Further Foolishness: Ch. 14 - Over the Grape Juice

Ch. 14 - Over the Grape Juice

Or, The Peacemakers

Characters

MR. W. JENNINGS BRYAN.
DR. DAVID STARR JORDAN.
A PHILANTHROPIST.
MR. NORMAN ANGELL.
A LADY PACIFIST.
A NEGRO PRESIDENT.
AN EMINENT DIVINE.
THE MAN ON THE STREET.
THE GENERAL PUBLIC.
And many others.

"War," said the Negro President of Haiti, "is a sad
spectacle. It shames our polite civilisation."

As he spoke, he looked about him at the assembled company
around the huge dinner table, glittering with cut glass
and white linen, and brilliant with hot-house flowers.

"A sad spectacle," he repeated, rolling his big eyes in
his black and yellow face that was melancholy with the
broken pathos of the African race.

The occasion was a notable one. It was the banquet of
the Peacemakers' Conference of 1917 and the company
gathered about the board was as notable as it was numerous.

At the head of the table the genial Mr. Jennings Bryan
presided as host, his broad countenance beaming with
amiability, and a tall flagon of grape juice standing
beside his hand. A little further down the table one saw
the benevolent head and placid physiognomy of Mr. Norman
Angell, bowed forward as if in deep calculation. Within
earshot of Mr. Bryan, but not listening to him, one
recognised without the slightest difficulty Dr. David
Starr Jordan, the distinguished ichthyologist and director
in chief of the World's Peace Foundation, while the bland
features of a gentleman from China, and the presence of
a yellow delegate from the Mosquito Coast, gave ample
evidence that the company had been gathered together
without reference to colour, race, religion, education,
or other prejudices whatsoever.

But it would be out of the question to indicate by name
the whole of the notable assemblage. Indeed, certain of
the guests, while carrying in their faces and attitudes
something strangely and elusively familiar, seemed in a
sense to be nameless, and to represent rather types and
abstractions than actual personalities. Such was the
case, for instance, with a female member of the company,
seated in a place of honour near the host, whose demure
garb and gentle countenance seemed to indicate her as a
Lady Pacifist, but denied all further identification.
The mild, ecclesiastical features of a second guest, so
entirely Christian in its expression as to be almost
devoid of expression altogether, marked him at once as
An Eminent Divine, but, while puzzlingly suggestive of
an actual and well-known person, seemed to elude exact
recognition. His accent, when he presently spoke, stamped
him as British and his garb was that of the Established
Church. Another guest appeared to answer to the general
designation of Capitalist or Philanthropist, and seemed
from his prehensile grasp upon his knife and fork to
typify the Money Power. In front of this guest, doubtless
with a view of indicating his extreme wealth and the
consideration in which he stood, was placed a floral
decoration representing a broken bank, with the figure
of a ruined depositor entwined among the debris.

Of these nameless guests, two individuals alone, from
the very significance of their appearance, from their
plain dress, unsuited to the occasion, and from the
puzzled expression of their faces, seemed out of harmony
with the galaxy of distinction which surrounded them.
They seemed to speak only to one another, and even that
somewhat after the fashion of an appreciative chorus to
what the rest of the company was saying; while the manner
in which they rubbed their hands together and hung upon
the words of the other speakers in humble expectancy
seemed to imply that they were present in the hope of
gathering rather than shedding light. To these two humble
and obsequious guests no attention whatever was paid,
though it was understood, by those who knew, that their
names were The General Public and the Man on the Street.

"A sad spectacle," said the Negro President, and he sighed
as he spoke. "One wonders if our civilisation, if our
moral standards themselves, are slipping from us." Then
half in reverie, or as if overcome by the melancholy of
his own thought, he lifted a spoon from the table and
slid it gently into the bosom of his faded uniform.

"Put back that spoon!" called The Lady Pacifist sharply.

"Pardon!" said the Negro President humbly, as he put it
back. The humiliation of generations of servitude was
in his voice.

"Come, come," exclaimed Mr. Jennings Bryan cheerfully,
"try a little more of the grape juice?"

"Does it intoxicate?" asked the President.

"Never," answered Mr. Bryan. "Rest assured of that. I
can guarantee it. The grape is picked in the dark. It is
then carried, still in the dark, to the testing room.
There every particle of alcohol is removed. Try it."

"Thank you," said the President. "I am no longer thirsty."

"Will anybody have some more of the grape juice?" asked
Mr. Bryan, running his eye along the ranks of the guests.

No one spoke.

"Will anybody have some more ground peanuts?"

No one moved.

"Or does anybody want any more of the shredded tan bark?
No? Or will somebody have another spoonful of sunflower
seeds?"

There was still no sign of assent.

"Very well, then," said Mr. Bryan, "the banquet, as such,
is over, and we now come to the more serious part of our
business. I need hardly tell you that we are here for
a serious purpose. We are here to do good. That I know
is enough to enlist the ardent sympathy of everybody
present."

There was a murmur of assent.

"Personally," said The Lady Pacifist, "I do nothing else."

"Neither do I," said the guest who has been designated
The Philanthropist, "whether I am producing oil, or making
steel, or building motor-cars."

"Does he build motor-cars?" whispered the humble person
called The Man in the Street to his fellow, The General
Public.

"All great philanthropists do things like that," answered
his friend. "They do it as a social service so as to
benefit humanity; any money they make is just an accident.
They don't really care about it a bit. Listen to him.
He's going to say so."

"Indeed, our business itself," The Philanthropist continued,
while his face lighted up with unselfish enthusiasm, "our
business itself--"

"Hush, hush!" said Mr. Bryan gently. "We know--"

"Our business itself," persisted The Philanthropist, "is
one great piece of philanthropy."

Tears gathered in his eyes.

"Come, come," said Mr. Bryan firmly, "we must get to
business. Our friend here," he continued, turning to
the company at large and indicating the Negro President
on his right, "has come to us in great distress. His
beautiful island of Haiti is and has been for many years
overwhelmed in civil war. Now he learns that not only
Haiti, but also Europe is engulfed in conflict. He has
heard that we are making proposals for ending the war
--indeed, I may say are about to declare that the war in
Europe _must stop_--I think I am right, am I not, my
friends?"

There was a general chorus of assent.

"Naturally then," continued Mr. Bryan, "our friend the
President of Haiti, who is overwhelmed with grief at what
has been happening in his island, has come to us for
help. That is correct, is it not?"

"That's it, gentlemen," said the Negro President, in a
voice of some emotion, wiping the sleeve of his faded
uniform across his eyes. "The situation is quite beyond
my control. In fact," he added, shaking his head
pathetically as he relapsed into more natural speech,
"dis hyah chile, gen'l'n, is clean done beat with it.
Dey ain't doin' nuffin' on the island but shootin',
burnin', and killin' somethin' awful. Lawd a massy! it's
just like a real civilised country, all right, now. Down
in our island we coloured people is feeling just as bad
as youse did when all them poor white folks was murdered
on the _Lusitania!_"

But the Negro President had no sooner used the words
"Murdered on the _Lusitania_," than a chorus of dissent
and disapproval broke out all down the table.

"My dear sir, my dear sir," protested Mr. Bryan, "pray
moderate your language a little, if you please. Murdered?
Oh, dear, dear me, how can we hope to advance the cause
of peace if you insist on using such terms?"

"Ain't it that? Wasn't it murder?" asked the President,
perplexed.

"We are all agreed here," said The Lady Pacifist, "that
it is far better to call it an incident. We speak of the
'_Lusitania_ Incident,'" she added didactically, "just
as one speaks of the _Arabic_ Incident, and the Cavell
Incident, and other episodes of the sort. It makes it so
much easier to forget."

"True, quite true," murmured The Eminent Divine, "and
then one must remember that there are always two sides
to everything. There are two sides to murder. We must
not let ourselves forget that there is always the murderer's
point of view to consider."

But by this time the Negro President was obviously confused
and out of his depth. The conversation had reached a
plane of civilisation which was beyond his reach.

The genial Mr. Bryan saw fit to come to his rescue.

"Never mind," said Mr. Bryan soothingly. "Our friends
here, will soon settle all your difficulties for you.
I'm going to ask them, one after the other, to advise
you. They will tell you the various means that they are
about to apply to stop the war in Europe, and you may
select any that you like for your use in Haiti. We charge
you nothing for it, except of course your fair share of
the price of this grape juice and the shredded nuts."

The President nodded.

"I am going to ask our friend on my right"--and here Mr.
Bryan indicated The Lady Pacifist--"to speak first."

There was a movement of general expectancy and the two
obsequious guests at the foot of the table, of whom
mention has been made, were seen to nudge one another
and whisper, "Isn't this splendid?"

"You are not asking me to speak first merely because I
am a woman?" asked The Lady Pacifist.

"Oh no," said Mr. Bryon, with charming tact.

"Very good," said the lady, adjusting her glasses. "As
for stopping the war, I warn you, as I have warned the
whole world, that it may be too late. They should have
called me in sooner. That was the mistake. If they had
sent for me at once and had put my picture in the papers
both in England and Germany, with the inscription 'The
True Woman of To-day,' I doubt if any of the men who
looked at it would have felt that it was worth while to
fight. But, as things are, the only advice I can give is
this. Everybody is wrong (except me). The Germans are a
very naughty people. But the Belgians are worse. It was
very, very wicked of the Germans to bombard the houses
of the Belgians. But how naughty of the Belgians to go
and sit in their houses while they were bombarded. It is
to that that I attribute--with my infallible sense of
justice--the dreadful loss of life. So you see the only
conclusion that I can reach is that everybody is very
naughty and that the only remedy would be to appoint me
a committee--me and a few others, though the others don't
really matter--to make a proper settlement. I hope I make
myself clear."

The Negro President shook his head and looked mystified.

"Us coloured folks," he said, "wouldn't quite understand
that. We done got the idea that sometimes there's such
a thing as a quarrel that is right and just." The
President's melancholy face lit up with animation and
his voice rose to the sonorous vibration of the negro
preacher. "We learn that out of the Bible, we coloured
folks--we learn to smite the ungodly--"

"Pray, pray," said Mr. Bryan soothingly, "don't introduce
religion, let me beg of you. That would be fatal. We
peacemakers are all agreed that there must be no question
of religion raised."

"Exactly so," murmured The Eminent Divine, "my own feelings
exactly. The name of--of--the Deity should never be
brought in. It inflames people. Only a few weeks ago I
was pained and grieved to the heart to hear a woman in
one of our London streets raving that the German Emperor
was a murderer. Her child had been killed that night by
a bomb from a Zeppelin; she had its body in a cloth hugged
to her breast as she talked--thank heaven, they keep
these things out of the newspapers--and she was calling
down God's vengeance on the Emperor. Most deplorable!
Poor creature, unable, I suppose, to realise the Emperor's
exalted situation, his splendid lineage, the wonderful
talent with which he can draw pictures of the apostles
with one hand while he writes an appeal to his Mohammedan
comrades with the other. I dined with him once," he added,
in modest afterthought.

"I dined with him, too," said Dr. Jordan. "I shall never
forget the impression he made. As he entered the room
accompanied by his staff, the Emperor looked straight at
me and said to one of his aides, 'Who is this?' 'This is
Dr. Jordan,' said the officer. The Emperor put out his
hand. 'So this is Dr. Jordan,' he said. I never witnessed
such an exhibition of brain power in my life. He had
seized my name in a moment and held it for three seconds
with all the tenaciousness of a Hohenzollern.

"But may I," continued the Director of the World's Peace,
"add a word to what has been said to make it still clearer
to our friend? I will try to make it as simple as one of
my lectures in Ichthyology. I know of nothing simpler
than that."

Everybody murmured assent. The Negro President put his
hand to his ear.

"Theology?" he said.

"Ichthyology," said Dr. Jordan. "It is better. But just
listen to this. War is waste. It destroys the tissues.
It is exhausting and fatiguing and may in extreme cases
lead to death."

The learned gentleman sat back in his seat and took a
refreshing drink of rain water from a glass beside him,
while a murmur of applause ran round the table. It was
known and recognised that the speaker had done more than
any living man to establish the fact that war is dangerous,
that gunpowder, if heated, explodes, that fire burns,
that fish swim, and other great truths without which the
work of the peace endowment would appear futile.

"And now," said Mr. Bryan, looking about him with the
air of a successful toastmaster, "I am going to ask our
friend here to give us his views."

Renewed applause bore witness to the popularity of The
Philanthropist, whom Mr. Bryan had indicated with a wave
of his hand.

The Philanthropist cleared his throat.

"In our business--" he began.

Mr. Bryan plucked him gently by the sleeve.

"Never mind your business just now," he whispered.

The Philanthropist bowed in assent and continued:

"I will come at once to the subject. My own feeling is
that the true way to end war is to try to spread abroad
in all directions goodwill and brotherly love."

"Hear, hear!" cried the assembled company.

"And the great way to inspire brotherly love all round
is to keep on getting richer and richer till you have so
much money that every one loves you. Money, gentlemen,
is a glorious thing."

At this point, Mr. Norman Angell, who had remained silent
hitherto, raised his head from his chest and murmured
drowsily:

"Money, money, there isn't anything but money. Money is
the only thing there is. Money and property, property
and money. If you destroy it, it is gone; if you smash
it, it isn't there. All the rest is a great illus--"

And with this he dozed off again into silence.

"Our poor Angell is asleep again," said The Lady Pacifist.

Mr. Bryan shook his head.

"He's been that way ever since the war began--sleeps all
the time, and keeps muttering that there isn't any war,
that people only imagine it, in fact that it is all an
illusion. But I fear we are interrupting you," he added,
turning to The Philanthropist.

"I was just saying," continued that gentleman, "that you
can do anything with money. You can stop a war with it
if you have enough of it, in ten minutes. I don't care
what kind of war it is, or what the people are fighting
for, whether they are fighting for conquest or fighting
for their homes and their children. I can stop it, stop
it absolutely by my grip on money, without firing a shot
or incurring the slightest personal danger."

The Philanthropist spoke with the greatest emphasis,
reaching out his hand and clutching his fingers in the
air.

"Yes, gentlemen," he went on, "I am speaking here not of
theories but of facts. This is what I am doing and what
I mean to do. You've no idea how amenable people are,
especially poor people, struggling people, those with
ties and responsibilities, to the grip of money. I went
the other day to a man I know, the head of a bank, where
I keep a little money--just a fraction of what I make,
gentlemen, a mere nothing to me but everything to this
man because he is still not rich and is only fighting
his way up. 'Now,' I said to him, 'you are English, are
you not?' 'Yes, sir,' he answered. 'And I understand you
mean to help along the loan to England with all the power
of your bank.' 'Yes,' he said, 'I mean it and I'll do
it.' 'Then I'll tell you what,' I said, 'you lend one
penny, or help to lend one penny, to the people of England
or the people of France, and I'll break you, I'll grind
you into poverty--you and your wife and children and all
that belongs to you.'"

The Philanthropist had spoken with so great an intensity
that there was a deep stillness over the assembled company.
The Negro President had straightened up in his seat, and
as he looked at the speaker there was something in his
erect back and his stern face and the set of his faded
uniform that somehow turned him, African though he was,
into a soldier.

"Sir," he said, with his eye riveted on the speaker's
face, "what happened to that banker man?"

"The fool!" said The Philanthropist. "He wouldn't hear
--he defied me--he said that there wasn't money enough
in all my business to buy the soul of a single Englishman.
I had his directors turn him from his bank that day, and
he's enlisted, the scoundrel, and is gone to the war.
But his wife and family are left behind; they shall learn
what the grip of the money power is--learn it in misery
and poverty."

"My good sir," said the Negro President slowly and
impressively, "do you know why your plan of stopping war
wouldn't work in Haiti?"

"No," said The Philanthropist.

"Because our black people there would kill you. Whichever
side they were on, whatever they thought of the war, they
would take a man like you and lead you out into the town
square, and stand you up against the side of an adobe
house, and they'd shoot you. Come down to Haiti, if you
doubt my words, and try it."

"Thank you," said The Philanthropist, resuming his
customary manner of undisturbed gentleness, "I don't
think I will. I don't think somehow that I could do
business in Haiti."

The passage at arms between the Negro President and The
Philanthropist had thrown a certain confusion into the
hitherto agreeable gathering. Even The Eminent Divine
was seen to be slowly shaking his head from side to side,
an extreme mark of excitement which he never permitted
himself except under stress of passion. The two humble
guests at the foot of the table were visibly perturbed.
"Say, I don't like that about the banker," squeaked one
of them. "That ain't right, eh what? I don't like it."

Mr. Bryan was aware that the meeting was in danger of
serious disorder. He rapped loudly on the table for
attention. When he had at last obtained silence, he
spoke.

"I have kept my own views to the last," he said, "because
I cannot but feel that they possess a peculiar importance.
There is, my dear friends, every prospect that within a
measurable distance of time I shall be able to put them
into practice. I am glad to be able to announce to you
the practical certainty that four years from now I shall
be President of the United States."

At this announcement the entire company broke into
spontaneous and heartfelt applause. It had long been felt
by all present that Mr. Bryan was certain to be President
of the United States if only he ran for the office often
enough, but that the glad moment had actually arrived
seemed almost too good for belief.

"Yes, my friends," continued the genial host, "I have
just had a communication from my dear friend Wilson, in
which he tells me that he, himself, will never contest
the office again. The Presidency, he says, interfered
too much with his private life. In fact, I am authorised
to state in confidence that his wife forbids him to run."

"But, my dear Jennings," interposed Dr. Jordan thoughtfully,
"what about Mr. Hughes and Colonel Roosevelt?"

"In that quarter my certainty in the matter is absolute.
I have calculated it out mathematically that I am bound
to obtain, in view of my known principles, the entire
German vote--which carries with it all the great breweries
of the country--the whole Austrian vote, all the Hungarians
of the sugar refineries, the Turks; in fact, my friends,
I am positive that Roosevelt, if he dares to run, will
carry nothing but the American vote!"

Loud applause greeted this announcement.

"And now let me explain my plan, which I believe is shared
by a great number of sane, and other, pacifists in the
country. All the great nations of the world will be
invited to form a single international force consisting
of a fleet so powerful and so well equipped that no single
nation will dare to bid it defiance."

Mr. Bryan looked about him with a glance of something
like triumph. The whole company, and especially the Negro
President, were now evidently interested. "Say," whispered
The General Public to his companion, "this sounds like
the real thing? Eh, what? Isn't he a peach of a thinker?"

"What flag will your fleet fly?" asked the Negro President.

"The flags of all nations," said Mr. Bryan.

"Where will you get your sailors?"

"From all the nations," said Mr. Bryan, "but the uniform
will be all the same, a plain white blouse with blue
insertions, and white duck trousers with the word PEACE
stamped across the back of them in big letters. This will
help to impress the sailors with the almost sacred
character of their functions."

"But what will the fleet's functions be?" asked the
President.

"Whenever a quarrel arises," explained Mr. Bryan, "it
will be submitted to a Board. Who will be on this Board,
in addition to myself, I cannot as yet say. But it's of
no consequence. Whenever a case is submitted to the
Board it will think it over for three years. It will then
announce its decision--if any. After that, if any one
nation refuses to submit, its ports will be bombarded by
the Peace Fleet."

Rapturous expressions of approval greeted Mr. Bryan's
explanation.

"But I don't understand," said the Negro President,
turning his puzzled face to Mr. Bryan. "Would some of
these ships be British ships?"

"Oh, certainly. In view of the dominant size of the
British Navy about one-quarter of all the ships would be
British ships."

"And the sailors British sailors?"

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Bryan, "except that they would be
wearing international breeches--a most important point."

"And if the Board, made up of all sorts of people, were
to give a decision against England, then these
ships--British ships with British sailors--would be sent
to bombard England itself."

"Exactly," said Mr. Bryan. "Isn't it beautifully simple?
And to guarantee its working properly," he continued,
"just in case we have to use the fleet against England,
we're going to ask Admiral Jellicoe himself to take
command."

The Negro President slowly shook his head.

"Marse Bryan," he said, "you notice what I say. I know
Marse Jellicoe. I done seen him lots of times when he
was just a lieutenant, down in the harbour of Port au
Prince. If youse folks put up this proposition to Marse
Jellicoe, he'll just tell the whole lot of you to go
plumb to--"

But the close of the sentence was lost by a sudden
interruption. A servant entered with a folded telegram
in his hand.

"For me?" said Mr. Bryan, with a winning smile.

"For the President of Haiti, sir," said the man.

The President took the telegram and opened it clumsily
with his finger and thumb amid a general silence. Then
he took from his pocket and adjusted a huge pair of
spectacles with a horn rim and began to read.

"Well, I 'clare to goodness!" he said.

"Who is it from ?" said Mr. Bryan. "Is it anything about
me?"

The Negro President shook his head.

"It's from Haiti," he said, "from my military secretary."

"Read it, read it," cried the company.

"_Come back home right away,_" read out the Negro President,
word by word. "_Everything is all right again. Joint
British and American Naval Squadron came into harbour
yesterday, landed fifty bluejackets and one midshipman.
Perfect order. Banks open. Bars open. Mule cars all
running again. Things fine. Going to have big dance at
your palace. Come right back._"

The Negro President paused.

"Gentlemen," he said, in a voice of great and deep relief,
"this lets me out. I guess I won't stay for the rest of
the discussion. I'll start for Haiti. I reckon there's
something in this Armed Force business after all."

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