English Pharisees, French Crocodiles, and Other Anglo-French Typical Characters

by Max O'Rell

The difference which separates a Monarchist and a Republican in France is an abyss that nothing can bridge over; the difference which separates a Liberal and a Conservative in England is but a trifling step.

So the candidate for Parliament, who rehearses, in petto, the little speech that he means to address to the electors, winds up with: "Gentlemen, such are my political convictions, but, if they do not please you, let it be well understood between us that I am ready to change them." Or: "Gentlemen, I used to be a Conservative, and at bottom I am a Conservative still, but Mr. Gladstone has appointed me a Civil Commissioner at a salary of £2000 a year, and I consider that a statesman who chooses his servants so well ought to be supported by all sensible men. Besides, in my new capacity, it is not a party that I am serving, it is my country."

To speak seriously, I really see very little either in the so-called Liberal or Conservative principles that can cause an Englishman to be anything more than the partisan of a certain group of men.

Under the circumstances, it is not surprising that English politics should, above all things, consist in doing in Office what has been valiantly fought in Opposition; it is a school of incisive, passionate debate—nothing more. The following incident, which is as instructive as it is amusing, is sufficient proof of this:

When Lord Beaconsfield deftly snatched Cyprus from the "unspeakable" Turk, in 1878, and, presenting it to John Bull, asked him to admire the fine catch, John's Liberal sons turned up their noses, declared that the honesty of the proceeding was dubious, and vowed the place was not fit to send British soldiers to. "It would hardly be humane to send our convicts there," they said; "not even flies could stand the climate." Two years later the Tories went out of office, and the Liberals came to power. What happened? You think, perhaps, that the Liberals promptly restored the island to the Turks with their compliments and apologies. Catch them! Better than that. No sooner were the Tories out of office than the yachts of three leading Liberals might have been seen sailing toward Cyprus, which, it would seem, a simple change of ministry had changed into a health resort. In the beginning of May of the current year, the Liberal Government gave orders to the military authorities of the army of occupation in Egypt, to send to Cyprus all the sick soldiers, who were in a fit state to be transferred—not to finish them up, but actually to hasten their convalescence.

Ever since every householder has enjoyed electoral rights, each general election has placed the Opposition in power; and the enfranchisement of Mr. Gladstone's new couches sociales is not likely to change this state of things, which is, indeed, very easy to account for.

The necessarily guarded speech of those in office does not catch the ear of the ignorant multitude so readily as the irresponsible talk of the Opposition. The man in power has to defend a policy, the other attacks it right and left; it is he who has the popular rôle. "Ah!" say the crowd, "smart fellow that! if we could only have him in Office, things would be done in a proper manner! What has become of all the fine promises of the ministry?"

So they make up their minds to vote for the man who comes to them with fresh promises, and to throw overboard the one who has not been able to keep his.

If the Government has engaged in war, the Opposition proves to the people what a disastrous, or, at the best, what a useless war it was; if the Government has been able to maintain peace, the Opposition proves to the people that it was at the price of national honor. The Opposition is always in the right.

To think that men of talent should lower themselves so far as to flatter the populace with such platitudes to obtain their favor! How sad a sight is this vulgarization of politics! And people often wonder how it is that, in democracies, the great thinkers, the genius of the nation, refrain from buying the favors of the people at the price of their dignity! Unhappily, this is the fate of democracies; they can but seldom be ruled by the genius of the nation, by men who would not be appreciated by the masses. No system lends itself better to the reign of unscrupulous mediocrity, for no other system obliges its chiefs to come and humble themselves before the ignorant populace, by giving them acrobatic performances in order to obtain their suffrages.