`Who,' you ask, `would there be to receive the King in the name of the
Swiss nation?' I promptly answer, `The President of the Swiss
Republic.' You did not expect that. You had quite forgotten, if indeed
you had ever heard, that there was any such person. For the life of
you, you could not tell me his name. Well, his name is not very widely
known even in Switzerland. A friend of mine, who was there lately,
tells me that he asked one Swiss after another what was the name of
the President, and that they all sought refuge in polite astonishment
at such ignorance, and, when pressed for the name, could only screw up
their eyes, snap their fingers, and feverishly declare that they had
it on the tips of their tongues. This is just as it should be. In an
ideal republic there should be no one whose name might not at any
moment slip the memory of his fellows. Some sort of foreman there must
be, for the State's convenience; but the more obscure he be, and the
more automatic, the better for the ideal of equality. In the Republics
of France and of America the President is of an extrusive kind. His
office has been fashioned on the monarchic model, and his whole
position is anomalous. He has to try to be ornamental as well as
useful, a symbol as well as a pivot.
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