In England, however, there were elements of chaos more akin to Luther than to Calvin.  And we may thus explain many things which appear rather puzzling in our history, notably the victory of Cromwell not only over the English Royalists but over the Scotch Covenanters.  It was the victory of that more happy-go-lucky sort of Protestantism, which had in it much of aristocracy but much also of liberty, over that logical ambition of the Kirk which would have made Protestantism, if possible, as constructive as Catholicism had been.  It might be called the victory of Individualist Puritanism over Socialist Puritanism.  It was what Milton meant when he said that the new presbyter was an exaggeration of the old priest; it was his office that acted, and acted very harshly.  The enemies of the Presbyterians were not without a meaning when they called themselves Independents.  To this day no one can understand Scotland who does not realise that it retains much of its mediaeval sympathy with France, the French equality, the French pronunciation of Latin, and, strange as it may sound, is in nothing so French as in its Presbyterianism.

In this loose and negative sense only it may be said that the great modern mistakes of England can be traced to Luther.  It is true only in this, that both in Germany and England a Protestantism softer and less abstract than Calvinism was found useful to the compromises of courtiers and aristocrats; for every abstract creed does something for human equality.  Lutheranism in Germany rapidly became what it is to-day—­a religion of court chaplains.  The reformed church in England became something better; it became a profession for the younger sons of squires.  But these parallel tendencies, in all their strength and weakness, reached, as it were, symbolic culmination when the mediaeval monarchy was extinguished, and the English squires gave to what was little more than a German squire the damaged and diminished crown.

It must be remembered that the Germanics were at that time used as a sort of breeding-ground for princes.  There is a strange process in history by which things that decay turn into the very opposite of themselves.  Thus in England Puritanism began as the hardest of creeds, but has ended as the softest; soft-hearted and not unfrequently soft-headed.  Of old the Puritan in war was certainly the Puritan at his best; it was the Puritan in peace whom no Christian could be expected to stand.  Yet those Englishmen to-day who claim descent from the great militarists of 1649 express the utmost horror of militarism.  An inversion of an opposite kind has taken place in Germany.  Out of the country that was once valued as providing a perpetual supply of kings small enough to be stop-gaps, has come the modern menace of the one great king who would swallow the kingdoms of the earth.  But the old German kingdoms preserved, and were encouraged to preserve, the good things that go with small interests and strict boundaries, music, etiquette, a dreamy philosophy, and so on.  They were small enough to be universal.  Their outlook could afford to be in some degree broad and many-sided.  They had the impartiality of impotence.  All this has been utterly reversed, and we find ourselves at war with a Germany whose powers are the widest and whose outlook is the narrowest in the world.