Chapter 2

A moment later all my anxieties dispersed and tragedy turned to comedy when I realised that the bill was for the hairdresser with the same name as my own, who lives next door but one and gets so much of my correspondence.

I therefore put the bill on my desk, intending to take it into the shop when I went out; and forgot it.

The Russian Corps de Ballet at the Alhambra is an assemblage of charming and gifted people who are at last giving their admirers full measure. Now that they have a vast theatre of their own and perform three ballets every night the old frustrated feeling that used to tantalise us at the Opera and the Coliseum has vanished. But I have still a grievance, and that is that the programme is so rarely the programme that I myself would have arranged. In other words the three ballets that form it are seldom the Big Three that are nearest my heart. To be explicit, I want _Petroushka_, and instead I find myself not knowing where to look while _Scheherazade_ unfolds its appalling freedoms; I want _Les Sylphides_, and instead am given _Les Papillons_, which is very lovely but not of an equal loveliness; and I want _Carnaval_, and instead am offered the perplexities of _The Fire Bird_. It happened, however, that one night recently the perfect programme was given--_Carnaval, Les Sylphides_ and _Petroushka_; but there was not a seat in the house, and I therefore had to stand in great discomfort, so that half the joy evaporated.

"Meanwhile" (I seem to hear you say) "what of the hairdresser who has the same name as yourself and plies his trade next door but one? This story--which so far is a poor enough thing--was surely to have been about him." (So I seem to hear you say.)

Patience! It is about him, but it is also about the evils of procrastination. In short, it is a kind of tract.

On the morning after my disappointing evening at the Alhambra, while moving some papers on my desk, I brought to light the bill for the powder and the essences. "Good Heavens!" I murmured, "the poor fellow will be distracted not to have this;" and I took it in to him straightway.

I apologised for the delay.

"There is no hurry," he replied. "Accounts can wait; But I hope," he added, taking an envelope from a drawer, "that this letter for you is equally unimportant. It came, I'm afraid, four days ago, and I was always meaning to bring it in, but forgot."

Unimportant! It was merely an invitation from the most adorable woman in London to share her box at the Russian Ballet on the previous night, to see what she knew was my most desired performance, _Carnaval, Les Sylphides_ and _Pelroushka_.

Either the hairdresser or I must move.

Or we must both take a course of memory training. I believe there is some system on the market.

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"Wanted, five unfurnished Rooms and bath (1 large for music studio)."--_Local Paper_.

We are glad to note the spread of the healthful habit of singing in the bath.

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THE PERILS OF REVIEWING.

A most unfortunate thing has happened to a friend of mine called ---- to a friend of ---- to a friend of ----. Well, I suppose the truth will have to come out. It happened to me. Only don't tell anybody.

I reviewed a book the other day. It is not often I do this, because before one can review a book one has to, or is supposed to, read it, which wastes a good deal of time. Even that isn't an end of the trouble. The article which follows is not really one's own, for the wretched fellow who wrote the book is always trying to push his way in with his views on matrimony, or the Sussex downs, or whatever his ridiculous subject is. He expects one to say, "Mr. Blank's treatment of _Hilda's_ relations with her husband is masterly," whereas what one wants to say is, "Putting Mr. Blank's book on one side we may consider the larger question, whether ----" and so consider it (alone) to the end of the column.

Well, I reviewed Mr. Blank's book, _Rotundity_. As I expected, the first draft had to be re-headed "A Corner of Old London," and used elsewhere; Mr. Blank didn't get into it at all. I kept promising myself a sentence: "Take _Rotundity,_ for instance, the new novel by William Blank, which, etc.," but before I was ready for it the article was finished. In my second draft, realizing the dangers of delay, I began at once, "This remarkable novel," and continued so for a couple of sentences. But on reading it through afterwards I saw at once that the first two sentences were out of place in an article that obviously ought to be called "The Last Swallow;" so I cut them out, sent "The Last Swallow: A Reverie" to another Editor, and began again. The third time I was successful.

Of course in my review I said all the usual things. I said that Mr. Blank's attitude to life was "subjective rather than objective" ... and a little lower down that it was "objective rather than subjective." I pointed out that in his treatment of the major theme he was a neo-romanticist, but I suggested that, on the other hand, he had nothing to learn from the Russians--or the Russians had nothing to learn from him; I forget which. And finally I said (and this is the cause of the whole trouble) that ANTOINE VAURELLE'S world-famous classic--and I looked it up in the Encyclopaedia--world-renowned classic, _Je Comprends Tout_, had been not without its influence on Mr. Blank. It was a good review, and the editor was pleased about it.

A few days later Mr. Blank wrote to say that, curiously enough, he had never read _Je Comprends Tout_. It didn't seem to me very curious, because I had never read it either, but I thought it rather odd of him to confess as much to a stranger. The only book of VAURELLE'S which I had read was _Consolatrice_, in an English translation. However, one doesn't say these things in a review.

Now I have a French friend, Henri, one of those annoying Frenchmen who talks English much better than I do, and Henri, for some extraordinary reason, had seen my review. He has to live in London now, but his heart is in Paris; and I imagine that every word of his beloved language which appears, however casually, in an English paper mysteriously catches his eye and brings the scent and sounds of the _boulevards_ to him across the coffee-cups. So the next time I met him he shook me warmly by the hand, and told me how glad he was that I was an admirer of ANTOINE VAURELLE'S novels.

"Who isn't?" I said with a shrug, and, to get the conversation on to safer ground, I added hastily that in some ways I almost liked _Consolatrice_ best.

He shook my hand again. So did he. A great book.

"But of course," he said, "one must read it in the original French. It is the book of all others which loses by translation."

"Of course," I agreed. Really, I don't see what else I could have done.

"Do you remember that wonderful phrase ----" and he rattled it off. "Magnificent, is it not?"

"Magnificent," I said, remembering an appointment instead. "Well, I must be getting on. Good-bye." And, as I walked off, I patted my forehead with my handkerchief and wondered why the day had grown so warm suddenly.

However the next day was even warmer. Henri came to see me with a book under his arm. We all have one special book of our own which we recommend to our acquaintances, regarding the love of it as perhaps the best passport to our friendship. This was Henri's. He was about to test me. I had read and admired his favourite VAURELLES--in the original French. Would I love his daring LAFORGUE? My reputation as a man, as a writer, as a critic, depended on it. He handed me the book--in French.

"It is all there," he said reverently, as he gave it to me. "All your English masters, they all come from him. Perhaps, most of all your ---- But you shall tell me when you have read it. You shall tell me whom most you seem to see there. Your MEREDITH? Your SHAW? Your ---- But you shall tell me."

"I will tell you," I said faintly.

And I've got to tell him.

Don't think that I shall have any difficulty in reading the book. Glancing through it just now I came across this:--

"_'Kate, avez-vous soupé avant le spectacle?'

'Non, je n'avais guère le coeur à manger.'_"

Well, that's easy enough. But I doubt if it is one of the most characteristic passages. It doesn't give you a clue to LAFORGUE'S manner, any more than "'Must I sit here, mother?' 'Yes, without a doubt you must,'" tells you all that you want to know about MEREDITH. There's more in it than that.

And I've got to tell him.

But fancy holding forth on an author's style after reading him laboriously with a dictionary!

However, I must do my best; and in my more hopeful moments I see the conversation going like this:--

"Well?"

"Oh, wonderful." _(With emotion)_ "Really wonderful."

"You see them all there?"

"Yes, yes. It's really--wonderful. MEREDITH--I mean--well, it's simply--(_after a pause_) wonderful."

"You see MEREDITH there most?"

"Y--yes. Sometimes. And then sometimes I--I don't" (_with truth_). "It's difficult to say. Sometimes I--er--SHAW--er--well, it's ----" (_with a gesture somewhat Gallic_) "How can I put it?"

"Not THACKERAY at all?" he says, watching me eagerly.

I decide to risk it.

"Oh, but of course! I mean--THACKERAY! When I said MEREDITH I was thinking of the _others_. But THACKERAY--I mean THACKERAY _is_-- er--" (_I've forgotten his name for the moment and go on hastily_) I mean--er--THACKERAY, obviously."

He shakes me by the hand. I am his friend.

But this conversation only takes place in my more hopeful moments. In my less hopeful ones I see myself going into the country for quite a long time.

A.A.M.

* * * * *

ANOTHER IMPENDING APOLOGY.

"The book contains a portrait of the author and several other quaint illustrations."--_Daily Paper_.

* * * * *

"Miss Leitch played delightful golf up to the hole, but when once she had arrived there the result was almost ludicrous, as she could not hit the ball truly with her puttee."--_Evening Paper_.

Personally we have always found this an ineffective weapon.

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ROYAL ACADEMY-SECOND DEPRESSIONS.

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THE HAIRIES.

We have carried our lancer's, hussars and dragoons And tugged in the batteries, columns and trains, On _pavé_ that smoked under white summer noons And tracks that washed out under black winter rains.

We've shivered in standings hock-deep in the mud, With matted tails turned to the drift of the sleet; We've seen the bombs flash and been spattered with blood Of mates as they rolled, belly-ripped, at our feet.

We've dragged ammunition up shell-smitten tracks, Round bottomless craters, through stump-littered woods; When the waggons broke down took the load on our backs And somehow or other delivered the goods.

But the dread roads, the red roads will know us no more; Oh, it's England, chum, England for you and for me! The countryfolk wave us as westward we pour Down the jolly white highways that lead to the sea.

There's a mist of frail blossom adrift in the trees, The Spring song of birds sets the orchards a-thrill; And now on our brows blows the salt Channel breeze, The busy port hums in the lap of the hill.

So warp out your transports and bear us away From the Yser and Somme, from the Ancre and the Aisne, From fire-blackened deserts of shell-pitted clay, And give us our Chilterns and Cotswolds again.

Oh, show us old England all silver and gold, With the flame o' the gorse and the flower o' the thorn; We long for lush meadow-lands where we were foaled And boast of great runs with the Belvoir and Quorn.

The pack-pony dreams of a primrosy combe, A leisurely life in a governess-cart, Plum-cake and a bottle-nosed gardener-groom; The Clyde has a Wensleydale farm in his heart.

We whinny and frolic, light-headed with bliss, Forgetting leg-weariness, terror and scars; Ye ladies of England, oh, blow a soft kiss To the hairy old horses come home from the wars.

PATLANDER.

* * * * *

TO-MORROW.

"To-morrow," said the brave young subaltern, "if my Company Commander curses my men for having long hair, I'll whip off his own hat and show him to be three weeks overdue at the barber's.

"To-morrow, if the Adjutant finds fault with my salute, I'll give him a faithful imitation of his own ridiculous ear-flip.

"To-morrow, if the Major strafes me for my handling of the platoon on the barrack-square, I'll challenge him to detail 'presenting arms, by numbers.'

"To-morrow, if the Colonel checks my men for being slovenly turned out on parade, I'll publicly point out to him that the buttons of his own pockets are undone and that the ends of his bootlaces are hanging out.

"To-morrow, if the General curses a man for rubbing his nose while at attention, I'll openly suggest to him that it is not smart and soldierlike to slouch along with one hand in your pocket while inspecting the ranks.

"To-morrow, if I get the chance, I'll do all these things. I have put off doing them far too long."

So spake the brave young subaltern, knowing full well that he is to be demobbed to-day.

* * * * *

"A Tooting hen is laying two eggs a day."--_Evening Paper_.

Then it seems to us that she is quite justified in tooting.

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ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

_Monday, May 12th_.--Lord FRENCH'S newspaper revelations were brought to the notice of Mr. CHURCHILL, who adduced the cases of the late Lords WOLSELEY and ROBERTS as evidence that Field-marshals, when unemployed, have always been allowed considerable freedom of criticism. The fact that Lord FRENCH is Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland and (nominal) Commander-in-Chief of the considerable army employed in that country makes no difference; but ordinary serving officers are still subject to the Regulations and will take FRENCH leave at their peril.

In the course of a further discussion on milk--prices, about which the West Country is still up in arms, Mr. MCCURDY dropped the remark that it was impossible to control cream, owing, no doubt, to its notorious insurrectionary tendencies; and Colonel WEIGALL removed a load of suspicion from some of our minds by the emphatic declaration that "a cow was not a pump, of which the supply could be turned off or on as one liked."

The FIRST COMMISSIONER OF WORKS was not very hopeful about the removal of the buildings which disfigure the Parks. The most he could say was that he was doing his best to get the camouflage school out of Kensington Gardens, and let nature have a chance.

_Tuesday, May 13th_.--The Lords defeated the Government by inserting in the Ministry of Health Bill a provision that the new Minister should have only one Parliamentary Secretary. In vain Lord SANDHURST protested that the amendment would tie the PRIME MINISTER'S hands. Lord MIDLETON was delighted to think that it would. Lord CREWE declared that the creation of minor Ministers was becoming a disease (possibly the Ministry of Health will include it among "notifiable" epidemics?). Lord BLEDISLOE quoted the old tag about big fleas and little fleas. But after all there must be some check to the inveterate tendency to somnolence in the public offices.

When the Ways and Communications Bill was before the Commons the Minister-Designate buttressed his case with the alarming statement that there would be a deficit of one hundred millions this year on the working of the railways. Members were therefore surprised to find in the Budget that only sixty millions was provided to meet it. Even in these days a discrepancy of forty millions does not pass entirely unnoticed. When taxed with it, Mr. CHAMBERLAIN said he thought it was due to Government traffic not having been allowed for in the original calculation, but advised his questioner to ask Sir ERIC GEDDES to explain. For some reason--can it be the formidable appearance of the GEDDES chin?--Sir JOSEPH WALTON did not seem greatly pleased at the prospect.

Like many another Chief Secretary before him, Mr. IAN MACPHERSON, who reappeared in the House after a long absence in Ireland, had to figure with a scourge in one hand and an olive branch in the other. At Question-time he was the stern upholder of law and order, obliged within the last few days to suspend a seditious newspaper and to surround the Dublin Mansion House with soldiers. A few moments later he was moving the Second Reading of a most generous Housing Bill, under which Irish Corporations will be enabled to build thousands of dwellings largely at the expense of the general taxpayer.

In his warm welcome to the measure Sir EDWARD CARSON revealed a side of his character not often seen, except by his personal friends. He was so sympathetic to the needs of the Irish working-classes, so eloquent upon the benefits to health, sobriety and contentment that good houses would secure, and so insistent upon the necessity of making the new dwellings beautiful as well as useful, that Mr. DEVLIN could do little more than say "ditto to Mr. BURKE."

_Wednesday, May 16th_.--Those persons, at home and abroad, who persist in regarding the British as universal land-grabbers will please note that Spitsbergen, despite the undoubted fact that an Englishman landed there three centuries ago, leaves us cold. Although no direct response was made to Mr. ASHLEY'S suggestion that the future of the island should be referred to the Coal Commission, it is widely felt that if Mr. SMILLIE and Sir LEO CHIOZZA MONEY would volunteer to explore its possibilities they would be doing the country signal service.

The drawbacks of having the Leadership of the Opposition in commission were further exemplified when Sir DONALD MACLEAN in his most impressive manner asked for a day to discuss Lord FRENCH'S communications to the Press. Mr. BONAR LAW inquired if he desired to move a Vote of Censure in his capacity as Leader of the Opposition. "No, no," shouted the supporters of the rival claimants, Mr. ADAMSON and Mr. GEORGE LAMBERT. Whereupon Sir DONALD altered his tone and mildly observed that he only wanted to clear up a constitutional point.

The debate on Mr. HARTSHORN'S motion regarding the state of Ireland was unique of its kind in that not a single Member representing an Irish constituency took the floor; but in spite of that it produced more heat than light. Both the mover and the seconder (Mr. SEXTON) were rich in denunciation of the present Government of Ireland, but poverty-stricken in suggestions for its improvement. Lord HENRY BENTINCK seized the opportunity to make final recantation of his Unionist principles, but in default of more practical proposals was reduced to imploring the people of Ulster "to show some spirit of compromise;" and Lord HUGH CECIL in a despairing moment declared that he would sooner see three-fourths of Ireland independent than the whole of it presented with a form of Home Rule which no Irishman desired. After that one appreciated Sir KEITH ERASER'S remark, that during four years' soldiering in Ireland he had only met one man who understood the Irish Question, and he was an Englishman who had only been there a week!

_Thursday, May 15th_.--The intelligent foreigner who should try to disentangle the causes of Egyptian unrest from the speeches delivered in both Houses this afternoon will be rather puzzled. From Captain WEDGWOOD BENN in the Commons he would learn that it was due to the ineptitude of the British Administration, the ill-treatment of the natives by the Army of Occupation, and in particular the unsympathetic attitude adopted by Lord CURZON towards the Nationalist leaders, one of whom, according to Captain BENN, "held in Egypt a position comparable with that of Mr. Speaker here." Across the corridor at the very same moment Lord CURZON was asserting that Egypt was enjoying extraordinary material prosperity, that the British soldiery had shown wonderful restraint in very trying circumstances and that the Government had not the least desire to repress Egyptian individuality (when not too exuberant, of course) or deny to natives an ever-increasing share in the administration of their country. They would have been quite ready to listen to ZAGHLUL and his friends if they had not begun by demanding the complete disappearance of British rule. The intelligent foreigner will probably come to the conclusion that Egypt is very like Ireland--except that it has no Ulster.

General SEELY gave a fairly plausible explanation of the apparently wanton destruction of new aeroplanes that is going on at Farnborough and elsewhere. Owing to the rapid progress in aviation they were already obsolete for military purposes before they were delivered. They are quite unsuitable for civilian use, and are therefore being "reduced to produce"--a euphemism for "scrapped."

Mr. SHORTT was not in his place, but the interests of the Home Department did not suffer in the hands of the Under-Secretary. Sir HAMAR GEEENWOOD rattles out his replies with the speed and accuracy of a machine-gun, and has a neat formula for dealing with "supplementaries": "All these further Questions are covered by my original answer."

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"But in course of time sympathetic Americans and the other tribes will be searching the ruins of burned-out passions and agonies, armed with the rewritten Badaeker or its Allied equivalent."--_Manchester Guardian_.

The re-writing seems to have begun already.

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MORE MUSICAL RECONSTRUCTION.

_(By our Special Reporter, who is also busy with the Coal Commission.)_