And Christmas also brings John Julius Norwich's A Christmas Cracker, a slim thing of some 20 pages which he describes as "being a commonplace selection". Start with this letter from Mr Gladstone who had received "in a neat but childish hand, written on ruled paper, an appeal from the infant son of the Earl of Pembroke". This was on 16 December 1893 when Parliament had been in continuous session for 11 months and it had been announced that members would have only four days recess at Christmas.
"Dear Mr Gladstone, I am sorry we cannot go to Ireland for Christmas, as you have only given Father four days holiday. And I hope you will give him some more after this letter. Yours sincerely, George Sidney Herbert."
Gladstone replied the same day. "My dear Boy, It is very sad. I feel for you. And I feel with you. As you cannot get to Ireland, so I cannot get home at Christmas. And you, I hope, will have many, very many, very happy Christmasses. But I, having had eighty three already, feel that I am taking one of my last chances. Can anything be done? Not by me. But I think your Father could do something, if he thought it right to ask some ten or a dozen of his friends to abate a little the number and length of their speeches. For they are so fond of him that I believe they would do it. But I could not expect them to do it for my asking. If they did it for him, there is no saying whether it might enable you to go to Ireland. With best wishes, for Christmas, Easter and all other times. Ever Yours, W.E. Gladstone."
A friend of Y swore that his own father read Morley's Life of Gladstone every Christmas. Now he understands something of the attraction of the old Parliamentarian.
Norwich's next theme is famous misjudgments. He already gave one damning indictment of the famous Gettysburg Address by Lincoln. Here is one. Tchaikovsky on a rival: "I played over the music of that scoundrel Brahms. What a giftless bastard! It annoys me that this self-inflated mediocrity is hailed as a genius. . .Brahms is chaotic and absolutely empty and dried up stuff."
Finally, Colombia studios after Marilyn Monroe's first audition: "Can't act. . .voice like a tight squeak. . .utterly unsure of herself. Unable even to take refuge in her own insignificance." And on Fred Astaire: "Can't act. Slightly bald. Also dances."