The Burning Spear: Being the Experiences of Mr. John Lavender in the Time of War

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.

XXI

AND ASCENDS TO PARADISE

Now when Mr. Lavender once slept over an idea it became so strong that no power on earth could prevent his putting it into execution, and all night long he kept Blink awake by tramping up and down his bedroom and planning the details of such a retirement as would meet his unfortunate case. For at once he perceived that to retire from both his lives without making the whole world know of it would be tantamount to not retiring. “Only by a public act,” he thought, “of so striking a character that nobody can miss it can I bring the moral home to all public and private men.” And a hundred schemes swarmed like ants in his brain. Nor was it till the cock crew that one adequate to this final occasion occurred to him.

“It will want very careful handling,” he thought, “for otherwise I shall be prevented, and perhaps even arrested in the middle, which will be both painful and ridiculous. So sublime, however, was his idea that he shed many tears over it, and often paused in his tramping to regard the unconscious Blink with streaming eyes. All the next day he went about the house and heath taking a last look at objects which had been dear, and at mealtimes ate and drank even less than usual, absorbed by the pathos of his coming renunciation. He determined to make his preparations for the final act during the night, when Mrs. Petty would be prevented by Joe’s snoring from hearing the necessary sounds; and at supper he undertook the delicate and harrowing task of saying good-bye to, his devoted housekeeper without letting her know that he, was doing it.

“Mrs – Petty,” he said, trifling with a morsel of cheese, “it is useless to disguise, from you that I may be going a journey, and I feel that I shall not be able to part from all the care you have, bestowed on me without recording in words my heartfelt appreciation of your devotion. I shall miss it, I shall miss it terribly, if, that is, I am permitted to miss anything.”

Mrs. Petty, whose mind instantly ran to his bed socks, answered: “Don’t you worry, sir; I won’t forget them. But wherever are you going now?”

“Ah!” said Mr. Lavender subtly, “it is all in the air at present; but now that the lime-trees are beginning to smell a certain restlessness is upon me, and you may see some change in my proceedings. Whatever happens to me, however, I commit my dear Blink to your care; feed her as if she were myself, and love her as if she were Joe, for it is largely on food and affection that dogs depend for happiness.

“Why, good gracious, sir,” said Mrs. Petty, “you talk as if you were going for a month of Sundays. Are you thinking of Eastbourne?”

Mr. Lavender sighed deeply at that word, for the memory of a town where he had spent many happy days added to the gentle melancholy of his feelings on this last evening.

“As regards that I shall not inform you at present; for, indeed, I am by no means certain what my destination will be. Largely speaking, no pub – public man,” he stammered, doubtful whether he was any longer that, “knows where he will be going to-morrow. Sufficient unto the day are the intentions in his head.

“Well, sir,” said Mrs. Petty frankly, “you can’t go anywhere without Joe or me, that’s flat.”

Mr. Lavender smiled.

“Dear Mrs. Petty,” he murmured, “there are sacrifices one cannot demand even of the most faithful friends. But,” he went on with calculated playfulness, “we need not consider that point until the day after to-morrow at least, for I have much to do in the meantime.”

Reassured by those words and the knowledge that Mr. Lavender’s plans seldom remained the same for more than two days, Mrs. Petty tossed her head slightly and went to the door. “Well, it is a mystery, I’m sure,” she said.

“I should like to see Joe,” said Mr. Lavender, with a lingering look at his devoted housekeeper.

“The beauty!” muttered Mrs. Petty; “I’ll send him,” and withdrew.

Giving the morsel of cheese to Blink, who, indeed, had eaten practically the whole of this last meal, Mr. Lavender took the moon-cat on his shoulder, and abandoned himself for a moment to the caresses of his two favourites.

“Blink,” he said in a voice which trembled slightly, “be good to this moon-cat while I am away; and if I am longer than you expect, darling, do not be unhappy. Perhaps some day you will rejoin me; and even if we are not destined to meet again, I would not, in the fashion of cruel men, wish to hinder your second marriage, or to stand in the way of your happy forgetfulness of me. Be as light-hearted as you can, my dear, and wear no mourning for your master.”

So saying, he flung his arms round her, and embraced her warmly, inhaling with the most poignant emotion her sheep-like odour. He was still engaged with her when the door was opened, and Joe came in.

“Joe,” said Mr. Lavender resolutely, “sit down and light your pipe. You will find a bottle of pre-war port in the sideboard. Open it, and, drink my health; indeed, I myself will drink it too, for it may give me courage. We have been good friends, Joe,” he went on while Joe was drawing the cork, “and have participated in pleasant and sharp adventures. I have called you in at this moment, which may some day seem to you rather solemn, partly to shake your hand and partly to resume the discussion on public men which we held some days ago, if you remember.”

“Ah!” said Joe, with his habitual insouciance, “when I told you that they give me the ‘ump.”

“Yes, what abaht it, sir? ‘Ave they been sayin’ anything particular vicious?” His face flying up just then with the cork which he was extracting encountered the expression on Mr. Lavender’s visage, and he added: “Don’t take wot I say to ‘eart, sir; try as you like you’ll never be a public man.”

Those words, which seemed to Mr. Lavender to seal his doom, caused a faint pink flush to invade his cheeks.

“No,” continued Joe, pouring out the wine; “you ‘aven’t got the brass in times like these. I dare say you’ve noticed, sir, that the times is favourable for bringing out the spots on the body politic. ‘Ere’s ‘ealth!”

“Joe,” said Mr. Lavender, raising the glass to his lips with solemnity, “I wish you a most happy and prosperous life. Let us drink to all those qualities which make you par excellence one of that great race, the best hearted in the world, which never thinks of to-morrow, never knows when it is beaten, and seldom loses its sense of humour.

“Ah!” returned Joe enigmatically, half-closing one of his greenish eyes, and laying the glass to one side of his reddish nose. Then, with a quick movement, he swallowed its contents and refilled it before Mr. Lavender had succeeded in absorbing more than a drop.

“I don’t say,” he continued, “but what there’s a class o’ public man that’s got its uses, like the little ‘un that keeps us all alive, or the perfect English gentleman what did his job, and told nobody nothin’ abaht it. You can ‘ave confidence in a man like that – that’s why ‘e’s gone an’ retired; ‘e’s civilized, you see, the finished article; but all this raw material, this ‘get-on’ or ‘get-out’ lot, that’s come from ‘oo knows where, well, I wish they’d stayed there with their tell-you-how-to-do-it and their ‘ymns of ‘ate.”

“Joe,” said Mr. Lavender, “are you certain that therein does not speak the snob inherent in the national bosom? Are you not unconsciously paying deference to the word gentleman?”

“Why not, sir?” replied Joe, tossing off his second glass. “It’d be a fine thing for the country if we was all gentlemen – straight, an’ a little bit stupid, and ‘ad ‘alf a thought for others.” And he refilled his master’s glass. “I don’t measure a gentleman by ‘is money, or ‘is title, not even by ‘is clothes – I measure ‘im by whether he can stand ‘avin’ power in ‘is ‘ands without gettin’ unscrupled or swollen ‘eaded, an’ whether ‘e can do what he thinks right without payin’ attention, to clamour. But, mind you, ‘e’s got to ‘ave right thoughts too, and a feelin’ ‘eart. ‘Ere’s luck, sir.”

Mr. Lavender, who, absorbed in his chauffeur’s sentiments, had now drunk two glasses, rose from his, chair, and clutching his hair said: “I will not conceal from you, Joe, that I have always assumed every public man came up to that standard, at least.”

“Crikey said Joe. ‘Ave you really, sir? My Gawd! Got any use for the rest of this bottle?”

“No, Joe, no. I shall never have use for a bottle again.”

“In that case I might as well,” said Joe, pouring what remained into a tumbler and drinking it off. “Is there any other topic you’d like to mention? If I can ‘ave any influence on you, I shall be very glad.”

“Thank you, Joe,” returned Mr. Lavender, “what I have most need of at this moment is solitude and your good wishes. And will you kindly take Blink away, and when she has had her run, place her in my bedroom, with the window closed. Good-night, Joe. Call me late tomorrow morning.

“Certainly, sir. Good-night, sir.”

“Good-night, Joe. Shake hands.”

When Joe was gone, accompanied by the unwilling Blink, turning her beautiful dark eyes back to the last, Mr. Lavender sat down at his bureau, and drawing a sheet of paper to him, wrote at the top of it.

“My last Will and Testament.”

It was a long time before he got further, and then entirely omitted to leave anything in it, completely preoccupied by the preamble, which gradually ran as follows:

“I, John Lavender, make known to all men by these presents that the act which I contemplate is symbolical, and must in no sense be taken as implying either weariness of life or that surrender to misfortune which is unbecoming to an English public gentleman.” (Over this description of himself Mr. Lavender was obliged to pause some time hovering between the two designations, and finally combining them as the only way out of his difficulty.) “Long and painful experience has convinced me that only by retiring from the former can I retain the latter character, and only by retiring from both can I point the moral ever demanded by my countrymen. Conscious, indeed, that a mere act of private resignation would have no significance to the body politic, nor any deflecting influence on the national life, I have chosen rather to disappear in blue flame, so that every Englishman may take to heart my lesson, and learn from my strange fate how to be himself uninfluenced by the verbiage of others. At the same time, with the utmost generosity, I wish to acknowledge in full my debt towards all those great writers and speakers on the war who have exercised so intoxicating an influence on my mind.” (Here followed an alphabetical list of names beginning with B and ending with S.)

“I wish to be dissociated firmly from the views of my chauffeur Joe Petty, and to go to my last account with an emphatic assertion that my failure to become a perfect public gentleman is due to private idiosyncrasies rather than to any conviction that it is impossible, or to anything but admiration of the great men I have mentioned. If anybody should wish to paint me after I am dead, I desire that I may be represented with my face turned towards the Dawn; for it is at that moment so symptomatic of a deep adoration – which I would scorn to make the common property of gossiping tongues – that I intend to depart. If there should be anything left of me – which is less than probable considering the inflammatory character of the material I design for my pyre – I would be obliged if, without giving anybody any trouble, it could be buried in my garden, with the usual Hampstead tablet.