The Love of Gold, The Power of Money, and Politics in High Places

Poverty Bay Herald, Volume LX, Issue 18255, 25 November 1933, Page 13

The Love of Gold, The Power of Money, and Politics in High Places

“THE passion for collecting- money * i 3 its great 'ail excitement and absorption to some people as painting pictures; 1 ' sculpting statues, ;ov composing and I have seen sensiole 'up sports, books, liberty} and leisure to collect money, as one might collect stamps, clocks, china or illuminated manuscripts. “I have seen rich men staggering undtir J - suit-cases rather than pay a taxi-man -sixpence beyond his tare, i have seen Speculators become convicts} maidservants become millionaires; millionaires become megalomaniacs; and we are all familiar with the man of great possessions- who turned sorrow fully away when he heard Christ’s saying. 5 : . ‘ ‘ Doubtless money has a certain powdtr. Wjealthy men impress hotelkeepers, stoek-brokers, servants, and society; but‘most of those that .1 have'known are in a perpetual state of nervous preoccupation, and it is pathetic to’see them harnessed to a life--that brings them neither fun, friends, nor freedom. “Voltaire writes: ‘J’aimc I’argent payee que j’aimc la liberte, ’ but this isTwt -tTue of the wealthy men that I have* known. - Those who devote their lives to money-making have no liberty. Their lives are feverish, their relations are importunate, and such holidays as they are able to spend with their wives and children resemble the frolics of a goat tethered to a post. •‘I have known a few remarkable men who have made fortunes, and veritable idiots who have done the same, and though you may- possess money, unless you are very careful, it is apt in the long run to possess you. There is a romance about self-made men which seldom goes with men of inherited fortunes; but with a few exceptions they are not the men you would most like to live with, and i have arrived at the dclinite conclusion that if it takes talent to make money, it takes genius to spend it.” —Countess of Oxford.

There is more than political and social gossip in “More Memories,’’ by Margot Oxford, as the homily quoted above proves. Indeed, the serious critical note is much more pronounced in the new book by the Countess of Oxford. She is as vivacious and frank as ever.

There is hardly n famous man or woman since the late ’eighties and early ’nineties with whom Lady Oxlord has not come into ‘contact. Her impressions are vivid and searching. There arc matters, too, of wide moment which will captivate the reader. Tor example, this little item about royalty and politics. The Countess says: Monarchs and Politics. “The idea that because our Sovereigns are not permitted to interfere with the decisions of any GovEnt— whether Liberal, Labor, or -that they havo no political gsVis erroneous. Like the- rest of us, they are human and, though they" were sufficiently diplomatic to control every outward sign 'of their private persuasions, the three Sovereigns that I have personally, known «U had convinced political opinions. “Queen Victoria-' was dazzled- by Disraeli, and incapable of appreciating his rival —Mr. Gladstone. In spile ox her profound common sense and absorption in polities it did not take a witch to discover that the Queen was a convinced Conservative. “A man as polished, dexterous, and captivating as Disraeli will - -always influence my sex'more' than a man of Mr. Gladstone's austerity and conviction, The more feminine and domestic a woman is the more she enjoys tho unexpected and adventurous, and the effrontery and attentions 1 of a Prime Minister like Disraeli delighted a woman who took herself is soriousiv as Queen Victoria. “But King Edward told me himself that ho thought it wrong of his mother not ■ to have said something gracious to such an old ■ and distinguished public servant as Mr. Gladstone; when —upon his resignation — he bade her a permanent farewell. “When King Edward came to the Throne it was not surprising that his political leanings were the- opposite of his mother’s,; and he made no secret of his sympathy with Liberalism.’’

Nerves and Health. , Lady Oxford is candid about herself, and one of the most interesting chapters gives her musings and meditiP tions on things in general. “Without being self-conscious.’’ she says, “I have always been interested in myself—not so much because of my mind, or morals —much loss of appearance! —but because in my youth I was easily agitated, and my nerves and-health have always been affected "-by my emotions. It is this districting fact that depressed and puzzled me. “I never knew that the health of anyone of either will, intelligence, or character Could have been as nearly dominated as mine has always been by my emotions; and had it not been for my two doctors, first Sir John Williams and later Sir Thontas Parkinson, who were both demoted to me, I might have developed the worst of all maladies—-self-pity—which my clever friend Mrs

Crawshav says is like ‘sitting in wet shoes.’

“AVhen I was happy there was nothing I could not do. I could ride horses in Leicestershire that Carried men of eighteen stone; J could dance till dawn; tramp the moors till sunset; and could wait for hours at midnight to meet my children upon their arrival at every London railway station. But when I was apprehensive or unhappy, my full face became like a profile, and my anatomy too technical to be exposed to the observation of people who go into the world for amusement. . . ,

Plattery Like Icing on a Cake. “If anyone had told me when I was young that the courage I. possess was raro I would have laughed at them; but I have come to the conclusion that it is. Most people arc inward-bound, and more or less armed for life —I never was; many feel put back by rebuffs—they urged mo forward; there are others who are searching for happiness without the vitality to find it—it was always mine; and tho majority of mankind who can face tigers in jungles are afraid of themselves.

“My courage is unconscious and more a temptation than a virtue. I only care tb hear people say what they really think —whether about myself or : about anything else —and glide off those who are too agreeable, or who are in' 'constant agreement w'ith me.

“Flattery is like icing on a cake; you can never guess whether the foundation of it is seed, ;sponge, or sultana. I realise the importance of tact; without indulging too much in it, detest touchiness, and have always been able to stare truth in the face.

“Some will say that speaking the truth is an indulgence that makes others untruthful,’ but inaccuracy and lies lend themselves to endless worries. . . . When my friends tell me l lie lies are white, i think they are color blind.”

The Queen and the Dog. The book is full of good stories, and one of the best is the author’s account of her visit to Queen Alexandra after the death of King Edward. Lady Oxford writes: — “We sat side by side on a sofa in her room in the Palace and cried together. Finding little that I could say to console her, I wondered what topic would stop her tears and divert her attention, and; looking round the room, I saw a large photograph of the terrier Caesar, which the Duchess of Newcastle had given the King, and which had impressed the crowd when, led by a retainer on a string, it had followed the hearse in the funeral procession. “Curiosity, My Dear” “ ‘Poor little dog,’ I said, ‘his devotion to your King, Ma’am, touched every spectator at the funeral.’ “ ‘Horrid little dbg!' she said, ‘ lie never went near my poor husband when lie was ill!’ “ ‘But, Ma’am,’ 1 said, ‘the day you took my husband to see the King when he was dead, the dog was lying at his‘feet.A “ ‘For warmth, my dear,’ she replied. >. “Margot: ‘But did he never show any sign of affection ? ’ • (‘.‘The Queen:-‘He put his two paw# on the side of the coffin before they sere We d; the top down;*’* ' “ Margot c ‘ feu rely that was a sign of devotion!’

“The Queen: ‘Curiosity, my dear.’ “After,this there was nothing more to be said. I looked at her lovely, youthful’face and begged her never to become a professional widow, but to allow all of us to see her, adding that Queen Victoria’s cloistered retirement had seemed to me to be a profound mistake.

“ ‘Don’t say anything against her, dear Margot; after all. poor thing, she lost what she loved, and was always kind to me in the early days of my marrihge. ’ “I asked her if the Queen had really cared ifor John Brown, to which she replied:—

“ ‘He was a comfortable Scotsman who liked wrapping her cloak round her in their Highland drives.’ “\Ve left each other smiling between our tears.”