THE LEAGUE AT WORK [To the Editor of the SPECTATOR.]
Sm,—The League of Nations counts for almost nothing in our sleepy hamlet between Portsmouth and the moon. Nevertheless, one villager emerged and arrived at the fair and solid city of Geneva to see what the nations were up to.
The dingy Salle de la Reformation, with its multitudes of brown chairs, is as uninspired a place as the veriest Puritan could wish for. The Villager settled herself, at long last, after several fierce inquiries as to her ticket, at the edge of the highest gallery. Not too high, however, to admire the stability of the three faces seen in profile in the sort of pulpit on the platform. Nearest, Sir Eric Drummond's typically English, reliable, middle-aged, kind and keen. Next, the less alert, more legal countenance of the quiet voiced Zahle, the President this year, from Denmark. Beyond that the confident outline of the interpreter ; sound men they all seem.
In the British Delegation the Villager is pleased with the elegant and quiet charm of Dame Edith Lyttelton's blue gown, with her shining fan so suitably waved in the stifling atmosphere—for here in Geneva it is hot every day. She sits between the stately white-haired Lord Cushendun, and the youthful Mr. Duff Cooper, whose brilliant lecture one evening at the Conservatoire on the Barbarians took away the breath of a startled audience. The Villager is somewhat confused as she peers down among the masses of men. What a terrible agreement is that which confirms them in their dull dark suits this glaring weather ? But there is the thin melancholy face of the Count Apponyi, who constantly leaves his seat and draws near to listen to the speaker of the moment. Procope of Finland is a dark, vital, flourishing youth who shines out from the dusky pallor of the older men around him. Eriand, almost collapsed in his place, sitting so idly, playing perpetually with his fingers, becomes very mysterious and real.
Odd that a Chinese gentleman should show so much anima- tion: His Excellency Wang King Ky speaks with a fore- finger constantly crooked, energetically. Odd also that a lady in black with grey hair should be allowed to take the central desk and translate, now and then, without so much as her name being given out. She must be a remarkable person to face the assembly with so much calmness in her cool high-pitched voice.
That something should be done about the loud speakers and hearing facilities our Villager is sure. Many people in the gallery can hear almost nothing at all. The journalists ! Oh the journalists—they scamper into their places, scribble violently and talk of the wonderful lunch China has given to the Press, with caviare and cigars. There is great sym- pathy and interest felt in China.
"I should rather like to possess," thought the Villager, after a very long droning session one hot afternoon, ". that little wooden box into which the delegates push their voting papers. Marvellous to see the representatives file up in turn—Canada and Chile, Estonia and Ethiopia." And she fell asleep for the moment and woke ashamed. For there is really no excuse for a moment's closing of the eyes, or for a moment's folding of the hands. In Geneva you can hear the beating of a mighty heart, insistent for justice and peace.
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