A Traveller in War-Time | Page 9

which are gaining collectively more than five hundred pounds a
year. The economic and social significance of this tendency, the new
attitude of the working classes, the ferment it is causing need not be
dwelt upon here. That England will be a changed England is
unquestionable.
The London theatres are full, the "movies" crowded, and you have to
wait your turn for a seat at a restaurant. Bond Street and Piccadilly are
doing a thriving business--never so thriving, you are told, and presently
you are willing to believe it. The vendor beggars, so familiar a sight a
few years ago, have all but disappeared, and you may walk from
Waterloo Station to the Haymarket without so much as meeting a
needy soul anxious to carry your bag. Taxicabs are in great demand.
And one odd result of the scarcity of what the English are pleased to
call "petrol," by which they mean gasoline, is the reappearance of that
respectable, but almost obsolete animal, the family carriage-horse; of
that equally obsolete vehicle, the victoria. The men on the box are
invariably in black. In spite of taxes to make the hair of an American
turn grey, in spite of lavish charities, the wealthy classes still seem
wealthy--if the expression may be allowed. That they are not so
wealthy as they were goes without saying. In the country houses of the
old aristocracy the most rigid economy prevails. There are new fortunes,
undoubtedly, munitions and war fortunes made before certain measures
were taken to control profits; and some establishments, including a few
supported by American accumulations, still exhibit the number of men
servants and amount of gold plate formerly thought adequate. But in

most of these great houses maids have replaced the butlers and footmen;
mansions have been given over for hospitals; gardeners are fighting in
the trenches, and courts and drives of country places are often
overgrown with grass and weeds.
"Yes, we do dine in public quite often," said a very great lady. "It's
cheaper than keeping servants."
Two of her three sons had been killed in France, but she did not
mention this. The English do not advertise their sorrows. Still another
explanation when husbands and sons and brothers come back across the
Channel for a few days' leave after long months in the trenches, nothing
is too good for them. And when these days have flown, there is always
the possibility that there may never be another leave. Not long ago I
read a heart-rending article about the tragedies of the goodbyes in the
stations and the terminal hotels--tragedies hidden by silence and a smile.
"Well, so long," says an officer "bring back a V. C.," cries his sister
from the group on the platform, and he waves his hand in deprecation
as the train pulls out, lights his pipe, and pretends to be reading the
Sphere.
Some evening, perchance, you happen to be in the dark street outside of
Charing Cross station. An occasional hooded lamp throws a precarious
gleam on a long line of men carrying--so gently--stretchers on which lie
the silent forms of rich and poor alike.

CHAPTER II
For the student of history who is able to place himself within the stream
of evolution the really important events of today are not taking place on
the battle lines, but behind them. The key-note of the new era has been
struck in Russia. And as I write these words, after the Italian retreat, a
second revolution seems possible. For three years one has thought
inevitably of 1789, and of the ensuing world conflict out of which
issued the beginnings of democracy. History does not repeat itself, yet
evolution is fairly consistent. While our attention has been focused on
the military drama enacted before our eyes and recorded in the
newspapers, another drama, unpremeditated but of vastly greater
significance, is unfolding itself behind the stage. Never in the history of
the world were generals and admirals, statesmen and politicians so

sensitive to or concerned about public opinion as they are today. From
a military point of view the situation of the Allies at the present writing
is far from reassuring. Germany and her associates have the advantage
of interior lines, of a single dominating and purposeful leadership,
while our five big nations, democracies or semi-democracies, are
stretched in a huge ring with precarious connections on land, with the
submarine alert on the sea. Much of their territory is occupied. They
did not seek the war; they still lack co-ordination and leadership in
waging it. In some of these countries, at least, politicians and statesmen
are so absorbed by administrative duties, by national rather than
international problems, by the effort to sustain themselves, that they
have little time for allied strategy. Governments rise and fall, familiar
names and