Victor Grayson, M.P. - A Rhapsody on a Reality.

“Yield not one inch to all the forces which conspire to make you an echo. That is the sin of dogmatism and creeds. Avoid them! They build a fence about the intellect,”—Emerson.

“Misfortune opens eyes that were never open before.”—Maeterlinck.

Albert Victor Grayson, the victorious Revolutionist of Colne Valley, is the young Lochinvar of the North-West of England who broke into the House of Commons amid the hurrahs and hosannas of one million jubilant Socialists.

On his alabaster brow he wears a nimbus of victory “decorated with the motto:—“For Socialism and Colne Valley.”

He is the first avowed Socialist in England to enter the Portals of the House of Privilege, Piffle, and Plunder; and the first Herald of Socialism in Parliament to blow the Bugle of Alarm, to sound the Clarion of Class-Consciousness, or to tickle the Tocsin of Talkology.

He is a clean shaven, smooth haired, strenuous young man of slim build; a man who has lived and can talk. Optimistic Soothsayer that he is, he can declaim with the fluency of a Quack Doctor, the effectiveness of a Cheap Jack, the enthusiasm of a John Ball, the audacity of a John Burns, the mental outlook of a Robert Blatchford, and the intentions of a Cromwell.

He is the intellectual Swashbuckler of Socialism, ready to perish for his principles and party—or accept a portfolio as Porter or Prime Minister in the first Socialist State.

A Humanitarian who eats meat—although a dear friend of an eminent, virtuous vegetarian—he is the protégé of Robert Blatchford, who has given him a fillip that fills him with confidence enough to defeat his foes, should they ever meet him again in the “National Forum.”

Once a tramp—like Maxim Gorki, Bart Kennedy, and other rebels against a system of unequal opportunity—he became a Socialist Mob Orator; then a Journalist; and is now the Leader of a new Political Party in Parliament, composed of—Himself; for, as Ibsen says, “the strongest man is he who best stands alone,”—till disciples gather round.

As the Robinson Crusoe of the Political Socialist Crusaders, he is proud of his own Ego—and “The Clarion” and the Proletariat are proud of him. Developer of his own individuality and struggling to be the master of his own environment, he stands erect, single handed, unmarried, and—like a stalwart—with a broken bottle in one hand, he pours forth a broadside of mental bullets into the brainpans of

his Antagonists.

He is likewise a “two handed” Orator, for he takes hold of his subject with both hands and manipulates, with all his magic, the mainspring of his opponent’s argument—when the spirit moves him.

He is certainly not of Tallyrand’s opinion that language was given to man to enable him to conceal his thoughts, for sometimes he can talk eloquently—without thought—when struggling in the ocean of emotion.

He has not yet become subdued with sorrow or stagnation of sensation, for, when on the platforms, he thrills his auditors with sympathetic vibrations, and vitalizes them with the vigour of his perorations. Albeit, even in his most hilarious mood, there is an undertone of sadness. The spirit of sorrow remains with him, as if in verification of that pathetic phrase:—

“Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest Thought.”

He is a young man in a hurry (sometimes) to save the world before he dies, and he does not mind being turned upside down himself occasionally, so long as he may have a chance of turning the world right side up.

His present aim is “to find work for the unemployed, “food for the hungry, and clothes for the naked;” and, after that, to lay the foundation stone of a University for Humanity, where it can be taught how to “make the conquest of the “intellectual and artistic world,” and thus establish “the most “beautiful edifice which has ever been constructed”—the Utopia of the Idealist and Sobbist.

He is a Messenger of Mercy from Manchester with an Evangel, which will change the constitution from Chaos to Concord, and from Misery to Mirth. He is working day and night to rescue the Masses from Gehenna, and to rid “Society” of the Pharisee and parasite.

Led by this Missionary from Manchester, the Masses march through a Monsoon of Misery to the Millennium—the Mecca of the Mob—regardless of the Manchester School of Economists and the laissez-faire principle.

He works hard for Humanity’s sake, perhaps unmindful that it is the customary fate of New Truths to begin as heresies and end as superstitions.

He is possessed with a desire to live to see the Spirit of a New Age touch and change the ideals of the poor, and rouse them into a recognition of their true worth and power—and yet there are some who say that he wishes to rob the rich to help the poor—as did Robin Hood of old.

In his leisure moments, he often takes a walk in the Realm of Thought to feel the pulse of an impulse of the people; and to vivisect the Vice of Virtue and the Virtue of Victory.

Anon he sits at a window—not in Thrums—but in Ancoat’s Slums, and soliloquizes as he masticates a Sullibub and sips his tea from the Saucer of Sorrow—and ruminates over the Romance of a Victorious Rebel—Himself.

“All the world’s a stage,” and men and women (and politicians) are merely players and place-hunters. Some play many parts; Grayson has one that suits him—that of a Politician with a Proposal, a Purpose, and a Panacea. His proposal has created a panic amongst the opponents of Socialism; his purpose will create a pandemic amongst the Parasites; and his Panacea—his enemies believe—will create a Pandemonium; while Grayson himself believes that his Panacea will bring “Peace on earth, good will towards men.” As Tennyson says:—“It is the motive, the great purpose, that consecrates life,” and—in the Zenith of his fortitude—Grayson has dedicated his life to the Emancipation of the Working Classes, or, to quote himself—“I shall be at your service while I have “breath or a bit of strength left. I will lay myself unconditionally on the altar of the people to do what they want, whether respectable or not, respectable whether according to the law or against the law.”

By so doing, he becomes the Founder of the First Independent Socialist Party and the Leader of the Great Unattached—thus breaking the heart of the Sirdar of the Sobbists (Keir Hardie), the Machiavelli of the Masses (J. R. MacDonald), and the Uriah Heap of the I.L.P. (Phil Snowden).

He is now the Darling of the “Gods,” because of his defiance of the Speaker on behalf of the Unemployed. Expelled from Parliament, with the consent of the Labour Members—bar two—he has become the Saint Paul of the Proletarians, pounder of the Gospel according to Blatchford, plus Jesus. He has found out that the simplest way of getting what you want is to ask for what you won’t get—and take it—if you can. The Labour Party, on the other hand, are willing to want what they can get—and to wait till they get it. (They would, in fact, make better waiters than Members of Parliament).

Grayson, being the first Socialist with the courage to act in defiance of custom and convention, has been denounced and rejected by his outraged comrades who preach the Brotherhood of man, and uphold the dignity and disgraceful conduct of the House of Commons.

He is no Ascetic but a Gladiator of Gladness, who is not afraid to eat a square meal or treat his friends to a Tripe Supper—with Trimmings—in the Banquet Hall of the House of Commons, notwithstanding the wails of the witless and the wiles of the worthless.

He will go far when he has found Himself out to the last analysis. With a little more brutality, a little more audacity, and an early escape from the slave morality of Christianity and assimilation of the Master Morality of the Superman, he will be nigh to solving the Riddle of the Ego, which is the beginning of the solution of the Riddle of the Universe.

Great is Grayson amongst genuine Socialists, for he is the first self-selected, self-elected Leader of the People. Hurrah for the Social Revolution!

This rhapsody is now ruptured—by silence.

THE WIT, WISDOM, AND WICKEDNESS, OF MALFEW SEKLEW, JESTER, PHILOSOPHER, AND PRESIDENT OF THE SOCIETY OF SOCIAL ARISTOCRATS AND CONSCIOUS EGOISTS.

“Egoism is a discovery of a fact in nature, not an invention of man. It is the gospel of Common-sense, the evangel of Reason, the philosophy of the “I,” the catholicon of Self-consciousness, the theory that self-interest rules the world, not love, nor morality.”

“The Conscious Egoist is a Social Democrat governed by a Master Morality.”

“A Socialist is a semi-conscious social atom dominated by a Slave morality.”

“Egoism is Economics without Ethics—or otherwise.”

“Egoism is the apogee of intelligence, crystallized into self-knowledge.”

“Egoism is Everything, because Everything is Egoism.”

“Altruism is a slave morality, invented by intellectual prostitutes to cement the structure of Superstition, Servitude, and Segregation. It is the froth of folly, fancy of fanatics, a decadent’s dream, a madman’s malady; the weak, wild, wail of weaklings, wastrels, creeplings, meeklings, Christlings, and underlings, for sympathy, succour, support, and salvation.”

“Altruism is a brain disease, and the enemy of the Superman and Progress.”

“Altruism is the delirium tremens of thought.”

“The Altruist is a professional Sobbist, a mawkish Moanist on the moan, a Puritan on the prowl, a Sentimentalist suffering from emotional diarrhoea.”

“The Superman is a new-laid Ego, devoid of illusions, chimerical conceptions, and heavenly hallucinations; free from love-pox, small-pox, and slave-pox. He is an Ego struggling to be free and happy.”

“The Superman is a disillusionised Ego; a man without a Soul, except his individuality; without a God, except himself; without a country or patriotism, unless he owns land; and without morality, except it be of his own making. Instead of Duty, he prefers pleasure, leisure, and treasure. Instead of conscience, he possesses consciousness. Unlike the Ego in the crude, he has emancipated himself from all delusions, whether political, social, religious, ethical or economic. The Superman in the nude, has hedonistic proclivities and libertarian ideals. He propagates Economics without Agony; Politics with Tears, and Sociology without a sob, or spitting of blood.”

“Self-knowledge is the lever that will emancipate the wage-slave, extirpate the parasite, and produce the Superman. It is all that is sane in ethical, political, anarchistic, socialistic, thought, culled from the writings of Neitzsche, Stirner, Ibsen, Brandes, Benj. R. Tucker, Ragnar Redbeard, George Bernard Shaw, Stendahl, Montaigne, Machiavelli, La Rouchefoucauld, Emerson, Thoreau, &c., &c., &e.”

“Christian morality is a slave morality.”

“Society is founded upon the patience of Slaves.”

“Consciousness is the vivisection of sensation.”

“Conscience is a cold storage warehouse, where one keeps one’s prejudices—oft-times called principles, and hallucinations.”

“Man may misunderstand Egoism, but never Egoism man.”

“There are two kinds of power,—economic wealth and knowledge. The poor lacking wealth must have wisdom before they have power.”

“All liberties, political, civil, social, economic, sexual, religious, are valueless without economic freedom.”

“God is asleep, or stone deaf; Jesus Christ is dead; the Holy Ghost is looking for work; and the Virgin Mary is looking for a new husband.”

“Nobody believes in the Christian God except the working classes and a few old women of both sexes.”

“The working classes must be abolished before humanity can be rescued from poverty.”

“Society is not an organism, but an orgasm. It may be a stomach but not a full stomach—being mostly an aching void.”

“All reformation must be individual, for the law of Evolution is firstly seen through the individual.”

“Hate is the great destroyer, therefore the great creator.”

“He who hates best, accomplishes most.”

“Hate is universal, love is local.”

“The missing link of progress is self-consciousness of the Ego, or Social Atom.”

“The self-conscious Ego can become the master of his environment—although the product of his environment; the unconscious must ever remain the slave of his environment. For explanation of this paradox, come and see Sirfessor Malfew Seklew balance himself on the intellectual slack wire at

The Advanced Literature Depot,

32, Brunswick Street, Glasgow.

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