FullReads

“I am delighted to hear that you are not the author of the two articles attacking Society. The fact that they happen to be signed with the name of another well-known lady had made me think it possible that this might be the case. Society? It is a great mystery. I can hardly think of it without taking off my boots and prostrating myself orientally. To criticize it is a mistake; it is even, if I may for once use a harsh word, subversive. It is the only one we’ve got. Oh, hush! Only in whispers at the dead of night to the most trusted friend under the seal of secrecy can we think of criticizing it. But holding, as I do, perhaps the most important public position in the Continent of Europe, if not in the whole world–responsible, as I am, for what may be called the sustenance of the next generation–I do feel called upon to carry out any repairs and re-decoration of the social fabric that may be required. You with your universal influence which–until Einstein arrives–will be the only possible explanation of the vagaries in the orbit of Mercury, can do as much, or nearly as much. Do it. But never speak of it. Oh, hush! (Sorry–I forgot I’d mentioned that before.)

“In reply to your inquiry, I never read ‘Robert Elsmere,’ but understand from a private source that it saved many young men from reading ‘David Grieve.’ Your second inquiry as to the lady-love of my first youth is violent–very violent. Suppose you mind your own business.”

FOURTH EXTRACT

THE SOLES

I do not know why we were called the Soles. Enemies said it was because we were flat, fishy, and rather expensive.

Our set comprised the upper servants of some of the best houses in Mayfair. Looking back at it now, I can see that no similar body ever had such a tremendous influence. It may not have been entirely due to us that gravity varies inversely as the square of the distance, but at least we acquiesced. And what we did in home and foreign politics has scarcely yet been suspected.

The reason for our influence is sufficiently obvious. Our great leader, James Arthur Bunting, was perhaps the most perfect butler that the world has yet seen; his magnificent presence, plummy voice, exquisite tact, and wide knowledge made him beyond price. We had other butlers whom it would have been almost equally difficult to replace. We had chefs who with a chain of marvellous dinners bound their alleged employers to their chariot-wheels. Nominally, Parliament ruled the country, but we never had any doubt who ruled Parliament.

To take but one instance, the sudden volte face of Lord Baringstoke on the Home Rule Question. This created a great sensation at the time, and various explanations were suggested to account for it. Nobody guessed the truth. The fact is that Mr. Bunting tendered his resignation.

Lord Baringstoke was much distressed. An increase of salary was immediately suggested and waved aside.

“It is not that, m’lord,” said Bunting. “It is a question of principle. Your lordship’s expressed views as to Ireland are not, if I may say so, the views of my friends and of myself. And on that subject we feel deeply. Preoccupied with that difference, if I remained, I could no longer do justice to your lordship nor to myself. My wounded and bleeding heart—-“

“Oh, never mind your bleeding heart, Bunting,” said Baringstoke. “Do I understand that this is your only reason for wanting to go?”

“That is so, m’lord.”

“Then, supposing that I reconsidered my views as to Ireland and found that they were in fact the opposite of what I had previously supposed, you would remain?”

“With very great pleasure.”

“Then in that case you had better wait a few days. I’m inclined to think that everything can be arranged.”

“Very good, m’lord.”

Less than a week later, Lord Baringstoke’s public recantation was the talk of London. In a speech of considerable eloquence he showed how the merciless logic of facts had convinced his intellect, and his conscience had compelled him to abandon the position he had previously taken up. Fortunately, you can prove absolutely anything about Ireland. It is merely a question of what facts you will select and what you will suppress.