Where Can One Go To Be Rude?

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 152, 17 September 1927, Page 24 (Supplement)

Where Can One Go To Be Rude?

Edith Sitwell, who, with her brothers Osbert and Sacheverell, manages to keep before the British public one way and another, has contributed this article to a London newspaper. Miss Sitwell, for those who knotv her not, writes poems, peculiar and precious.

H FAMOUS Hungarian violinist tells me that in Budapest, that enlightened city, a hall has been built wherein on payment of a modest sum a gentleman or lady can shout, quarrel, and be rude. If two people are annoyed with each other they hire the hall and have the matter out to their heart’s content. But in England if one wishes to be rude there is no place wherein to fulfil that wish. I may not ask you to my house and be rude to you there, nor may I go to your house and be rude to you there, because I should be breaking the laws of hospitality. Then, again, I cannot go to somebody else’s house and be rude to you there, because if 1 do I am annoying my hostess and bringing a blush to tne cheeks of innocent persons, and again am breaking the laws of hospitality, I should not be asked to the house again. A mercy for which I should be only too thankful, a mercy for which I pray to Heaven night after night upon my knees —only I am too weak-minded to do anything to call down this blessing upon my head. . . .

I may say, however, that there are ways of being rude in other people’s houses which, though they may make the world pa.use and the stars reel in their orbits, yet cannot be visited upon the head of the victor. People pretend not to notice.

There was, for instance, the French lady, a famous hostess, whose affection for another equally well-known hostess was Christian, to say the least of it. Hostess A had never invited Hostess B to her house except for those immense receptions which come as a visitation from Heaven.

One day they met at the house of a mutual acquaintance. Said Hostess B to Hostess A: “My dear, I am sorry I never seem able to find time to come and see you. But you know what it is like when a woman is as busy as I am. But I really must make an effort one day and come.” Replied Hostess A: “Madame, 1 shall return home at once for fear I should miss your call!” . . .

But this kind of thing, though it would certainly never be forgotten, cannot really satisfy us, though it may bring a faint glow of pleasure to the victor.

But I am straying from the subject of my discouse. ... I cannot be rude to you in a restaurant or a theatre, because if I am I am making a scene in public, I am not behaving like a lady or gentleman, as the ease may be. However trying you may have been on a previous occasion, however mild my "Boo!” to an indisputable goose, the sympathy of all the spectators would be with you. Then, again, I cannot be rude to you in the street, because a crowd would collect and the police might take an interest. Will you tell me, then, where and under what circumstances I can be rude to you 7 Philanthropists might well reflect on this subject. Now a public hall would commit nobody, our voices would have a fine, echoing, rolling sound which would add to their impressiveness, and the expense need not be great. Several

EDITH SITWELL

people might hire it at the same time. But the trouble would still remain as to how to be rude to our bores. This sentence must not be taken to mean that I want to be rude to al! bores, or that I dislike all bores. I do not. There are many whom I cherish. I mean, if the bore is competent enougli I cherish him. But rather after than at the moment. And a long time after, too.

What does bother me is a muddle. The following is an example; The other day I met an eminent statesman of a foreign State who had come to England, with his wife, to promote better understanding between the two countries. Neither could speak English or stop speaking it. The following conversation took place: Eminent Statesman: “I am sorry I did not know you before, Miss Sitwell. I must apologise for that.” Miss Sitwell: “Oh, don’t mention it . . . (a.fter a long pause, for want of something to say) I have cousins of your nationality.”

Eminent Statesman, intelligently 'When is it?”

Miss Sitwell (crossly): “When is what? , . . Their names are and (mentioning two well-known names).”

Eminent Statesman (with a gleam of hope): “Where is that?” At this moment the Eminent Statesman’s wife advanced and said, “I must know the name of this poet. Sign, please!” I signed. “And your title?” “I haven’t got one . . . just ‘Miss.’ ” “Is that all?”

I was not unnaturally crushed, but the lady continued, “Who did it?” and I discovered that she was asking for the name of one of mjr books! Goodness! But this was transcendental. It did not irritate, but cheered, without inebriating!

Bores inspire us, but subtlety is needed, otherwise the fun is lost. We like to reimburse ourselves for the time expended in being bored and for the waste of temper, but at the same time we do not like it to be known by the bore or by the spectators that we are being rude. Partly because the bore is usually a good-natured person and our natural cowardice intervenes when it is a question of being rude to a good-natured person.

I cannot, therefore, drag my prize bore, however international his or her reputation as a bore may be, to this (alas! purely mythical) hall. It would be seen through, and though I might get rid of my bore, I might also get rid of my reputation as a civilised woman.

Bother! The thing seems hopeless! We must, I think, remain polite to each other!