MARGINAL COMMENTS
By ROSE MACAULAY
art down the ages, should look in at the Jubilee Exhibition of the British School of Archaeology at Athens, and par- ticularly at the Minoan section, to see such fragments of the Cretan culture of from three to five millenniums ago as archaeologists have here assembled. Here are vases, bowls, statuettes, lovely pottery, smirking goddesses in corsets and the bustled frocks of the 1880's fondling snakes ; here are flying-fish, ivory gods, holy doves, acrobats performing somersaults on galloping bulls, wall frescoes of blue monkeys, of ladies at their toilet, of dol- phins, of angry bulls charging olive trees, of elegant young men with wasp waists and flowing locks. How spiteful, how conceited, how waspish, these young gentlemen look ; they are rather like Mr. Darcy, but less noble and more epicene. The ladies show their breasts, and often join in the bull fights ; Minoan young men and maidens must, of course, have had a considerable grudge against bulls.
Archaeologists have, besides patience and knowledge, the most admirable imaginations. Give them an inch, and they'll make an ell. Give them a finger-nail or a hoof, and they will construct not a mere elbow but a complete young gentleman or bull. Let them but find a painted leaf or petal, and what exquisite gay flowers and trees burgeon for us out of their heads on to painted stucco ! To watch archaeologists building up Greek temples out of the glorious jumbled litter than strews Sicilian hills is to hope that these gifted beings may take charge also of the world's tumbled fragments after the next great smash. Perhaps they will have to wait a few thousand years before piecing together the dusty shards they may disinter of Our animated and bustling scene ; but, whenever they do it, I hope they will make of us something as agreeable as they are making of ancient Crete. And as religious.
Those bosomy goddesses, those ritual vessels from the gaudy pleasure palace of Knossos, those temples—were they perhaps less religious than they now, to archaeolo- gists, appear ? What mystic ritual emblems will Monte Carlo's roulette wheels seem to those who may one day disinter them ?
Now I wonder if this time I have hit on a topic which will anger no one. A fortnight ago I wrote what I thought a harmless comment on the application of the word " un-English " to stone-throwing as an expression of dis- agreement. But apparently it was not harmless at all.
I have been sent a stern article in a Leeds paper, accusing me of mocking at our belief in English virtue, and of hav- ing a "prim mind" that makes fun of the current lin- guistic usage which is good enough for most of us. "It seems to me a jolly good thing that we have this faith in British ideals. . : . To jeer at our codes of honour is— well, un-English." So that is that. I have also heard from a correspondent who thought I had been flippant about the Spanish war—the last thing I have ever felt— and (I gather) that I ought to take sides. He tells md firmly that " the atrocities arc all upon one side, whatever our Press may say." If he is really in a position to swear to this remarkable and unusual fact, I am, of course, delighted, as it would seem to reduce atrocities by half. But, be that as it may, I do not know why either of these writers should be so vexed with me. Perhaps, by going back some millenniums, I have avoided treading on any one's toes. The wasp-waisted gentlemen, the smirking ladies, are long since dust ; so is the bull that charged the olive tree, though many of his descendants remain. Archaeologists, fortunately, are with us still, but to them I have given unstinted praise ; and much they would know or care if I had not.
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