The Moon Endureth: Tales and Fancies

by John Buchan

  II

  My wife was at Kissengen, and I was dining with the Caerlaverocks engarcon. When I have not to wait upon the adornment of the femaleperson I am a man of punctual habits, and I reached the house as thehall clock chimed the quarter-past. My poor friend, Tommy Deloraine,arrived along with me, and we ascended the staircase together. I callhim "my poor friend," for at the moment Tommy was under the weather.He had the misfortune to be a marquis, and a very rich one, and at thesame time to be in love with Claudia Barriton. Neither circumstancewas in itself an evil, but the combination made for tragedy. ForTommy's twenty-five years of healthy manhood, his cleanly-madeup-standing figure, his fresh countenance and cheerful laugh, were ofno avail in the lady's eyes when set against the fact that he was anidle peer. Miss Claudia was a charming girl, with a notable bee in herbonnet. She was burdened with the cares of the State, and had nopatience with any one who took them lightly. To her mind the socialfabric was rotten beyond repair, and her purpose was franklydestructive. I remember some of her phrases: "A bold and generouspolicy of social amelioration"; "The development of a civicconscience"; "A strong hand to lop off decaying branches from the trunkof the State." I have no fault to find with her creed, but I objectedto its practical working when it took the shape of an inhuman hostilityto that devout lover, Tommy Deloraine. She had refused him, I believe,three times, with every circumstance of scorn. The first time she hadanalysed his character, and described him as a bundle of attractiveweaknesses. "The only forces I recognise are those of intellect andconscience," she had said, "and you have neither." The second time--itwas after he had been to Canada on the staff--she spoke of theirreconcilability of their political ideals. "You are an Imperialist,"she said, "and believe in an empire of conquest for the benefit of thefew. I want a little island with a rich life for all." Tommy declaredthat he would become a Doukhobor to please her, but she said somethingabout the inability of Ethiopians to change their skin. The third timeshe hinted vaguely that there was "another." The star of AbingerVennard was now blazing in the firmament, and she had conceived aplatonic admiration for him. The truth is that Miss Claudia, with allher cleverness, was very young and--dare I say it?--rather silly.

  Caerlaverock was stroking his beard, his legs astraddle on thehearthrug, with something appallingly viceregal in his air, when Mr.and Mrs. Alexander Cargill were announced. The Home Secretary was ajoy to behold. He had the face of an elderly and pious bookmaker, anda voice in which lurked the indescribable Scotch quality of "unction."When he was talking you had only to shut your eyes to imagine yourselfin some lowland kirk on a hot Sabbath morning. He had been adistinguished advocate before he left the law for politics, and hadswayed juries of his countrymen at his will. The man wasextraordinarily efficient on a platform. There were unplumbed depthsof emotion in his eye, a juicy sentiment in his voice, an overpoweringtenderness in his manner, which gave to politics the glamour of arevival meeting. He wallowed in obvious pathos, and his hearers, oftenunwillingly, wallowed with him. I have never listened to any orator atonce so offensive and so horribly effective. There was no appeal toobase for him, and none too august: by some subtle alchemy he blendedthe arts of the prophet and the fishwife. He had discovered a new kindof language. Instead of "the hungry millions," or "the toilers," orany of the numerous synonyms for our masters, he invented the phrase,"Goad's people." "I shall never rest," so ran his great declaration,"till Goad's green fields and Goad's clear waters are free to Goad'speople." I remember how on this occasion he pressed my hand with hisfamous cordiality, looked gravely and earnestly into my face, and thengazed sternly into vacancy. It was a fine picture of genius descendingfor a moment from its hill-top to show how close it was to poorhumanity.

  Then came Lord Mulross, a respectable troglodytic peer, who representedthe one sluggish element in a swiftly progressing Government. He wasan oldish man with bushy whiskers and a reputed mastery of the Frenchtongue. A Whig, who had never changed his creed one iota, he washighly valued by the country as a sober element in the nation'scouncils, and endured by the Cabinet as necessary ballast. He did notconceal his dislike for certain of his colleagues, notably Mr. Vennardand Mr. Cargill.

  When Miss Barriton arrived with her stepmother the party was almostcomplete. She entered with an air of apologising for her prettiness.Her manner with old men was delightful, and I watched with interest theunbending of Caerlaverock and the simplifying of Mr. Cargill in herpresence. Deloraine, who was talking feverishly to Mrs. Cargill,started as if to go and greet her, thought better of it, and continuedhis conversation. The lady swept the room with her eye, but did notacknowledge his presence. She floated off with Mr. Cargill to awindow-corner, and metaphorically sat at his feet. I saw Delorainesaying things behind his moustache, while he listened to Mrs. Cargill'snew cure for dyspepsia.

  Last of all, twenty minutes late, came Abinger Vennard. He made a finestage entrance, walking swiftly with a lowering brow to his hostess,and then glaring fiercely round the room as if to challenge criticism.I have heard Deloraine, in a moment of irritation, describe him as a"Pre-Raphaelite attorney," but there could be no denying his goodlooks. He had a bad, loose figure, and a quantity of studiouslyneglected hair, but his face was the face of a young Greek. A certainkind of political success gives a man the manners of an actor, and bothVennard and Cargill bristled with self-consciousness. You could see itin the way they patted their hair, squared their shoulders, and shiftedtheir feet to positions loved by sculptors.

  "Well, Vennard, what's the news from the House?" Caerlaverock asked.

  "Simpson is talking," said Vennard wearily. "He attacks me, of course.He says he has lived forty years in India--as if that mattered! Whenwill people recognise that the truths of democratic policy areindependent of time and space? Liberalism is a category, an eternalmode of thought, which cannot be overthrown by any trivial happenings.I am sick of the word 'facts.' I long for truths."

  Miss Barriton's eyes brightened, and Cargill said, "Excellent." LordMulross, who was a little deaf, and in any case did not understand thelanguage, said loudly to my aunt that he wished there was a close timefor legislation.

  "The open season for grouse should be the close season for politicians."

  And then we went down to dinner.

  Miss Barriton sat on my left hand, between Deloraine and me, and it wasclear she was discontented with her position. Her eyes wandered downthe table to Vennard, who had taken in an American duchess, and seemedto be amused at her prattle. She looked with disfavour at Deloraine,and turned to me as the lesser of two evils.

  I was tactless enough to say that I thought there was a good deal inLord Mulross's view. "Oh, how can you?" she cried. "Is there a closeseason for the wants of the people? It sounds to me perfectly horriblethe way you talk of government, as if it were a game for idle men ofthe upper classes. I want professional politicians, men who give theirwhole heart and soul to the service of the State. I know the kind ofmember you and Lord Deloraine like--a rich young man who eats anddrinks too much, and thinks the real business of life is killing littlebirds. He travels abroad and shoots some big game, and then comes homeand vapours about the Empire. He knows nothing about realities, andwill go down before the men who take the world seriously."

  I am afraid I laughed, but Deloraine, who had been listening, was in nomood to be amused.

  "I don't think you are quite fair to us, Miss Claudia," he said slowly."We take things seriously enough, the things we know about. We can'tbe expected to know about everything, and the misfortune is that thethings I care about don't interest you. But they are important enoughfor all that."

  "Hush," said the lady rudely. "I want to hear what Mr. Vennard issaying."

  Mr. Vennard was addressing the dinner-table as if it were a largepublic meeting. It was a habit he had, for he had no mind to confinethe pearls of his wisdom to his immediate neighbours. His words weredirected to Caerlaverock at the far end.

  "In my op
inion this craze for the scientific stand-point is not merelyoverdone--it is radically vicious. Human destinies cannot be treatedas if they were inert objects under the microscope. The cold-bloodedlogical way of treating a problem is in almost every case the wrongway. Heart and imagination to me are more vital than intellect. Ihave the courage to be illogical, to defy facts for the sake of anideal, in the certainty that in time facts will fall into conformity.My Creed may be put in the words of Newman's favourite quotation: Nonin dialectica complacuit Deo salvum facere populum suum--Not in coldlogic is it God's will that His people should find salvation."

  "It is profoundly true," sighed Mr. Cargill, and Miss Claudia's beamingeyes proved her assent. The moment of destiny, though I did not knowit, had arrived. The entree course had begun, and of the two entreesone was the famous Caerlaverock curry. Now on a hot July evening inLondon there are more attractive foods than curry seven times heated,MORE INDICO. I doubt if any guest would have touched it, had not ourhost in his viceregal voice called the attention of the three ministersto its merits, while explaining that under doctor's orders he wascompelled to refrain for a season. The result was that Mulross,Cargill, and Vennard alone of the men partook of it. Miss Claudia,alone of the women, followed suit in the fervour of her hero-worship.She ate a mouthful, and then drank rapidly two glasses of water.

  My narrative of the events which followed is based rather on what Ishould have seen than on what I saw. I had not the key, and missedmuch which otherwise would have been plain to me. For example, if Ihad known the secret, I must have seen Miss Claudia's gaze cease torest upon Vennard and the adoration die out of her eyes. I must havenoticed her face soften to the unhappy Deloraine. As it was, I did notremark her behaviour, till I heard her say to her neighbour--

  "Can't you get hold of Mr. Vennard and forcibly cut his hair?"

  Deloraine looked round with a start. Miss Barriton's tone was intimateand her face friendly.

  "Some people think it picturesque," he said in serious bewilderment.

  "Oh, yes, picturesque--like a hair-dresser's young man!" she shruggedher shoulders. "He looks as if he had never been out of doors in hislife."

  Now, whatever the faults of Tommy's appearance, he had a wholesomesunburnt face, and he knew it. This speech of Miss Barriton's cheeredhim enormously, for he argued that if she had fallen out of love withVennard's looks she might fall in love with his own. Being aphilosopher in his way, he was content to take what the gods gave, andask for no explanations.

  I do not know how their conversation prospered, for my attention wasdistracted by the extraordinary behaviour of the Home Secretary. Mr.Cargill had made himself notorious by his treatment of "political"prisoners. It was sufficient in his eyes for a criminal to confess topolitical convictions to secure the most lenient treatment and a speedyrelease. The Irish patriot who cracked skulls in the Scotland Divisionof Liverpool, the Suffragist who broke windows and the noses of thepolice, the Social Democrat whose antipathy to the Tsar revealed itselfin assaults upon the Russian Embassy, the "hunger-marchers" who haddesigns on the British Museum,--all were sure of respectful and tenderhandling. He had announced more than once, amid tumultuous cheering,that he would never be the means of branding earnestness, howevermistaken, with the badge of the felon.

  He was talking I recall, to Lady Lavinia Dobson, renowned in twohemispheres for her advocacy of women's rights. And this was what Iheard him say. His face had grown suddenly flushed and his eye bright,so that he looked liker than ever to a bookmaker who had had a goodmeeting. "No, no, my dear lady, I have been a lawyer, and it is myduty in office to see that the law, the palladium of British libertiesis kept sacrosanct. The law is no respecter of persons, and I intendthat it shall be no respecter of creeds. If men or women break thelaws, to jail they shall go, though their intentions were those of theApostle Paul. We don't punish them for being Socialists orSuffragists, but for breaking the peace. Why, goodness me, if wedidn't, we should have every malefactor in Britain claimingpreferential treatment because he was a Christian Scientist or aPentecostal Dancer."

  "Mr. Cargill, do you realise what you are saying?" said Lady Laviniawith a scared face.

  "Of course I do. I am a lawyer, and may be presumed to know the law.If any other doctrine were admitted, the Empire would burst up in afortnight."

  "That I should live to hear you name that accursed name!" cried theoutraged lady. "You are denying your gods, Mr. Cargill. You areforgetting the principles of a lifetime."

  Mr. Cargill was becoming excited, and exchanging his ordinaryEdinburgh-English for a broader and more effective dialect.

  "Tut, tut, my good wumman, I may be allowed to know my own principlesbest. I tell ye I've always maintained these views from the day when Ifirst walked the floor of the Parliament House. Besides, even if Ihadn't, I'm surely at liberty to change if I get more light. Whoevermakes a fetish of consistency is a trumpery body and little use to Godor man. What ails ye at the Empire, too? Is it not better to have abig country than a kailyard, or a house in Grosvenor Square than abut-and-ben in Balham?"

  Lady Lavinia folded her hands. "We slaughter our blackfellow-citizens, we fill South Africa with yellow slaves, we crowd theIndian prisons with the noblest and most enlightened of the Indianrace, and we call it Empire building!"

  "No, we don't," said Mr. Cargill stoutly, "we call it common-sense.That is the penal and repressive side of any great activity. D'ye meanto tell me that you never give your maid a good hearing? But would youlike it to be said that you spent the whole of your days swearing atthe wumman?"

  "I never swore in my life," said Lady Lavinia.

  "I spoke metaphorically," said Mr. Cargill. "If ye cannot understand asimple metaphor, ye cannot understand the rudiments of politics."

  Picture to yourself a prophet who suddenly discovers that his God islaughing at him, a devotee whose saint winks and tells him that thedevotion of years has been a farce, and you will get some idea of LadyLavinia's frame of mind. Her sallow face flushed, her lip trembled,and she slewed round as far as her chair would permit her. MeanwhileMr. Cargill, redder than before, went on contentedly with his dinner.

  I was glad when my aunt gave the signal to rise. The atmosphere waselectric, and all were conscious of it save the three Ministers,Deloraine, and Miss Claudia. Vennard seemed to be behaving very badly.He was arguing with Caerlaverock down the table, and the ex-Viceroy'sface was slowly getting purple. When the ladies had gone, we remainedoblivious to wine and cigarettes, listening to this heated controversywhich threatened any minute to end in a quarrel.

  The subject was India, and Vennard was discussing on the follies of allViceroys.

  "Take this idiot we've got now," he declared. "He expects me to be asort of wet-nurse to the Government of India and do all their dirtywork for them. They know local conditions, and they have ample powersif they would only use them, but they won't take an atom ofresponsibility. How the deuce am I to decide for them, when in thenature of things I can't be half as well informed about the facts!"

  "Do you maintain," said Caerlaverock, stuttering in his wrath, "thatthe British Government should divest itself of responsibility for thegovernement of our great Indian Dependency?"

  "Not a bit," said Vennard impatiently; "of course we are responsible,but that is all the more reason why the fellows who know the businessat first hand should do their duty. If I am the head of a bank I amresponsible for its policy, but that doesn't mean that every localbank-manager should consult me about the solvency of clients I neverheard of. Faversham keeps bleating to me that the state of India isdangerous. Well, for God's sake let him suppress every native paper,shut up the schools, and send every agitator to the Andamans. I'llback him up all right. But don't let him ask me what to do, for Idon't know."

  "You think such a course would be popular?" asked a large, grave man, anewspaper editor.

  "Of course it would," said Vennard cheerily. "The British public hatesthe idea of let
ting India get out of hand. But they want a lead. Theycan't be expected to start the show any more than I can."

  Lord Caerlaverock rose to join the ladies with an air of outrageddignity. Vennard pulled out his watch and announced that he must goback to the House.

  "Do you know what I am going to do?" he asked. "I am going down totell Simpson what I think of him. He gets up and prates of having beenforty years in India. Well, I am going to tell him that it is to himand his forty-year lot that all this muddle is due. Oh, I assure you,there's going to be a row," said Vennard, as he struggled into his coat.

  Mulross had been sitting next me, and I asked him if he was leavingtown. "I wish I could," he said, "but I fear I must stick on over theTwelth. I don't like the way that fellow Von Kladow has been talking.He's up to no good, and he's going to get a flea in his ear before heis very much older."

  Cheerfully, almost hilariously the three Ministers departed, Vennardand Cargill in a hansom and Mulross on foot. I can only describe thecondition of those left behind as nervous prostration. We lookedfurtively at each other, each afraid to hint his suspicions, but allconvinced that a surprising judgment had befallen at least two membersof his Majesty's Government. For myself I put the number at three, forI did not like to hear a respected Whig Foreign Secretary talk aboutgiving the Chancellor of a friendly but jealous Power a flea in his ear.

  The only unperplexed face was Deloraine's. He whispered to me thatMiss Barriton was going on to the Alvanleys' ball, and had warned himto be there. "She hasn't been to a dance for months, you know," hesaid. "I really think things are beginning to go a little better, oldman."