A rotten state

The desolate prince was right when he described the state of Denmark as ‘rotten’.  The Compact OED gives us ‘rotting or decaying…. morally or politically corrupt.’  And there was a lot more to that decay and corruption than an ‘o’er hasty marriage’ and binge boozing behind the battlements. 

We can see signs of this rotting in governments generally in what we call the western world, but none more so than in the United States.

In her most enlightening book, Autocracy Inc, Anne Applebaum traces the similarities between the current regime in the U S, and those autocratic regimes like China or Russia, or ‘illiberal democracies’ like Turkey, Malaysia, India, the Philippines, or Hungary.

They share a brutally pragmatic approach to wealth.  Unlike the communist and fascist leaders of the past…the leaders of Autocracy Inc often maintain opulent residences and structure much of their collaboration as for-profit ventures.  Their bonds with one another, and with their friends in the democratic world, are cemented not through ideals, but deals – deals designed to take the edge off sanctions, to exchange surveillance technology, to help one another get rich…. Autocracy Inc offers its members not only money and security, but also something less tangible: impunity.

Does that not describe the Trump malaise in the U S?

After referring to ‘the fascist belief in the liberating power of violence’ and describing the feeling of success and calm after the fall of the Berlin Wall, Anne Applebaum says:

Everyone assumed that in a more open, interconnected world, democracy and liberal ideals would spread to the autocratic states.  Nobody imagined that autocracy and illiberalism would spread to the democratic world instead.

Later, the author refers to the remarks of a U S senator who said that ‘the same techniques of concealment used to facilitate offshore thugs and criminal activities also facilitate the political activities of domestic special interests.’

The book prompts discussion of the following – the relationship between political and financial dishonesty; the fundamental fallacy that underlies every aspect of the Trump administration; the limitations of the notion of kleptocracy; and the liability of the profiteers to account for their obtaining profits from their offices.

Trust and probity

People who hold office in government are in a position of trust owed to those who put them there.  They were not appointed or elected to look after themselves, but to serve the interests of others.  If they choose to break the rules about the limitations on their political powers, then they may just as easily break the rules about how they help themselves financially.  If they are dishonest politically, why not be dishonest financially?  If you are rotten about the rights of others, why not be rotten about their money?

There is nothing new in the notion that those in charge of the most austere political regimes are also likely to be the most corrupt financially.  Here from my schooldays is J B Bury, the bible on ancient Greece, on Sparta.

…..  the ‘communism’ which we observed in the life of the citizens was only superficial.  But it was specially provided by law that no Spartan should possess wealth in the form of gold or silver.  This law was at first eluded by the device of depositing money in foreign temples, and it ultimately became a dead letter; Spartans even gained throughout Greece an evil reputation for avarice.  By the fourth century, they had greatly degenerated, and those who wrote studies of the [Spartan] constitution contrasted Sparta as it should be and used to be with Sparta as it was.

The Spartans were not alone in having an evil reputation for avarice.  Greed was good generally – just look at Timon of Athens.  Bury remarks that Solon of Athens introduced reforms that ‘hit the rich hard,’ but that he was ‘too discreet to attempt to interfere seriously with the money market by artificial restrictions’. 

But it does seem that otherwise austere regimes cause its members to resort to graft as a way of life.  Does anyone believe that the rulers of Burma or Iran or Venezuela have clean hands?

Yet for centuries, Oxbridge clung to the myth that ancient Athens and Rome were civilized.  The wealth of each was built on slavery and the protection racket called empire.  Both slavery and empire disqualify the ancients from being called civilized. 

It was not until England shed its empire that it saw the ancient world for what it was.  Neither Athens nor Rome had ever dreamed that each of us is born with a dignity or worth merely because we are human – the sine qua non of civilization after the teaching of Jesus of Nazareth or Immanuel Kant.

For many, including me, The Republic of Plato is a blueprint for fascism.  But if we go to authentic fascists like those of Nazi Germany, we find real graft and corruption on a huge scale.  Put aside the dog-like loyalty of people like Hess and Rohm – Hitler, Goring and Himmler wallowed in mansions and riches, much of it the product of what the Romans called rapine.  Indeed, the conquering Roman armies lived off rapine – vae victis – in a manner that would only be surpassed by Attila the Hun, and Napoleon the Corsican.

It is not surprising that people cannot silo their dishonesty or greed.  That is why I take the view that we should be wary of dismissing as irrelevant the failures of those in public life that may be characterized as ‘private’.  If a person in a position of public trust cannot be trusted by those close to them, where does that leave the rest of us? 

That view may sound old fashioned.  That is not of itself a problem for most of us – if, for example, you also believe in having a trained independent civil service, or two political parties both capable of serving equally in government and opposition.  Each of those has gone clean out the window here in the last two generations.

So, that is the first point.  People in power who break the rules of government may be just as likely to break the rules about crime generally, and enrich themselves at your and my expense.

The present Trump regime stands for every part of that proposition.  Its own contribution is to be more brazen – shameless – than any of those who came before it – starting in the garden of Eden.

Government and business – and profit

The second point is the fallacy that underlies the whole Trump administration.  About forty years ago, some business people in Melbourne thought it would be simple to save struggling football clubs.  Just run them like their business.  They were dead wrong, and they sadly failed in their mission. 

Trump makes the same error.  He thinks he can run the U S like a business.  He is wrong. 

A trading corporation is formed and managed to return a profit on its business for its shareholders. 

That is not what the United States was formed for.  Its founders may have been grandiose, and hypocritical, but their stated object was not to make money.  Putting to one side the dreams of the Puritans, the aim of the founders was to deliver and ennoble the new Promised Land:

We the People of the United States in order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, ensure domestic Tranquillity, provide for the common Defence, and general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity ….

The congeries of slave owners who had their own self-evident truths were not after profit, but justice, tranquility, and general welfare

Those aspirations are pure moonshine for the New York property developer and his rough mates.  He is in it for profit and fame, and that contradiction undermines every part of his administration.  To adopt the phrase of Anne Applebaum, he puts deals way above ideals

Although he did not write one word of the book, Trump is obsessed with ‘the art of the deal,’ and his coming out the winner.  This is a different universe to that of Lincoln, Roosevelt, or Truman, whose one aspiration was to serve the people of the United States – ‘of the people, by the people, for the people.’  Trump does not believe in God, but if he did, he would surely know that God did not create him to serve the people.

It follows that this presidency stands on an obviously false premise.  But it gets worse.  The first object of government is to keep the peace – to ensure domestic tranquility and general welfare.  The laws of the union about guns make the first impossible, and the opposition to the Welfare State, that is pursued everywhere else in the West, make the second impossible.  The United States has not achieved its stated objectives.

Trump must be taken to have admitted that the United States has not ensured tranquility for Americans.  He says he should send the federal army into cities that have let crime run amok.  That would be unthinkable in Western Europe – or, say, Australia or Canada.

Because Trump is so egocentric, his political responses are often so personal.  During the Dark Age, the justice of the state was created to replace the vendetta.  Trump now uses – or abuses – the organs of the state to pursue his own personal and political vendettas, and to give succor to those whom he persuaded to try to overthrow the Constitution.  We therefore have a fearful combination of Alice in Wonderland and Nineteen Eighty Four.

There is something more about Trump’s infatuation with ‘deals’ – as when he told President Zelensky that he, Zelensky, did not hold the right cards.  To which the obvious response was – this is not a card game. 

But deals are games for Trump, and he is a very bad loser.  (Witness the Nobel Prize, a loss he suffered in full war-like mode.)  

People do not come back for repeat business with Trump.  Good business people know that the best ‘deals’ are contained in documents that are put on file and left there.  Ongoing arrangements turn on trust – and Trump’s whole career in business suggests he cannot be trusted. 

You can, if you wish, start with two admitted facts – he avoided national service, and he avoided paying tax.  In any other western nation, his history on those grounds alone would disqualify him from being elected to any significant public office.

So, there is something unsettling, is there not, about the following proposition?  ‘Jack and Jill went into politics – and then Jack and Jill got filthy rich.’

Kleptocracy

That leaves the kleptocracies discussed at length in Autocracy Inc.  Trump puts Mammon before God every time.  (His ego has no room for God.)  And he is making millions for himself and his family from the public offices he holds.  (I could be typing this under a framed cartoon of Trump as Superman.  He sold the cartoons.  The proceeds did not go to charity.  The very idea would be absurd.) 

Words like kleptomania come from the Greek kleptos meaning ‘theft.’  Wikipedia says:

Kleptocracy is different from plutocracy (rule by the richest) and oligarchy (rule by a small elite). In a kleptocracy, corrupt politicians enrich themselves secretly outside the rule of law, through kickbacksbribes, and special favours from lobbyists and corporations, or they simply direct state funds to themselves and their associates.

That is not Trump.  His schtick is not theft.  That is a crime.  But Trump’s profiteering certainly looks unlawful and dishonest.

Under our Westminster system, ministers of the Crown, the members of the executive government, hold positions of trust.  As the great English legal historian, Maitland, said in another context, ‘for every exercise of the royal power, some minister is answerable’.  Civil servants are servants of the Crown and the people, and being in the same position as employees, they owe obligations under the general law of loyalty and good faith to those whose interests they serve.

It is not the Westminster model, but the rule of law that regulates the way that our governments ministers discharge their obligations under the law, at least to the same extent that we regulate the way that directors of public companies are obliged to act – in the interests of shareholders, and not themselves. 

That is very much the way of the common law in the view we take of the proper role of all those in government.  It is not to the constitution that we ordinarily look in order to control those who direct government, in much the same way that we seek to control those who direct business.  Parliament looks after its own, but otherwise these are matters for our general law – the common law and the statutes of our parliaments.  The rationale is the same.  These people are where they are for us, and not for themselves.

Unjust enrichment or unconscionable profit?

The ministers are, therefore, subject to legal duties owed to those who put their trust in them.  As such, the Ministers must put the interests of the public before their own; they must act toward the public with the utmost good faith (uberrima fidei); they must avoid any external obligation that conflicts with their duties to the public; and they must account to the public for any financial benefit they derive from breaching any such obligations.

There is a kicker for grifters in that last remedial proposition.  We are not constrained to talk about cases where the fault of the agent has led to loss of the principal.  If the principal happens to score a win, the agent may get the windfall.  The liability to account under our laws does not turn on dishonesty. 

The duties I refer to are customarily called ‘fiduciary’.  That is a very slippery word.  It is not understood by most lawyers, let alone those who are appointed as Ministers of the Crown.  It is a standing invitation to circular reasoning – he has to account, because he is a fiduciary; because he is a fiduciary, he has to account. 

But the obligations owed by public officers (or public servants) to the Crown (the Commonwealth) are described as ‘fiduciary’.  And the law is clear that the ordinary relationship of a contract of employment entails that the employee is subject to fiduciary duties to the employer.  It follows that those serving the Commonwealth, including Ministers of the Crown, owe these duties to the people of Australia.  They are accountable to the people of the Commonwealth for any failure to observe those duties and are liable to account to those people for any profit they derive from doing so.

Now, there may I suppose be nuanced arguments about the extent of these duties for public officers, but it would be difficult for ministers to say that they did not have to act in good faith, or that they could make and keep a profit arising from their position without seeking some form of authority – or without disclosing it.  Such a denial would of itself lead to loss of office.

This part of the law, generally called equity, turns on conscience, rather than fault, and it provides a remedy for conduct it regards as unconscionable.  And it does so in terms that would shock those shysters who are wont to clip the ticket, and with much greater thrust than our regulators can summon up.

Here are extracts from two texts of undoubted authority on equity.  The first is the standard text of Maitland.

….wherever a person clothed with fiduciary character gains some personal advantage by availing himself of his situation as a trustee, he becomes a trustee of the advantage so gained…the rule includes persons who are not trustees properly so called, but all those who stand in what is called a fiduciary position …it is a general principle of equity that if an agent acquire any pecuniary advantage to himself from third parties by means of his fiduciary character, he is accountable to his employer as a trustee for the profit he has made.  

The second is the great American text of Story.

But by far the most comprehensive class of cases of undue concealment arises from some peculiar relation, or fiduciary character, between the parties …the relation of client and attorney and principal and agent.  In these and the like cases, the law, in order to prevent undue advantage from the unlimited confidence, affection, or sense of duty, which the relation naturally creates, requires the utmost degree of good faith (uberrima fides) in all transactions between the parties.  If there is any misrepresentation, or any concealment of a material fact, or any justsuspicion of artifice or undue influence, courts of equity will interpose and pronounce the transaction void ….

In short, it may be laid down as a general rule, that a trustee is bound not to do anything which can place him in a position inconsistent with the interests of the trust, or which has a tendency to interfere with his duty in discharging it.  And this doctrine applies, not only to trustees strictly so called, but to other persons standing in like situation.  … Besides, agents are not only responsible for a due account of all the property of their principals, but also for all profits which they have clandestinely obtained by any improper use of that property.

Story originated in the U S.  These citations come from an English edition.  But I am not qualified to say what may be the American law relevant to the millions upon millions Trump and his family are milking from the people as a result of his use, or abuse, of public office. 

Nor do I know whether abuse of, or misfeasance in, public office gives rise to a cause of action there, or whether our law of unjust enrichment may apply.  (That law derives from the decision of Lord Mansfield given before the United States was born, in Moses vMacferlan, and which was founded simply on the ‘ties of natural justice’ and ‘the equity of the plaintiff’s case’.)

It may help to mention two English cases where people have had to account for profit they made out of a relationship where they had to act in good faith.  Only one case involved dishonesty. 

In Reading v Attorney- General, an English sergeant during the war made a large amount of money by using his position and uniform to assist smugglers.  The court held that the assets of which the sergeant had control, or the facilities which he enjoyed, or the position which he occupied, were the real cause of his obtaining the money, and he was therefore accountable for it to his employer – at common law.  It mattered not that the employer had not lost any profit, nor suffered any damage.  (Sadly, our texts on equity are reluctant to discuss this decision at common law – given at the highest level.)

Previously, the same court (the House of Lords) in Regal Hastings Ltd v Gulliver had ruled that where the directors of a public company had, as if by accident, derived a profit from a corporate restructure, they were liable to account to the company for that profit.  It arose while they were discharging a fiduciary obligation, and that liability did not depend on any finding of fraud or bad faith.  ‘The profiteer, however honest and well intentioned, cannot escape the risk of being called to account.’ That is not comfortable reading for company directors.  Or servants of government.

So, our law makes not only the greedy pause before feathering their nest.  For present purposes, we need not stay to see what particular legal rubric – what we call common law or equity – that the court applied, since all have moved on since.

Under our laws therefore, Trump and his family would be liable to be sued for millions.  I do not know what is the position in the U S. 

It is easy to hear the response of Trump.  ‘I have not even been furtive; I am the most brazen hero of the Golden Age since Achilles.  In any event, I can do what I like since I am the President of the United Sates.’  Neither could be a defence, and either should inflame the remedy.

The assertion that the President is above the law represents an argument that was lost in England in 1215.  The President would strike at the very basis of the rule of law in the United Sates if he asserted that he could derive profit from breaching the trust imposed on him by virtue of his office, and that the law denied any remedy to the people.  Such a proposition may or may not hold in China, Iran or Russia, but not in the United States.

There is a medieval background beside Magna Carta.  The Statute of Westminster 1275 provided that ‘No Sheriff nor other’s King officer shall take any reward to do his office, but shall be paid out of that which they take of the King.’  Later, Lord Mansfield said that a ‘public officer’ held ‘an office of trust and confidence concerning the public.’  The general law – common law or equity – had for long provided that someone misusing an official position for personal gain was liable to the relevant authority under a writ of account.  This was not a matter of what we call ‘constitutional law.’  It is the law that applies to the boy selling pies at the footy.

The old writ of account at common law, which was later effectively taken over by courts of equity, goes back to at least the twelfth century.  It involved two phases.  First, the issue was whether the defendant was accountable.  Secondly, a judgment for the return of capital and any profits from its use.  As was common with the development of substantive law from procedure, the writ came first, and the doctrine followed later – reluctantly.  Still, a leading text book is entitled ‘The Duty to Account’.

There is nothing therefore extraordinary, at least for Australian lawyers, about public officers at the highest level being subject to the general law of the land.  To adapt the language of A V Dicey, no one is above the law, but all of us, whatever our rank or condition, are subject to the ordinary law of the land, and amenable to the jurisdiction of the ordinary tribunals.  ‘The principles of private law have with us been by the action of the courts and parliament so extended as to determine the position of the Crown and its servants; thus, the constitution is the result of the ordinary law of the land.’

The second proposition does not apply in the United States.  The first did not apply in France.  I would be surprised if that were so in the United States.  (A footnote in Dicey, published in 1885, refers to the ‘servitude of the French.’)

The Prime Minister of Australia and the janitor at Parliament House are subject to the same laws about how they go about serving the people of Australia.  If the barons got it right at Runnymede in 1215, this issue is not one of governance, much less the constitution, but one of domestic housekeeping.  The law in Australia is clear that employees are liable to account to their employers and this applies to employees of government.  It would be odd if the Prime Minister had less exposure to the law than the janitor.  Is the state of the revenue less important than the state of the loo?

Put differently, the question is not whether Ministers of the Crown are accountable to the Commonwealth and the people for any profit obtained in the carrying out of their trust, but on what legal ground could it be submitted that they are not?  A standard work of authority is blunt: ‘Wherever A owes a duty to B, B is entitled to recover from A every benefit obtained by A by virtue of his fiduciary position, without B’s knowledge and consent.’

If the legal position is not the same in the United States, it might be time they came clean about it.

Now, the proper plaintiff in any action against the President would, I suppose, be the nation – the United States.  Trump could prevent that – but only while he is in office. 

There are ways around this where a company refuses to sue its directors – one is a ‘derivative shareholder action’ – but I do not know what the position may be in the United States.  Eventually, however, Trump and his family could be held to account.

Which brings me back to the disconsolate prince of Denmark.  He fell to ground like the providential sparrow.  He felt cursed that it was left to him to put things right in Denmark.  The problem for America is that no one is putting their hand up to do so there.

And it would be a shame if they were seen to go back nine hundred years on the bequest of the nation from which they seceded.

Notes

Maitland on ministers of the Crown: The Constitutional History of England, C U P, 1963, 203.

Equity: Maitland, Lectures in Equity, Cambridge, 1910, 82-83.

Equity: Story, Commentaries on Equity Jurisprudence, First English Edition, Stevens and Haynes, 1884, pars 218, 232, and 462.

Moses vMacferlan (1760) 2 Bur 1005.

Reading v Attorney- General [1951] AC 507.

Regal Hastings Ltd V Gulliver [1967] 2 AC 134n, 144.

Statute of Westminster, 1275, 3 Edward I, Ch 26: Paul Finn, Fiduciary Obligations, 2016, 358, fn 15. (Wikipedia offers a different version.)

Lord Mansfield: R v Bembridge (1783) 22 State Trials I, 155-156.

The writ of account: J A Watson, The Duty to Account, Federation Press, 2006, pars 2, 61, and 169.  The writ said the defendant must ‘duly and without delay render to the plaintiff an account’ for the time during which he held the plaintiff’s money: Pollock andMaitland, The History of English Law, 2nd Ed, Vol II, 221.  The authors there say that in the thirteenth century, statutes ‘sanctioned a procedure against accountants which was in that age a procedure of exceptional rigour.’

Dicey, The Law and the Constitution, Macmillan & Co, 1885, 177 (and footnote), 216.

The end of the Liberal Party?

In an article in The Age published on 17 October this year, Waleed Aly described the present condition of the Liberal Party.  I will set out parts at length.

But in the broader sense, 2025 was decades in the making. If the Liberal Party’s problems are now existential, it is because the very conditions that made it viable, indeed dominant, for so long have evaporated. Some of this is a function of the Liberal Party’s contradictions. But some of it is a result of its successes, too.

Menzies created the party by uniting 18 anti-Labor organisations. Politics in those days was organised largely around the Labor Party: either Labor formed government, or a coalition of ‘non-Labor’ parties did. That coalition might be free-traders or protectionists or nationalists, or some combination of these, but there was no nationally co-ordinated conservative party. Menzies remedied this by building a party on the foundations of liberalism, in which the individual reigns supreme, but even this was complicated. The Coalition as we know it expresses an unorthodox marriage of the Liberal Party’s individualism, and the Nationals’ agrarian socialism, which backed state support for primary industries.

This basic structure of Australian politics changed dramatically with the Hawke and Keating governments. Their signature economic reforms had a distinctly liberal flavour: floating the dollar, dismantling tariffs, deregulating the financial system, privatising Qantas and the Commonwealth Bank. Hawke and Keating were not Reagan or Thatcher, and did things such as introducing Medicare, but they funded such projects with a more liberal economics, which changed Labor politics forever. And that, by definition, changed the nature of non-Labor politics, too.

Politics became a contest between shades of a broadly agreed liberalism. Fights occurred at the edges, over issues such as means-testing, safety nets and levels of government spending. Only when someone seriously overstepped, such as John Howard with WorkChoices, did sparks truly fly. The days of socialism being (to crib Menzies) ‘the growing threat to all that is good in our beloved country’ were over.

The big difference was on culture. As Labor liberalised economically, it also did so socially. The White Australia party dreaming of a working man’s paradise ended up spruiking being part of Asia, celebrating multiculturalism and pursuing reconciliation. From John Howard on, the Liberal Party struck a very different pose. Howard emphasised our British ties, dismissed reconciliation proposals and began interrogating migrant communities on their acceptance of Australian values.

But Howard’s lengthy success obscured the contradictions the Coalition now embodied. Put simply, its free-market economics pulled in the opposite direction of its social conservatism. It demanded high immigration – especially from Asia – but bemoaned the cultural change that brought. It wanted to deregulate labour, making working hours more irregular and unpredictable, then bemoaned the hollowing out of family life. It wanted globalisation and nationalism all at once.

This was a winning combination, but also an unstable one.

England had, and still has, both a Liberal Party and a Conservative Party.  It has always been hard to say what the Liberal Party in Australia stands for.  But is easy to say what they stood against.

The Labor Party had a history and base in the trade union movement that was its strength and its weakness.  The middle class of my generation did not want to associate with a body that had a proclaimed alliance with and reliance upon government.  There was hypocrisy in this since we as a nation have been so much more reliant on government than the Americans, but people do not have to logical in their politics. 

The Liberal Party got by not for what it stood for but what it opposed.  The bogey-man was ‘socialism’.  My schoolmates were horrified by the thought.  They were climbing the greasy pole of respectability and they did not want to be seen with that blue-collar crowd in the Collingwood outer.

The Labor Party up to 1972 was unelectable.  It was run by ‘faceless men’, and marooned by ideologues and shysters – people who thought more of themselves, and refused to acknowledge that they could only achieve their proclaimed political purpose by achieving power.

All that changed in the 80’s and the apparently calm phase under Howard is not looked back on with favour.  It has a kind of sterilized and gutless mediocrity.  Why did I before 1982 have to wait for a Labor government to lift the inane and cruel burden of income tax and to introduce the now untouchable Medicare? 

And then there were the wars joined under false pretenses, and the pussyfooting about the First Nations and the Crown.  And in the meantime, the edifice of agrarian socialism was dismantled.

So, now the infighting in a failed party that stands for nothing is vicious.  It is now the Liberal Party that is run by ‘faceless men’, and marooned by ideologues and shysters.  And they look unelectable.  Who would want to join or stand for such an ugly motley?

Their trouble makers do not recall two fundamentals about politics down under.  The man from Snowy River is a myth.  We are druggedly dependent on government.  And we could not give a bugger about ideology, class wars or the like. 

Just get on with the bloody job and make as little noise as possible.  There are not many thrilling footy umpires, but we don’t mind those that are seen but not heard.  Most of us want to have as little to do with government as possible, but we all know we have to look after those not doing so well – because one day something may go wrong for us.

My sense is that now people are less likely to be tribally attached to either major party and more able to change – to ‘swing’, if you prefer.  If you have debarred yourself from voting for one side, you have in a way disenfranchised yourself.  Going into the booth to administer a kick in the bum can be very cathartic.  And then there is the allure of those who have had real jobs and are not scarred by a political machine or albatross.

Our system of democracy turns on two parties.  At both the state level here in Victoria, and federally, one party is incapable of doing its job in that system.  That is very dangerous, and I have no idea what the answer may be, except that those called ‘independents’ will continue to fill the gaps. 

I do not see any future for the Liberal Party.  Its white ants look unstoppable and entirely unrepentant.  That again takes us back to the dark days of the 60’s, and it is of no comfort to see both the U S and U K struggling with apparently inherent weaknesses in their major parties.

If the party system collapses, what follows?

Falstaff at Covent Garden – a kind of alacrity in sinking


This is how Sir John Falstaff reflects on the ignominy of being dumped in the Thames with filthy washing.

Have I lived to be carried in a basket like a barrow
of butcher’s offal, and to be thrown in the Thames?
Well, if I be served such another trick, I’ll have my
brains ta’en out and buttered, and give them to a
dog for a New Year’s gift.  S’blood, the rogues
slighted me into the river with as little remorse as
they would have drowned a blind bitch’s puppies,
fifteen i’ th’ litter! And you may know by my size
that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking; if the bottom
were as deep as hell, I should drown. I had
been drowned, but that the shore was shelvy and
shallow—a death that I abhor, for the water swells
a man, and what a thing should I have been when
I had been swelled! By the Lord, I should have
been a mountain of mummy.

This may remind you of the philosophical reflection of a sometime Spanish knight after a similar humiliation.  After being trampled on by a herd of bulls, Don Quixote laments:

Here I am with my name in the history books, a famous man of arms, courteous in my conduct, respected by princes, sought after by damsels, and just when I was expecting palms, triumphs, and crowns, I find myself this morning, as a climax to it all, trodden under foot, battered and kicked by a herd of filthy animals.

These are probably the two most famous characters in our literature.  They were created at about the same time.  In saluting what we may call the modern era, or the end of the Middle Ages, they stand for the end of all that moonshine about chivalry.  In the case of The Merry Wives of Windsor, we seethe arrival of the middle class as the centre of attention on our stage, a kind of Elizabethan prelude to Coronation Street, Neighbours, and Friends – although we had to wait centuries before Jennifer Anniston became the most photographed person on the planet, and bowed out in front of 52 million television viewers.

Well, that is one factor behind the snobbery that this play of Shakespeare attracts.  It may be his only play for which he supplied most of the plot, but the lead, Sir John Falstaff, had exploded on the stage in two history plays, before being killed off in another. 

But, as fans of Shakespeare are wont to remind fans of Verdi, the Falstaff of the comedy is much softer than the Falstaff of the history plays.  The brash insolence, fraud, drunkenness, cowardice, and womanizing are constant.  But in the comedy, and the Verdi opera Falstaff, we are spared watching Falstaff the recruiter accepting bribes to allow some poor blighters to be be despatched for cannon fodder.  If he cannot be said to rat on his mates, it’s because he does not have any.  It was this kind of nastiness, which gives a guilty edge to our glee, that led Sir Anthony Quayle call Falstaff ‘frankly vicious.’

The play and the opera are both put on to make us laugh and give us a good time – and reconcile ourselves to our condition.  Well, God only knows how much we need that release and therapy now.  Someone in the trade got up Verdi’s nose by saying he could not write an opera for comedy like Rossini.  Falstaff was Verdi’s answer.

At the beginning of the play, Page is discussing the form of his greyhound, which had just been outrun.  He tells Falstaff they have a hot venison pasty for dinner, and says ‘Come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness.’  At the end of the play, his wife says ‘let us every one go home, And laugh this sport o’er by a country fire….’  That is precisely the tone of the whole show – and it is precisely the tone of the whole Verdi score.  It may be the most remarkable marriage of script and score that I know.

Still, some snobbery attaches to the play – but not I think to the opera.  W H Auden just refused to lecture on the play.  Well, at least he had the courtesy to refer his audience to the opera.  My own view is that if you are not uplifted by any decent performance of the play, you need help.  As for the opera – Shakespeare is the best playwright that we know, and there are only two challengers to Verdi for that position as composer of opera.  In the result, Falstaff is not just my favourite Verdi opera, but my favourite across the board.  (I may say that I have never taken to the opera Macbeth, and that the play Othello gives me the willies.   Strawberries out of order have the same effect on me as they did on Humphrey Bogart in The Caine Mutiny.)

And for those who have been cruelled by Wagner, Falstaff has one unassailable charm.  It is not too long.  It takes less time than the final act of Wagner’s comedy.

Well, those who turned out to Covent Garden in October, 1999 to see a new production of Falstaff sure got their money’s worth.  The house, especially behind the famous curtain, had just had a major rebuild.  The lead was played by a popular local, Bryn Terfel.  The band was conducted by the urbane and unflappable Bernard Haitink.  The costumes and sets were alarmingly attention-grabbing.  The full crowd was expectant and knowing – and they got all that they wanted.  This is, after all, a show in which the English may claim some rights.  And I was at home, with Opus Arte, red at hand, cheering them all on.

At first, I thought the sets and costumes were overdone, and distracting.   But I acclimatised, especially after hearing the director say later that this is after all an Italian opera, and that the story had Italian roots.  (In the extras, Haitink said this is the one opera of Verdi where not one note, not one, is out of place.  Terfel in interview was entirely at ease and bore a remarkable resemblance to Richard Burton in so many ways.  The commentary on the massive work backstage is riveting.) 

This is an opera where the music is integral to the whole show to an extent rarely seen outside of Mozart and Wagner.  As it goes, it gets ethereal, but we always come back to what it is there for – to give us a great night out and send us home more at peace with our neighbours and the world.  And that’s God’s work.

The highlight of this show was the peak of dramatic irony where Falstaff is telling Ford disguised as Brook how he will get Ford’s wife into bed.  The incoming bourgeoisie, the future rulers of television and the world, are terrified of being cuckolded.  You may as well be castrated.  The English language has no female counterpart to ‘unmanned.’  The sequence is as paralyzingly funny as the mirror sequence with Groucho Marx in Duck Soup, and is a warrant for the value of filming this kind of theatre, so that we can see close-up the facial contortions of the splendid Italian actor.  For some reason, his pain and anguish at the cruelty of fate reminded me so strongly of that of Jackie Gleason in The Honeymooners.  There are times when we get almost viscerally grabbed by the universality of theatre going right back to commedia dell’ arte and the Greeks.  And all this at what used to be a convent, then a red-light area, and now one of the more singular tourist traps on this earth.

And with it all there is a sense of elegy – unless that is just my coming to grips with coming gutsers as I get older.  Falstaff is not what he was.  They know it, and so does he.  An autumnal wistfulness pervades Henry IV Part II until it is shattered by an act of brutal betrayal.  We are spared this in the comedy and opera based on it, but not in Orson Welles’ Chimes at Midnight also entitled Falstaff.  (I do think it was a bit rich to give Jeanne Moreau second billing, when the tart Doll Tearsheet gets about three lines.)

In his play, Parolles gets his come-uppance too, but his decline and fall is total, and the pathos is scarcely funny.  As Tony Tanner remarked in discussing All’s Well, Falstaff in the comedy ‘dusts himself off fairly breezily…his attitude is more resigned – you win some, you lose some, and as you get older you lose more.’ 

I know just what he means, and perhaps that is why this play and opera just keeps getting better for me as I age.  It calls to mind a desolate Friday lunch in an Adelaide pub after court about forty years ago with a fading silk.  ‘You know, Mate, we are just like cats.  For every fight you have, you have one less to give.’

The Australian Opera put on a show of Falstaff in Melbourne about twenty years ago that mesmerised me and converted me to being a life-long a fan of both the play and the opera.  Well, this show at Covent Garden, now on film, is up there with the best – perhaps the locals can claim a home ground advantage, even if we now miss the subtle charms of the Crush Bar.  If anyone wants to challenge the West End as the beating heart of world theatre, they will have to get up bloody early.