He was sitting forlornly on the shore at Swanage, toying with an open
knife. Fearing that he might be about to do himself a mischief, I
stopped and spoke.
“No,” he said, “I’m not contemplating suicide. Don’t think that. I’m
merely pondering on the illusion that England is the abode of freedom.”
“But isn’t it?” I asked.
He laughed bitterly.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
He jerked his thumb towards the stone globe which is to Swanage what
Thorwaldsen’s Lion is to Lucerne, or the Sphinx to the desert.
“Well?” I said.
“Have you seen the tablets?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“They’ve put up two tablets,” he explained, “with a request that any
one wishing to cut or write his name should do it there rather than on
the globe.”
“Very sensible,” I said.
“Sensible?” he echoed. “Sensible? But what’s the use of cutting your
name on a place set apart for the purpose? There’s no fun in that.
Things are coming to a pretty pass when Town Councils take to sarcasm.
Because that’s what it is,” he continued. “Sarcasm. They don’t want our
names anywhere, and this is their way of saying so. Sarcasm has been
described,” he went on, “as ‘the language of the devil’; and it’s true.”
“But why do you want to cut your name?” I asked.
He opened his eyes to their widest. “Why? What’s the use of going
anywhere if you don’t?” he retorted. “You’ll find my name all over
England--on trees at Burnham Beeches, on windows at Chatsworth, on
stone walls at Kenilworth, on whitewash at Stratford-on-Avon, in the
turf of Chanctonbury. You’ll find it in belfries and on seats. I should
be ashamed of myself if I didn’t inscribe it--and permanently, too. But
this is too much for me. I came here only because I heard about the
stone globe; and then to find those tablets! But I haven’t wasted my
time,” he continued. “I went over to the New Forest the other day, and
to-morrow I’m going to Stonehenge.”
“That’s no good,” I said.
“No good? Why, I’ve bought a new chisel on purpose for it. I’m told the
stone’s very hard.”
“You won’t be able to do it,” I said. “It’s enclosed now, and guarded.”
He buried his face in his hands. “Everything’s against me,” he groaned.
“The country’s going to the dogs.”