Magnus Merriman (11 page)

The nationalist movement into which Magnus had been drawn by the solicitations of his friend Meiklejohn and by the impetuosity of his own nature, suffered from an unusual handicap. The normal preamble to a revolution or separatist movement is a phase of violent oppression by some foreign power or social minority, and the Scottish Nationalists were unfortunate in not being able to point to any gross or overt ill-use at the hands of England. Except for a few surviving Jacobites they had no passionate red embers to fan to a certainty of flame, and the stolid temper of lowland Scotland was not inclined to waive the material advantages of stability for the gambler's increment of change. The Nationalists' arguments were many, and many of them were sound, but they had small chance of influencing people who had forgotten or not yet learned or were by nature disinclined to think for themselves. Economic reasons and valid patriotic sentiment are both insufficient, without assistance from some sensational train of incidents, to overcome the inertia of a modern democracy, and so the Scottish Independents consisted mainly of spirits congenitally factious, of a small minority, mostly young, who had read history and considered the economic problem in some detail and with an open mind, of remaining Jacobites, of a few Liberals who remembered the early doctrines of their party, of some eccentric ladies, and of an insecure working-class element, more susceptible to sentiment than their bourgeois neighbours, and who further believed that any change from the existing order of society would of necessity be for the better. Vested interests were openly hostile to the movement, and the great majority of middle-class people were indifferent to it with the calm indifference of ignorance.

Magnus soon discovered that Meiklejohn's estimate of the situation was quite erroneous, but to counter this he developed a firm conviction that the Nationalist cause was justified, and presently his conversation assumed the very tone and colour of Meiklejohn's optimism, and he would assure casual acquaintances and passing friends that the country was ripe for independence, and they, did they not
join the Party immediately, would be left with the laggards and the slaves far in the rear of a triumphant nation marching to the goal of its assured destiny.

He met Skene again, and argued with him hotly but amicably. He was introduced to other Nationalists, and in return for his, heard their perfervid views. His novel was still selling, and the modest fame he had won by it assured him, among friends, of a respectful hearing and persuaded his fellow-members of the Party that his accession to it was of unusual value. He wrote several times for the obscure periodicals that favoured the cause, and Meiklejohn, braving the proprietors' wrath, asked him to contribute a series of articles on the general aspects of small nationalism to the evening paper which he edited. He addressed two or three small outdoor meetings, but his arguments were too remote and his language too learned to rouse excitement in a street audience. In a very short time, however, all the Nationalists in Scotland had heard of their new recruit, and many of them were gratified by the conversion of so distinguished a person.

In the flush of this political excitement Magnus discovered the subject for a poem. It was to be called
The Returning Sun
, and it was to picture a Scotland glorious in the revisiting of its ancient pride. But the first part was to satirize, very pun-gently, the existing Scotland of commercialism and dullard resignation to a dwindling name, and he was already taking great pleasure in the composition of this prelude.

Being so strenuously occupied he did not see Frieda again for rather more than a fortnight. He telephoned her once or twice, but owing to his other engagements they were unable to arrange a meeting. Then, late one afternoon, she rang him up and asked if she might come to see him that evening. It happened that Magnus was going to a soirée given by one of the few wealthy Nationalist supporters, a genial, enthusiastic, elderly Jacobite named Sutherland, whose acquaintance many members of the Party were glad to foster and whose hospitality they accepted with great willingness. The soirée was not meant as idle entertainment, for a political discussion had been arranged, but in spite of this Magnus invited Frieda to dine and afterwards go with
him to Mr Sutherland's. He hoped, incidentally, to impress her with the reality and importance of their aims, for that afternoon he had been talking to a Mr Newlands, whose duty it was to open the discussion, and Mr Newlands had promised him fireworks.

He was a solid-seeming man, black-haired and dark of complexion, whose manner of speech gave to every word the semblance of deep significance. He spoke in a quiet voice with ever and anon a sidelong glance of the eyes as though to make sure that no English spy was listening. Then he would thrust forward his head, tap his listener with a strong forefinger, and speak in yet more thrilling tones.

He had said to Magnus, ‘When Sutherland asked me to speak tonight, I refused. It's a dilettantish crowd he gathers there, not ripe for the real stuff, and I was afraid there would be unpleasant scenes if I told them the truth. I don't want women screaming in the middle of my speech. But he assured me that he would back up all I cared to say, and that all the people he had invited for tonight could stand anything. So then I agreed to speak. I don't know what the others mean to say, but there'll be no milk-and-water about my address. There'll be no namby-pambyism from me'.—He looked round cautiously to see if the English Government had a spy in the vicinity.—‘I'm going to detail a plan for immediate action! I tell you, Merriman, there'll be fireworks tonight!'

In high expectation Magnus warned Frieda to pay close attention to what Mr Newlands would have to say: ‘I know you haven't a very great opinion of Nationalism, but you'll change your mind when you've heard Newlands. There's nothing dilettantish or impractical about him. His plans are complete, and he's going to explain how to attain independence immediately.'

Mr Sutherland welcomed them with exuberant kindliness. He was wearing full Highland dress, and his plump figure was of such noble circumference that his kilt might almost have served as a tent. His face shone like an October moon. His guests, of whom there were about thirty, were already being pressed, not merely invited, to eat sandwiches and drink whisky, cocktails, claret-cup, or several liqueurs,
and the atmosphere was already lively enough for the birth of revolution, though many of the guests appeared hardly suitable witnesses for so violent an accouchement. There were several ladies of advancing years who spoke very loudly to various mild-looking young men who listened in gloomy silence. Hugh Skene was there, and so were McVicar, Francis Meiklejohn, and Mrs Dolphin. A hearty and excitable young man in a kilt was talking about vice and other modern topics to a girl with a blank expression and a long cigarette-holder. A pleasant motherly woman was listening with commendable patience to a Breton separatist who knew but little English, and McVicar, still in Meiklejohn's best evening trousers, was arguing under circumstances of equal difficulty with a polyglot Czech who had learned all his languages in prison, and was handicapped by a purely theoretical knowledge of their pronunciation.

Presently Mr Sutherland intimated that the formal discussion was about to commence, and ushered his guests into another room where seats had been arranged for an audience—an audience of potential speakers, that is.

Mr Newlands rose to open the debate. He stood beside a window concealed by high curtains, and before saying anything he looked rapidly behind them to make sure that no hostile agent was concealed there. Then he inclined his body forward, thrust at the air with a stiff forefinger, and spoke in low conspiratorial tones.

‘The time has come,' he said through clenched teeth, ‘the time has come to take
the next step!
We have talked long enough about Scotland's grievances, and now the fateful hour has arrived when we must redress them. Mere talk is not enough. Talk has served its purpose, and now we require action. What we must immediately decide is this: the proper mode of action, and the proper hour for the attack! But before explaining my plan of campaign—and my plan is complete—I should like to review, as rapidly as possible, the existing situation.'

Mr Newlands then proceeded to catalogue the Scottish grievances and to reveal, with the help of copious notes, the statistical plight of the shipbuilding industry, the textile industries, of farming and fishing, of the railways and the
coal-mines. The figures he quoted were known, in varying degrees of accuracy, to everyone in the room, and though some listened with great pleasure as to a familiar and accepted creed, there were others who revealed a certain impatience. Among these was Magnus. While Mr Newlands had stood waiting for silence in which to begin his epochal speech, Magnus had whispered to Frieda: ‘Now listen to this! We may make history tonight.' But as the monotonous recital of figures grew longer and longer, and the procession of accepted facts stretched its weary length through time, he became restless and finally dismayed. Beside him Frieda yawned widely.

Mr Sutherland fidgeted with his watch. Presently, in the politest and most genial way, he interrupted Mr Newlands and said he had already exceeded the time allotted for his speech, and he must call on Mr Skene to continue the discussion. There was some altercation at this decision, for as yet Mr Newlands had revealed nothing of his revolutionary plan, and many people wanted to know what it was. Magnus got up and suggested that in consideration of the importance of Mr Newlands's promised announcement he be allowed to continue his speech for another five minutes.

‘I should require more time than that,' said Mr Newlands. ‘I can't say exactly how long I need, for the speech I have prepared is, as you say, an important one, and there's nothing I could conscientiously leave out or even cut short.'

At this there woke a babel of talk, for nearly everybody had prepared a speech at least as important, in his or her estimation, as Mr Newlands's, and while no one desired to prohibit that gentleman from speaking, everyone naturally wished for an opportunity to air his or her views. Gradually the confusion of tongues subsided, not so much in voluntary abandonment of argument as under compulsion, for now a clear female voice was dominating the storm, and before its authority the others fell mute.

The floor had been taken by a young woman who bore a striking resemblance to popular pictures of Joan of Arc, and she was talking with evangelical earnestness about Ireland. Her fluency was remarkable but her meaning was somewhat obscure, for though it was obvious that she had a great
admiration for Ireland and thought that Scotland should follow its political example
vi et armis
, it also appeared that she was a fervent pacificist and desired to abolish all weapons from howitzers to rook-rifles. She concluded her speech with a rhetorical gesture and a tangle exordium in which Scotland was commanded to be true to herself.

Then Mr Sutherland introduced Hugh Skene, and the poet, with burning intensity, declared that he was a Communist. But he also referred, with dark elusive details, to some private economic policy of his own that was, apparently neither communistic nor capitalistic, but ideally suited to modern conditions. He refused to explain the system because, as he logically declared, an explanation would be wasted on people still ignorant of its fundamental hypotheses. Those hypotheses they must discover for themselves. His advocacy of nationalism, he said, was mainly due to his desire to see this system established, at first in Scotland and then throughout the world. Lest his hearers should consider him a materialist, however, he hotly denied any concern with the increase of wealth that might be expected to accrue from his policy. ‘I have no interest whatsoever in prosperity,' he declared, and left the uncommon impression that here was a man who advanced an economic theory for purely aesthetic reasons.

He was followed by McVicar, who quoted a few equations from Karl Marx, a recondite excerpt from
The Golden
Bough
, and a long sentence from
Ulysses
. He created a strong feeling that Scotland was in the throes, if not of renascence, at least of some experience equally shattering. After his address the action became general, and it was hardly possible to distinguish one speech from another. Most of them referred to deer-forests, Bannockburn, rationalization, and Robert Burns, and every third sentence began with the first-person singular pronoun. When the fray grew scattered Mr Sutherland rose and said they were all pleased to have with them, that evening, the Party's distinguished new recruit, Mr Merriman, and now would Mr Merriman continue the discussion?

By this time Magnus was in a somewhat contentious ill-humour, and he spoke with unnecessary vehemence.

‘I am a Scottish Nationalist,' he said, ‘because I am a Conservative. I believe in the conservation of what is best in a country, and what is truly and desirably typical of it, and I believe that small nations are generally more interesting, more efficiently managed, and more soundly established than big ones. I am not a Communist, a Socialist or a Pacifist and I strongly protest against the association with Scottish Nationalism of any tenets of Communism, Socialism or Pacifism. Communism is an Oriental perversion, Pacifism is a vegetarian perversion, and Socialism is a blind man's perversion. There are two essential factors in any national movement: a leader or leaders of a suitable kind, and a sufficient number of people who can be persuaded or compelled to follow them. At present Scotland possesses neither of these factors, and our first task is to find them.'

This speech was received with great indignation, and half the audience rose to protest publicly while half looked round for suitable confidants to receive their private resentment. But Mr Sutherland quelled the disturbance by loudly announcing that the time was opportune for more refreshment, and began to shepherd his guests into the former room, where the supply of sandwiches had been renewed and still more bottles stood close-ranked on the vast sideboard.