the angel and the author-第22节

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〃God　save　the　Queen〃　any　performer；　however　poor；　could　retire　in　a　
whirlwind　of　applause。　　Niggers；　having　bored　us　with　tiresome　songs　
about　coons　and　honeys　and　Swanee　Rivers；　would；　as　a　last　resource；　
strike　up　〃God　save　the　Queen〃　on　the　banjo。　　The　whole　house　would　
have　to　rise　and　cheer。　　Elderly　Sisters　Trippet；　having　failed　to　
arouse　our　enthusiasm　by　allowing　us　a　brief　glimpse　of　an　ankle；　
would　put　aside　all　frivolity；　and　tell　us　of　a　hero　lover　named　
George；　who　had　fought　somebody　somewhere　for　his　Queen　and　country。　　
〃He　fell！〃bang　from　the　big　drum　and　blue　limelight。　　In　a　
recumbent　position　he　appears　to　have　immediately　started　singing　
〃God　save　the　Queen。〃

＇How　Anarchists　are　made。＇

Sleepy　members　of　the　audience　would　be　hastily　awakened　by　their　
friends。　　We　would　stagger　to　our　feet。　　The　Sisters　Trippet；　with　
eyes　fixed　on　the　chandelier；　would　lead　us：　　to　the　best　of　our　
ability　we　would　sing　〃God　save　the　Queen。〃

There　have　been　evenings　when　I　have　sung　〃God　save　the　Queen〃　six　
times。　　Another　season　of　it；　and　I　should　have　become　a　Republican。

The　singer　of　patriotic　songs　is　generally　a　stout　and　puffy　man。　　
The　perspiration　pours　from　his　face　as　the　result　of　the　violent　
gesticulations　with　which　he　tells　us　how　he　stormed　the　fort。　　He　
must　have　reached　it　very　hot。

〃There　were　ten　to　one　agin　us；　boys。〃　　We　feel　that　this　was　a　
miscalculation　on　the　enemy's　part。　　Ten　to　one　〃agin〃　such　wildly　
gesticulating　Britishers　was　inviting　defeat。

It　seems　to　have　been　a　terrible　battle　notwithstanding。　　He　shows　us　
with　a　real　sword　how　it　was　done。　　Nothing　could　have　lived　within　a　
dozen　yards　of　that　sword。　　The　conductor　of　the　orchestra　looks　
nervous。　　Our　fear　is　lest　he　will　end　by　cutting　off　his　own　head。　　
His　recollections　are　carrying　him　away。　　Then　follows　〃Victory！〃

The　gas　men　and　the　programme　sellers　cheer　wildly。　　We　conclude　with　
the　inevitable　〃God　save　the　King。〃



CHAPTER　XVI



＇The　Ghost　and　the　Blind　Children。＇

Ghosts　are　in　the　air。　　It　is　difficult　at　this　moment　to　avoid　
talking　of　ghosts。　　The　first　question　you　are　asked　on　being　
introduced　this　season　is：

〃Do　you　believe　in　ghosts？〃

I　would　be　so　glad　to　believe　in　ghosts。　　This　world　is　much　too　
small　for　me。　　Up　to　a　century　or　two　ago　the　intellectual　young　man　
found　it　sufficient　for　his　purposes。　　It　still　contained　the　
unknownthe　possiblewithin　its　boundaries。　　New　continents　were　
still　to　be　discovered：　　we　dreamt　of　giants；　Liliputians；　desert…
fenced　Utopias。　　We　set　our　sail；　and　Wonderland　lay　ever　just　beyond　
our　horizon。　　To…day　the　world　is　small；　the　light　railway　runs　
through　the　desert；　the　coasting　steamer　calls　at　the　Islands　of　the　
Blessed；　the　last　mystery　has　been　unveiled；　the　fairies　are　dead；　
the　talking　birds　are　silent。　　Our　baffled　curiosity　turns　for　relief　
outwards。　　We　call　upon　the　dead　to　rescue　us　from　our　monotony。　　The　
first　authentic　ghost　will　be　welcomed　as　the　saviour　of　humanity。

But　he　must　be　a　living　ghosta　ghost　we　can　respect；　a　ghost　we　can　
listen　to。　　The　poor　spiritless　addle…headed　ghost　that　has　hitherto　
haunted　our　blue　chambers　is　of　no　use　to　us。　　I　remember　a　
thoughtful　man　once　remarking　during　argument　that　if　he　believed　in　
ghoststhe　silly；　childish　spooks　about　which　we　had　been　telling　
anecdotesdeath　would　possess　for　him　an　added　fear：　　the　idea　that　
his　next　dwelling…place　would　be　among　such　a　pack　of　dismal　idiots　
would　sadden　his　departing　hours。　　What　was　he　to　talk　to　them　about？　　
Apparently　their　only　interest　lay　in　recalling　their　earthly　
troubles。　　The　ghost　of　the　lady　unhappily　married　who　had　been　
poisoned；　or　had　her　throat　cut；　who　every　night　for　the　last　five　
hundred　years　had　visited　the　chamber　where　it　happened　for　no　other　
purpose　than　to　scream　about　it！　what　a　tiresome　person　she　would　be　
to　meet！　　All　her　conversation　during　the　long　days　would　be　around　
her　earthly　wrongs。　　The　other　ghosts；　in　all　probability；　would　have　
heard　about　that　husband　of　hers；　what　he　said；　and　what　he　did；　till　
they　were　sick　of　the　subject。　　A　newcomer　would　be　seized　upon　with　
avidity。

A　lady　of　repute　writes　to　a　magazine　that　she　once　occupied　for　a　
season　a　wainscotted　room　in　an　old　manor　house。　　On　several　
occasions　she　awoke　in　the　night：　　each　time　to　witness　the　same　
ghostly　performance。　　Four　gentlemen　sat　round　a　table　playing　cards。　　
Suddenly　one　of　them　sprang　to　his　feet　and　plunged　a　dagger　into　the　
back　of　his　partner。　　The　lady　does　not　say　so：　　one　presumes　it　was　
his　partner。　　I　have；　myself；　when　playing　bridge；　seen　an　expression　
on　my　partner's　face　that　said　quite　plainly：

〃I　would　like　to　murder　you。〃

I　have　not　the　memory　for　bridge。　　I　forget　who　it　was　that；　last　
trick　but　seven；　played　the　two　of　clubs。　　I　thought　it　was　he；　my　
partner。　　I　thought　it　meant　that　I　was　to　take　an　early　opportunity　
of　forcing　trumps。　　I　don't　know　why　I　thought　so；　I　try　to　explain　
why　I　thought　so。　　It　sounds　a　silly　argument　even　to　myself；　I　feel　
I　have　not　got　it　quite　right。　　Added　to　which　it　was　not　my　partner　
who　played　the　two　of　clubs；　it　was　Dummy。　　If　I　had　only　remembered　
this；　and　had　concluded　from　itas　I　ought　to　have　donethat　my　
partner　had　the　ace　of　diamondsas　otherwise　why　did　he　pass　my　
knave？we　might　have　saved　the　odd　trick。　　I　have　not　the　head　for　
bridge。　　It　is　only　an　ordinary　headmine。　　I　have　no　business　to　
play　bridge。

＇Why　not；　occasionally；　a　cheerful　Ghost。＇

But　to　return　to　our　ghosts。　　These　four　gentlemen　must　now　and　
again；　during　their　earthly　existence；　have　sat　down　to　a　merry　game　
of　cards。　　There　must　have　been　evenings　when　nobody　was　stabbed。　　
Why　choose　an　unpleasant　occasion　to　harp　exclusively　upon　it？　　Why　
do　ghosts　never　give　a　cheerful　show？　　The　lady　who　was　poisoned！　
there　must　have　been　other　evenings　in　her　life。　　Why　does　she　not　
show　us　〃The　first　meeting〃：　　when　he　gave　her　the　violets　and　said　
they　were　like　her　eyes？　　He　wasn't　always　poisoning　her。　　There　must　
have　been　a　period　before　he　ever　thought　of　poisoning　her。　　Cannot　
these　ghosts　do　something　occasionally　in　what　is　termed　〃the　lighter　
vein〃？　　If　they　haunt　a　forest　glade；　it　is　to　perform　a　duel　to　the　
death；　or　an　assassination。　　Why　cannot　they；　for　a　change；　give　us　
an　old…time　picnic；　or　〃The　hawking　party；〃　which；　in　Elizabethan　
costume；　should　make　a　pretty　picture？　　Ghostland　would　appear　to　be　
obsessed　by　the　spirit　of　the　Scandinavian　drama：　　murders；　suicides；　
ruined　fortunes；　and　broken　hearts　are　the　only　material　made　use　of。　　
Why　is　not　a　dead　humorist　allowed　now　and　then　to　write　the　sketch？　　
There　must　be　plenty　of　dead　comic　lovers；　why　are　they　never　allowed　
to　give　a　performance？

＇Where　are　the　dead　Humorists？＇

A　cheerful　person　contemplates　death　with　alarm。　　What　is　he　to　do　in　
this　land　of　ghosts？　there　is　no　place　for　him。　　Imagine　the　
commonplace　liver　of　a　humdrum　existence　being　received　into　
ghostland。　　He　enters　nervous；　shy；　feeling　again　the　new　boy　at　
school。　　The　old　ghosts　gather　round　him。

〃How　do　you　come　heremurdered？〃

〃No；　at　least；　I　don't　think　so。〃

〃Suicide？

〃Nocan't　remember　the　name　of　it　now。　　Began　with　a　chill　on　the　
liver；　I　think。〃

The　ghosts　are　disappointed。　　But　a　happy　suggestion　is　made。　　
Perhaps　he　was　the　murderer；　that　would　be　even　better。　　Let　him　
think　carefully；　can　he　recollect　ever　having　committed　a　murder？　　He　
racks　his　brains　in　vain；　not　a　single　murder　comes　to　his　
recollection。　　He　never　forged　a　will。　　Doesn't　even　know　where　
anything　is　hid。　　Of　what　use　will　he　be　in　ghostland？　　One　pictures　
him　passing　the　centuries　among　a　moody　crowd　of　uninteresting　
mediocrities；　brooding　perpetually　over　their　wasted　lives。　　Only　the　
ghosts　of　ladies　and　gentlemen　mixed　up　in　crime　have　any　〃show〃　in　
ghostland。

＇The　Spirit　does　not　shine　as　a　Conversationalist。＇

I　feel　an　equal　dissatisfaction　with　the　spirits　who　are　supposed　to　
return　to　us　and　communicate　with　us　through　the　medium　of　three…
legged　tables。　　I　do　not　deny　the　possibility　that　spirits　exist。　　I　
am　even　willing　to　allow　them　their　three…legged　tables。　　It　must　be　
confessed　it　is　a　clumsy　method。　　One　cannot　help　regretting　that　
during　all　the　ages　they　have　not　evolved　a　more　dignified　system。　　
One　feels　that　the　three…legged　table　must　hamper　them。　　One　can　
imagine　an　impatient　spirit　getting　tired　of　spelling　out　a　lengthy　
story　on　a　three…legged　table。　　But；　as　I　have　said；　I　am　willing　to　
assume　that；　for　some　spiritual　reason　unfathomable　to　my　mere　human　
intelligence；　that　three…legged　table　is　essential。　　I　am　willing　
also　to　accept　the　human　medium。　　She　is　generally　an　unprepossessing　
lady　running　somewhat　to　bulk。　　If　a　gentleman；　he　so　often　has　dirty　
finger…nails；　and　smells　of　stale　beer。　　I　think　myself　it　would　be　
so　much　simpler　if　the　spirit　would　talk　to　me　direct；　we　could　get　
on　quicker。　　But　there　is　that　about　the　medium；　I　am　told；　which　
appeals　to　a　spirit。　　Well；　it　is　h