THE ART OF BEING RUDE

Shannon News, 29 December 1925, Page 3

THE ART OF BEING RUDE

There is a man, I know man, an English man of letters ,a famous man, who was one day by mistake lung P on his telephone by an unknown person, who at once and without asking his name, began in a high and funous voice to complain of something which the man of letters knew n more than a half-witted Eskimo of the Binomial Theorem, writes Mr. • Wydnham Lewis in the “Daily Mail. This man of letters, therefore, waited a moment until he had an opportunity and then, very deliberately and in measured tones, he said into the mouthpiece: “Yes. I know! know! I do not care. You ar e an ignoble ruffian.” , A more frantic squeaking came from out the void. The man of letters waited until the noise had subsided for a moment, and then added in the same deliberate and contemplated manner: . "You are a pot-bellied Grobian. If you dare to repeat another word of your irreligious and disgusting .gabble I will beat you about the mazzard till you are sick and addled.” He then replaced the receiver and returned to liis work, which was a survey of certain aspects of the Great Schism. And the question has arisen, and lias been debated with every ciicumstance of gravity and weight: Was this Paideness?

It is indeed a problem worthy of the Schools,, and one which might have been interminably argued before the University of Paris by the learned Janotus de Bragmardo, the seraphic John of Cracow, and th 0 illustrious Raymond Nazrecabre, now in torment. For it was he of whom tile Belle Heaulmiere, in her old age, spoke Lamenting her vanished loveliness and the “eyes with a big gay look out ot them would bring folly front a great scholar.” May he rest in peace! Ho had a face like a glandered goat and suffered horriby from the sin of Spiritual Pride. But we were .considering the immense subject of Rudeness. Let us return. It is not to be denied by the thoughtful that effects of Rudeness arc- often salutary, benign, serviceable to the State, and a comfort to honest men. If Charles Kingsley had not been so ‘rude to Newman —it. is often considered rude to accuse a man of lying—we should never have had Newman’s “Apologia,,” of which Sir Edmund Gosst has said that in it the Fenelon of our age arose and shamed his enemies into silence with his golden tongue. Whistler was exti-emely rude to Oscar Wilde, and Wilde to Whistler; a,nd no student of Rudeness, can afford to be without that deliciousvolume “The Gentle .Art of Making Enemies,” which is Whistler at his best. And if a bargee on the Thames had not said something rude to Dr. Johnson the Doctor would not have roared back that immense and almost monumental insult pointing out that the bargee’s wife, under the pretence of keeping a house of ill-fame, was a receiver of stolen goods; which 1 take to, be a model. Ivan the Terrible, when (as was his custom) ordering the hat or one who had offended him to be nailed to his head, would frequently indulge in Rudeness of the most Russian kind. It is, however, a mistake to assume that irritability always connotes Rudeness,, for there was once (so I have heard) a citizen of Paris whose temperament made fiim peculiarly susceptible to sudden flurries of anger. This man, rushing into his flat near the Parc Monoeau one winter afternoon and seeing two figures seated on a sofa,, pulled out an automatic and shot them both rather seriously, at the same time observing “Traitress! Miserable Judas!” He then turned to the door (which was open) and. glancing at the number on it, instantly i)erceived that he was in the wrong flat, a door below his own. On which, ejaculating hastily “I beg your pardon!” this excellent but impulsive citizen galloped out again, and so out of this story. There was no 'Rudeness here, I think.

It is often said that the mor e important kind of lawyers are addicted to Rudeness in the exercise of their calling; but we should remember the nice modesty of lawyers’ minds, and the ease with which they are shocked into,agonies of Moral Indignation; and also their sheltered and innocent lives; and also the side for which they appear, and the fee they are paid, which is often immense. Sailors are sometimes rude, but their Ruffiness is alleviated by a hearty “Yo ho!” and by the attractive practice of hoisting their slacks. There is often a fine and poetic Rudeness in those whose blood is tinged with Celtic melancholy. “May I. meet him,” says Christy Mahon in Synge's play:

“May I meet hint with one tooth and it aching, and one eye to be seeing seven and seventy devils in the twists of the road, and one old timber leg on him to limp into the scalding grave. There he is now crossing the strands, and that the Lord God would send a high wave to wash him from the world.”