Plays Political

by Dan Laurence

  BEGONIA. What did you say?

  THE SECRETARY. Nothing. I was about to tell you what has happened in Quetzalcopolis, the chief seaport of the Earthly Paradise.

  BEGONIA. I know. In Central America, isnt it?

  THE SECRETARY. Yes. The mob there has attacked the British Consulate, and torn down the British flag.

  BEGONIA [rising in a fury] Insulted the British flag!!!

  THE SECRETARY. They have also burnt down three convents and two churches.

  BEGONIA. Thats nothing: theyre only Catholic churches. But do you mean to say that they have dared to touch the British flag?

  THE SECRETARY. They have. Fortunately it was after hours and the staff had gone home. Otherwise they would assuredly have been massacred.

  BEGONIA. Dirty swine! I hope the British fleet will not leave a stone standing or a nigger alive in their beastly seaport. Thatll teach them.

  THE SECRETARY. There is only one other trifle of news. The little Dominion of Jacksonsland has declared itself an independent republic.

  BEGONIA. It ought to be ashamed of itself. Republics are a low lot. But dont you be anxious about that: the republicans will soon be kicked out. The people may be misled for a while; but they always come back to king and country.

  THE SECRETARY. And now, Miss Brown, I must ask you whether you fully realize that all this is your doing?

  BEGONIA. Mine!

  THE SECRETARY. Yours and nobody else’s. In every one of these cases, it was your hand that started the series of political convulsions which may end in the destruction of civilization.

  BEGONIA [flattered] Really? How?

  THE SECRETARY. Those letters that you sent to the Court of International Justice at the Hague—

  BEGONIA. Oh, of course. Yes. Fancy that!

  THE SECRETARY. But did you not know what you were doing? You conducted the correspondence with very remarkable ability—more, I confess, than I should have given you credit for. Do you mean to tell me that you did not foresee the consequences of your action? That you did not even read the newspapers to see what was happening?

  BEGONIA. I dont read political news: it’s so dry. However, I seem to be having a big success; and I wont pretend I am not gratified.

  THE SECRETARY. Unfortunately the Powers do not consider it a success. They are blaming me for it.

  BEGONIA. Oh, if there is any blame I am ready to take it all on myself.

  THE SECRETARY. That is very magnanimous of you, Miss Brown.

  BEGONIA. Not so magnanimous either: thank you all the same. I tell you I back the Empire; and the Empire will back me. So dont be uneasy.

  THE SECRETARY. You are very possibly right. And now may I ask you a personal question? How did you become interested in the League of Nations ? How did you get this post of yours, which has placed the world’s destiny so unexpectedly in your hands?

  BEGONIA. Was I interested in the League? Let me see. You know that there is a Society called the League of Nations Union, dont you?

  THE SECRETARY. I do. I shudder whenever I think of it.

  BEGONIA. Oh, theres no harm in it. I’d never heard of it until last year, when they opened a branch in Camberwell with a whist drive. A friend gave me a ticket for it. It was opened by the Conservative candidate: an innocent young lad rolling in money. He saw that I was a cut above the other girls there, and picked me for his partner when he had to dance. I told him I’d won a County Council scholarship and was educated and knew shorthand and a bit of French and all that, and that I was looking out for a job. His people fixed me up for Geneva all right. A perfect gentleman I must say: never asked so much as a kiss. I was disappointed.

  THE SECRETARY. Disappointed at his not kissing you?

  BEGONIA. Oh no: there were plenty of kisses going from better looking chaps. But he was a bit of a sucker; and I thought he had intentions; and of course he would have been a jolly good catch for me. But when his people got wind of it they packed him off for a tour round the Empire, and got me this job here—to keep me out of his way, I suppose. Anyhow here I am, you see.

  THE SECRETARY. Were you examined as to your knowledge and understanding of the Covenant of the League, and its constitution?

  BEGONIA. No. They didnt need to examine me to find out that I was educated. I had lots of prizes and certificates; and there was my L.C.C. scholarship. You see, I have such a good memory: examinations are no trouble to me. Theres a book in the office about the League. I tried to read it; but it was such dry stuff I went to sleep over it.

  THE SECRETARY [rising] Well, Miss Brown, I am glad to have made your acquaintance, and delighted to learn that though you have produced a first class political crisis, including what promises to be a world war, and made an amazing change in the constitution of the British Empire all in the course of a single morning’s work, you are still in high spirits and in fact rather proud of yourself.

  BEGONIA [she has also risen] Oh, I am not a bit proud; and I’m quite used to being a success. You know, although I was always at the top of my class at school, I never pretended to be clever. Silly clever, I call it. At first I was frightened of the girls that went in for being clever and having original ideas and all that sort of crankiness. But I beat them easily in the examinations; and they never got anywhere. That gave me confidence. Wherever I go I always find that lots of people think as I do. The best sort of people always do: the real ladies and gentlemen, you know. The others are oddities and outsiders. If you want to know what real English public opinion is, keep your eye on me. I’m not a bit afraid of war: remember that England has never lost a battle, and that it does no harm to remind the foreigners of it when they get out of hand. Good morning. So pleased to have met you.

  They shake hands; and he goes to the door and opens it for her. She goes out much pleased with herself.

  THE SECRETARY [ruminating dazedly] And thats England! [The telephone rings. He returns to the table to attend to it]. Yes? … Which Foreign Secretary? Every hole and corner in the Empire has its own Foreign Secretary now. Do you mean the British Foreign Secretary, Sir Orpheus Midlander ? … Well, why didnt you say so? Shew him up at once.

  Sir Orpheus comes in. He is a very welldressed gentleman of fifty or thereabouts, genial in manner, quickwitted in conversation, altogether a pleasant and popular personality.

  THE SECRETARY. Do sit down. I cant say how I feel about your being dragged here all the way from London in Derby week.

  SIR O. [sitting] Well, my friend, it’s you who have dragged me. And I hope you wont mind my asking you what on earth you think you have been doing? What induced you to do it?

  THE SECRETARY. I didnt do it. It was done by the Committee for Intellectual Co-operation.

  SIR O. The what??! I never heard of such a body.

  THE SECRETARY. Neither did I until this business was sprung on me. Nobody ever heard of it. But I find now that it is part of the League, and that its members are tremendous swells with European reputations. Theyve all published translations from the Greek or discovered new planets or something of that sort.

  SIR O. Ah yes: outside politics: I see. But we cant have literary people interfering in foreign affairs. And they must have held meetings before taking such an outrageous step as this. Why were we not told? We’d have squashed them at once.

  THE SECRETARY. They are quite innocent: they know no more about it than I did. The whole thing was done by a young woman named Begonia Brown.

  SIR O. Begonia Brown! But this is appalling. I shall be personally compromised.

  THE SECRETARY. You! How?

  SIR O. This woman—it must be the same woman; for there cant be another female with such a name in the world—she’s engaged to my nephew.

  THE SECRETARY. She told me about it. But I had no idea the man was your nephew. I see how awkward it is for you. Did you ever talk to her about it?

  SIR O. I! I never set eyes on her in my life. I remember her ridiculous name: thats all.

  THE SECRETARY. Were you in the habit of
discussing foreign affairs with your nephew?

  SIR O. With Benjy! You might as well discuss Einstein’s general theory of relativity with a blue behinded ape. I havnt exchanged twenty words with the boy since I tipped him when he was going from Eton to Oxford.

  THE SECRETARY. Then I cant understand it. Her correspondence with the Hague Court has been conducted with remarkable ability and in first-rate style. The woman herself is quite incapable of it. There must be somebody behind her. Can it be your nephew?

  SIR O. If, as you say, the work shews political ability and presentable style, you may accept my assurance that Sue’s boy has nothing to do with it. Besides, he is at present in Singapore, where the native dancing girls are irresistible.

  The telephone rings.

  THE SECRETARY. Excuse me. Yes?… Hold on a moment. [To Sir O.] The Senior Judge of the Court of International Justice at the Hague is downstairs. Hadnt you better see him?

  SIR O. By all means. Most opportune.

  THE SECRETARY [into the telephone] Send him up.

  SIR O. Have you had any correspondence about this business?

  THE SECRETARY. Correspondence!!! I havnt read one tenth of it. The Abyssinian war was a holiday job in comparison. Weve never had anything like it before.

  The Senior Judge enters. He is a Dutchman, much younger than a British judge: under forty, in fact, but very grave and every inch a judge.

  THE SECRETARY. I am desolate at having brought your honor all the way from the Hague. A word from you would have brought me there and saved you the trouble. Have you met the British Foreign Secretary, Sir Orpheus Midlander?

  JUDGE. I have not had that pleasure. How do you do, Sir Midlander ?

  SIR O. How do you do?

  They shake hands whilst the Secretary places a chair for the judge in the middle of the room, between his table and Sir Orpheus. They all sit down.

  JUDGE. I thought it best to come. The extraordinary feature of this affair is that I have communicated with all the members of the Intellectual Committee; and every one of them denies any knowledge of it. Most of them did not know that they are members.

  SIR O. Do you mean to say that it is all a hoax?

  JUDGE. It may be that someone was hoaxing the Court. But now that the applications for warrants have been made public, the Court must take them seriously. Otherwise it would cut a ridiculous figure in the eyes of Europe.

  SIR O. But surely such a procedure was never contemplated when the Powers joined the League?

  JUDGE. I do not think anything was contemplated when the Powers joined the League. They signed the Covenant without reading it, to oblige President Wilson. The United States then refused to sign it to disoblige President Wilson, also without reading it. Since then the Powers have behaved in every respect as if the League did not exist, except when they could use it for their own purposes.

  SIR O. [naïvely] But how else could they use it?

  JUDGE. They could use it to maintain justice and order between the nations.

  SIR O. There is nothing we desire more. The British Empire stands for justice and order. But I must tell you that the British Foreign Office would take a very grave view of any attempt on the part of the Court to do anything without consulting us. I need not remind you that without us you have no powers. You have no police to execute your warrants. You cant put the Powers in the dock: you havnt got a dock.

  JUDGE. We have a court room at the Hague which can easily be provided with a dock if you consider such a construction necessary, which I do not. We have employees to whom we can assign police duties to any necessary extent.

  SIR O. Pooh! You cant be serious. You have no jurisdiction.

  JUDGE. You mean that our jurisdiction is undefined. That means that our jurisdiction is what we choose to make it. You are familiar with what you call judge-made law in England. Well, Sir Midlander, the judges of the Court of International Justice are not nonentities. We have waited a long time for a case to set us in motion. You have provided us with four cases; and you may depend on us to make the most of them. They will affirm our existence, which is hardly known yet. They will exercise our power, which is hardly felt yet. All we needed was a cause célèbre; and Miss Begonia Brown has found several for us very opportunely.

  SIR O. My dear sir: Miss Brown is a nobody.

  JUDGE. Unless the highest court can be set in motion by the humblest individual justice is a mockery.

  SIR O. Of course I agree with that—in principle. Still, you know, there are people you can take into court and people you cant. Your experience at the bar—

  JUDGE [interrupting him sharply] I have had no experience at the bar. Please remember that you are not now in England, where judges are only worn-out barristers, most of whom have forgotten any sense of law they may ever have acquired.

  SIR O. How very odd! I own I was surprised to find the judicial bench represented by so young a man; and I am afraid I must add that I prefer our British system. We should have had no trouble with a British judge.

  JUDGE. Why should you have any trouble with me? I am simply a Judge, first and last. To me it is a continual trouble and scandal that modern statesmen are slipping back, one after another, from the reign of law based on the eternal principle of justice, to the maintenance of governments set up by successful demagogues or victorious soldiers, each of whom has his proscription list of enemies whom he imprisons, exiles, or murders at his pleasure until he is himself overcome by an abler rival and duly proscribed, imprisoned, exiled or assassinated in his turn. Such a state of things is abhorrent to me. I have spent years in trying to devise some judicial procedure by which these law-breakers can be brought to justice. Well, the Intellectual Co-operation Committee—of the existence of which I must confess I was entirely ignorant—has found the procedure; and the Court will back it up to the utmost of its powers.

  SIR O. I am afraid you are a bit of an idealist.

  JUDGE. Necessarily. Justice is an ideal; and I am a judge. What, may I ask, are you?

  SIR O. I! Oh, only a much harassed Foreign Secretary. You see my young friend—if you will allow me to call you so—justice, as you say, is an ideal, and a very fine ideal too; but what I have to deal with is Power; and Power is often a devilishly ugly thing. If any of these demagogue dictators issues a warrant for your arrest or even an order for your execution, you will be arrested and shot the moment you set foot in their country. You may even be kidnapped and carried there: remember Napoleon and the Duc d’Enghien. But if you issue a warrant or pronounce a sentence against one of them Europe will just laugh at you, because you have no power. It will be as futile as a decree of excommunication.

  JUDGE. Would you like to be excommunicated?

  SIR O. Hardly a serious question, is it?

  JUDGE. Very serious.

  SIR O. My dear sir, it couldnt happen.

  JUDGE. Pardon me: it could.

  SIR O. [obstinately] Pardon me: it couldnt. Look at the thing practically. To begin with I am not a Roman Catholic. I am a member of the Church of England; and down at my place in the country the Church living is in my gift. Without my subscription the churchwardens could not make both ends meet. The rector has no society except what he gets in my house.

  JUDGE. The rector is a freeholder. If you are a notoriously evil liver, he can refuse to admit you to Communion.

  SIR O. But I am not a notoriously evil liver. If the rector suggested such a thing I should have him out of his rectory and in a lunatic asylum before the end of the week.

  JUDGE. Suppose the rector were prepared to risk that! Suppose the war of 1914 were renewed, and you were responsible for sending the young men of your country to drop bombs on the capital cities of Europe! Suppose your rector, as a Christian priest, took the view that you were in a condition of mortal sin and refused you Communion! Suppose, if you wish, that you had him locked up as a lunatic! Would you like it?

  SIR O. Suppose the villagers burnt down his rectory

  and ducked him in the horse
pond to teach him a little British patriotism! How would he like it?

  JUDGE. Martyrdom has its attractions for some natures. But my question was not whether he would like it, but whether you would like it.

  SIR O. I should treat it with contempt.

  JUDGE. No doubt; but would you like it?

  SIR O. Oh, come! Really! Really!

  JUDGE. Believe me, Sir Midlander, you would not like it. And if the International Court, moved by the Committee for Intellectual Co-operation, were to deliver an adverse judgment on you, you would not like it. The man whom the Hague condemns will be an uncomfortable man. The State which it finds to be in the wrong will be an uncomfortable State.

  SIR O. But you cant enforce anything. You have no sanctions.