Sir John was extremely shocked. “Sir,” said he; “you astonish me: oblige me by proving your assertion. What is it you allude to?”
“Why, of a Volksfest, a people’s festival, really and truly a festival in the open air, when all ranks and classes join and mix without any thought or possibility of a mob; where the wine calls forth songs and laughter, but where not a single fist is raised to threaten or strike.”
And Mr. Baxter continued, in rather too flattering colours, giving a sketch of the merry German life, and contrasting it with life in England. He expatiated on the general cultivation of the lower classes, on the toleration of German social life—in short, he lost his way in producing so brilliant an apotheosis of German affairs, that he did not, or would not, pay attention to Sir John, who shook his head in an ominous manner.
At first, Dr. Keif rubbed his hands triumphantly, for on Mr. Baxter’s free-born British lips each word had the charm of authority. But as our friend went on, the Doctor could not but confess to himself, that Mr. Baxter’s victory might possibly lead to that gentleman’s utter ruin in the worthy baronet’s good opinion.
There was a long and awful pause. At length Sir John rose, and with a smile, by no means a natural one, he walked up to Mr. Baxter, held out his hand, dropped it, and said—
“Sir! It’s my opinion you are a respectable man, and I believe you mean what you say; but moderation is good in all matters. You may be just to foreign countries: so am I. But you idolize the Continent, and despise your own country. That—I beg your pardon—but that is not the conduct of an English gentleman!”
Dr. Keif looked very pale and uncomfortable.
“Nonsense, Sir John,” said Mr. Baxter good-humouredly. “Let me say a word to you, and then you may judge whether I love my country less than you do. I have never meddled with politics, but I am something of a Tory; for I take the world as it is, and hold that everything which is, is, if not pour le mieux, according to Voltaire’s Candide, at least not without good reason. But no one ought to claim all honour and glory for him and his. The people of this beautiful island have the inestimable treasures of liberty, power and honour. England is an impregnable fortress; a charming garden fenced in by the ocean and by rocks; her tranquil safety is cheap at any price! No venomous reptiles creep on her soil; the wolves have been exterminated for centuries past. But in return, the sweets of existence are open only to hard labour and high birth. A consequence of this is, a spirit of caste, a tendency to seclusion, a stubborn and rugged independence. Look at the Continent. What would those poor nations come to, plagued and hunted down as they are, if deprived of the comforting amenities of a kindly sociability? What, they have no unity in their states, no protection abroad, no sacredness of law, no safety at home, and yet you would dispute with them the paltry consolation of having better actors than you have! If their towns, with their eternal state of siege, had our fogs and clouds of smoke, our penitential Sundays and breathless week-days, whoever could resist the temptation of committing suicide? Why, such a state of things were a hell upon earth! And can you believe that Providence could allow such a state of things to exist? But to return to England. This country has the greatest Parliament, the most powerful orators, the most humane police, the freest newspapers, the most untouchable liberty; and with all this you lay claim to a monopoly of good potatoes and manners! You would have all the gifts and perfections of earth! But if this our England could, in addition to her solid political heritage, have the charms of continental leisure hours, why then this same England were a Paradise on earth—literally a Paradise, where no one could ever think of dying.”
Sir John was pacified and happy, and said he was. He went about the room singing “God save the Queen,” and would not leave off shaking hands with Mr. Baxter.