My Life

My Life - Oswald Mosleythat celebrated wit and columnist Lord Castlerosse, personally beloved and fashionedinto a journalist by Lord Beaverbrook, came up the stairs of St. James's Square duringa glittering reception, he was received by his hostess, Lady Astor, in characteristicfashion. She leaned forward and patted his immense stomach with the observation: 'Ifthat was on a woman we should know what to think'. Came the laconic reply: 'Well, itwas last night, so what do you think?' The company of anyone capable of such instantrejoinder was occasionally worthwhile, and I sometimes enjoyed it while I still hadthe time, despite Max Beaverbrook's remark reported by Harold Nicolson that Ishould never have been seen at Valentine's parties. This came oddly from him,because he himself found the Castlerosse fun irresistible. Years later, Max and Italked of his long-dead friend at his villa 'La Caponcina' in the South of France when Ilast saw him just before his own death.There is an old tradition of English wit in that robust vein, and may it never cease onthe appropriate occasion, despite any Puritan outcry. The best repartee of all perhapscame from that other colourful and much more disreputable figure, John Wilkes, andis well known. He was late for supper with a heavy-handed peer who remarked on hisarrival: 'We were debating whether you would be hung before you died of the pox',and was met with the immediate retort: 'That depends whether I embrace yourprinciples or your mistresses'. In English there is such a wide range of wit that it isdifficult to choose any brief anthology. In the opposite vein of the grand manner Ialways like Peel's reply in Parliament to the Irishman who said he would as soon seethe devil as the Queen on the throne of England: 'When the sovereign of his choice isseated on the throne of this realm, I trust he will enjoy, as I know he will deserve, theconfidence of the Crown'.I myself heard in Parliament an engaging exchange between Lord Henry Bentinck andLord Hugh Cecil who, in the early stages of the Irish problem after the First War,were taking different views of the question. The latter was rallying the former on hisseemingly abrupt change of opinion and saying it would become him to give someaccount of his transition rather on the lines of Newman's Apologia. Lord Henry rosewith the interruption that the principal factor in his conversion had been hisunfortunate experience of listening to Lord Hugh's speeches in the opposite sense.The rejoinder was: 'If it did not imply any offence to my noble friend, I should betempted at this stage of our discussion to make a transient reference to pearls'.How much the character of people is reflected in their wit. It is amusing to comparethe English variety with the French: for example, Madame du DerTand's reply to atedious cleric who insisted on the miracle that a saint had walked six leagues after hishead had been cut off—il n'y a que le premier pas qui coute—made familiar toEnglish readers by Lytton Strachey. Less well known in the anti-clerical tradition stillto be found within French life is Clemenceau's letter to an abbe with whom he had adispute about a tree which cast a shadow into his garden. When the branches werefinally cut back he wrote a letter of thanks and appreciation which began: 'Mon pere,je peux enfin vous appeller mon pere, car vous m'avez donne la lumiere'. French wit isnot always so delicate and sometimes joins our robust English examples: for instance,Henri V, gallant and beloved King of France, relieving himself in the garden when abeautiful lady of the court came suddenly round the corner: 'Passe, ma belle, je letiens'.68 of 424