“You think there is no danger, then?”

“On the contrary, I honestly think that there is danger, but from a different direction.  Britain is getting sick, and when she is sick enough, some people who are less sick will overwhelm her.  My own opinion is that Russia will be the people.”

“But is not that one of the old cries that you object to?” and Lewis smiled.

“It was; now it is ceasing to be a cry, and passing into a fact, or as much a fact as that erroneous form of gratuity, prophecy, can be.  Look at Western Europe and you cannot disbelieve the evidence of your own eyes.  In France you have anarchy, the vulgarest frivolity and the cheapest scepticism, joined with a sort of dull capacity for routine work.  Germany, the very heart of it eaten out with sentiment, either the cheap military or the vague socialist brand.  Spain and Italy shadows, Denmark and Sweden farces, Turkey a sinful anachronism.”

“And Britain?” George asked.

“My Scotch blood gives me the right to speak my mind,” said the man, laughing.  “Honestly I don’t find things much better in Britain.  You were always famous for a dogged common sense which was never tricked with catch-words, and yet the British people seem to be growing nervous and ingenuous.  The cult of abstract ideals, which has been the curse of the world since Adam, is as strong with you as elsewhere.  The philosophy of ‘gush’ is good enough in its place, but it is the devil in politics.”

“That is true enough,” said Lewis solemnly.  “And then you are losing grip.  A belief in sentiment means a disbelief in competence and strength, and that is the last and fatalest heresy.  And a belief in sentiment means a foolish scepticism towards the great things of life.  There is none of the blood and bone left for honest belief.  You hold your religion half-heartedly.  Honest fanaticism is a thing intolerable to you.  You are all mild, rational sentimentalists, and I would not give a ton of it for an ounce of good prejudice.”  George and Lewis laughed.

“And Russia?” they asked.

“Ah, there I have hope.  You have a great people, uneducated and unspoiled.  They are physically strong, and they have been trained by centuries of serfdom to discipline and hardships.  Also, there is fire smouldering somewhere.  You must remember that Russia is the stepdaughter of the East.  The people are northern in the truest sense, but they have a little of Eastern superstition.  A rational, sentimental people live in towns or market gardens, like your English country, but great lonely plains and forests somehow do not agree with that sort of creed.  That slow people can still believe freshly and simply, and some day when the leader arrives they will push beyond their boundaries and sweep down on Western Europe, as their ancestors did thirteen hundred years ago.  And you have no walls of Rome to resist them, and I do not think you will find a Charlemagne.