THE DREAD OF THE DRAMATIC.
IT has been called the vulgarest of vulgar errors to attribute lightly this or that special characteristic to the several races of mankind. And so perhaps it is, for in its essentials human nature differs very little, and the white, the black, the yellow, and the brown are all in the last resort moved by the same instincts and desires. But though deceit may lurk in the attribution of national characteristics, it is not foolish, and may be useful, to remember that different nations and different races have special and peculiar ways of manifesting their desires, and whether by accident or long tradition, prefer that action should be taken in one way rather than another. Unquestionably it is not an error to say that the English dread the dramatic element in all action, personal and national, hate above all things to do things with an air, and always prefer if possible to pretend that they are making a small change when in fact they are making a great one. The French when they throw their idols down like to do it with a bang, and to rend the air with the clang and dust of the overthrow. We like to slowly undermine the idol, and to let it slide so gently and gradually on to the earth that we can pretend to ourselves that what has happened is not change but only development. For example, when the French get rid of a King they proclaim with any number of trumpets that he and his house have" ceased to reign," and for ever. When we drove James II. from the throne and the island, we painfully arrived at the conclusion that he had absented himself from the country, and that the throne was therefore vacant. That Revolution, being undramatic, seemed to Englishmen a perfectly right and proper proceeding. On the other hand, when for once we did a really dramatic thing- i.e., tried a King and cut off his head—the nation was profoundly uneasy.
We see this extraordinary unwillingness to do things dramatically exemplified almost every day. Look at the way in which we have treated the Irish land problem. If we had converted every Irish farmer occupying less than fifty acres "after the let of January next" into a freeholder, we should have made the Irish problem far easier than it is, but, apart from all other objections, economic and administrative, this would have seemed impossible to the House of Commons. It would have been dramatic, and would have looked like a big thing, and so would have irritated and shocked the whole English race. At the same time we are prepared to spend any amount of money provided only the thing is done in snippets and not on a big scale. Take, again, Mr. Brodrick's Army proposals of Friday week. We are going to revolutionise many of the conditions of service, but the greatest care has been taken by the War Department to minimise every change and to make the whole thing look as grey as possible. We are going to raise the soldier's pay by a third, to add greatly to the artillery, and to increase the Army by twenty-five thousand men—an increase far larger than any ever made before in peace time—but no one could possibly have gathered that from the tone of the debate. Unless he had looked into the details the intelligent stranger would have thought that there was nothing special being done. In private life we are just the same. The British householder and father of a family will take an infinity of trouble to avoid the appearance of doing anything dramatic. His hatred of a scene, whether of sorrow or of joy, is so intense, that he will do anything and everything to avoid it. The Briton, like every other human being, likes grati- tude and likes to be thanked, but it must always be done sub rosa. After the victory of the Alma Lord Raglan could hardly be persuaded to go through our lines for fear he should meet with an ovation. When, after much per- suasion, he did go, and was greatly cheered by the soldiers, he turned round to his Staff with an air of the utmost misery and dejection. "There, I told you what would happen." A dramatic incident of this kind is something to be avoided by every possible means. If it does come it is like the light- ning stroke from heaven,—something which cannot be avoided,
but which is, nevertheless, a pure misfortune. This dislike of dramatic scenes may perhaps be put down to the con- stitutional shyness which undoubtedly belongs to all English- men. Englishmen are very critical, perhaps the most critical race on earth, and their over-developed critical faculty tells them that very few men can get through a dramatic scene without awkwardness and pomposity. This dread of looking awkward and pompous does not, however, explain the dread of the dramatic where no personal element is involved. If Bottles, the benevolent millionaire landlord, wishes to add a good-sized garden, rent free, to every cottage on his estate, he takes the greatest possible care that the effect of the gift shall as far as possible be concealed. The cot- tagers ought, he says, to pay a larger rent, considering the addition of the garden. He therefore adds a garden rent to each house of 103. a year. But previously there were certain payments of is. a month made by the cottagera for a water-supply and for the upkeep of a private road, and col- lected quarterly with the rents. The landlord, therefore, charges 10s. extra for the gardens, and remits 12s. The result is, of course, that the cottager gets a garden for nothing and pays 2s. less a year. The manner of the gift is, however, such that it is difficult for the ordinary man to realise exactly how he has been benefited. The gift of a free garden he could understand, but then that is just what the giver wants to avoid. He wants to be a benefactor without making a scene. He likes, no doubt, the people to be grateful, and to know that he has done something handsome, but he does not want his benefaction to be dramatically visible The final reason which makes Englishmen desire to eliminate the dramatic element in all they do is not an easy one to die- ?
over. In private life it is, as we have suggested, due in some measure to shyness and self-criticism. Men who dread above all things making an exhibition of themselves are not likely to desire the dramatic. In political affairs the dread of the dramatic has its foundation in something deeper. English politics consist in overcoming an opposition without crushing it, in persuading and gently compelling, rather than in coercing. But the best way of getting over an opposition is not to wave a red flag, but to minimise the greatness of the change. The Opposition may not quite believe it when you say that you are preserving this or that institution by picking it to pieces and remaking it, but if the facts of destruction are not insisted on too loudly, those who oppose feel much more at ease when and if they are obliged to yield. You save a man's " face " wonderfully when you tell him that you did not seize his stick with any desire to take it away from him, but merely took it in order to save him the trouble of putting it down. In a word, doing things dramatically raises opposition, for it seems like a shout of triumph over the con- quered. Doing them without dramatic emphasis, but in the greyest and dullest fashion possible, smooths away antagonism, and makes men feel that, if they have to give way, they will at any rate not be insulted. Thus, then, though we may sometimes be annoyed at the British Minister's habit of
ntending that things are drab when they are really scarlet, we admit that on the whole this national peculiarity works well in public life. It makes for soli- darity and continuity, and this is a very important mat. ter. That in private life it is wholesome and sane and wise to avoid the dramatic, and that we gain by having no scenes in the family circle, we have not the least doubt. It may make us seem hard, but in reality it keeps family affection from being frittered away in bombast and high- flown language. No one can have failed to notice that the English families in which " scenes " are the rule are not the families which are really soundest. It may suit people of other nations to be dramatic at home. It certainly does not suit us.
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