Gilbert

by Michael Coren

  Usually he feels in an inside pocket and takes out some manuscripts done in that marvellous Gothic handwriting. He hands the articles to me, and probably his work in town is finished. But now and then he’d say to the secretary, “Oh, Miss Dunham, would you mind taking down this for me?” And he’d stride up and down the small office, hands behind his back, while Bunny Dunham typed his conversation.

  Every now and then would come a chuckle, ending in a roar and a squeak. When his talk had ended, and he’d quickly read it through, he’d chat for a while and then with infinite reluctance vanish. Afterwards I have (but not often) seen him in a dim corner of a Fleet Street tavern, or in El Vino’s wine shop, blissfully contemplating the universe.

  But the paper was “made-up” over the phone. G.K.C. would say: “I thought of doing the leader on Gas-and-Gaiters” — or whatever it was. “And I could do three or four notes on so-and-so. Will you do the rest? And have you thought about a second leader?” And so on. But much was the stuff he did each week, such as Top-and-Tail and his current series, such as The Outline of Sanity, or Straws in the Wind. I said I supposed that Straws in the Hair would do, and he burbled and said it was too near the truth.

  Gilbert was to be paid £500 a year for his work on the magazine — Shaw thought him mad, writing that he should accept “at least £1,500 a year, plus payment for copy,” and adding that he was better off writing plays, perhaps on Joan of Arc or George Fox. Gilbert usually contributed the leading article, between 1250 and 1600 words, as well as a middle-page major article of some 2000 words. Friends were introduced to fill out the pages, with Wells, Shaw and Compton Mackenzie writing articles and commentary pieces. Circulation did not manage to reach over 5000 however, and that was not sufficient to pay all the staff’s wages and invest for the future. The general advice was now to close down G.K.’s Weekly while there was still time to salvage reputation if nothing else. Gilbert would have none of it.

  In 1926 Dorothy Collins arrived at the Chesterton household, and set about maintaining Gilbert as an author. Without this remarkable and versatile lady he would not have written so much during the last ten years of his life, and would probably have collapsed under the strain of his work load. She was a trained secretary and accountant, and could also drive a car — in Gilbert’s mind a quite remarkable attribute. The result was that he became far more mobile, and less dependent on third parties for transport to London, or to public meetings. She became an integral part of the family, a trusted friend and companion for both Gilbert and Frances. For all her superb efforts she could not remove Gilbert’s feelings of depression about the future of his magazine, or his brother’s magazine. He was often irritable at this time, less tolerant than in the past. W.P. Flynn, now eighty years old, recalls meeting him in Westminster’s Victoria Street. He was with a friend who knew Gilbert and was introduced to the man who he regarded as something of a hero. Gilbert was asked where he was staying. “Artillery Mansions” was the reply. “Well,” said Mr Flynn, “you’ll have to be careful then, or they’ll canonise you.” No laughter, not even a smile; only a sad look of disapproval and a rapid change of conversation. Frances found him difficult at times, and learnt that it was pointless to raise the subject of the future of G.K.’s Weekly.

  The saviour of the Chesterton magazine was a political philosophy. Distributism was in Gilbert’s eyes a natural and inevitable extension of his own religion. It had been discussed and debated by Cecil and Gilbert for years, but had never crystallised into a conscious theory until now. G.K.’s Weekly was to become the virtual mouthpiece of Distributism and the Distributist League, and thus ensure a loyal readership. Gilbert was elected President of the League and remained until his death the leading figure of the movement, its symbol and public light. What was it? K.L. Kenrick, Secretary of the Birmingham branch of the league and a leading Distributist, wrote a pamphlet with Gilbert on the subject. He explained as follows

  There are three economic theories struggling for supremacy in the modern world. They are Capitalism — the doctrine that property is best concentrated in large masses in the hands of a few people; Socialism — the doctrine that property is best owned and controlled by the state; and Distributism — the doctrine that property is best divided up among the largest possible number of people. Broadly speaking, we may say that Distributism means every man his own master (as far as possible); Socialism means nobody his own master, but the State master of all; Capitalism means a select few their own masters and the rest of us their servants. Again, broadly speaking, Capitalism may be said to be the economic creed of England, Germany and U.S.A.; and Distributism the economic creed of Ireland, Denmark, Belgium, France, Spain, Italy and Poland. Socialism, as Communism, had until recently a strong hold on Russia, but the latest news from that country seems to indicate that it has been compelled to capitulate to Distributism. We may say, therefore, that Socialism is more or less of a phantom; the real world-struggle is between Capitalism and Distributism; and the economic realist is bound to choose between these two. He can only take a passing glance at Socialism or Communism.

  The principal object of G.K.’s Weekly and the League associated with it, is to rally and unite such scattered forces of Distributism as are still to be found in England and the United States. In its foreign policy it sides, generally speaking, with the Distributist countries against their Capitalist aggressors, believing this struggle to be the main international problem of today. If funds were forthcoming it would keep a correspondent in each of those countries, whose main business would be to report on international economic affairs from that point of view.

  In its home policy it recognises that England is the hotbed of Capitalism. Here Capitalism was born; here it learnt its tricks; and although it has found apt pupils in Germany and America, it is here that it has wrought its greatest havoc, and here that its natural history may be best studied …

  The predictions made in the piece are of course ludicrous, as is the arrogant boast that three economic ideals were existent in the world. The nations identified as “Distributist” were, with the exception of Denmark, poorly developed and unable to deal with the poverty of their citizens. The remaining paragraphs of the tract deal with “the writing and speeches of the financiers … rhetoric of the politicians,” “enormous blocks of capital” and “a deep-seated evil.” The nasty flavour of economic fascism, with its rejection of both capitalism and socialism, is strong indeed, and Distributism died as a creed as soon as the fascist parties built themselves a solid platform. Distributism was naïve rather than unpleasant, relying on wishful thinking and ignorance of world affairs and trends. There were some first-class minds inside the Distributist League, as well as some first-class imaginations. It was heavily Roman Catholic, influenced by the encyclical letter of Pope Leo XIII of 1891, which called for an alternative to the two emerging forms of economics, and stressed that it was “within man’s right to possess things, not merely for temporary and momentary use, as other living things do, but to hold them in stable and permanent possession.” The number of individual Catholics divided the League, alienating non-Catholics. The tendency for reactionary views to creep in also turned potential members away. Father Brocard Sewell, a young enthusiast in the offices of G.K.’s Weekly and inside the Distributist League, is today someone who laments that “Oswald Mosley did not manage to become Prime Minister of this country;” hence it was that young radicals searching for an outlet for their energies and unrest rarely turned to organised Distributism.

  Outlining the purposes of the League, formally known as the “League for the Preservation of Liberty by the Restoration of Property,” Gilbert made two leading points

  That the only way to preserve liberty is to preserve property; that the individual and the family may be in some degree independent of oppressive systems, official or unofficial.

  And

  That the only way to preserve property is to distribute it much more equally among the citizens; that all, or approximately all, may
understand and defend it. This can only be done by breaking up the great plutocratic concentration of our time.

  He went on to say that the inevitable result of industrial progress was the swamping of the individual. Nobody, according to Gilbert, could or would reverse the trend of capitalism becoming increasingly powerful, and placing ever larger amounts of money in ever smaller groups of people. He concluded

  This problem of centralised wealth has produced a great many interesting things. It has produced proposals that what is thus centralised should be used for good instead of evil; that what is centralised should be simplified; that it should be centralised even more, in a new national centre. But it has not produced the perfectly simple proposal that what is centralised should be decentralised. It has not produced a single political party or political programme based on the idea that if property is in too few hands, it ought to be put into many more hands. This truism has been left for us to defend; and we have been obliged to defend it like a paradox.

  The object of the League is to form branches or groups all over the country for the defence of this principle and the discussion of the practical application of this principle. A list of proposals already made for its practical application will be found in the Text Book of the League, a pamphlet shortly to be published at 20/21 Essex Street, Strand; and written in collaboration by Mr Hilaire Belloc and the undersigned. But the authors of the pamphlet and the executive of the League desire that the groups and individual members should discuss these proposals in the light of their own local experience and personal judgement; as the work required, which is the reestablishment of small proprietors, small farmers, small shopkeepers and the rest, is a work which must be considered in relation to locality; which is but the geographical aspect of liberty. Unless some such solution is found, there is nothing before us but a choice between communist and commercial slavery.

  For those who were set alight by the spark which was Distributism this was a time of hope, ambition and hard work. Confusion was everywhere in the years after the First World War, the years of unemployment, great affluence and social change. The great cause was to come, in the struggle against a genuine darkness, the evil of fascism. Until that time bright young men searched and explored. At the Devereux pub beer would flow, songs would ring out and political debate would go on till the latest hour. It was all so fulfilling; it was all so ultimately empty. Branches of the League were set up throughout the country, and the circulation of G.K.’s Weekly rose to over 8000. Its real achievements were minimal. The reality of the situation was that socialism was the advancing cause, and within a generation half of Europe and much of the developing world would identify itself with Marxist Leninism. Capitalism adapted itself, became social democracy, the mixed economy, or authoritarian, state-controlled enterprise. Distributism left no significant mark, its influence is long dead outside of a small group of devotees. In fact Gilbert’s death signified the end of the philosophy, if that is what it was, as a serious proposition. He had kept it alive; squabbles and lack of direction tore the movement apart.

  The only important debate is concerned with how much the League and the magazine distracted Gilbert from the more important vocation of his books and serious articles. Age would have diminished the number of books he could have written irrespective of the time he spent on Distributism; as an outlet for his political aspirations it served a useful purpose. If nothing else, it got him out of the often stifling atmosphere of Beaconsfield, and exposed him to the Fleet Street he loved all of his life. His William Cobbett had appeared in 1925, and was as much a biography as an explanation of Gilbert’s political views. Cobbett was an early Distributist, campaigning for the real British people. For Tory and Whig read Capitalist and Socialist. It was a contrived book, and some of the interpretations of Cobbett’s life are so weighted as to support Gilbert’s position that much of it cannot be taken seriously.

  1926 was a busy year for publication. The Incredulity of Father Brown appeared, to positive reviews and a grateful readership. This was followed by a book of articles, many of them having previously appeared in the New Witness, entitled The Outline of Sanity. The year’s offering was completed by a book of poetry, The Queen of Seven Swords, dedicated to, and in part inspired by, Gilbert’s friend J.S. Phillimore, who had recently died.

  More important for the Chestertons, in 1926 Frances joined the Roman Catholic Church. “I am feeling my way into the Catholic fold,” she told Father O’Connor, “but it is a difficult road for me and I ask for your prayers.” Her instruction was a confusing experience for her, and a little frightening. “I don’t want my instruction to be here,” she wrote. “I don’t want to be the talk of Beaconsfield and for people to say I’ve followed Gilbert.” She was eventually received on All Saints Day in High Wycombe. For the first time in months she felt close to Gilbert again, a partner with him on a long, marvellous journey.

  Of course, her conversion did not save her from illness, and she once again fell into a deep physical decline. Gilbert was afraid of her illnesses, afraid of how he could deal with them, and how he could cope with himself. Not until December could Frances take her first communion and be confirmed in the Church, a “wrench” she found “rather terrible.” When she recovered from her ill health Gilbert was prepared to go to any lengths to make her feel secure and loved, both within the Church and within his own heart. It was a time of re-building, of working again at their marriage.

  Gilbert had long been fascinated with Poland and its problems. Here was a large, vibrant Catholic country in between the giants of Germany and Russia; it was a victim state, a valiant state. He received the opportunity of visiting Warsaw in 1927, a guest of the P.E.N. Club. Gilbert, Frances and Dorothy arrived at the end of April, greeted by an enthusiastic crowd which included a delegation party from the Prime Minister. If Gilbert was anxious to see Poland, Poland was even more anxious to see him. He was treated as if he were a royal visitor, a representative of the culture which Poland was determined to identify itself with. The Literary News of Warsaw wrote of his visit at the beginning of May

  … But this admiration would never have reached such an intensity had it not been for a truly exceptional affinity which exists between our distinguished guest and the Polish nation. No other Western writer understands Poland’s aspirations and movements as Chesterton does. He understands her today and understood her in the past, during the years of bondage. Only an intuition that sprang from so great a heart and mind as his could span the abyss that exists at the time between fortunate free England and the tragically struggling Polish nation, which can be likened to “the Man in Green” in that it loved its country even at the moment of its greatest downfall. When we fought for and won our independence, Chesterton always stood with us, a staunch friend, wielding his pen for our cause and branding our bondage as a historical crime. By placing the fervour of religious faith, love of truth, concreteness of life as well as the courage to defend these truths above all things, he at once named those which have constituted and constitute the foundation of the Polish spirit.

  This has brought it about that, alongside of Conrad, Chesterton today is our most popular English writer. Just as he found a deep spiritual relationship in us, so have we found it in the heart of the author of “The Ballad of the White Horse.” This explains why each of his books has been received by us with especial enthusiasm. For our love for the great English writer is based not upon esteem and admiration alone, but upon a deep spiritual and mental kinship.

  And this enables us to extend an exceptionally hearty welcome to a great poet and friend …

  The tour involved a series of lectures, meetings and meals. The meals were, in the best Slavonic tradition, long and full; a delight to Gilbert but something of a chore to the frail Frances. The speeches were equally long, full of praise and flattery. The Poles were surprisingly knowledgeable of Gilbert’s work, and as is so often the case with a people who are not given books and magazines on a free and easy basis, they savou
red and relished every word they could find. During his visit copies of his book were sold on a virtual black market for extremely high prices — his publishers had no idea of his popularity outside the English-speaking world. Gilbert seemed to make an impression on most of the Polish men of letters he met on the visit. Dr Adam Zielinski was a student of law at King John Casimir University at the time, and since he had some knowledge of English was asked to introduce Gilbert at a meeting of the local Literary Circle. The heat was terrible, with Gilbert visibly affected by the stifling weather. He was asked if such heat made him sweat, and replied that “Only horses sweat. Men perspire and ladies bloom.” It was a harmless, not particularly memorable, response but such was Gilbert’s charisma, and so great was the impression he made on his Polish hosts, that that simple answer has left its mark for sixty years.

  The effect was reciprocal. Poland now became an obsession. In his Autobiography Gilbert writes with passion about the country and the people, recalling being “honoured” and stressing the nobility of the Poles. He remembered one incident with special delight

  I was driving with a Polish lady, who was very witty and well-acquainted with the whole character of Europe, and also of England (as is the barbarous habit of Slavs); and I only noticed that her tone changed, if anything to a sort of coolness, as we stopped outside an archway leading to a side-street, and she said: “We can’t drive in here.” I wondered; for the gateway was wide and the street apparently open. As we walked under the arch, she said in the same colourless tone: “You take off your hat here.” And then I saw the open street. It was filled with a vast crowd, all facing me; and all on their knees on the ground. It was as if someone were walking behind me; or some strange bird were hovering over my head. I faced round, and saw in the centre of the arch great windows standing open, unsealing a chamber full of gold and colours; there was a picture behind; but parts of the whole picture were moving like a puppet-show, stirring double memories like a dream of the bridge in the puppet-show of my childhood; and then I realised that from those shifting groups there shone and sounded the ancient magnificence of the Mass.