Impromptu in Moribundia

by Patrick Hamilton

  Having now got over these somewhat tiresome explanations, I may come to my last day in Moribundia.

  In view of what happened I was never to forget that morning, of course—but I think I should have remembered it even if it had not been signalized by my departure.

  To begin with, it was a gloriously fine day, and directly I awoke I was aware of a feeling of wonderful gaiety and happiness in the air around me.

  This impression was borne out by my first contact with another being. My chambermaid came bouncing into my room, unable to refrain from singing in her high spirits, and putting down my early-morning tea on my table with so jaunty an air that I might have regarded it as impudence had I not observed the light of some deep inner joy shining from her eyes. Seeing this, I readily excused her, deciding that she hardly knew what she was doing.

  She had brought up a morning paper on my tray, and I had only to look at this to see what had happened.

  DAY OF NATIONAL REJOICING

  was the head-line I saw sprawled across the front page, and I soon read on to discover that the Queen had very much earlier in the morning given birth to a baby!50

  I knew enough of Moribundia by now (and I hope the reader will, too) to understand that if one of its newspapers said that a certain day was a day of national rejoicing, then it would not be a day, as it would be in our own world, like every other day for ordinary people, but a day, as claimed, of national rejoicing, that is one in which joy reigned in the heart of every person in the nation.

  My chambermaid, carolling and bouncing about at her work as she was, gave me only a mild foretaste of the high spirits which were to greet me as soon as I was dressed, and made my way down to breakfast. So joyful was the lift-man at the idea of another possible heir to the throne, that he could not refrain, having heard my bell and seen me through the bars, from roaring with laughter, and swishing humorously up and down from the top to the bottom of the hotel, three or four times, before letting me in. Then, cracking absurd, half-hysterical jokes all the time, he let me in and took me downstairs, and, of course, I tried to look as pleased as I could.

  Then, when I reached the dining-room, all the guests were beaming with pleasure, shouting delightedly and informally to each other from table to table, and showing the utmost good-humoured patience with regard to the service which was, of course, slow, as the waiters, whistling and singing as they moved about, could not concentrate for laughter and elation on what they were doing, dropped plates about, and frequently stopped to juggle playfully with the knives and forks before placing them on the table. The manager, ordinarily a severe and scowling man, was looking on at all this with the greatest complacence. Soon after my arrival, he came up to me and slyly offered me a cigar, which, the moment I lit it, exploded in my face!

  The poorness of the service, indeed, reminded me of another morning much earlier in my stay, when my newspaper had a very different story to tell. On this occasion the King had fallen ill with an attack of influenza, and the head-line ran:

  NATION-WIDE ANXIETY

  The misery, the apathy, the nervousness, the apprehensiveness, the sense of suspense showing on everybody’s countenance and in everybody’s behaviour that morning, had an even more disastrous effect upon the service than did this present elation. You could hardly get a servant to realize your presence, let alone answer you or do your bidding, so pale and thoughtful were they all. The lift-man, I recall, had such a miserable, wool-gathering appearance, was so utterly in the clouds, that I had to shout at him three times before I could make him realize that he was in a lift, and that it was his business to take me down. And the manager, when I asked him some question, turned round and nearly snapped my head off—apologizing the next moment in abject tones which asked for, and clearly expected, my pity under the circumstances.

  Not having any reason to rejoice myself, I soon found the atmosphere of the hotel was tiring me, and I decided to go round to the Club where I thought things might be a little quieter. This was my first mistake.

  I should have remembered that Anne had told me that her brother, if and when he attacked me, would almost certainly do so outside my Club. I could hardly believe there was anything in this, but I could not shake her fixed idea that he would ‘come down to my Club’—or ‘haul me out of my Club.’

  It seems that the Akkup Bihas, who naturally figures in several incidents of this kind in the course of his life, is moved by some Moribundian compulsion to ensure that they take place in the vicinity of a club—private houses, hotels, restaurants, cinemas, etc., being regarded by him as impossible backgrounds for the moral drama it is necessary for him to enact.

  Unfortunately, I had forgotten all about this; indeed, it had completely slipped my mind that I was under the threat of attack. No sooner, however, had I reached the Club portals, and seen a good-looking, slightly-tanned young man standing against the railings, looking well dressed except for a horse-whip which he carried in his hand and which gave him an eccentric appearance, than the whole thing came back to me in a flash, and I realized that the moment had come when I would be called upon to defend myself.

  There was not the smallest doubt it was Anne’s brother (the facial resemblance alone told me that); and the fact that he advanced threateningly upon me the moment he saw me warned me that there was no chance of a peaceable settlement of our differences.

  I flatter myself that I have the ability to think quickly in a crisis of this sort. I had, at once, and thankfully, taken in the fact that he was a good deal smaller than myself (otherwise I dare say I should have attempted to run away). I saw that I could knock him out without any difficulty if I only acted promptly enough, and it seemed to me that, for the benefit of both of us in the long run, and to terminate an intolerable situation at once, it would be wise for me to deliver a forcible blow which would put him out of action for some time.

  Therefore, as he advanced upon me, I feinted with some skill, and landed a right-hand blow upon his jaw which immediately levelled him with the pavement, where he remained, not seriously hurt, but in a semi-conscious state.

  This was my second mistake—not my worst, but very serious. It was here that I revealed for the first time my human, non-Moribundian nature in its extreme for all to see.

  It must be understood that, according to Moribundian standards, I had to be in the wrong. We need not argue whether or not I had behaved in a questionable manner with this young man’s sister. An Akkup Bihas, when he desires to knock anybody down outside a club, is automatically ethically in the right. What is more—so much is the spirit the master of the mind up there—it was physically impossible for such a one as myself (a dac, a rednuob, or redistuo as I would have been called) to defend myself against, let alone to strike down, an Akkup Bihas in such a situation. And yet I had calmly enacted the physically impossible!

  If I had been exceptionally lucky no one might have seen me and I might have escaped the consequences; but my luck did not hold so far. Directly I had knocked the young man down, I looked round to see if the episode had been observed, and saw, on the other side of the road, one of Moribundia’s Little Men, gaping at me in surprise, panic, and dismay.

  Knowing the Moribundian psychology as I do, I can fully understand what he was feeling. He recognized the scene—one which must have been quite familiar to him. He was outside a club, and there was no mistaking which of us was the Akkup Bihas and which the rednuob—apart from everything else, the former’s horse-whip was still clutched feebly in his hand. And yet here the whole order of nature had been reversed. By knocking the Akkup Bihas down I could not have startled the Little Man more if I had turned into a fish or a bird in front of his eyes. I had revealed myself as a monster, with immense and occult powers.

  Now just at first I had no idea of what I had done, and was not inclined to bother about what the insignificant Little Man might be thinking of me. I did not think it advisable now to enter the Club, and I walked away from the scene in no particular direction.


  When I had been walking about five minutes, and had quite cooled down again, I did happen to look back, however, and momentarily fancied I saw the Little Man following and watching me from a safe distance. But all the Little Men are so alike that I presumed it was probably another one, and that I was mistaken.

  After a while I found the streets in which I was walking were becoming more and more filled with people, and I soon came into a wide thoroughfare where the crowd was lined up on either side, and through which a procession of some sort was evidently going to pass. On inquiring, I ascertained that the King would soon be passing this way, and that all were doubly eager to see and cheer him on this day of national rejoicing.

  Glad of the opportunity to see him myself, I decided to wait with the rest. There were plenty of Little Men about in the crowd—there is nothing they like so much as a procession and they always turn out in great force on such occasions—and it would have been quite impossible for me to distinguish the one I had imagined was following me, even if I had tried to do so, which I did not. All the same, I believe he was there, and watching me closely.

  After I had been waiting about five minutes, it happened that a band not far away struck up the tune of the Moribundian National Anthem. I did not, of course, know the tune, and as I was standing in the front row of the crowd I did not notice that all the people around me were removing their hats.

  A moment later I felt my own hat being tilted over my eyes. I turned round quickly and saw that this had been done by the umbrella of a Little Man, who was standing behind me, and who had evidently thought he would remind me of my duty in this wistfully cheeky and humorous way—very characteristic of his kind.

  I was, of course, furious, and, in my spite, stuck my hat more firmly than ever on my head. The next moment I felt a blow from behind, and my hat went flying out into the middle of the road, where it encountered the hooves of a policeman’s horse and was crushed out of all recognition.

  I was now too angry to think what I was doing. I turned round upon the Little Man responsible for the outrage, and with an exasperated “What the devil do you mean, sir?” I snatched his own hat from his hand and threw it out into the middle of the road.

  I began to walk away at once, but not before I had heard an astonished murmur, a sort of gasp go up from all those in the vicinity who had witnessed the incident. There was something in that sound—the sound of Moribundia outraged and stirring—which struck panic into my soul at once, although I would not admit it to myself and tried not to increase my pace too obviously as I moved away.

  Seeing an empty side street I walked quickly down it, but the news of my deed had travelled faster than myself, and as I approached its other end, I saw, standing on the corner, a band of five or six Little Men, seemingly waiting about with nothing to do, yet watching me with an intent, cat-like, curiosity behind their pince-nez, which somehow held more terrors for my mind than I should have felt from any immediate or openly-shown hostility.

  It would have been fatal to have withdrawn, so I went up to, and by them, with as good a face as possible, trying to look unconscious of any situation, and casting a cool, casual glance upon them as I passed; but they remained motionless, frozen, regarding me with the same cat-like stare.

  I had now entered the next street, and had proceeded up it about twenty yards when I began to hear behind me the soft pad of little following feet (their horrible little feet!) and, looking ahead, I saw that another group of these frozen, menacing, nightmarish little creatures was awaiting me at the next corner.

  This was certainly not the time for detached thinking, but I remember that it was at this moment that there first dawned upon me a full idea of the black and unforgivable nature of my crime against this world. Not only had I outraged physical and moral law by knocking down an Akkup Bihas (and I was somehow certain by now that the Little Man who had seen me do it had spread the news abroad): not only had I failed to remove my hat during the playing of the National Anthem: I had provoked, insulted and assaulted a Little Man himself. In other words, I had provoked, insulted, and assaulted Moribundia itself—the sacred figure which represented its dearest ideals and loftiest aspirations. What could await me now but a lynching as soon as I was caught?

  Still pathetically trying not to increase my pace, I passed this second group of Little Men, and went down another side street. But I still heard the soft pattering of those little feet behind me, and at last I could bear it no longer and broke into a run.

  If I had hoped to evade my pursuers by doing this, I could not have made a greater mistake, for the moment I began to run it seemed that Little Men sprang up from nowhere on all sides. Everywhere I looked I could see them. They were standing in the doorways, they blocked my path on the pavement and road, they were waiting at each corner, and from every distance and vista they seemed crowding and rushing towards me. It seemed that the entire population of Moribundia had assumed the form of the Little Man, and was after my blood!

  Thinking back on it, I am not sure that this was not the case—I am not sure that the Moribundians, in a great crisis of this sort, when the utmost solidarity was called for, were not able to assume physically their ideal, characteristic form, and to give chase to me in the character of the Little Man of their dreams whom I had affronted. Such a thing would not be at all wonderful and incredible in such a world; and I certainly know this, that from the moment I began to run I, myself, saw nothing but Little Men—Little Men, it seemed to me, in their hundreds and hundreds of thousands.

  And by this race of dwarfs I was hounded out of Moribundia! The memory of that pack, and that pursuit, is still too fresh in my mind for me to think of it without terror.

  I have said that I began to run: and at that their numbers seemed to increase a hundredfold and they began to run after me. I burst into a sprint, and still more appeared from all sides and from all corners, rushing towards me, converging on me, like the rats of Hamelin or the Gadarene swine!51

  My only hope lay in my speed and size. They had no concerted plan of action against me, and so long as I was running my momentum and strength prevented them from attacking me effectively and getting me down. Some, bolder than the rest, flung themselves upon me, but they could not maintain their hold, and were sent spinning away; others I kicked out of the way, like so many absurd and protesting little footballs, as I ran. The air was thick with the umbrellas they threw at me from all sides, but which were too small to hurt me.

  I knew that the moment I stopped running, the moment they got me to the ground, I was finished. But how was I to keep up this pace? Where could I hide, and where was I going now?

  And now, psychologically, the weirdest thing happened. I found that I knew the answer to this last question. I was deliberately making for a street called Sodnahc Street—had subconsciously been making for this street all along. I have never been able to account for this. I had not, so far as I know, known even of the existence of this street before now and yet, all at once, it presented itself to my mind as a refuge, a possible means of escape, a contact with the Asteradio itself, with Crowmarsh himself. It was almost as though this Sodnahc Street was some mystical Moribundian reflection, or counterpart of that very Chandos Street in the West End, which Crowmarsh inhabited and whence my journey had begun!

  But my sensations were by this time of so completely unreal and nightmarish a quality, that it is impossible to speak with any clarity about the matter. After that moment when I realized I had been subconsciously making for Sodnahc Street, I can remember practically nothing in detail.

  I can remember a great wave of relief as I reached the street I was seeking; I can remember feeling there was something familiar about it, and I can remember (or think I can) bursting into a house on the left-hand side, with the Little Men, presumably, at my heels.

  What the house looked like inside I do not know, but at this point the clouds lift again. I can remember, quite clearly, seeing in front of me what I took to be a small lift, electrically lit a
nd with a sliding iron grating in front of it—very much like the sort of lift you would see in a small hotel in London, one which the guests themselves work. I plunged into this and slid back the grating, which seemed to lock automatically. The next moment the Little Men were upon it, trying, ineffectually, to tear it down.

  How they swarmed upon that grating, how they huddled and pressed forward, how they shook their fists and glared! The noise they made, the way they fought for a view of me, the way they tried to poke at me with their umbrellas!

  I stood there, at the back of the lift, facing them—terror in my heart, for I knew that they must soon devise some way of breaking in. That was my last view of Moribundia, the last vision I had of the Moribundians, and what a vision it was!

  It seemed, in those few moments that were granted to me at the end, that I was able to see and understand this world of Little Men as I had never seen or understood it before, that I was able, in the innumerable faces of these little creatures, in the many-headed monster now before my eyes and seeking to devour me, to perceive and read the soul of Moribundia itself—its inner thoughts and motives as opposed to its superficial appearances. And what I saw on those faces was not good. Instead of the harmless, helpful, friendly, tolerant, duty-doing little business men, it was given to me to see something quite different—all the qualities which the artist Eburts and his admirers were unable to see. I saw cupidity, ignorance, complacence, meanness, ugliness, short-sightedness, cowardice, credulity, hysteria and, when the occasion called for it, as it did now, cruelty and blood-thirstiness. I saw the shrewd and despicable cash basis underlying that idiotic patriotism, and a deathly fear and hatred of innovation, of an overturning of their system, behind all their nauseatingly idealistic postures and utterances.

  That was how I thought of Moribundia—concentrated in, and symbolized by, the Little Man, with his mask off—at that moment. But it must be remembered that I was seeing what I was seeing under circumstances which would hardly lead me to take a favourable view, and my subjective state of mind must be taken into account.