A Writer's Notebook (5 page)

As the day wore on the excitement increased: people talked of the growing jealousy of the French and of their intrigues in Siam and the Congo; papers were eagerly bought, and the articles on the subject, which were accompanied with maps of Madagascar, read. On the Exchange there has been a panic; stocks have fallen and war has been the subject of every conversation: the city men have been talking of volunteering. Wherever you go people ask for news. Everyone is anxious. There is no ill will towards the French, but a firm determination to fight if need be. The Government does not arouse confidence, for it is well known to be divided; and although there is trust in Lord Rosebery, it is common knowledge that some of the other members of the Cabinet are in disagreement with him, and it is thought that they may hinder him from doing.
anything. There is a general feeling that if England submits to another rebuff from France the Government will be overthrown. The anxiety, the dread of war are great, and there is a general consensus of opinion that though it may be delayed, such is the greed, pride and jealousy of the French, it must eventually break out. But if it does, few people will know its cause; why exactly there should be trouble about Madagascar, no one has the slightest idea.

This evening I went to see some men, and on my way passed two postmen talking of the common topic. When I arrived I found my friends in the same agitated state as everyone else. We spoke of nothing else. We compared the feeling between the French and Germans before the war of 1870 with the feeling now. We talked of Crécy and Agincourt, of Pitt and Wellington. There was a long discussion about the first movements of the war: we talked about what would happen if the French landed an army on the English coast; where they would land; what would be their movements; and how they would be prevented from taking London.

October
4
th
. The scare is over. The reason of the Cabinet council has been explained, namely to provide for the safety of British subjects in Pekin, and consequently matters have resumed their former state. The public, however, is somewhat indignant at having been so misled; they ask what need there was to keep secret the motive for suddenly summoning a council, especially as it must have been foreseen that a panic would be caused and a great deal of money lost on the Exchange. The journalists who have been the chief agents in the trouble are angry that they should have been led into such foolishness.

Annandale. I noticed that he had turned two statuettes that were in his room with their faces to the wall, and I asked him why. He said there was so much more character in the back of things.

Annandale: “I often think life must be quite different to
a man called Smith; it can have neither poetry nor distinction.”

He is fond of reading the Bible. “There always seems to me something so exceedingly French about some of the characters.”

Yesterday evening he made an old joke and I told him I'd heard it a good many times before. Annandale: “It's quite unnecessary to make new jokes. In fact, I think I rather despise the man who does. He is like the miner who digs up diamonds, but I am the skilful artist who cuts them, polishes them and makes them delightful to the eye of women.”

Later he said: “I don't see why people shouldn't say what they think of themselves merely because it happens to be complimentary. I'm clever, I know it, and why shouldn't I acknowledge it?”

While I was at St. Thomas's Hospital, I lived in furnished rooms at 11 Vincent Square, Westminster. My landlady was a character. I have drawn a slight portrait of her in a novel called
Cakes and Ale,
but I did no more than suggest her many excellences. She was kind and she was a good cook. She had common sense and a Cockney humour. She got a lot of fun out of her lodgers. The following are notes I made of her conversation
.

Mrs. Foreman went to a concert at the Parish Hall last night with Miss Brown who lets lodgings at number 14. Mr. Harris who keeps the pub round the corner was there: “ ‘Why, that's Mr. Harris,' says I, ‘I'm blowed if it ain't.' Miss Brown puts up 'er eyeglass and squints down, and says: ‘So it is, it's Mr. Harris himself.' ‘He is dressed up, ain't he?' says I. ‘Dressed! Dressed to death and kill the fashion, I call it!' says she. ‘And you can see his clothes ain't borrowed; they fits him so nice,' says I. ‘ 'Tain't everyone 'as a suit of dress-clothes, is it?' says she.”

Then to me: “I tell yer, he did look a caution; he had a
great big white flower in his button-hole; and wot with his ole white flower, an' his ole red face, he did look a type and no mistake.”

“Ah yes, I wanted a little boy, and the Lord, He gave me my wish: but I wish He hadn't now; I should've like to have a little girl, and I should have taught her scrubbin' and the pianoforte and black-leadin' grates and I don't know what all.”

Telling me of a long word someone had used: “Such an aristocratic word, you know; why, it sounded as if it would break your jaw coming out.”

“Oh, it'll all come right in the end when we get four balls of worsted for a penny.”

“He does look bad: I think he's going home soon.”

My fire was out when I came in, and Mrs. Foreman relit it. “Ask the fire to burn up while I'm away, won't you? And don't look at it, will you? You'll see how nicely it'll burn if you don't.”

“I don't think our boy is very affectionate: he never has been, not even from his childhood. But he knows why I spoil him; he gets up to such hanky-panky-tricks. We do love him. Oh, he is a lump of jam! I feel I could eat him when I'm hungry; some parts of his body are so nice and soft; I could bite them.”

There are two kinds of friendship. The first is a friendship of animal attraction; you like your friend not for any particular qualities or gifts, but simply because you are drawn to him.
“C'est mon ami parce que je l'aime; je l'aime parce que c'est mon ami.”
It is unreasoning and unreasonable; and by the irony of things it is probable that you will have this feeling for someone quite unworthy of it. This kind of friendship, though sex has no active part in it, is really akin to love: it
arises in the same way, and it is not improbable that it declines in the same way.

The second kind of friendship is intellectual. You are attracted by the gifts of your new acquaintance. His ideas are unfamiliar; he has seen sides of life of which you are ignorant; his experience is impressive. But every well has a bottom and finally your friend will come to the end of what he has to tell you: this is the moment decisive for the continuation of your friendship. If he has nothing more in him than his experience and his reading have taught him, he can no longer interest or amuse you. The well is empty, and when you let the bucket down, nothing comes up. This explains why one so quickly makes warm friendships with new acquaintances and as quickly breaks them: also the dislike one feels for these persons afterwards, for the disappointment one experiences on discovering that one's admiration was misplaced turns into contempt and aversion. Sometimes, for one reason or another, however, you continue to frequent these people. The way to profit by their society then is to make them yield you the advantages of new friends; by seeing them only at sufficiently long intervals to allow them to acquire fresh experiences and new thoughts. Gradually the disappointment you experienced at the discovery of their shallowness will wear off, habit brings with it an indulgence for their defects and you may keep up a pleasant friendship with them for many years. But if, having got to the end of your friend's acquired knowledge, you find that he has something more, character, sensibility and a restless mind, then your friendship will grow stronger, and you will have a relationship as delightful in its way as the other friendship of physical attraction.

It is conceivable that these two friendships should find their object in one and the same person; that would be the perfect friend. But to ask for that is to ask for the moon. On the other hand, when, as sometimes happens, there is an animal attraction on one side and an intellectual one on the other, only discord can ensue.

When you are young friendship is very important, and every new friend you make is an exciting adventure. I do not remember who the persons were who occasioned these confused reflections, but since extreme youth is apt to make general rules from single instances, I surmise that I had found my feeling for someone to whom I was drawn unreciprocated, and that somebody else, whose mind had interested me, proved less intelligent than I had thought
.

I do not know that in the ordinary affairs of life philosophy is of much more use than to enable us to make a virtue of necessity. By showing us the advantages of a step which we are forced to take, but would not of our own free will, it consoles us a little for its unpleasantness. It helps us to do with equanimity what we would rather not do.

In love one should exercise economy of intercourse. None of us can love for ever. Love will be stronger and last longer if there are impediments to its gratification. If a lover is prevented from enjoying his love by absence, difficulty of access, or by the caprice or coldness of his beloved, he can find a little consolation in the thought that when his wishes are fulfilled his delight will be intense. But love being what it is, should there be no such hindrances, he will pay no attention to the considerations of prudence; and his punishment will be satiety. The love that lasts longest is the love that is never returned.