So a Lenin wouldn’t do us any good. He wouldn’t set any life going in us at all. The Gallic and Latin blood isn’t thrilled about keeping house, anyhow. It wants Glory, or else Glory. Glory on horse-back, or Glory upset. If there was any Glory to upset, either in France or Italy or Spain, then communism might flourish. But since there isn’t even a spark of Glory to blow out--Alfonso! Victor Emmanuel! Poincaré!--what’s the good of blowing? So they set up a little harmless Glory in baggy trousers--Papa Mussolini--or a bit of fat, self-loving but amiable elder-brother Glory in General de Rivera: and they call it power. And the democratic world holds up its hands, and moans: “_Dictators! Tyranny!_” While the conservative world cheers loudly, and cries: “_The Man! The Man! El hombre! L’uomo! L’homme! Hooray!!!_” Bunk! We want life. And we want the power of life. We want to feel the power of life in ourselves. We’re sick of being soft, and amiable, and harmless. We’re sick to death of even enjoying ourselves. We’re a bit ashamed of our own existence. Or if we aren’t we ought to be. But what then? Shall we exclaim, in a fat voice: “_Aha! Power! Glory! Force! The Man!_”--and proceed to set up a harmless Mussolini, or a fat Rivera? Well, let us, if we want to. Only it won’t make the slightest difference to our real living. Except it’s probably a good thing to have the press--the newspaper press--crushed under the up-to-date rubber heel of a tyrannous but harmless dictator. We won’t speak of poor old Hindenburg. Except, why didn’t they set up his wooden statue with all the nails knocked into it, for a President? For surely they drove _something_ in, with those nails! We had a harmless dictator, in Mr. Lloyd George. Better go ahead with the Houses of Representatives, than have another shot in that direction. Power! How can there be power in politics, when politics is money? Money is power, they say. Is it? Money is to power what margarine is to butter: a nasty substitute. No, power is something you’ve got to respect, even revere, before you can have it. It isn’t bossing, or bullying, hiring a manservant or Salvationising your social inferior, issuing loud orders and getting your own way, doing your opponent down. That isn’t power. Power is _pouvoir_: to be able to. Might: the ability to make: to bring about that which may-be. And where are we to get Power, or Might, or Glory, or Honour, or Wisdom? Out of Lloyd George, or Lenin, or Mussolini, or Rivera, or anything else political? Bah! It has to be in the people, before it can come out in politics. Do we _want_ Power, Might, Glory, Honour, and Wisdom? If we do, we’d better start to get them, each man for himself. But if we don’t, we’d better continue our lick-spittling course of being as happy, as happy as Kings. “The world is so full of a number of things We ought all to be happy, as happy as Kings.” Which Kings, might we ask? Better be careful!