RECEIVES A REVELATION

Fully a week elapsed before Mr. Lavender recovered from the effects of the night which he had spent under his bed and again took his normal interest in the course of national affairs.  That which at length tore him from his torpid condition and refixed his imagination was an article in one of, his journals on the League of Nations, which caused him suddenly to perceive that this was the most important subject of the day.  Carefully extracting the address of the society who had the matter in hand, he determined to go down forthwith and learn from their own lips how he could best induce everybody to join them in their noble undertaking.  Shutting every window, therefore and locking Blink carefully into his study, he set forth and took the Tube to Charing Cross.

Arriving at the premises indicated he made his way in lifts and corridors till he came to the name of this great world undertaking upon the door of Room 443, and paused for a moment to recover from the astonishment he felt that the whole building at least was not occupied by the energies of such a prodigious association.

“Appearances, however, are deceptive,” he thought; “and from a single grain of mustard-seed whole fields will flower.”  He knocked on the door, therefore, and receiving the reply, “Cub id,” in a female voice, he entered a room where two young ladies with bad colds were feebly tapping type-writers.

“Can I see the President?” asked Mr. Lavender.

“Dot at the bobent,” said one of the young ladies.  “Will the Secretary do?”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Lavender “for I seek information.”

The young ladies indulged in secret confabulation, from which the perpetual word “He” alone escaped to Mr. Lavender’s ears.

Then one of them slipped into an inner room, leaving behind her a powerful trail of eucalyptus.  She came back almost directly, saying, “Go id.”

The room which Mr Lavender entered contained two persons, one seated at a bureau and the other pacing up and down and talking in a powerful bass voice.  He paused, looked at Mr. Lavender from under bushy brows, and at once went on walking and talking, with a sort of added zest.

“This must be He,” thought Mr. Lavender, sitting down to listen, for there was something about the gentleman which impressed him at once.  He had very large red ears, and hardly a hair on his head, while his full, bearded face and prominent eyes were full of force and genius.

“It won’t do a little bit, Titmarsh,” he was saying, “to allow the politicians to meddle in this racket.  We want men of genius, whose imaginations carry them beyond the facts of the moment.  This is too big a thing for those blasted politicians.  They haven’t shown a sign so far of paying attention to what I’ve been telling them all this time.  We must keep them out, Titmarsh.  Machinery without mechanism, and a change of heart in the world.  It’s very simple.  A single man of genius from each country, no pettifogging opposition, no petty prejudices.”

The other gentleman, whom Mr. Lavender took for the Secretary, and who was leaning his head rather wearily on his hand, interjected:  “Quite so!  And whom would you choose besides yourself?  In France, for instance?”

He who was walking stopped a moment, again looked at Mr. Lavender intently, and again began to speak as if he were not there.

“France?” he said.  “There isn’t anybody ­Anatole’s too old ­there isn’t anybody.”

“America, then?” hazarded the Secretary.

“America!” replied the other; “they haven’t got even half a man.  There’s that fellow in Germany that I used to influence; but I don’t know ­no, I don’t think he’d be any good.”

“D’Annunzio, surely ­” began the Secretary.

“D’Annunzio?  My God!  D’Annunzio!  No!  There’s nobody in Italy or Holland ­she’s as bankrupt as Spain; and there’s not a cat in Austria.  Russia might, perhaps, give us someone, but I can’t at the moment think of him.  No, Titmarsh, it’s difficult.”

Mr. Lavender had been growing more and more excited at each word he overheard, for a scheme of really stupendous proportions was shaping itself within him.  He suddenly rose, and said:  “I have an idea.”

The Secretary sat up as if he had received a Faradic shock, and he who was walking up and down stood still.  “The deuce you have, sir,” he said.

“Yes,” cried Mr. Lavender and in concentration and marvellous simplicity, “it has, I am sure, never been surpassed.  It is clear to me, sir, that you, and you alone, must be this League of Nations.  For if it is entirely in your hands there will be no delay.  The plan will spring full fledged from the head of Jove, and this great and beneficial change in the lot of mankind will at once become an accomplished fact.  There will be no need for keeping in touch with human nature, no call for patience and all that laborious upbuilding stone by stone which is so apt to discourage mankind and imperil the fruition of great reforms.  No, sir; you ­you must be this League, and we will all work to the end that tomorrow at latest there may be perfected this crowning achievement of the human species.”

The gentleman, who had commenced to walk again, looked furtively from Mr. Lavender to the Secretary, and said: 

“By Jingo! some idea!”

“Yes,” cried Mr. Lavender, entranced that his grand notion should be at once accepted; “for it is only men like you who can both soaringly conceive and immediately concrete in action; and, what is more, there will be no fear of your tiring of this job and taking up another, for you will be it; and one cannot change oneself.”

The gentleman looked at Mr. Lavender very suddenly at the words “tiring of this job,” and transferred his gaze to the Secretary, who had bent his face down to his papers, and was smothering a snigger with his hand.

“Who are you, sir?” he said sharply.

“Merely one,” returned Mr. Lavender, “who wishes to do all in his power to forward a project so fraught with beneficence to all mankind.  I count myself fortunate beyond measure to have come here this morning and found the very Heart of the matter, the grain of mustard-seed.”

The gentleman, who had begun to walk again, here muttered words which would have sounded like “Damned impudence” if Mr. Lavender had not been too utterly carried away by his idea to hear them.

“I shall go forth at once,” he said, “and make known the good tidings that the fields are sown, the League formed.  Henceforth there are no barriers between nations, and the reign of perpetual Peace is assured.  It is colossal.”

The gentleman abruptly raised his boot, but, seeming to think better of it, lowered it again, and turned away to the window.

Mr. Lavender, having bowed to his back, went out, and, urged on by his enthusiasm, directed his steps at once towards Trafalgar Square.

Arriving at this hub of the universe he saw that Chance was on his side, for a meeting was already in progress, and a crowd of some forty persons assembled round one of the lions.  Owing to his appearance Mr. Lavender was able without opposition to climb up on the plinth and join the speaker, a woman of uncertain years.  He stood there awaiting his turn and preparing his oration, while she continued her discourse, which seemed to be a protest against any interference with British control of the freedom of the seas.  A Union Jack happened to be leaning against the monument, and when she had at last finished, Mr. Lavender seized it and came forward to the edge.

“Great tidings!” he said at once, waving the flag, and without more ado plunged into an oration, which, so far as it went, must certainly be ranked among his masterpieces.  “Great tidings, Friends!  I have planted the grain of mustard seed or, in common parlance, have just come from the meeting which has incepted the League of Nations; and it will be my task this morning briefly to make known to you the principles which in future must dominate the policy of the world.  Since it is for the closer brotherhood of man and the reign of perpetual peace that we are struggling, we must first secure the annihilation of our common enemies.  Those members of the human race whose infamies have largely placed them beyond the pale must be eliminated once for all.”

Loud cheers greeted this utterance, and stimulated by the sound Mr. Lavender proceeded:  “What, however, must the civilized nations do when at last they have clean sheets?  In the first place, all petty prejudices and provincial aspirations must be set aside; and though the world must be firmly founded upon the principle of nationality it must also act as one great people.  This, my fellow-countrymen, is no mere contradiction in terms, for though in their new solidarities each nation will be prouder of itself, and more jealous of its good name and independence than ever, that will not prevent its’ sacrificing its inalienable rights for the good of the whole human nation of which it is a member.  Friends, let me give you a simple illustration, which in a nutshell will make the whole thing clear.  We, here in Britain, are justly proud and tenacious of our sea power ­in the words of the poet, ’We hold all the gates of the water.’  Now it is abundantly and convincingly plain that this reinforced principle of nationality bids us to retain and increase them, while internationalism bids us give ­them up.”

His audience ­which had hitherto listened with open mouths, here closed them, and a strident voice exclaimed: 

“Give it a name, gov’nor.  D’you say we ought to give up Gib?”

This word pierced Mr. Lavender, standing where he was, to the very marrow, and he fell into such confusion of spirit that his words became inaudible.

“My God!” he thought, appalled; “is it possible that I have not got to the bottom of this question?” And, turning his back on the audience, he gazed in a sort of agony at the figure of Nelson towering into the sky above him.  He was about to cry out piteously:  “Countrymen, I know not what I think.  Oh!  I am unhappy!” when he inadvertently stepped back over the edge of the plinth, and, still entangled in the flag, was picked up by two policemen and placed in a dazed condition and a deserted spot opposite the National Gallery.

It was while he was standing there, encircled by, pigeons and forgotten by his fellow man, that there came to him a spiritual revelation.  “Strange!” he thought; “I notice a certain inconsistency in myself, and even in my utterances.  I am two men, one of whom is me and one not me; and the one which is not me is the one which causes me to fall into the arms of policemen and other troubles.  The one which is me loves these pigeons, and desires to live quietly with my dog, not considering public affairs, which, indeed, seem to be suited to persons of another sort.  Whence, then, comes the one which is not me?  Can it be that it is derived from the sayings and writings of others, and is but a spurious spirit only meet to be outcast?  Do I, to speak in the vernacular, care any buttons whether we stick to Gibraltar or not so long as men do but live in kindness?  And if that is so, have I the right to say I do?  Ought I not, rather, to be true to my private self and leave the course of public affairs to those who have louder voices and no private selves?” The thought was extremely painful, for it seemed to disclose to him grave inconsistency in the recent management of his life.  And, thoroughly mortified, he turned round with a view of entering the National Gallery and soothing his spirit with art, when he was arrested by the placard which covered it announcing which town had taken which sum of bonds.  This lighted up such a new vista of public utility that his brain would certainly have caught fire again if one of the policemen who had conducted him across the Square had not touched him on the arm, and said: 

“How are you now, sir?”

“I am pretty well, thank you, policeman,” replied Mr. Lavender, “and sorry that I occasioned so much disturbance.”

“Don’t mention it, sir,” answered the policeman; “you came a nasty crump.”

“Tell me,” said Mr. Lavender, suddenly looking up into his face, “do you consider that a man is justified in living a private life?  For, as regards my future, it is largely on your opinion that I shall act.”

The policeman, whose solid face showed traces of astonishment, answered slowly:  “As a general thing, a man’s private life don’t bear lookin’ into, as you know, sir.”

“I have not lived one for some time,” said Mr. Lavender.

“Well,” remarked the policeman, “if you take my advice you won’t try it a-gain.  I should say you ’adn’t the constitution.”

“I fear you do not catch my meaning,” returned Mr. Lavender, whose whole body was aching from his fall; “it is my public life which tries me.”

“Well, then, I should chuck it,” said the policeman.

“Really?” murmured Mr. Lavender eagerly, “would you?”

“Why not?” said the policeman.

So excited was Mr. Lavender by this independent confirmation of his sudden longing that he took out half a crown.

“You will oblige me greatly,” he said, “by accepting this as a token of my gratitude.”

“Well, sir, I’ll humour you,” answered the policeman; “though it was no trouble, I’m sure; you’re as light as a feather.  Goin’ anywhere in particular?” he added.

“Yes,” said Mr. Lavender, rather faintly, “the Tube Station.”

“Come along with me, then.”

Mr. Lavender went along, not sorry to have the protection of that stalwart form, for his nerve was shaken, not so much by physical suffering as by the revelation he had received.

“If you’ll take my tip, sir,” said the policeman, parting from him, “you won’t try no private life again; you don’t look strong.”

“Thank you, policeman,” said Mr. Lavender musingly; “it is kind of you to take an interest in me.  Good-bye!”

Safely seated in the Tube for Hampstead he continued the painful struggle of his meditations.  “If, indeed,” he thought, “as a public man I do more harm than good, I am prepared to sacrifice all for my country’s sake and retire into private life.  But the policeman said that would be dangerous for me.  What, then, is left?  To live neither a public nor a private life!”

This thought, at once painful and heroic, began to take such hold of him that he arrived at his house in a high fever of the brain.