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diff --git a/old/68876-0.txt b/old/68876-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 67d90fc..0000000 --- a/old/68876-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6512 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Unparliamentary papers and other -diversions, by Reginald Berkeley - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Unparliamentary papers and other diversions - -Author: Reginald Berkeley - -Illustrator: Bohun Lynch - -Contributor: J. C. Squire - -Release Date: August 31, 2022 [eBook #68876] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Tim Lindell, Thomas Frost and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNPARLIAMENTARY PAPERS AND -OTHER DIVERSIONS *** - - - - - -[Illustration: Alleged “interference” with the Heavenly Twins. - -_See “The Universal Conflict.”_] - - - - - UNPARLIAMENTARY - PAPERS AND OTHER - DIVERSIONS - - BY - - REGINALD BERKELEY - - Author of - - “French Leave” and “Eight O’Clock” - Part Author of “The Oilskin Packet” - and “Decorations and Absurdities” - - _With an Introduction_ - By J. C. SQUIRE - _And Drawings by_ - BOHUN LYNCH - - Cecil Palmer - Forty-nine - Chandos Street - W.C.2 - - - - - FIRST - EDITION - 1924 - COPYRIGHT - - - _Printed in Great Britain_ - - - - -_To_ C. H. G. - - - _Friend, of all friends most prized and dear, - When times are sad, when memories smart, - When smiles hold back the scalding tear, - And laughter hides a breaking heart-- - Because the sleeve’s no place to wear it-- - May this poor book of mine come in - And help brave you to grin and bear it, - Or--if you cannot bear it--grin._ - - - - -Certain of the papers that make up this book have appeared, either in -this present or in some modified form, in the “Outlook.” Others have -been published in the “Nottingham Journal,” the “Yorkshire Observer,” -and other provincial dailies. Others again are hitherto unpublished. To -the Editors of those journals in which his work has appeared the author -wishes to express his gratitude and acknowledgments. - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -I happen to frequent Captain Berkeley’s company on the cricket field. -When he is there, and the wicket is bumpy, it might suitably be called -a stricken field. He bowls very fast and very straight. - -As his publisher usually keeps wicket for him, I dare not suggest that -the crooked ones go for four byes. In any event that parallel would -not be necessary here; but the general characteristics of Captain -Berkeley’s bowling are certainly in evidence. He goes direct at his -object, and when he hits it the middle stump whirls rapidly in the air. -He is all for hitting the wicket; slip catches and cunningly arranged -chances to cover are not for him. This blunt going for the main point -it is that gives his parodies their greatest charm. I like it when -I see a reference to “Count Puffendorff Seidlitz, the Megalomanian -Minister”: if we are being funny, why not laugh aloud instead of merely -tittering? “Lord Miasma” pleases me as a coinage full of meaning in -these days; there is a refreshing lack of compromise about the name of -the Galsworthy parson, “The Rev. Hardy Heavyweight”; and how better -could one name two of Sir James Barrie’s minor characters than by -the twin appellations of McVittie and Price, who here take, as they -elsewhere give, the biscuit? This agreeable couple appear in one of the -mock plays which, to one reader at least, seem to be the very best -part of this very miscellaneous volume. Captain Berkeley is himself a -successful playwright, and dog has here very entertainingly eaten dog. -Mr. Galsworthy’s passion for abstract titles; his hostile preoccupation -with the normal sporting man; his agonised sympathy with maltreated -women; his determination to load the dice against his heroines: all -these things are made clear in language very like his own, and yet in a -way that suggests (to return to our imagery) that the bowler, however -fast and determined, has a respect for the batsman. I don’t know that -it is quite fair to ascribe “the Manchester Drama” especially to Mr. -St. John Ervine or even to Manchester; but we know the type, and if a -few more blows like this will kill it, so much the better. It is well -enough to be harrowed in the theatre, but not to be made to feel as -though we had chronic dyspepsia. The Russian Drama is beautifully apt; -and “The Slayboy of the Western World” also. They reproduce idioms and -mannerisms perfectly, and exhibit limitations unanswerably. - -Perhaps the most refreshing thing about this book is its diversity. It -is an age (excluding the merely vulgarly versatile) of specialists and -specialist labels. A man is not expected to see life whole, much less -steadily; he is encouraged to describe himself as “poet,” “parodist,” -“politician,” “business man” or what not; and it is regarded as almost -improper that a person who takes an interest in Synge should so much -as admit a knowledge of Mr. Winston Churchill’s existence. Captain -Berkeley refuses to subject himself to any such limitations. He surveys -everything around him, and where he sees anything he thinks funny, he -has a go at it. This should not be regarded--any more than Canning’s -squibs were regarded--as militating against his trustworthiness as -a politician. Rather the reverse. A knowledge of humanity and the -humanities is serviceable in legislation and administration, and a -sense of humour usually goes with the sense which is called common. - - J. C. SQUIRE. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - UNPARLIAMENTARY PAPERS:-- - - The Universal Conflict 3 - - An Eminent Georgian 12 - - My First Derby 20 - - On Eternal Life 28 - - The Next War--and Military Service 31 - - First Plays for Beginners 39 - - Hats 45 - - Shareholders’ Blood 52 - - The Personal Column 60 - - Society Sideshows 64 - - - LATTER-DAY DRAMAS:-- - - Morality 75 - - Eternity and Post-Eternity 87 - - The Enchanted Island 101 - - President Wilson 112 - - Jemima Bloggs 125 - - Under Eastern Skies 132 - - The Vodka Bottle 144 - - King David I 153 - - The Slayboy of the Western World 158 - - - IMPOLITICS:-- - - A Member of Parliament 167 - - Woes of the Whips 174 - - Young Men and “Maidens” 180 - - Front Benches and Back Benches 188 - - “Order, Order” 196 - - Lords and Commons 203 - - - IRREVERENT INTERVIEWS AND OTHER IRRELEVANCES:-- - - With Lord Balfour at the Washington Conference 211 - - With Monsieur Briand after the Washington Conference 219 - - With Mr. Lloyd George during his - Premiership 227 - - With Lord Birkenhead on the Woolsack 235 - - Old Tory 243 - - Edward and Eustace 244 - - The Two Wedgwoods 249 - - Songs of a Die-Hard 253 - - Nursery Rhyme 254 - - The Old Member 255 - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - PAGE - - ALLEGED “INTERFERENCE” WITH THE HEAVENLY - TWINS _Frontispiece_ - - “DONE DOWN ON THE DOWNS” 23 - - “IN WHICH I SHALL LOOK LESS RIDICULOUS” 47 - - “AND OBLIGINGLY OVERTURNS DOWN AN EMBANKMENT” 71 - - “THE INFLUENCE OF THAT MAN SHAW” 89 - - “LIFE’S VERY HARD” 127 - - “AH! LITTLE FATHERS, THIS POISON----” 151 - - “NEW MEMBER, SIR?” 169 - - EDWARD AND EUSTACE 245 - - JOVIAL JOSIAH WEDGWOOD AND BOLD WEDGWOOD BENN 251 - - - - -THE UNIVERSAL CONFLICT - -NINETEEN ANYTHING--NINETEEN SOMETHING - -ELSE - -BY THE RT. HON. WINSOM STUNSTER CHORTILL - -CHAPTER MXCVII - -GOLGOTHA - - More criticisms--My “interference” with the Heavenly Twins--Suggested - operations against Venus--My memoranda on Venus and Jupiter--Detailed - proposals--Our new super-planetary battering-ram--Lord Krusher - baffled--Correspondence between us--Lord Krusher’s objections--My - reply--His antagonism--Meeting of the Allied Planetary - Council--Serious position--The Archangel Gabriel’s shortcomings--My - plan for saving the situation--The crisis--My resignation--Reflections. - - -Scarcely had died away the reverberations of criticism, enhanced by -venomous personal attacks upon myself for my so-called “interference” -in the operations against the Heavenly Twins, when a new crisis of -even more momentous significance was sprung upon the Cabinet. In the -previous December, with the fullest concurrence of the First Air Lord -and the Board of Aerial Operations, I had planned a lightning raid -on the planet of Venus to be carried out by our obsolete comets. The -political situation has so important a bearing upon this project that -I must here interpolate a memorandum which, as long before as the -previous July, I had addressed to the Secretary of State for Extra -Planetary Affairs and circulated to my colleagues. - - _Memorandum._ - - _Mr. Chortill to the Extra Planetary Secretary._ - - I can no longer preserve silence on the subject of Venus. Venusian - hostility may quite well be fatal to the whole grand operation which - we and our planetary allies are at present co-ordinating against - the Central Planets. The grip of Mars upon Venus is unquestionably - tightening; and, if no intervention is undertaken, but, on the - contrary, the spirit of _laissez-faire_ is allowed to prevail, we - shall not only lose a strong potential adherent, but, which is equally - important, also forfeit considerable sympathy amongst our own people. - The plan of the Martians is quite plain. Availing themselves of that - well-known astronomical phenomenon--the Transit of Venus--they will - undoubtedly utilise that period of uncertainty to detach this wavering - planet from our cause and bind her irrevocably to themselves. That - would be nothing short of a disaster. - -At the same time, knowing his difficulties in coping with the tasks of -his office, I instructed the faithful Smashterton Jones to convey the -following message to the Prime Minister himself: - - _Mr. Chortill to the Prime Minister._ - - I am seriously exercised in my mind about Jupiter. I fear that, by - confining ourselves to the narrow requirements of tactical gain, we - are neglecting inter-planetary strategy. Do, I beg you, consider this - point. If Jupiter can be induced--I don’t suggest that this proposal - is necessarily the best, but, let us say, by the offer of one or both - of the rings of Saturn under a Mandate of the League of Planets--if - Jupiter could in this or some other manner be induced to take an - active part, at least in the aerial blockade to cut off from the - Central Planets the communication which at present they enjoy outside - the Solar System, there is no doubt but that the conflict would be - sensibly shortened, and it might make a difference of centuries. I - enclose a Memorandum on Venus which I have sent to the Extra Planetary - Secretary, and upon which I should value your remarks. - - W. S. C. - -Reverting now to the plan for an aerial raid on the planet of Venus. -We had the old comets, quite ineffective for operations against the -major Planets, but powerful and not at all to be despised; we had a -satisfactory surplus of meteors which could be employed in support; -and we had in addition the newly constructed, and in all respects -novel, planetary battering-ram, specially designed for jarring, or, -as the technical word is, “boosting” heavenly bodies out of their -orbits--the apple of the eye of old Lord Krusher and the Board of -Aerial Construction. This formidable engine, unique, as we were led to -believe, in the whole stellar universe, must in any case carry out her -trials somewhere, and might as well be utilised in toppling a potential -antagonist out of our path, instead of being sent to the Milky Way for -the usual two months’ test. So much for material. Of trained personnel -we had, though not an abundance, a reasonable margin. Only one thing -seemed to baffle the mighty war mind of old Lord Krusher and our -experts--a satisfactory jumping-off place. Accordingly, the day before -the Cabinet met, I dictated the following:-- - - _First Lord to the First Air Lord._ - - Referring to our conversation with regard to the Venus Striking Force, - and the necessity for a jumping-off place, has it occurred to you that - the Mountains of the Moon are in every way adapted for this purpose? - A force of comets and meteors with the necessary reserves, L. of C. - troops, etc., based upon this strategic point, not only dominates the - principal airways and traffic routes, but points a spear directly at - the heart of the enemy. Request therefore that you will examine this - proposition, and, in conjunction with Aerial Operations, furnish me - immediately with an estimate of the material, plant, etc., required to - convert these natural fastnesses into a suitable base. - - W. S. C. - -To this he replied in a characteristic letter:-- - - Trusty and well-beloved Winsom, - - Your plan is, like yourself, marvellous! Nobody but you could have - thought of it. I could turn the Mountains of the Moon into the base - you require in forty-eight hours, but for one overriding difficulty, - which your memorandum does not meet. There is no AIR on the Moon, my - Winsom, and human beings being what they are, _air is necessary_ IF - THEY ARE NOT TO PERISH. - - Only THREE things are necessary to win the war: _air_, SPEED, and - GUTS. I have got the last, you are providing the second, but where are - we to get the AIR? - - _Skegness?_ - - We had better try the Valley of the Dry Bones instead, if the - archæologists can find it for us. Failing that, Sinbad’s cavern. - - Yours till Ginger pops, - - KRUSHER. - - -This was the kind of thoughtless criticism to which I was occasionally -subjected by the old air-dog.[1] Magnificent in his courage, more often -right than wrong, a splendid example of British brain-power, there -were times when he made the error of estimating other people’s mental -capacity by his own. Time was pressing, so I wirelessed the following -reply:-- - - _First Lord to First Air Lord_: - - TAKE SUPPLY OF OXYGEN IN CANISTERS, - -which settled the matter. Alas! I was to discover later that this -too speedy resolution of his difficulties was merely to succeed in -antagonising the bluff old warrior against the whole project. - -Meanwhile the great Council of the Allied Planets met, and it became -all too apparent that the operations, as a whole, were being pursued -with even more than our customary hesitation and delay. The Archangel -Gabriel, an excellent First Minister in times of peace, was beginning -to give unmistakable signs of being too old and slow-witted for his -work. Since his well-remembered and highly successful controversy with -Lucifer, some æons before, his powers had been steadily waning; and -it was speedily becoming apparent that he had no longer the mental -alertness and vigour of body for a prolonged campaign conducted under -the stress of modern conditions. At times--as, for instance, over the -thunderbolt shortage--he would arouse himself to prodigious efforts, -equalling, if not outstripping, his ancient prowess. And then he would -fall into always increasing periods of apathy, from which there was no -extracting him. - -In these circumstances I wrote the following memorandum:-- - - _Memorandum by the Rt. Hon. Winsom Stunster Chortill on the general - situation_: - - We have now been at war for forty-three years and eleven days. A - prodigious expenditure of blood and treasure has so far secured for us - no material advantage. The essential services are suffering from lack - of co-ordination. Much valuable energy is being wasted in duplication - of effort. - - I have indicated in the accompanying appendices (36 in number) - detailed plans for a change of policy on all the fronts, and I attach - also an additional memorandum with 7 sequellæ, 41 maps and a detailed - schedule of supplies, dealing with the political situation likely to - arise on the Transit of Venus, and outlining a scheme of operations - for immediate consideration and adoption. - - After all these years it becomes necessary to say that the Allied - cause is suffering from a want of decision. As each new problem arises - we seem to be more and more unprepared. This cannot be indefinitely - prolonged, and only one sensible solution presents itself--namely, - that the control of all policy, operations and forces should be - centred under one hand. Modesty forbids the suggestion that the - serious crisis in our national fortunes demands that I should indicate - myself as the most suitable person to have charge of this enterprise; - but if consulted I should be willing to express my opinion on the - matter. - - W. S. C. - -On the following day, the most fateful of my life, I was unable to -resist a foreboding that things were not yet destined to go right for -the Allied cause. The careful records I had kept of my administration -satisfied me, as I looked through them, that for all I had done I could -assure myself of the approval of posterity. We had created, equipped -and maintained a gigantic aerial machine. No hostile forces had so -much as come within sight of our planet. My further schemes, to which -I had applied every existing intellectual test, made us reasonably -certain of a speedy result; and I left my room and strode across to the -Council with a conviction in my heart that I could carry through my -proposals--and yet with a haunting fear of the unexpected. On arriving -at the Council Chamber my forebodings became heavier. The proceedings -were of a most perfunctory nature. All controversial business was -adjourned to a later meeting, and we were informed that a crisis made -it necessary for the head of the Government to demand the resignations -of his entire Ministry. With a heavy heart I parted with the insignia -of my office, realising, as I did so, that the struggle must now be -indefinitely prolonged. The head of the Government, animated by that -spirit of kindliness towards myself which he had ever shown, pressed me -to accept a gilded sinecure. With every wish to avoid giving him pain I -felt myself obliged to decline. Posterity, he told me, would appreciate -my zeal in the public service. - -Posterity, I felt to myself, as I left the building, would, thanks to -my diaries, at least understand. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] A kind of Skye terrier.--W. S. C. - - - - -AN EMINENT GEORGIAN - -SOME EXTRACTS FROM AN ESSAY IN THE MANNER OF A DISTINGUISHED WRITER - - -During the latter part of the closing year of the nineteenth century, -an English traveller, sojourning with his wife and daughter near -the hot springs of Rotorua in New Zealand, was observed one day to -dash from the verandah of his hotel, hatless, into the street, and -accost a passing urchin. The lad was singularly unprepossessing; he -squinted, his right shoulder was strangely deformed, and his ears -were much too large for his head. Unlike most children in receipt of -flattering attentions from an elderly and distinguished stranger, he -snarled, spat on the ground, and hurried away muttering oaths. The -astonished relatives of the traveller, hurrying out in pursuit of -him--in the belief, as the wife said afterwards, that he was suddenly -demented--found their husband and parent almost beside himself with -excitement. “That boy,” he said, pointing towards the receding figure -a hand that shook with emotion--“that boy will end as Prime Minister -of England.” Convinced that his mind was wandering, they led him back -with soothing words to the hotel; but his unerring judgment was once -again to be confirmed by the verdict of time. The speaker was Dr. -Quank Brane, the eminent psychologist; the boy, soon to be known to -the greater part of the universe, equally for the profundity of his -wisdom and the variety of his gifts and achievements, was Erasmus -Galileo McCann, philosopher, scientist, theologian, naval and military -strategist, scholar, economist and some time First Minister of the -Crown. - -The boyhood of this monument of versatile genius, no less than his -manhood, was remarkable. At the age of one, when dropped by his nurse, -a fact which accounted for the deformity of his shoulder, he was -distinctly heard, as if in anticipation of his interjectional habits -of later life, to rip out an accusing oath; and, when the startled -slattern turned up her hands and eyes in horror, he added, “Don’t -stare like a fool, go and get the doctor!” At three years old his -father presented him with all the volumes of Buckle’s _History of -Civilisation_, which he had completely mastered before he was five. -His dissertation of _The Lesser Cists in Invertebrates_, published at -the age of seven, is still a standard work of this little known branch -of biological science. Many years later an old friend of the family -told an admiring conclave of relatives of an encounter with the young -McCann, in which he himself was considerably worsted. In the course of -a journey across the Warraboora plains, a wild and almost uninhabited -tract of country, his provisions gave out. Some friendly natives whom -he encountered contrived to spare him a few dried corn cobs, but these -could hardly last him indefinitely. Starvation stared him in the face. -One day, however, as he was making a frugal meal of a large aboriginal -lizard, that he found entangled in the undergrowth, a strange urchin -dropped on his head from out of a tree fern, uttering savage whoops, -tore the carcass from his astonished fingers, and devoured it without a -word of apology. - -“That,” said the older man with resignation, “was my last morsel of -food. I must now die.” - -“_Je n’en vois pas la nécessité_,” returned the youth (it was McCann), -quoting La Rochefoucauld with the nonchalance of complete familiarity; -wherewith he swung himself into the branches of a Kauri pine, and -disappeared without another word. Giving himself up for lost, the -lonely traveller prepared for death; but before nightfall the youth -returned with a wallet of provender, and accompanied by guides who -piloted them back to civilisation. The boy appeared blissfully unaware -that he had done anything remarkable. “Such astonishing sang-froid,” -the traveller used to conclude, “I never encountered before or since. I -knew he was destined for greatness.” - - * * * * * - -His schooldays and college life were curiously uneventful. He secured -the uncoveted distinction of remaining at the bottom of the bottom -form of the school for three years, and of failing ignominiously in -the Cambridge Junior Local. Wiseacres shook their heads and quoted -scores of instances of infantile precocity. It began to look as -though the early promise was after all no more than a false dawn; and -then, to everyone’s astonishment, at the age of 19½ he planned, -financed and brought out _The People’s Piffle_, a daily journal -exactly corresponding to the literary appetites of the masses of the -British reading public. Among other novel features of this newspaper, -alternative opinions were presented in parallel columns on the leader -page, the appointment of the editor was subject to confirmation or -change every three months by a referendum of the readers, and, in place -of the obsolete insurances against accident, continued subscription for -a period of 25 years or longer conferred a pensionable right upon the -subscriber. - -So momentous a development in the literary activities of the country -created a profound impression. More than one well-known actress sent -him her autograph unsolicited. A film star was heard to refer to him -as “some guy.” The Prime Minister of the day shook hands with him -in public. Lord Thundercliffe shook in his shoes, and redoubled -his fulminating denunciations of everything. But the day of Lord -Thundercliffe was over: a new era was at hand, the era of universal -genius; and McCann, its prophet and its leader, was even then poising -himself on the crest of the wave that was to sweep away the wreckage -of the old century, and sweep in the reforms of the new, and sweep him -personally into a position of eminence hitherto unknown in our annals. - - * * * * * - -Just at about this time a resident at Claydamp-on-the-Wash was -astonished, in the course of a country walk, to see a tall, thin -gentleman leaning over a gate in an attitude of insupportable -dejection. The enormous brogues; the ill-fitting brown suit; the -high-domed forehead; the bushy brown spade beard; the huge spectacles -perched on the lofty sensitive nose; the dreamy eyes looking far away -into the mists, all suggested a certain literary personage. Could it -be? Was it possible? Overcoming a natural hesitation at intruding -upon the privacy of one who was obviously a recluse, he hesitatingly -ventured to approach. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but surely I am -addressing Mr. Lytton Strachey?” and without giving the stranger time -to answer he added, “Is anything the matter? Can I help in any way?” - -The solitary turned upon him eyes that were suffused with tears. -“Oh, no,” he replied, “no. Nothing. I was born too early, that is -all.” And on being pressed for a further explanation he continued, -“By the ordinary processes of Nature I must inevitably predecease -this monstrosity of talent; and I am excluded from the possibility of -writing the only Georgian biography that offers any kind of scope for -my abilities.” - - * * * * * - -He was of politics; and he was not of politics. He built up abstract -theories of Government in his articles in the morning Press: and -demolished them in the evening in his speeches in the House of Commons. -He attracted the sympathies of simple folk by a life of Spartan -discipline; and disgusted them by a profuse and shameless bestowal of -peerages and honours. He angled for the votes of the mercenary and -idle by a wholesale creation of state benevolences; and threw away -what he had gained by an almost niggardly supervision and husbandry of -the national income. As Controller and chief proprietor of the great -Press Trust, he denounced the infamies and exactions of the great -profiteering combines in which he himself was the principal partner: -and as Prime Minister of a secular Government he disestablished the -Church of which he, as Cardinal Archbishop, was the protesting head. -Writing at about this time Count Puffendorff Seidlitz, the Megalomanian -Ambassador, reported to his Government that it was perfectly vain to -cherish the slightest hope of undermining the national popularity -of one who so supremely embodied in himself the qualities, and the -inconsistencies, and the portentous humbug that chiefly characterised -the nation of which he was the head. Nothing could be done at present. -Above all there must be no haste. “But I do not despair,” he added, -“for, though ignorant of music, the man has a certain coarse feeling -for the arts--and that, in a country of Philistines, must in the long -run betray him into our hands.” - -Fatal self-complacency! At the very moment when those words were being -penned, McCann was--where? He was in the anteroom of the Princess -Vodkha, that luckless Ambassador’s sovereign, waiting to seal with a -courtly handclasp the Trade Agreement between Megalomania and this -country. Poor Count Puffendorff Seidlitz! Where Lord Thundercliffe and -his brother Lord Miasma has failed, it was hardly to be supposed that -he would succeed. - - * * * * * - -So ended, in a thin filmy haze, a life of service and sacrament. To -the very end they thought he might be saved. The general public, -brought suddenly to the realisation of the approaching calamity, stood -dumbly in the streets, or hurried away--hoping. But the sands were -running down; the tide, long since turned, was ebbing with inexorable -swiftness; the night was indeed at hand. A greater and more terrible -accuser than Lord Thundercliffe hovered over the sick man’s bed; and a -greater and wiser Judge than public opinion was waiting to pronounce -the verdict from which there is no appeal. - - - - -MY FIRST DERBY - - -“No,” I said, “as a matter of fact I’ve never been to the Derby--and to -tell you the truth----” I went on. - -He winced. He did not want me to tell him the truth. If the truth was -(as it was) that I didn’t care two cassowary’s eggs whether I went to -the Derby or not, that was the very last thing he desired to hear. He -wanted to keep his opinion of me as unimpaired by such idiosyncrasies, -as I would permit. These thoughts rippled over the mild surface of his -features like gusts of wind across the waters of a pond. I allowed the -words to die away in my throat. After all, to give pain flagrantly-- - -“Promise me,” he urged, “p-p-promise me you’ll take a day off and go -to-morrow. It’s one of the sights of the world. The Downs black with -people----” - -“Black?” I murmured, “surely not in this heat?” - -“Oh, well, covered with people then, stiff with people, crowded for -miles and miles with millions and millions of all classes in the -land----” - -“Dear, dear,” I said, “first, second, _and_ third!” - -He ignored this miserable attempt at buffoonery. - -“Yes,” he averred, “all classes in the land, thimble-rigging, cocoanut -shying, confidence tricking, eating, drinking, laughing, cheering. -Vehicles of all sorts, shapes, sizes, motive power, blocking all the -roads in the neighbourhood. And the horses, my dear boy, the horses! -Until you’ve seen those horses, trained to a hair, with coats like -satin, ready to run for their lives, why, you simply haven’t seen -anything. And the crowd in the paddock. You _must_ see the crowd in the -paddock. _And_ the bookies. No man’s lived, till he’s been done down on -the Downs. Now promise me faithfully----” - -“Very well,” I said hurriedly to forestall the otherwise inevitable -repetition, “I promise....” - - * * * * * - -It was rather fun, I admit. From the moment when the wheel-barrow on -which, apparently, I had made the journey in the company of a Zulu -chief, Lady Diana Manners, Mr. Justice Salter, and a dear little Eskimo -girl aged seven, drew up at Boulter’s Lock--no, no--not Boulter’s -Lock--Tattenham Corner, I knew I was in for one of the great days of my -life. There, glittering in the sunlight in all its pristine colouring, -stood the brand-new Tattenham Corner House, erected for the occasion -by Sir Joseph Lyons himself, who, with Lord Howard de Walden on one -side of him and the Prime Minister on the other, stood in the doorway -receiving his guests. A prodigious negro, with an unexpectedly small -voice, announced me (for some reason) as “Mr. Mallaby Deeley,” and I -found myself walking on a vast deep verandah, laid out with innumerable -little luncheon tables, through which a long procession of horses was -intricately manœuvring. - -“The paddock,” murmured my Zulu companion. “It’s an idea of Sir -Joseph’s. The combination of a sit-down luncheon and form at a glance. -Extraordinarily convenient.” - -We sat down at a table. Immediately a jockey and his horse sat down -opposite to us. - -“Order us a drink each, dearie,” said the jockey, “it’s a fearful -business this perambulatin’ about; and you get nothing for it. Eh? Oh, -gin for _’er_, and I’ll take a glass o’ port.” - -“And what is your young friend’s name?” enquired the judge, suddenly -putting his head from under the table. - -“Ah,” said the jockey, knowingly, “that ’ud be telling, that would.” He -tapped his nose mysteriously and drank. - -“But, my good sir,” complained the judge, “how can I back your horse if -I don’t know its name?” - -“By the process of elimination,” said the jockey sagely. - -[Illustration: “Done down on the Downs.”] - -“Elimination,” said the judge, “what of?” - -“Yourself,” said the jockey; and his mount choked coyly in her glass. - -At this moment the King appeared, followed by Aristotle, Sir Thomas -Beecham, and others. - -“The next race is about to begin,” he said severely, “and you’ve none -of you brushed your hair.” - - * * * * * - -It was a long time before I found the bookmaker. Any number of spurious -ones rose up in my path and taunted me; but He always escaped. At last -I thought of looking under one of the thimbles; and there he was in -deep calculation. - -“What price Poltergeist?” I demanded. I wanted to say Psychology, but -the word somehow refused to shape itself. - -“It all depends,” he replied shrewdly, “on whether you want to buy or -to sell,” wherewith he crossed his legs, smiled on only one side of his -face, and returned to his calculations. - -“Aren’t you a bookmaker?” I faltered. - -“Certainly,” he cried shrilly, “and I’m making a book now, can’t you -see?” He held up a kind of primitive loose-leaf ledger, made of calico -pages bound in sheepskin. - -“Very durable,” he explained, and broke into a harsh chant: - - “If I lay sevens and fours - And you take fives and threes-- - What do they care for gaming laws, - Who have not felt the squeeze, - Who sacrifice the world’s applause - And gain ignoble ease? - - With odds laid off or on, - And prices up or down----” - -He broke off abruptly and rose to his feet. The miscellany in his lap -was scattered upon the ground. - -“Pick up my work-basket,” he exclaimed, “and give me the kaleidoscope,” -I handed him the strange black instrument at which he was pointing, and -began groping on my knees among the pins and needles. He turned towards -the sun, and gazed at it through the object in his hand. - -“Look out,” he exclaimed suddenly, “they’re off.” - -Simultaneously a voice near me said, “The King’s calling you,” and I -began to run. Immediately the hounds were slipped from the leash, and -the hunt settled down in my wake. The ship began to sway from side to -side, and the roaring grew louder and louder. Still I ran, flashing -past the booths, past upturned umbrellas with cards scattered over -them, past the stewards’ enclosure, past the Royal Box. The thundering -grew louder and more insistent. I was flying along the track with the -whole field plunging after me. Hoarse cries. I redouble my efforts. My -head is going to burst. The Royal Box whizzes past again. The winning -post. I’m falling.... - - * * * * * - -A long time afterwards, a voice said: - -“He’s quite all right. A touch of heat-stroke is nothing, really, you -know. Quiet. Couple of days in bed.” - -I opened my eyes. - -“Sir Joseph Lyons----” I began. - -“All right,” said the doctor, “you shut up.” - -“I’ve promised to go to the Derby,” I protested. - -“Next year,” replied the doctor. “Just drink this, will you?” - - - - -ON ETERNAL LIFE - - -Somebody--a certain Dr. Friedenberg to be truthful--has thrown out -suggestions of the dreadful possibility of indefinitely prolonging -the human existence; in fact of bringing about a kind of mundane -immortality. Hair is to be made to grow upon bald heads (no, mine -is not bald); short men will increase in stature by several inches; -and fat men will become slender and graceful. The last is perhaps an -attractive prospect. Wait. Tell me this. - -Who wants to live for ever? And having disposed of that pertinent -question, in the affirmative if you will, who wants his neighbour to -live for ever? - -Who wants to stereotype the control of human affairs in the hands that -find it so difficult to control them? What becomes of young ideas, new -movements and general progress, in a universe of bald pates thatched, -short men grown taller and corpulence made small? For in all this one -hears nothing about recharging the brain; and bodily vigour does little -to stave off mental paralysis of the kind that usually comes on with -age. Would flowing hair and graceful figure countervail the growth of -avarice, deceit and malice; or check the relentless march of stupidity? -Would it not rather be the case, that from year to year all the more -unpleasant of human characteristics would intensify and harden? - -And, by the way, think of the population of this miserable little -globe in a thousand years or so. Nobody dies. We all live and multiply -for eternity. It increases by geometric progression. To-day we are, -let us say, a paltry thousand million of people. In a year’s time, at -a conservative estimate, we should double our population. In a few -hundred years--good heavens! Life would become like the platform of -Piccadilly Circus at six o’clock in the evening. - -Piccadilly! This subject is inextricably bound up in my mind with -Piccadilly. I will explain why. - -Not long ago, when musing upon Dr. Friedenberg’s discoveries, I had -occasion to use the railway of that name. I boarded a crowded train, -thinking deeply. I took my place (most incautiously, I admit, but there -happened to be no other place to take) standing beside a forbidding -military gentleman, whose arms were full of brown paper parcels. In the -immediate vicinity stood a large stern woman, solidly planted near the -door, who disdained the help of the strap and supported herself, with -arms akimbo and legs wide apart. - -The train ran smoothly enough through Dover Street and Down Street, and -my line of thought, on this problem of perpetual life, developed into -a kind of saga to the rhythm of the movement over the rails. The whole -subject went before my eyes like a glorious vision. I knew just what I -was going to say in this essay.... - -And then the train back-jumped, and the large stern woman, in the -effort to retain her balance, planted one of her feet with relentless -precision, exactly on one of mine, and simultaneously drove her -right elbow into my ribs. In really considerable agony I recoiled, -involuntarily loosening my grip of the supporting strap. Immediately -the train swerved, and threw me into the bosom of the military -gentleman, whose armful of parcels burst from his control and smothered -the occupants of the neighbouring seats. Muttering imprecations, he -crouched on the swaying floor and began to pick them up. I stooped to -help him; and our heads met with a grinding crash.... - -Meanwhile the woman--the--the unspeakable monster who had caused the -calamity, stood entirely unmoved, gazing through the glass doors at the -conductor. - -Think of such a person going down through all eternity committing -outrages of this kind--probably one a day. Eternal life? Penal -servitude for life is more to her deserving. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[2] I except, of course, Drigg, Bootlecut, Volmer, and their -insignificant following. - -[3] _The Psychology of Post-Metempsychosis._ J. Swift Leggitt. The -Mangy Press. 5s. - - - - -THE NEXT WAR--AND MILITARY SERVICE - - -Russia and Germany have joined hands; France and Belgium have banded -together; Italy has made a secret treaty with the Kemalists--a fact -which can hardly afford much satisfaction to the kingdom of Serbs, -Croats, and Slovenes, leave alone the Greeks! Poland and her neighbours -are on much the same terms of cordiality as rival opera singers. There -is Bessarabia; there is (so to call it for convenience) Germania -Irridenta; there is the Burgenland; all simmering merrily away. There -are heartburnings in Transylvania. I cannot think that even the Sanjak -is really placid--it has always wallowed in grievances from time -immemorial. Indeed (so I am told), it needs but a spark to set the -whole contraption in a blaze. Only a spark!... We are sitting on a wood -pile soaked in petrol; and the boys at Paris and elsewhere are out with -their tinder-boxes. - -Viewed from one point of view, this situation has arisen very -appositely to certain investigations conducted not long ago by _The -Times_, and provides a capital solution to the problems of how to find -careers for our sons, and what to do with our daughters. But there are -some of us[2] to whom even the satisfaction of starting our children in -(or rather out of) the world, would be but a poor recompense for the -physical discomfort (it’s not the danger; we none of us mind _danger_; -we rather like it) of resuming active hostilities ourselves. As Leggitt -says[3]: “Danger I scorn; but discomfort is the parent of anxiety; and -anxiety is the handmaid of despair.” That’s good enough for me. - -Besides, wars are not what they were. The last war was, to a great -extent, won, and the next war will be entirely won, behind the lines. -“Lord Northcliffe,” says a military historian[4] in his article on war -in the Encyclopædia, “Lord Northcliffe dealt heavier blows than Haig. -Haig hit harder than Rawlinson, Rawlinson than Godley, and Godley -(through a long string of intermediary Blenkinsops and Chislehursts) -than Private Muggins. In fact, the whole lesson of the war was that -Muggins didn’t matter twopennyworth of gin. The further back you were, -the more you could do. If Captain Slogger, the Company Commander, -stopped one--why, anybody else could carry on. But if the R.T.O.’s -clerk at the base went down with writer’s cramp, the repercussions -might be felt all over Europe. And in the next war....” And so on. - -Push this to its logical conclusion and what do you find? An entirely -new conception of the theory of national service. The duty of every -man, with love of country in his heart, is to fit himself to play a -far-reaching, noble, and adequate part in the next war--from a distance -at which brains will really tell. As Sir Cuthbert puts it, “The duty -of the soldiers of the future is to consolidate the front behind the -front.” No mawkish sentimental considerations should interfere with the -attainment of this. “If others have to fall in the front line, drop a -tear, good citizen, or if you feel so disposed, drop two tears. But for -the sake of your country, and its final victory in the struggle, _see -to it that you are not the one who falls_.” - -I will. I will see to it with punctilious care. It is my duty; and I -shall discharge it with the same devotion as I displayed in the last -war, when I rose from assistant warehouse clerk (graded as bombardier) -in the E.F.C. receiving shed, via R.T.O.’s clerk at Boulavre (graded as -Staff Sergeant of Musketry), assistant press censor (graded as Squadron -Leader of Cavalry with rank of Captain) and Base Commandant (graded as -G.S.O. 2, but with rank of colonel on the staff and pay and allowances -of a Lieutenant-General) to the proud position which I occupied at the -end. I have nothing to complain of.... I cannot deny that I had all -kinds of obstacles to overcome. Ignorant prejudiced fools, blind to -the interests of their country, were constantly endeavouring to comb -me out. And so it will be in the next war. The earnest patriot will -find himself thwarted and misunderstood at every turn. Nothing but a -knowledge of the niceties of the medical board, will avail to defeat -these busybodies. Indeed, it may at times be necessary to indulge in -a little pardonable deception. Thus, a cigarette soaked in laudanum, -and smoked half an hour before the doctor’s examination, will produce -all the symptoms of general paralysis, heart failure, and abdominal -catarrh; yet, in an hour or two at most, the smoker will have recovered -most of his faculties, and the remainder will return in, at the -outside, a few days. A glass of vinegar, swallowed without deglutition, -produces the pallor of a ghost and the pulse and temperature of a -lizard; yet the effects have rarely lasted longer than a week. And -there are, of course, such well-known (but to my thinking too crude) -expedients as self-inflicted wounds and even amputations. - -Perhaps it is best, indeed, to make preparations in advance. It must -never be forgotten that a large civilian population is necessary to -carry on what are called “the essential public services.” No one should -disdain to do his duty in one of these capacities. And if, as in the -last war, the only sons of widowed mothers are to be given special -consideration, we must not hesitate to take full advantage of such a -provision. A judicious use of the knife or poison cup, or possibly -a combination of the two, will place many a strapping fellow in the -necessary condition of exemption. - -Promptski-Buzzoff, in his elaborate, but too little known, treatise -“_Die Vermeidung des Kriegesdienstes_”[5] lays down that “the spinal -marrow of a nation is to be found in the conscience of its citizens.” -This is profoundly and undeniably true. The pages of history are -bespattered with the fragments of empires that have disintegrated -through the decay of their moral fibre. Every good citizen, says -Buzzoff, should cultivate a conscience as inflexible as Bessemer -steel. A properly cultivated conscience will no more permit its owner -to kill, or be killed, than a vacuum brake will let a train run away. -It’s automatic. You mention the word war, and there’s an instant -inhibition. This kind of thing however, needs considerable preparation. -It is always open to misinterpretation if your conscience doesn’t -develop until the outbreak of war; although that, in itself, is not -a consideration which ought to deter a man with the interests of his -country at heart. - -Many of us, again, are indispensable. Until late in 1917, I was -indispensable myself. And next time I fully intend to be indispensable -all through the war. I shall get elected to some legislative body--say -the London County Council; and my devotion to duty will do the -rest. But, of course, in case of mischance I shall be prepared with -an alternative plan, several alternative plans in fact. And, in -the last resort, I shall place my services at the disposal of the -Director-General of Lines of Communication. After all, speaking as one -who has already fought a campaign in that capacity, one has a sense of -responsibility and power, even in the humblest posts behind the line, -of which even Divisional and Corps commanders might be envious. As an -R.T.O.’s assistant, one is conscious of a control over the destinies of -others, that almost partakes of divinity. A motion of the hand, a word -on a scrap of paper, and divisions and their baggage may be separated -for ever; provisions consigned to one country may find themselves -devoured in another; and Generals waiting to begin a battle may awake -on zero day to the fact that they have no forces, except their staffs, -wherewith to fight. - -It will be understood that I offer these suggestions on the -understanding that we find ourselves allied to a country in which -there will be some approximation, in the amenities offered to L. of -C., to those enjoyed in the larger cities in France during the war. -Otherwise, frankly, nothing doing! I have been studying the appendices -to Splitz’s book on the Russian Army[6]; and the feeding is hardly -up to what I might call a civilised war standard. Thus, on L. of C., -the weekly ration allowance appears to be four gold roubles’ worth of -straw soup, three poods of lycopodium seed cake, and two samovars of -liquorice water, together with thirty-seven foot-calories of bonemeal -and a packet of spearmint--which, although it compares favourably -with the diet of Divisional and Corps Commanders in that country[7], -has but little attraction for the gourmet. And in any case what about -the residuum? After all, we can’t all of us expect _carte blanche_ -to send trains backwards and forwards--passed to you, please, and to -you, please, and so on. Even on the grander scale, there’ll never be -room for more than a million or so R.T.O.’s all told (and that will -include the other side). Something’s got to be done for the rest of us. -Even the L. of C. troops will be up to full strength at last. They’ll -absorb a number of millions; but they’ll fill up eventually. Even the -essential public services at home can’t be swelled indefinitely. There -will come a time when everything useful has been filled up, and there -are still people left over. - -Well, we can’t all be satisfied in this world. It was never intended -that we should. And, so far as I can see, the overplus will have to -make themselves comfortable in the trenches. It will be a galling -thought to them that they’re poked away there out of everything, with -no real work to do. But it doesn’t really matter, for we’ll win the war -all right. - -We’ll win it in spite of them. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[4] Sir Cuthbert Limpitt, K.B.E., a former Director of the Ministry of -Misinformation. - -[5] Berlin, 1921. Published in an English translation under the title -_Military Service and its Avoidance_. Blottow and Windupp, 1922. 7s. 6d. - -[6] _The Russian Army, its Organisations and Morale._ By Hermann -Splitz. Boonkum and Co., New York. Two vols. $4. - -[7] And that is only in the larger cities such as Yekanakaterinakanaka. -In the smaller towns and villages the amount would be much less! - - - - -FIRST PLAYS FOR BEGINNERS - - -This is the Truth about the production of first plays. - -First the author, in the secrecy of his chamber, painfully gives birth -to an idea, and clothes it in words--if possible of not more than -one syllable. Then he shows it to his best friend, who obligingly -points out that the whole conception is faulty, and that the dialogue -is beneath contempt. He then reads it to his second-best friend, -who wakes from his slumber greatly refreshed. By the end of a short -period he has no friends left: but he has learnt a few of the more -obvious imperfections of his work. In despair of ever reconciling -the conflicting criticisms to which it has been subjected, he posts -it defiantly to Grossmith and Malone, Sir Alfred Butt, Mr. Charles -Cochran, Mr. Laurillard, Mr. de Courville, and the whole gang of -impresarios. It returns from each of them accompanied by a printed -slip. He then slinks to the office of a dramatic agent. - -The dramatic agent is a florid man with a super-silk hat. He receives -the author with the gracious condescension of royalty greeting an -inferior. The author, overcome at the honour which is being conferred, -gratefully deposits his precious MS. in the luxurious plush-padded -basket which is held out by an underling. The basket is reverently -placed upon the table; mutual expressions of goodwill are exchanged; -the author is bowed out. - -Then the dramatic agent shakes the MS. out of the basket, as though it -were verminous; pitchforks it into the recesses of a safe; locks the -safe with a loud clang, and loses the key for two years. - -At the end of two years Cyrus K. Bimetaller, the celebrated “Stunt” -King, visits the dramatic agent to throw in his teeth the forty-seven -separate scripts of forty-seven separate plays--but why go into this? -He says that all dealings between them are at an end, and demands his -account. The dramatic agent mechanically opens the safe to get out -his books--and there lies the neglected MS. As a last bid for fortune -he places it eloquently in the hands of Cyrus K. The latter grunts, -and sprawls on the sofa to “size it up.” This process occupies five -minutes. At the end of that time he remarks laconically, “This is the -goods.” - -The author is now summoned from Kilimanjaro, where he is growing -grape-fruit, in order to give his assistance at rehearsals. He arrives, -however, only just in time for the first night, when scores of hands -drag him on to a prodigiously vast stage to abase himself before a -jeering audience. His spasmodic efforts to speak merely confirm the -impression that he is a congenital epileptic. - -Next day the newspapers, after a flattering reference to his personal -appearance, unite in denouncing the play as the work of a man with the -intelligence of a crossing-sweeper and the originality of a jackass. -These comments are judiciously edited and made up as posters. The -effect is stupendous, and the public flocks to the theatre. The author -is a made man. - -At least, he hopes he is. - -Letters pour in upon him from all quarters demanding more plays from -his pen. Actresses lie in wait for him at garden parties, and say, -archly, “Oh, Mr. Blotto, when are you going to write a play for -_me_?” Actor-managers call him “old boy”; and allow themselves to be -seen shaking hands with him. The gifted gods and goddesses who are -performing his play make no secret of his acquaintance. The great Cyrus -K. Bimetaller strokes a mighty stomach in silence. The dramatic agent -grunts, “I told you so,” and gives another polish to the super-silk -hat. Melisande, writing her customary column in the _Evening Quacker_, -observes: “Last night, at Mr. Blotto’s delightful play which is -charming London, I saw the Duchess of Dripp, Count Sforzando, Mr. and -Miss Mossop, and the Hon. ‘Toothy’ Badger. The house was crowded, of -course. Mr. Blotto himself looked in during the evening, but hurried -away on being recognised. He is so retiring.” - -In the middle of this chorus of enthusiasm the author bashfully brings -forward another play. Everyone scrambles to read it. Each points out a -separate defect. All unite in pronouncing it “essentially undramatic.” -It finds its way into that limbo of lost manuscripts, the safe of the -silk-hatted agent. Setting his teeth, the author completes another -play. It passes from hand to hand, becoming dog-eared in the journey, -and finally returns to him, in silence and tatters. It seems hardly -worthwhile adding it to the mountains of paper on the Agent’s shelves, -so somebody tosses it behind a book-case, where it is treated with the -scorn it merits by mice and insects. By now the first play has been -supplanted by a Bessarabian allegory, and the author’s name has long -been forgotten. Still buoyed up with hope, he plans a _chef d’œuvre_--a -drama. “Something Shakespearian,” he modestly proclaims. Very few -people, however, even bother to read this, all eyes being fixed on a -genius from Kurdistan, who is taking away the breath of theatrical -London in a play written entirely in Esperanto. The author spends his -last few shillings on a ticket to the Argentine, and begins a fresh -life as a herdsman. - -Years pass. The author is far from unsuccessful in his new venture. -In fact, he becomes extremely wealthy. He buys up his employer’s -_hacienda_. He buys up several other people’s _haciendas_. He buys up -the greater part of the Argentine Republic. He has serious thoughts of -buying up South America and selling it to the United States. But his -better nature prevails, and he returns to England and buys a peerage -instead. On the day appointed for him to be introduced to the House -of Lords, his eye happens to see the poster of a new play--_The Dusky -Child_. The name touches a chord. He recognises it as his own work. He -forgets his engagement with the Peers of the Realm, and hurries off -once again in pursuit of literary reputation. - -His old friend the dramatic agent is comparatively unchanged. He is -a little more silk-hatted, a little more rotund, and a little more -contemptuous of every one else. He recognises the author at once, -ejaculates laconically: “I told you so,” and takes him to meet Erasmus -W. Bogg, the new impresario who is producing the play. They hurriedly -prepare for the first night. The Lord Chancellor is very annoyed. The -author snaps his fingers. At last literary fame is in his grasp. It -seems an extraordinarily cold winter, but that doesn’t really matter. -He hurries on the rehearsals, snapping his fingers. - -How amazingly chilly it has become. - -The House of Lords are sending the Lieutenant of the Tower to arrest -him. Ha, ha, let them. He snaps his fingers. - -Really, this weather, after the climate of the Argentine, is beyond a -joke. For goodness sake hurry up with that scenery. What’s that about -the Lord Chancellor? Mr. Ramsay MacDonald--what? The who? - -Eh? - - * * * * * - -He wakes up to find his cherished first play still unperformed--still, -indeed, uncompleted. Kilimanjaro, a dream. The Argentine, a dream. The -peerage--a dream, too. He shudders at that escape. - -Brr! Why, dammit, the fire’s out! - - - - -HATS - - -The hat, says my copy of the Concise Oxford Dictionary, is “man’s, -woman’s outdoor headcovering, usually with brim.” Not unto me the glory -of writing about woman’s outdoor headcovering. These mysteries are -too sacred to be profaned. But man’s hats are another thing. I have a -number of my own. There is none of which I am not, in secret, ashamed. - -Some men have the faculty of knowing what hats they can wear with -credit--or, if not with credit, at least without sacrifice of -self-respect. They go to the hatter, pick out a perfectly ordinary -“headcovering” (usually “with brim”), and leave the shop gorgeously -transformed. Their very discards can be reblocked and made to look, -if anything, better than new. And I? I go from one hatter to another -in an endless pilgrimage in search of something in which I shall look -less ridiculous (observe I say “less ridiculous”--I am easy to please), -and find it never. I follow my friends into the places where they hat -themselves; I allow myself to be persuaded into buying some hateful -contrivance--“a perfect fit, sir”; and in three days the damn thing -shrinks so that I can’t get it on my head. Or again, I try to allow for -this by ordering a larger size, whereafter, either I spend the whole of -my spare time stuffing the lining with paper or else it gradually but -relentlessly sinks, and settles on the bridge of my nose. - -The very brims play tricks with me. I have a bowler. I bought it, I -distinctly remember, on account of the width of its brim. I have always -liked a wide brim. Not that it ever keeps off the sun or rain, but -somehow it gives confidence. There is something spacious about a wide -brim. Something suggestive of an opulence to which I have in no other -way ever pretended. - -Well. Anyhow. I gave up wearing my bowler, because it insisted on -shrinking. It perched itself higher and higher on my head, until I -began to think it really wasn’t safe. It might fall off and get run -over. Nobody wants to expose even a rebellious hat to the dangers of -London traffic. I went to my hatter (why I say _my_ hatter I can’t -think. Nobody is my hatter. Many have tried, none has succeeded). I -went to _a_ hatter; bought a large brown felt hat, wore it away (like a -bride setting out for the honeymoon); and arranged for the bowler to be -safely conveyed to my home, hoping that all would be well. - -Well? Not a bit of it. The brown hat swelled and swelled. All the -newspapers in London contributed in their turn to keeping us from -parting. In vain. That hat had a craving for adventure; it wanted to -make its way in the world alone; and a gust of east wind carried -it (together with so much of the “Evening News” as had enabled it -to maintain a precarious balance on my brow) under a passing bus. I -hurried home with feelings almost of friendship for my erring bowler. I -said magnanimously that forgiveness---- - -[Illustration: “In which I shall not look so ridiculous.”] - -Somehow it didn’t look the same. I was prepared to swear that when I -handed it over to the hatter (_my_ hatter, very well) it did in some -sort cover my head. But now--it had diminished to the size of a child’s -toy. And the brim--the brim had shrunk to the merest shadow. - -I have at last given up the struggle. I wear anything that comes along. -Not that it matters. People have survived their hats before now. These, -after all, are the merest idiosyncrasies of head-covering. Observe, -for instance, the hats of the great. There you find something of real -distinction. - -It is one of the curious things about really great men that they are -unable to resist the bizarre in hats. They don’t turn out in strange -trousers, or curiously contrived coats. You don’t see them walking -about in sandals, or veldtschoons. They don’t tie up their beards with -ribbon; or shave their eyebrows; or put caste-marks on their faces. -Right up to their head-coverings they are indistinguishable from -you and me. I don’t wish to flatter us, but very often they are less -pleasant to look at ... and then their greatness declares itself, or -their originality breaks loose, or some other eerie characteristic -finds its appropriate expression, in the form of an article of apparel -about as distinctive and ugly as Britannia’s helmet. - -Not long ago I met a noble Viscount, a man who might easily become -Prime Minister--I saw him, I mean; I encountered him in the street. He -was wearing a hat that suggested a bowler, but was not a bowler--that -might have been a “Daily Mail” hat, only it was black with a dull -surface, and, if I may so put it, had soft rounded lines in place of -sharp ones--that--that in fact was indescribable. The rest of his -garments were those of a normal citizen. There were no unfamiliar -excrescences on his coat. His collar and tie were much like my own. - -Later in the day I saw in front of me a tall, hurrying figure striding -towards the House of Commons. The stooping gait and sombre clothing -might easily have been those of a mere scholar or clergyman. But the -figure bore upon its head a shapeless contrivance of purple velvet; and -by that I knew it was--(well, you know who it was as well as I do). - -Look at Mr. Winston Churchill. Look at Admiral Beatty. Whoever saw a -service hat quite like Admiral Beatty’s? Though I admit, in his case, -the oddity is accentuated by his way of wearing it. Look at the hats of -foreign potentates. Look at---- - -Look at Mr. Lloyd George. I have never actually seen him in one of his -“family” hats--but I know his hatted appearance intimately through a -picture. It is a photograph representing “the man who won the war,” as -a vigorous smiling personage in a grey tweed suit. It seems to be very -much the kind of suit that you or I might select for golf. But--here -distinction creeps in--the upper part of his body is swathed in -something that resembles a horse blanket ... and he is crowned with the -headdress of a Tyrolean brigand. - -I am going to be a great man. I know it by my hats. - - - - -SHAREHOLDERS’ BLOOD - -GRAND (TRUNK) FEATURE SERIAL. - -CANADIAN FILMS LIMITED. - - -We are in the Wild West of Canada--a land full of mustangs and -moccasins. People with hard faces are riding about in strange clothes. -Gently nurtured maidens are scrubbing out the cowshed, or digging -up the manure heap. The hired-woman is sitting in the sunlight with -a book. It is a typical scene in a British Dominion; we know it is -Canada, however, because there’s a flick, and the screen says: - - THIS IS THE CITY OF BISON SNOUT, - FED BY THE GRAND TRUNK RAILWAY, - CANADA’S PREMIER RAILROAD. - -Then there’s another flick, and, lo! a magnificent train, racing across -the prairie, gives us a hint that we are watching Canada’s premier -railroad in operation. The screen obligingly confirms this impression -by--FLICK: - - LUXURY, SPEED, AND SECURITY. - THE GRAND TRUNK MILLIONAIRES’ - LIMITED THUNDERING ACROSS THE - CONTINENT - ON ITS JOURNEY TO BISON SNOUT. - -The scene changes, now, to a precipitous hill overlooking the smiling -valley through which the train is thundering. Far away you can see her -plume of smoke, racing across the sky. And here, in the foreground, -are two sinister figures, mounted on the inevitable mustangs, masked -and visored, grim and silent. Oo! They look like Irish gunmen; and as -soon as they espy the train they turn simultaneously to each other and -exclaim with sinister emphasis--SNICK: - - THERE’S BOODLE IN THIS. - -CLICK--and we’re back again with our two desperadoes, galloping like -mad from their point of vantage towards their luckless prey. (_Noise -off--cloppety, cloppety, cloppety, clop._) - -Next we have a close-up of the train as it speeds over the landscape. -The passengers are sitting back in their places, wreathed in smiles. -They like their train. They think it particularly safe; and behind it -all there is the feeling of immense security derived from the thought -that they are travelling in a British Dominion of the British Empire -under the waving protection of the Union Jack on which the sun never -sets. The orchestra interprets their thoughts, and ours, by playing a -selection of patriotic melodies. - -Now we are shown something really out of the way. Thus: SNICK: - - ON THE FOOTPLATE. - -FLICK: - - SWAYING ALONG AT HUNDREDS OF - MILES AN HOUR, THE JOVIAL - ENGINEER AND HIS MERRY COLLABORATORS - PASS THE TIME WITH - DANCE AND SONG. - -CLICK: And there they are, swaying like dipsomaniacs, dancing like -dervishes, and opening their mouths like bullfrogs in a drought. Of -course, you can’t hear what they’re singing, but a gramophone (_off_) -obligingly strikes up at this moment: - - Sons of the sea, - All British born, - Sailing every ocean, - Laughing foes to scorn-- - -and so on. A little inappropriate to the setting perhaps; but, oh, how -apposite to what follows! - -Suddenly the face of the jovial engineer clouds over. He shades his -eyes with his hands. Rushing to the eyeholes, he peers out into the -day. His collaborators copy him. We know something is coming. We stir -uneasily in our seats. Somehow we can’t help associating this action -with the two sinister----What’s that? He’s beckoning to the chief -mate (or whatever the fellow’s called). The chief mate’s beckoning to -him. Neither dares leave the eyeholes. How can they communicate with -each other? Still the train speeds on. Oh! the engineer’s drawing his -revolver. Ah! it’s empty! So is the chief mate’s. So is everybody’s. -He flings it down with a curse. He’s going to speak to the chief mate. -He’s speaking: SNICK: - - SAY, YOU GUYS, IT’S HELL OR HOME. - AND ME FOR HOME! - -FLICK: - - STOKE UP YOUR BOILERS, YOU BLEAR-EYED - SKUNKS! - -An underling flings open the door of the furnace. He staggers back. -Empty! He rushes with a shovel to the coal bunkers. The others rush -after him. Oh, there’s no coal! The train’s slowing down every minute. -The desperadoes are riding nearer and nearer. We can hear the thunder -of their hoofs--I mean their horses’ hoofs. (_Noise off--cloppety, -cloppety, cloppety, clop._) - -Ah! what are they doing now? They’re going to throw one of the -underlings into the furnace to keep the train going. They’re going to -burn the engineer and the chief mate. They’re going to pull the engine -to pieces and burn that. Anything to escape. Anything to escape.... - -Suddenly the chief mate, who’s looking through the eyehole, gives a -great shout. He’s very excited and relieved. He’s speaking--listen, -look, I mean. - -FLICK: - - WHY IT’S ONLY THE SHERIFF’S BOYS - HAVING A GAME WITH US! - -The others do not agree with him. They point rudely at him, and curse -him for a fool. But he only smiles and says through his smile: - -CLICK: - - SURE--IT’S THE SHERIFF RIGHT - ENOUGH. I SEEN HIS LIL’ BUTTON. - HIS DEPUTY’S WITH HIM. - I DONE SEE HIS BUTTON, TOO. - -They rush to the eyeholes again. There’s no doubt this time. They throw -up their hats and cheer. They are beside themselves. They even go so -far as to pull up the train. The passengers crowd to the windows. At -first they are alarmed. They shrink back. They mutter among themselves. -CLICK: - - IT’S A HOLD-UP. - - BUSH-RANGERS. - -and so on. But the engineer puts all that right. He descends royally -from the footplate and walks along the train reassuring them. FLICK: - - IT’S ALL RIGHT, LADIES AND GENTS. - IT’S ONLY THE SHERIFF OF THE - DOMINION COME TO PAY US A SURPRISE - VISIT. - -What a joke! How they laugh! And cheer! They crowd to the window. They -swarm out on to the line. They offer expensive drinks to the engineer -and his collaborators, which are accepted. They pass round the hat. - -And then the sheriff approaches. He asks them to line up. They are -delighted. Another priceless joke. Ha! Ha! Ha! What a wit the man has, -to be sure! He suggests they should produce their valuables. Only too -delighted. Their stocks and shares, jewellery--everything, in fact, -they have with them. - - THEY’RE “OF NO VALUE” TO YOU - NOW. - -Ha! Ha! Ha! They’re doubled up with laughter. They’re holding their -sides. What a funny man. What a very fun----Eh? He’s speaking again. - - GET A MOVE ON IF YOU DON’T WANT - A DOSE OF LEAD! - -Oh, of course, very subtle. It’s all part of the joke. He’s acting so -well, isn’t he? - -What’s he doing? He’s putting all their valuables into a bag. He’s -taking them away. He’s a----He’s a _robber_! Oh, no! Oh, not that! But -he _is_. Old men are weeping over the loss of their life’s savings. Old -women----Oh, this isn’t funny at all! - -A handsome young woman is speaking to him. She’s pleading, she’s on her -knees. - -CLICK: - - IF YOU TAKE THAT IT MEANS I - CAN’T GET MARRIED. WE WERE - GOING TO START HOUSEKEEPING - ON MY FIRST PREFERENCE STOCK. - -She’s broken down. He’s laughing, the brute! He’s roaring with -laughter. So’s his fellow desperado. - -Who’s this? What a funny fat man! Oh, it’s going to end happily after -all. He’s a policeman, I suppose, but his hat looks a bit queer. Oh, an -American hat--I see. He’s very angry with the brigands--the sheriffs, I -mean. He’s speaking. - -CLICK: - - THIS OUTFIT’S WORTH AT PAR - £37,073,492. - -FLICK: - - “THIS WOULD MAKE MY APPRAISEMENT - OF ALL THE STOCK, THE VALUE - OF WHICH IS HERE IN ISSUE, NOT - LESS THAN $48,000,000.” - -Oh, it’s too bad! They’re laughing at him, too. - -PLICK: - - GET AWAY HOME, YOU FAT OLD GUY, - BACK TO THE STATES WHERE YOU - BELONG. - -He’s very angry indeed. He’s turning away in high dudgeon. He makes a -last appeal. - -FLICK: - - BUT AIN’T YOU THE SHERIFF? - -BLICK: - - WHY, YES; BUT WHAT’S THAT GOT - TO DO WITH IT? - -SNICK: - - WELL, I MEAN TO SAY---- - -CLICK: - - A MAN’S GOTTER LIVE, AIN’T HE, - EVEN IF HE IS A SHERIFF? AND - THEY’RE ONLY DURNED ENGLISH - GUYS, ANYWAY. - - - - -THE PERSONAL COLUMN - - -The big events of the world, the things so remote from most of us, -float serenely down the midstream of the day’s news, little heeded, I -confess, by me; but the flotsam of life is brought to one’s very feet -by the undercurrents and eddies of the Personal Column. - -The news headings of one’s morning paper deal with subjects whole -worlds away from one’s own humble existence. The movements of Marshal -Foch; the Japanese Earthquake; the Recognition of Russia. Even (long -since) when the “Date of the Peace Celebrations” was announced, it was -a comparatively lifeless statement. To vitalise it, to humanise it, one -had to go to the neighbourhood of the Personal Column. Thus:-- - - “CHAMPAGNE. APPROACHING PEACE CELEBRATIONS. Advertiser representing - principals holding stocks of the best known brands of Champagne, etc., - etc.... Apply to ‘Benefactor.’” - -Here at last we were in the heart of things. “Stocks of the best -known brands of champagne.” This unlocked the tongue, set speculation -working. What brands? What is your favourite brand? One reviewed a -pageant of sparkling names such as Ayala, Irroy, Heidsieck, Mumm, -Moet, Pommery, Roederer and the Widow, the dainty Clicquot.... And then -arose the question what to do on Peace Night--Jazz? Theatre? Opera? Or -should it be a quiet dinner (preferably at home) with Jones, who shared -one’s last Xmas in the Salient, and Smith the Silent, who never let one -down, and Robinson?... I seem to remember that I wrote to “Benefactor.” - -Actually “Benefactor” was not, so to speak, a Member of the Personal -Column, though he dwelt very near to it. His announcement abutted -on a poignant appeal for a “SUITABLE PLACE TO STOP” from a young -minesweeping lieutenant who, having exhausted his patience in -ransacking London for a bed, had lit upon the discovery that a large -part of the hotel accommodation in this city was still in the clutches -of Sir Alfred Mond and his Merry Men; but it was published (wrongly, -of course) under the heading: “Business Opportunities.” What creature -would sink so low as to make a business opportunity out of the sale -of that golden drink, of those “best brands of Champagne”--and in the -Peace season, too? Perish the thought! To the Personal Column let -“Benefactor” be admitted. - -The Personal Column is the quintessence of journalism, an -inexhaustible lucky-bag of strange communications and curious -announcements. Do you want a furnished caravan? Napoleon relics? Are -you a philatelist? Would you like a summer outing in Kew Gardens? Have -you a haunted house? These, after all, are things that touch one’s -daily life. Marshal Foch might go to the Sandwich Islands, and the -philatelist and I would wish him God-speed, and think of it no more; -but a haunted house (even if it be only haunted by mice) brings one -“up against it!” Are you bored with your life? The Personal Column is -a constant provocation to plunge into the whirlpool of the unknown. -Thus at random: An officer, aged 20, of cheerful artistic and musical -tastes, wishes to correspond with somebody with a view to “real -friendship.” There’s your chance. And what dark story, think you, is -concealed behind the following: - -“The Black Cat is watching: green eyes. S?” - -What tale of a temptation spurned lurks in: - -“Scalo: I may be poor but I love truth far better than gold--Misk?” - -Under the influence of what jealous pangs came this to be penned: - -“Ralph--Who is BABS--Remember Olga?” (The following, in a happier vein, -tells presumably of a lovers’ quarrel made up: - -“Whitewings. Darling you know really you are the only thing on earth I -love. Snowdrop.”) - -The big news columns tell us what our intellectuals consider it good -for us to know, in the manner in which they consider it good for us -to be told. The Ruhr Occupation, denounced by Mr. Garvin, upheld by -Lord Rothermere--The Betrayal of the Country to Labour (in the Gospel -according to Mr. Churchill)--The League of Nations--Bootlegging and -Prohibition. But the Personal Column--ah!--the Personal Column gives us -a peep into the throbbing lives of our neighbours; we become partakers -in the bliss of Whitewings and Snowdrop, we share “S’s” apprehension of -the Black Cat, and our hearts go out to Misk and Olga--poor forgotten -Olga. Here are no world politics dished up by statesmen _manqué_, -or camouflaged by great journalists, no subjects to be discussed in -catchwords and manufactured phrases, but the myriad voices, from the -streets around, crying out at the impulse of the eternal verities. - - - - -SOCIETY SIDESHOWS - -EXTRACTED FROM THE PRIVATE DIARY OF THE HON. “TOOTHY” BADGER - - -Dined at the House last night. Ridiculous party given by “Bulgy” -Gobblespoon to celebrate his wife’s election: the first husband and -wife to sit together. To everyone’s dismay, it proved that she had only -scraped in by the Prohibitionist vote, to win which she had to pledge -herself never to allow any form of alcohol on any table at which she -sat. Very restrictive of her dining out, I should imagine, and utterly -destructive of her own dinners, which used to be rather fun. Impossible -to imagine the gloom of that gathering! Even old Bitters, who was -wheedled off the Front Bench to come down and say something amusing, -was quite unable to sparkle on Schweppes’ ginger ale. Hurried away -with little “Squeaky” Paddington (old Ponto’s new wife) to sample a -drink and a spot of foot shuffling at Sheep’s. Very stuffy and a lot of -ghastly people. - - * * * * * - -Somebody, turning out their lumber-room, has presented a whole shoot -of pictures to the National Gallery; so I went to see who was looking -at them. What that place exists for I can never understand. Hardly -anyone there except a herd of frowsy old women, with paint-boxes, who -took jolly good care that nobody should come within a mile of anything -worth looking at. One rather jolly girl--but very severe. The rest -awful. A couple of anxious-looking people walking up and down, looking -intense and making speeches about Ghirlandajo or Cimabue to an audience -of yokels that doesn’t know either from cream cheese; and the remainder -of London seems to use the portico as a convenient meeting-place, and -never goes inside at all. - - * * * * * - -Broke my rule against large parties last night in order to go and -stare at the women Members of Parliament, who allowed themselves to -be shown off by old Lady Paramount Nectar at Ambrosia House. Never -again. The rooms are big enough Heaven knows; but they seemed to have -invited everyone in London, who had a dress-suit. Lady Biltong, whose -figure needs to be put under restraint, was carried out fainting. Poor -Bottisford had two ribs stove in going up the staircase and didn’t know -it till he got home--kept murmuring that he must have got a touch of -pleurisy in the fog. And old Sir William Bylge trod on a lady’s train -and brought it clean away from the gathers (whatever those may be). -Needless to say, it proved to be a Royalty, but only a minor one. -Never saw so many foreign potentates and creatures gathered together in -my life before: the Duca di Corona Largo, Count Papryka da Chili, the -Prince and Princess of Asta Mañana, a woman from New York, the Gizzawd -of Abbyssinia, old Ramon Allones, looking younger than ever, and heaps -of others. Nothing to eat, of course, and sickly sherbetty stuff -masquerading as champagne. Hurried away to Stag’s with George Mossop to -wash the taste out of our mouths. If old Paramount Nectar had lived, -how different that supper would have been! As it is, if they took a -bottle out of his cellar now, and poured it on his tomb, I believe he’d -rise from the dead in very shame. Seems a bit too low to accept old -Lady P.’s hospitality, and then slang the food; but, after all, he was -my father’s cousin, and one feels it reflects on one’s own palate that -a relation by marriage should give inferior wine. - -Country house parties nowadays are becoming absurd. In the old days -there was a lot to be said for country house visits. Even quite -recently they could be profitably undertaken. But now! _Nous avons -changê tout cela._ The advent of a Labour Government has put the -final kybosh on even the limited hospitality one enjoyed last year. -Three invitations this morning. One from Ditchwater Abbey--a place I -loathe; one from Hugo Hamstringer, the fellow that made a fortune -out of glue in the war, bought everything, lost the whole boiling in -multiple eggshops during the slump, and is now trying to make two ends -meet in that awful barrack of a place, Dundahead Hall, that he took -over from “Wacker” with a block of dud oil shares in payment for his -“calls” in Hamstringer, Limited, before the Company went bust--(nothing -would induce me to go near _him_); and one from dear little Phyllis -Biddiker, whose husband has lost everything in Southern Ireland, and -who is scraping along somehow by letting off apartments at the Weir -House (their place in Berkshire) to wealthy Colonials over here for the -British Empire Exhibition. None asked me for more than a week-end. All -say “Bring your own whisky if you want any.” Phyllis has had a present -of Australian Burgundy from one of her lodgers, and offers to share it. -I shall stay at home. - - * * * * * - -Because my brother Henry chose to marry, why should his -almost-a-flapper daughter be motted on me to cart about London? A jade, -a sly boots and a minx, she makes my life a burden. She makes me give -her expensive meals, which I rather like; but I draw the line at being -a decoy duck. Last night, having bled me of my entire income at Mah -Jongg--a game I shall never hope to learn--she demanded to be taken -to an unintelligibly highbrow play, knowing, I suppose, that, after -the agony of listening to it, I should be as wax in her hands. Then -she led me by easy stages to Sheep’s Club, by pretending she wanted to -dance with me. There (by the merest accident, of course) we found young -Geoffrey Bannister, the one young man in London I was cautioned against -allowing her to meet--as if an uncle has any control whatever--and the -whole plot stood revealed. Before I could contort my features into a -frown, they were dancing in the middle of the room, where they seemed -to spend the remainder of the evening. I was allowed to give them -supper; they allowed me to take them away at two a.m. They were almost -too good to be true till we got home--driving back in Geoffrey’s car; -and then they suddenly insisted on starting off to “be in at the death” -at the Hunt Ball at Hillsbury, looking in at Bridget Hanover’s dance in -Brook Street on the way. Told them to go to the Hunt Ball at another -place beginning with the same initial, sent Geoffrey home, and packed -her off to bed. No more nieces for me. - - * * * * * - -They call them “winter sports.” You cram yourself, with everybody you -dislike most, into the same train; stamp round the decks of the boat -in a blizzard, swearing and trying to keep warm; ruin your digestion -with the beastly food in the Train de Luxe; scrimmage with thirty -other people for the sleeping berth you all booked six months before; -turn out at the frontier to be browbeaten by hordes of _douaniers_; -and arrive in the early morning feeling and looking like the Ancient -Mariner, and discover that your rooms at the hotel have been swiped -by somebody else. You turn out the manager, who shrugs his shoulders, -and, after a fearful row, condescends to offer you sleeping room in -an attic, on terms for which you could buy a large mansion in most -countries. But your spirit is broken, and, rather than face the journey -back, you accept with resignation, and crawl into the hovel allotted -to you. You unpack your traps, and find that one of your skates is -missing, or else that the straps have disappeared from your _skis_. -But you are desperate now; you bind them on your feet with string, -and rush out into the snow. You are immediately knocked down by some -confounded beginner who has lost control and is flying down the hill -at the rate of knots. You stagger to your feet gasping, with snow down -your neck and both your _skis_ adrift. While you are readjusting them, -a bob-sleigh whizzes into you, sweeps you off your feet on top of its -crew, and obligingly overturns down an embankment. The occupants of -the sleigh are people you’ve been trying to avoid for years; and, -instead of cursing you for being in the way, they fall on your neck and -invite you to dinner. You are in such pain from broken arms and legs, -that you can’t think of an excuse, so you have to accept. After dinner -they rob you at bridge, and, as a crowning blow, the man of the party -borrows money from you. At last you break away, hurry back--and find -the interesting girl you were hoping to talk to, deeply engaged with -some wretched subaltern. And then the Lord Chancellor or some other -fearful bore insists on talking about home politics--the one thing -you were dying to forget. You mutter excuses and stumble off to turn -in--still nursing your wounds. Some idiot has left the window open, and -there are icicles hanging from the ceiling and a pile of snow in the -middle of your bed. Next day you repeat the performance, which goes on -for a fortnight at least. Winter “sports”! It must refer to the people, -and not to the pastimes. - -[Illustration: “And obligingly overturns down an embankment.”] - - - - -LATTER-DAY DRAMAS - - - - -MORALITY - -(_In the manner of John Galsworthy._) - - - - -ACT I - - - SCENE: _The rectory at Swilberry. The rector, the Rev. Hardy - Heavyweight, is going through the accounts of the village cricket club - with Diggers, his sexton and factotum._ - - DIGGERS (_adding up as he goes along_): And three and sixpence is four - pound two and a penny ’a’penny, and five shillin’ is four seven one a - half; and there’s that cheque from Mr. Selvidge. - - HEAVYWEIGHT (_comparing each item in the bank book_): That’s not - entered here. - - DIGGERS: Paid in later, per’aps. The cheque---- - - HEAVYWEIGHT: Yes--it will be in the pocket of the book. (_He gropes - for it._) There seem to be a lot of papers here. (_He pulls them - out._) Why, good heavens! - - DIGGERS: What’s matter, Sir? - - HEAVYWEIGHT (_in a changed voice that belies his words_): Nothing, - Diggers, nothing.... Here’s the cheque (_he holds it up_).... Who had - charge of this book? - - DIGGERS (_mildly surprised_): Miss Agatha, Sir. - - HEAVYWEIGHT (_mechanically--he is thinking hard of something else_): - You’ve never seemed to get accustomed to calling her Mrs. Foxglove, - Diggers. - - DIGGERS (_heartily_): No, Sir, that I ’aven’t. An’ when them ’orrible - divorce proceedings is finished an’ she’s quit o’ that thing of a - ’usband, she _will_ be Miss Agatha again, to all intents an’ purposes. - - HEAVYWEIGHT (_pained_): I think we mustn’t talk about that, Diggers. - The club accounts are all right? - - DIGGERS (_disappointed_): Yes, Sir. - - HEAVYWEIGHT: Thank you for helping me. Would you ask Mrs. Foxglove to - come? - - DIGGERS: Miss Agatha, Sir? Certainly. (_He goes. The rector leans - back in his chair, with his face drawn with anxiety. He toys with the - papers he has abstracted from the pocket of the bank book. He shakes - his head sadly as he reads. Suddenly Agatha Foxglove, a charming and - vital creature, bursts in on him._) - - AGATHA: Hello, papa--what’s up? - - HEAVYWEIGHT (_looking away from her_): Agatha, dear, these - letters--(_he holds them up_)--these letters from a man called Jim, - they’re yours, are they? - - AGATHA (_taken aback_): Ye--yes. I.... - - HEAVYWEIGHT: (_appealingly_): I’m sure there’s an explanation, dear. - Won’t you tell me? - - AGATHA (_laughing uneasily_): Well, er, I suppose ... where did you - find them? (_He silently points to the book._) I don’t know. I suppose - I must have put them there accidentally, from my table.... It comes of - keeping those horrible accounts for you. - - HEAVYWEIGHT (_sadly_): But the _contents_, Agatha, dear. - - AGATHA (_sharply_): You’ve read them? - - HEAVYWEIGHT: I was unable to help reading them. They were lying open - among the cheques. (_Tenderly_): Won’t you explain? - - AGATHA (_with the modern mixture of frankness and impatience_): Of - course, there’s an explanation, papa. You surely don’t suppose that, - with a drunken imbecile for a husband, I could do entirely without - sympathy and affection? - - HEAVYWEIGHT (_apprehensively_): Then--you were--unfaithful? - - AGATHA (_swiftly_): But we’re going to be married, as soon as the - decree is made absolute. - - HEAVYWEIGHT (_pitifully_): I’m sure, my dear, that that was your - intention; but, as a clergyman---- - - AGATHA (_anxious_): You won’t tell anyone----? - - HEAVYWEIGHT: My child, can’t you see? can’t you feel for me? As a - clergyman I believe--I am bound to believe--that marriage is an - irrevocable tie. Divorce on proper grounds I have to recognise, as a - servant of the State; but when I see the procedure abused by those who - have forfeited their right to invoke it, how can I, as a conscientious - minister of God--how can I stand aside because the culprit is my own - adopted daughter and ward? I am morally bound to inform the King’s - Proctor. - - AGATHA: But father--father. Oh, for God’s sake--(_she becomes - incoherent._) - - HEAVYWEIGHT: Ah, my child, my child. Morality demands--(_His voice - breaks. There is a terrible pause. He goes to the bookshelf._) - - AGATHA (_agonised_): Oh--what are you doing? - - HEAVYWEIGHT (_in a dead, mirthless voice_): Looking out my train to - London. - - THE CURTAIN FALLS. - - - - -ACT II - - - SCENE: _The Divorce Court._ - - MR. WHASSIT (_Agatha’s Counsel_):--a temptation which, please God, I - shall never encounter myself. And further---- - - THE JUDGE (_testily_): Mr. Whassit, is it necessary to prolong this? - - MR. WHASSIT (_firmly_): My Lord, I have a duty to my client, and---- - - THE JUDGE: Yes, yes, I know, Mr. Whassit. Your conduct of the case has - been very proper; and, of course, if you wish to proceed, I shall say - no more. But you’ve not traversed a single fact---- - - MR. WHASSIT (_sitting down at last_): I will leave the matter in your - Lordship’s hands. - - THE JUDGE: That is well.... This is an application to make absolute - a decree nisi pronounced in October last. The King’s Proctor has - intervened, alleging misconduct on the part of petitioner, such as - would have invalidated her plea; and he has amply and abundantly - proved his case. The application therefore fails, and the petitioner - will pay the costs of the intervention. - - But that is not all. In the course of the proceedings, which were - defended, the cross-examination of the petitioner was directed towards - establishing these very adulteries, which have now been proved. She - denied them with vehemence, and went so far as to comment, from the - witness-box, upon the propriety of counsel raising issues of the - kind. Now this is a serious matter. It is one thing to make what I - might call a formal denial of adultery, in an undefended case, though - technically it might be perjury, and I myself should view even that - with gravity; it is quite another thing in a defended case, where - the matter has definitely been put in issue, to make a denial of - the kind; and I cannot see how the situation differs from that of a - plaintiff who comes before the court seeking relief, let us say, on a - Bill of Exchange, and falsely denies an allegation of fraud, or some - other invalidating factor. In both cases there may result a serious - miscarriage of justice, which at least cannot be so in an undefended - divorce suit, where it is to be imagined that the respondent is - indifferent to the consequences. - - (_Addressing Agatha at the solicitor’s table_): It has been urged - most eloquently by your counsel that you had much to endure, and many - temptations to the course upon which you ultimately embarked with so - much recklessness. That may be so; or, again, it may not. It might be - taken into account by another court, as a mitigating circumstance. - But the Law, which I am here to administer, gives me, as I see it, no - choice. Public morality must be vindicated; and a flagrant perjury of - a kind that has become all too prevalent of late, is more than I can - pass unchallenged. The papers in this case will therefore be forwarded - to the Director of Public Prosecutions. - - AGATHA (_hysterically_): My Lord. We--I--Oh God---- - - THE USHER (_sternly_): Silence. - - DIGGERS (_patting her hand_): There, there, Miss Agatha. Don’t take on. - - HEAVYWEIGHT (_on the other side_): My dear--don’t let’s have a scene. - - HER SOLICITOR (_kindly_): Hush! You mustn’t interrupt his Lordship, - you know. - - AGATHA (_wildly_): But if I don’t, they’ll prosecute me! - - THE USHER (_to the Serjeant of Police_): Get ’er solicitor to take ’er - quietly outside. (_The Serjeant complies._) - - DIGGERS (_following and moaning as he goes_): Why did you go an’ do - it, Mr. ’Eavyweight, Sir? (_Wringing his hands more than ever_): Oh, - Miss Agatha, Miss Agatha. - - HEAVYWEIGHT (_trying hard to be brave_): Hush, Diggers, be a man. Bear - up. Courage. - - DIGGERS (_bursting into tears_): Oh, Mr. ’Eavyweight, Sir, ’ow could - you? - - HEAVYWEIGHT (_who has only done his duty_): You don’t understand, my - poor fellow.... Morality demands----(_His voice breaks. They vanish - in the wake of the Serjeant._) - - THE REGISTRAR (_calling the next case_): Boggs versus Boggs and Boggs, - Boggs intervening. (_He hands up a bundle of papers to the judge._) - - A COUNSEL (_rising_): This is an application for administration _de - bonis non_, my Lord. I understand---- - - THE CURTAIN FALLS. - - - - -ACT III - - - SCENE: _A prison. Agatha in her cell. The doors are flung open and the - visiting justices troop in, accompanied by the Governor of the prison, - the doctor, the chaplain, warders, and our old friend Diggers, the - sexton._ - - FIRST VISITING JUSTICE: Well, what’s this one? - - THE GOVERNOR (_curtly_): Perjury. Five years’ penal servitude. Last - Assizes. - - THE WOMAN SUPERINTENDENT: Sulky little fiend. Won’t speak; and throws - her food at the warders. - - SECOND VISITING JUSTICE (_addressing Agatha_): Come, come, my girl, - you’re doing yourself no good by this kind of thing. (_Addressing the - Governor_): Can’t your doctor do anything--or the chaplain? - - THE DOCTOR (_in a dry staccato voice_): She’s perfectly healthy--not - losing weight--organs in good condition. I can’t do more than keep her - fit. - - FIRST JUSTICE: Well, the chaplain, then? - - THE CHAPLAIN: She’s very hard and unrepentant. - - SECOND JUSTICE: Can’t you make her repent? - - THE CHAPLAIN (_decidedly_): No. Nor can anyone else. - - BOTH JUSTICES (_uneasily_): I see. Yes. (_Addressing the Governor_): - Can nothing be done? - - THE GOVERNOR: Nothing more. She’s under constant supervision.... - There’s a visitor for her with our party; where is he? - - DIGGERS (_coming forward_): Here, Sir? - - THE GOVERNOR: See if you can persuade her to speak to you. - - DIGGERS (_approaching her timidly_): Miss Agatha, Miss Agatha ... - won’t you speak to me, old Diggers? (_She pays no attention._) Miss - Agatha, I’ve brought you some cowslips from the old glebe be’ind the - church. (_Anxiously, to the Governor_): May she ’ave them, Sir? - - THE GOVERNOR (_blowing his nose_): Of course. Of course. (_Diggers - produces a sorry mess of yellow blossoms._) - - DIGGERS: They’re faded, but they’re from the old ’ome.... Won’t you - ’ave them, Miss? (_She makes no sign. One of the justices breaks - down._) - - THE WOMAN SUPERINTENDENT: Now, dearie, take the nice flowers. (_But - Agatha pays no attention._) - - THE SECOND JUSTICE: Dear, dear, how sad. (_Making a final effort_): My - poor young woman, you mustn’t take it so to heart. Your sentence, with - good conduct remission, which I presume you mean to earn--though you - won’t do so by throwing good food about--your sentence is really quite - trivial. (_She suddenly turns her eyes on him, with a baleful glare in - them. He stumbles over his words and dries up_): Yes, er, exactly. - - THE FIRST JUSTICE (_who is bored_): Well, let’s be getting on. (_They - troop out._) It’s a sad case; but of course, Morality--(_his voice - dies away_.) - - AGATHA (_when they have gone_): Stupid, sentimental humbugs! - (_Viciously_): Slugs, worms, uncomprehending BEASTS! (_In impotent - fury she whirls round the cell like a dervish, finally throwing - herself panting on her mattress._) Morality, indeed! (_She bites a - large piece out of the floor._) - - THE CURTAIN FALLS. - - - - -ACT IV - - - SCENE: _The streets of London (many years later). Heavyweight and - Diggers walk slowly along, searching the faces of the passers-by. - Suddenly Heavyweight stops in front of a thin, emaciated woman._ - - HEAVYWEIGHT: God! It’s you, Agatha, at last.... Have you come to this? - - AGATHA (_unsteadily_): Don’t interfere with me. I’m looking after - myself. What I do is my affair. - - DIGGERS (_incoherently_): Oh, Miss Agatha, Miss Agatha. (_He strokes - her hand._) - - HEAVYWEIGHT (_tenderly_): My dear. You’re worn out, thin, hungry. - Wait. We’ll buy some food and wine and take you back. Come, Diggers. - (_They enter a shop. She leans against a lamp-post. A detective - appears suddenly beside her._) - - THE DETECTIVE (_addressing her sharply_): Solicitin’, you was.... You - come along o’ me. - - AGATHA (_furiously_): I won’t, I won’t! It’s a lie. - - THE DETECTIVE: Now, then, be civil.... Ticket o’ leave, ain’t you? - - AGATHA: Oh, what’s that to do with you? I’ve served my time. You’ve no - further claim on me. - - THE DETECTIVE (_grimly_): ’Aven’t we? You just come along. (_He takes - her arm. Maddened, she deals him a vicious backhander in the mouth and - escapes from his grasp, fleeing along the pavement._) That won’t do - you no good, my girl. (_He starts in pursuit. Heavyweight reappears, - followed by the faithful Diggers._) - - HEAVYWEIGHT (_anxiously_): Agatha, Agatha.... My God! (_Realising what - has happened, he rushes in pursuit._) - - DIGGERS: Oh, Miss Agatha, Miss Agatha. (_He walks unsteadily after - them, wringing his hands. There is a hoarse shout, off, then a - horrible crash and a sharp, sickening scream. The detective and - Heavyweight reappear, carrying a lifeless form._) - - DIGGERS (_in an agony_): What’s happened? Oh, what’s happened to Miss - Agatha? - - THE DETECTIVE (_huskily_): Run over. (_Addressing Heavyweight_): Not - my fault, Sir. I couldn’t let ’er ’op it like that. - - HEAVYWEIGHT (_brokenly_): My poor fellow, I know. You only did your - duty.... The social code must be upheld. Morality demands----(_His - voice breaks for the last time, and the curtain descends on his - tears._) - - THE END OF THE PLAY. - - - - -ETERNITY AND POST-ETERNITY - -(_An endless Tone-Drama in the Shavian manner._) - - - _Through the skylight of the subterranean dwelling of_ COLONEL LAZYBOY - (R.A.S.C., T.D.), _in the Chiltern Hills, an apparently endless - procession of clouds may be seen racing across a Mediterranean-blue - sky, a sure sign that rain will fall later. We may omit a number - of stage directions about the history of the_ LAZYBOY _family, the - detailed furnishing of the cavern, the mental processes of the_ - COLONEL _himself, and a stupendous preface on “Midwifery and the - Modern Play”--it being sufficient to state that, although a spacious - mansion stands in the grounds hard by, it is entirely given over to - the servants, the family preferring to share the cave life of the_ - COLONEL, _who, since he commanded a Chinese Labour Battalion during - the second battle of the Somme, has been quite unable to reaccustom - himself to living in a house, preferring, as he says, the harder and - more natural life of the dug-out._ - - _The_ COLONEL, MRS. LAZYBOY (_a faded, bored woman_), MERCIA, _their - daughter, and_ HARMODIUS HASHOVIT, _her husband, are at their morning - wrangle. In the middle of the row_, NURSE ALLSOPP _hurries in. Being_ - MERCIA’S _old nurse she is virtually mistress (and master) of the - house._ - - MRS. LAZYBOY: Oh, dear! What is it now, Nursey? - - NURSE: Oh, Im sure I beg pardon, Maam, but heres Miss Mercias young - man--(_suddenly observing_ HASHOVIT)--Oh, Im sure I beg pardon, sir, I - didn’t see you. I meant to say---- - - HASHOVIT (_heavily_): You meant that popinjay Eustace Brill. You - needn’t make a mystery about it, Nurse. Everyone knows hes my wifes - young man. - - NURSE (_shocked_): Oh, that Im sure they dont, sir. - - THE COLONEL (_pained_): Harmodius, my dear fellow, er----Allsopp, tell - Mr. Brill were not at home. - - MERCIA (_bouncing up_): Certainly not! Send Youstee away because - Harmys jealous. Ill go and let him in myself. - - HASHOVIT (_sneering_): So that you can kiss him in the passage without - anyone seeing you---- - - MERCIA (_proudly_): Ill kiss him before you all. (_A terrific crash - and splintering of glass heralds the arrival of_ EUSTACE _by the - skylight. He lands on the table, which collapses under him; recovers - his feet, and smiles genially around._) - -[Illustration: “The influence of that man Shaw.”] - - MERCIA (_crooning_): Yousteeee! - - THE COLONEL (_testily_): Confound it all, Brill, I wish you wouldn’t - tear the place to pieces like that.... And you’ve shot a great fid of - glass into my eye. Damn the thing. (_He gropes, and finally extracts - it._) There, now itll bleed for the rest of the day! - - EUSTACE (_surprised_): I thought you prided yourself on keeping up - active service conditions. - - THE COLONEL: So I do. - - EUSTACE: Then why make all this fuss about a trifling wound? You ought - to be grateful. It adds a touch of reality to your life. - - THE COLONEL: Id rather you left me to supply the reality myself, - Brill. However--(MERCIA, _true to her threat, embraces_ EUSTACE _with - fervour_).... Now really, Mercia, upon my soul.... (_He clicks his - tongue with vexation._) - - EUSTACE (_taken aback_): Mercia, dear. I know you mean it awfully - nicely. But really, in public---- - - HASHOVIT (_glowering_): You see--you degrade yourself to no purpose. - - THE COLONEL (_warmly_): Degrade? Nonsense!... I, of course, dont mean - to imply---- - - HASHOVIT: But damn it all, Colonel---- - - MERCIA (_screaming_): Dont shout, Harmodius. - - _The wrangle proceeds on the familiar Shavian lines, the party being - reinforced for no apparent reason by the arrival of_ DAN BIGBY, _an - old sea-captain, and_ MICHAEL JOHN O’SULLIVAN. - - EUSTACE (_at long last_): Look here, Im getting sick of this. Its all - too much like a play by Bernard Shaw. - - HASHOVIT (_growling_): Everyone is at heart a Shavian. - - THE COLONEL (_hastily_): No, really, Harmodius.... O’Sullivan, Brill, - we cant have that---- - - EUSTACE: The truth about Shaw---- } - } - HASHOVIT: My idea of Shaw---- } - } - MICHAEL JOHN: Sure, if you come } - to talk about Shaw---- } (_Spoken_ - } _together._) - MRS. LAZYBOY: Hes quite right. The } - influence of that man Shaw---- } - } - CAPTAIN DAN: Who was Shaw, anyway? } - - THE COLONEL (_in his parade voice_): Silence. Youre on parade. Behave - accordingly. - - CAPTAIN DAN: Avast there. Belay. - - MERCIA (_stamping_): I wont belay. I object---- - - EUSTACE: But whats this to do with Shaw? And whats the use of - objecting when cosmic forces grip people by the throat? Ive no wish - whatever to do anything thats not A1 at Lloyds and all that. But---- - - HASHOVIT: Cosmic fiddlesticks. Its lust, Brill, and you know it. You - and Mercia want to misconduct yourselves, and its no good your trying - to draw a red herring of formulas and psycho-analytic bosh across the - track. It wont wash. In my young days---- - - MERCIA (_icily_): I dont think were greatly interested in your young - days, Harmodius. - - HASHOVIT: Be quiet, Mercia. I ~will~ speak my mind, so youd - better make up your minds to listen. In my young days if a man and a - girl wanted to behave improperly they just did so and said no more - about it. But youve no decency. Youre not content with forbidden - fruit, you go and flaunt your liaison in the husband’s face, and make - a parade of it before all his and your friends. I wonder you dont - advertise it in the papers. Upon my soul, its what were coming to---- - - EUSTACE: But---- - - HASHOVIT (_yelling_): Dont you interrupt me, sir. I dont care a - swizzle stick about your stealing my wifes affections. As a matter - of fact, she hasnt got any, as youll jolly soon discover when the - noveltys worn off---- - - MERCIA: Oh, Harmy. (_She weeps._) - - HASHOVIT: I dont care if you take her to Brighton or Nijni - Novgorod--if youre such a blasted fool as to spend so much money on - her. I dont care if you sit all day squeezing her hand, looking into - her eyes till you both squint, pawing her about, and talking that - horrible sickly twaddle I couldn’t help overhearing last night (_he - shudders at the recollection_).... But--(_rising to his feet_)--but I - will not have all your friends and my friends whispering and talking - about me as though I were something to be pitied. (_His voice rising - to a scream._) If you want to know, I think Im just about the damn - luckiest fellow alive to have unloaded this viperish, discontented, - addle-headed, empty-hearted baggage on the most crass and pitiable - fool Ive ever met--and if you want to say any more--(_his poor, - overstrained voice cracks and dies away in his throat with a mouse’s - squeak; whereat he expresses his feelings by tearing the cushions to - pieces and scattering the bits on the floor_.) - - THE COLONEL: Come, come, my dear fellow--pull yourself together. - - MERCIA (_crisply_): What I like about Harmodius is his obvious - self-control. - - HASHOVIT (_his eyes bulging; he speaks in a hoarse whisper_): Shut up, - you she-porcupine, you hateful female skunk, you--(_his vocal chords - snap and his voice goes for ever_.) - - MERCIA: His manners are so perfect, too: and hes so brave.... Cry-baby! - - HASHOVIT (_inarticulately_): o o o o o o o b b--(_or some similar - noise. Blood gushes from his mouth._) - - NURSE ALLSOPP: There, my poddle-poodkins, come with nursey-wursey. - (_Addressing the others sharply_): And if you want any lunch go and - wash your hands, all of you. (_She leads HARMODIUS out by the hand. - The others, except EUSTACE and MERCIA, follow her meekly_.) - - EUSTACE (_uneasily_): You expect me to admire all that, I suppose. - - MERCIA (_fixing him with vampire eyes_): I expect you to admire - nothing except me. - - EUSTACE: Admire you. I loathe you. I struggle to escape from you. - Youre like some awful drug, the same odious intoxication, the same - irresistible fascination, and the same deadly remorse when its all - over. You steal away my senses, and make me a slave. - - MERCIA: I make you a priest, not a slave. - - EUSTACE: No, its slavery. - - MERCIA: Priesthood. High Priesthood to the divine desire in all of us. - - EUSTACE (_retreating_): Im afraid of that. - - MERCIA (_snaring him with her eyes_): Afraid! Afraid of worshipping - love? - - EUSTACE: Yes. Ive no vocation. - - MERCIA (_dangerously_): Does that mean youve no inclination? - - EUSTACE: No. It means what it says.... You talk about priesthood of - love. You seem to think no vocation is necessary, though I suppose - youd admit it in the case of a priest of Buddhism. Religion is a - dedication of the spirit; Love, a dedication of the heart. You cant - dedicate your spirit till its broken; nor can you your heart; and - hearts dont break as easily as crockery, let me tell you. (_Espying - MICHAEL JOHN in the passage_): O’Sullivan. - - MICHAEL JOHN (_entering and curling himself up in the coal-scuttle_): - Speak. - - EUSTACE: Tell her how long a mans heart must beat against that of a - woman before it will break. - - MICHAEL JOHN: Four years and ninety minutes exactly. On the tick of - the ninetieth minute the heart cracks, and the imprisoned soul passes - from its bondage into the numbing bliss of everlasting heartache---- - - CAPTAIN DAN (_entering unobserved and taking up the tale_): And in - the fifth year he shall be exalted above human understanding.... In - the dog watches and under the dog stars Ive looked upon the ways of - mankind, and held my hand from destroying them in sheer---- - - EUSTACE: Pity? - - CAPTAIN DAN: Pity. No! Indifference. - - MERCIA (_fixing him with her eyes_): Danny, I make you mine. The - priesthood of love---- - - CAPTAIN DAN (_uneasily_): Avast there. - - MERCIA (_triumphantly_): There’s no avasting where Ill take you. - (_Breaking into a chant_) - - I go by the mountains and rivers, - I go by the seashore and fell. - - EUSTACE (_satirically_): - - While the thankless old mariner shivers - - MICHAEL JOHN: - - And strives to break loose from her spell. - - MERCIA (_her voice rising to prophetic fervour_): - - But the child, still unborn, of my yearning, - Shall go in the van as our guide, - - CAPTAIN DAN (_chuckling feebly_): - - Down the pathway of shame to the burning, - - MERCIA (_laughing horribly_): - - When Im Daniel the Mariners Bride. - - (_She sweeps him into her arms and carries him away shouting._) - - MERCIA (_disappearing_): Io. Io. Dionysos! - - CAPTAIN DAN (_in a high falsetto_): Let the skies rain joy! - - EUSTACE (_passionately_): How can you, Mercia, how can you? (_He is - seized by uncontrollable weeping._) Im crying, O’Sullivan---- - - MICHAEL JOHN: Im wantin a cry meself. (_He bursts into tears._) - - MERCIA_’s voice_ (_a long way off_): But you must let me come back and - look after Harmodius’s clothes---- - - _Many years elapse. They are still talking._ - - MERCIA (_temporizing_): After all, if I leave Harmodius for Eustace, - or Eustace for Danny---- - - THE COLONEL (_who is deaf by now_): Whats that? - - MRS. LAZYBOY (_who is nearly as deaf and very feeble_): Shes talking - about the childrens holidays. - - THE COLONEL: He! He! He! - - _A long time passes by._ - - MR. FUZZLEWHITT (MERCIAS _great grandson_): After all, if she had - deserted Harmodius Hashovit---- - - MRS. FUZZLEWHITT (_who is thoroughly tired of the story_): Yes, Rejjy, - I know.... - - _Centuries roll by._ - - MONSIEUR CHOSE: Bernard Shaw says in his play about Mercia and - Harmodius Hashovit that if Mrs. Lazyboy---- - - _Æons pass._ - - SOMEBODY: Theres a storm coming. Its going to cleanse the world. (_The - sky darkens._) - - SOMEBODY ELSE: It makes no difference. The human brain will survive. - - A THIRD PERSON: The human antheap will continue to surge with - meaningless movement. - - A FOURTH: The human voice will continue to cry from nothing to nothing. - - A FIFTH: The human hand will continue to write, and posterity will - bury the writings. - - A SIXTH: And Shaw alone shall be assured of immortality. - - _The storm breaks with prodigious force. Eternity arrives._ - - A SHINING ONE: Yes, the immortals are all in their places. Dante and - Cervantes had a squabble last night, but theyve made it up. - - THE ETERNAL: Good. - - THE SHINING ONE: Shakespeare has been giving trouble, too. Hes jealous - of Shaw. - - THE ETERNAL (_apprehensively_): Im not at all easy in my own mind - about Shaw. - - _Eternity passes._ - - MR. SHAW (_on the steps of the eternal throne_): Im really very sorry. - Its no wish of mine, you know. - - THE ETERNAL (_apologetically, and handing over the crown and sceptre - of Heaven_): Not at all. Its a pleasure to make this trifling - acknowledgment of your genius. - - -THE END OF THE PLAY. - - - - -THE ENCHANTED ISLAND - -(_A Fantasy in the manner of J. M. Barrie._) - - -I - -The pink and white drawing-room of Emily Jane’s house--or rather of -the house of Emily Jane’s father, Mister Balbus, is so caressingly -harmonious to the eye, so surpassingly restful, so eminently a place -of happy people, that one knows instinctively it will be visited by a -tragedy. It is just a question of time, and this gentle atmosphere will -find itself charged with the electricity of conflicting human emotions; -dear women’s hearts will break and be laid aside in pot-pourri jars; -strong sentimental men will walk their sweet, melancholy way; and we -shall all go home the cleaner, mentally, for a refreshing bath of -tears. Emily Jane is not yet in the drawing-room. The appropriate -atmosphere has first to be created, so that we may catch our breath -just a little as Miss Compton or Miss Celli trips on. Emily Jane is -really a very ordinary kind of girl, plump, pleasant-looking, and -neither very clever nor specially athletic. But to her mother she is -still a tiny toddling mite in a knitted woollen coat with pink ribbons, -and to Daddy, Mister Balbus, she is a resplendent goddess. - -At last, after a preliminary conversation about stamp-collecting, or -some other harmless hobby, between McVittie and Price, two old dullards -introduced to fill in the few awkward minutes while the latecomers are -clambering into their stalls, Mister Balbus comes into the room. There -is nothing remarkable about Mister Balbus. In the eyes of his wife he -is an irresistibly lovable plexus of male weaknesses; in the eyes of -Emily Jane he is closely related to the Almighty. Actually he is nobody -in particular, an architect of sorts; but we are to see him through -their eyes, and so he appears in the play as a genial and gigantic -mixture of a demigod and a buffoon. Mr. Aynesworth is appropriately -selected to represent him. - -“Good morning,” he says. - -“Good morning,” reply McVittie and Price, delighted that any of the -principal characters should condescend to speak to them. - -“Where’s our little Emily Jane?” he asks, tenderly. - -“Here, Daddy,” replies a sweet voice. - -“Where, my lovely one?” - -“In the chimney, Daddy”; and the dear child clambers down and rushes -into his arms without even waiting to brush off the soot. McVittie and -Price make clucking noises of approval and delight. This is typical of -what goes on in the Balbus household every day. How can it be possible -that anything except joy should be in store for them? But ah---- - - MR. BALBUS: Where is Mammy, my treasure? - - EMILY JANE: Waiting for Daddy darling, in his study. - - MR. BALBUS: Will my little heart ask her to come? - -Emily Jane trips away so happily and obediently. “Well, Price,” says -Mr. Balbus, “I must go and see how they’re getting on with the wall.” - - PRICE: Haven’t you finished it yet? - - MR. BALBUS: I don’t think I ever shall. Balbus was building a wall in - the time of the Roman Empire; and I suppose he’ll go on for the rest - of time. - - MCVITTIE: Which wall is it this time, Balbus? - - MR. BALBUS: The Great Wall of China. They’ve retained me to go and - inspect it. I leave to-morrow. - -Mrs. Balbus hurries in and embraces her husband shamelessly. Emily Jane -follows and embraces them both. McVittie and Price, not to be outdone, -embrace each other in the corner. - -“You’re going to China, my husband?” asks Mrs. Balbus, tenderly. - -“Yes, wife.” - -“I’ll go with you.” - - EMILY JANE: And I, Daddy. - - MCVITTIE & PRICE: We will come too, old friend. - -Mr. Balbus beams at them through his tears. The audience beam at each -other through theirs. - - -II - -They have been wrecked. - -They are all on a deserted island which, from the stunted shrubs -and bleak outlook, is probably in the neighbourhood of Tristan da -Cunha. McVittie and Price are pretending to be tremendously brave and -contented over a meal of roasted berries. - -“These are really delicious,” says McVittie. - -“Capital,” says Price. “Have some more.” - -“No thanks. My doctor, you know. He won’t let me enjoy myself.” - -“A glass of this delicious rock-water, then. Most stimulating.” - -“No, my dear fellow. I’ve done magnificently. Not another sup.” - -But it is really only pretend. The brave fellows are concealing their -anxiety for fear of alarming Emily Jane and her mother who are resting -in the bivouac near by. Actually they are full of apprehension. - -“Price,” says McVittie at last, leaning forward mysteriously. - -“McVittie?” He leans forward too; their long noses almost touch. - -“I’m uneasy.” A hoarse whisper. - -“So am I. Very.” A squeak of terror. - -“I’ve found out the name of this island, Price.” - -“Indeed?” - -McVittie sinks his voice even deeper. - -“It’s called--Umborroweeboo.” - -“Gracious. What ever does that mean?” - -“It means....” His voice becomes blood-curdling in its intensity. “It -means The-Island-that-wants-to-be-let-alone. It’s a sinister spot, -Price. They say....” - -Darkness begins to close in rapidly. Price shivers. - -“What do they say?” - -“They say it can vanish beneath the sea and reappear in another place, -after remaining submerged for years.” - -“Good heavens.” Price is very uneasy. Emily Jane appears from the -bivouac and prostrates herself on the ground. - -“I love you, dear little island,” she murmurs, kissing the shore. “I -would like to be married to a beautiful island like you.” - -“I shall come to claim that promise one day,” says a deep, rich voice -from nowhere. - - EMILY JANE: Did anyone speak? - - MCVITTIE: No one. I heard nothing. - - PRICE: I thought--why, what’s that? - - MR. BALBUS (_emerging from a hollow tree_): What’s what? - - PRICE: That. There. Look. - - THE OTHERS: Where? - - PRICE: There. Look. Now it’s _there_. Quick. It’s moved again. (_A - strain of unearthly music._) - - EVERYBODY: Hark. What’s that? (_Mrs. Balbus crawls out of the bivouac - on her hands and knees._) - - MRS. BALBUS (_fondly_): John, you’ve left off your comforter.... Why - are you all in a ring? You’ll have the fairies out if you stand in a - ring. - - MCVITTIE (_uneasily_): In a ring? I didn’t notice. I think----(_He - turns to move away but finds himself rooted to the ground._) Well, - this is most extraordinary. - - EMILY JANE: What is extraordinary, dear Mr. McVittie? - - MCVITTIE: I can’t move hand or foot. - - MR. BALBUS: Good Lord. Nor can I. - - PRICE: Nor I. - - EMILY JANE: I can a little. It’s getting very difficult. Now _I_ can’t - either. (_The strain of music is heard again._) - - MRS. BALBUS: Ugh! The horrid thing’s got hold of _me_ now. I can’t - move either. John, make them stop it at once. - - MR. BALBUS (_feebly_): How can I, my dear? I’m quite powerless. - - EMILY JANE (_illusion suddenly stripped from her eyes--for that is - what happens under the spell of this magic island_): Oh, Daddy, I - thought there was nothing you couldn’t do. And now, now--you’re just - like anybody else. - - MRS. BALBUS (_critically_): You certainly look strange, John; not at - all your usual self. - - MR. BALBUS (_for the first time seeing his wife and daughter as they - really are_): Please be quiet both of you and don’t talk about things - you don’t understand. McVittie, what are we to do? - - MCVITTIE (_philosophically_): Wait for the island to disappear, I - suppose. (_The strain of music sounds once more._) - - PRICE (_excitedly_): There it is moving about again. The thing I saw - before. - - EMILY JANE: It’s like a tiny, tiny man. - - MR. BALBUS: I don’t fancy this at all. - - PRICE: It’s coming nearer. (_An elvish figure appears dancing towards - them. It is puffing a stupendous pipe._) - - MR. BALBUS (_trying to be severe and failing signally_): Who are you, - please? - - THE FIGURE (_dancing more than ever_): Macconachie. - - EMILY JANE: What do you mean by trespassing on our island? - - MACCONACHIE: I live here. It’s my home. You are the trespassers. But - you’re very welcome. (_With goblin glee._) I’ve been waiting for you, - for a long time. - - MR. BALBUS: Waiting for us. Nonsense. You don’t know who we are, even. - - MACCONACHIE: Oh yes I do. I’ve been watching you for a long time. - Especially Emily Jane. I want Emily Jane. - - MRS. BALBUS: Want Emily Jane? The idea of such a thing! Go away, Sir, - at once. - - MACCONACHIE: You think you’re her mother, I suppose? (_Addressing - Balbus_) And you believe yourself to be her father? - - MR. BALBUS (_with dignity_): I certainly do. - - MACCONACHIE: But you’re not, you’re not. She’s mine. - - MRS. BALBUS (_indignantly_): Sir! John, don’t listen to a word he says. - - MACCONACHIE: You’re all mine. I want you all. - - MCVITTIE (_hoarsely_): Want us all? What for, may I ask? - - MACCONACHIE: To draw tears from simple hearts. You’ll see. - -But they don’t understand at all, and look blankly at one another, as -he flits about like a will o’ the wisp still puffing at his gigantic -pipe. - - -III - -The drawing-room again. They are all, except Emily Jane, sitting there -in disconsolate melancholy. - - MR. BALBUS (_with a deep sigh_): It’s for the best of course.... But I - miss her sadly. - - MCVITTIE & PRICE: It’s terrible, terrible. (_They sigh_). - - MRS. BALBUS: I always felt there was something unearthly about the - child. (_She sighs very deeply._) - -There is a long pause. They are thinking of their terrible experience -when Macconachie flitted over their heads like a sprite, and the solid -island sank beneath their feet, and they were left clinging to a raft. - -“When the island began to submerge”--begins Mr. Balbus, and then he -checks himself with a sob. - - MCVITTIE (_for the hundredth time_): I could have sworn I had her in - my arms on the raft. (_His voice breaks._) - - PRICE: You didn’t hear the Voice-- - - MRS. BALBUS: Voice--what voice? - - PRICE: Something about claiming a promise. And she gave a little cry - of wonder. I heard it. (_He walks gloomily over to the window._) - - MR. BALBUS (_suddenly enlightened_): That’s what Macconachie meant, - when he said “to draw tears from simple hearts.” I begin to - understand.... - - PRICE (_at the window_): How very curious. - - MRS. BALBUS: My curtains? They are certainly not. - - PRICE (_in choking tones_): Look at the lake--it’s drying up, or - something. - -They all rush to the window. An amazing thing is in progress. The -bottom of the lake seems to be rising. Stunted shrubs are pushing -themselves above the water. - -“My gracious powers, it’s the island,” cries Mr. Balbus. - - PRICE (_quoting McVittie’s long-forgotten remark_): They say it can - vanish beneath the sea, and reappear in another place after remaining - submerged for years. - - MCVITTIE: There’s somebody moving on it. Look. Among the trees. - - MR. BALBUS: It’s Macconachie. (_He hails the island. Macconachie comes - ashore, and flits up to the house_.) - - MR. BALBUS (_in a trembling voice_): Where is she, Sir? Tell us where - she is? - - MACCONACHIE: Emily Jane? She’s touring in America. Making a fortune. - - MR. BALBUS: But will she come back, Sir? - - MACCONACHIE: If you need her sufficiently, and wish for her often - enough, and believe with strength, she will assuredly come back. - - MR. BALBUS: But why should she have been taken from us, Sir? We loved - her, cared for her. She was happy with us. - -“To carry my message to the hearts of men,” replies Macconachie, with -a wistful smile. “I may need any of you in the future and then----” He -pauses. “But till then farewell.” And he flits through the window; and -the island submerges again. But the others sit in rapt silence, for -they have seen beyond the veil. - - - - -PRESIDENT WILSON - -(_A Chronicle in the manner of John Drinkwater._) - - - SCENE I.--_The President’s Chamber in the White House, Autumn, 1918._ - - WOODROW WILSON, _lean, single-purposed, masterful, is signing State - documents with inflexible pen_. JOSEPH TUMULTY, _a chubby little - man, is leaning affectionately on the back of the President’s chair, - following the movements of his pen with dog-like veneration. The - President, still writing, breaks the silence without looking up._ - - WILSON: Tumulty. - - TUMULTY: Yes, Governor. - - WILSON: I wouldn’t have you think I’m insensible to the merits of your - proposals--but I can’t accept them. In the bargainings and shifts of - the Allies I must be unfettered, if necessary blindly followed, by - the American delegation. Otherwise there’ll be another Congress of - Vienna.... It’s not that I criticise our Allies, I would be loath to - do that; but I understand their passions and distress. Firmness on - our part may perhaps redress the balance.... Where’s Lansing? (_The - Secretary of State comes in._) - - LANSING: Good morning, Mr. President. - - WILSON (_wistfully_): Why--you’re mighty formal, Lansing. I’ve not to - convince you again, I trust. Why, Lansing---- - - LANSING: I hold, as you know, that with the Republicans in a majority - in both Houses, it’s an act of, I won’t say folly, Mr. President, but - an act of ill-judgment to have them uncommitted to the terms of peace. - - WILSON: I’m taking Hoover and White. - - LANSING: White means nothing, and Hoover is only an expert. Lodge, - Root, Leonard Wood should all go with you as delegates. - - WILSON: No, Mr. Secretary. (TUMULTY _bows his head as if to a blow_.) - No, a thousand times. - - LANSING: They’ll tear up your work otherwise. I speak as your friend, - Mr. President. Myself as you know I don’t think extravagantly well of - your plan for a League of Nations. I’ve never disguised that. Though - a fine ideal it isn’t practical----But setting my views aside, and - speaking as a friend to the proposal, because it’s your proposal, I - feel bound to say that, if the Republicans aren’t pledged to it in - advance, it will never pass Congress. - - WILSON (_affectionately_): Lansing, you’re so logical and clear there - seems to be no escape from your reasoning. I’ve no doubt you size up - the Republican intentions mighty well. But you’re wrong for all that; - and where you go wrong is right at the beginning. Don’t you see the - choice of evils before me? If I don’t take the Republicans they may - try to wreck my work when it’s done, true; but if I do take them the - work won’t be done at all. - - LANSING (_stiffly_): I can’t allow that, Mr. President. They’re good, - patriotic Americans. - - WILSON: Who says they aren’t? Who suggests for one moment that they - won’t do their best for America and the Allies? But will they do the - best for the world? (LANSING _is silent_.) Will they tie the world - up in a League against war; or will they inflict a vindictive peace, - that’ll do no more than sow the seeds of another? - - LANSING: You distrust their patriotism? - - WILSON: Never. I distrust their passions. Or say I’m wrong. Say their - conception of the peace is the proper one, and mine a delusion. How - can we work together? The Delegation couldn’t be depended on to agree - in the smallest particular. I should just be playing a lone hand; and - the Allies, knowing my house to be divided against itself, would put - me aside in the Conference like a cipher. No, Lansing. I’ll go to - Paris with those on whom I can rely. I’ll so tie up the peace with - the League, that the one can’t live without the other; and if, as you - prophesy, I find myself deserted by Congress, I’ll go over their heads - to the American people in whose ideals the thing has its roots. That - is my final decision. - - LANSING: I hope you’ll not regret it. - - (_He takes his leave. The others follow him with their eyes. The - President gives a half laugh._) - - WILSON: Ah, if one could only add to the good qualities one’s friends - possess, the good qualities one would have them possess.... (_He - sighs_). These Commissions (_holding up the papers he has signed_), - they’re all in order now? - - TUMULTY: Yes, Governor. - - WILSON: Deliver them yourself. (_He reads out the names as he hands - them over._) House ... Lansing ... White. - - -THE SCENE CLOSES. - - - SCENE II.--WILSON’S _house in the Place des Etats Unis, Paris, in the - year 1919. A spring morning. The windows of the room look out upon an - old-world square--made safe for democracy by American detectives._ - - WOODROW WILSON _sits in a deep armchair by the table. His colleagues_ - CLEMENCEAU, DAVID LLOYD GEORGE _and_ ORLANDO _are grouped around him_. - - WILSON: Gentlemen, a little merriment would season our labours. - (_Polite murmurs._) There was a man, a Confederate soldier, in our - civil war, who soliloquised thus on a long hard march: “I love my - country, and I’m fighting for my country; but if this war ends I’ll be - dad-burned if I ever love another country.” - - THE OTHERS (_spiritlessly_): Ha! Ha! Ha! - - WILSON: Signor Orlando, you don’t laugh. - - ORLANDO: No, sare. - - WILSON: I’m sorry. The point of my story was somewhat directed to - you. I feel rather like that Confederate soldier. I took the American - people into war; but I don’t mean to have them dragged into another by - a bad territorial settlement in the Adriatic! - - ORLANDO: Well, Fiume can be waiting. - - WILSON: All things can wait. But don’t, I beg you, fall into error. My - view of that matter will never change. Monsieur Clemenceau, Gentlemen, - be with me in this I entreat you. (_A brief silence._) And now, Part I - of the Treaty. We are agreed to incorporate the Covenant of the League - of Nations there? (_There is still silence._) Gentlemen, I can’t - think that you hesitate---- - - CLEMENCEAU: Sur cette question de la Société des Nations. Il est bien - entendu, n’est ce pas, que la Traité de Garantie, La Pacte, entre La - France, Les Etats Unis, et la Grande Bretagne----? - - WILSON: Why, Mr. Lloyd George will answer for England, but I guess - there’s no doubt at all concerning America. - - LLOYD GEORGE: As the President says, I answer for Great Britain. I - have agreed in her name that, in certain conditions, she shall be - bound to act with France. On the fulfilment of those conditions, she - will so act. - - CLEMENCEAU: Alors, en principe je suis d’accord. - - WILSON: In principle. Yes, Monsieur. In principle we have never - differed. But on the concrete proposition that this Covenant as - drafted be embodied in the Treaty----? - - CLEMENCEAU: Well, I do not object. - - WILSON: You take a weight from my mind.... I wish to be frank, - Gentlemen. I am not happy about the voting of the British Empire - in the Assembly of the League. I can’t disguise from you that it’s - a difficult provision to explain to the American people. It may - antagonise them. I make a final effort. Mr. Lloyd George, would your - Dominions be irreconcilable to exercising their vote in one Empire - delegation? - - LLOYD GEORGE: They would reject it, Mr. President. I myself would move - the rejection. (_A brief pause._) - - WILSON: I put the question formally. That the Covenant, as drafted, - stand embodied in the Treaty of Peace. (_Aye._) Gentlemen, I thank - you for your forbearance. These questions of the Saar Valley and - Danzig.... (_They pass to other business._) - - -THE SCENE CLOSES. - - - SCENE III.--_The anteroom of a public hall at Pueblo in the Western - States, during_ PRESIDENT WILSON’S _tour on behalf of the Treaty of - Versailles. September 25th, 1919. When the door is open, the speaker’s - voice in the main hall is distinctly audible._ - - ADMIRAL GRAYSON _is waiting anxiously_. MRS. WILSON _hurries in_. - - MRS. WILSON: The President--it’s critical. He must be persuaded - against continuing this tour. - - GRAYSON: I have been saying that, ma’am, for a long time. - - MRS. WILSON: But it grows more urgent. I left the platform to find - you. How he’ll finish I don’t know. He was swaying and the utterance - seemed more difficult each minute. Nothing but his iron determination - sustains him. - - GRAYSON: Nothing but the depth of his convictions and his devotion to - the task he has begun, have brought him so far. - - MRS. WILSON: You must prevail on him, Admiral. If he breaks, the - League breaks. Use that with him. - - GRAYSON: Prevail. Have you ever tried, ma’am, to prevail upon a - monolith? (TUMULTY _enters, jubilant_). How does it go? - - TUMULTY: He’s carrying them. The old wonderful Wilson touch. Listen. - - _He throws open the door. The President’s rich, musical voice, full of - power, is borne in upon them._ - - MRS. WILSON: Why, he sounds to be quite recovered. - - GRAYSON (_reverently_): Hush, ma’am. It is the voice of a prophet. - - WILSON (_off_): Now that the mists of this great question have cleared - away, I believe that men will see the truth, eye to eye and face to - face. There is one thing that the American people always rise to and - extend their hand to, and that is the truth of justice and of liberty - and of peace. We have accepted that truth, and we are going to be led - by it; and it is going to lead us, and through us the world, out into - pastures of quietness and peace, such as the world never dreamed of - before. - - _Prolonged applause. The President enters, followed by local magnates - and his staff._ - - TUMULTY: Oh, Governor, this is the best you’ve ever done. - - WILSON: Tumulty, it does me good to hear you speak so. I guess--why, - surely this building is strangely unsteady--or--Everything’s going. - Why, Grayson, it’s--it’s dark. - - GRAYSON: Bear up, Sir. A touch of vertigo. You’re tired. - - WILSON (_horror in his eyes_): No. My speech. Failing. I - can’t--articulate. - - _He sinks into_ GRAYSON’S _arms, and is lowered into a chair_. MRS. - WILSON _falls on her knees beside him_. - - TUMULTY: In God’s name, Admiral----? - - GRAYSON: Paralysis. The tour is over. - - _They prepare to carry the President away._ - - -THE SCENE CLOSES. - - - SCENE IV.--_A room in the White House. January 16th, 1920._ WOODROW - WILSON, _a shadow of himself, is at his desk_. TUMULTY _as usual is - behind the President’s chair. The President is reading a telegram._ - - WILSON: Tumulty, this is bitter. Bitter. - - TUMULTY: Yes, Governor. - - WILSON: They’re meeting beyond the sea in Paris. The League that - received birth in American ideals. And the chair of America is empty, - not by the declared wish of the people--I’d not believe it, were such - a wish expressed--but by the strength of personal rancour in the - Senate. It’s unbelievable. - - TUMULTY: And no one there to represent American ideals and aspirations! - - WILSON: Brazil. This telegram says the Brazilian spoke for the whole - American continent: that was brave and far-sighted of him. But it cuts - me to the heart to think that the duty of speaking for America should - rest elsewhere than on us. - - TUMULTY: It’s hard. - - WILSON: Hard? It’s cynically false. Tumulty. I can’t believe that is - the wish of the country. I will take them the Covenant with my two - hands, reason with them, explain.... - - TUMULTY (_gently_): No, dear Governor, you have done all that a man - could do. Another effort would waste your life---- - - WILSON: I would give it gladly. - - TUMULTY: To no purpose, now. - - -THE SCENE CLOSES. - - - SCENE V.--_The Presidential Room at the Capitol, Washington. Just - before 12 noon on March 4th, 1921_. - - WOODROW WILSON, MARSHALL, _the Vice-President, and_ TUMULTY _are - waiting for the hour to strike that will make_ WARREN HARDING - _President of the United States of America, and_ WILSON _a free - citizen again._ - - WILSON: They have been great years to live in. I’ve tried to be worthy - of them. - - TUMULTY: And succeeded, with Lincoln and George Washington, Governor. - - WILSON (_shyly_): You put me in mighty good company. Anyone can - be great in great times. The events we’ve been through called for - something superhuman. I wish I could have given that. - - MARSHALL: No man could have done more, Mr. President. Some day the - world will see it. - - WILSON: Marshall, I’m not ambitious for the world to see any such - thing. I want my work to prosper. That is all. - - TUMULTY: It has made a beginning. - - WILSON: A small beginning, a halting beginning, but a beginning, yes. - Yet when I think of what the League could be doing to facilitate a - general settling down to peace, if only America were behind it-- And - yet again, perhaps it is well. Maybe, if things had not so fallen - out, the weaknesses of the thing we made would not have become - manifest, until it was too late for improvement. - - MARSHALL: You think it has weaknesses? - - WILSON: The highest product of man’s mind, the law, is full of - weaknesses, Marshall. How can this new conception have escaped them? - But the idea will surely triumph. I have faith. - - TUMULTY: The new administration will kill it, if they can. - - WILSON: I have faith.... It must be nearly time now. - - _A tall, spare man followed by his colleagues walks into the Chamber. - This is_ SENATOR LODGE, _the President’s life-long political foe_. - - LODGE (_stiffly_): Mr. President, we have come, as a Committee of - the Senate, to notify you that the Senate and the House are about to - adjourn, and await your pleasure. - - WILSON (_rising with majesty_): Senator Lodge, I have no further - communication to make. I thank you.... The few seconds now remaining - no more than suffice me to lay down the authority derived from my - office. (_The clock strikes twelve._) Gentlemen, I wish you well, and - farewell. Come, Tumulty. - - _He goes. Simultaneously a roar of applause without, proclaims the - accession of_ PRESIDENT HARDING. - - -THE SCENE CLOSES. - -[THE END.] - - - - -JEMIMA BLOGGS - -(_A Play of Life as it is, in the Manchester manner of Mr. St. John -Ervine._) - - -ACT I - - SCENE: _A dingy parlour in a London Suburb. Two men in ill-fitting - garments are sitting glumly, in comfortless chairs with shabby and - rather soiled covers, on either side of a dismal mockery of a fire. - The room is lit with incandescent gas, which shows a sickly yellow - through a raw haze, offensively compounded of “London Particular” and - the penetrating yellow fumes of cheap coal. The men are_ JOSEPH BLOGGS - _(52), one of life’s many failures, and_ HENRY HOOKER _(49), another - of them. Their tired white faces are resting on their hands, and - they are staring into the smoking grate. At last_ HOOKER _breaks the - intolerable silence_. - - HOOKER (_gloomily_): The fire’s smoking. - - BLOGGS: Yes. (_He pokes it. The fire smoulders angrily. They cough. - There is a pause._ HOOKER _looks out of the window_.) - - * * * * * - - HOOKER (_darkly_): It’s raining. - - BLOGGS (_with a deep sigh_): Yes.... Has the fog lifted? - - HOOKER: No. It’s getting thicker. - - BLOGGS (_with resignation_): Ah, well. (JEMIMA (42) _comes in, - tiredly. She is the wife of_ BLOGGS, _a thin, prematurely grey-haired - woman, haggard with cares. The fire welcomes her with a spiteful - volley of lyddite._) - - JEMIMA (_wearily_): You’re here, are you? - - BLOGGS: Yes.... The fire’s smoking. - - JEMIMA (_with a sigh_): I’ll make it up. (_She makes a listless attack - on it with the poker. The fire goes out._) The coals are so bad. (_She - painfully rekindles it._) - - HOOKER: Yes. - - Jemima (_addressing_ BLOGGS): That kid’s very bad again. She’s - coughing something awful. - - BLOGGS: Better have the doctor. - - JEMIMA: Perhaps Mr. Hooker would tell him on his way home? - - HOOKER: Yes. - - JEMIMA: The gas company’s going to cut off the gas to-morrow, - unless--Joseph, couldn’t we pay something on account? - - BLOGGS: I’ll see what I can do. - - HOOKER: Life’s very hard. - - JEMIMA: Yes. (_She begins to lay the table with enamel cups and - saucers._) You’ll stay for tea, Mr. Hooker? - - HOOKER (_drearily_): Yes. I suppose so. (_They wait in silent misery - for the kettle to boil._) - - -THE CURTAIN FALLS. - -[Illustration: HOOKER: Life’s very hard.] - - - - -ACT II. - - - SCENE: _The same room, slightly more dingy._ JEMIMA BLOGGS, _her - husband, and a_ DOCTOR _are standing under the gas bracket_. HOOKER, - _as usual, is crouching over the starveling fire_. - - THE DOCTOR (_curtly_): She can’t live. It’s only a matter of days, - perhaps hours. I must go. - - BLOGGS: Can nothing be done? - - THE DOCTOR: Can you send her to the Riviera? - - BLOGGS: No. Would that cure her? - - THE DOCTOR: It might.... I’m sorry. Good-day. (_He goes._) - - JEMIMA (_in a shaking voice_): I’ll get your tea, Joseph. (_She begins - taking down the cups and laying the table._) - - BLOGGS (_as if in a trance_): The Riviera might save her. (_He takes - his hat._) - - JEMIMA: Won’t you wait for tea before you go? - - BLOGGS: I don’t want any tea. (_He slouches miserably out._) - - HOOKER: The fog’s very thick. - - JEMIMA: Yes. - - HOOKER: It’s still raining. (_He takes his hat and coat._) - - JEMIMA: Won’t you stay for tea, Mr. Hooker? - - HOOKER: I don’t feel equal to tea. (_He goes out unsteadily._ JEMIMA - _sits wretchedly by the smouldering hearth. The child cries out in its - delirium. The fog steals into the room obscuring everything._) - - -THE CURTAIN FALLS. - - - - -ACT III. - - - SCENE: _The same room--if possible dingier than ever._ JEMIMA _is - sitting hunched up by the fire, which is enveloping her in a yellow - cloud_. BLOGGS _is pushed into the room by a hard-faced man_. - - THE HARD-FACED MAN (_grimly_): I’ve brought you back your husband, - ma’am. You may as well know he’s discharged from my employment. - - JEMIMA (_tonelessly_): Oh? - - THE H.F.M.: And lucky he’s not prosecuted. - - JEMIMA (_as before_): Oh? - - THE H.F.M.: Embezzlement’s a serious thing. - - JEMIMA: Yes.... Starvation’s serious too. - - THE H.F.M.: That’s your affair.... I don’t want thanks. I don’t intend - to prosecute, because it’s a nuisance. That’s all. - - JEMIMA: Yes. - - BLOGGS (_inadvertently stepping out of the picture_): I tell you I - did it to save my little girl. She’s dying. I must have money to save - her--to send her abroad. Oh, Amy, Amy, my child. (_He tries in vain to - sob._) - - THE H.F.M. (_chillingly_): No sentiment, please! This is not the - Lyceum.... Now, I’m going. I hope I never see either of you again. I - don’t care two straws whether the girl dies or not. And I won’t wish - you luck, because I don’t specially want you to have it, and anyway - you wouldn’t get it. (_But they are paying no attention, and he goes._) - - JEMIMA (_listlessly_): Doctor’s been again. - - BLOGGS (_the same_): Oh yes? - - JEMIMA: Says she’s getting better. - - BLOGGS: Is she? (_He sits by the fire in his hat and coat. The - inevitable_ HOOKER _slouches in, similarly clad, and takes his place - on the other side. A melancholy silence reigns._) - - HOOKER (_at last_): It’s raining again. - - JEMIMA (_bringing in the milk-jug_): The thunder’s turned the milk - sour. - - BLOGGS (_dismally_): I thought it would. - - HOOKER (_shivering, and hugging himself in his coat_): There’s a thick - fog, and it’s very damp. - - BLOGGS (_gloomily_): There always is. - - HOOKER: Yes. (_The fire contributes to the general depression by a - shower of soot, and a sudden belch of acrid yellow fumes._) - - BLOGGS: Jemima, the fire’s smoking. - - JEMIMA (_wearily_): I’ll make it up in a minute. (_She worries it - with various implements. More soot falls and the smoke increases. She - stirs it aimlessly with the poker. It flickers and goes out for the - last time. They, and the audience, are too depressed to care. They sit - staring blankly at the grate as the cold and fog gradually invade the - room._) - - -THE CURTAIN FALLS VERY SLOWLY. - - - - -UNDER EASTERN SKIES - -(_A Romantic Drama suitable for performance at His Majesty’s Theatre_.) - - - FIRST SCENE.--_A street in Damascus, copied, with meticulous - exactitude, from the Byway of Beggars in that famous city. Even the - smells are there--thanks to an ingenious contrivance of concealed - sprays, by means of which the appropriate odour is insinuated into the - nostrils of the audience._ - - _A party of camels, an elephant and a couple of giraffes, are - loitering about in the charge of officials from the Zoological Gardens - disguised as Bedouin Sheiks._ ALI BABA, SINBAD THE SAILOR, SHIBLI - BAGARAG, _and other familiar Eastern figures are exchanging hoarse - Oriental salutations from their houses and shops. Goats, sheep, - goatwomen, shepherds, etc., complete the picture._ - - ALI BABA (_in a wailing shriek_): Inshallah, wullahy, eywallah. - - SHIBLI BAGARAG (_lamenting_): Eywah! Traadisveribadahii! (_He beats - his breast_). - - A PASSER-BY (_indignantly addressing a stolid camel-driver_): - Bismillah, O Son of my Uncle, have thy camels, on whom be peace, - acquired a _firman_ investing in them the sole use of this highway? - - THE OUTRAGED CAMEL-DRIVER (_forgetting his part and falling back on - the language of Regent’s Park_): ’Ere. Look ’ere---- - - ANOTHER PASSER-BY (_hastily interrupting, and turning upon the first - with contumely_): Hence, brother of a baboon. Mock not dumb beasts, as - it is written. - - A GOAT: M-a-a-a-a. - - A GOATWOMAN: Aie, little one, muzzle thy tongue ... (_resuming her - conversation_). In sooth, O my father, as thou dost say---- - - THE GOAT (_rebelliously_): M-a-a-a-a-a. - - THE GOATWOMAN: Arree, be silent, child of misfortune, or thou shalt - see the inside of a stewpan. (_The goat thinks better of it._) - - THE HAJJI OSKARASHI BEN DAOUD BEN ISMAIL (_a holy and very dirty - man of enormous size, sinister appearance and awe-inspiring voice, - appearing from a hovel_): Alms. Alms for the love of Allah. (_People - give him money. He takes it nonchalantly and without thanks._) Alms in - the name of the Compassionate. (_He moves majestically on, until he - meets a disreputable-looking being who has just emerged from a side - street. Aside to this apparition._) Is all arranged? - - HIS CONFEDERATE (_in a low tone_): Ya, holy one. (_At the top of his - voice in order to deceive everyone except the audience._) Nay, I have - nothing for thee, thou evil-smelling and consummate old humbug. - - OSKARASHI (_whining_): Deny not of thy plenty, O gracious benefactor, - as it is written. (_Aside_) What is the signal? - - HIS CONFEDERATE (_giving money with bad grace_): Veialeikum a-salaam, - O holy one. (_Aside_) Three raps on the outer postern gate: and - then---- - - OSKARASHI (_showing his teeth in a terrible smile_): And then--blood - and much booty (_passing on_). Alms in the name of Allah. - - THE GOAT (_unable to contain itself_): M-a-a-a-a-a! - - THE CAMELS AND GIRAFFES: M-o-o-o-o-o! - - THE ELEPHANT--_But no, we cannot describe the cry of the elephant._ - - A MUEZZIN (_appearing on his minaret_): La Allah il Allah (_a bell - tolls. The faithful prostrate themselves towards the East_). - - - SECOND SCENE.--_Bagdad. The harem of Oskarashi ben Daoud, etc. We - deduce either that alms-seeking in the East is a highly lucrative - profession, or else that the “much booty,” referred to in the first - scene, proved even more abundant than was expected. The harem is - an enormous apartment, about the size of the Albert Hall, with a - swimming pool fed by a golden fountain in the centre, and rows of - marble colonnades receding in all directions into an apparently - illimitable distance. A vast concourse of beautiful and, despite their - biscuit-coloured complexions, unmistakably European young women, - languish on cushions of every variety of texture and colouring._ - - _A pair of acrobats, a jazz band of strange instruments, and some kind - of Oriental glee party are giving a simultaneous performance. Some - withered crones with birches are chastising certain recalcitrant wives - in a corner. Our friends the camels, giraffes and elephants have been - replaced by a party of leopards, duck-billed platypuses, anthropoid - apes, okapis and tapirs._ OSKARASHI _himself, comatose after an - enormous Eastern supper, is keeping awake with difficulty, propped up - against a mound of cushions piled on a huge divan. Entwined around - him, serpent-wise, is Zobeide el Okra, the Bulbul of the harem._ - - THE GLEE PARTY (_bursting into the well-known Eastern ditty_): - - We sit and gobble with chopsticks and spoon - From the midnight hour to the stroke of noon, - Gobble at work and---- - - OSKARASHI: Enough. Let them be dispatched. (_Black slaves hurl them - into the Tigris, which obligingly flows near by._) Let the feast - proceed. (_An obsequious conjurer appears; nobody, however, pays any - attention, except the junior members of the audience, who are properly - fascinated._) - - ONE OF THE ACROBATS (_drawing aside his disguise and revealing himself - as the terrible_ ASWARAK--_whom we forgot to mention in Scene I, but - who plays an important part in the proceedings. He addresses one of - the attendants, who draws aside his disguise and reveals the features - of the dreaded_ BOO BOO): All is ready? - - BOO BOO (_grimly_): Ya Aswarak. Allah hath favoured us. Every door is - stopped and the black guards have received their price. - - ASWARAK: It is well.... Remember she is to be mine. - - BOO BOO: Whom--I mean who? - - ASWARAK (_rapturously_): The Bulbul of the night, the reward of the - favoured of Islam. - - BOO BOO: Have a care, Holy One, we may be overheard. - - ASWARAK: And the signal? - - BOO BOO: Thy song. (_The conjurer concludes his entertainment._) - - ASWARAK: I will now sing. - - EVERYONE: Oh, Allah, must this be? - - OSKARASHI (_grimly_): Let him sing. Guards be at hand to do my bidding. - - ASWARAK (_aside_): Thy last bidding in this world, O corpulent Father - of Obscenity. (_Aloud_) As thou sayest, O Protector of the Poor. (_He - takes his lute and sings, gazing ardently--almost too ardently--at - Zobeide_): - - Ah, when the sun - Gives up the ghost; - And lovers run, - With ardent boast, - - To woo the one - Each fancies most-- - The stars arise - Behind thine eyes - O Bulbul. - - ALL: O Bul-bul-bul. - - ASWARAK: And I thy sighs - Apostrophize - O Bulbul. - - ALL: O Bul-bul-bul-- - - OSKARASHI (_who has no intention of allowing this kind of thing to go - on_): Enough! Well sung, Minstrel. (_Darkly_) Thy reward? - - ASWARAK (_throwing off his disguise_): Thy head, Father of - Abomination. (_Tumult. He draws a sword and rushes at the divan. - The wives scuttle wailing, pursued by the guards, who pour into - the chamber. Everyone runs shouting after someone else._ OSKARASHI - _strikes his assailants into a heap, and hurls himself roaring into - the Tigris. The curtain falls upon a writhing mass of humanity._) - - - THIRD SCENE.--_The action has for some reason shifted to - China--probably in order that Mr. Gloomy Bishop, the celebrated - producer, may be enabled to show the London public what he is really - capable of, when he cares to extend himself. The stage, therefore, - is a blaze of red lacquer and Chinese Lanterns, supplemented by - pagodas, palanquins and pigtails. A forbidding archway of crumbling - masonry--flanked on either side by a barbaric figure armed with - crossbow, javelin, long horsehair moustache and a hideous expression - of brutality, indicates that the action is about to continue at - the Gateway of the Lotus--a bypath in Old Pekin._ OSKARASHI, _the - Venerable Hajji, has lain here in honourable concealment ever - since his escape in the Tigris. But ah! his hiding place has been - discovered. This is made apparent by the highly suspicious conduct of - two strolling passers-by, whose physical characteristics appear to - correspond more or less accurately with those of_ ASWARAK _and the - odious_ BOO BOO. - - FIRST STROLLER (_accosting the other with all the honeyed courtesy of - the Celestial Empire_): Honourable Dweller in a foreign land, deign - to accept of my accursed superfluity. (_Gives money and continues in - an undertone_) The detested of Islam has been discovered. - - SECOND STROLLER (_performing the ceremonies, observances and - obeisances prescribed in the canons of Celestial etiquette_): May the - shadow of this undeserving one diminish and disappear, if he should - unworthily be found wanting in gratitude to your honourable and - beatific and excellent self. (_Pouches the coins and continues also in - an undertone_) Where, O Father of Procrastination? - - FIRST STROLLER: As Confucius justly remarks, charity--(_dropping his - voice_). In a certain hovel in the back street beyond the wall, he - conceals himself, plying the disreputable calling--may his porkers - perish--of a seller of swine’s flesh--the curse of the prophet’s beard - be upon him. Everything is arranged. To-night we surround the house: - rush in at the appointed hour: and nail him to the counter in the - midst of his abominable merchandise. Bismillah. - - SECOND STROLLER (_fiercely_): Inshallah! (_Louder_) The honourable - greeting of your illustrious Excellency has brought sunshine and hope - into the miserable existence of this one. - - FIRST STROLLER: Your honourable praise is sweeter in the ears of this - obsequious rubbish-heap, than the music of the Celestial stars. Peace - be with you. - - _They depart. A bundle of rags and blankets in a neighbouring corner - suddenly comes to life, and reveals the familiar lineaments of - Oskarashi, as he slinks away, like an enormous anthropoid ape, to his - hovel in the back street beyond the wall._ - - - FOURTH SCENE.--_We now find ourselves at night in an even more ancient - and dilapidated part of the city--the neighbourhood of the hovel in - the back street, beyond the wall. A number of American tourists, - shepherded by an unsightly and bespectacled Baboo from the local - Cook’s office, are making a tour of these rather unsavoury precincts, - before embarking to join the P. and O. steamer at Hong Kong. Lurking - in the background are_ ASWARAK, BOO BOO AND CO., with an arsenal of - weapons, closing in upon their enemy. - - THE BABOO (_addressing his audience collectively_): - And--here--we--have--a--typical--example--of--the--ar--chitecture--of - old--Pekin--dating--to--a--time--co--eval--with--Ginghis - Khan--in--my--country. - - A TOURIST: My, Sally. Look at here! (_To the guide_) Say, cutey, what - you callum this? (_She points to a procession forming up among the - houses._) - - THE BABOO: This--is--a very--fortunate--circumstance. - Ladies--and--gentlemen--we--are--about--to--witness--a--Manchu--funeral. - - ANOTHER TOURIST: Some guy pegged out, I guess. - - THE BABOO: We must--withdraw--to--one--side. (_They do so._) - - ASWARAK (_or_ BOO BOO): A thousand curses. We must delay the assault - until this pig of an unbeliever has been taken away. (_They confer._) - - _The procession advances, headed by the Mourners, who are singing a - terrible wailing melody. As they approach the words become audible._ - - THE MOURNERS (_dolefully_): - - Honourable mandarin gone west, - Welly sick belly and pain in chest, - Silly fellow leave off winter vest, - No can facee breeze. - First catchee chicken-pox, then get croup, - Double pneumonia, and off he poop: - Chop-suey, Laichee, Birds-nest-soup, - That’s good stage Chinese. - - (_They go out with their melancholy burden._) - - THE BABOO: We--will--now--return--in - time--for--the--especial--dance--for--ladies--and - gentlemen--at--the--Nautical--Club. (_He takes his tribe away._) - - (_The stage darkens._ ASWARAK AND CO. _begin to emerge stealthily from - their hiding place. Red limelight illumines the stage. Weird music. - They rush into the hovel. Reappear raving like Bedlamites._ OSKARASHI - _has escaped. They realise that he was in the coffin of the Manchu - funeral. In the thick of the hubbub, the voices of the returning - mourners are heard._) - - THE MOURNERS (_returning_): - - Chinky Chinky Chip Chip Choop, - And any damn rot you please, - Chop-suey, Laichee, Birds-nest-soup - Welly good stage Chinese. - - ASWARAK (_foaming at the mouth_): Halt, evil-tongued progeny of - obscene mothers! - - THE MOURNERS (_tearing off their disguises_): What? Offal-eating scum - of the bazaar! (_They fall on each other. The curtain falls on the - familiar spectacle of writhing humanity._) - -The last scene we are not sure about. It depends largely on the -temperamental judgment of Mr. Gloomy Bishop. It was originally planned -to be the courtyard of the Dalai Lamasery of Thibet. Mr. Bishop, -however, leans in favour of a Patagonian village or alternatively a -street scene in Tristan d’Acunha. He thinks the latter might enable -him to introduce a talking penguin as a counterweight to Mr. Charles -Cochran’s singing duck. And he is not absolutely certain that he -wouldn’t like a Honolulu surf scene, or perhaps a salt mining camp on -the Gulf of Carpentaria. Mr. Bishop is not sure; and he must have time -to think it over. - -Things, therefore, are held up until the producer and author can come -to an agreement. But on one thing the author is adamant. Oskarashi has -got to come to a sticky end. The author absolutely refuses to allow the -fellow to be perpetuated in another play. - - - - -THE VODKA BOTTLE - -(_A Play of Russian Life in the manner of Anton Tchekov._) - - - _The study of Ivan Ivanovitch Bougárov, a wealthy landowner. Bougárov - is alone at the desk. A vodka bottle and a measuring glass are at his - elbow._ - - BOUGÁROV (_sniffing the glass_): It’s strong enough, I think.... Brr, - what a filthy stench!... Where are the directions? (_He gropes for - a piece of paper._) Here they are. Sprinkle it on toasted cheese, - and leave it lying about in the vicinity of their holes. (_Examining - the bottle._) That ought to be sufficient for all the rats in Little - Russia as the saying is. (_Enter_ STEPAN STEPANOVITCH RUMBUNKSKI.) - - RUMBUNKSKI: Good morning, honoured Ivan Ivanovitch. - - BOUGÁROV: Little Fathers, Stepan Stepanovitch, how you startled me. - - RUMBUNKSKI: Your nerves are upset, my darling. You must give up the - vodka, and all that. - - BOUGÁROV: But my dear little Stepan Stepanovitch, you are wrong; - because you see, my dearest little Stepan Stepanovitch, I don’t drink - vodka now, and so it can’t be vodka. - - RUMBUNKSKI: Don’t drink vodka? - - BOUGÁROV: No, my precious, I don’t drink it any more; so you see you - must be wrong, my little woodchuck. - - RUMBUNKSKI: But, Ivan Ivanovitch, my dear fellow, don’t try to - stuff my head, as the French say. You must drink vodka, because - there’s a bottle and glass on the table before you. I don’t say you - drink to excess, my dearest little love-bird, but you must drink it - sometimes--or you wouldn’t have it always on the table in front of - you, and so on. - - BOUGÁROV: Stepan Stepanovitch, be careful how you contradict me, - because I can’t stand it, my dear little flying-fish, and that’s a - fact. You ought to know better than to come into a brother landowner’s - house and accuse him of drunkenness to his face. It’s mean; it’s - beastly; it’s not worthy of you, my little alligator. - - RUMBUNKSKI: I didn’t accuse you of anything of the kind. I only - said---- - - BOUGÁROV: Well, well, you withdraw. That’s all right. We’ll say no - more about it. - - RUMBUNKSKI: But excuse me, my dear Ivan Ivanovitch, I don’t withdraw, - because I have said nothing that calls for withdrawal. I didn’t make - any beastly accusation and all that. All I said---- - - BOUGÁROV: Oh, little God Almighty, won’t you stop talking! I can’t - stand it, I tell you. My head’s bursting, and I’ve got a terrible pain - in my shoulder blades. And both my ears are burning. - - RUMBUNKSKI: All I said was that vodka didn’t agree with you, and you - know it doesn’t. Why everyone knows perfectly well that one night, at - Roobikov’s, you---- - - BOUGÁROV: Excuse me, Stepan Stepanovitch, but you’d better go. Yes, - you had better go. I might do you a mischief, and so on; and I shall - be sorry afterwards. That night at Roobikov’s, let me tell you, you - were in a disgusting state yourself, and unfit to pass an opinion on - anybody. - - RUMBUNKSKI: That’s a lie, Ivan Ivanovitch: you were always a liar and - an intriguer. And as for doing me a mischief, come and try, that’s all! - - BOUGÁROV: Oh, little Mothers, help me to be patient. You’re a skunk - and a coward, Stepan Stepanovitch. A skunk. You know you’re safe in - threatening me, because I’m on my last legs with disease, and dying - out, and all that, and so you think you can insult me with impunity. - But when Dmitri Dmitriov thrashed you with a cane---- - - RUMBUNKSKI: What’s this? What’s this lie about Dmitri Dmitriov. Oh, - Little Uncles and Aunts, this is a bit too much! - - BOUGÁROV: Yes. Dmitri Dmitriov thrashed you, didn’t he? And you ran - squealing about the room, trying to hide under the furniture---- - - RUMBUNKSKI: Ivan Ivanovitch, how can you tell such falsehoods? I was - wounded at the time and couldn’t put up a fight. But I settled him - afterwards. - - BOUGÁROV: Yes. By having him waylaid and thrashed by Yats, the - blacksmith. - - RUMBUNKSKI: Ivan Ivanovitch, you impugn my honour. You insult me. If - you weren’t an old infirm vodka drunkard I’d smash you into a jelly. - I’d stamp on your face. But please don’t imagine I shall marry your - daughter now. I say, please don’t. That’s finished. You don’t marry - into a family that insults you. No. Never. - - BOUGÁROV: Now, my dear Stepan Stepanovitch, do be reasonable. Anything - harsh that I may have said you brought on yourself, my darling. You - shouldn’t have begun about the vodka, my dearest little duck-billed - platypus. - - RUMBUNKSKI: So I’m a coward, am I? Just wait. I’ll get my breath, and - then you’ll see.... I’m sick. I must have a drink. (_Seizes the vodka - bottle._) - - BOUGÁROV (_trying to take it away_): Not that, my dear fellow. Give it - back, I implore you. - - RUMBUNKSKI: I must have a drink, I tell you... I’m seeing stars ... - bats are flying round my head ... I’m falling--(_drinks from the - bottle_). T’shoo! Pfui!! What disgusting liquor. - - BOUGÁROV (_protesting_): It isn’t liquor at all, honoured Stepan - Stepanovitch. It’s poison, my dearest little frog. I told you it - wasn’t vodka, and you wouldn’t believe me. - - RUMBUNKSKI (_in wild horror_): Poison. Where’s an emetic?... I can’t - see.... My head’s going to burst.... Now my heart’s come to pieces. - My nose is twitching. Both my eyes are falling out. Ah--h----(_falls - into a chair sobbing hysterically_). - - BOUGÁROV (_yelling_): He’s poisoned. I’m a rat-catcher ... we’re all - murderers.... Little Fathers, have pity! (_Enter_ IRENA IVANOVNA, - _Bougárov’s daughter_.) There. Your husband to be. I’ve murdered him. - Lock me up. Suffocate yourself. Tickle his throat. Give him mustard - and water. A drink. I’m fainting. Quick. (_She gives him the glass - from the desk. He drains it._) Pouagh! Now I’m poisoned too.... My - ears have gone to sleep.... All my teeth are aching. I’m agony all - over (_collapses on the sofa screaming_). - - IRENA IVANOVNA (_wildly_): Vodka--Champagne--Mustard and Water. (_She - plies them with assorted liquors, which they drink gratefully. They - are shaken by internal tempests. They recover slowly._) - - BOUGÁROV (_faintly_): Give thanks to Irena Ivanovna, my dear Stepan - Stepanovitch. Without the presence of mind of your wife-to-be you’d be - a dead man, my little angel-elect. - - RUMBUNKSKI (_feebly_): I say no. I’ve told you I won’t marry her. - Impugn my honour and all that. A thousand times no. - - IRENA (_tenderly_): Nobody’s impugned your honour, illustrious Stepan - Stepanovitch. Your mind is affected by the poison, my little darling. - - RUMBUNKSKI: No. He did (_indicates_ BOUGÁROV). He accuses me of - waylaying Dmitri Dmitriov. Not that he has any right to talk after - what was done to Andrey Andreyvitch. - - BOUGÁROV (_as violently as he is able_): Now I give you one chance, - Stepan Stepanovitch. Either stop these insinuations or leave my house. - Yes. I’m sick of you. Yes. I’ve had enough. Enough, I say. - - RUMBUNKSKI (_staggering_): I’ll go. Yes. I’d better go. I’m fainting - with pain, and I’ve such a bilious attack I can hardly move without - nausea; but I’d sooner suffer any torments than put up with false - friends. - - IRENA: False friends? Take care what you say, Stepan Stepanovitch. - When you talk about false friends remember how you betrayed Nicolai - Nicolaivitch at Moscow, and so on. Think of the Cheka and all that, - before you talk of disloyalty, my little wood pigeon. - - BOUGÁROV (_sneering_): And remember that even if I am a dying man with - heart disease and paralysis, I’ve got people in my house who are good - enough to settle the hash of a lame hen like you, honoured Stepan - Stepanovitch Rumbunkski. - - RUMBUNKSKI: Ah, you threaten, do you? Wait a bit.... Ah, Little - Fathers, this poison. I’m dead again. (_He falls over sideways._) - - IRENA IVANOVNA (_screaming at_ BOUGÁROV): He’s dead. Unnatural father. - Murderer. - - BOUGÁROV (_at the top of his voice_): Don’t yell like that. You - inflict me with the most acute palpitations.... I can’t see.... I’m a - dead man. (_He sinks back in his chair._) - - IRENA IVANOVNA: Little Fathers and Mothers!... I must escape. (_She - drains the vodka bottle and falls prostrate. They all lie motionless. - You think they are dead; but they are not. Just as the light is - failing they come to life one by one and resume their dispute. The - fall of the curtain and the end of the play leave nothing decided._) - -[Illustration: RUMBUNKSKI: Ah! Little Fathers, this poison----] - - - - -KING DAVID I - -(_An Historical Drama in the manner sometimes attributed to the Lord -Verulam._) - - - SCENE: _The Welsh Hills near Criccieth. A vast concourse of people, - Druids and Burghers among them. Flourish of trumpets. Enter_ KING - DAVID, _attended by_ ALFRED, KNIGHT OF SWANSEA, _and_ RIDDELL OF - WALTON HEATH. - - THE KNIGHT OF SWANSEA: Gif me your attentions, I pray you, and mark - vell dese vorts. Ve Velshman haf great traditions. Ve are proud and - ancient peoples. Some tink perhaps ve shows too much ze pride of race, - yes? Ze fierce Celtic patriotism? But ve are chustly proud to tink - ourself descendant of Cadvallader, cradle of Tudors, and fine stocks - of Owen Clendower, look you--Mark den vat vorts our leader shall tell - you and observe dese rulings. (_He withdraws a pace._) - - FIRST DRUID: - - Methinks his words, though seasoned with good sense - And aptly illustrative of our merits, - Bewray a foreign origin. - - SECOND DRUID: - - Why, sir, - The man’s as good a Welshman as e’er breathed! - His pedigree I’ll tell you in brief space, - Identifying in so many words - Wales with the lost ten tribes of Israel. - Moses begat---- - - A HERALD: Peace Ho! Have silence there. - - VOICES FROM THE CROWD: Silence for David. - - OTHER VOICES: Peace for the Man of Wales. - - RIDDELL (_aside_): - - Mark, Swansea, how impregnable he looks, - Like some proud eagle, weary of scouring the skies, - That pauses on a lofty pinnacle - Refashioning his pinions, whetting his beak - Ready to swoop again. - - KING DAVID: - - Good countrymen, - And ye, my immemorial Cymric Hills, - I came among ye in my indecision - To steel myself anew. - Good countrymen, - I have well pondered here in Criccieth - And now have made resolve, in which I’ll pray - A moment hence for your support; but first - ’Tis meet I should explain. - Ye well do know - How lately has arisen from the ranks - A party sutler, subtle enough it seems, - Older than I, yet Younger by God’s grace, - Who seeks to take direction by the throat, - Sow discord where was harmony before, - Bring ruin on the Coalition, bind - Our fortunes, mine and yours, to Torydom, - Vex all my policies, overthrow my plans, - And make of our political affairs - The kind of stew the French call _bouillabaisse_. - - THE CROWD (_murmuring_): We’ll have none of that. None of that. We’ll - rise and storm their strongholds. We’ll burn down their castles to the - ground. - - KING DAVID: - - Peace, peace, my friends, and hear me out. - They say - (Insolent curs), these Younger statesmen say, - They’d have my leadership because they know, - Perchance, that I have prowess in the field. - But in the Council Chamber I’ll be nought, - A thing, a cipher, ordered here and there.... - What? Shall we now on Unionists depend? - Sue them for favours, fawn on them for smiles? - Eat from the dish of infamy the food - They’d grudge to give had they the giving of it? - Not in these trousers, sirs! - - DRUIDS: - - Nay, never! Never! - He’s been despitefully and most vilely used. - - KING DAVID: - - Must I go on and watch complacently - The fairest promise turned to rottenness - By bigots--dull, reactionary fools? - Why, I could form a better Government - (With Riddell’s and my faithful Swansea’s help) - Of certain Davieses and sundry Jones, - Llewellyns a few, an Evans here and there, - A sprinkle of the goodly Williams blood; - And not a Chamberlain among the lot - To dull our spirits with his laggard’s breath. - - THE DAVIESES (_talking among themselves_): There’s much in this. - - THE WILLIAMSES: Most true and notable. - - THE EVANSES: Not to be lightly put aside, look you. - - A DRUID: Peace, he begins again. - - KING DAVID: - - My noble friends, - This, then, the resolution I have formed. - I’ll back to Westminster and beard them there - And put this Younger’s power to the test. - If, as I think, he fall before my lance, - Why, we’ll admit them to some sort of quarter; - But if, as may be, they resist my terms, - Then to the hustings with our banners high, - Our hopes and hearts and courage higher still; - And I, and doughty Riddell, and wise Mond, - Fisher and Greenwood, Churchill and Monro, - And all these gallant gentlemen of ours, - Will armour up and lead our forces out - ’Gainst Bonar and his liver-hearted crew - Of purse-proud commoners and needy peers, - And bear them down and roll them in the dust. - Heads shall fall right and left, Curzon’s and Chamberlain’s, - Amery’s, Baldwin’s. We’ll have Ormsby’s gore, - Young F. E.’s Birken-head and Carson’s scowl, - Old Devonshire’s yawning mask, and Derby’s jowl; - And Younger on a dung heap shall be thrown - That day when David comes into his own. - - ALL: Away. Away. We’ll to the fray, amain; - And see Welsh David cleanse the land again. - - (_Sound a flourish._ EXEUNT.) - - - - -THE SLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD - -(_A Play in the Irish Manner._) - - - SCENE I.--_A hovel by the sea at Ballycottin, near Queenstown. Eamon, - in squalid garments and in an appropriate attitude of misery, is - crouched over the fire. Seamus Smitha is distilling poteen by the - door. Peadar Roabensôn and the Men of Gunn (a war-like clan) are - lurking in the background. Caitilin ni Houlihan, Bridgeen Dick, and - the Widow Markiewicz are watching Eamon with speechless devotion. The - door is flung open and Sean de Browna bursts in._ - - SEAN: Where’s himself? - - SEAMUS: Taking a bit of sleep, maybe, if he’s able--God help him! - - SEAN (_exultantly_): There’s fine doings on the sands this night, with - great ships boarded and sunk and the lads making grand talk. Rifles - and cannon we’ve taken, and munitions would be enough for a great war. - - THE MEN OF GUNN (_murmuring appreciatively_): Bully for you, Kid! - - PEADAR: It’s himself will bless these tidings. (_Addressing Eamon with - conspicuous timidity_): Mister, honey, he’s after saying they’ve sunk - the British Navy, and captured all the munitions in the western world. - - EAMON: The blessing of Gunn upon those words! (_Dropping his voice_): - I say, what d’you imagine they’ve really got? - - PEADAR (_dropping his_): Oh, I don’t know--a few dozen rifles, I - suppose, and a couple of boxes of S.A.A. One has to exaggerate a bit - in an Irish drama. - - (_Enter Boûgus, claimant to the throne of Ulster, followed by Naisi - and Narsti, the sons of Gunn._) - - BOÛGUS (_in bloodthirsty tones_): It’s taking the arms up to the caves - they are, till all’s ready to strike the blow; and it’s fine gory - heads there’ll be, and great masses of dead bodies that day in the six - counties, and throughout the land, so you’ll not avoid to tread on - the white upturned faces of the dead, they lying so thick. And I’ll - be king that day in Ulster, and the black Orangemen destroyed and - vanquished. - - THE MEN OF GUNN (_with appreciation_): Sa-ay, kid, that’s talking. - - EAMON: Let you go down now, Boûgus, with Naisi and Narsti and the men - of Gunn; for I’ve word that Cosgrave, or perhaps Mulcahy, do be coming - to Castlebar or maybe Dundalk, and it’s there he must be sent away - with scorn and laughter, and maybe a leaden bullet or two. - - THE MEN OF GUNN (_springing to their feet_): Easy money. Get right - after it, boys. - - BOÛGUS (_bursting into song_): Oh, Alannah, Acushla, Asthore, Macree, - Honomandhiaul!!! (_He dashes out at the head of the party. Eamon wraps - himself complacently in his rags and nods over the fire. The women - continue to regard him with speechless devotion._) - - - SCENE II.--_A hovel by the sea at Ballyruff. The roar of breakers - almost drowns the voices of the speakers. Enter Seamus Smitha and - Peadar hurriedly_. - - SEAMUS: Where’s himself? - - SEAN: Asleep, God help him, and dreaming of Caitilin ni Houlihan, the - creature, and her wedded to him in these coming days. - - PEADAR (_roughly_): It’s her he can put from his mind then, for she’s - up there on the hillside with Cosgrave and Mulcahy, and James Craig, - and they going on together with dancing and merriment, the way would - surprise the stags for leppin’; and her that let on to be a decent - woman would marry a holy man. - - BRIDGEEN DICK (_sharply_): Let yourself be holding your tongue now, - Peadar Roabensôn, with your great noises to waken the seven sleepers, - and he not stretched in his bed a dozen hours to be resting after his - great labours. - - BOÛGUS (_rushing in, followed by Naisi and Narsti_): It’s destroyed we - are, entirely. - - EAMON (_sitting up suddenly_): I beg your pardon? Did you say - destroyed? - - BOÛGUS: Aye, destroyed.... She’s turned against us, and joined the - hands of Cosgrave and James in friendship--as Deirdre, in the days of - old, did try with Conchubor and the sons of Usna. - - EAMON (_in an undertone, to one of his personal retinue_): My God, - what are we to do now? - - THE OTHER (_whispering_): You must make a speech in Gaelic. - - EAMON (_also whispering_): I can’t. I’ve left the book at the Mansion - House. - - THE OTHER: Well, you must think of something appropriate in English, - then. - - BOÛGUS (_keening_): Oh, whirra, whirra, Ochone, Ochone. (_They all - burst into tears._) - - EAMON (_as one pronouncing a curse_): If the sun could have darkened - to hide her shame, and the waters of the great ocean given themselves - to wash away her faithlessness, it’s a strange, black, arid world we’d - be living in this day. O’Connell, Parnell, Redmond, she’s broken the - heart in all of them; and now it’s mine she’s broken, too; and it’s - not Cosgrave and James that she’ll spare in the days to come.--I will - go out with the Men of Gunn.... - - - SCENE III.--_A hovel by the sea among the Balmy Stones of - Claptrapatrick, near Ballyidiocee. Enter_ SEAMUS _as usual_. - - SEAMUS: Where’s himself? - - SEAN: Musha avick, how many more times will I be telling you in this - play that he’s asleep, God help him, the holy man, and maybe dreaming, - if he’s able, of the grand goings on there’ll be when they’re after - making him Pope and King of all the world, and he a scraggy, thin, - weakly man would put you in mind of an old hen, or maybe a worn-out - jackass to be taken from the shafts and turned away among the roots - and grasses to die. - - PEADAR: Sure, I’m thinking that’s not what he’d be dreaming at all, - but the great joy of making combats and running here and there in high - spirits, with the Men of Gunn around him. - - EAMON (_mournfully_): The heart’s broke in me, Seamus Smitha, for - it’s all put aside and finished now, and there’s no more doings I can - contrive; and there’s nothing left but to go back, the way we came, - among the Bohunks and Dagoes, and die in a little dirty state in the - hind end of America. - - THE WIDOW MARKIEWICZ (_scornfully_): And isn’t there land called - England over across a dirty bit of water would hardly wet your boots - to cross it; where do be fine houses, and gold ornaments, and a - stupid uncomplaining people to govern, and a crazy Parliament over it - all is calling for ever on the Mother of God to send an alternative - Government? - - THE MEN OF GUNN: Gee whiz!! - - THE WIDOW: How do you say, Eamon! Will you take this country and - people and make a new Ireland there; and be leaving the North and the - South to slit the throats on each other? - - EAMON (_in a great voice_): I’ll do it, so.... And won’t it be the - fine adventure to hold it over the heads of Cosgrave and Mulcahy, when - I’m sitting in the seat of Lloyd George with the Kings and Emperors - and Presidents of the world around under my feet, and Boûgus beside - me, and Naisi and Narsti on my either hand, and the Men of Gunn - holding the fair land of England, and me Lord of it all? - - BRIDGEEN: And haven’t you the right, Mister honey, to be sitting in - that place and taking your ease, and a sup of whiskey itself maybe; - for it’s you surely is destroyed by thinking and fighting in these - days in Ireland, and where would there be your match for craft and - savagery in all the western islands? - - EAMON: I have so. (_To Naisi and Narsti_): Call up the Men of Gunn, - and let Boûgus be there, and Seamus, and Sean, and Peadar Roabensôn, - and any other man would make his future, so; and I’ll lead them out to - England, or Russia itself if need be, and split the brainpan on Lloyd - George and all of them, and be master of the world in their places; - and so I will. (_They go out._) - - THE WIDOW MARKIEWICZ (_looking after them as they go_): And isn’t he - the fine handsome lad to be riding forth on a great adventure; and he, - God help him, nothing but a poor crazy scholar, with a great savagery - and bitterness in his heart? - - - - -IMPOLITICS - - - - -A MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT - - -A man, or woman, who has just been elected to Parliament may be -pardoned if, in the words of Gilbert, “the compliment implied, -inflates” him (or her) “with legitimate pride.” It is rather difficult, -when the declaration of the poll is announced by the Returning Officer, -and you find yourself, by a swinging (or narrow) majority, the elected -representative of some 30,000 people, to avoid a certain feeling of -pleasurable self-congratulation. For the first time in your life you -are, suddenly, the central figure of a great demonstration. You are -astonished at your own popularity. Strangers rush up and clasp you -by the hand; bearded men kiss you on both cheeks; you are taken in -charge by the police, to save you from being torn limb from limb by -your almost too enthusiastic friends. And, if there is a fleeting -resemblance, in the triumphal march from the returning office to the -headquarters of your organisation, to the old-time procession to the -scaffold of a popular highwayman--a resemblance heightened by the -necessity for making a speech on a crazy wooden erection usually known -as “the hustings,” that air of spurious importance is, for the most -part, effaced next day, when you leave your constituency by train, -unrecognised and even unremarked. After the splendours of the previous -night, this anonymity is an almost painful contrast; but there are -lower depths of abasement to be reached. You have yet to pay your first -visit to the House of Commons. - -In the interval between your election and the summoning of Parliament, -you have probably to some extent recovered your normal self-confidence. -You have doubtless secured a home near Westminster, “to be near the -House, you know.” You may even have been interviewed by a provincial -paper. It is just possible that one of the leaders of your party--a -junior one--in the first generous glow of the election results, may -have shaken you by the hand. Perhaps (but this happens very rarely) -the august personage who speaks from the Front Bench in the name of -your party, may have stared you out of countenance at Lady Broadside’s -reception. You are actually beginning to feel that you are Somebody -after all; and so you nerve yourself to make your first visit to the -scene of your future labours. - -Somehow, as you slink into Old Palace Yard, the fine fervour of -enthusiasm, that accompanied you in your walk along Victoria Street, -seems to have largely abated. You cannot help secretly wondering -whether you will be required to produce credentials by the doorkeeper. -You visualise a painful moment, when a gigantic functionary will say -politely, but oh so firmly, in response to your frantic asseverations, -“Very sorry, sir, but if you can’t prove you’re a member, I can’t let -you in.” You wonder whether he will accept the evidence of the birth -certificate, and the cutting from the “Times” announcing your victory, -which you hastily stuffed into your pocket before starting out; or -whether you had better lie in wait for some senior member of your -party, and steal in, in his wake. And, whilst these fearful doubts are -invading your mind, you find yourself at the entrance, and an enormous, -genial, rubicund policeman accosts you smilingly: “Good morning, Sir! -New member, Sir?” - -[Illustration: “New Member, Sir?”] - -Down, swelling heart! - -You try to avoid bursting with pride; acknowledge his salute; and walk -in. But ah, you think, the terrors are yet to come. Another constable -equally large, equally genial, touches his hat as you pass through -the swing doors, and says: “Cloakroom on the right, sir.” “Here at -least,” you fear, “there will be a challenge.” An attendant comes up to -you. He gives you a searching look. Your heart sinks into your boots. -“Good Heavens,” you think to yourself, “I am in the wrong part of the -building--this is probably reserved for Cabinet Ministers.” You are -about to mutter an excuse and slink away. Quite unnecessary. He was -only memorising your face. “Name, sir?” he asks. You give it; you -will never have to do so again. Like your face and appearance, it has -been indelibly recorded for future reference. “Your peg’s here, sir,” -he says; and you find, rather to your astonishment, that a peg has -already been reserved for you, and bears your name. Two or three other -members come in--old members evidently, for he knows them personally. -They exchange greetings; and you think to yourself: now where have I -seen something like this before?--Your mind, in a flash, bridges a -gulf of a quarter of a century, and takes you back to your first day -at your public school.... “New boy, sir?” said the janitor, committing -your face and name to memory. “Mr. ----’s house, sir? That’s your peg -in that corner; them’s the school notices under that shed, see? You -ought to read them every day; and that’s the tuckshop the other side -of the road opposite the gates.” ... “New member, sir?” enquires the -attendant. “There’s your peg, sir; you’ll find the Post Office at the -top of the stairs on the left of the Lobby; you ought to ask there for -the letters. Smoking-room, sir? Along the corridor, turn to the right; -and it’s on your left-hand side.” - -Truly the boy is father to the man. - -You leave your coat, and wander up the stairs to the inner Lobby. You -sample the thrill of receiving your first batch of letters in the House -of Commons. You peep reverentially into the empty Chamber--half afraid -to go inside for fear of inadvertently transgressing some rule of the -House. You would like to look at the Library and the smoking-room; and -yet you feel a certain unwillingness to trouble the attendants with -questions. Suddenly a stranger, noticing your irresolution, saunters up -to you. “New member?” he asks affably (as who should say “New boy?”); -and when you have admitted the soft impeachment--“Thought so,” he -continues, “I think I knew most of the last Parliament. Care to look -round? I’ve nothing to do for an hour.” - -And, even as you accept, you remember how Williams (or Brown), who -afterwards grew to be your _alter ego_, took pity on you in the old -days at Greyfriars, led you round and “put you wise”; and, whilst your -new friend is explaining the mysteries of the Chamber--the Chair, the -Cross Benches, the Bar, the Galleries--leading you through the Library, -along the passages to the House of Lords, and making you acquainted -with your new public school, you think with gratitude, and some wonder, -of the eternal youth of human institutions. - - - - -WOES OF THE WHIPS - - -The Chief Whip of a Party is a very august personage. He shares in the -councils of the Party leaders. He is one of the links that bind them -to the Headquarters organisation, and the constituencies. He holds -the party together on the lines laid down by the Leader. He keeps a -watchful eye upon recalcitrants, like a sheep-dog with wayward sheep. -He is, in fact, the Chief of Staff; and his lot is not an unenviable -one. - -The Junior Whips are another matter. Rebellious members of the party -who would, however, feel some compunction about speaking their minds -to the Chief Whip, lay bare their grievances, with embarrassing -plain-spokenness, to the juniors. The Scottish and Welsh Whips -must often find themselves like to the unfortunate victims of that -mythological giant, whose habit it was to tie the legs of his foes to -opposing fir-trees, and, releasing the trees, divide them in twain--by -reason of the rival claims of their own particular groups of members -and of the Chief Whip himself. Needless to say, in all parties, there -is the fullest opportunity for members to bring their point of view -to the notice of the leaders, both through the Whips and at party -meetings. But once a party decision has been taken, it is obvious that, -for the sake of the unity of the party, it is highly important that -its members should present a consolidated front. And it is when the -preconceived opinions of individual members, or special circumstances -in their constituencies, happen to be at variance with the general -policy of the party, that the troubles of the Junior Whips begin. -They have obviously an inclination towards those who compose their -own group, such as the Welsh members or Scottish members; they have -also their duty towards the party as a whole--not always easily to -be reconciled. Anyone who experienced the unenviable position of a -Junior Staff Officer in one of the feuds that habitually raged between -battalion and brigade, or between brigade and division, during the war, -will have a fairly accurate understanding of the trials of a Junior -Whip. - -But that is not all. The Whips are responsible for the social side -of the party as well. Sir Augustus and Lady Broadside, let us say, -offer to arrange a reception. For some reason, limitation of space -for instance, it is not possible to invite everybody. On the Whips -falls the invidious duty of making the selection, who shall be asked -and who not. And when this difficult task has been performed, it is -discovered that, by an oversight, there is no record of the fact that -some new member is married--consequently he is asked and his wife is -not, with inevitable heartburnings as the result. Or, again, there -are ceremonial duties to be attended to. Members wishing to attend -the King’s Levee must have their paths made smooth. The presentation -at Court of the wives and daughters of members must be arranged. The -Whips must expect to be consulted, as well, on sumptuary questions, -such, for instance, as whether a member ought to buy a levee dress, or -whether it will be considered sufficient if he avails himself of the -new regulation, and attends in evening coat and knee breeches; and what -is the most appropriate garment, other than a white sheet, in which to -make a maiden speech. - -As if that was not enough, there are the speaking arrangements to be -made. It does not, of course, follow that the list will be adhered -to, but, for the convenience of the Speaker, it is usual for him to -be furnished “through the usual channels,” which means in other words -by the Whips, with a list of members of each party who would like to -speak in any Debate. Obviously some selection must be made, or in a -Parliament of active politicians, such as the present, the list of each -party would be impossibly large. More than half a dozen names for each -party would be more of a hindrance to the Speaker than a help, because -there would be no possibility of getting them all in--seeing that the -normal hours of Debate are between four in the afternoon and eleven -at night--seven hours in all--and the average duration of speeches is -twenty minutes, giving a maximum of twenty-one speakers. This process -of selection calls for tact of the highest order. On the one hand, if -the list is too full, the Whip must not put off further volunteers -in such a manner as to discourage them. On the other hand, he must -be careful not to create the impression that he wants them to speak -always, or they will never leave him in peace. Even the most sensible -and level-headed people are touchy about their speaking; and the effect -of a hasty word may easily take a whole session to efface from the mind -of the person to whom it was addressed. - -Nor do the Whip’s duties end there. A question suddenly arises needing -instant determination. On the one hand, the leader may make up his mind -at once as to the party attitude; in that case the Whips must hurry -round, and communicate it to the members of the party. On the other -hand, the leader may wish to know the feelings of his party before -deciding on a course of action; there is no opportunity for holding a -party meeting, the decision must be taken probably within half an hour; -it now becomes the duty of the Whips to flit from member to member, -collecting opinions and suggestions for communication to the Leader by -the “Chief.” Or it may be necessary to “keep a house” for one of the -back-benchers who is “raising a question on the adjournment”; again the -busy Whips must hurry here and there lobbying their party to make sure -that forty members will be present, to protect their colleague against -the misfortune of being “counted out.” - -And then, on top of all this, there is liaison with the other parties, -which in practice is more or less reserved for the Chief Whip -himself--for this kind of work demands the delicacy of Agag. These are -the accommodations, arrangements of business, exchange of party views, -that necessarily go on behind the scenes as a preliminary to the set -Debates--especially in connection with the procedure of the House and -the settlement of the order of public business. - -There is a certain glamour in being styled a Whip. Your name and, -probably, your photograph are published in the papers; you are given -special facilities for entertaining your fellow-members; if your party -happens to be in power, you hold a junior office in the Treasury. -The Chief Whip, despite his responsibilities, has, on the whole, an -interesting job. He is largely concerned with what is sometimes called -the kitchen side of politics; but his function of linking up the -Parliamentary party with the leader, calls for high qualities; and his -weight, in the determination of the party programme in the conclave of -leaders, is considerable. The Junior Whips are devotees of a high order -to their party’s organisation. Their task is a thankless one. They -condemn themselves to well-nigh Trappist vows in the Chamber, because -they are almost always at work outside it. They place themselves -at everyone’s beck and call. They are in demand to smooth out any -difficulty that may arise. - -In fact, as a man once said, who was A.D.C. to a Colonial Governor: -“It’s a spittoon of a life.” - - - - -YOUNG MEN AND “MAIDENS” - - -Defer it as you may, upon one pretext or another, the fatal moment will -come at last when you must make your maiden speech. There have, it is -to be supposed, been members of Parliament of such agonising modesty -or such iron self-restraint, that they would have been willing to pass -their entire Parliamentary lives in silence. But sooner or later, and -probably sooner than later, an aggregation of pressures--duty to the -constituency, the spur of _amour propre_, green jealousy of the triumph -of X., who so impressed the House by his speech on the Protection of -Insects Bill, the subtle encouragement of some fair flatterer who, when -X.’s speech was discussed, eyed you archly and murmured, “Of course -_you_ ...” leaving your vanity to fill in the blanks--these, and other -compelling reasons, combine to persuade you to the irrevocable step of -giving in your name to the Whips, after which, feeling like a man who -has made an appointment with his dentist, you slink away and prepare -for the worst. - -With becoming modesty, you select some insignificant, and relatively -trivial, subject--such as World Federation, the Solar system, or the -relations of the Almighty and the Universe, as affording you scope -for the pronouncement you feel it in you to make. You collect a whole -pantechnicon-load of authorities, which, when you have read them -through, are allowed to lie piled in the darkest passages of your house -for the servants to fall over; you take a ticket for the British Museum -Library; you apply yourself to study with all the fervour of a Bengalee -competing for an examination. And then, one or at the most two days -before the great oration is scheduled to be delivered, your Whip says -casually, “Oh, we’ve had to change the arrangements. We’re getting -you in on the Committee stage of the Impurities in Milk (Abolition) -Bill”; and all your labour is shown to be wasted and vain. There are -only three days left. You rush to the Dairy Produce Association, -the Institute of Milkmaids, and the Society for the Preservation of -Cattle and Kine, from each of which you receive an undigested mass of -propaganda, disguised in the form of scientific tracts. There is no -time to push your investigations beyond these, so you set yourself to -learn them word by word. You come down to the House on the fatal day -primed with knowledge, with lactialities on your lips and the milk of -human kindness bubbling from your heart--and you discover that, before -your arrival, a member of your own party, interested in the welfare -of subject populations of the Empire, has moved the Adjournment of -the House to draw attention to a matter of urgent and definite public -importance, namely, the refusal of the Government to issue practising -licences and a charter of incorporation to the witch-doctors in the -U-Ba-Be district of Abeokeuta. - -You seek out your Whip, demanding information. He tells you that the -Government has changed its mind about the Bill on which you were to -speak, and intends, in its place, to introduce an Amending Act in -connection with the Acquisition of Mineral Royalties in Zanzibar, -Proclamation of 1872. Having no knowledge whatever of Zanzibar or -minerals, other than those in bottles, and only a nodding acquaintance -with the lesser grades of royalty, you feel bound to demur, when he -suggests that you should “give tongue” at such short notice on this -subject. Whereupon he offers you your choice between the Protection of -Herrings (Scotland) Bill, Second Reading; the Civil Service and Revenue -Departments (grants in respect of medical referees, destitute aliens, -and port and riparian sanitary authorities) Vote on Account; and the -Army and Air Force Annual Bill. Smitten with despair at the prospect -of the vigils, prayer and fasting entailed in the mastery of any one -of these three subjects, and fortified by a hazy recollection of “King -Solomon’s Mines,” you quaveringly ask whether it would not be possible -for you to speak on the Witch Doctors Adjournment. As your Whip has -been searching high and low for someone to do this very thing, he -almost invites you to dinner in his relief; and hurries away with your -name to the Speaker. In due course he seeks you out in the Library, -where you are sitting, in a cold perspiration at your own temerity, -and struggling to master a report on “Witchcraft and the Black Arts as -practised in the Continent of Africa,” furnished through the medium -of the Aborigines Suppression Society in 1850--apparently the only -standard work on the subject. He informs you that you will be called -immediately after the Government has replied. Your heart sinks into -your boots; a clammy sweat breaks out upon your forehead; and you apply -yourself assiduously to the report. - -Just before 8.15 p.m. you stagger into the Chamber. To your excited -fancy it seems to have grown very large. The seat on which you are -accustomed to sit, seems an immense distance from the Speaker’s Chair. -But, as the House is practically empty, you sneak into somebody’s -corner seat, and hope for the best. The one encouraging factor in the -whole proceedings is that, in spite of the ghastly hash that the mover -of the resolution seems to be making, the patient House is attentively -listening in silence. After all, you think, remembering your own -triumphant speeches during the election, the swing of the words, the -thrill of the audience, the storm of applause--after all, it can’t be -as difficult as all that.... An Under-Secretary begins a half-hearted -defence of the Government. He says he is quite certain that in this -case the House will consider that the House ought to be extremely -careful before responding to the suggestion made by his hon. and -gallant friend that the House is at liberty to vary a former decision -of that House, as hon. members below the gangway seem to imagine. -He goes on to say, er--that the Government--er--will, of course, be -ruled--er--or perhaps he ought to say guided--er--by the view of the -House towards--er--or with regard to the matter--assuming that in that -matter or--er--as he would rather put it, in such questions--er--the -opinion of the House must be the governing consideration. Furthermore, -he would remind the House, with the permission of the House, that the -House is always reluctant to set aside a privilege won by the House in -former times and upheld on the floor of the House by statesmen like -Drigg and Bulgman with the full approval of the House--an approval, Mr. -Speaker, which, as the House is aware, is recorded in the journals of -the House, and which he is satisfied--nay, assured--that all members -of the House would pause before challenging. - -With this adjuration he resumes his place. You climb tremulously to -your feet. The Speaker calls: “Mr. Wutherspoon.” And immediately -most of the people in the Chamber rise, and hurry out, with looks of -disgust and loathing. The bustle of their exit rather takes away from -the effect of your carefully prepared opening sentences; and your -biting gibe at the expense of the Minister seems in some mysterious -way to have lost the greater part of its sting. Those to whom it -is audible ejaculate a mirthless “Ha, ha,” to encourage a maiden -speaker, and vanish in the wake of those members who have already -left. You wonder to yourself, in dismay, whatever induced you to -embark upon a Parliamentary career; and at the same moment, stumbling, -quite by accident, upon some happy phrase, you are greeted, to your -astonishment, with modified cheering. This is what you were waiting -for. You feel that Parliament is not so insensible to your merits, as -you had at first supposed. You seize the lapel of your coat with your -left hand, and, throwing out your right in a generous half-circle, you -venture boldly upon the great passage in your speech, beginning, “The -witch-doctors of U-Ba-Be, a humble section of our fellow-subjects, -organised, as who shall say they have no right to be organised, in a -society, union or corporation, turn their eyes and lift up their voices -to this House of Commons imploring....” Somehow, by the malignant -intervention of unhappy chance, before you have said half a dozen -words of this moving passage, a deathly silence has fallen upon the -Chamber; all eyes are fixed upon you; you stumble and falter; and -murmured conversation at once begins. Again you blunder on a telling -phrase. Once more you find you are being listened to. This is a pity, -because it betrays you into a touch of self-confidence. Immediately, -all around you, faces, like flowers in the morning sun, expand into -smiling bloom. But you are getting into your stride: you correct that -mistake with a modest remark and a deprecating movement of the hand. -Whereupon, you are cheered. You turn with graceful assurance towards -the Chair. “Why, Mr. Speaker, the witch-doctors of U-Ba-Be,” you begin; -and you find that the Speaker, who has a legion of duties beyond -listening to the speeches, is in earnest conversation over the arm of -the Chair with one of the Whips, or perhaps is writing, or--and this is -so disconcerting as almost to petrify one with astonishment--he has -vacated the Chair to the Deputy-Speaker, who wearing neither wig nor -gown, is well-nigh invisible under the mighty canopy. In the dismay of -this paralysing discovery, your legs endeavour to collapse under you. -You nerve yourself for a prodigious effort, jettison the witch-doctors -into space, and endeavour to sweep into the peroration, so carefully -prepared on the subject of World Peace, adapted later to the Milk Bill, -and now, with suitable alterations, doing service on behalf of the -subject populations of the Empire. You get along very nicely for about -two minutes; you feel that you are taking the House into your arms; -you carefully avoid a second glance at the Chair, and look along the -benches, warming to your work. Alas! at that moment somebody laughs. -In all human probability his laughter had nothing to do with anything -you said. In a feverish effort to recall your words, for purposes of -correction, you lose the sequence of ideas, and the peroration follows -the witch-doctors into the limbo of forgotten things. You lamely thank -the House for its indulgence; and sit down covered with ignominy and -shame. - -Then, to your astonishment, other members turn round, and nod to -you--nods of approval. Somebody says “Well done.” Somebody else leans -forward, and pats you on the back. One of the leaders on the Front -Bench actually turns round and looks at you. The Whip who arranged for -your call offers words of congratulation. - -You congratulate yourself--on having got it over. - - - - -FRONT BENCHES AND BACK BENCHES - - -The Front Bench, which faces the Treasury Box, and is located on the -right of the Speaker’s Chair, is reserved for Ministers of the Crown. -The Front Opposition Bench, which is on the left of the Speaker’s -Chair and faces a similar box, is reserved for ex-Ministers and -Privy Councillors in opposition. What secrets of State these massive -brass-bound boxes contain, must be a source of anxious wonder to -everyone who attends a Debate and looks down upon them from one of the -Galleries. They look as though they are the very Holy of Holies of the -Constitution, the arcana in which repose the mystic foundations of our -greatness. You feel that, at least, they ought to contain Doomsday -Book, the original manuscript of Magna Carta, and the Declaration of -Rights. So massive and monumental is their appearance, so hallowed -their associations, that you would not be surprised to discover that -the special form of oath in the House of Commons was to swear “By the -Treasury Box!” as kings of old did swear _par le splendeur Dex_. - -Lovers of Stevenson will recall how, during his stay on the Island of -Apemama, having been afflicted by influenza, and when all Western -medicines had failed, he put himself in the hands of Tembinok’s Chief -Magician, who, by invoking the deity Chench, effected a miraculous -cure--so shaking the scepticism of Stevenson that he pursued -investigations with the magician, which culminated in the discovery -that Chench occupied a small wooden box in the Warlock’s house. -Insatiable in his desire to extend his theological knowledge, he -succeeded, after protracted bargaining, in acquiring the tenement of -the god, bore it home in triumph, found himself, like one of his own -characters in the story of the Bottle Imp, unable to resist the pangs -of curiosity, and, with who can guess what delicious anticipations of -the unknown, removed the lid--only to discover three cowrie shells -and a little piece of matting. Such are the disappointments of the -seeker after truth who should bring himself to open the Treasury boxes, -for one is empty and the other contains a cheaply bound and quite -unremarkable copy of the Bible and a couple of pieces of cardboard -bearing a certain family resemblance to that part of the paraphernalia -of the optician that he hangs on the wall to test your sight by--which -are, in fact, copies in large letters of the oath, the Scotch oath and -the Affirmation, required by law to be taken on signing the roll of -Parliament, and embodied in this form for the convenience of the Clerk -who administers them. - -But this is a digression from the Front and Back Benches. The two -members for the City of London, by some curious old survival, are -entitled to sit on the Front Bench of their party; but in practice, -since both Front Benches are notoriously insufficient to accommodate -all claimants to seats, this traditional right of the City members -is only exercised on the first day of a new Session, as who should -put a barrier once a year across a private road, to prevent the right -from lapsing. Nowadays with three large parties in the House, the -third headed by two ex-Prime Ministers and a number of distinguished -ex-Ministers and Privy Councillors, the front bench below the gangway, -on the right of the Speaker’s Chair, has, by the Speaker’s ruling, -become a Front Bench. Its opposite number on the left of the Chair -has no special status. By virtue of their office, the Whips sit on -the front benches of their respective parties. All the remainder of -the House constitutes the back benches, with the exception of the -Cross-benches--which, however, though actually within the Chamber, are, -by a fiction, outside the House, being behind the Bar. It follows that -a member may not address the House from the Cross-benches; but since, -by way of compensation, the Members’ Galleries on either side of the -House, though outside the Chamber, are, in fact, by a similar fiction, -inside the House, a member may, and in Mr. Pemberton Billing’s time -did, address the House from these lofty altitudes above it (if he is -so fortunate as to catch the Speaker’s eye), giving himself, in the -exercise of this privilege, the appearance of a contemplative passenger -leaning over the side of a ship. - -So much for the physical difference between the Front and Back Benches. -What of the Front and Back Benchers? The Front Bencher is the finished -product of the Parliamentary machine. He is, to the humble majority of -his fellows, what the members of those august and mystic societies, -like “Pop” at Eton, are reputed to be, to their less distinguished -brethren. A Front Bencher is, by tradition of the House, entitled to -catch the Speaker’s eye in preference to any Back Bencher. He need not -attend prayers: indeed, if he values the privileges of his order, he -will be careful never to attend prayers, but will saunter in to take -his place whilst the Speaker’s Chaplain is bowing his way backwards -down the floor of the House. He has the privilege of putting his feet -on the Table, a practice which he not infrequently carries into his -own home--to the mingled pride of his family and astonishment of his -friends. But if the position has these privileges to give, it has also -its responsibilities. Front Benchers must behave with decorum, and -that is more than is expected of anyone else. They are the Sixth Form -boys, and must set an example. - -The successful Back Bencher should approach his work in the spirit -of the Lower Third. Whilst he should not actually permit himself the -relaxation of practical joking, and would perhaps be called to order -if he shook a mouse out of his trouser leg, like “Pater” Winton in -Kipling’s story, he has within reasonable limits of good humour, an -ample licence to make sport. One well-known member of the House spends -the greater part of his Parliamentary time twisting order papers into -something between a spill and a spear, which he then ostentatiously -throws upon the floor, as though he feared to encounter the temptation -of continuing to hold them. Another is assiduous in the manufacture of -paper darts, which as yet have never been thrown. - -The experiences of other deliberative Assemblies have taught the House -of Commons that Back Benchers are not to be trusted with inkwells. -This is probably the reason why there is no provision for making -notes, except upon one’s knee. But a lot of quiet fun can be had out -of raising points of order that are not points of order, and by the -judicious organisation of a hum of conversation to drown an opponent’s -speech. Isolated interjections, if possible foreign to the subject of -the Debate, and Supplementary Questions bearing no relation whatever -to the original question, are also amongst the legitimate weapons -of the Back Benchers. And finally, there is the great Parliamentary -instrument, the use of which is almost entirely confined to Back -Benchers, of moving the Adjournment of the House. Where some luckless -Minister can be tripped up in answering a question, and it can be -made to appear that the answer reveals a state of affairs definite, -urgent and of public importance, the Speaker may be asked for leave to -move the adjournment. If leave be granted, the motion is made, and, -if supported by 40 members, is set down for discussion at 8.15 on the -same evening, irrespective of what business has been allotted to that -hour. This, in the hands of senior Back Benchers, can be turned to very -effective account. Junior Back Benchers are well advised to master the -use of the lesser Parliamentary weapons to begin with. - -In all seriousness, there is a noticeable difference between Front -and Back Benchers, noticeable whether you put Back Benchers on the -front benches or Front Benchers on the back benches. Thus, in the last -Parliament, Mr. Austen Chamberlain and Mr. Lloyd George, addressing -the House from back bench corner seats, contrived to present the -appearance of Gullivers amid Lilliputian surroundings--a phenomenon -largely attributable to the Front Bench manner. Some members of the -new Government (and one or two members of the last Government) who -have not yet attained to Front Bench dimensions, present an equally -astonishing contrast of the opposite kind. Their painfully unsuccessful -efforts to command attention are a source of dismay to their friends -and discomfort to their foes. The secret of successful Front Benchery -is heavy thinking, and a heavier form of expression. His chief weapon -is the polysyllable. A Back Bencher does best to study plain speech, -the simpler the better. He may enliven his argument with jest and -flippancy. He may controvert his opponent with a plain denial. - -Woe to the leader who makes a joke. “Pas de plaisanteries, Madame,” -observed a scandalised European monarch, to his jesting spouse: and -that is a safe rule for Front Benchers in Debate. If a man is dull -enough he can get almost anywhere, once he has reached the Front -Bench; but ah, how difficult are the demands upon those behind him! -The speeches which the House would fill to hear from the Front Bench, -would, with equal certainty, denude it of all occupants, if delivered -from behind. A Front Bench speech may run half an hour, three-quarters -of an hour, and even, in the case of the leaders, an hour. No Back -Bencher should speak for more than twenty minutes, and fifteen is -better. The Front Bench speech should be sonorous, well documented, -weighty, responsible--in fact, a pronouncement. The Back Bench speech -should be pithy, strictly to the point, not too serious, and, above -all, modest--in the nature of a tentative expression of opinion. - -Fortunately Front Benchers are not always dull--though they do their -best. And Back Benchers as a rule are far from modest. - -For a consequence the proceedings often provide such a feast of good -fun, that successive Chancellors of the Exchequer have only narrowly -resisted the imposition of an Entertainment Tax. This would be fair -enough, if substantial compensation were payable for enduring the -agonies of devastating boredom entailed by sitting through, for -instance, some of the Scot---- - -Hush! There are too many Members of that virile race, for such remarks -to be altogether wise. - - - - -“ORDER, ORDER” - - -In other lands they manage things differently. The President of the -Lower House is enthroned on a majestic dais, at the head of a steep -flight of steps; the Tribune, from which speeches are made, is beneath -him; and he could, if he wished, bring the orator to reason, or, if -need be, to the conclusion of his discourse, by a few steadying taps on -the head with the ivory mallet which (auctioneer-wise) is his normal -instrument for obtaining order. The mallet is reinforced by a large -muffin bell, which, in times of distress, the President rings. And his -final means of expressing disapproval is to put on his hat--a custom -which perhaps furnishes us with the source of the jolly old folk tale, -recorded in _Grimm_, of the King who used to suppress insurrections by -pulling down his hat over his eyes, whereby cannons were fired off in -all directions. This picturesque ceremonial, far more imposing than -the procedure of the House of Commons, is also less effective for -the maintenance of order. In the course of really closely reasoned -arguments, in those less reticent assemblies, inkwells have been known -to fly, the members have been kept from each other’s throats only by -the intervention of the sabre-girt attendants, and the very citadel of -the President himself has been beset; whereat, jangling his bell with -one hand, and repulsing his assailants with a ruler in the other, he -has resolutely maintained his hat upon his head, in testimony of the -fact that, legally speaking and despite “the tumult and the shouting,” -the _séance_ has long been at an end. - -But in the House of Commons the powers of the Speaker are -satisfactorily real; not only has he temporary jurisdiction over all -persons within the precincts of the Palace, he has also unassailable -power to deal with the members. He is himself both a member and -something more than a member. He is chosen by the vote of the House; -and, once approved by the King, is vested with supreme authority in -the management of the Commons. Should a point of procedure arise, his -decision is final. Should a question be put of which he disapproves -he may disallow it. Should a member say that which, in the Speaker’s -opinion, should not have been said, he may order the member to -withdraw. Should his ruling be disobeyed he may send a member out of -the Chamber. Should the defiance be persisted in, he may suspend the -member from the service of the House, whereafter that member may not be -admitted to the precincts, until, by resolution, the House itself has -terminated his suspension. Yet the Speaker, omnipotent though he seems, -is also the servant of the House. It was instructive not long ago -to hear Speaker Whitley define his powers, in relation to the Crown, -almost in the very words used by Speaker Lenthall, well-nigh three -hundred years before: “For myself I think my reply must be that I have -no tongue to speak in this place, but as the House is pleased to direct -me.” - -It must not, however, be supposed that the Speaker exercises his -functions of authority harshly. His principal weapon, in fact, is -a kind of awful benignity. It is doubtful if there has ever been -a Speaker of the House of Commons who maintained his position by -severity; indeed, the House of Commons, which is far from being the -unintelligent assembly one might suppose, if one judged by the Press, -would never choose a person with whom there was the slightest risk -of friction; for the House is very jealous of the rights of members. -An indication of the kind of results that might be produced by an -assumption of too pedagogic a heaviness, on the part of the Chair, was -given in the Debate on the Army and Air Force Annual Bill in the last -Parliament. In the early hours of the morning, after a trying all-night -sitting, Sir Frederick Banbury, who was temporarily in the Chair, -raised his voice a little beyond the pitch of good humour in calling -to order Mr. Lansbury, who was addressing the House, whereat the -latter bluffly retorted: “You must not shout at me. Order yourself.” -Strictly speaking, Mr. Lansbury was out of order in making this retort. -He should have deferred to the ruling of the temporary Chairman, and, -if necessary, raised the matter with the Speaker after questions on -the following day. But there has never been in modern times a member -so jealous of the privileges of the House as Sir Frederick Banbury. -He realised that tempers, his own perhaps included, had worn a little -frayed during the sitting; and therefore, contenting himself by -reminding the offender that he must not challenge the decisions of the -Chair, he dexterously shepherded the discussion into safer channels. - -Speaker Whitley keeps order by an unbroken suavity of manner, a great -sense of fair play and a wise lenience towards faults committed in -error, from which it will be seen that his hold upon the House is very -largely due to the feelings of personal affection, in addition to -natural respect and loyalty, with which he is regarded by all members, -even the most junior. He is quite capable of administering a rebuke, -but he prefers to conquer by gentleness: that is his peculiar quality. -With Speaker Lowther it was a keen sense of humour and, if necessary, -a blasting and ironic wit, that gave him his ascendancy. This is not -to say that Speaker Whitley is always grave; far from it. His rulings -are most often touched with humour. But it is a quiet, gentle humour, -like the man himself--the humour of a serious man, not the _esprit_ of -a wit. With Mr. Speaker Peel the governing factor was a tremendous, -awe-inspiring dignity--something of the same kind as that traditionally -ascribed to Dr. Arnold of Rugby School. - -It must not, indeed, be imagined that the House of Commons never gets -out of hand: nor must it be imagined that the House of Commons has -only got out of hand since the Labour Party grew large. The House of -Commons must always have been a troublesome body. “Scenes” in the House -have taken place right back to the days of Oliver Cromwell; indeed, -Mr. Drinkwater in his play gave a vivid representation of a scene in -the House in those days. The very carpets on the floor are eloquent of -what took place in former times; for the red line, down the outer edge -of the strip that borders the front benches, is no less than a warning -to members that, in speaking, they must not put their feet beyond it, -on pain of being “out of order”: and the purpose of this rule is to -keep them from engaging each other with their swords instead of their -tongues in the heat of Debate! There were scenes in the House, constant -scenes, in the old Reform Bill days and in the old Irish days. Mr. -T. P. O’Connor still tells the dramatic story of the expulsion of -Bradlaugh, and equally dramatic stories of the bodily removal of -Irish members. Mr. Lloyd George himself has stories of suspension to -tell. There were scenes in Parliament just before the war--when, for -instance, Mr. McNeill threw a book at Mr. Churchill. There were scenes -in the last Parliament, as when the four Labour members were suspended, -and on other occasions. There will inevitably be scenes in the present -Parliament; and it is safe to say that scenes will take place so long -as the Commons shall survive. - -But whereas in other countries, despite the muffin bell and the -top hat, the President cannot avoid being drawn in, in the Mother -of Parliaments the Speaker is something more than a restraining -influence, he is the embodiment of law and order. He has behind him -for the suppression of disorder the whole power of the State. He could -fill the House of Commons with police, and suppress disorder of any -magnitude; and if such an occasion arose, and threatened, as it would, -our whole Parliamentary institution, the Speaker for the time being -would unhesitatingly do so. But that situation will hardly arise. We -do most things in this country in the spirit in which we play our -games. Members know that, if they transgress the rules beyond a -certain point, they will be suspended. They know that when suspended -the Speaker will sign to the Sergeant-at-Arms and the Sergeant-at-Arms, -advancing up the floor of the House, will require them to leave the -Chamber. And because it is part of the rules of the game that they must -do so, they will do so, in the same spirit as they would accept the -decision of the umpire in a cricket match. So much for individuals. And -if a party--which happened once in the last Parliament--as an organised -whole, were to make business impossible by concerted noise, the Speaker -has yet another weapon in his armoury. Under Standing Order he may, “in -view of grave disorder,” adjourn the House “without question put,” and -give the forces of reason time to reassert themselves. - -How undramatic! Yes. But the whole point about the Speaker is that he -is not a Loud-Speaker. - - - - -LORDS AND COMMONS - - -Though housed in the same building, though separated by a mere matter -of yards of stone-flagged corridor and lobby, no two assemblies more -essentially different in character, than the House of Commons and the -House of Peers, could easily be imagined. They exist, it is true, for -legislative purposes, the one being complementary to the other; but -when that has been said not many points of similarity remain. The -Speaker of the Commons is enthroned in a majestic canopied chair, -dominating the Assembly over which he rules; the Lord Chancellor, -who presides over the proceedings of the House of Lords, squats on a -monstrous crimson cushion, like a feather-bed gone mad, facing a yet -more monstrous crimson cushion upon which, on occasions of State, -His Majesty’s Judges sit back to back, reproducing that obsolete -formation, the hollow square, with which we won the battle of -Waterloo. The Speaker of the Commons is so called because he so seldom -speaks--because, indeed, he is the only member of the House who may -not speak, except as the House directs him. The Lord Chancellor, on -the other hand, may, and habitually does, indulge in any flights of -dithyrambic eloquence that happen to surge out of his teeming brain; -and, though, unlike the Speaker, it does not lie with him to determine -the order in which Noble Lords shall address the House, he might, if he -chose, monopolise the whole time with his own speeches. Indeed, when -Lord Birkenhead was Chancellor such a happening was not regarded as.... - -Fortunately, no such proceeding is possible in the House of Commons, -or, with a series of stunning reports, Mr. Pringle, Commander Kenworthy -and Mr. David Kirkwood would explode from suppressed mortification; -and there are others whose peace of mind would be seriously impaired. -But in the House of Lords they are only too anxious to avoid speaking; -indeed, the difficulty usually seems to be, to overcome the natural -reluctance of Noble Lords to allow their voices to be heard, in that -rarefied atmosphere, before they have reached the years of threescore -and ten, laid down by the Psalmist as the normal span of mankind. - -In such circumstances of difference what wonder that each House regards -the other as a sort of _lusus naturæ_, a freak, a giant pumpkin? This -sense of strangeness finds the extreme of its expression, in the House -of Commons, in such outbursts as Mr. Jack Jones’s bitter expostulation -against “those marionettes,” on the occasion when the Commons were -sent for by the Lords to hear a Commission read, and found in the -Gilded Chamber five Lords Commissioners resplendent in robes, seated in -line; a solitary Back Bench Bishop, and one very junior Peer, probably -a mere Baron, who, having wandered in by mistake, sought to efface -himself under the lee of Black Rod’s box. “That,” said Mr. Jack Jones -bitterly, “is what they think of _Us_.” Indeed, a chilling disdain is -the chief characteristic of the public attitude of the Upper towards -the Lower House--as for instance when the latter, in a new Parliament, -are haughtily bidden to “repair to the place where you are to sit,” -as though they were fowls, “and proceed to the choice of some proper -person to be your Speaker,” as though, without that admonition, they -would choose somebody from the neighbourhood of Leicester Square. This -well-bred contempt is repaid, in the Commons, by veiled references to -“another place.” On this exchange of courtesies, the Peers seem to -come off best; though, when it comes to practicalities, the positions -are reversed, as any student of the Parliament Act knows only too -well--little now remaining to the Peers of their former legislative -glory. - -They get it back upon the faithful Commons, in virtue of their position -in the Constitution as the Supreme Judicial Tribunal of the kingdom, -whereby it follows that, if, under the Parliament Act, they cannot -oppose indefinitely the legislative will of the Commons, they can to -some small extent indemnify themselves, in their capacity of final -interpretative authority, after the legislation has been passed. In -practice they delegate this function to the Law Lords, five of whom, -seated on the red benches with rickety desks in front of them, spend -interminable mornings appraising subtle and circumlocutory arguments -addressed to them from the Bar of the House by learned Counsel, -standing at a kind of lectern, and surrounded by their fellows eager -to propound distinctions. There is, however, nothing to prevent any -Noble Lord so minded from partaking in this intellectual feast. Indeed, -a legend obtains of a sturdy independent Peer, jealous of what would -be called in the House of Commons “private members’ rights,” who, -for years, insisted on attending, on these occasions, and delivering -himself of ponderous allocutions of which no one present, himself -least of all, understood one word of the meaning. It says much for the -self-restraint of our Hereditary Nobles that his example has not been -followed in modern times--though with Sir Frederick Banbury elevated to -the Peerage one can never be quite sure. - -The House of Lords, in short, is a living example of the utility of the -unworkable, the practicality of the impracticable, and the incredible -sanity of the British Constitution. By all the rules of the game, in -a Chamber composed of more than 600 people, fully half of whom have -no serious political interests, governed apparently by no rules of -procedure, and held in check, in fact, by nothing except tradition, the -proceedings might be expected to be those of a disorderly rabble. In -fact, 80 members is a good attendance, and 50 is nearer the average. -The speeches are as a rule so closely reasoned, so admirably informed -and of such excellence of style, as to be a source of never-ending envy -to members of the Commons. Such a thing as a “constituency” speech is, -of course, unknown. There are no “dockyard” members. Nothing need be -said with a view to a general election. Nor can a member of the Upper -Chamber be imagined making a speech, for the sake of speaking. It is -not exactly an inviting atmosphere for such an undertaking. Imagine -yourself standing up to address a huge and almost empty chamber, -furnished with crimson benches, and tenanted by a smattering of elderly -gentlemen all staring with polite fixity at their boots. It really -looks as though this undemocratic and almost atavistic body, despite -all its anomalies, was in practice something of an example to its -elective fellow-House, both in the expeditious transaction of business -and in the orderliness of its proceedings. Their very method of voting -is indicative of their critical keenness, their impatience with the -institutions of this world, their determination to be satisfied with -nothing less than perfection. The form of the vote is not, as in the -Commons, “Aye” and “No,” but “Content” and “Not Content.” - -Usually they are not content. - - - - -IRREVERENT INTERVIEWS AND OTHER IRRELEVANCES - - - - -WITH LORD BALFOUR AT THE WASHINGTON CONFERENCE - - -He received me with exquisite courtesy, waved me into a chair, sank -into another himself, and sat, with folded hands and an expression -compounded of saintly refinement and dignified composure, regarding me -gravely through limpid, untroubled eyes, protected from the tarnishing -realities of the world by horn-rimmed spectacles. His silky, white hair -gleamed softly in the half-light. His moustache reposed over a mouth -touched with wistful sadness, but serene and courageous. Rarely have -I seen anything more placid and self-possessed. But he had his small -irritations. I was one of them. - -“Yes,” he began, with the faintest air of hesitation, “yes. It’s -good of you to have come--er. Er--most obliging, I’m sure. It’s a -pity they didn’t tell me about it. You see, I’d already arranged.... -Yes--(_really troubled_)--most unfortunate! (_Brightening._) We might -walk a little way together. (_Troubled again._) But perhaps that -wouldn’t suit you--no. It would? That’s very lucky. Shall we go now?... -They’ll give me a hat, I suppose?...” - -We found ourselves walking down a prodigious staircase, and I heard -him say, “Extraordinary buildings these American hotels! I always -wonder on what principle they’re constructed. The groining of the roof, -for instance....” Well, to be truthful, I’m not really sure that he -said “groining,” for my mind (I confess it with shame) was wandering -speculatively among the mysterious “them” by whom all great men are -surrounded. “They” are always lurking in the background. “They” do all -the interesting things; but when some really unpleasant job comes along -“they” always work it off on “him.” You can picture “them” planning out -the day. “Now,” they say, “there’s your speech on the Irish question, -your report for the League of Nations, the article you promised to -write for the _Hibbert Journal_, new socks and ties, another hat, and -that awful check waistcoat you bought to be exchanged for something -quieter. We’ll do all that. Then there’s the christening of the Infant -Princess Vodkha, and General Thing’s funeral. You’d better take those. -They’re very important. Oh, and there’s the Pilgrims’ dinner in the -evening. You can go to that, too. Mind you say nothing in your speech -that we shall be sorry for afterwards.” I should like to be one of -“them,” and feel that I was really pulling my weight in the country. - -That, roughly, was the train of my thoughts, when I remembered that -an interviewer’s business is to interview and not to acquiesce in -excursions into the by-paths of architecture. “They” would never allow -that. - -“--and I’ve wondered sometimes,” he was saying, “whether the cantilever -had anything to do with it. But--but, no doubt, you can tell me that.” - -“I can,” I said, “but it would take too long to explain. Besides, the -public expects me to put my few moments with you to a better purpose -than discussing mechanics. The world is expecting a new era to date -from the Washington Conference; and, as the chief British delegate----” - -“The trouble with the world,” he replied, “is that it is perpetually -expecting the millennium. They expected it after the Congress of -Berlin. They expected it to emerge from the Hague Peace Conference, -and they got the Great War! They expected a new Heaven and a new Earth -out of the Peace Treaty; they got the League of Nations, which was an -enormous step forward. And because the League hasn’t revolutionised -humanity, because in the space of two years it hasn’t yet effectively -counter-checked all the instincts and passions which man has inherited -from the anthropoid ape, they brand it as a failure--or, at best, a -half success--and turn their eyes to Washington; and if we should not -be able (and who can predict that we shall be able?) to realise all the -passionate hopes and aspirations in their hearts, they’ll turn away -from our work in despair (however useful and practical it may be), -and they’ll go on staring into the future, straining their sight in -search of changes, that, by their very nature, are not to be perceived; -and, because they cannot watch a kind of sensational picture-drama -of evolution unfolding before their eyes, they will condemn each -progressive step as a futility.” - -“Now, in this particular case,” I began, for he had paused dreamily. - -“I have always had warm feelings for America,” he continued, -inconsequently as it seemed; “indeed, some of my earliest public -speeches were devoted--Yes? Were you about to say anything?--were -devoted to pleading for what one might call a Pax Anglo-Americana, as -something wider than the Pax Britannica, and as a step towards--a step -towards some better understanding between the various states of the -world.” - -I sought to pin him down. “And is that your expectation of the outcome -of this Conference?” - -“I see no reason why one should not hope, and ... and, indeed, there -seems to me every reason for believing, that our ... our discussions -and conversations will reveal sufficient of our respective points of -view to serve as a basis for future negotiations, and possibly to give -a broad indication of the lines upon which a general agreement might -ultimately be reached.” - -I changed front swiftly. “You were in the United States in 1917?” - -“In 1917, yes.” - -“Do you notice many changes?” - -“I can’t help feeling that there is a certain popular aridity which, I -should have said, was conspicuously absent on the occasion of my last -visit. Naturally, during a war, public opinion tends to be exuberant -and ... and, indeed, at times fluid----” - -“Then you think the political atmosphere of America has become -noticeably drier?” - -“I think you must not ask me to discuss the politics of a friendly -Power within ... within the confines of that Power. Or, indeed, you may -ask, of course, but I feel it would be improper to answer.” - -I flung myself upon him from another angle. - -“People in England cannot help wondering what effect Mr. Hara’s -assassination will have on the Conference.” - -“I have always thought,” he replied, after a pause, “that in a society -so constituted as ours, it is impossible that such an incident--or, or, -indeed, any incident--should be devoid of effect and significance.” - -“It might prejudice the issue?” - -“Conceivably. Or, on the other hand, in certain circumstances, by -drawing attention to what is called the War Party in Japan--if such a -party exists, as to which I say nothing--it might, in the long run, -exercise quite the opposite influence.” - -I tried a more direct approach. “Might I ask what will be the policy of -the British Delegation?” - -“Certainly. The policy of the British Delegation, subject to the -approval of His Majesty’s Government, will be that decided upon, after -due deliberation, by the Chief Delegate in consultation with his -colleagues.” - -We walked on a few yards in silence--I struggling to frame a question -that he could not evade, he with his eyes on the horizon and his -thoughts (I imagine) in another planet. To relieve my evident distress, -he said at last, “Would you like me to say anything further?” - -I threw diplomacy to the winds and faced him with savage determination. -I said to myself that I would not be trifled with. - -“Sir,” I cried, “we have talked for half an hour. I think I know less -of your thoughts on this subject now than before we began. In the name -of the publicity for which I have heard you appeal in the League of -Nations, say something specific of your hopes and fears, something to -which posterity may point a finger, saying, ‘Here was a statesman with -vision. He _knew_.’” - -“That,” he replied with gentle gravity, “is a little difficult. -Er--as ... as you know, I am always unwilling to assume the _rôle_ of -prophet. Indeed, I am not prepared to say that in the scheme of things -as I understand it--and using ... using the word in the sense that is -customary to me--that such a thing as a prophecy has any existence at -all. But I feel--yes, I feel the necessity which you have urged upon me -with--er--with--er ... so eloquently; and I am above all things--and at -all times--desirous of affording such proper information as the public -ought to receive, upon such a topic as our present Conference, to those -whose ... whose work it is to--to disseminate--er--such information. -I see no harm, therefore, in acceding to your request, at the same -time making it clear that, since these issues are momentous and easily -imperilled, you must observe the ... the greatest discretion in any -use--er--in any use to which you may put my words.” - -Overpowered at the apparent success of my appeal to his better -feelings, I could only bow my thanks. The veteran statesman veiled his -eyes with their tired lids and seemed to ponder. - -“Well,” he said at last, “subject to what I have already stated, I see -no reason why I should not say that the Outlook is not ... is not as -bad as it might be. And now--yes, this is where I must leave you. It -has been a great pleasure to speak so frankly; and I know you will be -discreet. Good-bye.” - -And then he left me and strolled on his way with serene detachment. But -whether the “Outlook” to which he referred was the paper of that name, -or the prospect before the Washington Conference, those who have read -so far are as well able to judge as I. - - - - -WITH MONSIEUR BRIAND AFTER THE WASHINGTON CONFERENCE - - -The great liner warped into the quay. Hushed expectation poised itself -over the multitude. A dumpy figure, almost incredibly small against the -vastness of the ship, appeared at the head of the accommodation ladder, -and waddled slowly down the side, followed, at a respectful distance, -by obsequious midgets. It approached nearer, resolving itself into -a small round-shouldered man with a heavy, pale face, distinguished -eyebrows and prodigious moustaches. His eyes were grey and meditative; -his hair a shaggy, black mane, bursting irrepressibly from under his -hat. He strode ashore, and prostrated himself on the soil of his -beloved country. - -“_Ah, la patrie_,” he cried in his thrilling, resonant voice, rising -from his knees as he spoke, and lifting his right hand in solemn -invocation. “Ah, my country, thy faithful Aristide, thy humble servitor -salutes thee. He returns, inflated with no Imperialism, but none the -less from the depths of his heart proud to have upheld, in thy name, -before all the assembled conscience of mankind, those principles of -liberty, those imperishable ideals of justice, of international comity -and brotherhood, that fine spirit of self-abnegation in which it has -ever been the boast of France to lead the world. Oh, liberty, what -sacrifice would we not willingly offer in thy behalf? Oh, freedom, -where is thy source if not in France? Oh, humanity----” - -I tapped him on the shoulder. - -“I’ve been waiting for you,” I said. - -“_Vous dites, M’sieur?_” he asked indignantly. - -“I’ve been waiting for you,” I repeated sternly. “What do I hear -that you’ve been saying in Washington about British warships and -sardine-hunting, French submarines and botanical expeditions, and the -unknown X?” - -He showed his teeth in a grim smile. - -“The unknown X? _Qu’est-ce que c’est ça? M’sieur veut dire peut-être -‘La femme X’?_” - -“No evasions,” I warned him. “I am here in the interests of the British -public. They are pained, Monsieur, pained! They know nothing of -international politics, and very little about politicians--even their -own. But they know that, in their quiet way, they’ve grown to be fond -of your people. They see that you misunderstand them. And it hurts them -to think that the Entente Cordiale----” - -He flicked his fingers impatiently. - -“_L’entente cordiale! Ah, M’sieu, l’entente cordiale!_ ... Are you -understanding French?” - -“Not noticeably,” I confessed. - -“_Alors!_ Well, I shall tell you in English.... What is it, this -Entente Cordiale? _Hein?_ An understanding of friends, _n’est ce pas_? -What the Americans call a ‘gentleman’s agreement.’ You make it because -you trust so much, that you will not care to have a Treaty. Well, -then, but you must trust your _vis-à-vis_. You must not put all the -bad construction on his doing. Not even a Treaty will stand that. You -cannot have Entente, and then go on nag, nag, nag, like an old peasant -woman with the toothache. Oh, it is impossible, _M’sieu_, impossible!” - -“Angora?” I hinted. - -“Angora....” He shrugged bluffly. “Well, yes, Angora. That is, perhaps, -a pity. We are--we are in the soup with Angora.” He passed it off with -a disarming grin. “But, _après tout_, what can you expect of Bouillon? -We shall settle all that.... And it is not Angora that threaten our -Entente, M’sieu. Ah, no! That is a small thing. A few Kemalist do not -imperil Anglo-French relations. Pouf!...” - -His face grew troubled and sad. - -“M’sieu, you know perfectly. It is Germany. Yes. You talk a lot of -the separate peace with Turkey. In the letter that is so; but in the -spirit you make a separate peace with Germany. Oh, yes. This is not -epigram--it is truth. Germany, she does not intend to pay. Perhaps -she cannot pay. I do not know. It is possible she cannot; but you in -England pretend to her that she _cannot_ pay and to us that she _will_ -pay. _Ménager la chèvre et le chou!_ Is that entente cordiale?...” - -“You see,” I endeavoured to explain, “this is a subject on which -there are two views in England. One side holds that Germany can pay -something--the precise sum varies according to the knowledge and -dispassion of the thinker. The other party contends that she can pay -nothing at all--that it would be wiser in the general interest of -Europe to cancel the whole debt; and that view, not widely held, is -gaining ground----” - -“At the expense of France,” he interjected sharply. “Yes. Not at your -expense, my generous friend, but at the expense of France.” - -“That,” I answered, “is partly true; but not entirely true. Viewed in -its immediate context, it may be so; but taken in perspective, the -trade revival in Germany----” - -“Ah,” he cried, “_Ah, ça, M’sieu!_ The trade revival in Germany. -And then, _M’sieu_, and then? The political revival of Germany. The -military revival of Germany. The German hegemony. Mittel Europa. -_Merci, M’sieu!_ And France, what of France?” - -“France,” I began, “is a member of the League of Nations.” - -“And Germany,” he replied, “is not. And America is not. And Russia, -with her army of two millions, is not. Thank you for your League of -Nations, _M’sieu_. What will it be in ten years? Perhaps the great -co-ordinating harmoniser of the whole world. Perhaps not. What is -America wishing since I leave Washington. They will have a new League, -with no Covenant. _C’est à dire_ nothing that binds--nothing that give -security to such as France. Just a lot of amiable pleasantry, that -you interpret as you please. Much of your Press are support them. Do -that give confidence to France?... First we are to have the Tripartite -Treaty--England, America, France. Then that is not ratify. And our -English friends say, ‘Never mind. You have it all in Article 10. The -League of Nations will protect you.’ Now, perhaps, the League will -follow the Tripartite Treaty. Oh, yes, I know they say the Association -will be side by side with the League. But how can you have that? It is -a rival system. They say it will be found upon The Hague Tribunal. Then -what comes to the International Court? It is to make of international -politics a kind of _bouillabaisse_.... _Non, M’sieu!_ I am head of a -Government. I am responsible to a nation. Do you seriously advise me to -trust in the League of Nations?” - -“I advise you,” I answered, “to trust more in ideas, and less in -things. Ideas let loose in the world cannot be destroyed. The League of -Nations is an idea--not an office at Geneva. Civilisation is an idea; -religion is an idea. What banded the nations together for the Great -War? The strength of an idea.” - -“Self-preservation,” he muttered, cynically. - -“_Monsieur le Président_, that is unworthy.” (He bowed ironically at -the rebuke.) “It is the contemptible argument of the materialist. What -drew our young men to fight in 1914? Self-preservation. Never! I doubt -if half of them knew the meaning of it. It was the conviction that an -evil thing was being done, and the belief that it was their duty to -prevent it.” - -“Some of your Statesmen,” he continued, as if my remark had not -been made, “are so kind as to teach my Government his business. -They stand up in public and lecture us, warn us. Italy go wild with -rage, because some lying journalist attribute to me what I have not -said. England and America link arms and get drunk on formulas of -disarmament, that perhaps mean nothing in the light of science to-day. -Japan disguise herself as a mandarin and go behind the scenes in -China ... and Germany and Russia look on with sardonic satisfaction -to see the isolation of France, and prepare for the next ‘Day’! -That give one great encouragement to disarm. And all the time to be -uncertain--uncertain of one’s friends.... You say your people, they -have love for France. _Ma foi_, they take a strange method to show -it!... I do not understand. No, I do not understand.” - -“Must one,” I asked him, “must one always understand? Cannot one have -faith in a friendship, tried and proved?” - -“You say to have faith,” he mused. “Yes, but that is not so easy. For -every belief there must be a foundation--the rock on which the Church -is build. Where is my rock?” - -“The English dead,” I murmured. - -His voice suddenly softened. - -“_Ah, M’sieu_, those dead. I was forgetting.... We have all lived -at so much pressure since the Peace, that we forget too often the -fundamentals. We live for so many such strenuous years steeped in -sentiment, that now we have a reaction.... Those dead in their quiet -graves in the North of France--sleeping there till the end of time. - -“Yes. We have been too impatient, and we say things that we do not -mean. It is not only here in France; your Ministers, too, have been at -fault. But, _au fond_, it means nothing. - -“Listen. I shall tell you. Let us speak no more of _L’Entente -Cordiale_. It is a phrase of politicians and tradesmen. We shall say -in future _La Grande Amitié_. It shall be--it is--a great love between -two peoples, sanctified in a bitter struggle for a common aim.... I am -glad to have talked with you, _M’sieu_. Perhaps our conversation can be -having good results. - -“Do not be too hasty with us. Remember, France have much to fear on the -Continent. If we do what seem to you wrong, then be patient. It is not -perversity, always.” - -He clambered into the car that waited, and drove away through the -cheering ranks of his fellow-countrymen.... - -And I wondered. - - - - -WITH MR. LLOYD GEORGE DURING HIS PREMIERSHIP - - -“... And which of us,” he said, smiling at me over the breakfast table, -“which of us do you wish to see?” - -I murmured that I did not understand--er.... - -“A friend of yours writing in the press,” he explained drily, “has been -good enough to find in me a second Jekyll and Hyde. Very well. With -which of us do you wish to talk--Lloyd Jekyll or Hyde George?” - -“Which,” I asked cautiously, “is which?” - -“Both,” he replied, “are Me. Your friend misconceives the situation. -He attributes all my political mistakes and failures to Hyde; and the -successes I attain to Jekyll. But the truth is that between them they -have always pulled me this way and that; and most of my actions are a -compromise between their conflicting injunctions. Hyde is still the -shrewd Welsh solicitor, who sharpened his wits from morning to night, -that Jekyll might have his opportunity. Jekyll is still the idealist -who dreamt in his youth of Welsh Home Rule; who upheld the Boers in -his middle age because of the nobility of their struggle against -overwhelming odds; and now in the fullness of maturity has conferred -upon Ireland the freedom she has sought for centuries.” - -“But----” I interjected. - -He waved me aside. An inspiration had mastered him. - -“The clouds of despair,” he chanted, “were gathered over our heads. -They menaced our security, they threatened our national safety. No -avenue of peace has been left unexplored.... The helmsman stands stark -and firm, on the crosstrees. The ship of State lurches perilously on -the ocean. The captain cons the passage with anxious eyes, the binnacle -clasped in his hand, his belaying-pin beside him. Mountainous billows -tower above us. The hour is dark. The time is nigh. Shipwreck, despite -all our efforts, appears inevitable.... But faith, like a little child, -steals in with the dawn; and the splendour of the sunlight, bursting -upon the immemorial hills, floods the valleys with limpid rapture, -and bathes all nature in joy unspeakable. The sheep frolic around the -homestead. The housewife plies her needle with diligent care. And -the ship of State, with its lonely pilot, worn but triumphant on the -forecastle, glides in safety into the appointed harbour----” - -“This,” I protested, “is not an Eisteddfodd,” but he ignored me. - -“The tempest,” he continued, “the tempest will abate; the watchers will -come down upon the shore with gladness in their hearts; and the golden -glory of my native hills will shine in the souls of men, leading them -upward, and ever toward the light.” - -A galvanic sweep of the arms brought this whirlwind of speech to a -conclusion. A dish of eggs and bacon abruptly clattered on the floor. -He pushed the muffins towards me, and refilled his teacup. - -“Hyde has been trying to persuade me for some time,” he began, leaning -forward confidentially, “to go to the country on the Irish issue. A -far stronger rallying cry than ‘Hang the Kaiser!’ and ‘Search their -pockets!’ Better even than the ‘Land fit for heroes’ and the ‘Bulging -corn-bins.’ It would have been quite easy, you know, to break off -negotiations on the question of allegiance. From the point of view of -expediency there was a lot to be said for it. It might have swept the -country. But Jekyll refused. I think he was right. - -“All the same, Hyde’s a shrewd fellow. He sees in a flash what can -be turned to good account. He prides himself on knowing what the -public wants; and he makes me give it to them. My speech just now, -for instance, would have been immensely successful in the House of -Commons.... It--er--it didn’t seem to appeal to you.” - -“It reminded me,” I replied, “if I may say so without offence, of your -Christmas message to the _Lloyd George Liberal Magazine_.” - -“Ah!” he exclaimed, “another of Hyde’s activities. You read the -magazine, then?” - -“Not often,” I answered. - -“I am afraid,” he said, “I am afraid you found my message wanting in -literary flavour.” - -“On the contrary, I should say its flavour was almost too pronounced.” - -He smiled ruefully. - -“Well,” he said, “you may be right--though personally I thought one or -two passages rather fine. But, of course, Hyde ... the truth is, the -fellow has an unerring flair for political situations; and he’s always -bringing forward these highly flavoured sentiments and fathering them -on to me, on the plea that they’re what the public wants. And the worst -of it is, he’s right. The public likes that kind of thing.” - -“Not the intelligent public,” I remonstrated. - -“I don’t know what you mean by that. If you mean the _intelligentsia_, -they don’t count politically.... Suppose my Government fell, what would -happen? There’d be a General Election--in which I’m afraid Hyde George -would come to the front--which I might lose. Another Government would -replace me--perhaps Edward Grey and Bob Cecil. And then? One of two -things. Either they’d carry on in the same quiet, undistinguished and -often shifty manner, as I do, balancing one interest against another, -and being satisfied with the occasional inch of progress that one makes -from time to time; or they’d launch out in an ambitious way, and the -conflicting interests of modern society would crush them in six months.” - -“Surely,” I said, “government in accordance with principle----” - -“The fundamental principle of Government,” he interrupted, “is -reputed to be the consent of the governed. But one is not always -dealing with first principles; and for practical purposes one of the -most indispensable things is the goodwill of the Press. The Press -is controlled by capital interests. That is a consideration. The -organisation of Labour is another consideration--powerful, though less -powerful than formerly. There is the Entente with France to maintain, -without going so far to maintain it as will offend large numbers of -people here. There is an understanding to keep with America, and -an Alliance to modify with Japan. There is a part to be played in -the League of Nations, and that must often inevitably conflict with -the cordiality of this country’s relations with certain countries, -that are doing us no harm but are misconducting their relations with -other countries--instances abound. There is the question of raising -revenue--who is to contribute; in what proportions; how? Every -decision you make on any detail of these subjects, is going to hit -somebody hard in the pocket, perhaps turn him out of employment.... And -you talk of principles like a professor of mathematics considering the -functions of π. I get so tired of this unpractical nonsense. That’s -why I can’t get on with Bob Cecil. It’s a thousand pities; for if only -he’d recognise these things and take his head out of the clouds, he’d -be invaluable at the Foreign Office.... But to hear him talk, anyone -would think, not only that my Government was a set of ill-balanced, -self-seeking opportunists, inaccessible to any consideration except -their own profit, but that what he calls honest government was as -simple as beggar-my-neighbour.” - -“You know, sir,” I interjected deferentially, “some people can’t help -feeling that a little more adherence to principle in dealing with -Ireland would have saved----” - -“My dear young friend,” he said in a pitying tone, “have you ever -studied the Irish question divorced from the rhodomontade of Ulster, -and the hysteria of the South? If you have, you’ll see that there’s -right--a lot of it--on both sides. It would have been easy enough to -apply a catchpenny solution to Ireland--that’s what we’ve been doing -for generations, as each successive crisis occurred. Any twopenny -Tory demagogue can denounce me for not giving Ireland another taste -of Cromwell. But can you see British troops engaged in the process? -Any paltry crank can storm at my want of faith in not giving them a -Republic long ago; but can you see this country acquiescing in the -Balkanisation of the British Isles? And can you see the outside world -welcoming the creation of another small State in Europe?... You’ve got -to come to solutions slowly in these matters; and the only principle -that counts, is the preservation of the Commonwealth of Nations to -which we belong.” - -“And have you preserved that by your settlement?” I asked him. - -“It depends,” he said gravely, “on the spirit in which it is carried -out. If neither party in Ireland can agree, and if they will not be -reconciled to us, then we have achieved nothing. But if,” his voice -grew in volume, “if there is a purpose in life; and if great trust -breeds great trust, as I believe; and if faith and hope are more than -words to humanity, and direct our thoughts and inspire our bravest -acts; then, surely, this work will endure.” - -He raised his hand, solemnly. - -“Sir,” I said, “I have travelled much in our Empire. The Dominions are -my second home. Are they to be Dominions still? Or, if they claim it, -are they to become Free States also?” - -“It is a Dominion status,” he replied. “The name does not matter.” - -“Are you sure?” - -“The real tie,” he answered, “must be one of loyalty and love. It is a -small matter how the thing is called: and if those qualities are absent -you will not better it by the name of Dominion.... - -“And now,” he said, “I’ve talked long enough. I’ve a Cabinet Council -and an interview with the Foreign Secretary to get through before -lunch; and there are three confounded deputations which Hyde insists on -my seeing personally. So you must go.” - -Wherewith he disappeared through one of the multitude of doors -surrounding his breakfast-room. - - - - -WITH LORD BIRKENHEAD ON THE WOOLSACK - - -He had thrown himself negligently into a formidable wooden armchair. -Lace ruffles of the eighteenth century clung round his wrists, and -partly concealed his hands. Crossed over its fellow-knee, he displayed -with pardonable ostentation a powerful calf, set on a shapely ankle, -and set off by the silken hose of his high office. A prodigious -cigar--Flor Monumento--protruded from the corner of his mouth. -Intellectual intolerance was the distinguishing characteristic of his -face. - -The gentlemen ushers, marshals, petty bag keepers, javelin men and -other menials, who had heralded me into the presence, bowed themselves -obsequiously out. I sat down nervously on the edge of a chair. He eyed -me with a freezing compound of disdainful curiosity and disfavour. -Abashed out of countenance, I slipped out of my hands and fell on -the floor with a faint thud. It seemed that it would only add to the -solecism if I began groping about on the floor for myself--I made up my -mind that I would let myself lie where I had fallen, until he wasn’t -looking; but, somewhat to my surprise, he picked me up in the most -courtly manner, dusted me, and restored me to my chair. - -“Don’t be alarmed,” he said reassuringly. “It’s the look that does it. -No witness has ever resisted it yet. They used to curl up, and go limp, -and lean over the side of the box, when I began my cross-examination; -and it has not lost its power.” - -“Have you ever tried it on Mr. Lloyd George?” I gasped. - -“Once,” he replied, “only once, and that long ago--for, you understand, -it would hardly be fitting in me to hamper and embarrass His Majesty’s -Government.” - -“Was it effective?” - -“I think I may claim that it impaired his digestion seriously for a few -days. He tried to resist it, you see, and the after-effects in such a -case become cumulatively more powerful.... As a matter of fact, his -visit to Gairloch--well, perhaps I’d better say nothing further. Of -course, the remainder of the Cabinet are the merest children. I can -quell Fisher or Horne with comparative ease; I have even succeeded in -making Curzon blush; and, as you know, on a recent occasion I overthrew -poor Carson so severely that for several days they despaired of his -reason. My castigations are notorious. Let me warn you to take great -care....” - -“Would it,” I began nervously, “would it fall under the heading of -incurring a castigation, if I were so presumptuous as to inquire about -your hobbies?” - -“By no means. A very proper question. I am devoted to all sports. -Football, cricket, tennis, water polo, lion hunting, kiss-in-the-ring -and spillikins are among my favourites; but I think that most of all -I enjoy a quiet game of pogo with the Cabinet.... Sing? Yes, I sing -frequently. My favourite song? I think my favourite is that fine old -ditty, ‘Rendle, My Son.’ You are unacquainted with it?” He broke into a -prodigious baritone: - - “Where have you been all the night, Rendle, my son? - Where have you been all the night, my pretty one? - _At the O.P. Club, dear mother. - Make my bed soon, - For F. E. was there, and I fain would lie down._” - -“Indeed,” he continued, “I am devoted to simple old songs of all -kinds--‘Weel May the Dail Row,’ for instance, and ‘Solly in Our Alley.’” - -“And now,” I ventured to say, “... I was instructed to ask you for a -Christmas message to the public.” - -“If you will write something of the necessary degree of sickliness, -I’ve no objection to signing it,” he replied. “Or wait.... It happens -that I have to deliver a judgment in the House this afternoon, in the -case of a curious old man named Klaus against the Attorney-General -for detinue, wrongful imprisonment, and a declaration of nationality. -He has been excluded from the country under some of the numerous -regulations of the Defence of the Realm Act, and his sack, which -appears to contain an astonishing miscellany of objects, has been -confiscated by the Customs authorities.... Would that serve your -purpose? It will figure in the next edition of my judgments.” - -“If I might hear it, perhaps....” - -“Certainly.” He drew a formidable case-book from the shelf behind him, -adjusted a pair of horn spectacles, and read as follows: - -“In this case your lordships have been moved to set aside a decision -by the Court of Appeal, affirming the decision of the King’s Bench, -whereby the Attorney-General, the Sheriff, and the Justices of Lower -Mudhaven were upheld in refusing admission into this country to the -appellant, S. Klaus, a person of indubitable ex-enemy origin, but -widely esteemed in this country, who carries on an old-established -business in many parts of the world. - -“It has been claimed on behalf of the appellant that, by long use, he -has acquired a prescriptive domicile amounting to British nationality, -which, since it has been enjoyed without interruption for more than -ninety years, is to be taken, by irrebuttable presumption, as having -arisen in time immemorial, which, as we are all aware, means from the -time of Richard I. It was contended for the Crown, that, by reason -of the various statutes and regulations prohibiting the presence of -enemies in this country during the war of 1914-1918, this user was in -law interrupted, and therefore is bad as a plea. The appellant replies -that, despite the prohibitions, he did, in fact, continue to ply his -calling here during the four years in question; and in the Court below -he called a number of witnesses, whose credit is in no way impeached, -to depose that, to their knowledge, at a certain season in each year, -he visited this country in order to keep his business afloat. This is -certainly a matter to which the attention of the proper authorities -ought to be drawn, for clearly at that time the appropriate person to -have carried on his affairs was the Controller of Enemy Businesses -under the supervision of the Public Trustee; and some inquiry seems to -me to be called for, into the neglect of that official to carry out his -duties. This, however, by the way. - -“Passing over the testimony of Elsie Biggers and John Marmaduke -Baxter-Cunliffe, also known by the alias of ‘Tweety,’ both of whom -depose to having seen the appellant descend through the chimney in -their respective houses a year ago, but whose tender years--three in -the first case and two and a-half, as I believe, in the second--raise -a doubt in my mind as to their understanding of the nature of an oath, -there is unquestionable and unimpeachable evidence of some person or -persons unknown having placed a variety of articles in the houses, and, -indeed, in the stockings, of a number of the deponents in this cause, -which were not there before. The appellant avers that it was he who -placed them there; and, as no alternative hypothesis has been advanced -by the Crown, I should, I think, be disposed to accept the appellant’s -word as conclusive, were it necessary for me, in advising your -lordships as to the judgment which your lordships will shortly deliver, -to pronounce either upon one side or upon the other in this conflict of -testimony--so far as it can be so called. - -“But is it necessary to go into these questions? Mr. Attorney-General, -_arguendo_, has urged upon us that, where a person performs an act of -which he is legally incapable, then it is as if the act in question had -not been performed; and he cites the cases of a child under seven, who -is _doli incapax_, and of a child between seven and fourteen, who is -_prima facie doli incapax_, and the case of a minor incurring a debt -other than for necessaries, and of a person who makes a will, not in -due form of law. From these premises, he contends that, since it was -illegal for the appellant to come to, or be in, this country, it must -be taken, for our purposes, that he was never there; and the plea of -prescriptive domicile must fall to the ground. - -“My lords, I am unable to resist this argument. Where a person, whether -wilfully or not, steps outside the ambit of the law, it is clearly -established that he does so at his own risk; and ignorance will not -thereafter avail him as an excuse. I must advise your lordships to -pronounce, that, despite the evidence, the appellant was not in this -country during the war, that the user upon which he bases his title was -interrupted during that time, and, consequently, that his first plea -must fail----” - -He broke off, and looked at me, quizzically. - -“What do you think of that reasoning?” he asked. “Ingenious, isn’t it?” - -“Hardly ingenuous though,” I murmured; “and it seems to me----” - -He drew himself to his full height, and glared. One corner of his mouth -went down, and the other rose to the level of his lower eyelid. It was -the celebrated sneer. - -“No doubt,” he said icily, “no doubt in the purlieus of Tooting Bec or -Brockley, whichever you inhabit, remarks of that kind pass current as -wit. I daresay, among cannibals and anthropoid apes, there is to be -found a rough sense of coarse buffoonery that is tickled by such vulgar -exuberance; but, among the aristocracy of an old civilisation, your -behaviour would provoke pity, rather than mirth, were it not that, with -us, the impudence of a scavenger is accounted a more noxious thing than -his trade----” - -“Really,” I began, “I must protest----” - -“What? Argument?” he cried harshly. He smote a bell. An old and -trembling man doddered into the room. He pointed dramatically. - -“Remove it,” he ordered.... I judged it best to remove myself. - -And as I walked away along the corridor the notes of “Rendle, My Son” -floated after me. Only at that distance I could not be quite sure that -the name was Rendle. - - - - -OLD TORY - - - Spurn the Liberals: do not love them, - Son o’ mine. - We are very much above them, - Son o’ mine. - But we want to rule the nation; - So, for mere self-preservation, - We will steal their legislation, - Son o’ mine. - - Never trust the Labour Party, - Son o’ mine. - They’re as wicked as Astarte, - Son o’ mine. - And the voter is a noodle; - So we’ll win on _this_ flapdoodle-- - “They will strip you of your boodle,” - Son o’ mine. - - When we’ve carried all before us, - Son o’ mine. - We will praise ourselves in chorus, - Son o’ mine. - We’ll acclaim ourselves as sages, - We’ll do all our jobs by stages, - And we’ll hang things up for ages, - Son o’ mine. - - - - -EDWARD AND EUSTACE - -_A Tale with a Moral._ - - - Oh, uncle, why is Mister Wood - So unequivocally good? - And, in the name of mercy, - Why does his comrade look so riled, - So rigid and unreconciled, - So stern of purpose? - Hush, my child, - _That_ is Lord Eustace Percy. - - A most exemplary young man, - A blameless Sabbatarian-- - By happy dispensation, - They used to rule, E. Wood and he, - In absolute authority, - That singular corroboree, - The Board of Education. - - Far otherwise it might have been - But for Lord Younger’s dread machine. - A Premier, less discerning, - Might have set up, in Fisher’s chair, - Some pedagogue or doctrinaire, - Instead of that illustrious pair, - To supervise our learning. - - But Providence, both wise and kind, - To British interests never blind, - The choice adroitly guided; - Giving “effective preference” - Over mere expert eminence, - To men of large experience - And virtues many-sided. - - [Illustration: Edward and Eustace.] - - For Edward, who, in early days - (Screened from the prying public’s gaze), - Studied John Keble’s holy ways - And theologic fever, - Rose to be foremost underling - In Winston’s Great Imperial Ring; - And later had beneath his wing - The Council of Geneva. - - While Eustace, hardy sciolist, - Was firstly a diplomatist; - And later tried his noble fist - At something in the City; - And later still enlarged his view, - As Honorary Chairman to - That product of the Irish stew - The Claims and Grants Committee. - - So both must be presumed to know - The habits of the Esquimaux, - The properties of indigo, - The ways of the Equator, - The secret hopes of the Malay, - The mysteries of settling-day-- - Essentials to an educa- - Tional administrator. - - It is unnecessary to - Remind so wise a child as you, - No such arrangement could pursue - Its course, undislocated. - People began to make a fuss; - They said: “Two men so virtuous - Are rarer than the platypus, - And better separated.” - - So Edward, calm, detached, serene, - Remained on that exalted scene, - Quaffing scholastic Hippocrene, - In learned pastures browsing; - While Eustace bent his nimble brains - To joists, light-castings, sumps and drains, - In Mr. Neville Chamberlain’s - Belated scheme of Housing. - - -MORAL. - - And if, my nephew, like E. Wood - And Eustace, you are always good, - You’ll study from your babyhood - To merit estimation. - You’ll put aside that bowie knife, - You will eschew all forms of strife, - And earn, and keep throughout your life, - The plaudits of the nation. - - - - -THE TWO WEDGWOODS - - - On the Front Opposition Bench (which great statesmen adorn) - Cheek by jowl with Mr. Asquith; J. R. Clynes and George Thorne; - Dark Ramsay of Aberavon; the learned member for Spen, - Sat jovial Josiah Wedgwood and bold Wedgwood Benn. - - The toughness of salamander, and a monkey-gland vim, - The endurance and determination, both of Cromwell and Pym, - The persistence of twenty members, and the lung power of ten - Distinguished Josiah Wedgwood and stern Wedgwood Benn. - - Did a foeman pause or stumble, or to error succumb - (What though Pringle were exhausted, and e’en Kenworthy dumb), - Swift as the summer swallow, or the fleet prairie hen, - Out popped Josiah Wedgwood, or else Wedgwood Benn. - - From the bora of the Arctic to the rainfall of Spain, - From the theories of Einstein to the “talks” of Frank Crane, - There exists no place or subject, not embraced in the ken - Of omniscient Josiah Wedgwood and wise Wedgwood Benn. - - Were they harsh?--They could be tender. Were they gay?--They could - be grave. - Did they thunder in anger?--They could also be suave. - They could bruise like Joseph Beckett: they could sting like cayenne, - Multifarious Josiah Wedgwood and slick Wedgwood Benn. - - Which explains my sense of outrage, that this sternest of men, - Who comes (via Mr. Asquith) from a wild Highland Glen, - Should have torn from one another, by a stroke of the pen, - Jolly old Josiah Wedgwood and sad Wedgwood Benn. - -[Illustration: Jovial Josiah Wedgwood and bold Wedgwood Benn.] - - - - -SONGS OF A DIE-HARD - - -Die-Hard. - - A Die-Hard is a man who only cares - To serve his land, in speechless self-denying, - Yea, even to the Death!--provided there’s - Some other idiot to do the dying. - - -CHORUS. - -(Suitable to be sung at Anti-Proletarian Sunday Schools.) - - Far away in sunny Alabamma, - Where the pickaninny cotton-bushes grow, - You can flatten out a nigger with a hammer - Or put it well across him with your toe. - That’s the way to deal with subject races - (Subject populations kindly note!), - Tie them up, and flog them with your braces, - Probably they haven’t got a vote. - Keep inferiors in their proper station, - Don’t allow the brutes to make a fuss. - In the many marvels of creation - Nothing’s fit to kiss the boots of US. - - - - -NURSERY RHYME - -(For little Die-Hards.) - - - Reduction of Force - Makes Banbury _cross_! - He’s sick of our Parliament’s vapid discourse. - He’ll lead the Coldstreamers - Against those blasphemers - Who dare to treat Labour as other than schemers. - Guns in his fingers and bombs in his clo’es, - There shall be ructions wherever he goes. - Shout yourselves hoarse - His views to endorse: - - REDUCTION OF FORCE - MAKES BANBURY CROSS!!! - - - - -THE OLD MEMBER - - - I will go down to the House again - And sit--in the smoking room, - And brood, with a friend with a first-class brain, - In a state of abysmal gloom: - And all I’ll ask is a tall glass, - A pipe and a game of chess; - For the country’s gone to the dogs, my lass, - And who’s to clean up the mess? - (_Fortissimo_) - _The country’s simply going to blazes. - Who’s to swab up the mess?_ - - I will go down to the House once more - And there--in the smoking room, - I’ll wait (with old boon-fellows three or four) - For the sound of the bell of doom: - And all I’ll ask is a tall Whip - To meet me on Charon’s boat, - And hurriedly whisper “We’re Ayes” (or “Noes”) - That I may know how to vote. - (_Sotto voce_) - _I just can’t follow this modern craze - For understanding your vote!_ - - * * * * * - - I shall come back to the House one night - From a somewhere neighbouring tomb, - Peep in on the scene of the age-long fight, - And pass--to the smoking room: - And all I’ll ask is a tall ghost - In the corridor’s darkling gloam, - Crying “Hats off, Strangers,” “Make way for the Speaker,” - And (mournfully) “Who goes Home?” - (_Pianissimo_) - _The Dead troop back to the Abbey each night, - To the sound of that “Who goes Home?”_ - - -W. H. Smith & Son, The Arden Press Stamford Street, London, S.E.I - - - - -Transcriber’s Note - - -In this file, text in _italics_ is indicated by underscores, text in -~gesperrt~ is indicated by tildes, and text in SMALL CAPITALS is all -capitalised. - -The cover image was created by the transcriber and placed in the public -domain. - -The following changes were made to the text as printed: - -Page ix: “twin appellations of McVitie and Price” changed to “twin -appellations of McVittie and Price” - -4: “coordinating against the Central Planets” changed to -“co-ordinating against the Central Planets” - -17: “inevitably predecease this montrosity” changed to “inevitably -predecease this monstrosity” - -18: “Poor Count Puffendorf Seidlitz” changed to “Poor Count Puffendorff -Seidlitz” - -85: ““Solicitin’, you was” changed to “Solicitin’, you was” - -88: “A terriffic crash and splintering” changed to “A terrific crash -and splintering” - -118: “ante-room of a public hall at Pueblo” changed to “anteroom of a -public hall at Pueblo” - -125: “ACT I” added - -136: “The conjuror concludes” changed to “The conjurer concludes” - -161: “She’s turned again us” changed to “She’s turned against us” - -175: “the uneviable position of a Junior Staff Officer” changed to “the -unenviable position of a Junior Staff Officer” - -178: “The Chief Whip, despite his reponsibilities” changed to “The -Chief Whip, despite his responsibilities” - -196: “ink-wells have been known to fly” changed to “inkwells have been -known to fly” - -203: “the same building though separated by a mere matter” changed to -“the same building, though separated by a mere matter” - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNPARLIAMENTARY PAPERS AND -OTHER DIVERSIONS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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