ve lasted,
but that, so far as I can judge, would have been the immediate result,
and instead of a Reformation we should have had the light come in the
shape of lightning. But I have often asked my Radical friends what is to
be done if out of every hundred enlightened voters two-thirds will give
their votes one way, but are afraid to fight, and the remaining third
will not only vote but will fight too if the poll goes against them?
Which has then the right to rule? I can tell them which will rule. The
brave and resolute minority will rule. Plato says that if one man was
stronger than all the rest of mankind he would rule all the rest of
mankind. It must be so, because there is no appeal. The majority must be
prepared to assert their Divine right with their right hands, or it will
go the way that other Divine rights have gone before. I will not believe
the world to have been so ill-constructed that there are rights which
cannot be enforced. It appears to me that the true right to rule in any
nation lies with those who are best and bravest, whether their numbers
are large or small; and three centuries ago the best and bravest part of
this English nation had determined, though they were but a third of it,
that Pope and Spaniard should be no masters of theirs. Imagination goes
for much in such excited times. To the imagination of Europe in the
sixteenth century the power of Spain appeared irresistible if she chose
to exert it. Heretic Dutchmen might rebel in a remote province, English
pirates might take liberties with Spanish traders, but the Prince of
Parma was making the Dutchmen feel their master at last. The pirates
were but so many wasps, with venom in their stings, but powerless to
affect the general tendencies of things. Except to the shrewder eyes of
such men as Santa Cruz the strength of the English at sea had been left
out of count in the calculations of the resources of Elizabeth's
Government. Suddenly a fleet of these same pirates, sent out, unassisted
by their sovereign, by the private impulse of a few individuals, had
insulted the sacred soil of Spain herself, sailed into Vigo, pillaged
the churches, taken anything that they required, and had gone away
unmolested. They had attacked, stormed, burnt, or held to ransom three
of Spain's proudest colonial cities, and had come home unfought with.
The Catholic conspirators had to recognise that they had a worse enemy
to deal with than Puritan controversialists or spoil