nd. The record of one period of the past,
morally remote and probably irrevocable, is there preserved in a more
perfect form as a pagan city is preserved at Pompeii. In a more general
sense, of course, it is easy to exaggerate the contrast as a mere
contrast between the old world and the new. There is a superficial
satire about the millionaire's daughter who has recently become the wife
of an aristocrat; but there is a rather more subtle satire in the
question of how long the aristocrat has been aristocratic. There is
often much misplaced mockery of a marriage between an upstart's daughter
and a decayed relic of feudalism; when it is really a marriage between
an upstart's daughter and an upstart's grandson. The sentimental
socialist often seems to admit the blue blood of the nobleman, even when
he wants to shed it; just as he seems to admit the marvellous brains of
the millionaire, even when he wants to blow them out. Unfortunately (in
the interests of social science, of course) the sentimental socialist
never does go so far as bloodshed or blowing out brains; otherwise the
colour and quality of both blood and brains would probably be a
disappointment to him. There are certainly more American families that
really came over in the _Mayflower_ than English families that really
came over with the Conqueror; and an English county family clearly
dating from the time of the _Mayflower_ would be considered a very
traditional and historic house. Nevertheless, there are ancient things
in England, though the aristocracy is hardly one of them. There are
buildings, there are institutions, there are even ideas in England which
do preserve, as in a perfect pattern, some particular epoch of the past,
and even of the remote past. A man could study the Middle Ages in
Lincoln as well as in Rouen; in Canterbury as well as in Cologne. Even
of the Renaissance the same is true, at least on the literary side; if
Shakespeare was later he was also greater than Ronsard. But the point is
that the spirit and philosophy of the periods were present in fullness
and in freedom. The guildsmen were as Christian in England as they were
anywhere; the poets were as pagan in England as they were anywhere.
Personally I do not admit that the men who served patrons were freer
than those who served patron saints. But each fashion had its own kind
of freedom; and the point is that the English, in each case, had the
fullness of that kind of freedom. But there was a