Part 29 (1/2)
Poor creature, unable, I suppose, to realise the Emperor's exalted situation, his splendid lineage, the wonderful talent with which he can draw pictures of the apostles with one hand while he writes an appeal to his Mohammedan comrades with the other. I dined with him once,” he added, in modest afterthought.
”I dined with him, too,” said Dr. Jordan. ”I shall never forget the impression he made. As he entered the room accompanied by his staff, the Emperor looked straight at me and said to one of his aides, 'Who is this?' 'This is Dr. Jordan,' said the officer. The Emperor put out his hand. 'So this is Dr. Jordan,' he said. I never witnessed such an exhibition of brain power in my life. He had seized my name in a moment and held it for three seconds with all the tenaciousness of a Hohenzollern.
”But may I,” continued the Director of the World's Peace, ”add a word to what has been said to make it still clearer to our friend? I will try to make it as simple as one of my lectures in Ichthyology. I know of nothing simpler than that.”
Everybody murmured a.s.sent. The Negro President put his hand to his ear.
”Theology?” he said.
”Ichthyology,” said Dr. Jordan. ”It is better. But just listen to this. War is waste. It destroys the tissues.
It is exhausting and fatiguing and may in extreme cases lead to death.”
The learned gentleman sat back in his seat and took a refres.h.i.+ng drink of rain water from a gla.s.s beside him, while a murmur of applause ran round the table. It was known and recognised that the speaker had done more than any living man to establish the fact that war is dangerous, that gunpowder, if heated, explodes, that fire burns, that fish swim, and other great truths without which the work of the peace endowment would appear futile.
”And now,” said Mr. Bryan, looking about him with the air of a successful toastmaster, ”I am going to ask our friend here to give us his views.”
Renewed applause bore witness to the popularity of The Philanthropist, whom Mr. Bryan had indicated with a wave of his hand.
The Philanthropist cleared his throat.
”In our business--” he began.
Mr. Bryan plucked him gently by the sleeve.
”Never mind your business just now,” he whispered.
The Philanthropist bowed in a.s.sent and continued:
”I will come at once to the subject. My own feeling is that the true way to end war is to try to spread abroad in all directions goodwill and brotherly love.”
”Hear, hear!” cried the a.s.sembled company.
”And the great way to inspire brotherly love all round is to keep on getting richer and richer till you have so much money that every one loves you. Money, gentlemen, is a glorious thing.”
At this point, Mr. Norman Angell, who had remained silent hitherto, raised his head from his chest and murmured drowsily:
”Money, money, there isn't anything but money. Money is the only thing there is. Money and property, property and money. If you destroy it, it is gone; if you smash it, it isn't there. All the rest is a great illus--”
And with this he dozed off again into silence.
”Our poor Angell is asleep again,” said The Lady Pacifist.
Mr. Bryan shook his head.
”He's been that way ever since the war began--sleeps all the time, and keeps muttering that there isn't any war, that people only imagine it, in fact that it is all an illusion. But I fear we are interrupting you,” he added, turning to The Philanthropist.
”I was just saying,” continued that gentleman, ”that you can do anything with money. You can stop a war with it if you have enough of it, in ten minutes. I don't care what kind of war it is, or what the people are fighting for, whether they are fighting for conquest or fighting for their homes and their children. I can stop it, stop it absolutely by my grip on money, without firing a shot or incurring the slightest personal danger.”
The Philanthropist spoke with the greatest emphasis, reaching out his hand and clutching his fingers in the air.
”Yes, gentlemen,” he went on, ”I am speaking here not of theories but of facts. This is what I am doing and what I mean to do. You've no idea how amenable people are, especially poor people, struggling people, those with ties and responsibilities, to the grip of money. I went the other day to a man I know, the head of a bank, where I keep a little money--just a fraction of what I make, gentlemen, a mere nothing to me but everything to this man because he is still not rich and is only fighting his way up. 'Now,' I said to him, 'you are English, are you not?' 'Yes, sir,' he answered. 'And I understand you mean to help along the loan to England with all the power of your bank.' 'Yes,' he said, 'I mean it and I'll do it.' 'Then I'll tell you what,' I said, 'you lend one penny, or help to lend one penny, to the people of England or the people of France, and I'll break you, I'll grind you into poverty--you and your wife and children and all that belongs to you.'”
The Philanthropist had spoken with so great an intensity that there was a deep stillness over the a.s.sembled company.