Some People by Sir Harold George Nicolson
"Some People" by Sir Harold George Nicolson is a collection of character sketches that provides a glimpse into the lives of a diverse array of individuals, some real and others fictional or composite, which he encountered during his extensive career in the British diplomatic service. The work features nine portraits that reflect a specialized world, primarily set against the backdrop of public schools, universities, and European capitals before World War I. Through these sketches, Nicolson explores the eccentricities of his characters, many of whom grapple with the challenges of living up to societal expectations.
Nicolson's keen observational skills allow him to capture both the follies and charms of his subjects, from a failed governess to a struggling poet, while also offering insights into the broader human experience. Notably, his wit and satire shine through, revealing a nuanced understanding of both the strengths and shortcomings of his characters. The sketches serve not only as individual reflections but also as commentary on the social dynamics of the time. Ultimately, "Some People" stands as a charming period piece that combines humor, criticism, and empathy, inviting readers to consider the complexities of human nature and the roles we play in society.
On this Page
Subject Terms
Some People by Sir Harold George Nicolson
First published: 1927
Type of work: Character sketches
Critical Evaluation:
This rather slender volume is a miniature portrait gallery of people—some real, some composite, some wholly fictional—whom Sir Harold either knew in the flesh or created out of types he encountered in his long experience in the British diplomatic service. He was born in Teheran and moved about in the Balkan and Mediterranean worlds as his father, Lord Carnock, was shifted from one diplomatic post to another. He himself entered the Foreign Office soon after his graduation from Oxford, and there he remained until 1929; hence, he had a wide acquaintance with people and places. From these experiences come the nine character sketches that make up the book.
The world in which these characters move is a rather specialized one: that of the Public School and the University; of European capitals before World War I or of the diplomatic chess game that immediately followed that war. Sir Harold knew many people in high places, and his duties often brought him close to the center of important events. But these events are employed only as a background against which the characters move and by means of which their idiosyncrasies are displayed. Sir Harold was more interested in people than in history; he enjoyed delving into the rich vein of eccentricity that is, or was, so much a part of the English national character, though he does not confine his portrait gallery to specimens of his fellow countrymen. There are two French exhibits—Jeanne de Henaut and the Marquis de Chaumont.
It would be satisfying to be able to discover the thread that binds all of these little sketches together so as to find a unifying element in Nicolson’s view of the human species. On a first reading, this task seems possible of fulfillment. One might say that here we have portraits of people who, somehow or other, fail in attaining their goals in life: Miss Plimsoll aspires to be the perfect governess; Marstock, the ultimate in the Public School tradition; Chaumont, a great poet; Arketall, the ideal valet. Each fails miserably. Miss Plimsoll is detested by her pupils; Marstock ends as a mediocrity; Chaumont is a failure in literature; Arketall is dismissed. Each is the victim of his attempt to live up to a preconceived notion of his role; he is an actor cast in the wrong part. Yet there are exceptions to this interpretation of the portraits. Lambert Orme, who begins his literary career as a preposterous imitator of the poets of the 1890’s, manages to shed his various outdated styles until, having been killed in the 1914 war, he is taken seriously as a poet by the “Bloomsbury Group.” Jeanne de Henaut is an absurd specimen of the Frenchwoman teaching her native language to Englishmen, yet she is a superb teacher who, although ignorant of French literature, has such an intuitive grasp of the niceties of the language that she has astonishing success in coaching candidates for the British Diplomatic Service. She actually is that which she thinks herself to be.
In reading these stories, one finds in two of them the effective use of the device of employing the ostensible main character as a glass through which we are given a view of a still more important person. This trick is best illustrated by the sketch called “Arketall.” The character who gives his name to the story is a drunken and ineffectual valet hired at the last moment by Lord Curzon, who was starting for Switzerland for a conference with Poincare and Mussolini. The misadventures of the alcoholic Arketall are highly amusing in themselves, but the real point of the story is the depicture of the amazing Curzon, a nobleman straight out of the eighteenth century, with his rich sense of humor, his great dignity, and his vast capacity for work. In “The Marquis de Chamont,” Nicolson uses the same technique. De Chaumont is a character from Proust, a man who carries snobbishness to the level of the fantastic and who tries to combine the life of literature with the life of high society. Near the end of the story Nicolson provides a glimpse of Proust himself in juxtaposition with the marquis. Proust does not have a high opinion of the nobleman’s poetry, but he does have a great regard for the number of quarterings to which the marquis is entitled. As an example of the French aristocracy, the Marquis de Chaumont is superb and should be cherished as such. Much of REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST is summed up in this little episode.
“We make fun of what we love”; so runs the French proverb. A great part of this small book is an illustration of the aphorism, for Nicolson’s wit is directed as much at the denizens of his own world as at those outside of it. He is keenly aware of the foibles of the men and women whom he encountered in Public School, in the University, and in diplomatic circles. Yet his brief picture of the “Bloomsbury Group,” where he was looked at askance because he happened to be wearing evening clothes, is equally devastating. We can see the desperately solemn faces of these super-intellectuals. Nicolson obviously had the highest regard for the ability and for the charm of Lord Curzon, yet he could describe him entering a station platform as if he were actually bearing a howdah. But to the non-English he gives short shrift: Mussolini is briefly dismissed as a ridiculous little man in a brown suit and a brown derby. History seems to have sustained Nicolson’s judgment.
The real charm of the book lies in the author’s wit, his gift for satire, and his skill at creating atmosphere, especially the lush atmosphere of Europe before World War I. That some of the sketches are cruel cannot be denied. Yet for each of the targets of his urbane wit, the author has a flash of sympathetic insight that, to some degree, takes away the sting. Sir Harold had an understanding of people, as a diplomat must, to which his impressive list of biographies bears witness. Compared with these biographies, SOME PEOPLE is a period piece, yet it has great charm.