The Code of the Woosters

“I suppose that when two men of iron will live in close association with one another, there are bound to be occasional clashes, and one of these had recently popped up in the Wooster home.”

Much of Wooster’s wit is at his own expense, often unintentionally so. Here, he refers to himself as a man of “iron will”: a colorful but comically inappropriate choice of words. Rather, throughout the Wooster stories, Bertie shows himself to be consistently weak-willed and susceptible, which leads him from one farcical contretemps to another. The “clash” that Wooster refers to here is a rare instance of his not agreeing at once to his valet’s advice—i.e., his refusal to let Jeeves take him out of his comfort zone to go off on a “Round-the-World cruise.” However, by the story’s end, Jeeves, as always, has his way.

“Little knowing, as I crossed that threshold, that in about two shakes of a duck’s tail I was to become involved in an imbroglio that would test the Wooster soul as it had never been tested before. I allude to the sinister affair of Gussie Fink-Nottle, Madeline Bassett, old Pop Bassett, Stiffy Byng, the Rev. H. P. (‘Stinker’) Pinker, the eighteenth-century cow-creamer and the small, brown, leather-covered notebook.”

Wooster turns again to the locutions of melodrama (“test the Wooster soul”) as he lures the reader on, but the absurd names and props suggest that this “sinister affair” will be, like all his misadventures, a lighthearted farce. This doesn’t mean that the stakes will be low: In Wooster’s rarified social circle, the loss of a silver knickknack or a prized cook may well constitute a tragedy. The phrase “Wooster soul” hints too at Bertie’s pride in his bloodline, a motif of the book’s comedy that dovetails with the all-important “Code” itself.

“I don’t know if you have ever seen those pictures in the papers of Dictators with tilted chins and blazing eyes, inflaming the populace with fiery words on the occasion of a new skittle alley, but that was what he reminded me of.”

Although The Code of the Woosters, like other Jeeves stories, apparently has the same unruffled, early 20th-century setting as the very first story, “Jeeves Take Charge” (1916), its gentle satire also encompasses some 1930s figures and social phenomena such as Hitler, Mussolini, and British fascism, all of which were on the rise in 1938, the year of its publication. To make Roderick Spode—a lampoon of Oswald Mosley, leader of the British Union of Fascists (BUF)—more imposing in his physical threat to both Wooster and the nation, Wodehouse gives him Mussolini’s thuggish features, Hitler’s mustache, and a towering height that (in Wooster’s imagination) keeps increasing throughout the novel.

“But you would take this foul outrage lying down? You would allow this stick-up man to get away with the swag? Confronted with the spectacle of as raw a bit of underhanded skullduggery as has ever been perpetrated in a civilized country, you would just sit tight and say ‘Well, well!’ and do nothing?”

Wooster’s Aunt Dahlia shows that she can use hyperbole and melodramatic diction as fluently as her nephew; her “foul outrage” refers to Sir Watkyn Bassett’s underhanded purchase of a vulgar “cow-creamer,” after feeding Dahlia’s husband dyspepsia-inducing amounts of lobster. Although offstage and trivial, this incident looms large in the novel’s scheme of events, since the cow creamer is the “MacGuffin” that sets the farcical plot in motion.

“Jeeves does not often smile, but now a distinct simper had begun to wreathe his lips. […] ‘A laughable misunderstanding, sir.’ […] ‘Laughable, Jeeves?’ […] He saw that his mirth had been ill-timed. He reassembled his features, ironing out the smile. […] ‘I beg your pardon, sir. I should have said “disturbing.”’”

Jeeves (belatedly) suppresses his amusement at his master’s latest low-stakes imbroglio. As such, he’s immensely relatable: Of Wooster’s many acquaintances, Jeeves alone has a ripe appreciation of the sheer absurdity of the others’ antics, attitudes, and slippery morals. Through his mostly silent (but unmistakable) judgments, he grounds the farce by providing someone to relate to and admire; though of course his sense of duty and decorum prohibit him from showing his mirth too openly.

“He approached the matter from the psychological angle. In the final analysis, he said, disinclination to speak in public is due to fear of one’s audience. […] We do not, he said, fear those whom we despise. The thing to do, therefore, is to cultivate a lofty contempt for those who will be listening to me.”

Jeeves has earned a reputation among Wooster’s friends and relations, some of whom come to him for advice, as a wise man. His counsel for Gussie Fink-Nottle, while sound advice for anyone struggling with shyness, is particularly apt for a member of Wooster’s circle, since their many character flaws present an embarrassment of riches for anyone seeking “a lofty contempt” for them. Sometimes, as in this passage, Jeeves’s recommendation backfires through no fault of his own: The supplicant, foolishly, often takes his advice too far.

“I mean to say, if her idea of a suitable job for curates was the pinching of policemen’s helmets, what sort of an assignment, I could not but ask myself, was she likely to hand to me? It seemed the moment had come for a bit of in-the-bud-nipping.”

The source of many of Wooster’s woes throughout the Jeeves stories is his susceptibility to the whims of others, often female acquaintances, who talk him into some deception or caper, sometimes illegal. Ironically, his basic honesty, chivalry, and concern for his friends get him into these scrapes. His attempts to “nip” these capers in the bud never succeed; instead, as in any farce, they often escalate the problem. Here, Wooster demonstrates his verbal versatility by creating a new compound noun: “in-the-bud-nipping.”

“Well, what I came to tell you, Wooster, was that you are being watched—watched closely. And if you are caught stealing that cow-creamer, I can assure you that you will go to prison. You need entertain no hope that Sir Watkyn will shrink from creating a scandal. He will do his duty as a citizen and a Justice of the Peace.”

Would-be fascist “Dictator” Roderick Spode notches up the stakes for Wooster with this threat, which is one of the gravest that Bertie has faced in his comfortable life. (Additionally, Spode has vowed to beat him “to a jelly” if he personally catches him in the act.) As always, things have spiraled out of Wooster’s control, and he finds himself imperiled on many fronts: by prison, violence, the loss of a family cook, and (perhaps worst of all) a marital engagement. As Wodehouse often does, he makes even the most humorless characters comic by making them vessels of breathtaking hypocrisy: Spode’s notion of Watkyn’s “duty” is to use his position as Justice of the Peace for personal vengeance.

“If I might suggest, sir—it is, of course, merely a palliative—but it has often been found in times of despondency that the assumption of formal evening dress has a stimulating effect on the morale.”

Jeeves, a diehard believer in sartorial rectitude, puts great stock in what his master wears, and many of his “clashes” with Wooster involve nothing more consequential than the latter’s insistence on wearing a loud jacket, striped pants, or some other crime against fashion. Here, the valet might even be paraphrasing Ralph Waldo Emerson’s famous quote: “The sense of being perfectly well dressed gives a feeling of inward tranquility which religion is powerless to bestow.”

“Under Rule Eleven, every new member is required to supply the club with full information regarding his employer. This not only provides entertaining reading, but serves as a warning to members who may be contemplating taking service with gentlemen who fall short of the ideal.”

Sharing with his master a few details about the Junior Ganymede club, Jeeves reveals that he has a life outside the Wooster household—a droll, convivial one in which he and his fellow valets look down wryly on their employers while documenting their foibles for the benefit of others in their profession. As character development for Jeeves (who provides relatability), this quote is particularly satisfying because it reveals a sub rosa realm of power and moral authority for valets beyond (or beneath) their masters’ ken.

“It is only the details of the matter which I am precluded from mentioning, sir. I am at perfect liberty to tell you that it would greatly lessen Mr. Spode’s potentiality for evil, if you were to inform him that you know all about Eulalie, sir.”

Here, at the novel’s midpoint, Wodehouse introduces a mystery: the exact nature of Spode’s guilty secret involving “Eulalie.” Bound by the rules of Junior Ganymede, Jeeves can’t reveal the details, which conveniently preserves the mystery and suspense until the novel’s end. Deepening the mystery is the knowledge that in the Wooster world nothing very bad can happen, so it probably won’t involve death or out-of-wedlock pregnancy. Nevertheless, Spode takes it very seriously: Wooster’s mere use of the name not only neutralizes him as a threat but reduces the towering man to a puddle of fawning servility.

“The trouble with you, Spode, is that just because you have succeeded in inducing a handful of half-wits to disfigure the London scene by going about in black shorts, you think you’re someone. You hear them shouting, ‘Heil, Spode!’ and you imagine it is the Voice of the People. […] What the Voice of the People is saying is: ‘Look at that frightful ass Spode swanking about in footer bags! Did you ever in your puff see such a perfect perisher?’”

Drunk with the power of “Eulalie,” Wooster lashes into Spode with a cathartic broadside of wit and upper-class slang. (“Puff” means “life,” and a “perisher” is a bratty child.) However, as often when excited, Wooster overplays his hand; right on cue, he forgets the crucial name “Eulalie.”

“Good old blackmail! You can’t beat it. I’ve always said so and I always shall. It works like magic in an emergency.”

Aunt Dahlia says these lines, but it might as well be Wodehouse himself: In the Jeeves stories, extortion is a favorite device to move the plot along, and most of the upper-class characters have absolutely no qualms about using it to get what they want. As Wooster notes later in the book, Dahlia sees its downside only when she’s on the receiving end.

“As long as Stiffy retains that book, it cannot be shown to Madeline Bassett. And only by showing it to Madeline Bassett can Gussie prove to her that his motive in pinching Stiffy’s legs was not what she supposed. And only by proving to her that her motive was not what she supposed can he square himself and effect a reconciliation. And only if he squares himself and effects a reconciliation can I avoid the dreadful necessity of having to marry this bally Bassett myself.”

To help orient his aunt in the book’s second half, Wooster provides a less-than-pithy precis of just some of the farce’s ever-forking quandaries. Critics have noted that Wodehouse’s plots, though seemingly breezy and extempore, actually required (as his notes have evidenced) significant labor. Only after much behind-the-scenes anguish and false turns did Wodehouse get the many events and characters to dovetail seamlessly while maintaining an illusion of perfect effortlessness.

“I could have said something pretty bitter and stinging at this—I don’t know what, but something—but I refrained. I realized that it was rather tough on the man, outstanding though his gifts were, to expect him to ring the bell every time, without fail. […] One could but wait and hope that the machinery would soon get going again, enabling him to seek new levels of achievement.”

Over the course of a day, Jeeves has gone to herculean lengths to try to extricate his master from a Gordian knot of dilemmas, and now (thanks to Wooster) finds himself trapped in a young woman’s bedroom on top of a cupboard, over the snapping jaws of a dog: a very undignified place for one of his position, and one from which he can find no avenue of escape, for himself or for his master. Wooster counts himself disillusioned with Jeeves but refrains from scolding him too harshly—and then gives himself a pat on the back for being so tolerant and forgiving. In keeping with Wodehouse’s brand of social satire, Wooster gives little thought to his servant’s own discomfort, danger, or loss of face; at times like this, the efficacy of Jeeves’s mental “machinery” is his only concern.

“A man in his position has to watch his step. What people expect from a curate is a zealous performance of his parochial duties. […] When they find him de-helmeting policemen, they look at one another with the raised eyebrow of censure, and ask themselves if he is quite the right man for the job.”

Here, Wooster unfurls his comic faculty for stating (or understating) the obvious. Much of the passage’s humor resides in its somewhat meditative tone, as if it has just occurred to him that curates shouldn’t steal from police officers. Wooster, the proud product of a first-rate education that feeds his verbal wit, loves the sound of his own “voice,” and can’t help revealing, in new ways, what’s already obvious.

“You haven’t told him about the notebook. I am convinced of it. I could gather that from your manner. When I was about to mention the notebook, it betrayed embarrassment. You feared lest Stinker might enquire into the matter and, learning the facts, compel you to make restitution.”

Wooster, all too aware of his cerebral shortcomings, uses his valet as a sort of auxiliary brain and is happy to pilfer the credit, if to do so helps his schemes. To awe Stephanie into compliance, he reiterates Jeeves’s Holmes-like deduction word for word.

“‘If you really think your happiness lies in becoming his wife, I would be the last man to stand in your way. By all means, marry him. The alternative—’ […] He said no more, but gave me a long, shuddering look.”

Another of Jeeves’s Holmesian insights, grounded in his clear-eyed estimation of his employer, is that Pop Bassett would embrace almost any Tom, Dick, or Harry as a future nephew-in-law—if the alternative were Bertie Wooster. The mere thought of his niece marrying Wooster seems almost enough to bring him to death’s door. As usual, the flighty Wooster doesn’t brood on the uncomplimentary implications for himself but breezes through them.

“However, I can’t say I’m sorry it’s all over. Enough is always enough. And it’s all over, one feels. Even this sinister house can surely have no further shocks to offer.”

Many farces (and stories in general) include at least one false resolution just before the final act, wherein all problems seem to have been ironed out, and the plot seems just about to haul itself, panting, across the finish line for a “happy ending.” Typically, this is just before the gravest, most insoluble crisis of all drops out of the blue. (A character saying the words, “It’s all over,” is almost a guarantee that disaster is about to strike.)

“‘Surely you will take the rap? […] Didn’t you tell me once that the Code of the Woosters was “Never let a pal down?”’ […] She had found the talking point. People who appeal to the Code of the Woosters rarely fail to touch a chord in Bertram. My iron front began to crumble.”

Stephanie Byng, like most women in Wooster’s life, knows just how to get around his “iron front.” Whether this “Code” is an age-old family tradition or just a recent bit of embroidery is immaterial: Wooster has talked it up so often that he now feels honor-bound to fall on his sword, so to speak, like Dickens’s Sidney Carton, who went to the guillotine in another’s place to mollify a lady friend. Since many, if not most, of Wooster’s troubles in the Jeeves stories arise from bungled attempts to help a needy friend or relative, the “Code” may be Wodehouse’s wry acknowledgement of his favorite plot device.

“The exact words of my harangue have, I am sorry to say, escaped my memory. It is a pity that there was nobody taking them down in shorthand, for I am not exaggerating when I say that I surpassed myself. […] You could see the stuffing trickling out of old Bassett in great heaping handfuls.”

Wooster justly prides himself on his verbal dexterity, but his flights of invectiveness are often disingenuous or misapplied and get him into even deeper trouble. Here, his smugness is a sure sign that he’s setting himself up for a fall.

“It was the butler who had so riveted Sir Watkyn Bassett’s attention. He was standing in the doorway, holding in his right hand a silver salver. And on that salver was a policeman’s helmet.”

Wodehouse’s farces are tightly calibrated, and he often ends chapters on a cliffhanger to build suspense. Just when a problem seems to have been resolved, a danger averted, or a romantic rift patched up, a new wrench is thrown into the works—often in the form of an unwelcome visitor coming through the door, as in a “door-slamming” stage farce. The sight gag of a butler bearing in the stolen helmet on a “silver salver,” like the severed head of John the Baptist in Oscar Wilde’s Salome, is an especially theatrical touch.

“‘You can’t be a successful Dictator and design women’s underclothing.’ […] ‘No sir.’ […] ‘One or the other. Not both.’”

In the book’s last pages, Jeeves reveals Spode’s dark secret, which, in keeping with the novel’s comically low-stakes action, is both surprisingly innocuous and plausibly career-ending for the macho bully. In so doing, Jeeves smooths out one last wrinkle in the narrative: In exchange for the secret, Wooster must now bend his “iron will” to accompany Jeeves on a “Round-the-World cruise.”