that a statesman must be something of a stoic; the second was
the idea of extreme publicity. Many imaginative English writers,
including Carlyle, seem quite unable to imagine how it was
that men like Robespierre and Marat were ardently admired.
The best answer is that they were admired for being poor--
poor when they might have been rich.

No one will pretend that this ideal exists at all in the haute
politique of this country. Our national claim to political
incorruptibility is actually based on exactly the opposite argument;
it is based on the theory that wealthy men in assured
positions will have no temptation to financial trickery.
Whether the history of the English aristocracy, from the spoliation
of the monasteries to the annexation of the mines, entirely supports
this theory I am not now inquiring; but certainly it is our theory,
that wealth will be a protection against political corruption.
The English statesman is bribed not to be bribed.
He is born with a silver spoon in his mouth, so that he may
never afterwards be found with the silver spoons in his pocket.
So strong is our faith in this protection by plutocracy,
that we are more and more trusting our empire in the hands of
families which inherit wealth without either blood or manners.
Some of our political houses are parvenue by pedigree;
they hand on vulgarity like a coat of-arms. In the case of
many a modern statesman to say that he is born with a silver
spoon in his mouth, is at once inadequate and excessive.
He is born with a silver knife in his mouth. But all this
only illustrates the English theory that poverty is perilous
for a politician.