For the things that have been happening lately are not merely things
that one could joke about. They are themselves, truly and intrinsically,
jokes. I mean that there is a sort of epigram of unreason in the
situation itself, as there was in the situation where there was jam
yesterday and jam to-morrow but never jam to-day. Take, for instance,
the extraordinary case of Sir Edward Carson. The point is not whether we
regard his attitude in Belfast as the defiance of a sincere and dogmatic
rebel, or as the bluff of a party hack and mountebank. The point is not
whether we regard his defence of the Government at the Old Bailey as a
chivalrous and reluctant duty done as an advocate or a friend, or as
a mere case of a lawyer selling his soul for a fat brief. The point is
that whichever of the two actions we approve, and whichever of the four
explanations we adopt, Sir Edward’s position is still raving nonsense.
On any argument, he cannot escape from his dilemma. It may be argued
that laws and customs should be obeyed whatever our private feelings;
and that it is an established custom to accept a brief in such a case.
But then it is a somewhat more established custom to obey an Act
of Parliament and to keep the peace. It may be argued that extreme
misgovernment justifies men in Ulster or elsewhere in refusing to obey
the law. But then it would justify them even more in refusing to
appear professionally in a law court. Etiquette cannot be at once so
unimportant that Carson may shoot at the King’s uniform, and yet so
important that he must always be ready to put on his own. The Government
cannot be so disreputable that Carson need not lay down his gun, and yet
so respectable that he is bound to put on his wig. Carson cannot at once
be so fierce that he can kill in what he considers a good cause, and yet
so meek that he must argue in what he considers a bad cause. Obedience
or disobedience, conventional or unconventional, a solicitor’s letter
cannot be more sacred than the King’s writ; a blue bag cannot be more
rational than the British flag. The thing is rubbish read anyway, and
the only difficulty is to get a joke good enough to express it. It is a
case for the Court Jester. The phantasy of it could only be expressed by
some huge ceremonial hoax. Carson ought to be crowned with the shamrocks
and emeralds and followed by green-clad minstrels of the Clan-na-Gael,
playing “The Wearing of the Green.”