The Red Reactionary / Gilbert Keith Chesterton

The one case for Revolution is that it is the only quite clean and

complete road to anything--even to restoration. Revolution alone can be

not merely a revolt of the living, but also a resurrection of the dead.

A friend of mine (one, in fact, who writes prominently on this paper) was

once walking down the street in a town of Western France, situated in that

area that used to be called La Vendee; which in that great creative crisis

about 1790 formed a separate and mystical soul of its own, and made a

revolution against a revolution. As my friend went down this street he

whistled an old French air which he had found, like Mr. Gandish, "in his

researches into 'istry," and which had somehow taken his fancy; the song

to which those last sincere loyalists went into battle. I think the

words ran:

Monsieur de Charette.

Dit au gens d'ici.

Le roi va remettre.

Le fleur de lys.

My friend was (and is) a Radical, but he was (and is) an Englishman, and

it never occurred to him that there could be any harm in singing archaic

lyrics out of remote centuries; that one had to be a Catholic to enjoy the

"Dies Irae," or a Protestant to remember "Lillibullero." Yet he was

stopped and gravely warned that things so politically provocative might

get him at least into temporary trouble.

A little time after I was helping King George V to get crowned, by walking

round a local bonfire and listening to a local band. Just as a bonfire

cannot be too big, so (by my theory of music) a band cannot be too loud,

and this band was so loud, emphatic, and obvious, that I actually

recognised one or two of the tunes. And I noticed that quite a formidable

proportion of them were Jacobite tunes; that is, tunes that had been

primarily meant to keep George V out of his throne for ever. Some of the

real airs of the old Scottish rebellion were played, such as "Charlie is

My Darling," or "What's a' the steer, kimmer?" songs that men had sung

while marching to destroy and drive out the monarchy under which we live.

They were songs in which the very kinsmen of the present King were swept

aside as usurpers. They were songs in which the actual words "King

George" occurred as a curse and a derision. Yet they were played to

celebrate his very Coronation; played as promptly and innocently as if

they had been "Grandfather's Clock" or "Rule Britannia" or "The

Honeysuckle and the Bee."

That contrast is the measure, not only between two nations, but between

two modes of historical construction and development. For there is not

really very much difference, as European history goes, in the time that

has elapsed between us and the Jacobite and between us and the Jacobin.

When George III was crowned the gauntlet of the King's Champion was picked

up by a partisan of the Stuarts. When George III was still on the throne

the Bourbons were driven out of France as the Stuarts had been driven out

of England. Yet the French are just sufficiently aware that the Bourbons

might possibly return that they will take a little trouble to discourage

it; whereas we are so certain that the Stuarts will never return that we

actually play their most passionate tunes as a compliment to their rivals.

And we do not even do it tauntingly. I examined the faces of all the

bandsmen; and I am sure they were devoid of irony: indeed, it is difficult

to blow a wind instrument ironically. We do it quite unconsciously;

because we have a huge fundamental dogma, which the French have not. We

really believe that the past is past. It is a very doubtful point.

Now the great gift of a revolution (as in France) is that it makes men

free in the past as well as free in the future. Those who have cleared

away everything could, if they liked, put back everything. But we who

have preserved everything--we cannot restore anything. Take, for the sake

of argument, the complex and many coloured ritual of the Coronation

recently completed. That rite is stratified with the separate centuries;

from the first rude need of discipline to the last fine shade of culture

or corruption, there is nothing that cannot be detected or even dated.

The fierce and childish vow of the lords to serve their lord "against all

manner of folk" obviously comes from the real Dark Ages; no longer

confused, even by the ignorant, with the Middle Ages. It comes from some

chaos of Europe, when there was one old Roman road across four of our

counties; and when hostile "folk" might live in the next village. The

sacramental separation of one man to be the friend of the fatherless and

the nameless belongs to the true Middle Ages; with their great attempt to

make a moral and invisible Roman Empire; or (as the Coronation Service

says) to set the cross for ever above the ball. Elaborate local

tomfooleries, such as that by which the Lord of the Manor of Work-sop is

alone allowed to do something or other, these probably belong to the decay

of the Middle Ages, when that great civilisation died out in grotesque

literalism and entangled heraldry. Things like the presentation of the

Bible bear witness to the intellectual outburst at the Reformation; things

like the Declaration against the Mass bear witness to the great wars of

the Puritans; and things like the allegiance of the Bishops bear witness

to the wordy and parenthetical political compromises which (to my deep

regret) ended the wars of religion.

But my purpose here is only to point out one particular thing. In all

that long list of variations there must be, and there are, things which

energetic modern minds would really wish, with the reasonable modification,

to restore. Dr. Clifford would probably be glad to see again the great

Puritan idealism that forced the Bible into an antique and almost frozen

formality. Dr. Horton probably really regrets the old passion that

excommunicated Rome. In the same way Mr. Belloc would really prefer the

Middle Ages; as Lord Rosebery would prefer the Erastian oligarchy of the

eighteenth century. The Dark Ages would probably be disputed (from widely

different motives) by Mr. Rudyard Kipling and Mr. Cunninghame Graham.

But Mr. Cunninghame Graham would win.

But the black case against Conservative (or Evolutionary) politics is that

none of these sincere men can win. Dr. Clifford cannot get back to the

Puritans; Mr. Belloc cannot get back to the mediaevals; because (alas)

there has been no Revolution to leave them a clear space for building or

rebuilding. Frenchmen have all the ages behind them, and can wander back

and pick and choose. But Englishmen have all the ages on top of them, and

can only lie groaning under that imposing tower, without being able to

take so much as a brick out of it. If the French decide that their

Republic is bad they can get rid of it; but if we decide that a Republic

was good, we should have much more difficulty. If the French democracy

actually desired every detail of the mediaeval monarchy, they could have

it. I do not think they will or should, but they could. If another

Dauphin were actually crowned at Rheims; if another Joan of Arc actually

bore a miraculous banner before him; if mediaeval swords shook and.

blazed in every gauntlet; if the golden lilies glowed from every tapestry;

if this were really proved to be the will of France and the purpose of

Providence--such a scene would still be the lasting and final

justification of the French Revolution.

For no such scene could conceivably have happened under Louis XVI.