Unsinkable: The Full Story of the RMS Titanic by Daniel Allen Butler
Authors: Daniel Allen Butler
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Einstein’s E=mc 2 ; in the psychology of Jung, Freud, Pavlov, and Adler; and in medicine, where the secrets of vitamins, genes, and hormones would be unlocked. Science had been transformed from a dalliance for eccentrics into a systematic discipline, becoming the foundation of industry.
At the same time these changes unintentionally began an erosion in the nineteen-centuries-old faith in God as the source of all certainty and stability. The authority and infallibility of the Bible were no longer universally regarded as absolute, and the solid core of religious doctrines and dogmas that had bound Western civilization together was slowly crumbling. The industrial society that created and supported the multitude of innovations also built up new pressures in both prosperity and poverty, raising questions about the validity of the established order that churches could no longer answer convincingly, while growing populations and densely crowded cities created new antagonisms between classes, new problems for industry owners, and new opportunities for radicals and rabble rousers. Far from wallowing in its own decadence, as is all too often depicted, the Edwardian world was dynamic, even exciting, driven by the momentum of centuries of accumulated tensions and energies—industrial, economic, social—that created such contrasts of wealth and poverty, opulence and indigence such as no society had ever known before. It was this era that Mark Twain christened the “Gilded Age.”
It was undeniably a time marked by money-grubbing and ostentation on the part of the upper classes, when “excess” and “success” became interchangeable. Just over one percent of the population of Great Britain controlled 67 percent of the nation’s money, a proportion that held equally true for the United States. Of the two societies, the more ostentatious were the Americans, more than a handful of whom had accumulated fortunes greater than the world had ever seen. However, it was undeniable that these same Americans were better at making money than at spending it: like most nouveau riche, their hallmark was conspicuous consumption, with little discrimination or taste. They literally had more money than they knew what to do with, and the desire of American plutocrats to spend lavishly, coupled with a sense of insecurity due to the very rapidity that most of them had made their fortunes, drove them irresistibly to Europe, and ultimately to London.
It was inevitable that this upstart leisure class should be drawn to the greatest city in the world. Finding themselves among kindred people, these wealthy Americans discovered what they craved—and what America as a nation and the humility of their individual births could not hope to give them: the pomp and grandeur of a 1200-year-old monarchy, with all the stability, nobility, and grace that were its trappings; the company of men and women who carelessly and comfortably wore names and titles that were a part of history; and a society that was relaxed, mature, and secure in its own longevity.
“The Season” of 1911, perhaps the most wonderful in memory, had provided the Americans with the unforgettable splendor of the coronation of King George V and Queen Mary; the first performance in Great Britain of Diagilev’s Russian Ballet, led by the legendary Anna Pavlova; long processions of motorcars down Park Lane in the evenings; and endless glittering balls and dinner parties in Belgravia. The stormy passage that summer of the Parliament Bill, which deprived the House of Lords of its veto power over the Commons, added yet another dimension of fascination for the visiting Americans. From Opening Night at the Royal Opera House Covent Gardens, in April, to the Cowes Regatta in July, the numbers of those from across the Atlantic attending threatened to equal or exceed those of their English friends and relatives—the latter the result of a spate of transatlantic marriages that was rapidly approaching
At the same time these changes unintentionally began an erosion in the nineteen-centuries-old faith in God as the source of all certainty and stability. The authority and infallibility of the Bible were no longer universally regarded as absolute, and the solid core of religious doctrines and dogmas that had bound Western civilization together was slowly crumbling. The industrial society that created and supported the multitude of innovations also built up new pressures in both prosperity and poverty, raising questions about the validity of the established order that churches could no longer answer convincingly, while growing populations and densely crowded cities created new antagonisms between classes, new problems for industry owners, and new opportunities for radicals and rabble rousers. Far from wallowing in its own decadence, as is all too often depicted, the Edwardian world was dynamic, even exciting, driven by the momentum of centuries of accumulated tensions and energies—industrial, economic, social—that created such contrasts of wealth and poverty, opulence and indigence such as no society had ever known before. It was this era that Mark Twain christened the “Gilded Age.”
It was undeniably a time marked by money-grubbing and ostentation on the part of the upper classes, when “excess” and “success” became interchangeable. Just over one percent of the population of Great Britain controlled 67 percent of the nation’s money, a proportion that held equally true for the United States. Of the two societies, the more ostentatious were the Americans, more than a handful of whom had accumulated fortunes greater than the world had ever seen. However, it was undeniable that these same Americans were better at making money than at spending it: like most nouveau riche, their hallmark was conspicuous consumption, with little discrimination or taste. They literally had more money than they knew what to do with, and the desire of American plutocrats to spend lavishly, coupled with a sense of insecurity due to the very rapidity that most of them had made their fortunes, drove them irresistibly to Europe, and ultimately to London.
It was inevitable that this upstart leisure class should be drawn to the greatest city in the world. Finding themselves among kindred people, these wealthy Americans discovered what they craved—and what America as a nation and the humility of their individual births could not hope to give them: the pomp and grandeur of a 1200-year-old monarchy, with all the stability, nobility, and grace that were its trappings; the company of men and women who carelessly and comfortably wore names and titles that were a part of history; and a society that was relaxed, mature, and secure in its own longevity.
“The Season” of 1911, perhaps the most wonderful in memory, had provided the Americans with the unforgettable splendor of the coronation of King George V and Queen Mary; the first performance in Great Britain of Diagilev’s Russian Ballet, led by the legendary Anna Pavlova; long processions of motorcars down Park Lane in the evenings; and endless glittering balls and dinner parties in Belgravia. The stormy passage that summer of the Parliament Bill, which deprived the House of Lords of its veto power over the Commons, added yet another dimension of fascination for the visiting Americans. From Opening Night at the Royal Opera House Covent Gardens, in April, to the Cowes Regatta in July, the numbers of those from across the Atlantic attending threatened to equal or exceed those of their English friends and relatives—the latter the result of a spate of transatlantic marriages that was rapidly approaching
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