Part 51 (1/2)
The honest Vice-President of the Club, Mr. Richards, was pretty far gone, but could always be relied upon to say something opposite. That was due to his legal training. Once a thriving solicitor, he had been struck off the rolls in consequence of some stupid trustee business which turned out all wrong and thereafter driven along devious paths known only to himself: hence his residence on Nepenthe. He replied:
”That depends entirely, my dear Sir, upon what you postulated.”
”The older I get,” observed Mr. van Koppen, ”the more I realize that everything depends upon what a man postulates. The rest is plain sailing.”
”I never heard a truer remark,” said Keith, ”not even from you! One has only to posit a thing, and it's done. Don't you agree, Bishop? Here is what I would call a worn-out earthenware plate. It is not a plate unless I tell it to be a plate. You may call it anything you like--it can't answer back. But we need not pursue the argument. Speaking for myself, I am feeling as comfortable as a beetle in a rose.”
The Vice-President remarked:
”We all know what it means when Mr. Keith becomes horticultural in his similes. It means the same thing as when I become legal. Gentlemen! I propose to grow legal within the next half-hour or so.”
”You promised to tell me the history of your cannas,” said Mr. Heard.
”You were going to tell it me too,” answered Denis.
”I did. I was. And I will. But let me ask you this: have you ever heard of a teetotaler conspicuous for kindliness of heart, or intellectually distinguished in any walk of life? I should be glad to know his name. A sorry crew! Not because they drink water, but because the state of mind which makes them dread alcohol is unpropitious to the hatching of any generous idea. WHEN MEN HAVE WELL DRUNK. I like that phrase. WHEN MEN HAVE WELL DRUNK. I am inclined to think that the Aramaic text has not been tampered with at this point. What do you say, Heard?”
”Nothing is more improbable,” replied the bishop. ”And the water, you perceive, was changed into wine; not into cocoa or lemonade. That conveys, if I am not mistaken, rather a suggestive implication.”
”I have been pursuing Seneca's letters. He was a cocoa-drinker, masquerading as an ancient. An objectionable hypocrite! I wish people would read Seneca instead of talking about him.”
Van Koppen observed:
”What a man postulates is truer than what exists. I have grown grey in trying to make my fellow-creatures understand that realities are less convincing than make-believe.”
”Given the proper atmosphere,” said the bishop, laughing, ”everything becomes inevitable. If you were wrong, Mr. van Koppen, where would our poets and novelists be?”
”Where are they?” queried the American.
”How shall that come out of a man,” continued Mr. Heard, ”which was never in him? How shall he generate a harmonious atmosphere if he be disharmonious himself? It is all a question of plausibility, of verisimi--simili--”
”I never heard a more profound remark, Koppen, no, nor a more subtle one; not even from you. Nor yet from you, Heard. And I can tell you something to the point. I was talking this afternoon with a gentleman about the stage. I said it made me said to see flesh-and-blood people pretending to be kings and queens. Because it cannot be done. No sensible person can bring himself to believe it. But when you watch some of these local marionette theatres the illusion is complete. Why is a poppy show more convincing than the COMEDIE FRANCAISE? Because it is still further removed from reality. There is so much make-belief that you cease to struggle. You succ.u.mb without an effort. You are quite disposed, you are positively anxious, to make concessions to the improbable. Once they are made--why, as you say, it is plain sailing.”
”All life is a concession to the improbable,” observed the bishop rather vaguely.
Mr. Richards remarked:
”These questions must be approached with an open mind. An open mind, gentlemen, is not necessarily an empty one.”
”A fine distinction!”
”Very well. Mr. Keith proposes to abolish theatres. I second the motion. Nothing is easier. Let me draw up a memorial to the House of Lords. We will appeal to them on moral grounds. I know the proper language. WHEREAS BY THE GRACE OF G.o.d YOUR PEt.i.tIONERS HUMBLY PROTEST THAT THERE IS TOO MUCH KISSING ON THE STAGE--ah! Talking of kissing, here comes our friend Don Francesco. He shall put his name to the memorial and seal it with an oath. No Englishman can resist a Monsignor. And nothing like a solemn oath. People always think you mean it.”
That amiable personage strode down the stairs in dignified fas.h.i.+on, greeting the guests with a sonorous:
”PAX VOBISc.u.m!”
He could not be induced to stay long, however. He had been perturbed all day on account of the d.u.c.h.ess who now threatened to join the Moravian Brotherhood; she was so annoyed about a little thing which had happened. He did not quite believe it, of course; but, like a well-trained priest, took nothing for granted and was prepared for every emergency where ladies are concerned.
”Just one gla.s.s!” said Keith.
”Let me drink to your health ere we part,” added the bishop. ”I am sorry to leave you. Our friends.h.i.+p will endure. We meet in September, during the vintage season. Keith has been talking to me. I am as wax in his hands. Your smile, Don Francesco, will follow me across the ocean.