silver trowel, he declares it to be “well and truly laid,” and no exception can be taken to the masterly manner in which the work is done. Occasionally, once a year or so, plain Bill Smith, who has made a fortune in the haberdashery line, say, bends the knee before him and at a tap of a sword across his shoulder arises Sir William Smith. Bill Smith was not selected for this honor by the king himself; certainly not! the king probably never heard of him; but the men who rule the nation, those in authority, for reasons sufficient if not good, selected Smith for “birthday honors,” and he is given a stake in the nation.
And so it goes. The knight may become a baronet, the baronet a baron, the baron a duke—this last not often now, only for very great service rendered the Empire; and with each advance in rank comes increases of responsibility—in theory, at least. Have our political theories worked out so well that we are justified in making fun of theirs as we sometimes do? I think not. After our country has stood as well as England has the shocks which seven or ten centuries may bring it, we may have the right to say, “We order these things better at home.”
While musing thus, the Strand and Temple Bar of a century and a half ago rise up before me, and I notice coming along the footway a tall, burly old man, walking with a rolling gait, dressed in a brown coat with metal buttons, knee-breeches, and worsted stockings, with large silver buckles on his clumsy shoes. He seems like a wise old fellow, so I approach him and tell him who I am and of my perplexities.
“What! Sir, an American? They are a race of convicts and ought to be thankful for anything we allow them short of hanging.” And then, seeing me somewhat disconcerted, he adds less ferociously: “I would not give half a guinea to live under one form of government rather than another.” Saying which, he turns into a court off Fleet Street and is lost to view.
It was only after he had disappeared that I realized that I had been speaking to Dr. Johnson.