Chapter XII: Act III (3)

“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.

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.

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”