Coming, the other day, after every kind of struggle, at last into
possession of one of the new pound notes, I was interested in placing it
quickly under the microscope, so to speak, in order that, in case I
never saw another, I should be able to describe it to my grandchildren.
How indigent I have been may be gathered from the circumstance that this
note, being numbered 344260, had three hundred and forty-four thousand
two hundred and fifty-nine predecessors which had eluded me.
As a work of art it is remarkable--almost, indeed, a gallery in itself,
comprising as it does portraiture, design, topography, and the
delineation of one of the most spirited episodes in religious history.
After the magic words "One Pound," it is, of course, to St. George and
the Dragon that the eye first turns. What Mr. Ruskin would say of the
latest version of the encounter between England's tutelary genius and
his fearsome foe, one can only guess; but I feel sure that he would be
caustic about the Saint's grip on his spear. To get its head right
through the dragon's chest--taking, as it has done, the longest possible
route--and out so far on the other side, would require more vigour and
tension than is suggested by the casual way in which the thumb rests on
the handle. Dragons' necks and bosoms are, I take it, not only scaly
without but of a sinewy consistency within that is by no means easy to
penetrate, and in this particular case the difficulty must have been
increased by the creature's struggles, which, the artist admits, bent
the spear very noticeably. None the less, the Saint's hold is most
delicate, and his features are marked by the utmost placidity.
As a matter of fact, the Saint is not sufficiently armed on our £1
notes; for in real life, and particularly when he rode out on the Libyan
plain to do battle with the dragon, he had a sword as well as a spear.
But he could not have had both if he were dressed as the Treasury artist
dresses him, unless he carried the sword between his teeth; which he is
not doing. There is no better authority than _The Golden Legend_, and
_The Golden Legend_ (in the translation of Master William Caxton)
testifieth thus: "Then as they [St. George and the King's daughter, whom
the dragon desired,] spake together, the dragon appeared and came
running to them, and St. George was upon his horse, and drew out his
sword and garnished him with the sign of the cross, and rode hardily
against the dragon which came towards him, and smote him with his spear
[spear, now, take notice], and hurt him sore and threw him to the
ground." The absence of the sword is one error that never ought to have
gained currency. Another is the grievousness of the wound which is
depicted; for in real life the wound was so slight, although sufficient,
that the King's daughter--but let Master Caxton continue, for he writeth
better than I ever shall. Having conquered the foe, St. George,
according to _The Golden Legend_, "said to the maid: 'Deliver to me your
girdle, and bind it about the neck of the dragon, and be not afeard.'
When she had done so, the dragon followed her as it had been a meek
beast and debonair." It was later, and not until St. George had
baptized the King and all his people (which was his reward), that he
smote off the dragon's head.
To my mind _The Golden Legend_ is too gentle with this contest. I like a
real fight, and here one is almost as much defrauded as in the story of
David and Goliath. In treating the victory over the dragon with equal
lightness, perhaps the Treasury artist, even though he has not followed
the authority closely enough in other ways, is justified; but he should
have read the text more carefully, for no one can pretend that a dragon
so drastically perforated as this one could follow a princess into the
city. Indeed, it is such a _coup de grâce_ as no self-respecting and
determined dragon, furnished with wings, inflammable breath, and all the
usual fittings, would have submitted itself to. Because, given wings,
neither of which is broken, how would it have allowed itself to come
into that posture at all?
Saints, however, must be saints; and their adversaries know this.
It was only, as I have said, with incredible difficulties that I could
get this pound note to study; imagine, then, what pains and subterfuges
were, in 1917, necessary in order to obtain the loan of a sovereign with
which to compare the golden rendering of the same conflict. Eventually,
however, I was successful, and one of the precious discs passed
temporarily into my keeping. It lies beside No. 344260 on the table as I
write. In this treatment--Mr. Ruskin's strictures upon which are
familiar--one is first struck by the absurdity of the Saint's weapon: a
short dagger with which he could never do any damage at all, unless
either he fell off his horse or the dragon obligingly rose up to meet
the blow. Fortunately, however, the horse has powerful hoofs, and one of
these is inflicting infinite mischief. Other noticeable peculiarities of
the sovereign's rendering are the smallness of the horse's head and the
length of St. George's leg. The total effect, in spite of blemishes, is
more spirited than that of No. 344260, but both would equally fill a
Renaissance Florentine medallist with gloom.
So much for the St. Georges and the Dragons of Treasury artists. But
when it comes to No. 344260's portrait of Mr. John Bradbury, Secretary
to the Treasury, over his facsimile autograph, in green ink, I have no
fault to find. This is a strong profile treatment, not a little like the
King, and I am glad to have seen it. One likes to think of regal
features and tonsorial habits setting a fashion. Mr. John Bradbury does
well and loyally to resemble as closely as he can his royal master.
Having reached this point, I turned No. 344260 over and examined the
back, which represents the Houses of Parliament as seen from Lambeth.
There are three peculiarities about this picture. One is that all the
emphasis is laid--where of late we have not been in the habit of looking
for it--on the House of Lords; another is that Parliament is not
sitting, for the Victoria Tower is without its flag; and the third is
that Broad Sanctuary has been completely eliminated, so that the Abbey
and the Victoria Tower form one building. No doubt to the fortunate
persons through whose hands one pound notes pass, such awful symbolism
conveys a sense of England's greatness and power; but I think it would
be far more amusing if the back had been left blank, in case some later
Robbie Burns (could this decadent world ever know so fine a thing
again) wished to write another lament on it:
For lack o' thee I've lost my lass,
For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass.
Or, if not blank, thirty (say) spaces might be ruled on it, in which the
names of its first thirty owners could be written. By the time the
spaces were filled it would be a document historically valuable now and
then to autograph collectors. It would also be dirty enough to call in.