To Love’s low voice she lent a careless ear; Her band within his rosy fingers lay, A chilling weight.  She would, not turn or hear; But with averted, face went on her way. But when pale Death, all featureless and grim, Lifted his bony hand, and beckoning Held out his cypress-wreath, she followed him, And Love was left forlorn and wondering, That she who for his bidding would not stay, At Death’s first whisper rose and went away.

CENSORSHIP BY THE LIBRARIES

[23 Dec ’09]

The immediate origin of the new attempt by the libraries to exercise a censorship over books, and particularly over novels, is quite accidental and silly.  A woman socially prominent in the governing classes of this realm has a daughter.  The daughter obtained and read a certain book from the circulating library. (Naturally the family is one of those that are too rich to buy books; it can only hire.) The mother chanced to see the book, and considered it to be highly improper. (I have not read the book, but I should say that it is probably not improper at all; merely a trivial, foolish book.) The woman went direct to an extremely exalted member of the Cabinet, being a friend of his; and she kicked up a tremendous storm and dust.  The result was that “certain machinery” was set in motion, and “certain representations” were made to the libraries; indeed, the libraries were given to understand that unless they did something themselves “certain steps” would be taken.  It was all very vague and impressive, and it brought recent agitations to a head.  Hence the manifesto of the libraries, in which they announce that all books must be submitted in advance to a committee of hiring experts, and that the submitted books will be divided into three classes.  The first class will be absolutely banned; the circulation of the second will be prevented so far as it can be prevented without the ban absolute; and the circulation of the third will be permitted without restrictions.

* * * * *

Of course, that even the suggestion of a censorship should spring from such a personal and trifling cause is very scandalous.  But I am fairly sure that it might happen under any Government and under any form of Government.  All Governments must consist of individual members, and all individual members have friends.  Most of them are acquainted with women, and with absurd women, who will utilize the acquaintanceship with all their might for their own personal ends.  And exceedingly few members of any Government whatsoever would have the courage to tell a well-dressed and arrogant woman to go to the devil, even when that answer happened to be the sole correct answer to an impertinence.  Wellington merely damned the portly darlings, but then Wellington, though preposterous as a politician, was a great man.