“Our rulers are fools, or worse,” said he, with indignation; “what is the use of diplomacy if it cannot prevent this?”
I remonstrated with the youth on the impropriety of his language, but my new friend the “special” broke in with—
“Ah! young man, you have not yet seen enough of life to understand it. A man is a machine which regulates itself, more or less, for its own interests. A household does the same; a town does likewise; so does a state. No doubt a man sometimes fights with himself—so, too, households are addicted to disagreement, and towns are often afflicted with difference of opinion, while a state is not unacquainted with internal commotions, but, in each and all of these cases, reason and common sense prevent the people from degenerating into pure savages. It is reserved for governments alone, when they come into collision with each other, to do that. Peoples don’t desire war, my good sir, it is government—in other words, the non-combatant gentlemen at the head of the world’s affairs—who thirst for blood, backed up, of course, by such of the people as are more or less interested in the breaking out of war. In all ordinary matters humanity is satisfied to submit its cases to courts of law, to umpires, to individual or collective arbitrators. If things don’t go right, it is usually understood among Christian men and women that a little touch of forbearance here, of self-sacrifice there, of pocketing of slight affronts elsewhere, will bring things into the best possible condition, and, where these plans won’t do,—as in the case of drunkards, maniacs, and villains,—they understand and quietly practise the power of overwhelming constraint. If the Turks had been overwhelmingly constrained by Europe during the late Conference at Constantinople, we should have had no war.”
I never met with any nation so fond of argument as the Scotch! Surrounded as we were by dead and dying men, the “special” and the student (who was also Scotch) sat down and lighted their pipes to have it out. To do them justice, there was a lull at the time in the arrival of wounded men.
“But,” said the student, in that tone which is so well known to the argumentative, “is not overwhelming constraint tyranny?”
“My friend,” replied the special, lighting his pipe at the other’s cigar, “if a blackguard stole a poor widow’s purse, and six policemen took him up, compelled him to restore it, and put him in limbo, would you call that tyranny?”
“Of course not.”
“But it would be overwhelming constraint, would it not?”
“Well—ah!—yes—I see—but—”
“Of course there’s a but. Quite right. That is the word by which it is conveniently stated that the mind is not yet clear. Far be it from me to coerce you. I would, if I could, clear you. Listen, then:—