Set Down in Malice: A Book of Reminiscences

								

makes its presence known by little convulsions that are disturbing
enough while they last, but which generally die pretty quickly.
It was in the middle of 1901 that I wrote to Mr Shaw about the
particular brand of socialism from which at that time I was
suffering. It must have been a very raw and crude brand, and my letter
to Bernard Shaw must have amused him considerably. Certainly his reply
was most diverting. Here it is:


“By all means give ‘every penny you can spare to those who are
most in need of monetary help.’ If you will be kind enough to send
it to the Treasurer of the Fabian Society, 3 Clement’s Inn,
London, W.C., you may depend upon its being wanted and well used.
If you prefer relieving needy persons, I can give you the names
and addresses of several fathers of families who can be depended
on to absorb all your superfluous resources, however vast they may
be. By making yourself poor for their sakes you will have the
satisfaction of adding one more poor family to the existing mass
of poverty and contributing your utmost to the ransom which
perpetuates the existing social system. You will go through life
consoled by an inexhaustible sense of moral superiority to bishops
and other inconsistent Christians. And you will never be at a loss
for friends. Where the carcass is there will the eagles be
gathered.


“A world of beggars and almsgivers—beautiful Christian ideal.


“You are not a prig—only a damned fool. A month’s experience will
cure you.”
But though I think this letter amusing now, I am convinced I did not
think so at the time I received it. I know not in what terms of pained
surprise and hurt vanity I replied to it, but a few days later I
received the following short note:—


“Yes: you are an ass; and nothing will help you until you get over
that.


“‘A has money, B is without. If A doesn’t share with B he
is—well, I call him a thief.’ Just what an ass would do. Pray what
do you call B if he accepts A’s bounty?


“I strongly recommend you to become a stockbroker. You believe
that doing good means giving money; and you fancy yourself in the
character of Lord Bountiful with a touch of St Francis.


“Yes, a hopeless ass. No matter; embrace your destiny and become a
philanthropist. It is not a bad life for people who are built that
way.”
That, I think, most effectively closed the correspondence, as, I have
little doubt, it was intended to do.
During the next few months, having approached Messrs Greening & Co.,
the publishers, I was commissioned by them to write a book on Mr Hall
Caine for their Eminent Writers of To-day series. The book being
completed and published before the end of the year, I conceived the
idea of writing another about Mr Bernard Shaw, and communicated with
the dramatist, informing him of my intention and asking him if he
would provide me with biographical details. This he consented to do,