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Storm Of London

<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> “We were talking about the new study of dramatic art, Danford. I hear your Society is making great progress.” “Progress, my lord! It has already reached a very high standard of efficiency. We shall, in a few days, give a representation of King John, which, I believe, will interest you. The Regalia of Sovereignty will of course be absent; but how much more significant of true majesty will the personage be, when, by his gestures and facial expression, he will embody that ephemeral power—divine right.” “And what are the conclusions you arrive at,” eagerly inquired the Earl, “on the subject of monarchical government?” “My lord, this is another of those problems you have to solve for yourself.” “We have already solved one this morning.” Lionel took Gwen’s hand and lifted it gently to his lips. “Very glad to hear it, my dear Lord Somerville; you will save us a deal of trouble by being so quick at guessing life’s riddles. Time is precious, and already a few weeks have gone by since the storm; if you do not solve the social problem as soon as ever you can, I am afraid it will go badly for all of us. We are only your stage managers on these large boards; I am sorry to say, though, that the social actors do not always seem to know their parts; they come in when not wanted and leave the stage when most needed. Of course it is our business to look after your entrances and exits; but the inner meaning of your characterisations remains with you to decipher.” “I think, Danford, you have already, with your short cuts of humour and satire, led me through a dark labyrinth compared to which Dante’s Inferno was but child’s play. You have often been my faithful Virgil, and drawn my attention to the tragedy of our past world of artificiality.” “Indeed, my lord, tragedy of the most painful kind; for Society drew out each day a new code of morals to suit a fresh want, and a catechism was issued to befit a gospel of histology. It was not actually read out in church, like the Athanasian Creed, but it was religiously obeyed in and out of God’s house.” “What would Society have said had a woman been to the Army and Navy Stores at 10 a.m. in the same décolleté gown which she wore at last night’s ball?” This was Gwen, who mischievously looked at Lionel. “My dear Gwen, think for one minute of the soldier enwrapping himself in the judge’s gown; the apronless and capless housemaid appearing in the hall with a tiara on her head (even were it paid out of her earnings); or the butler pompously opening the door in a Field-Marshal’s uniform?” “Bedlam or Portland Bay would have been their next abode,” replied Danford; “you are evoking in your mind’s eye a social upheaval, and in one instant hurling to the ground a whole structure which took centuries to erect. The dignity of magistracy, the punctilio of military honour, the ancestral breeding of nobility, would all be hopelessly annihilated were you to transpose from one body on to another the outward signs of each. Not only had Dame Fashion preached a new gospel, but new passions were thereof discovered to make Society’s blood rush more violently, and different forms of sorrows henceforth filled the hearts of women.” “Oh! how true you are, Mr Danford,” suddenly broke in Nettie; “how often have I seen women of fashion sad unto death at the contemplation of their wardrobes.” “And the pity of it all was that women truly writhed under the sting of these petty grievances,” added Eva. “You are slowly finding out for yourself, Miss Carey,” remarked Danford, “that an eleventh commandment had been written out by Society: ‘Thou shall not be—shabby.’” “What a host of innocent women have been sent to perdition in trying to obey this law to the letter,” retorted Lionel. “Ah! Fashion, what crimes were committed in thy name!” comically added Nettie. “There is no doubt also,” said Lionel, “that the demoralisation of our past Society was greatly caused by that misinterpreted activity which in a great sense led to artificiality and deception. No proper time was allowed for development; we had clothed art, clothed charity, clothed education; and in every branch of industry and artistic pursuit the fruit had to be picked ere it was ripe. The weighty question of pauperism was settled over the tea-cups when a bazaar organised by fashionable women had realised fifty pounds; the last word of realistic art had been said when a well-known sculptor had put the final touch to his statue of a ballet dancer, by sticking on the skirt a flounce of real gold lace. As to education, it was to be imbibed, as air is pumped into a rubber tyre, strongly and promptly, so as to lose no time, for the next race was at hand and we had to start, even if we punctured on the road.” “No one knows this better than I do,” said Gwen. “We were never taught the true value of anything or of anyone; we believed to have fathomed all things when we had seen the small sides of them, and human beings were only what they appeared to us relatively. I must say that the most difficult people to deal with at present are some of the mothers in Society. It is not that they mind, materially, this state of nature; I suppose they are making up their minds to it, and Lady Pendelton still repeats that a lady can always behave like one wherever she is placed and whatever happens.” “Yes,” added Eva, “but my mother is convinced that it is the diffusion of classes that will bring our world to a tragic end.” Eva suddenly stopped talking, and blushes covered her soft white cheek. She turned to Gwen. “Darling, is that Ronald Sinclair standing near the Rotunda?” “Yes, dearie, it is he; and George Murray is coming up to him with Lelia Dale. They have seen us.” Sinclair, accompanied by his two friends, walked towards our group and was the first to speak. “Have you heard, Lionel, that the manager of the Olympus is forced to close the doors of his theatre?” “I expected that would soon happen,” murmured Danford. “It was inevitable,” answered Lionel; “when music of that kind lies shivering without its usual toggeries, it must perish; for when crotchets and semi-quavers do not any longer help to pin a scarf or lift up suggestively the corner of a laced petticoat, comic opera has lost its meaning.” “My dear Lord Somerville, you do not seem to grasp the real state of things. The Atrium will follow suit, and before you are a week older the great priest of upholsterers will have to retire,” vexatiously retorted Sinclair. “Yes, and very probably he will be joined in exile by Turn Bull, who has no further need to study Abyssinian bassi-relievi. As you see, I quite grasp our present state of affairs,” smilingly answered Lionel. “I think I agree with you, Lord Somerville,” languidly remarked Lelia Dale, who had for years been the jewel of dramatic art. “Turn Bull had developed to the highest degree the psychology of clothes.” “I should call it the physiology of palliaments,” interrupted Murray, the apostle of subtle environment. “Yes, George,” resumed the flower of the profession, “he has often made me blush with the pruriency with which he endowed his vestments; and my maidenly modesty was less offended by a kiss from his lips than by the erotic influence of his draperies in certain parts of his répertoire.” “Do not forget, though,” suddenly broke in Sinclair, “that we had arrived at the highest manifestation of local colour; and that the true-to-life surroundings with which we framed our plays had reached the desideratum of the most fastidious art critic. Surely plays represented at the Théâtre Français nowadays, or as they used to be at our Atrium and Arcadia, were truer to life than when Phèdre wore a Louis XIV. Court dress, or Othello a frill?” “I do not agree with you, Ronald,” replied Lionel, “and I maintain that the evolution of an unsuspicious Othello into a mad bull of jealousy works itself out regardless of frippery. When psychology was the only object of the playwright, and the everlasting study of the actor, dramatic art was at its highest water-mark; but when adaptable environment and the accuracy of costume were made the aim of arduous researches, art fell from its Olympian cloud down to the back-room of an old curiosity shop. Archæology had dethroned psychology; even physiology was reduced to a dissecting-room. Do you believe that the green-eyed passion of an Othello, or the morbid hysteria of a King Lear, would be more enforced by the one wearing the true Venetian uniform, and the other appearing in the barbarian clothing of an early Briton? We must first of all find out whether the passions of the one and the delirium of the other are eternally true to human nature. If they are, what need have you to cut a particular garment for them? Any will do; none will be quite sufficient. You need not clothe Œdipus to understand his evolution; the tragedy he embodies will forever be human, and as long as there exists a suffering humanity, there will be an inadequate struggle between the inner will-power and what is erroneously called—Destiny.” They had come to the Rotunda, and Lionel, with a gracious wave of his hand, led his friends into the hall, in which marble tables were placed near a circular carved stone bench for visitors to recline. “I am sure you will all take some iced champagne or Vouvray out of these tempting amphoras,” said he. They all reclined, and the cooling atmosphere fanned them agreeably. “Is that Montague Vane I see at a distance, tripping daintily over the railings?” Danford went to the door. “Yes, and he is followed by half-a-dozen of his adherents.” “Ah! he is continually inviting me to join his Peripatetic Society; but I have no wish to do so,” and Lionel looked tenderly at Gwen, as he poured out a glass of champagne and offered it to her. “I cannot see at what they arrive in their wanderings through the thoroughfares of life.” “Nor I, my lord,” broke in Danford, who left the door and came back towards the group. “Jack Daw—Mr Vane’s social guide—told me lately that he and his pupil did not always pull together. The Society dilettante is trying to stem the great wave of reform, and, like a child, brings his small toys to impede the violence of the tide; which makes Jack laugh uncontrollably. The latter does his best to give his pupil smart hints; but Mr Vane takes them badly, and when Jack thrusts his light on the great sights of nature, the little ex-smart man puts his tiny white hands over his eyes, and sighing heavily tells him: ‘My dear Jack, you are all in the wrong. Nature has long been exploded. She lost herself for a considerable time under the trees of Paradise, then she was suddenly conquered by a greater master than herself—Art, and ever since has never lifted her head again.’ He answers—art, to every longing, to every passion; it is his panacea against all anguish, the goal to every ambition.” “By-the-bye, Dick,” interrupted Lionel, “I was at the meeting this morning with my architect.” “To be sure, the meeting of the United Drapers of London,” remarked Sinclair; “it must have been a diverting assembly! Lord Petersham telephoned to ask me if I could attend—ha! ha! ha! to see Watson and Company en masse would be too much for me. One at a time of these prosperous shopkeepers—and that in the open air—is all I can stand!” “I wish that you had turned up, Ronald,” mischievously said Lionel. “You would have lost that preconceived idea of yours that a profession must imprint an indelible sign on a man’s physique—pure delusion, my good man! Well, I obtained my points with the Board of Drapers: first, I attacked Watson, who I was afraid would be recalcitrant; but I was astonished to find him most willing to carry out our scheme.” “I believe you will discover hidden treasures of philanthropy in the hearts of all those who formerly rebelled at the mere name of charity,” satirically remarked Danford. “You are always a prophet, my faithful guide; for Whiteley, Swan & Edgar, Marshall & Snelgrove—in fact, all the big shops of past elegance—are offering to open their doors in a week, and to transform their rooms into commodious dining-halls for the masses; and last, though not least of all, the Army and Navy Stores have actually condescended to turn all their devastated rooms into—Symposia. Yes, that is the name, for they wish to have a different appellation to other shops; of course we could not insult such a select board of shareholders by insisting on their using the same word as other tradespeople; so Symposia it will be; although by any other name the food would be as delectable.” And Lionel turned to Gwen, “I look to you as a partner to help me in this enterprise.” “Thank you, Lionel, for the suggestion. I shall confer with Nettie on the details; but I think I see the thing rightly: a sort of visiting association, each day, one hour or two will be employed in the serving of meals in the halls; some will help at luncheon, others at tea, and another group at supper. I should suggest that the men undertook the potation department, and that a committee of helpers should be organised in every district of the Metropolis.” Gwen turned to Eva, sitting close to her, “And you, dear, will be my faithful colleague?” Eva pressed her friend’s hand, but spoke no word, as Sinclair reclining near her sneeringly remarked, “I cannot see you portioning out plates of boiled beef and apple pudding to a crowd of unclean mendicants.” “Are you sure they will be unclean? And if by mendicants you mean those having no clothes nor any money, they will be no worse than we are; for we have no cheque-book, nor any pockets to put our money in,” softly whispered Eva, whose heart was beating violently at the reproof of the man she loved but whom she pitied for his sad limitations. “My dear man,” joined in Lionel, “this idea of the dining-halls is but the preface to a greater reform! It will for the moment meet the need of all the working classes whom the storm has put on the streets; but in the near future it will be our new mode of partaking of our meals in public.” Lionel smiled as he noticed the effect his strange words had on Murray and Sinclair. “Will you allow a few of your privileged friends to have their meals privately in their own homes?” slowly uttered Sinclair, who looked as if the greatest danger was at hand. “By all means, my dear fellow. We force no one; coercion is not the password of our future Society, but personal initiative; and after a little time has gone by, you will be the first to join these Symposia. It will only be another form of club life without which you could not have imagined your London; with this difference that your field of sympathy will be enlarged in our new form of assemblies, and instead of meeting daily a limited number of members, about whom you knew all that was to be known, you will join a body of men and women about whom you have hitherto known nothing. I grant you that many of them would not have been admitted in the bosom of your literary and artistic clubs, nor would they have been allowed to associate with the members of smart clubs; but now it will not much avail any man that he was a member of the Vagabond, or of Boodles!” “Anyhow, I think we prefer meeting no one to associating with a mass of illiterate and ill-bred folks,” said Murray. “You will not always say so, George,” replied Lionel. “The disappearance of cheque-books and of pockets has done more towards the fusion of classes than you believe; and it is mere common-sense that is prompting Society to take a rational view of the whole thing. Parliament is dissolved since yesterday, as you know; there was nothing else to be done, I suppose. The hour of self-government has struck when we least expected it, and it must find us mature for the work to be done.” Then turning to Gwen, “Do you think that your girl friends will help in this new scheme of dining-halls? I feared they would toss their dainty heads and pout their rosy lips at the suggestion.” “My dear Lionel, what they objected to was not so much the hunger that wasted away half the world, for they could not see its ravages and had not any personal experience to bear on the subject; but they were shocked at the grimy shabbiness of the destitutes, for that they could notice, and their individual knowledge of luxury intensified their hatred of poverty.” “You are a true observer, Miss Towerbridge, and a humourist which spoils nothing,” remarked Danford. Gwen blushed vividly at the little man’s praise; she was proud at having won the appreciation of such a master in psychology. “I shall expect you all to turn away in disgust from your uncouth companions,” and Sinclair rose. “I am going to join Vane; for the present his views suit my state of mind, and we shall see who will win in the long run—you, with your rude Dame Nature; or we, with our discriminating power of æsthetics. Good-bye, poor Miss Carey”—and he bent towards her—“you are not cut out for a distributing kitchen employer; and nature is a hideous transgressor whom you ought to kick out of your doors. What will Lady Carey say to all this?” and the fastidious critic was off, followed by Murray. The group broke up; Lionel putting his hand on Danford’s shoulder walked out of the Rotunda, leaving Gwen and Eva conversing in one part of the cool hall, while Lelia Dale and Nettie reclined in another part. Lelia Dale leaned her head on her hand. She did not know whom to serve. She had always been partial to Sinclair, whose criticisms on her talent were most flattering, and the eclecticism of Vane was an element which she appreciated highly; but, on the other hand, nature had its attractions, also Lord Somerville was a great power in the social organism, and the love of notoriety was so ingrafted in her professional soul that she was unwilling to see the rising of a Society of new stagers out of which she would be excluded. She meditated whether it would not be wise to put on one side her pride, and to beg humbly of Eleanora Duse to initiate her in the secrets of physiognomy; for, upon the whole, Lelia was artistic enough to know in her inner heart that she was deficient in facial expression, and totally ignorant of the laws of motion. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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