The Toys of Peace

Christopher Hitchens has a column in the latest issue of the Atlantic on the short stories of Saki. It’s all right, I guess. Not my favorite account, but, then, any mention of Saki is good, if only to remind readers about him.

But how could Hitchens leave out the single greatest Saki story, “The Toys of Peace” ? If you haven’t read this story, do so now, and then run out and buy his collected stories. It’s an account of what happens when a well-meaning and right-minded uncle buys his nephews peaceful toys instead of toy soldiers:

On Easter Saturday Harvey Bope unpacked a large, promising-looking red cardboard box under the expectant eyes of his nephews. “Your uncle has brought you the newest thing in toys,” Eleanor had said impressively, and youthful anticipation had been anxiously divided between Albanian soldiery and a Somali camel-corps. Eric was hotly in favour of the latter contingency. “There would be Arabs on horseback,” he whispered; “the Albanians have got jolly uniforms, and they fight all day long, and all night, too, when there’s a moon, but the country’s rocky, so they’ve got no cavalry.”

A quantity of crinkly paper shavings was the first thing that met the view when the lid was removed; the most exciting toys always began like that. Harvey pushed back the top layer and drew forth a square, rather featureless building.

“It’s a fort!” exclaimed Bertie.

“It isn’t, it’s the palace of the Mpret of Albania,” said Eric, immensely proud of his knowledge of the exotic title; “it’s got no windows, you see, so that passers-by can’t fire in at the Royal Family.”

“It’s a municipal dust-bin,” said Harvey hurriedly; “you see all the refuse and litter of a town is collected there, instead of lying about and injuring the health of the citizens.”

In an awful silence he disinterred a little lead figure of a man in black clothes.

“That,” he said, “is a distinguished civilian, John Stuart Mill. He was an authority on political economy.”

“Why?” asked Bertie.

“Well, he wanted to be; he thought it was a useful thing to be.”

Bertie gave an expressive grunt, which conveyed his opinion that there was no accounting for tastes.

Another square building came out, this time with windows and chimneys.

“A model of the Manchester branch of the Young Women’s Christian Association,” said Harvey.

“Are there any lions?” asked Eric hopefully. He had been reading Roman history and thought that where you found Christians you might reasonably expect to find a few lions.