Talleyrand, as we know, remarked that only those who lived
before the Revolution had any conception of how pleasant life could be. I have never experienced the slightest desire to live in. the eighteenth century. The formality of their manners ex- ceeded even the stuffiness of their rooms. They regarded social intercourse, not as a form of relaxation, but as a test of conver- sational prowess. I am sure that I should have returned from their parties with my bead throbbing from an overheated atmo- sphere and stabbed by the thought of all the brilliant things I might have said if only I had been given time. My impatience would have chafed against all that bowing and scraping, all that hanging about, all those long rattling rumbling hours spent in carriages, all those servants snuffing candles. My love of rapidity is better suited to the age of the aeroplane, the wireless, the steno- grapher and the telephone. I loathe having to wait. My cowardice in confronting pain is much assuaged by anaesthetics; nor, being a clumsy eater, should I have been comfortable if aware that one spot of coffee on my satin waistcoat would cost me f45.
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