fiaflffltiiifliiifliiiiiiii)iiiiiitiiHii(iiH.'iiiiiiiiiiiii[Hii[iiiimiiiiiiii[ii[i THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES \no. jg^cnry ^uit bmbr3:> fc^'jjj^ THE SUEFACE OF THINGS CHARLES WALDSTEIN BOSTOX SMALL, MAYXARD & COMPAXT M r>c CC XCIX CopyrigJd, 1897, By Morrifi Mauge.s. Cojpyriijld, 1899, By SnialJ, Maynard tt- Company. Incorporated. The liockwell and ChvoxMll Press Boston, U.S.A. iO/^ s PREFACE For recii^ons ivliicli appear cogent I have decided to pnhliKh over my oimi name the three stmnes here collected into one vohime. They had appeared separately in England over tlie psendonyrii of Gordon Seymour. My intention was, inhen issnijig these short stories separately, to make them the first num- bers of a collection, vh/'ch I called the Ethics of the Surface Series, and I prefixed to the first volume an introductory essccy on the char- acter and scope of the series. One of the chief reasons which led me to adopt a pseudonym, becomes manifest when I am cd)out to reprint the original introduction. The whole tone of that introductiou (of the stories as v^ell) is completely changed when once I put my name to it. When I published it I urns able to suppress my personality, and I wrote under the shelter of a pseudonym which seemed to spread a simple and f resit shade of good taste over cdl I might say about m,yself or my worl^. Under cover of a ficti- tious personality I could, for instance, irith- y LIBRARY PREFACE out hesitation and witJioiU dango' af incur- ring the charge of personal vanity , puhlish the terms of commendation expressed by a liter- ary friend on these stories and the general idea contained in the series. The whole position is entirely altered udten once the author and the man appear insepa- rably joi7ied in the work put before the public. There is then a constant menace to good taste and sincerity on the part of the author and the public, in that he should appear to obtrude his personality in the work, and tJie public be encouraged in the vice of undue curiosity and the confusion between the professional and private aspects of life. TJiis suggests a general question of serious import in the life and 7vorh of men of letters, of science, and of art. Nay, we may classify these jjrofessions from, th is po hit of v iew , i.e., as the vocation itself tends to blend or to dis- sociate the person and his irt>rl\ The man of science is thus least hampered by the fear of the inopportune obtrusion of his personcdity ; while at the other end of the scale, the artist, for instance the actor, must find it most diffi- vi PREFACE cult, if not impossible, to Iceep Ids pevsonalitij from the gaze and criticism of the 2>ublic. Science is in its very essence intellectual, objective; the man of science must above all eliminate the persoyial equation from his work in order to arrive at the establishment of trufji upon whicli all his efforts are concentrated. Art is essentially emotional, subjective; the artist, even when he deals loith nature, with outer facts, must give these as theg are re- fected through his personality, and from this very personal rendering his woi'k receives its unity of structure, its organic vitality. Tims a scientific or historical author is in no danger of having his jjersonality and life encroached upon by the reader of his -works, and the thought of this jjossibility need never disturb the concentrated flow of his creative effort. In the domain of art (and herein 1 include literature as such, poetry and fiction) the case is changed. But here, too, there are different degrees of personal obtrusion witliin the sev- eral artv^tic vocations. Thus there is a broad and convenient distinction betiveen the v:orh vii PREFACE of the productive and that of the reproductive artist — file p)oet and the actor, tJie composer and the lausical performer . In tJie reproductive arts the peifoi'rner not only conies himself before the public, to be seen and heard, but the essence of his art depends upon the acutelt/ personal rendering of the work, u:hich inivnediately evokes com- parison with the personal rendering of other perfovmers, and criticism is generally based upon such comparison. This is so much the case that the work itself is often completely forgotten in the concentration of interest on the individual rendering. One has often been irritated in hearing, as the result of the performance of some great and interesting work, remarks exclusively limited to the ren- dering as such: '^ Have you heard the Picco- lomini in this 9 " or, " You never saiv tlie IBiaiichi in that," and what the one did in this act or with that phrase or ballad, etc. The poet or composer — nay, the work itself — are meanwhile entirely ignored or for- gotten in the interest of the rendering. The dramatist and composer, who sit in a viii PREFACE loell-sluided box llsteniug to the perfornmnce of their work, mai/, no doubt, quiver vntlt anxiety, quail under failure, or stagger with the drunkenness of success. It is a part (f their own selves lohich they have given out, thrown before the world from the silent seclu- sion and sanctity (f their studies. But it is a part of themselves, not their immediate whole selves which they give to the public; and suc- cess or failure has nothing to do with their innermost character, their own habits, their personal appearance. The performer — and^ he is to be much pitied on this account — can- not escape from himself in his work. JVot only his mental and emotional self, but his voice, his looks, his every movement, are brought before the public; his professional success and failure depend iqjon that per- formance — one evening, one hour, nay one moment, in which he himself, his whole person- ality, makes or unmakes the situation. And this is fixed and stereotyped the next day in the criticism in the press. Herein lies the martyrdom of the performing artist; and what De Musset lets the Muse say to the poet, ix PREFACE in his splendid, simile of the pelican ivho gives his heart-blood to feed his little ones, applies with greater intensity to the performing artist. Among the productive arts there are grada- tions in this respect as ivell: Painting and sculpture^ and even music, are the products of artistic emotions, intensely jjersonal in their origin; yet these are con- veyed ifi an "objective " vehicle of expression, by means which liave no direct suggestion of the personal life of the ar^tist. These extra- ordinary impersonal 7neans of expression (coloured canvas, marble and bronze, instru- mental harmony of sounds) are interposed between the public that sees or hears the artisfs work and his intimate life. They are not the natural and customary mode of personal communication, as language is. We are thus not reminded of our actual life, or the life and character of him who uses it, when we are spoken to in form and colour or harmony of sounds. Tlte artist may disap- pear so completely within or behind his work that it may lead to ingratitude and injustice on the part of the public. Who has not PREFACE searched with dogged irritation to find the name of the sculptor on some heautifxd monu- ment, tvalking all round it and peering in vain for the name of the originator of the work itself, ivithin line upon line of irrelevant and fulsome inscriptions, recording not only the merits of the man or cause commemorated, but the names and qualities of the jjersons, municipal or private bodies, under whose auspices it vms erected, the time and place, the firm of the bronze founders, etc. ? Who has not been jjresent at the inauguration of statues and buildings, when speech followed, speech, occupied to no small extent with the personal history and glorification of the bodies that happen to be in power, of the speaker himself, ivith much fatuous rhetoric, — and barely, mentioning the sculptor or architect, nay, ignoring him altogether f Literature, in contradistinction to sculpture, painting, and music, using as its vehicle of Gonmiunication language, the same which is employed in their ordinary daily life by all people, is more directly expressive of the personal life and character of the author. XI PREFACE But in poetry (uid fiction there is again, a distinction with regard to the personal equa- tion. De Musset's verses on the fate of the jjoet, to which I have just referred, emphasize the intimate personal character of lyrical poetry, in whicJt the innermost feelings, as well the most subtle as the most passionate, form the very substance of the artistic crea- tion. In reading such verses and in being moved by them, tlie personality of tlie^poet at once and necessarily rises before our eyes. We cannot read Byron, Shelley, Heine, or De Musset without the inherent association permission of the writer, to insert the pas- sages above quoted, as they aptly enable me to say a few words in explanation of the title which has been given to this series, and which may appear pedantic and pre- tentious. The writer quoted calls this " an entirely new and distinctive tield." I have no doubt that, uroed by a oenerous heart, he may have chosen terms of praise stronger than a pure spirit of criticism, unalloyed with a sympathetic desire of encouragement, would have justiiied. My immediate and con- scious aim in writing these " stories " has never been to be original, or to do some- thing new, — in fact, I have only become positively conscious of their originality throuo-h the letter of m\ kindly critic. What did often perplex me and fill me with XX INTRODUCTION doubt while I was writing, and upon reflec- tion after I had written, was the question under what accepted class or category of literature, understood and admitted by th(^ public and approved of by the critic, these attempts of mine could he grouped. I felt that they would fall between two stools ; that they were full of contradictions, the most evident of which were two : 1. That thev dealt heavily and seriously with things which are not weighty, and are not deemed of universal importance, that are not at the foundation of life, not big with life ; that they attempted laljoriously to dio- and delve down into the innermost depths of — the surface. 2. That in form they moved about in the undefined and unacknowledged borderland that lies between Theory and Practice, Thought and Life, the Essay and the Story. As regards the first question — whether the " surfiice morals " go deep down in our XXI INTRODUCTION lite — I have felt growing in me, long before I thought of writing stories myself, the con- viction that our " novel " literature erred in dealing too exclusively with what are sup- posed to be the fundamental and ruling interests and passions of life, and therefore the only proper motives to action in litera- ture. The relation of man to woman, love in all its phases and with all its consequences, the lust of power and gain, the struggle for empire or the struggle for existence, money, a successful career, — these were considered the only topics of importance suiEcient to become universal, and therefore capable of appealing to the interest of the general reader, and of evoking the sympathy which would fascinate his attention and stir emo- tion. Among the more abstract and in- tellectual interests of life — which were generally excluded from the ordinary litera- ture of fiction, or only introduced episodi- cally — religion was in a few instances xxii INTRODUCTION admitted. As a rule, the novel has not got beyond what might be called the lyrical staee, in which " love " and the w^hole rela- tion of man to woman is the central topic of interest. It is only quite recently that failure in business or struggles in inner reliofious life have been made the central motive for novel or drama. And I have felt a growing sense of opposition to this narrow conception of life as reflected in literature, very similar to the revolt of the so-called realistic school against the imper- fect picture of life which a conventional tradition of propriety had uuposed. But I asked myself whether the realists were not in their turn restricting the focus of the novelist's vision, while they were over-accentuating certain aspects and phases of life to the detriment of trutlrful proportion and artistic harmony. Were their " sense of colour"' and their reijard for their " values" correct? Could they present a true, if not XXUl INTRODUCTION a beautiful and sympathetic picture of life, when red was either the one predominant pigment or was crudely introduced, and obtruded into even the most subdued com- bination of tones and colours? In spite of this much-vaunted realism and "scientific" spirit, the picture which the powerful and, at times, monumental litera- ture of the day, especially in France, gives of the age or the country is one-sided and incomplete, often caricatured, — atall events, it is not true to life, either the life of France or any other country. It is the " reverse " of the "coin" of idealism, the artistic value of which the realists repudiated. If they meant by idealism the exaggeration of one aspect of life and things, to the forced exclusion of the other elements essential to the organic nature, individual and social, then theirs is idealism of the ugly and common. The question of sex, for instance, is a fundamental factor in life, and cannot be xxiv INTRODUCTION denied or extirpated, even l)y the genius of a Tolstoi. But the all-absorbing impor- tance, and the exclusive part it plays in the life of the men and women portrayed by Zola and Guy de Maupassant is not true to fact. Is theirs a jjicture of the whole of modern life, nay, even of what is essential to the lives of each one of us in our conscious, wakino- existence? There may be a few idle })eoplc wdth diseased nerves of wdiom it may be true, and their fate may exception- ally form the topic of a powerful story. But Ave cannot make a ''school" of this. In fact, in literature and art the idea of a school or a fashion, — as regards subject as well as mode of expression and treatment, — consciously established during the actual })eriod of production for writers or artists to follow or to be condemned, is an absurdity. The critic of posterity may classify into schools ; but each artist umst express sin- cerely and truthfully what he deems worthy XXV INTRODUCTION of expression, and in the manner most in- telligible and most adequately convincing to his own judgment. If all these interests and })assions are fun- damental to lif(% the task is to represent them in their due proportion — and propoi'- tion is at the liottom of ta.':>te — and to avoid exaggeration of single features in portraiture. This is true realism. But the further question must be asked : What " life " the modern novelist is depict- ing, and hence what is essential to such life? The novelists with whose theories I am at issue, it appears to me, always under- stand by life ^vhat I should call the life of prehistoric man. I mean when they are up- holding the princi})les of their realism. To the life of prehistoric man all the im})ulses and striving's which tend to the satisfaction of hunger and thirst, warmth and shelter, and the rudimentary passions of the sp(>cies are not only fundamental, but ma}' ade- xxvi INTRODUCTION quately fill the whole of his conscious exist- ence. But we have developed far beyond this stage. Thousands of years of civilisation and social differentiation have drawn within the sphere oi fundamental necessities what, to the savage and our prehistoric ancestors, Avas either unfelt, unknown, or a matter of accident and luxury. Not only those who are the fullest and highest rei)resentatives of our culture and civilisation, l)ut even the simplest and hunible^l un'uil)er> of our modern occidental communities have a varietv of ueeds and desires, without which life would to them not Ije worth living, which are so far removed from the " fundamental necessities " of prehistoric peo})le that they would appear barely to graze the surface of existence. But, with human beings possessed of conscious volition, it is surely a test of the essential nature of needs and jxvii INTRODUCTION desires, when man is ready to resign his i"io:ht of livino; unless these be satisfied. And how varied and multitudinous are these needs ! AYho would attempt to enu- merate them? They make up the fulness and wholeness of that rich mine from which the novelist and the followers of all forms of literary effort will extract jewels or mere pebbles. I might be allowed to (|Uote here what I published about twenty years ago in connection with the study of social phenom- ena : " Such facts will ])e none the less useful to us because they happen to lie on the surface, close under our eyes. It may, as a rule, be true that gold lies deep, and must be won by digging ; but the test of gold is its substance, not its position in the earth ; and when ^ve can get it by merely washing sand, let us do so, not throw it away as worthless." Among these needs of life w^hich have not been adequately recognised in their o XXVIU INTRODUCTION dignity and importance by the novelist, as fundamental to our life, though they appear to be on the surface, I would especially sino;le out the cravino; we all feel to live with people who have refined and gentle manners, tact, the power of self-control, the intellectual sympathy — and the power to live up to it — which makes their intercourse varied without being restless, aflable without beino- obtrusive, dijinitied without l)einii' foi'- biddingly reserved. AVith well-bred i)eople of this kind we live pleasantly, without a jar. Forced intercourse with those not possessed of these qualities produces not only that very serious pain called boredom, but, when continuous, destroys peace, and leads finally to catastrophes which may end in truly tragic developments. Nay, many of us have an intense need — and the greater the progress of civilisation and education the more wide- spread and universal will this need ))e — to associate with people of intellectual refiue- xxix INTRODUCTION ment, who have thought on, or have thought out, the subjects we are interested in, have read, or, at least, know of the existence of, the books which have become " classical ; " who have a general knowledge of the great historical events which have modified the world's history ; have artistic appreciation, or, at least, some knowledge of the master- pieces of the various arts ; and have intel- lectual sympathy with the endeavours of scientific men and the })roblems which are occupying them. To many of us com})auy of a lower standard is no company at all. All this is true for the Socialist as well as for the Tory. After all, man is, as iVristotle has put it, a t,(uov TTokiTLKov — ^ social animal ; it is unnatural for him to live deprived of free intercourse with his equals ; and the simple housemaid requires this, as a necessity of her life, as much as the most learned and most refined and those occupying the most XXX INTRODUCTION exalted positions in modern communities. These needs appear to be on the " surface," but in reality they form the very core of our conscious existence. Considerably more than lialf of oui- wakinir thouo-hts and aspira- tions are directed towards the satisfaction of them ; they have become fundamental to us, and we therefore need not appeal to the basal passions of life for their justification. They are worthy of literary treatment. And fiction which pretends to hold tlie mirror of life before the eyes of humanity is, at least, incomplete, if it does not make these the subjects of its artistic creation. There is an analogy in the development of ethical stud^'. The systems of morals have hitherto l)een almost exclusively con- cerned with the fundamental general princi- ples of human action, with Hedonism, Al- truism, Eooism, Transcendentalism, Utili- tarianism, Cynicism, etc., etc.; and they have not ventured upon the field of " prac- xxxi INTRODUCTION tical ■' ethics, of the needs of our actual, complicated life, and the duties and rights which our developed social existence has evolved. But we require noAV (if such a " practical science " has any right of exist- ence) inductive ethics of the surface, which go deep down into the nature of the social existence of modern men and women, as they meet each other in free intercourse and are bound to live together. The sphere of economics has already been drawn into the circle of ethical enquiry. Ethics will now have to penetrate into the very substance of social, intellectual, and artistic spheres of living. The mention of " Ethics " ))rinofs me to the second and graver cause of doubt which I have felt in the writins; of these stories — the question of form and not of suljstance. For I am well aware that tlie surface side of life has frequently ])een introduced into fiction, from the great Balzac and Jane xxxu INTRODUCTION Austen to Gyp and Mr. Henry James. What I have said, and what, up to this point, I propose to do, may not be original. I do not mind this, if only the facts be ad- mitted as true. I cannot say the same for the artistic form of these stories. I feel, in the first instance, a serious per- sonal misoivino- lest the strono- theoretical bias of my own mind may lead me to think and theorise first, before I observe and study life, and then to transform the result into human action, to philosophise into life, — to humanise, vitalise, and dramatise thought and theory, and to theorise and to philoso- phise life and action. But in this process I am well aware of the danger that life may lose its vitality, and thought its accuracy and pure innermost validity — while the reader may be wearied. Ai's est celare artem may be a common- place ; it will never l)e a platitude, ^lany o-reat masters of fiction, (jf whom Tur- XXXill INTRODUCTION genieir is the type, have told deep and deli- cate truths of a theoretical or subtle nature wilhiii the pure story, without ever grossly and obtrusively introducing a generalisation, without ever pointing a moral or illustrating a social truth, — and the effect is a truly ar- tistic one. The master mind of George Eliot (who was a great artist, all the same) has interspersed her fiction with excellent reflections and generalisations ; we think while we feel — sometimes liefore we feel. But there is room for Turgenieffs and George Eliots, and I sincerely hope there will be many of them coming. We may personally prefer the one or the other form ; but we never have the right to say that either the one or the other ought not to exist or to be followed. Perhaps the novel- ist who makes us entirely forget the " thouffht " at the bottom of the incident is the greater artist of the two. I do not know. It depends upon the bulk and xxxiv INTRODUCTION weifjht and inner excellence of the work itself. At all events, the writer who does not appear conscious of originality, depth, or elaborateness, who is not continually smacking his lips over the delicate flavour of his new and subtle truths, is certainly, in his personality, more amiable than his self- conscious or pedantic counterpart. Feeling all this, how grave must be my misgivings, when I have ventured to adopt a form which sometimes would debar the writing from being called a novel or storj^ at all, which is a manifest and direct treat- ment of a Surface Problem of life ! The problem modified the search after, or the se- lection from, the life which presented itself to my observation ; or an interesting inci- dent or character only arrested my attention when it embodied, solved, or illustrated such a problem. But I have quieted these misgivings, if not dissipated them entirely, by the reflec- XXXV INTRODUCTION tion that every work of art, the novel in- cluded, requires a certain unity of com- position and interest. And why should not this unity of interest be of a theoretical and ethical nature, in a time when scientific thought and reflection are so predominant a feature of the Zeitgeist? And why should not the form directly appeal to and reflect this coonitive side of even our aesthetic mind? The novel has, in this res^Dect, hitherto been under the dominance of the drama ; and though it is meant to be read and not to be seen and heard in a short period of time, its appeal to the imagination is through the dramatic methods, which it has, perhaps, too slavishly followed in form. But the novel and the story are books to be read and thought over at leisure, and not plays to be enacted in one evening. And therefore it may perhaps be the time for in- sisting upon some of the methods and forms that belong to books which directly appeaf xxxvi INTRODUCTION to our thouohtfulness and satisfy our coo-ni- tive and reflectins: attitude of mind. At all events, thouoh the more " dram- atic " novel will always maintain itself, and has a supreme right of existence, there is room for the more theoretical form beside it ; and it is worth while trying the experi- ment. Should it be strong enough to assert and to retain its right of existence, the laws and canons which govern its ideal structure will have to l)e established Ijv criticism in the course of time, and will have to be in- dependent of those which rule the more dramatic novel. This applies specially to the dialogue. I have lono- since felt that our dialoo-ue in novel-literature, because it was thus devel- oped out of the dialogue of the drama, was not constructively correct for a form which is read and not heard, nor is it true to life. " ' Will you have some tea, Sir Harry? ' ' No, thank you, Lady Mary.' And he left the room " — xxxvii INTRODUCTION may be elFective on the stage, where the personality of the actors and their by-play emphasise and complete the action, and where the scenery and the local atmosphere "ive a world of meaninsr. But these words in themselves do not interest us in life, nor do they say anything to us in reading them. It is really only in the most stirring and supreme moments of a crisis that depth of emotion and pregnancy of meaning are con- veyed in compressed short sentences and words. But in real life we do not speak in these trivial, short sentences. And I would ask the reader whether any picture of our modern life is adequate which does not render some of the deliohtful and interestins; talks which we have had? Have not these talks, which moved and modified our life and marked epochs in our existence, l)een connected and coherent, going to the foundation of things, — were thev not of the xxxviii INTRODUCTION "Essay" order? And, from the point of view of realism, is the picture of life true and complete which omits such vital ele- ments of our social existence, the need and the satisfaction of which we constantly feel and crave for? But how rare it is that we ever find in a novel a talk or conversation which we should care to listen to in real life or to recall when Ave are alone ! And this interest and these talks are universal ; they arc not restricted to the educated and leisured classes. Go to any workingman's clul), listen (if you were privileged enough) to the conversation of two young girls of whatever class Avhen they are alone, of two hoys at a public school, of men in a country house after they have left the smokinff-room — and vou will surelv not tind the vapid chattel" called dialogue in our novels. Still, I know that the main difficult v in introducing such conversation liss in the xxx'ix INTRODUCTION proper application of artistic tact, which feels and knows what is opportune and what is out of place. The difficulty will always be to discover and to establish the relation which such conversation will hold to the story as a whole, the unity of its design and its Ijearing upon the characters and the situations of the narrative. The topic of conversation and its treatment may become so predominant and important as to submerge the interest of the story ; the words might then be spoken by anyl^ody, — they may be the bearers of impersonal truths, — and it will really be an Essay and we might be put in the " Essay " mood. Well, the same happens to us in life and even in stirring situations of life, and we take up the thread of ordinary existence with refreshed interest. I do not venture to lay down the canons of this literary form which has not yet been made manifest in actual Avorks. The great masters, Plato and Rousseau, have dealt with INTRODUCTION important problems in the dialogue form. In the one, the deep philosophical thoughts were entirely predominant and the living characters were merely hinted at (with supreme art, no doubt) ; while in the other the characters, though more fully dealt with, do not seem to possess real vitality. But both deal with fundamental problems and not with our "Surface." As a rule, it will no doubt be wrong to make two men discuss deeply and continu- ously the Immortality of the Soul while riding home from a hard day's hunting — unless the choice and fact of such a discus- sion at such a time and in such a place are meant to serve as an illustration of the characters and the situation. There will have to be an artistic titness Ijetwecn the topics chosen, the things said, and the per- sons saying them, as well as the outer con- ditions of their conversation. The talk ought to have some essential bearing upon xli INTRODUCTION the story. But this being the case, uiay not the conversation itself interest us, apart from the personalities and the story ? may it not be worth listening to for its own sake, or must it be colourless and empty talk that Avould bore us in real life? These are the doubts and uusgivinos which have come to me and the problems which they call up. I know that the two contradictory elements which make up the stories in this " Ethics of the Surface " Series may not always be fully harmonised. Some- times the essay, sometimes the story may predominate. But I must write in my own way ; and I cannot go far wrong so long as I am sincere and conscientious in the execution of my task. And as for the proi)riety of bringing these ellbrts before the public, the appreciative criticism of competent men, the opinion of one of whom I have here quoted, encourages me to believe that they cannot be wholly without interest. xlii THE SURFACE OF THINGS THE RUDENESS OF THE HONOURABLE RICHARD LEATHERHEAD I HAD been .staying at a Sicilian port for a week, and had been treated with much kindness and consideration by my old college friend Maxwell, who had l)een settled there for some time, — if " settled " could ever be applied to him. He was a man Avho knew ever^^hing and everybody, could do everything, and had been everywhere — or, rather, as an epigrammatic friend had once said of him, " Maxwell is always somewhere else and is always doing something else." In his youth he had given }iromise of great power and great achieve- ment, and had been called a genius. The same epigrammatic friend had, however, re- plied to one who said of Maxwell, " I always looked upon him as a man of great prom- ise," — " Don't you think that men of prom- THE SURFACE OF THINGS ise often turn out men of com})roniise ? " In short, Maxwell was the counterpart of Browning's " Waring." He had now made this Sicilian port the pivot of his rotations round the Mediter- ranean ; while, at odd moments, he would turn u}) in Piccadilly with an orthodox frock- coat and to[)-hat, as if he had l)een striking the London pavement with }>atent buttoned boots for years without intermission, would flit about in the London drawing-rooms, — nay, the salons of Paris and other Euro- pean ca})itals, — and then would vanish again to gyrate freely about the Southern Seas. He was fond of yachting, — in fact, of all sport, — drew and even painted Avell, was musical, and had a refined taste and exten- sive knowledge of the literatures of all lands. I do not know whether he ever published anything. I have often suspected his author- t^hip when some striking and original publi- RICHARD LEATHERHEAD cation was sent into the world anonymously or pseiidonymoush'. That lie had literary power I feel fully convinced, for I have hardly ever met such a raconteur — so graphic and sensuous in his description of scenes and situations, so accurate and still suggestive in his delinea- tion of character, and so felicitous in Jiis diction. I often imaoined (I know how readily one is deceived in this) that his talk could, if taken down in shorthand, be immediately transferred to print. To this must be added his extensive circle of acquaintances all over the world, the almost artistic interest which he took in their lives and family history, his power of sympathetic divination, which, together with his fresh and cordial manner, invited confidence, and made liim the repository of mucli intimate information. He reallv was a dear, o-ood fellow, liking people, ready and overjoyed to help, and naturally, therefore, liked. THE SURFACE OF THINGS He had l)een very kind to me during the last week, and realising that I was some- what ])roken down from overwork, and ac- cordingly depressed, he had taken me al)out assiduously and never obtrusively, had caused me to see all the places and things of interest, and to meet all the interesting people. He had been dining with me in my hotel that evening, and we were discussing the peculiar life of the town and the nature of its society, when I said : "By the way, that man Leatherhead seems to me somehow or other out of place as Consul, and, moreover, he seems to know it." "You are an acute observer," replied Maxwell, with an amused smile, and with a look of expectant inquiry. There was also a touch of the magisterial examiner in him when he asked, " Why do you think so?" "AVell," I answered, "in the first place, I EICHARD LEATHERHEAD know that his family tradition and connec- tion would have pointed to the diplomatic rather than the consular service." "Quite correct," Maxwell threw in. "Then he seems to assert in all his bear- ing and manner (and his wife accentuates this still more markedly) that he is not sat- isfied with his surroundings and vocation — that it is a temporary makeshift — in fact, that they have professionally (I did not no- tice any suggestion of financial discomfort) seen 'better days.' . . . On the whole, — I hate to use the word, — there is a touch of snobbishness. In my more impulsive and dogmatic younger days I should at once have called him a snob." Maxwell had been followino- me with close attention, nodding assent at every phrase, with manifest delight in the progress of my characterisation . " You would not be wrono- in callino- him that in the full acceptation of the tei'm. THE SURFACE OF THINGS though it is onl}' of late years that he has thus developed into the full type. Circum- stance, or, as prigs would call it, environ- ment, has produced this clear-cut type in him, though the jn-cdisposition was in the person, the organism, itself — or in the early and more essential conditions of his child-life, which amounts to the same thing." " I don't quite see that," I objected. " I know his elder brother. Lord Haughtown, who may be reserved and shy, but has no trace of truculence or assertiveness. The Consul is of well-established and ancient descent, and, starting with social recogni- tion in his favour, had no need to cringe or to bully." "Ah," Maxwell here cut in more eagerly, "that's just where you are mistaken. You see, though I am a true Briton, I have lived abroad so nuieh and have entered so inti- mately into the lives of other nations that I can recoonise more subtle intluences, where RICHARD LEATHERHEAD before early familiarity made perception im- possible." He had been leaning; forward and talkino- rapidly, and now sat back in his chair, raised his forefinger with a gesture of emphatic deliberation, and, somewhat compressing his eyes with a look of critical accuracy as he gazed at me, he continued : "Mind you, I admit that our system of primogeniture, and the consequent social descent seriatini from the peer to the com- moner, have in our country counteracted the isolation of the noblesse, and also the marked feeling of superiority and inferiorit}' of defi- nite classes. It has, in some respects, tluis made us for centuries back, and by tradition now, the most democratic people of the world. But at the same time, this younger son of a peer, or, still more so, a lateral de- scendant of a great house (in contradistinc- tion to the sons of some German baron or count, who are known as barons and counts 9 THE SURFACE OF THINGS always), may be in danger of the snob disease in his social character which always threatens the parvenu. I mean that the assertiveness which is at the l)ottom of snobbishness, and which comes from the in- security and dubiousness of social standing, may attack him, because his social advan- tages are not at once realised and recognised by all whom he meets." " There is a good deal in what you say," I admitted. " I have often remarked such an eifect, not only in the Irish descendant of remote kings, but in the immediate scion of some great house ; and, now I think of it, I should expect it in the Consul." " There was another predisposing cause of the ' organic ' order in Leatherhead's case," said mv friend, not lieedino; mv remark. " It was the choice of his career. You were right in your astonishment that he should not have chosen the diplomatic career. As a matter of fact, he was in that service before. 10 RICHARD LEATHERHEAD " Xow, with the predispositions of such a man, the diplomatic service is peculiarly dano-erous for an Englishman. An Enolish- man is not natnralhj a courtier. Moreover, Avith centuries of parliamentary government, our court life has lost its importance and depth of signiticance. London is also too great and extensive a place to make court influence and court tone prevail. When, therefore, our young Englishman is thrown into the vortex of such life abroad, and through sympathy is affected liy the tone surrounding him, he is not prepared to re- ceive these impressions on the surface of his morale; they may then have a deeper and more lasting influence upon his character and consequently upon his social bearing. Add to this the attitude towards his travel- ling countrymen who may visit the town at which he is stationed, and you have another element of danger. He may have to present them at Court or to his own circles, or, 11 THE SURFACE OF THINGS which is often the case, they may inaiiifest a desire to be thus presented. It is thus his task to sum up at once the social status of his own countrymen whom he meets, and he endeavours to advance, or to meet their advances, from the very outset in a manner which shouhl make future action easy and pleasant, without the possil)ility of bitter- ness or a 'scene.' If he has judgment, and a good heart at the ])ottom of his judgment, social sympathy and real sympathy, — in short, tact, — he will not blunder much in this direction. Moreover, if he has higher and deeper interests in life they will save him from being absorbed or deepl}- affected by this attitude with regard to people one meets — the ' social ' aspect will retain its due pro- jjortion. Bui if he has not these qualities and interests his little soul will l)e eaten into, filled full with this degrading aspect of human life ; he will not, as is the case with oui" best diplomats, develop into the 12 EICHARD LP:ATHERHEAD finest type of the man of the world, freoil from British or other provinciality and nar- rowness, — but he becomes a snob — like Leatherhead." Ashe spoke, though I was listening atten- tively, he had set me thinking. Many in- stances from my own experience, types of men, of social circles, of characteristic traits, passed vaguely along the outskirts of my attention, and formed the fore and back ground to the central picture which his account brought before my eyes. He suddenly changed his attitude and his tone. " Now, as I warned you, this is only the more general groundwork in the clear-cut structure of the Consul's character. AVhat turned the scales in his life was apparently more accidental. It was one act, seeminolv trifling, in his life, and the consequences of this act, which fashioned his subsequent career and brought the germs or buds of his snobbish- ness to full and lasting flower and vitality. 13 THE SURFACE OF THINGS " If >()u like I will tell you the story of Leatherhead, which consists of one incident. It is a moral story, tit for a school-hook or a Sunday School, — no, rather for a school of adults who are learning in the constant apprenticeship of social life." I begged him to relate it ; and, having ordered some wine, and bringing some English tobacco, ^vhich he was longing for, from my rooms, we settled down m our corner beneath the overhanging palm-leaves, at some distance from the other tables, where visitors were chattering in all languages, and Maxwell began : "About six years ago I was at Athenop- olis, the capital of Roumagaria. There was a very })leasant, easy-going life there, the ruler himself being a sociable and charming man, the type of an English club-man ; while with the Court, the diplomatic corps, some of the superior native families who had lived abroad, and some decent resident foreigners, 14 RICHARD LEATHERHEAD a very lively, united, and even interesting- social circle had been formed. There were balls, smaller dances, musical evenings, pic- nics, and all forms of entertainment. Every- body knew everybody else ; and there was no case in which one had to hesitate in ask- ing people to meet each other because of some disagreement or quarrel. " I was told that this state of aftairs had not always existed ; that, on the contrary, but a short time l)efore, life had not only been tedious, but full of acrimony, petty enmities, and quarrels. The different sets had not merely crystallised naturally from inner affinity or outer similarity of tastes and occupations, but they had always been conscious of their setness and of their apartness from one another. And this isola- tion and solidarity of the sets, in their attitude towards one another, in no way implied or produced harmonious unity among the members of the sets them- 15 THE SURFACE OF THINGS selves — as little as a state uianifestiiio- Chauvinistic antaoonism in its torei"!! affairs is therefore i)eacefully united in its home life and internal policy. On the contrary, everybody hated and was jealous of every- Iwdy else. In short, it had been a beastly hole to live in, as my informant told me. " As a student of the ' Sociology of the Surface ' I was interested in the phenom- enon, and was eager to discover the cause of such a marked and, as I was told, al)ru})t revolution for the good ; and I began to make incjuiries with a systematic and thorough energy worthy of a more impor- tant subject — in fact, in the same spirit as the naturalist or the scientific historian endeavours to trace back phenomena and events to their first causes. "I had long ago come to the conclusion that historians, even great ones, had been misled by the results of Hegelianism and Darwinian evolution combined into what 16 RICHARD LEATHERHEAD has ])een called the historical method in attaching too great and too exclusive im- portance to the Zeitiieist and general broad movements as the causes ot" indi- vidual })hen()mena and of events in history — nay, even of the formation and develop- ment of individual character. And though I equally dislielieved in the 'biographical ' conception of history, which olitrudes the personal gossipy interest — or inipiisitive- ness — until it stifles inquiry, and bedims the true world of events and things, I have still come to value more and more the supreme influence oi permnolltij, nay, of one person, in fashioning or modifying the world in which it acts. Cherchez Vliomme! even more than Cherchez la femme 1 seemed to me one of the chief tasks of him who de- sired to grasp the course of social — even political — events, to account for a tradition established or surviving in an institution, or the tone in a set or larger circle or even a 17 THE SURFACE OF THINGS town or a country. Nay, as a monarchist, I felt that the great justification of monarchy was the direct, concentrated, and facile power of a monarch to strike the key-note of taste and tone in the social life of a l)eople and to direct (through the channels of fashion) the aspirations of society. " All this professorial prelude is merely meant to inform you that I was prepared to look for the man or ^voman who was at the bottom of this agreeable change in the social life of Athenopolis, and my methodical search soon put me upon the right track. " At first inquiring into the ' when,' into the actual moment, the turning-[)oint in the life of this social community, I found all evidence pointing to the building of the Caucaso-Macedonian Railway as the exactly synchronous event. I was not astonished to find that this should mark such an epoch in the economical history of a country, which, after all, was small, with a limited 18 RICHARD LEATHERHEAD number of inhabitants and in a rudimen- tary state of coumiercial and economical prosperity. The employment of labourers, the importation of machinery, and with it foreign supplies and luxuries for the staff, affected not only the large number of in- digenous peasantry from the villages through- out the whole country, who souoht for and found employment, l^ut even the merchants and small tradesmen all over the land, — not to mention the great impulse which the prospective opening out of the country, when once the railway was finished, pro- duced in the mercantile and industrial world, as well as in the value of property in the capital and the adjoining seaport town. " But what arrested my attention most was, that the change in the social life to which I have referred also corresponded exactly to the beginning of this enterprise. With this clue I at once hit upon the person, and my subsequent experience and inquiries entirely 19 THE SURFACE OF THINGS confirmed my surmise. It was one man ; and this man was an Enolish enojneer, the chief entrusted with the whole construction and organisation of the railway. The first dinner party followed by a ball which I attended at the British legation had made me acquainted with this man ; and, though I did not know who he was ( I thought he was first secretary of the legation), I at once realised that he was the heart and soul of the whole circle. "No one would have been more astonished than Gordon himself, had he been told that he w^as the social reformer of Athenopolis. " He was the third son of a Devonshire squire, who was a man of some property and of high standing in his county. His eldest brother had now succeeded to the estates ; his second brother was in the army ; while he was originally destined for the Church (an idea which he soon relinquished), then prepared for the bar, and finally chose the profession of an engineer. This career 20 RICHARD LEATHERHEAD of his choice made him absolutely happy, and this at-one-ness with the main occupa- tion and duty of life had no doul)t nuich to do with the expression and impression of ))rightness, cheerfulness, and mental health which l)eamed from him and at once pene- trated those to whom he spoke with a sense of warm and happy comfort. Nay, his presence in a room seemed, like the fresh perfume of new-mown hay and sweet simple flowers, to permeate the whole atmosphere. " He was a living instance of meussancf in corpore scuio, I have never yet met so per- fect an illustration of this desirable state. Over six feet in height and very muscular, he had been a leading athlete of the all-round class at his public school and at the Uni- versity ; he was a 'Varsity oar,' had his 'blue' in footl)all, and 'put the weight' and ' threw the hammer' for the University ; and though not nuich of a horseman (he was too big to l)uy ;i chea]) mount and had not 21 THE SURFACE OF THINGS enouii'li money to set weioht-carriers) , he was an excellent shot. With all this he was a o-ood scholar while at school, and, owing to his undisputed ' swelldom ' as an athlete, he did much, as a musician and draughtsman, to bring music and drawing into fashion while he w^as the captain of the school. At Cambridoe he had worked a o-ood deal, considerino- how much time was absorbed by rowing and sports, and had succeeded in becoming a high wrangler — though, no doubt, those were wrong who maintained that, but for the attention he had given to athletics, he mi a'ht have been senior wranoler. After much hesitation and self-questioning he at last decided upon the career of a civil engineer, as combining an active life in the open air — possibly of adventure — with the application of his studies and undoubted intellectual abilities ; and in this career he had been eminently successful. He had done subordinate woi'l< for several years. RICHARD L E A T II E R H E A D This had not only oiven him a oood trainino- in his profession, but had also taken him all over the world, — to India, South Africa, and South America, — and had developed his natural talent for dealing with people of all classes. " Xow, at the early age of thirtj- -three he had l)een entrusted, as chief engineer and business manager, with the important task and great responsibilit}^ of the construction of the Caucaso-Macedonian Railway, a work which he was now pushing forward with firreat energy and success, and with which no social attractions were allowed to interfere. It was this earnestness (to use this good English, but unfortunately hackneyed word) which no doulit underlay the respect which always accompanied the fondness of his friends and accjuaintances. The secretaries and attacli^s of legations, the jeunesse doree as well as the vieiUesse d'or, attracted by the similarity of tastes which l)rought them too-ether, felt the contrast between his life 23 THE SURFACE OF THINGS and their more idle, unproductive, or unsys- tematic lives, and were unconsciously im- pressed, at times even intimidated, liy it — though he, on his part, had managed to keep it in its proper place, and never to ol)trude it to the discomfort of the idle and the evoca- tion of unfavourable comparison. " Here, too, firmness of purpose and life system strengthened tact. He had quietly, and without assertion, or roUing-up of sleeves, subdivided his life of work and play, so that they never interfered with one another and suffo-ested out-of-placeness. Until three o clock in the afternoon it was well known and understood that he was not to be seen. During these hours he worked incessantly . at his office and finished his day's work with- out worry and fussiness ; and when this was done he took his exercise, paid his visits, and was quite free for social enjo} inent the whole afternoon and evening. "The silent influence which this l)iight ])er- 24 RICHARD LEATHERHEAD sonality was thus to exercise had l)een pre- pared for and made easy by the enthusiastic praise whicli young Hargood, the second secretary of the British legation, had hivished upon him before his arrival at Athenopolis. And as Hargood had been the most popular and repandu man there, it paved the way for a cordial reception and a favouraljle predis- position when he did arrive. Hargood had been his fag at school and had carried his warm admiration fur him through the Uni- versity into after life. "In spite of what I have just said, people are also critically predisposed when they meet a person whose praises have been sung before thev have seen him, and i\\e\ then resent his shortcomings with reactionary in- tolerance. But when the reality comes up to, and even surpasses, their expectations, admiration and the o-ratified, nav, sfrateful, sense of hope realised warm them to in- creased friendliness and atfection. THE SURFACE OF THINGS " Now you can understand how this sunny nature, burstino- in u[)()n the perturbed and cloudy liovizon of a provincial society, should cause the mist of discontent to roll away and make the landscape below appear Ijright, peaceful, and cheery. " Shortly after his arrival everybody agreed in praising him ; and the fact that an eno-ineer was a new and mysterious voca- tion to them, which they never associated with social amenities, intensified this sur- prise and satisfaction. But if surprise had summarised their emotions, the effect w^ould not have lasted. The great point was, that they w^ere right in admiring, and that sur- prise was thus gradually raised and merged into its older and nobler sister-emotion — admiration. " It may have been his versatilit}' and social facility, together with his tine appear- ance, which made him popular. But I be- lieve that his influence was derived from 26 RICHARD LEATHERHEAD the o-enuine kindness and ooodness which covered, thoui>h it was well o^rounded in, his firmness, and strength of character. He in- sisted — without manifest insistence — upon only seeing the good in people and things. The faults and scandals, when they had to be seen, appealed to his humourous side, and he wt)uld naturally point to this, causing people to laugh them away, and frequently to lauo-h at themselves. " It was thus that he became essential to the social life of the place. No entertain- ment seemed complete and fully en train if he was not there ; while in the more inti- mate relations of this life, lighter and graver matters were often referred to him, in settling which he never assumed the attitude of a Solomonian judge or ai'l)iter. " There were two points in (xordon whicli went far to favour, if not to produce, the influence which he exercised. The first favourable element was the fact that his 27 THE SURFACE OF THINGS work and career were foreign to tlie class among- which he lived, so that there was no possibility of professional jealousy ; while the fact that, though he was in, he was not of, their set and life, made them overcome all reticence with him, and enable him to oive a neutral and disinterested, though none the less sympathetic smoothing touch to all difficulties. "The other point was of greater impor- tance. Gordon had the quality of a leader of men, which implies not only the power of rapid arrangement, coordination, and sub- ordination of facts and motives, — the power of invention, organisation, and direction, — but a power of self-effacement at certain points. And as this was at the bottom of his success in the more serious work of his career, so it also made him the uncrowned king of this little social world. " His fertile and facile faculty of suo^west- ing all forms of entertainment, of getting out 28 KI CHARD LP:ATHERHEAD of a difficulty and of lidiiiix over a contre- feijqjs was used gracefully, his suggestions were thrown out lightly at the proper time and to the pro})er persons, and then the matter was left in their hands. He never became the social ' leader of cotillons,' the man who is in evidence in small matters. He thus avoided any appeal to petty rivalry and jealousy among the men, while he maintained among all the character of a serious and di^niticd man. " More efficient than all, as underlying thi.' line of conduct, was the fact that it was the outcome of a natural instinct and true im- pulse in a well-balanced and unselfish nature, and did not spring from direct thought or policy. " I hope you can understand how such a man should gain the ear and the heart of people, and should by himself modify the tone of the society among which he lives. "A real jovial tone of camaraderie was 29 s THE SURFACE OF THINGS further intuf^ed into Athenopolis society l^y the entei'tainnients oiven at the head( i uurters ~ -I of the railway itself. " Gordon had grouped around him a number of engineers and assistants of varied types and attainments, but all good, nice fellows. He had made it a primary condition liefore accepting the post that he should have the final decision in the appointment of his subordinates. And he had thus collected a band of excellent Englishmen about him, some of Avhoni were men of real refinement and culture. They formed a compact body, in which, with a warm esprit de corps, Gordon was recognised as the absolute chief. They were all deeply attached to him. " So pronounced was this corporate feeling that on several occasions Gordon had to exert himself to counteract amono- his men a combative spirit of opposition to the rest of Athenopolis society. This was especially 30 RICHARD LEATHERHEAD evoked when they coiLsidered their standing or their claims to rccoonition, above all in the person of their chief, slighted. They winced at seeing Gordon seated l>elo\v the youngest secretary of legation, the result of the official etiquette of the i)lace. " Gordon took a purely common-sense view of such matters, and laughed away their unimportance. He said that in heaven, he had no doubt, Thompson, by thirty years his senior, would certainly sit at the head of the table, not he. But he and they respected Thompson and his grey hair and noble heart none the less for holding the lieutenancy to his captaincy. And so he succeeded in smoothing out the ruffles in their feelings. "Among these men there were several who sang well. Of an evening they would prac- tise glees and comic songs, while a good pianist and violinist provided more serious music. After music, somebody would sit 31 THE SURFACE OF THINGS down at the ])iano, and they would have impromptu dances. They had even given a performance of ' nigger-minstrels ' and a general variety entertainment, which was so successful that, for the l)enetit of a chari- table institution, they had repeated it in })ublic. The reputation of the amusing evenings in Gordon's house had reached the palace ; and the family of the ruling prince were anxious to join the Y)arty. On several occasions they had honoured the engineers with their company, assuring Gordon after- wards that they had rarely enjoyed anything so much ; which was no doubt true, con- sidering their life of slowness and dulness coupled with formality. " A new element was added to the hospi- tality of Gordon's house with the arrival of his mother. As Gordon's personality had always kept the joviality within bounds, the presence of this dear old lady did not modify the tone in this respect. But it 32 RICHARD LEATHERHEAD added a certain touch of domesticity and of kindly grace and dignity ; while the in- ternal arrangements of the household were inspired with a sense of orderliness which no bachelor's home can acquire fully. Her presence was the final death-blow to the gossiping and scandal-mongering tone which had prevailed in the Pre-Gordonian period of Athenopolis. No gossip was heard here : the tripotar/es which were the staple of the former life were banished ; nor did anybody dare to make doulitfully witty and over- gallant alhisions in the presence of this English matron. " Without being of the prudish order, she still had an atmosphere of the quiet and clean English country house about her — a sense of spotless crisp linen, neither loose- tissued homespun or soft serge, nor stiff broadcloth, nor rich velvet or brocades or shiny satin. " Mother and son differed most in that she 33 THE SURFACE OF THINGS was wanting in that keen sense of humour which was so striking a feature in him. Though she had mucli fun in her and could laugh heartily at some good-natured pleasantry or a truly comic situation, her moral and relio^ious bias was so strono; that it precluded the lighter power of ignoring the ever-present ' ought to be ' in favour of the full perception of contrasts, the simple relish of unexpected drolleries in actual life, without any thought of altering and improv- ing, — all of which is essential to humour. He had no doubt inherited his earnestness from her ; but other qualities must have come from his father, or some other an- cestor, perhaps from his early education or later training. "There was one point in which his own sense of humour forsook him — in his regard and sensitiveness for his mother. He could never consider her with the unpreoccupied equanimity essential to humour. He was 34 RICHARD LEATHERHEAD in no way sensitive or self-conscious where he alone Avas concerned. He never ex})ected a slight or an affront, nor did he claijn or crave for special attention. It is this self- conscious cravino- which disturbs the sensi- tive mind, and in its turn produces the pangs of neglect. His natural die- lieved that he had realised the whole scene before it happened. At all events, he felt convinced that he heard in his ear what Leatherhead rapidly whispered to his com- })anion when he had looked up and seen the old lady advance. "'There comes Gordon's old l)()re of a mother, flust leave her to me. You'll see how I'll get rid of her.' 41 THE SURFACE OF THINGS " Gordon followed reluctantly, increasing his pace as he saw his mother near them. " They did not take their eyes from their books, even though they could not possibly pretend any longer not to see her. " When the old lady was close to them, followed by Huntley, the Countess looked up from her Ijook, and, without extending her hand, she bowed and smiled in a stiff and awkward manner. " Mrs. Gordon, who was panting for breath with her rapid advance, was just saying : "'My dear Countess, I have l)rought' — when Leatherhead, who had studiously kept his eyes in his book, at last looked up, bow- ing coldly and slightly, and, with a hard voice, he said slowly and distinctly : " 'The Countess is g-ood enough to o-ive me a Spanish lesson ; ' and with this he again looked in his book and walked on, saying over his shoulder to the Countess, ' We really must not lose the thread, Countess ; come on.' 42 RICHARD LEATHERHEAD " The tone of voice and the whole manner were absolutely witherino; with their delib- erate, cold, strong distinctness and emphasis. " The old lady at last perceived she was de (rop, and, as if struck in the face with the rude blow, stood in helpless misery, while she grew pale. ]Mr. Huntley was quite red in the face and stood in awkward helplessness." " And Gordon " — " He had arrived in time to hear and see Leatherhead's affront to his mother. For the moment, his muscles contracted for a bound forward to knock him down there and then. But the Countess stood between him and the brute, who had sent his slug-shot from the side of his companion while they were already both moving forward, looking over his shoulder past the Countess in the direc- tion of the old lady. " Gordon stood transtixed. What was he to do ? The thoughts rushed rapidly through his brain, though he felt faint ; but, with that THE SURFACE OF THINGS clearness which marked his action through- out, he realised that to make a great scene in public, in the presence of his mother and of other people who were near, was impossible. " Mrs. Gordon had now turned and grew still more distressed when she saw her son and the plight he was in. All other feelings vanished in her anxiety for him. " ' Dear Richard, you are not well,' she said with faltering voice. " ' No, he certainly does not look well,' said Huntley, who was the iirst to regain his self- possession. 'Come on, old fellow,' he uro;ed, takino; his arm, and thus he led away mother and son. " As the three drove home they did not speak a word, and each was Avrapt in his own thoughts, which were seething with the turmoil of the late commotion. " Old Mrs . Gordon cast anxious and sorrow- ful glances at her son. The hot indignation against the brutal oifenders was almost for- 44 RICHARD LEATHERMEAD o-otten in her worry at his distress ; and with it came a sickening sense of self-re- proach, that she had been the cause of all this. She now l^egan to remember his opposition to her advances ; she clearly recalled and realised what merely struck her ear without penetrating to her attention before, namely, the anxious beseeching tone in which he had twice implored her not to go ; and she could hardly refrain from weep- ing with a sense of impotent regret, self- reproach, and self-abasement. The general mood which came to her so often and tilled her iH'ight old age with deep melancholy, which only the constant demonstrative assur- ances of her children could counteract, — the consciousness that she was a hindrance rather than a help to the younger genera- tion, — seemed to enwrap and dull the memory of the detinite sharp pain she had just felt, and to intensify her general mood, causing it to permeate her whole soul. 45 THE SURFACE OF THINGS " Huntley, though at tirst muttering ' The brute ! ' again and again between his teeth, soon fell under the sway of his theoretical bias ; and, as an historian, and one interested in the different customs of countries, he was pursuing in his mind the difi'erence l)etween French and English manners, and was real- isino- how a Frenchman with the same moral nature as Leatherhead would have acted : how his formal politeness, the grace of his bow, and the phrases he w^ould use would take the dull thick thud and the awful stun from the aftront. He reflected how useful training in surface politeness was to replace the refinement and education of the heart, the absence of which, in a coarse English- man, made him blunder into exaggerated cruelty, which made him appear even more heartless than he really was. "Gordon himself sat immovable. Gradu- ally, however, the worried and distressed look of his face seemed to make way for a 46 RICHARD LEATHERHEAD clearer expression, without dispelling the fixed frown. On the contrary, with the increasing light in his expression, the serious and fixed gaze became more set, the lips were more firmly pressed together, and the calmness was one of combative resolution. But the normal colour returned ; and his anxious mother was nuich relieved when, upon reaching their house, he helped her out of the carriage and said in his natural voice, ' Come on, mammie dear ! ' an expression he only used in high good humour, " Without saying anything more, he led her to her room, opened her bedroom door, kissed her, and said: 'Now take a good rest.' He then turned from her and went to his study. "Here he at once sat down delilierately and calmly and wrote a note, which he addressed and sealed quietly, rang for his serv^ant, and said: 'Take this to the British legation at once.' " The note merely expressed his regret that 47 THE SURFACE OF THINGS both he and Mrs. Gordon were unable to keep their engagement at the legation that evening. He o-ave no reason. " He then wrote several more notes begging off the enoaoements he had incurred else- where for the coming days. "The next day his friend Hargood, of the British legation, called and had it out with him ; l)ut he soon found that he wasted his energy in trying to mollify Gordon, who expressed his fixed determination not to go anywhere where he was likely to meet Leatherhead. " Then followed a letter from Leatherhead in which, in his own name and that of the Countess Ribera, he apologised for their unintentional rudeness to Mrs, Gordon — ' They were so much engrossed in their occupation of teaching and learning Spanish that it caused them for once to forget the respect and tteep regard wdiich they ought to feel, and felt, for Mrs. Gordon.' 48 RICHARD LEATHERHEAD '' Gordon's answer to this Avas short and decisive. He had commnnicated, he said, the contents of the letter to Mrs. Gordon, who accepted their apologies. He hinisell", nowever, found it desirable never to know or to meet people who were capable of such actions ; and he regretted to have to reply that he wished to discontinue the ac([uaint- ance with ]Mr. Leatherhead. He was glad to tind that, as the Countess Ribera was not a man, ]\Ir. Leatherhead's writin'ouno; lady for whom he had a passionate affection. It therefore be- came important to him to advance in his career. The agricultural depression had then begun, and his own income had suifered with that of his brother's. All this meant that, whereas he had been able formerly to main- tain a comparatively independent attitude, he now felt the oreat cravino; to o-et on, to make his career. While the boy and the man who, from childhood up, are impressed with the fact that the success of their life depends upon their own exertions, develop the faculty of Nvorkino- and strivino- as a well-grounded trait of their character, pro- ducing ennobling energy and self-repression, 60 RICHARD LEATHERHEAD he felt this as a new impulse and was educa- tionally unprepared for it — he was also a parvenu in the world of striving. His natu- ral clumsiness and awkwardness did not al- low this eao-erness to take more refined chan- nels and methods : and he thus became the pusher, the ' .struglifer ' who was manifestly and obtrusively on the alert for all that might advance his career. Especiall}' in the social world he could not suppress this eager- ness ; and this, combined with the previous more or less latent tendencies in him, con- tributed to make his manner in the world simply disgusting and repulsive. "Thus, the more he desired advancement, the more he wished to marry, the less did his actions lead to success : and it happened that on two or three occasions he was passed over when his juniors received promotion. At the same time, the depression in the rents of his brother's estates having reached a ruinous stage, which had cut down his own 61 THE SURFACE OF THIXGS income still further, he at last decided to exchange, and to transfer himself and his wife (for he could then marry) to the con- sular service. And this downward step in his career tended to develop still further the snohjmr m/iKj which you have so readily re- cognised after meetino- him here. "But I venture to believe that, though only such a man could have acted in just such a manner as he did to Mrs. Gordon, the react- ing ett'ect of this one incident tended to con- firm all the bad elements in him. " Now you see what a moral story this is — " ' So, Willie, let me and you be wipers Of scores out with all men — especially pipers ! ' " And now it is time for me to go. You have been kept up long enough." Maxwell rose and stretched himself; l)ut I was still wrapt in thought, and could not help asking him a further question. " I know your story is ended, and there is nothing more to relate," I said ; " but I 62 RICHARD LEATHERHEAD should like to know what vou think about a further problem which suggests itself to me. If Gordon had realised all the consequences in the life of Leatherhead to which you referred as arising out of his Athenopolis ostracism, what do you think he would have felt, and what would he have done ? " Maxwell sat down ao-ain, leaned his elbows on the table, and thought for a minute or two. "Well, it is hard to tell. Of one thing I am quite certain : that he would have been intensely miserable. I know he would even have gone out of his way to hel}) him with money or in any other way, including much personal sacrilice ; but, as to his action "' — and here he hesitated, with a puzzled expression in his face. And then, suddenly : " Yes, I do know what he would have done. He would have done exactly the same over again — not with any sense of 63 THE SURFACE OF THINGS personal vindit-tiveness ; as, I need hardly tell you, there was nothiiiij of the revengeful 'doing for' Leatherhead in his action. But you see, in the first })lace, Gordon was a man in whom the general, the abstract duties had singular and direct power of moral motive. I know that in several other aspects of his life he repressed the loud claims of self-indulgence purely because of some general abstract idea of duty, which would hardly have affected or stimulated others to action against natural desire. " Moreover, I remember his telling me once, when talking about his work and profession, that nothing gave him more pain and caused him more misery than havin<2: to send away an employee ; that this had been the chief source of pain in the work which he loved. But when he realised that a workman or a superior member of the staff was incompetent, or that his in- fluence was baneful, he sent him away at 64 RICHARD LEATHERHEAD once. 'For, you see,' he said, 'I have realised that, with so hiro-e a number of men, discipline, good tradition, and spirit (^ which mean so reyy nuich) can only be maintained 1>v visorous weeding-out of bad ones. With a bleeding heart I have had to be firm.' " I heard from one of his men that he often paid considerable sums out of his own pocket to help one he had dismissed to tide over the time until he could lind other employment. " Such a man, I I^elievc, would have acted in exactly the same Avay to a Leatherhead, however nmch pain he might have felt at the results of his action." 65 A HOMBURG STORY CAMPBELL was late in going to the Elisabethcnbrunnen Promenade on u fine August morning. It was half-past eight o'clock ; throngs of people were already leavmg the promenade, hastening home in pleasant anticipation of their coffee and rusks, for which their hour and a half s walk had thoroughly prepared them. Some of the ladies were carrying large bunches of beauti- ful roses with which an attentive friend had presented them ; some stopped on their way up at the little tables with pleasant girls l)e- hind them and bought jars of golden honey which they carried in their hands. Health- o-iving Aurora had kissed their brows with her rosy lips in reward of their early rising, and had dispelled from them the furrows which the cares and toils or dissipations of 66 A HOMBURG STORY a London, Paris, or Berlin season hiad drawn in them. Campbell had been touched by the pleasant " good mornino- "' and l)rioht smile of one of these fair-faced honey-girls, and had told her once that he regretted crcatly that he did not care for honey. "Oh, that makes no difference," she had said ; and he got his smile and greeting whenever he passed. He nodded to his many friends as he walked hastily to the Brunnen, l)owed more formally to the Prince of Gallia, who shouted "lazy straggler" at him, and reached the wells y,diere he asked for his glass of " liaJf- warm " waters from one of the girls who move al)oiit ])usily in the circular enclosure of the fountain. He was greeted with a cheery shout from a tall, lanky, boyish-look- ing man of al)()ut thirty, with a keen face and bright eyes in which shrewdness and good nature, seriousness of purpose and childish frivolity, were struggling for the upper hand ; 67 THE SURFACE OF THINGS while all were overborne l)y the predominant clamour of over-strung and uncontrollable nerves. " Remember you are dining with us this evening," he said, as he shook Campbell's hand. " Where and when is it ? " asked Camp- bell. " I must confess T had almost forgotten. Verl)al invitations and our confused meetings bring one into a hopeless state of nuiddle as rei2:ards eng-aoements here." " At the Kurhaus, at seven forty-five. Do be punctual, because we are going to the dance afterwards. Oh, course you are coming to the dance, aren't you? ^ly wife wants you to dance with her, and there will be some pretty girls. I'm sure you can dance as well as any of these fools here. Fellows with brains can do anything they want to do. That's my conviction. Am I not right? You see " — And he was o;oin' social grounds. Even moral and intellectual claims, as well as those of self-interest, in so far as they clash with social fitness, are not to be re- garded. Society as a whole, as a perfect expression of all phases of life, would be the Ijetter and more highly developed for this, and social groups would be found in almost artistic purity and harmony, unsullied by sordid interest, without the dissonance of vulgar ostentation or even moral and charitable forces working out of place. We 80 A HOMBURG STORY have no riofht to bore and disturb our friends, who join together for pure social converse, with unfit people chosen to advance our im- mediate interests, or add to the market-place reputation or notoriety of our salons, or to rid ourselves of the l)urden of ties and duties in other spheres. Nor, to take a definite instance, ought we, in providing a letter of introduction, onlv to consider the comfort and convenience of the person pre- sented, to the exclusion of the thought whether the I'ecipient of the letter will be equally pleased by the new acquaintance and obligation we press upon him. If we act thus we are sinning against the impersonal ideal of a well-organised society, as well as wronffino^ our friends, who, in the tacit understanding of (his ' social contract,' were not called upon to make a sacrifice, but to receive, as well as contribute to, the pleasures of freest and lightest social inter- course. But I nnist not overshoot the mark. 81 THE SURFACE OF THINGS For, as I said before, the 'social' claims, as well as the whole 'social' attitude of mind, may have to recede and to make way for much more weighty and imperious calls of duty in other spheres of life ; and the har- mony and proportion of all these spheres among each other will, before all, have to be maintained and regulated. There is not so much danger of people making grave errors in this direction. " But as soon as the exclusiveness itself becomes an essential feature of a set's con- sistency, as soon as it leads to an aggres- sively or manifestly negative attitude towards those not of the set, and draws its moral (or immoral) sustenance from this consciousness, — it produces snobbishness and develops the cruelty and vulgarity of which you gave me an instance this morning." " Bully ! " shouted Hewson. " How do you define snobbishness?" "Well, that will lead us too far. We 82 A HOMBURG STORY Enoflishmen know somethino; about it. But I Avill give you a mot of one of my friends, which, in the light of what I have been saying, you will understand. He said, in defining snob and prig as correlative terms, ' A snob is one who is manifestly conscious of his social advantao;es or disadvantao-es ; a prig is the same in the intellectual and moral sphere.' But now let us 'return to our muttons ' — I hate not (inishino; a thino- ; and then T want to o;et to niv breakfast. " Now, ' societies ' go in large groups, and therefore cannot trouble about individuals and individual traits. They thus manifest their exclusiveness by larger categories. And in their struggle to find some people upon whose shoulders they can rise to social prominence, at whose cost they can manifest this 'exclusiveness,' they point to recognis- able groups or classes of people. The victims must therefore be readilv distinguishable. Sometimes it will be a profession or occupa- 83 THE SURFACE OF THINGS tion that is thus stig-matised. Formerly it was chiefly a question of birth." This feudal aspect is played out in England, in spite of our having a house of peers. The most convenient victims will be those smaller groups within the nation who are distinguish- able by some quasi-naiionsil characteristic ; and the foreiofn settlements or their descend- ants, as well as the provincials settling in the capital, are most convenient. Scotch, Irish, and German communities are easily fixed upon ; and this will inevitably happen if their success give rise to env3^ Now the Jews are the readiest victims ; and so it comes about. And now I'm going to my breakfast." They had reached the upper end of the promenade, where there are booths of jewel- lers and booksellers. " No ; now, just come down once more. It is very bad to eat your breakfast so soon after the waters. Come up and down once 84 A HOMBURG STORY more and I'll walk home with yon," Hewson urged, and put his arm into Campliell's, pull- ino- him alono-. " You have answered the first question ; how about the second? Why should our American women be worse in this respect than your English ? " " Well, my dear sir, you must forgive me if I speak frankly and freely. I know you are above that petty vanity which is unable to bear even sympathetic and well-founded criticism of national peculiarities." " Fire away I Of course I don't mind it from you ; because you also know and ac- knowledge our good points. It's the fools who know nothino- and then criticise that make me mad,*' Hewson assured him. "Well, you Americans have advanced with astounding rapidity in all s[)heres of civilisation, and you have outstripped the Old World in many important ones, so that, ))y reaction, you are influencing Europe, very often for good. But ' socially ' you are 85 THE SURFACE OF THINGS still in an embryonic stage. With the ex- ception of Boston, where the past few gen- erations created a nucleus of such genuine social groups, organically developed out of similarity of tastes, education, and outer con- ditions of life conducive to pleasant inter- course, you have no centre. Even in Bos- ton there is active now a process of disin- tegration, owing to the sweep of business enterprise and the consequent shifting of wealth, together with a general restlessness of spirit. In your other great centres and in your smaller communities fixed and mature social groups have not had time to solidify, and no genuine grounds of ' social selection ' — I mean those that are not adventitious — have shown themselves and been recog- nised or discovered. The result is that you are constantly putting up new ones that may be swept away next day. Wealth is one lasting element. But you, especially the best among you, all deny that this is the 86 A HOMBURG STORY case. You have many of you borrowed from feudalism — the revolt against the spirit of which was the very soul of your origin as a people — a mock and phantom reflexion of its social criterion ; namely, birth. We have practically given this up in England, and you do not really believe in it. But I have been hugely amused, while residing both in your capitals and in out-of-the-way pro- vincial towns, to be treated to a cross-fire of my hosts at dinner on the peculiarities of their grandfathers and grand-uncles, Joe Evans, of Evanstown, and Governor Smith, of New London, as if they were great histori- cal figures. Now, I can understand a certain enthusiasm and poetic pleasure felt by a man who, in a great English country house, full of architectural and historical interest, shows you about the halls and galleries and points to the Holbeins, Van Dykes, Gainsboroughs, and Reynolds portraits of his ancestors, who are mentioned, not only in the Domesday 87 THE SURFACE OF THINGS Book, l)ut also in Shakespeare. But I can only sympathise Avith this in so far as it gives him a kind of poetic pleasure. For the rest it will depend upon him whether he is a true gentleman, a man of refinement and ;i good fellow, or a cad, a bounder, or a stal)le boy. But, you see, when the humour no lonser struck me, I felt it as a grotesque imperti- nence on the part of some of your country- people to entertain me with allusions to such uninteresting and undistinguished people." "Well," rejoined Hewson, "those people are ignorant and do not know the world — they are provincial, my dear fellow. You have got enough provincials in the country in England, have you not? Exactly. But it really seems more ridiculous in America, and there the people who do that kind of thing are not the ' provincials,' but often socially the most prominent. Now, you know my own family. We are proud of being the pure-blooded Knickerbockers. 88 A HO^IBURG STORY AYell, our wealth comes from the fact that one of our Dutch ancestors — a regular old ruffian he probably was — had some vegeta- ble o;ardenon Manhattan Island, which after- wards ])ecame the centre of the city of Xew York, And the old fellow grew and sold his own }wtatoes and cabbages. My mother's family, one of the richest and most promi- nent, had. as their first American ancestor, a man who — I only heard this the other day — worked for a dollar a day in the humble employ of an eminent Jewish merchant in New York at the end of the last century." "There, you've come nearer our main point," Campbell said more eagerly. " This feelino- aoainst the Jews is orenerallv based upon ignorance of histor}' and the history of the non-bil)lical Jews. They have for many centuries had aniono; them men and families of wealth, distinction, education, and refine- ment, when the ancestors of many Saxons and Xormans, and especially of Knicker- 89 THE SURFACE OF THINGS bockers and Puritans, were following humble (though honourable) pursuits in life which debarred them from the advantages of cult- ure. But the feeling that occasionally crops up against them is intensified by the intro- duction of religious prejudice and intoler- ance, especially in America." " Do you think so ? " Hewson asked doubtingly. " I don't think it has anything to do w^ith religion in the case of this woman-meannes s . " "Yes, it has, to a slight degree," Camp- bell continued, " because your social life is curiously mixed up with religion. In your towns, and especially in the country, your' society, not having the legitimate and solid basis to which I referred, is often entirely grouped round the Church. You have no Established Church as we have in Eno-jand : and therefore religion (which is taken for granted with us) is there made a matter of assertion ; it becomes obtrusive. I was 90 A HOMBURG STORY often astonished, while travelling in America, at being asked by a young lady, ' What church do you l)elong to ? ' as we ask a man, 'What's your club?''' " Oh, that's so, that's true," said Hewson, laughing, and evidently enjoying the remin- iscence. " Well, the churches thus become the social centres for the communities, and they sever the inhabitants, spreading their worldly ramification far beyond social life, even into business. It is one of the advantages of our Established Church that it has freed us from a curse which makes the Church worldly, while it makes society insincere and fortuitous. It works clumsily and is deo-radino- in any case. That has had some- thing to do with a stupid wave of snobl)ish- ness which has occasionally washed your free and enlightened shores. At all events, I am determined to put my foot down about it, and not to allow it to dilute and pollute 91 THE SURFACE OF THINGS the pleasant flow of our Anglo-American life as it has run on for some years here. And now I rusli u[) to my breakfast. Good- by." " Good-bv — thank you I You are a good fellow — one of the rioht sort. I wish " — Campbell did not hear what else his warm-hearted American friend shouted after him, as he entered his apartments for a well-earned breakfast. n THE agitation in which Hewson's unim- portant remark had put Campliell did not subside while he was having his break- fast, nor for some time thereafter. There was nothini>- in this world he loathed more than meanness and pettiness ; and social snobbishness of this kind tilled him with anger and indignation out of all proportion to the triviality of the act. Large natures 92 A HO M BURG STORY are often stirred to irritation and anger by smallness, because of its contradiction to their essential character. A lion })reparing for a fatal contest with another lion will lash his tail and roar with the exultant passion of the fray ; but he will howl with the rage of impotence at the stings of wasps and carrion- flies. Moreover, as a politician, interested in foreiofn aifairs, he had studied and followed the Anti-Semitic movements, these abortions of internal Chauvinism, of Anti-Capitalist parties too cowardly to show their true face, and of religious fanaticism squirting its attenuated venom at the weakest part of the national organism, — a fight which is not fair, open, and evenly matched. He felt thank- fully how impossible it was for such a move- ment to gain a permanent foot-hold in Eng- land, because of the spirit of fsiir play, deeply imbedded in the heart of the English people, the direct inheritance of chivalry, which is 93 THE SURFACE OF THINGS constantly nurtured in all layer.s of British society by the manly tone due to athletics and sport. And the insinuation of this moral, cowardly disease, which turns its malignity against the weakest group of a community, into even a casual stray portion of a temporary English colony like that of Homburg, called forth his pugnacious spirit of opposition. For, in studying the whole of this curious movement in modern times, he had traced its origin and its main source to Germany, whence it had been imported into America, Austria, and even into France ; and he knew how readily such diseases are transmitted and how contagious they might be in their action — even upon socially healthy bodies such as the people of England. For there the general seeds of sinbbishness were constantly sending forth shoots of wild growth in other spheres ; while distress and keen industrial competition were preparing whole classes of Englishmen for the rivalry and Oi A HOMBURG STORY envy which lend themselves to general in- tolerance and social persecution. Finallv, he remembered the storv which ^Maxwell had told him of the eno-ineer Gor- don and Gordon's theory of social responsi- bility ; and his perturbation gave way to decision when he had determined to fisfht these evil little impish powers, with pretty, soft, smiling faces and Paris dresses, in an open and manly way. At all events, he felt that he would lose in his own self- respect if he tacitly acquiesced or took part in what was so repulsive to his whole nature. With this determination, after writing a few letters, he sallied forth on a morning's walk up the Hardwald, and at half-past twelve turned his steps towards Parker's Hotel, where he had been invited to a lunch- eon party by Lady Xorthmeath, a kind- hearted friend of his, best of hostesses, who had the art of collecting- interestins: THE SURFACE OF THINGS people and always bringing the right ones together. Campbell had avoided lunching at Park- er's, though the cooking was excellent, be- cause, being a personal friend of the Prince of Gallia, who resided there, and generally lunched on the terrace, he never wished to put himself in the way of His Royal High- ness, and because he particularly disliked the idea of seeing people scramble for tables in the same place where the royal visitor had his luncheon. He found the table of his hostess almost adjoining that of the Prince, and most of her guests had already assembled. They were all English, with the exception of one very pretty and refined American lady and a Swedish diplomat and his wife. Her party also included a younger member of the royal family. The Prince, at the adjoining table, nodded in a friendly manner to Campbell ; while his own party were effusive in their 96 A HOMBURG STORY o^reetinffs. He was evidently a favourite with all. Lane, one of the promoters of the dance, was also of the party. The conversation flowed ag^reeablv in small groups, but occasionally it became general, when, by a curious wave of intelligent in- stinct, everybody stopped to listen to what was well put and worth hearing. Campbell was waiting for the mention of the dance ; but the subject was not broached, so felt that he must lead up to it. "I suppose," he asked his hostess, "you have been very gav these last few weeks? " "Oh, very gay I " she replied. "It has been one of the pleasantest seasons I have had here. There are a great many nice people and very few olijectionable ones ; no gossip, no (ripofar/efi, and a universal tone of good fellowship and good nature." "lam glad to hear that. I hope it has not all been exhausted, now that I've come." 97 THE SUEFACE OF THINGS " Oh, dear, no ! " said Lady Northmeath ; " on the contrary, it seems growing. And you bring a new fund of pleasantness with you in your own person. Everybody was asking why you were not here, and fearing you might miss this season. But I knew you were going to play in the lawn-tennis tournament. Tt will be very good this year : the English and the American champions are coming." "I'm not going to compete seriously. My day has gone by. And then the golf they have here now will draw me away from the tennis. I don't think that a man is much good at very active games after he has reached thirty." The hostess demurred to this statement and appealed to other members of the party, and the conversation Ijecame general on the question whether a man could retain his agility at games after thirty. Grace, the cricketer, and the Cumberland wrestlers, 98 A HO M BURG STORY were cited as ,showin»' that middle aae was not fatal to excellence in games. It was maintained by some that it was merely because men, as a rule, became engrossed in other occupations and duties which de- barred them from the needed amount of practice that there were fewer prominent athletes of maturer age. The discussion was an interesting one, but Campbell felt that the luncheon was drawing to a close, and he had not succeeded in bringing the dance on to the faj)fs. He began nervously to fear that the table-cloth would be removed, and his topic would be " laid on the table." He tried a more direct tack, and asked, not about the day amusements, but aliout the evenings. By a curious perversity only the past evenings were mentioned, and he could not direct the talk into the desired channels. The waiters were already asking each 99 THE SURFACE OF THINGS ffuest whether he would take coffee and liqueurs, which most refused, as they were taking the waters, when Lane suddenly said : " Of course you'll come to our subscription dance at the Kursaal this evening, Camp- bell ; I've got a ticket for you." It was Campbell's only chance. But at first his expectancy and the disappointment at not bringing the topic up sooner confused his whole clear and telling plan of mention- ing the subject in an impressively cool and delicate manner. So he blushed slisfhtlv and hesitated as he said : " I really am afraid I cannot go. I've de- termined " — Here he hesitated again. "All right, old fellow," said Lane; ''we won't press you to tell us what engagement is preventing you ; we won't ask her name." This made Campbell feel like a fool and quite angry at the turn Lane's talk had taken. But, above all, he was angry with himself for being so little master of himself 100 A HOMBURG STORY and of the diplomatic art of arranging statements in telling sequence. But his annoyance was really most ser- viceable to his cause, as the chaff which was beo-inninof to ])e directed at him, and his irritation which he could not hide, were arresting the attention of the jiarty. And as he felt unable to divert the current of light banter, he at last burst forth in an altered tone, while the whole party were listening : "Look here, Lane, be serious. I mean what I say when I absolutely refuse to have anything to do with your dance, and I don't care who knows my reasons. You may think me a prig; but T have what at the University we called 'conscientious scruples,' and I have nothino; to say to an entertain- ment threatening to mar the pleasant spirit of our life here, which you say has prevailed this year also. I was told this morning that there was a dead set made against three nice 101 THE SUEFACE OF THINGS ladies, and that tickets were refused them for this dance, — the reason being simply that they were Jewesses. Now, T have no right to dictate to anybody whom he is to ask or not ; nor do I think that my presence or absence will make any difference to any- body ; but if this is true I shall certainly have nothino- to do with the dance and shan't go "I really know nothing about this, Camp- bell ; it is (juite new to me," Lane said seriously. " There are several of us stewards, some of whom T don't know : and the tickets are given in a casual manner. But T shall inquire into this. I also hate that kind of snobbery." As the party broke up and Campbell left them, he felt some compunction. For a serious, if not a painful, tone prevailed and had dissipated the high spirits with which they sat down to luncheon. Still, he felt it was worth the sacrifice. 102 A HOMBURG STORY III IT was a very jovial party dining on the terrace of the Kursaal that evening. There were the Hewsons, and four other Americans, namely, the military attache of the Paris Embassy with his wife and daugh- ter, and a pretty widow, who, like all pretty American widows, was supposed to have millions, but was a well-bred and cheery person with frank and simple manners. Be- sides these and Campbell, there was Lord Hampton, a school and college friend of Campbell's, and Easton the traveller, an ad- mirable raconteur, most imperturbable in his good humour and high spirits, the soul of every jolly party. The pleasant lightness of the conversation at their table was, as it were, set in the uni- versal good humour which seemed to reign at all the tables with similar dinner-parties about them, l)eo;innino; with that of the 103 THE SURFACE OF THINGS Prince of Gallia at the end. The clatter of knives and forks and olasses, with a run- nino^ accompaniment of low or harsh chatter which makes the indoor table d'hotes o-et on one's nerves, were here not noticeable ; the accompaniment being, in this case, the music of the excellent band which was playing in the Kiosque below. Hundreds of well-dressed people were walking to and fro on the lower terrace and about the music-stand ; while the real lovers of music were seated on the chairs placed before the orchestra. Shortly after nine, when the dinner was over, the party rose and began to join the promenaders, walking up and down before the music. " You are comino; to dance with me later on?" Mrs. flewson, the finest dancer, the most graceful and best dressed woman of Homburg, asked Campbell, who was walk- ing with her and her husband. 104 A HOMBURG STORY " I am afraid " — Campljell was just say- ing, when Hewson cut in hurriedly with — " Oh, I forgot to tell you. It is all right a])Out that affair I told you of this mornino- ; the cards were sent to them before dinner." " Hang it all," Campbell said impatiently, " why did you not tell me that before. Now, T haven't got a ticket, and I want so much to dance with Mrs, Hewson. I feel just in the mood for a good dance." . He really felt exultant. Perhaps it was the pretty woman at his side, and the pleasant dinner, and the music, and the atmosphere of the whole place. But, no doubt, there was some exultation at what he thought must probably be his victory. " You can o-et a ticket at once from one of those people. You know them all. I have seen one or two of them on the terrace just now." " All right," Campbell said impatiently as he left them, " Til see." 105 THE SURFACE OF THINGS He walked up and down searching for one of his friends who could i^et him a ticket, when tlie old Duko of Oxford passed with a lady and several men, and responded to his bow by shoutino- : "And how is the oreat Radical statesman ? " They shook hands and the Duke asked him what lady he was lookino- for so intently. Campbell told him that he was looking for some one to ""et him a ticket for the dance. "Oh, stay with us," said the Duke, "we are all groing and you can come in with us. We shall only walk here for a little while longer, and then we join the dancers." So it was that Campbell entered the ball- room on the upper floor of the Kurhaus — the splendid edifice which, like the sister build- ings at Baden-Baden and Wiesbaden, could only be erected out of the proceeds of years of gambling — in the company of the Duke of Oxford. They were given seats together near tlie 106 A HOMBURG STORY entrance. The dancing had ah'eady begun, and Campbell sat with the royal party watch- ins: the dancers. Presently he thought that he might now leave the distinguished group and dance himself. He was just about to ask Mrs. Hewson for a dance when he perceived a certain movement among a group of American ladies he was just passing, and heard them say, " There they are." Following the direction in which they were lookino- he saw three ladies who had just entered the ball-room, and were stand- ins; too-ether, somewhat isolated from the crowd near the door. One of them seemed older, and was probably a married woman ; the two others were evidently unmarried vouno;er sisters. They were tall and rather •uninteresting in their looks. All three had dark hair and rather long aquiline noses. He was wondering, as he examined them care- fully, whether, if he had known nothing before, he would have classified them as 107 THE SURFACE OF THINGS Semitic, English-Xorman in race, French, Italian, or Spanish. He realised, as he had so often done, how })uerile it was to attempt seriously to establish ethnoloo-ical distinc- tions within the confused mixture of races to be found in all European peoples. They were dressed simply and without much chic. But he was irritated by the fact that they should each of them have worn such splendid and costly jewels, some of them bearing distinctly the character of old heirlooms, — which, no doubt, they had bought. He felt suffused by a glow of anger that they should have come at all, after the tardy invitation had almost been extracted by force. And a certain dignity and marked assurance in their demeanour as they stood there in their isolated position, with so many people staring at them, as if they were accustomed or hardened to that kind of thing, angered him all the more. Under 108 A HOMBURG STORY other circumstances he would have admired the pluck and character in their demeanour. Still, after the tir.st Inirst of protest and irritation, he returned to his first mood of stolid purpose: — the more they were shunned, the more was it incumbent upon him to help them. And so, as at that moment he saw his friend Lord Hampton bow formally to them, without, however, advancing, he hastily walked up to him and said : '' Hampton, I want you to do me a favour." "With all mv heart, mv dear bov," said Lord Hampton cheerfully, '' if it is anything within my power." " I want you to introduce me to those three ladies you have just been bowing to, and at once." Campbell spoke eagerly, and was alreadv seizino; his friend bv the arm to dras him on. "But, mv dear fellow, I hardlv know them 109 THE SURFACE OF THINGS and " — Lord Hampton seemed embar- rassed, almost displeased. He looked at his friend with a puzzled expression. The doubt which flashed through his mind was so thoroughly out of keeping with what years of friendship, from childhood upwards, had taught him of Campbell's character, that he at once dispelled it. Campbell had interrupted him and had said rapidly with growing eagerness : " I have never asked you for a favour, Hampton, and this is so small a matter ; but, fy liens.'' So Lord Hampton shrugged his shoulder and advanced to the three ladies, Campbell following him, again bowed formally, whis- pered a few Avords to them, and ]\v the time Campbell had drawn up he had mentioned his name to them in a perfunctory manner, which displayed no pleasure or cordiality, — and the presentation was over. Lord Hampton at once withdrew, and Campbell, having asked the youngest of the three for 110 A HOMBURG STORY a dance, which she accorded, he also walked off with his partner. Campbell was not in the best mood or temper. He was irritated with the manner in which his friend had met his request, with his friend himself, and with himself for having asked it. But he rapidly withdrew his anger from himself and cast it in his heart at the young lady, whom he made responsible for the ordeal he was undergoing. Perhaps there was still lurkincr behind his irritation a certain priggish self-satisfaction in the increased amount of difficulties and im])edi- ments, of personal sacrifice, which his un- selfish acting up to principle brought with it — so that it was rapidly approaching the heiohts of heroic action. His unfavourable impression of her was not diminished by her manner towards him. It was not merely simple and direct, but showed a self-possession and coolness, which, under the circumstances, approached 111 THE SURFACE OF THINGS effrontery. She looked him straight in the eyes in a scrutinising manner and cross- questioned him. She paid no heed to his questions, which he had carefully, with rare tact, arranged so as in no way to wound her ; and the simple, almost humble tone (quite foreign to him with people of any kind) which he had considerately forced himself to adopt, was, as it were, taken for granted, and led, he indignantly felt convinced, to a complete misconception of his whole per- sonality. He was rapidly beginning to feel like a fool, and did not like her the more for feeling thus. Meanwhile she plied him with questions, which, as soon as answered by him, were, with a nod of acceptance, dropped to make room for new ones. What disgusted him most was the low, vulgar niveau of these questions. They were all personal inquiries concerning the people they saw there. She would put up her long eyeglasses and stare 112 A HOMBURG STORY ut this lady and that man and intjuirr who they were, where they came from, pass them over with a general remark, — that they were good looking or not, well dressed or not. And then she would cap the climax by such brutal questions as " She is very rich, is she not ? " or " They are great people in their country, are they?" "This is almost the caricature of Hebrew Characteristics," Camp- bell said to himself. All she said, moreover, was couched in miserable Enolish, with a stroma German accent ; words not only mispronounced, but misplaced and tortured out of all form and pro})ortion of meaning ; slang expressions made coarse by their juxtaposition to a Avord only used in classical literature. Camp1)ell, Avho had a sensitive ear and a most delicate a})preciati()n of the niceties and elegances of the Enolish lano-uao-e, suf- fered acute pain as he heard it tortured with cruel insensibility. 113 THE SURFACE OF THINGS But the cliuiax of his suffering, which had already produced an intense state of irrita- tion, was reached when he began to dance. Here, too, was the same impertinent wil- fulness which marked her whole personality. She had assured him that she could dance the trois-tenvps, the Boston, as she called it ; but the rhythm of her waltz was still the deux-temps. In fact, there was no rhythm at all, and no time. She could not have had an ear for music. Campbell had made a paraphrase of the French saying, "Dans Va7nour il y a toujours un qui aime et T autre qui se laisse aimer ^^'' maintaining that it was all right in such cases if it was the better and stronger who was the active one ; and he especially applied this to a couple dancing. In spite of her incompetence she still insisted upon leading him, who was known to be, and was, an excellent dancer. The result was that they were bobbing about out 114 A HOMBURG STORY of time and bum})ing against every other couple ; until Campbell, red in the face with real anger and not with the exertion, cauo-ht her firmly round the waist and pressed her wrist so tightly with his other hand that it must have pained her, and, with a suppressed snort or grunt, whirled her round after his own fashion, forcing her into his own steps and guiding her by sheer muscular com- pulsion. AVhen he had triumphantly wheeled her into his step, and she just had whispered, " What a good dancer you are I ■' he reached the place where her sisters were standing, and, w^ithout further ceremony, he deposited her there, bowed, and walked away, red in the face and boiling" with rage. This frame of mind could not even be dis- pelled by a dance with Mrs. Plewson, who was a perfect dancer and with whom he loved to waltz. It almost seemed as if he had been contaminated by his previous bad dancing 115 THE SURFACE OF THINGS company. Mrs. Hewson remarked the change and said : " Why, you are dancing badly to-night. I don't recognise you. You are rough, heavy, and coarse in your move- ments. I really do not recognise you." " Oh, I am out of sorts, and dancing is, like the practice of every art, expressive of personality and even of moods. Forgive me for this evenino^. We'll have a o-ood one some other day." And with this he left her and the ball- room, and sulkily went home to ])ed. IV ON the afternoon of the next day, Camp- bell Avas bicycling steadily up-hill on his way to the Saalburg. It was a very still pull, a continuous ascent ; but the prospect of a delightful coast the whole way back made him forijet the strain. He had got to the end of the wide road planted Avith trees 116 A IIOMKURG STORY which merofes into a narrow avenue cut through the Avoods, and half-way through this, when he saw a young lady immediately in fi-ont of him dismount from her bicycle in haste and l)egin a careful examination of the hind wheel. As he drew up he noticed a gesture of impotent despair, and he could clearly see the expression of distress on a face that at once arrested his attention. For the time, however, the anxiety expressed in her countenance directed his eyes from her face wholly towards the cause of her distress. He dismounted, raised his cap, and said : " I fear you have had an accident. Can 1 ] )e of any service to you ? " "Thank you, I really do not wish to trouble and detain you. T fear I have punc- tured my tire. There will probaldy be some cab passing which will take me home." " I doubt whether vou w^ill meet anv dis- encased cab here or for some distance on. You nuist allow me to help you. T know 117 THE SURFACE OF THINGS how to deal with bicycles, and if it is only a punctured tire I can repair that. I have the materials in my case." " Oh, it would be very kind of you," she said in a more joyful tone, the anxiety havino; entirely vanished from her voice and face. " But I really do not wish to delay you and spoil 3'our ride." But he had already kneeled down, and began in a workmanlike way to examine the machine. He was so full of the task before him that he almost forgot the young lady, and only thought of her as an assistant worker, giving her orders to hold the machine this way or that, while he tested it. He began to pump the back tire, which had been depleted. " Yes," he said, " there is a puncture here, thouoh I can't find it. I can make it hold fairly well ; and if you pump once or twice you can get back to Homburg. Where were you bound for ? " 118 A HOMBURG STORY "I was ffoino- up to the Saal])urff," she said. " My people drove on with their bicycles in the trap, to have tea there and then to coast back. But I was so proud that, in spite of their warnings as to the stitFness of the pull, I determined to cycle all the way up. It appeared to me a feeble thing to have yourself driven the whole way and then to ride back. You would probably call it unsportsmanlike," she added. " I have the same feeling," he said, smil- ing ; and now he forgot the bicycle and the punctured tire and looked straight into the lovely face before him, which exercised a fascination, disturbing and calming at once, such as he had never experienced before. Perhaps it was the up-hill exertion or his bending-down over the wheel, but there was a flutter in the region of his heart. " Yes, I have the same feeling. In my Alpine climbing days I would not drive the moment I had set foot in Switzerland, and 119 THE SURFACE OF THINGS used to sneer at the people who drove up to the foot of the mountain and then began their clinil). But I'll tell you the ])cst thino' to do with the l)icycle. I am ])ound for the Saalburg, too. The tire will hold until we get to the end of this avenue, and then begins a steep ascent to the right, where even I, who have 'sportsmanlike' feelings, intended to dismount and to push the ma- chine up-hill. Then I'll help you up the hill with your machine. At the Saalburg there will ])e time and all facilities for re- pairing the puncture." She gratefully agreed to this on condition that he would allow her to push her own machine. And so they started otf. Her bicycle held out while she was riding it and for some distance while they were pushing their machines up-hill through the woods. Caiupltfll admii'ed the iirm and graceful w;ilk of lliis slim figure, elastic and strong, 120 A HO M BURG STORY the way she phinted her thin foot tirnily on the oTound, and the erectness of her carriaoc. She wore a bhick short skirt reaching to her ankles, simple in its art, the seams sho wing- outside ; it had the charaetev of a riding- habit. A white blouse, the sleeves not too slavishly following the fashion in exaggerated width. A high man's collar and a l)right red tie, the only touch of colour in her cos- tume, gave her a ])oyish appearance ; while a black toque, with a somewhat defiant straio^ht l)lack feather rising l)ack wards and still upwards, Avas placed slightly to the side, and gave a l)risk and energetic, though not forward turn to the head. But the predomi- nant character of the face was seriousness. The road was not as good as it had hitherto been, and the ascent was steep. Campl)ell felt the severity of the exertion in pushing the machine up. He noticed that she was toiling hard, Init, bracing herself up and smiling, she endeavoured to hide her 121 THE SURFACE OF THINGS effort . At the same time he noticed that the back tire had ap^ain become depleted, and that her machine was bumping over the road. And when he heard the trickling of water in the woods on his right hand, whither a path seemed to lead, he gladly in- tervened and said : " This will really not do. You may cut the rim of your tire, should you mount it, and spoil the whole machine. ' A stitch in time/ you know. I hear the trickling of a spring close by here. I am sure this path leads there." The young lady was evidently glad to halt. As she stood leaning on her wheel, the courageous, almost defiant expression had left her, and her voice had a soft tremor as of a child in distress as she said : " If you really think you can repair it, and it does not delav vou too long, I should be most o-rateful if vou would do it." He led the way along the narrow path 122 A HOMBURG STORY made soft and spring}' hy dry pine needles, and started with surprise and delight as he came upon a little clearing in the woods on the hillside, with a pretty stream trickling over stones and pebbles, rapidly down the hill from a spring welling out from the rocks overhung with boughs. It must have been known as a fountain with good water, for, on a stone bv the side, stood a bright tin cup, carefully kept clean ])y the workmen in the woods. But what riveted his g-aze was the vast, clear, and brilliantlv lio'hted scene before him and at his feet, which stretched for miles in the distance, lost at last in the deep blue haze of the Taunus hills rising be- yond the plain. As he stepped out of the dark shade of the woods to the verge of all this expanse of light, his eyes were foirly dazzled by the brilliant contrast. And there, in the middle distance, gladly and comfortably settled on its slighter elevation, lay Homburg, drinking in the light, and 123 THE SURFACE OF THINGS shedding back twinkles of sunshine from its blinking windows and roofs, with the tower of its old castle no lono-er frowninir in its stolid feudal pride of a vanished sover- eignty, but smiling down in aged l)enignity upon the gay folly of its modern flitting world of fjishion. For the moment he had forgotten the woods and the stream, his fair companion and the purpose of their quest. And when he turned, his eyes could not at once discern her. He could only see a shadowed outline rising against the dark background of foli- age, the white mass of the blouse, and the l)right red speck of the tie. But as his eyes ao-ain became accustomed to the softer lio^ht of the woods, the sight before him, compact and limited in scope, harmonized into a real picture which held his eye more completely and with a thrill more ])enetrating than the disttmt and extended valley bathed in sun- light. 124 A HOMBURG STORY By the moss-covered rock, brown, grey, and bluish, Avith its trickling, silvery stream and the overhanging boughs of deep and bright oreen, stood the oirl, erect, but for a sliffht forward inclination of the head. She mioiit hiLve been a Hio-hlaiid tiueen. But the ftice, the face, riveted his attention. The hair in thick waves framed the delicate features heavily, so that it a]:)peared almost too great a weight for them to bear. It was dark brown, with a reddish-aolden sheen. And the eyes, with the arched dark l)rows, seemed to reflect briohtly and vet softlv the liij:ht of the view she was lookino; ui)on. The scene before her seemed to have come upon her as in a trance ; she gazed fixedly ; and then the tension of her Avhole countenance seemed to relax and a soft smile stole over the face as her lips parted and she whispered in a deep tone : " How lovely this is ! " Still she continued to gaze, but her eyes moved about to the various points of the landscape. 125 THE SURFACE OF THINGS Campbell, who feared that she might notice his stare, tried to follow the direction of her look towards the happy scene before them ; but his eyes would return to her and drink in their fill of the loveliness there. Suddenly she turned to him and noticed his stare. A rapid blush came over her cheeks ; she looked awa}', and stepped back. Campbell felt that he had spoilt her mood, and, by a correct divination, he altered his manner and voice, and said lightly in a l)usinesslike tone : " It is very beautiful ; but we must not waste our time. We have got a lot of work before us." And with that he began to move about, pulling her bicycle with him, and resting it beside the pool, l:»elow the fountain. Then, taking off his coat and rolling up the sleeves of his white flannel shirt, so that his strong, sinewy arms could work freely, he began to take off the tire. All the while, to counter- 126 A HOMBURG STORY act the impression his stare had made, he was talking in a quiet workmanlike manner. " We have quite a job before us. And you must help me. Don't mind if I bully you and order you about. We are fellow- workmen now, and you are my assistant." And looking up smilingly, he added, in a commanding tone : " Come on, now. Don't stand about ! Hold this, while I unscrew the valve." She gave a quick start and smiled. But she did not at once enter into his tone and manner of brisk camaraderie, and said : " Oh, I am so grateful to you, and so very sorry for all the trouble I am giving you. I am keeping you from your ride, which I have spoilt; as it is " — " Now, please first hold this, and then listen to me," he said with a dash of scoldino- in his voice. And while she was bending down to hold the machine, he said seriously : 127 THE SURFACE OF THINGS "I beg you not to mention 'gratitude' or ' trouble ' Jiny more. In tiie iirst place, I am assured that you are grateful to chance which has brought me to help you, and to me for doing her behest. Meanwhile I am Avell })leascd with having been able to be of some service to a lady, to have happened upon this lovely spot I never knew of, to have met you, to be here, and so on. It is not grateful or graceful not to accept a favour simply and to l)urden the hienfaiteur with the weight of painful obligation cast from the recipient's shoulders, and to retard the advance of acquaintance or friendship. It impedes progress or renders friendly action quite impossible." She smiled and looked u}) at* him, while she said with serious emphasis : " You are quite right. I have often felt that. I shall not mention it again. i\.nd I am pleased to have met you." "By the way," he yHit in, "in Germany 128 A HOMBURG STORY people introduce themselves. It is not a bad i)lan. At all events I should like you to know me. My name is Campbell. I am an Englishman, a member of Parliament." " My name is Lewson. I am an Ameri- can," she answered in the same tone. Meanwhile they chatted as they worked on. Campbell took care to keep his eyes on his w^ork and not to look at her. He felt that her simple, bri<«ht, and cheerful talk would be marred if he trusted himself to look up in her eyes. He had unscrewed the valve, and ])assiua- the tire-lifter under the wire he forced it round and took out the inner tube. She watched all his movements with the greatest attention ; and he explained what he was doing as he proceeded, giving her a lesson in repairing punctures. There was quite a joyful tone ])etween them ; something of the nature of children who are busily engaged in some elaborate 129 THE SURFACE OF THINGS construction, the little sister following the brother al)out as he works on l)iisily. She had reji'ained all her naturalness and Avas enjoying it fully, forgetful of the accident and of the fact that the man with "svhoni she was thus alone in the woods had been an utter stranger to her less than an hour ago. But he had not regained his full self- possession ; he was preoccupied while he was apparently absorbed in his work, and his jaunty air of command would have had to a careful observer a ring of insincerity ; it was forced. ^Moreover, the same observer would have been struck by the fact that, while her eyes wandered freely from the object he was touchinir and from his hands to his face, he kept his eyes fixed upon the work, more than was in reality needed, and did not once look into her face. He kept this up during the process of taking out the inner tube and examining it to discover the puncture. AVhen even a 130 A HOMBURG STORY minute examination did not lead to its detec- tion, he proceeded to the next expedient of putting the inner tube in the water. They returned to the fountain, which they had left to have a better lisht. He did not even look into her face when they agreed to have a drink of the clear spring Avater ; and he gave her a cup, which she drained with keen enjoyment, he drinking after her. But, when holdins: the tube carefullv in the water with Ijoth hands, and stretchins: it as he passed it on to discover the bubble from the hole of the puncture, she crouched near him and })eered eagerly into the pool, he at tirst gazed at her image reflected in the clear water, her black feather nodding on the ruffled surface, and then the eyes held his own. They were of a l)luish green, wonderfulh' brio-ht, but their brio-htness was softened and sul)dued by the dark brows and lashes, and the serious, almost sad ex- pression of the whole face seen thus in the 131 THE SURFACE OF THINGS water over which they were l)ending filled him with a mysterious thrill which was almost uncanny. He could restrain himself no longer, and stopped passing the tube ; the blood was all in his head and he felt giddy. As he looked up, she also raised her head and he looked straight into her eyes, the deep and yet limpid beauty of which the image in the water had but feebly reflected. He could not command his voice, and there was some emotion in its ring as he (juoted in German : '^'Halh zog sie il/ii, /Ktlb sav^' er kin". . . She at once seized upon his quotation from Goethe's " Der Fischer,"' and the rapid ])lush having made way for a slight expres- sion of coquetry, she said : " No ! no dangerous nixie ; but, as I saw my toque and waving feather in the water just now, it reminded me of a mild and attenuated Mephistopheles." 132 A HOMBURG STORY He feared the heavier wave of sentiment which threatened to gain possession of him, and thus irretrievably spoil the pleasant tone of his new conn-adeship ; and so he said with forced lightness : " If I were Faust there would be no need of his producing a Gretchcn." She evidently did not appreciate the taste of this remark, and he at once added : " Now we must push on our work. We must find that wicked little puncture." " Please let me try ; and show me how to do it," she said eagerly, and was the little sister ao;ain. " It looks so fascinating." And so, having bared her white arms, she thrust them into the clear pool under the overhano-ino; bouo;hs. lie touched her hands and felt a warm thrill shooting to his heart, though the water was cold. As she stretched the tube piece by piece soon there was a tiny crystalline air-bubble rising to the surface. 13:^ THE SURFACE OF THINGS " Stop there,*' he cried, and she started as he held her hand. " There is the little culprit." He had found the puncture, and soon had pasted the strip of rulilior over it. She now watched him as he put the tube back and held the machine, while he pumped the air in again. Tlien he dried her hands and his with his handkerchief, put on his coat, and they were ready to start. " Oh, I must have one more look," she said, as they were turning to leave. And she stept forward into the l)riglit sunlight and o-azed over the lovely scene ao-ain. He stood close beside her and tliey both joined in their rapture over one of nature's lovely scenes. Contemplation of beauty in nature or art is a common ground of disinterested and elevating pleasure, an unf^iiling source of happiness which will always bind the hearts of men together in peace and good- will, if not. in love. 134 A HOMBURG STORY And then they returned to the main road and resumed their ascent, chatting quietly and naturally as if they were old friends. The seclusion and uncommonness of the spot they had left seemed almost to have given -an intimacy and depth to their ac- quaintanceship which hours along the high- road or in the streets and drawing-rooms of a town could not have yielded. When they returned to the road it seemed as if a chapter in a stor}^ had been completed ; as if they had met a^ain after some absence, — like people who had known each other be- fore. And when they reached the top of the hill and came in view of the Saalburg and of two ladies who were evidently awaiting them, and were lookino- anxiously for their sister, the young lady could hardly realise that Campbell was but a chance accquainta'nce met but an hour ago. And as she introduced him to her sisters, she felt some embarrass- 135 THE SURFACE OF THINGS nient as to how she could account for the iut'oi-niul unci ahnost intimate footin<>; upon which she felt herself with him. She was herself chilled by the reserve with which they received him. Though, after her hasty account of what had hap- pened and what he had done, they thanked him for his kindness, their manner struck her as forbidding and prudish. She did not realise that, as a rule, she was the more re- served of the three. Campbell liked the other ladies. He at once felt that they were womedi of high breeding and refinement. The eldest, Mrs. Morton, was married, the other, the youngest sister of the three, was called Ethel by them. His own friend's name was Margaret. But their manner warmed to him under the charm of his own fresh cheerfulness, which never would l)rook reserve in the people who pleased him, as it at once disarmed affectation or haughtiness, and 136 A HOMBURG STORY made them ridiculous. This buo^^ancy of spirit and natural grace and good nature of manner no doubt came from his Irish mother. Humour is the unfailing antidote to })ride. He proposed that they should order their tea to be ready in half an hour, and that, meanwhile, they should inspect the Roman camp, of which there was so fine a specimen near. He naturally took the ai'ranoements in his hands, and they as naturally seemed to accept his leadership. The last vestio-es of reserve seemed to vanish from the tAvo sisters, when he began to show them over this interesting camp in the woods. His accurate knowledo-e and his clear and precise diction gave him authority and evoked respect ; and so they all three grouped round him when he l»egan to point out and to describe the remains, and, with direct and graphic touches, to restore to life the past which had left such clear footprints on those northern Iiills. 137 THE SURFACE OF THINGS The questions they asked, on the rare occasions when they interrupted his account, were pertinent and intelligent, and helped him to give a continuous story of the ancient Roman settlement. They were not of that exasperating order which shows a mis- placed curiosity for unessential or unimpor- tant things, or vapid and senseless inter- ruptions made to hide a want of interest or to display sham knowledge. He pointed out to them the shops of the traders before the Porta Decumana, who gathered there from all parts of the ancient world to profit by the legions in the camp. Besides these traders, the inhal)itants of the adjoining country, attracted by the protection and security of the spot, swelled the number of people outside the forti- fications ; veterans from the legions and companies also settled there, and thus the cariahce grew into villages ; nay, towns. He pointed in the direction of the great city 138 A HOMBURG STORY Mayence, not many miles otF, which had thus grown up out of a Roman camp, like Strassburg, Vienna, and many other famous modern cities. He led them into the gate flanked by its towers and walls, with the fossa surroundino- them ; and from a hioher point, with the help of sketches which he rapidly drew on the back of a letter he took from his pocket, he showed them the plan of the whole camp : with the Prfetorium and Quoestorium, the drill grounds, Ijaths, sanct- uary, and bases of statues (even in this lonely camp) ; the Porta Prretoria, the Porta Principalis dextra and sinistra, and the distant confines of the settlement visible throuo;h cuttings in the woods. Then he pointed to the Roman road, stretching -on for miles and joining the vast system of roads connecting, for commercial and mili- tary purposes, the whole of the European continent under Roman sway, nearly two thousand years ago. 139 THE SURFACE OF THINGS And then he grew eloquent, and with singuhir power he recalled to life the past of this lonely camp in the north of Germany. He gave a rapid sketch in broad lines of the Roman history and policy of these days ; and then, in the person of a Roman officer there commanding, he described the orders and duties and tasks of each day. Finally, to give real life to his picture, he drew an analogy between modern Great Britain and ancient Rome and between the pioneer work of the settlers and fiohters in South Africa, whose camps in the distant woods corre- sponded to this Roman camp, and the Roman legions of old. "But Rome," he ended, "was supreme, and there were no rivals of equal strength to interfere, as the other European powers oppose our advance. On the other hand, there was then no effective tribunal of public morality, no spiritual con- science of nations, of which we all have to take account in modern times, — thank God, 140 A HOMBURG STORY a real power Avith us, unknown to the ancient world, and to which we Englishmen, I hope, will always pay due tril)ute, though we shall insist upon advancing, unchecked l)y any power, because we know that our advance always means the common advance of civili- sation." He had really spoken these last words with a feiwour which carried him away ; while the ladies Avere listening to him in rapt and breathless attention. He stopped suddenly and altered his tone as he said softly : " Why, I have been carried away into a political speech at the hustings, and have drifted back into my own 'shop,' from which I apparently cannot free myself. But now we had better return to the inn and our tea ; for, though it takes an astonishingly short time to coast back to Homburo- it is o-ettino- late." On their way back to the inn the elder sister told him that she had never supposed THE SUKFACE OF THINGS Roman antiquities could be made so inter- esting and poetic. Even though she feh how much was due to his eloquence and the beauty of this lonely spot, the life of the Romans, into which he had led them, and with which he had made them sym})athise, seemed to her more full of poetry thart she had realised before. " I must say," he replied, " that I am my- self astonished that I have put poetry and warmth into my account of Roman military life and any Roman antiquities, as you assure me I have done. For I will confess to you that Rome and Roman antiquities are most antipathetic to me personally. All in ancient Rome that a})peals to me as admirable and worthy of being perpetuated in its influence was merely a reflex of the l)rilliant, and still mellow, glow of Hellenic civilisation. Even the spirit of enterprise and empire, which they carried to such glorious fulfilment, was Hellenic, from the mythical days of the 142 A HOMBURG STORY Argonauts to the splendid rush of Alex- ander's conquest." He found in these ladies response to his enthusiasm for Hellenism. Not only had they read and studied Greek history and literature ; luit they had travelled in Europe and in Egypt, and Avere especially enthusi- astic over Greece itself, its monuments and works of art as well as its exquisite land- scapes. In fact, there was soon established between them that intellectual freemasonry and en- tente cordiale which conies to people who have lived surrounded l)y the same books and works of art with which they have familiar- ised themselves, until taste, which is at the base of even social conduct, becomes for them essentially the same in quality and re- finement. They spoke the same intellectual dialect and did not require explanation of terms used or references made, which con- veyed a whole world of preliminary mean- li3 THE SURFACE OF THINGS inii', on the o:round of which new thino-s men- tioned or views })ut forward were readily intelligible. He felt the acquaintanceship growing in familiarity, not without gratified surprise, when he found that they were conversant with English politics and movements for social reform, which they folloAved with deep interest. To ex})lain this Mrs. Morton told him that their 2:randfather had been an Englishman, and they had always continued certain English traditions in their family in America, their father, for instance, always takino; in the London Timen. The work of certain institutions in the poor (juarters of their own city, in which they were all three actively engaged, was in part modelled upon similar oroanisations in the cast end of Lon- don, of the advance of which they kept them- selves informed. But a dash of llattered vanity was added to his gratified surprise, when he found that they were familiar with 144 A HOMBURG STORY his name and his political activity, and were in complete synii)athy with the direction of his work. The reserve of the two sisters had com- pletely vanished by this time, and had given way to a free and happy exchange of ideas ; while his own friend Margaret manifested an additional pleasure by looks at her sisters which evidently implied a greater degree of jiroprietorship in their new friend, and a touch of pride in the effect he was producing upon her sisters, as if she were worthy of praise for the discrimination she had shown. Thus it was that their tea-party was a very pleasant one, and that they spoke and acted like old friends. They were all sorry when it was time to break up, and, having been completely occupied with each other, it was only in the moment of parting that they could direct their attention to the wonderful view at their feet. The sun was setting at their back and sent its clear golden rays with 145 THE SURFACE OF THINGS a dash of scarlet and pink over the tops of the pine forests, and sweeping up a green sheen from the trees, lit up the vast ex- panse of plain and the houses of Homburg. It was a similar view to the one the two friends had gazed at by the spring ; but it was vaster, less harmonious, more grossly panoramic. It had lost the familiarity of detail which gave a homelike, sweet touch in its proximity to the view below. The light was also more fiery, almost theatrical ; its showy brilliance seemed sophisticated. Both Margaret and Campbell felt this ; and as they gazed, their eyes were blind to the actual scene before them, and the vision of the previous view, with the whole sweet- ness of the mood which it had evoked, stole over them. They were both confident that thev had the same thoughts, and at last he said, in a mere whisper, " The other was lovelier." And as he turned to her and her eyes met his, a blush spread over her face. 146 A HOMBURG STORY And then they all four coasted down the hill. Margaret wished to coast down the steep straight road ; but the sisters remon- strated, and it required Campbell to contirnj them in their fears that it might he danger- ous. So they returned by the same way throuoh the woods and the long avenue. The delight of their rapid spinning through the wind without any effort gave them a sense of joyousness which nobody knows who has not coasted on bicycle or toboggan or has not galloped across country on a good horse. His machine being the heaviest of the four, he had occasionally to put on the brake in order not to advance far ahead of his companions. He would then allow them to pass him and would enjoy the sight of the three figures rushing in front of him with their thin blouses rustling in the wind. As it was late, and he had an engagement for dinner, they urged him not to accom- 147 THE SURFACE OF THINGS pany them home ; and so they left him at the door of his k)dgings, with liright nods and waving of hands, and rode on, kviving him alone at his door with a sense of being really alone. CAMPBELL awoke next morning with a peculiar and, to him, new sensation of restlessness. He had hoped to lind the sisters at the Kurhaus for the uuisic of the evening, and had wandered about, up and down, peering for them among the crowd of people, trying to avoid his acquaintances who would stop him to exchange greetings or join him while walking. He answered distractedly, and shook them oft" as soon as possible. But he could not find those he was looking for with increasing eagerness and impatience. The sweet face of Margaret was constantly before his eyes, and he heard her voice through the 148 A HOMBURG STORY music, as the fairest music he Iiad listened to. When at last he was in l)ed, irritated by the fruitlessness of his quest, her image, as she gazed into the water of the clear pool, lulled his mind to peace and rest, and he dropped otf to sleep with her face bowing over his, her rich hair, like a deep golden aureole, framing its loveliness. But the sense of restlessness came upon him with increased intensity in the morning, when he started early for the wells, and found not one of the sisters there. He then hoped to see them at the lawn-tennis o;rounds, where he was to practise in a double set with the Countess Tournelle, who, no longer a girl, was still the most graceful of lady players. They played ao-ainst an Austrian, who was more than a match for him, and ]Miss Softly, a most vigourous and muscular player, who served and volleyed like the strongest of men. They were badly l)eaten, and he advised his 149 THE SURFACE OF THINGS fair partner to choose some better player than himself for the tournament, which was to beg'in next day. He recommended her to take a young Cambridge " half-blue " who had come for the tournament ; he presented him, and they at once set to work to prac- tise. This left him free to search among the motley crowd of princes, English and for- eign, of beautiful women and athletic men of all nationalities, seated in chairs about the courts where the most interestino- o-ame was being played within the grounds, or chatting and walking without. But it was all fruitless ; he could not find them. After luncheon he wandered about in the same eager manner, and, for a moment, at the " Cow-house," he thought he espied them sittins: at one of the round tables under the trees. But when he drew near, he found to his disgust that they were the three Jew- esses. They levelled their eyeglasses at ]50 A HOMBURG STORY him as he advanced, but when he recognized them he merely raised his hat and passed on, as if lookino- for some one else. These 3^oung ladies had entirely passed out of his mind and the rano;e of his interest, since he saw that they were w^ell provided with friends, and had, in fact, a number of people constantly flitting about them. He had noticed them dining at a table near that of the Prince of Gallia on the terrace of the Kurhaus the previous evening, and thej^ seemed to have a very lively and attentive train of followers. The moment his sense of general moral obligation had left him, his interest in them had ceased ; and the aver- sion which their manners had evoked con- firmed his disgust at their having gone to the l)all, where their admittance had to be virtuall}' forced. He was reproaching himself for his stu- pidity in not having asked his American friends for their address, when suddenly a 151 THE SURFACE OF THINGS very wiinple way to discover their where- abouts, which he had strangely overlooked before, occurred to him ; namely, to ex- amine the KarliKte in which the addresses of all Homburg visitors were ^iven. He was just turning up hastily towards the hotels to consult the lists there, when, this time, there was no doubt as to their iden- tity ; for he saw them walking towards him along the road which leads to the hills. He almost ran to meet them, l)ut they seemed less responsive than on the previous day. Still he was pleased to note a certain embarrassment in the face and manner of Margaret in which the pleasure of seeing him could not be wholly concealed. As he gave them an account of his vain search for them, of his stupidity in not having asked them for their address, and of his comic ignoring of the KurliMp which he was just running oil' to consult, his good humoui- again warmed them to the friendli- 152 A HOMBURG STORY ness of the previous day, and they invited him to join them for tea at the AViener Cafe, a short distance up the hill in the woods. They walked on together like old friends. At the cafe in the woods there were ])ut few i)eople ; and when they had seated them- selves at a table under the trees, at some distance from the others, they felt at home and chatted on freely. Campl)ell felt thor- oughly happy, and in this mood he was occasionally lirilliant in his talk. He felt that he was " showino; to advantasfe." Above all, there was a youthful freshness and joy- ousness in his mood which he had not experienced for many years, and which he had thought l)clonged to the past. But strange to say, when, on returning, he walked alone with ^Margaret, the buoy- ancy of spirit and the elrallience of manner left him, and he became serious, almost em- barrassed, having to make an etfort to find the rio^ht thino; to sav. Sometimes they THE SURFACE OF THINGS would both lapse into silence. He could not talk about "" things " or other people ; he felt an uncontrollable impulse to ask her about herself and to talk about himself. When they had once begun with confidences as to their own experiences and feelings, the tone o;rew warm and familiar and a delicious sense of repose and sweetness came over him as he listened to her. But in the midst of her confidential talk he would notice a certain sudden restraint, as if she thought it right to check herself and would not allow her expansive mood to take its own course. Mrs. Morton and Ethel had to do some shopping, and so he walked back with ^Margaret. When he expi-essed a desire to see their home she said that she hoped he would call. When they arrived at the door of their lodg-ino-s on the Promenade he did not leave her, and stood talking expect- antly, until she could not help asking him 154 A HOMBURG STORY to come up to their drawing-room for a few minutes. There was almost a twinkle of humourous exultation at his victory over her reserve, when he said : " I should like nothing; more. Isn't that your l)alcony ? I should love to sit there and chat until your people return." The pugnacious spirit was up in him and he resolved to hght, to conquer lier reserve. The more he felt the charm of her personality, the more it occasionally pi'oduced in him an embarrassment amountino- to timiditv, the more did he require the help of his com- bative spirit, which, together with his hu- mour, he had^nherited from his Irish mother. And thus he felt a call upon his determina- tiop and courage to bend to his will the resisting power of the girl, whose strength of character he intuitively divined. She had taken oft' her hat, and now, with her rich hair freed from the coverino; wliich i:.5 THE SURFACE OF THINGS makes faces more commonplace, she seemed to him a new person, wholly herself and wholly bewitching in her personality. As she moved about the room, to put thinofs in their proper place, he followed her every movement with eyes fascinated. There was a orace, a sedate intimacv in her movements which made him feel at home, or long to l)e so. And when, l)efore they went out on the balcony, she stood for a moment before him, her hands raised to the back of her head to arrange the hair-pins, he had to clutch his chair tightly not to rush up and clasp her in his arms. While sitting on the balcony overlooking the Promenade, along which k gay throng- was constantly passing, he began by telling her of some of his friends at Homburg whom he felt sure she would like, and l)eo;o:ed her to ioin him with her sisters at luncheon next day, and then to go to the lawn-tennis courts. She said that they 156 A HOMBURG STORY were only waiting from day to day to hear from their rehitions, who were at Bayreiith, and Avhom they were to join on their way back to England ; that, therefore, it wa.s no use making new acquaintances ; that, in fact, they liked to be quiet and l)y them- selves. Xor could they go out that even- ing and join him at the music before the Kursaal, as he begged her to do. The most he could o])tain was her promise to play a game of lawn tennis with him the next morn- ing punctually al ten, before most of the people arrived. ^Sleanwliile her sisters returned and he felt that he ouoht to o'o, as the dinner hour was approaching. So he took his leave, but the thoujrht of her cluno; to him. A fascinution, absorbinu* all his thoushts and feelings, was upon him which no one had ever before exercised over him. He left his friends, as soon as he could do it with propriety after dinner, and 157 THE SURFACE OF THINGS wandered off to the music, seeking a chair which was hidden from general view. He there dreamed of her. But when the band played a waltz (it was that masterpiece of waltz-music, Strauss's " Wiener Blut ") the melting sentiment of it, the joyous pathos, the insinuating naivete, the heart-stirring rhythm of its plaintive and still gladsome melody, — all this was too much for him ; and he rushed home to dream in his room with- out a light. " Yes," he said to himself, pacing his room, "I am in love. That is the plain fact. As much in love as any school-boy ever was, and I feel as helpless as he does." And he thought of a paraphrase of Heine's " £!s ist eine alte Geschichte " Avhich he once addressed to a friend of advanced years whom he found smitten in the same way : " It is an old, old story, Yet always seems so new ; And wise and grey and hoary, We're boys when love comes true." 158 A HOMBURG STORY VI HE playecl tennis with her the next mornino:, and was astonished to find what an excellent player she was. Graceful, lithe, and strong, rapid in her movements, she had a coolness of judgment and a control of her temper which made her score more than many a more showy player. He begged her to be his partner in a double in the mixed handicaps at the tournament ; but she refused with firmness. Nor could he shake her in her refusal to persuade her sisters to join him at luncheon and dinner parties at the various hotels and to be present next day at the tournament. He appealed to the artistic sense, so highly developed in her, when he gave a picture of the o;atherino;s at the tournament. " What can be lovelier in its way," he said, " than the charming grounds, enclosed with fine trees ; little open vistas over meadows, 159 THE SURFACE OF THINGS like those of an English park ; then the players in white, reminding one almost of ancient Greek athletes, and the mass of varied colour in the ladies' costumes grouped round the court of greatest interest, the red jackets of the boys dotted about, — surely, apart from the variegated humanity, which need not interest you in itself, the scene is one any appreciative eye like yours would enjoy." But it was of no avail. Though he saw a great deal of the three ladies, and had long, delightful walks with Margaret, he could not l)ring them to join in his social circle or to mix with others. This desire for isola- tion and shyness seemed so strong that he began to wonder whether it did not point to morbid sensitiveness, based upon the con- sciousness of some vulnerable i)oint in their antecedents. He had made observations of this kind in people before. Perhaps there was some scandal in the matrimonial rela- 160 A HOMBURG STORY tion of their parents, perhaps some disgrace- ful business failure of the father. Among his numerous American friends at Homburg he could have gained information. But he resented the idea of making an3i;hing approaching inquiry, in however covert and indirect a manner, as an act of disloyalty, a want of chivalry towards his noble and trusting friends. He carefully avoided men- tioning them to anybody ; and his friends, including the Hewsons, with rare tact on their part, did not refer to his new intimacy, though they must have seen him in the com- pany of these ladies on several occasions, and though he neglected his older accjuaint- ances for them. But he resolved to touch upon this marked feature in their faultless demeanour in a direct and straightforward, though a general and impersonal manner. And so, one day, taking a long walk with Margaret, with whom he had discussed many IGl THE SURFACE OF THINGS interesting topics fully, while sitting on a bench in the woods, and resting, he sud- denly seized the opportunity oftered by their discussion of the happiest condition of life to say : " Do you know what I think one of the most irrational and mischievous causes of misery to one's self and of discomfort to others?" She looked up inquiringly, and he con- tinued : " Sensitiveness. It has done less oood and more harm than any other human attri- bute Avith a name that has a ring of virtue in its sound. Its implication of a refined organisation as opposed to coarseness or bluntness of nervous fibre, its kinship to that petty Old World sensilnlity, have de- ceived people ruled or enslaved by it into the belief that they are possessed of a virtue. As a matter of fact they are really sufFerii;g from a moral weakness which ultimately 162 A HO M BURG STORY mioht lead to a chronic mental disease, iin- dermining the whole of their happy inter- course with others, and often their own sanity of mind." She started and looked at him, liiit he did not change a muscle of his face as he re- ceived her questioning look. She frowned with the exertion of framino- her thoughts and then said : "Are not sensiltility and sensitiveness more closely allied and more difficidt to dis- tinguish than you seem to admit ? Does not the absence of sensitiveness to the actions of people about us argue indifference to them, and a carelessness of our own moral cleanliness, almost of the nature of physical slovenliness with regard to our personal a})pearancc ? I shoidd not be pleased to think that one I loved, or even liked, was insensible to the difference be- tween attention and regard and indifference and neglect." 163 TFIE SURFACE OF THINGS "Yes, you are right there." And he could not help looking into her face and her pensive eyes with a thrill of admiration, while her clear low voice had a tremour of earnestness in it as she spoke. " I agree to a certain amount of sensitiveness with re- gard to the people we like and respect ; but that does not apply to indifferent people, the man whom we do not know well or care to know better. Sensitiveness towards the people we know well and love is a mark of appreciation and esteem paid to them ; towards people we do not know well or love is a mark of self-depreciation." " I admire your epigram ; Init I do not agree with it wholly," she said. " If I thought that a person I loved and admired could not wound me I should either doubt my affection and regard for him or my own delicacy of perception and self-respect. Nor can it be good to encourage too nuich in those we love the sense of absolute security 164 A HOMBURG STORY as to the effects of their words and actions, which leads to the sense of irresponsibility, to utter regardlessness, and, as the common- place has it, tinally to contempt." " Well, I will concede so much to you, and I agree with you up to a certain point. Pull them up sharp, scold thorn if you will, repel :iny licentious inroad upon the domain of your dignity or just rights ! But do not carry away a wound to your own self-esteem, which it is hard to heal, and which implies want of foith in the wholeness of their rela- tion to you, their general esteem, fondness, or love. Trust and faith are, after all, the very corner-stones of all intimate human re- lations ; and sensitiveness, like jealousy, — in those cases, — implies fundamental lack of faith in others as well as in one's self." '' I also must give in to you," she said, as a softer expression stole over her face and a look of mixed o-ratitude and admiration met Campljell as he gazed straight into her eyes. 1C5 THE SURFACE OF THINGS " Still you cannot rob me of the great worship I have of one human virtue, self- respect, — pride in the best and noblest sense of the word, — which causes us to raise our heads the higher, the more the world is ao;ainst us and tries to force us to bend our necks. I w^orship this strength ; and a man who was not a fighter, who did not stand firml}^ on his feet, — against the whole w^orld, if need be, — I could never respect or ad- mire." While she said this she had unconsciously drawn herself up straight as she sat there, and looked straight Ijefore her with a fixed and defiant brilliancy in her eyes — she w^as the amazon, not the nymph. " Ah, but make sure that he is a true fio^hter and not a braggadocio or a Don Quixote." " I love Don Quixote," she threw in. " Don't you know that wonderful passage in Heine's preface to a German translation 166 A HOMBURG STORY of Cervantes in which he breaks a lance for Don Quixote?" " I do. It is beautiful. Well, love Don Quixote with pity ; but don't admire him. Admiration must be complete, for the thing fought for as well as the manner of fiohtino-, — or rather for the reason, the selection of the cause, as well as the courage and indomi- table perseverance with which the cause is pursued. Or else you will worship fanatics and madmen as much as true heroes." " They are all better than cowards, slaves, toadies, and snobs," she said passionately. "So they are," he continued calmly and firmly, " but those are not the alternatives between which to choose. If you must fight, fight ; but do not see enemies where there are none, or mere windmills. Do not waste the sacred flame of beneficent wrath upon unworthy objects or in self-torture, and fritter away the passionate forces that make for heroism upon petty sentiments 167 THE SURFACE OF THINGS that become vulgar in their pettiness, until your soul and all that is lovable in it is eaten away in impotent and sterile vanity and disappointment. Parry and thrust home, but don't mouth or o-rimace about fiohtinir before you fight, or try to frighten 3'our enemy by passes au mur, before the mirror of your wounded vanities." His calmness gave way to a stern resent- ment in his voice. " I know wdiat I am talking about. I have felt the danger myself — who has not? " he continued more softly. " I have seen a friend of mine ruined in character and effi- cienc}^ by this curse of sensitiveness." "How w^as that?" she asked, and her voice was less firm. "He was a splendid fellow, powerful and refined, with uncommon qualities of heart and mind. But ho had the misfortune I0 be sent to a great public school in the very town in which his father was a petty tradesman IG8 A HOMBURG STORY and dissenting minister. He was distin- guished and popular at college, and, in spite of all the delicate regard and encouragement which his friends (and I was his greatest friend) could give him, the morbid effect of the cruel bullying he experienced from the (unconsciously) brutal boys at school, the confirmed habit of ascril)ing all failures or accidental slights to his 'tradesman and dis- sentino- ' orioin, produced a sensitiveness, a suspiciousness, and, finally, a 1)itterness in him which counteracted his native amiability, made him not only a difficult, l)ut, at last, an impossible person to live with. He quar- relled continually, instead o^ JigJiting when there was cause ; put the world against him by his own perversity ; at last warped his mind into eccentricity ; and is a lonely, petty schoolmaster now. instead of a leader of men, as he was l)()rn to be." " Why ascribe the fault to him," she said eao-erlv, " when vou mentioned the cause in 169 THE SURFACE OF THINGS the brutal class prejudice you referred to, and the treatment he experienced in his early childhood, which, no dou])t, was occa- sionally renewed in later h'fe? Why are you not angry with the boys at school who murdered his nascent powers, the schools and institutions which allow or encourage this by the very character of their organisation, the society which breeds such moral cankers ? " She uttered these words with a deep indignation, which almost appeared to l)e directed aoainst him. When he did not answer at once, she looked round at him, and a blush of embarrassment came over her face, and she said softly : "" Oh, I beg your pardon for talking in that tone to you. I know yow are opposed to these abuses, and are in no way in sym- pathy with them. I know your life-work is directed towards the checking of these muddy courses at the very fountain-head. Forgive me my impetuosity." 170 A HOMBURG STORY " I certainly forgive you ; there is nothing to forgive. I like you for the power of feel- ing strongly on what is worth strong feeling. But 3^ou have just paid nie the compliment to say that I was fighting this enemy of humanity and of the spirit of good at his strongholds. That is the main point. Listen to me : "I reproach my friend with not having realised the wholeness of life, not having distinguished what is important and what is not. He made his OAvn self-respect, or rather, vanity, of gi;eater importance than all the great qualities, and, in consequence, duties and destinies, which ought to have shaped his life. He failed to see the Pro- porfion of Life, which is the fundamental principle of right living. Nearly all faults and all disasters, personal, domestic, and public, come from this mistaken vision. Stand on the highest point of your life, of your self, and view things about you with- 171 THE SURFACE OF THINGS out blinkers and without distorting glasses (convex or concave) of momentary and local prejudices, or narrow selfish desires, and you will then appreciate the proportion of life. What is a petty squabble of the day, of a country, town, or district, the pro- vincial prejudice of a set or class, to him whose eyes encompass the world and its past as well as its future ? What is a pass- ing disappointment of a set in a narrow community to us to-day, when we put into the scale the Armenian massacres of which you read this morning, in which men, women, and children are butchered, and a fine race is being exterminated ; what are these social questions, when compared to the great economical questions, the Eastern, the Far East, the African question, the solution or comi^lication of which will move the whole civilised world one way or the other for centuries? And my friend was made to work at these oreat movements, to afiect 172 A HOMBURG STORY them ; his life had bigness in it ; but he was not strong enough and big enough in his character to strike great blows at fate, in- stead of whining at an occasional pin-prick. With all his faculty of concentration of thought in his work, he had not the power of io-norino- that which was unessential to his life and was unworthy of his attention, all because of his i)etty vanity, — or pride and sensitiveness as you would call it. If the highest powder of intellect is often to remember and to concentrate attention the highest development of will and character is sometimes to ignore and to forget." "But," she asked, "how about people who are not big, whose powers and whose life are not cast in the great mould you attribute to your friend? How are they to deal with those general stings, the origin ol" which they can hardly fix, which remain stings and smart, though they do not kill ? " "They are to assign to them their due 173 THE SURFACE OF THINGS proportion," he answered with emphasis, " to deal ^yith. them as little stings, lightly, with the levity w^hich behoves them. You cannot adjust the surface life of society on the principles of science, or even of ethics. Because such social intercourse, the essence and purpose of which lies in the intercourse itself, and not in some ulterior common aim to be achieved in the sphere of utility, truth, or ofoodness, — because such intercourse is artistic in its nature, neither theoretical, practical, nor ethical. It must therefore be light and playful in its action, must have its qualities in the grace and spontaneous attractiveness of personalities, and their words and deeds. As soon as it loses this spontaneity, like the work of the artist, it loses its social effectiveness. Appeals to truth, goodness, justice, or expediency are of no avail — they are, on the contrary, destructive of social intercourse." '■ I really do not quite understand you. 174 A HOMBURG STORY I am sure it is my own density, or that I have not thought much on these subjects. I always fancied that our life, in any and every one of its phases, could never be severed from its ethical results and pur- poses," Margaret said, and a puzzled expres- sion came over her face manifesting the effort it cost her to follow his thoughts, — which were evidently new to her. " Quite so. You warn me opportunely not to overstate my case. I am speaking of the art of living sociably, quite apart from the wider life, includincr the strugo-le for existence, charity, and the general fellow- ship of humanity. Of course, society, even in the lightest aspect of its activity, has final ethical aims, by the canons of which Ave must ultimately test its right of existence and settle its main course. A society, however pleasant in its appearance and flow, which is fundamentally immoral in its tone, structure, and eifect — nay, which docs not ultimately 175 THE SURFACE OF THINGS tend to brill"' out the luiuum l)est in its members — is bad, und ought never to appear pleasant to sane and refined taste. So in the domain of art, its sister sphere in spirit, the immoral, which does not elevate, but lowers, ought in itself to counteract and to dissipate the effect of formal lieauty. This is what the German philosopher Kant has called the PrimatesJiip of Practical Reason or Ethics. Let us all recognise this, and ive are doing so in the very topic of our own conversation. On the other hand, a social set which is directly founded u})on, and consciously, by word and deed, sets itself the task of furthering, intellectual self- improvement, moral elevation, or practical and economical discovery and progress, will be clumsy, ungainly, and unsocial in its constitution and working. So also a work of art which is intended directly to illustrate anatomy or Darwinian heredity, to preach charity or self-control, to facilitate comuiu- 176 A HOMBUEG STORY iiication or solve ;i (juestion of currenc- y , will fail to produce any artistic effect. Such societies will certainly produce sets of prigs and j)edants who are likely to bore and dis- gust each other without leading to much self-improvement. Society is more con- cerned with the manner than with the sub- stance of life — the form is essential to the matter, as in art." Maroaret smiled, while she said : " I am beginning to see your meaning. This ques- tion of the manner, I see, is of the greatest importance in social intercourse." " Not only manner, but manners^ which are, as regards social intercourse, the canons of proportion and harmony in taste, as the dictates of virtue and righteousness are in our moral life. Ars est celare artem applies to the art of living pleasantly together as it does to a picture, a poem, or a song. It is the intentionality, the interested motive which destroys the grace and attractiveness 177 THE SURFACE OF THINGS of action and manners, makes mechanical what ought to be spontaneous and organic, and repels and disgusts us.'' " Oh, you are right there, I see that," ]\Iargaret said, with a ring of pleased under- standing in her voice, " I have so often felt that." Campbell, whose mode of expression had become labored, now seemed to breathe more freely, as if relieved by overcoming an arduous task, and he continued more rapidly and fluently. " Take the question we are discussing, — injustice which wounds our pride and sensitiveness in the lightly social sphere, — surely it would not be an effective method of convincing the social culprits to point out that the object of their slight was the wor- thiest person morally, the most superior per- son intellectually, and the most successful and efficient person in practical life ! They might answer simply : ' That this may all be very 178 A HOMBURG STORY true ; but that his boots creaked insuflerably , that his talk was heavy and tedious, and his temper uncertain and trying.' And if the wounded man himself resents injustice manifestly — if his true pride and self-esteem are so low as to cast off conventional armour and stand naked before his scoffers — if he deepens his own scratch into a wound, and makes the offence so heavy that it is entirely removed out of the society sphere into the domain of eternal morality and Christian charity, then he may evoke pity and stir up self-reproach in the hearts of the offenders, — neither of which attitudes of mind are conducive to amenable and pleasant social intercourse in a salon or a ball-room." " Oh, you are indeed right," Margaret said, with a tone of serious conviction, " You see," Campbell continued eagerly, " self-assertion makes recognition from others most difficult. The man who asserts his own virtue, the debt of gratitude which we owe 179 THE SURFACE OF THINGS him, the man with a grievance, — they all incite our op})osition, even if what they clami be true. ' Just because you claim it, you shall not have it,' we seem to say. I have often wondered why this should be the case, and why, when I have heard a person lay claim to a virtue or a right which he really possessed, or to a success achieved, even though it be true, I have often felt an uncomfortable distaste, approaching disgust. ' The facts are true, and being true, why should he not know it, and knowing it, w^hy should he humbug and not say it? ' I have asked myself. And all the same my revul- sion exists." " Oh, I have so often felt that in life, and in literature, especially with authors like Rousseau. Can you explain why this should be so? " Margaret asked. " Well, apart from our native sense of opposition and perversity, which makes us resent security and cocksureness, and may 180 A HOMBURG STORY not be quite justifiable, there is a reasonable orround for our mistrust. A thino- once said or written becomes fixed, and, as it were, isolated from all the groundwork of its sur- roundino- justifications and qualifications ; it becomes more absolute, more gross, and loses its redeemino- proportion. Further- more, as regards the speaker, the altered nature of the thing once said must fix and increase his self-consciousness, and in so far counteract the spontaneity of his manner to us, which the artistic character of social intercourse demands. We are then inclined to suspect interested and intentional motives in what he says and does — he is no longer graceful. It is the curse of injustice that, besides the wrong done us, we suffer a more lasting injury in that we become conscious of our own rights and virtues, and then assert them." " I now see what vou mean 1>v dealing liuhtlv with the l)lows struck at our own 181 THE SURFACE OF THINGS pride and sensitiveness," Margaret said. " But how would you deal lightly with an atfront offered you by implication which you could not io;nore ? " " AVell, let me give you an instance from my own experience as an illustration. I had a great friend, alas, now dead, Avho was literally the noblest man, with the largest and warmest heart that I have ever met or ever expect to meet. If I except my father and mother, I owe to him more than to any human being. His justice, strength, and purity, as well as his sympathy and charity, were unfailing and all encompassing. Though he was deeply learned in his own line as few men of our century ar(;, he was still wide-minded and polished in his tastes and manners. And pervading all his kind- liness and searching delicacy was a strong sense of hununir which gave him, to an exceptional degree, that feeling of life-pro- portion which he kept duly balanced in him- 1M2 A HOMBURG STORY self and in his varied surroundings. He was a learned man by profession, and was a Fellow of one of our o-reat colleo:es. " One day, while staying at a country house, an octogenarian of distinction, a fellow guest, who had l)een at the same uni- versity years before my friend, not knowing the college to which he lielonged (which was St. Paul's), said to him across the dinner table : " 'You come from Oxbridge, sir. Do you not think the Fellows of St. Paul's the greatest blackiiuards on the face of the earth? ' " There was an uncomfortable pause, and then my friend said quite pleasantly, but seriously, to the old o-entleman : " ' I see what you mean, sir.' " And he did see what he meant. In the days when the old gentleman was at Oxbridge the Fellows of St. Paul's w^ere, in truth, a set of idle, hard-drinking, low-sport- THE SUEFACE OF THINGS ing, and generally low-lived people. Since the days of my friend, however, things had completely changed; until it had become the college in that university recognised as possessing the most distinguished and most refined body of Fellows. The remark of the old gentleman had, therefore, truth from his point of view. It was not meant as a personal insult to my friend, as his college was not known. Finallv, mv friend did not wish to make the old man uncomfortable and miserable for the rest of the evenins; ; nor had he the right to mar the pleasant tone of the party for his host and the rest of the company. On the other hand, he could not acquiesce in the inaccurate statement. His phrase hit the nail on the head ; and I have often adopted it myself under similar circum- stances." "It is indeed most apt," Margaret said, with amusement in her voice. " People do not wish to offend us," Camp- 184 A HOMBURG STORY 1)oll continued with Avarmth. "There are few who have such bad taste ; for we have a right to consider ourselves nice enough. AVell-bred people manage not to see much of us, if their dislike amounts to a desire to insult us. These ' insults by implication ' ought not to be taken seriously. How often have you heard remarks like : ' Englishmen are coarse in moral iiljre, blunt and seltish in manner, a nation of shop-keepers : the Scotch are clannish, dry in spirit, greedy and pushing ; the French are untruthful and sensual ; the Germans unchivalrous and petty : the Italians slipshod in character, a nation of adventurers : and the Americans sharp and common.' If remarks of this kind, or put in a more refined and moderate manner, are expressed when any member of such a nation is present, need he resent it or feel hurt in his })ride? It could not have been meant for him except by people whose coarse rudeness puts them beyond the pale 185 THE SURFACE OF THINGS of any further intercourse. All we need realise is, that these things are said by peo- ple who make hasty generalisations on an insufficient basis, or are fond of strong lan- guage and over-statements. And we need simply think or say : '' I see what yon mean ! ' Very often there is considerable justification for what they say, and the national failings which even the finest nation may possess, the results of their past history and present conditions of life, may account for the gen- eralisation, though it may not justify the exaggerated form of expression. And why need we be so childish as to be oflfended by the recognition of our nation's weaknesses, especially when no insult is meant to us ; and as they are ignorant of our nationality it is evident that they do not attriluite these feelings to us ? " " T o-rant you that all that may be taken lightly," Margaret said : " they are trivial offences which do not touch the main springs 186 A HOMBURG STORY of life ; they can easily l)e ignored or met lightly. But when your poor friend, the son of the dissenting tradesman, finds that a post in life, in which he can manifest the great powers you said were in him, is closed to him because of such a ' social ' prejudice : when an Irishman in America reads in the advertisements ' no Irish need apply ; ' or an American mother hears that her well-behaved daughter must leave a good private school in which she is making progress and is happy, because the head-mistress informs her that some fashionable parents object to havins: their dauo-hters in the same school with Jewesses, — can they then remain indif- ferent and pass it over lightly ? Is it enough to say : * I see what you mean '? '* As she spoke, Margaret's tone became more impassioned and her cheek was aglow with indignation. "You are right, my dear friend : those are not things to be taken lightly. They are 187 THE SURFACE OF THINGS matters for fight. They go deeper than the mere surface life of society — they have notliing to (U) with tliis ; and here we can fioht and In'ino- heavy ffuns If) bear on the enemy. These are moral and ethical (jues- tions and not points of graceful social inter- course and refinement. But, in our fighting, as in our work, let us keep our social life apart, and not lose the ease and naturalness we there require." " That would be true if the division were all so simple," Margaret rejoined eagerly. " For the social and the more serious spheres of life may overlap, and the general preju- dice may extend its poisonous ramifications into the midst of men's social life, and they may not be able to escape from it. Are they then to bend their necks and still to say lightly: 'I see what you mean,' when what is meant is bad, and cruel, and vulgar? How can you is^nore these insults when they ob-' trude themselves upon your attention?" 188 A HOMBURG STORY " Yes, you are right ; those are cases that can neither he ignored nor passed over lightly. I will give you an instance that occurred here the other day." And he pro- ceeded to tell her the incident of the three Jewesses and the ball. He had oot as far in his account as the sending of the tickets at last, when she burst in with the question : " But surely they did not go ? " and there was a tone of intense indignation and pro- test in her voice. "They did," he answered. " Then they were devoid of all proper pride and utterly contemptible," she ccjn- tinued with some passion. " They deserved any ignoble treatment at the hands of any society. They nuist have been utterly de- void of all delicacy of feeling and even self- respect." "I agree with you there. That was a case in which natural pride and dignity of character ought to have guided them." 189 THE SURFACE OF THINGS " What course would you have pursued in such a case," she asked, " in cases of that class ? " "Well, I shoidd have withdrawn from a circle where such low, snobbish, and ignorant ideas prevailed. I should avoid such a set, as not being cither interesting or worthy of my intercourse. If the whole place were infected by such a spirit I should avoid the place," "Exactly," she put in, "that is what I should do." " But," he continued, " I should take great care to dispel the matter from my mind, as unworthy of my notice, as the people were not fit for my company. The action affected their dignity, not my own, which is not in need of confirmation from them. I should freely choose company congenial to me on positive grounds ; and above all, I should exert myself not to allow such an experience i to affect my character, my general habit of 190 A HOMBURG STORY looking upon people and of estimating myself." " I am with you," Margaret said with decision. " But let us lie sympathetic. The difficult^' remains for them. Those ladies are surely handicapped in their social bearing, as compared with those to whom such things cannot occur ; they cannot have the same freedom and grace of manner, when the possibility of such an affront is always before them." ''AYell," he answered, "the world is large, in reality and in our thoughts. If a preju- dice exists in one place or in one set we can keep out of the way of it ; and if Ave cannot always keep it away from our eyes, then there is the moral and intellectual power of ignoring that minor part of exist- ence, and of concentrating our thoughts and energies upon the more important, more noble, and more beautiful things of life. In this my unhappy friend was wanting. 191 THE SURFACE OF THINGS Society and that phase of gregarious social life are after all not important. We can always have work, the higher pleasures, and friends ; we are almost better ott' not to be in touch with anything that calls itself society or is recognised by the newspapers as such." "I heartily agree with you," she said earnestly. " Still, I am tilled with indigna- tion when I think of what, for instance, Jews in Germany must suffer from the so- called Anti-Semitic movements, which do not turn on definite rights which they can fight for, and still the persecutions can never be ignored." " I warmly assent to that," Campbell said eagerly. "Were I a Jew in Germany — and, perhaps, the most refined and gentle- manlike friends I have here are Jews — I should either have to leave the country or to fight duels every week. "Now, to sum up most of what we have 192 A HOMBURG STORY been discussing : I still hold that in social matters we must not encourage sensitive- ness and pride. The person oifended cannot tight for his social rights with effect upon others or without loss of dignity and grace of demeanour to himself. But we others, those who see the wrong and are not affected by it, must stand up and fight. That's what I mean to do wherever I have an opportunity ; that is the sphere where chivalry in modern times can manifest itself. On the other hand, let the victims of such prejudice not make our task difficult, and let them accept freely and graciously the friendly hand which we offer without re- serve and the service of honour which we do without any claim upon gratitude. " Amen," he said. And she whispered "Amen." Then they rose and returned home. 193 THE SURFACE OF THINGS VII WHATEVER the effect of this conversa- tion may have been upon Margaret, it certainly occupied Campbell's thoughts for the rest of the day. His indignation at such actions as the matter of the dance was, if anything, increased, and his determination to fiiiht such abuses wherever and whenever they came in his way was made firmer. He began to consider the three Jewesses of the dance more charitaljly, thought of the possibility that they might not have realised all the preliminary discussion about them, and decided in his mind that people who were at all open to such aftronts ought to be judged more leniently. He decided that, during his stay at Homburg, he would still stand by them, and, as a first practical step, he recalled the fact that he was invited to take a walk with the Prince of Gallia the afternoon of the next day, and to dine with 194 A HOMBURG STORY him at the Kurhaus in the evening, and he decided to broach the matter to him if an opportunity oftered itseh". This op[)ortunity came in a most natural manner in the course of his walk with his royal friend. For the Prince of Gallia was really his friend. At all events, his own feelings for the Prince were those of a warm attach- ment. What drew (Jampbell to him with real affection Avas the deep humanity in the nature and mode of action of this Prince. He was truly loyal and warm hearted, full of genuine human kindness, always anxious to help or to do some good or graceful action to whomsoever he met, high or low. Camp- bell, when he thought of him, always remem- bered him as he saw him one day in his country home, taking the greatest pains to put a shy young curate, who had been asked in at the eleventh hour to avoid thirteen at dinner, at his ease. He had paid more attention to this simple youth than to any 195 THE SURFACE OF THINGS of the great people who were guests in the royal house. This to Campbell was the key- note to the Prince's character. The Prince was also fond of Campbell and fond of his society. In fact, Campbell, in his wide circle of acquaintances among all conditions of men and in many countries, counted a number of royal friends who were all much attached to him. This may have astonished many people, who did not know him well. He had satisfied himself on this point by saying to himself: "So long as I am nice to my humblest friends and my servants, I have a right to be nice to princes who like my company and whose society I like." One of the reasons why he got on so well with people of this condition was, that he was perfectly free and natural Avith them, and, barring the necessary for- malities, which he adhered to as an officer obeys discipline in the army, he viewed lliem truly and appreciated or avoided them 19G A HOMBURG STORY for their oood qualities or faults as he did all other people. He asked no favours and liad no personal interests to push, nor did he even wish to pi-otit in social prestige l)y his intercourse with them. This they knew or felt, and this, no dou])t, was one reason why his pleasant and inter- esting personality had free sway over their affections. Still, it sometimes mav have evoked com- ment that a radical politician should be the personal friend of princes. And during his walk with the Prince a question on this point, put l)y the Prince himself, set the talk in the direction which Campbell was longing to sive it. While they were walking in the woods the Prince had at first talked over with Campbell the prospects of an educational in- stitution in the welfare of which they were both deeply interested, and the means of raising fund-^ for its support. When they 197 THE SURFACE OF THINGS had dismissed this subject, the Prince turned to him and said : " Campbell, you know I don't talk party politics, but I have often wondered what views a man like you, whose general politi- cal ideas T know, has of monarchy and the position of a monarch. Do you mind telling me?" With the exception of the foreign politics of the Empire, concerning which the Prince would sometimes talk and manifest consid- erable thought, insight, and grasp, he had never heard him express opinions on politi- cal questions of the day. He evidently did not think it right to interfere with them. "Well, Sir," Campbell answered, "if it interests and pleases you to know what I think, I may venture to tell you. Of course I have had to think on this question and to make up my mind, up to a certain point. Whatever my final ideas of g(jvern- ment mav be, T think that the constitutional 198 A HOMBURG STORY monarchy as we have it is, for us as we are, the best thing. " Of course you must know, Sir, that I am aware of all the arg-uments against hereditar}^ monarchy, and feel their force. The arguments in its favor which affect me most strono;ly are, amono- others, these : First, I think the stability of an administra- tive head, in what is, after all, a republican form of government by the people, a great advantage ; especially as it allows the ques- tions of real and practical importance among the people to come to the fore, undistracted by the constant struggle and passions mov- ino- round the o-eneral form and constitution of the government as such. Then, as thino-s human are, the consciousness that the re- sponsiliility and the liearings of each act on the part of the head of the state do not end with his life or the term of office, l)ut that, when he even works selfishly for his im- mediate posterity, the consequences recoil 199 THE SURFACE OF THINGS upon the family — this may tend to make far-sighted action more real and intense. But the really important function of a mon- arch is, to my mind, social." " How do you mean that ? " asked the Prince. " Well, Sir, I believe that the social posi- tion which a monarch holds may be turned to the greatest practical use. It is a power which cannot be exercised in the same direct way by any other force in modern society. A king can make fashionable whatever he likes. And I believe that fashion is most effective in fixing a social, and even a moral, tone. When duellinsr and a certain wild- ness of life were in fjishion no preaching could counteract them. But make them un- fashionable, and disapproval works its way through all layers of society. The social and moral tone of a nation thus lies to a cer- tain extent in the hand of a monarch. It is one of the many reasons why I deplore so 200 A HOMBURG STORY deeply the premature death of the Emperor Frederick ; because I feel sure he would, in a country where the army and bureaucracy set the social tone, have brought intellectual and artistic life to the forefront of social es- teem, and would have made what is really the best at the same time the most fashion- able." " That certainly would put great powers and responsibilities upon us. Do you think our power in this respect works so directly and effectively ? " "I do. Sir," Campbell continued more eagerly ; and he felt that his opportunity had arrived. "When, for instance, people are snobbishly excluded from higher social circles the ruler can stultify prejudice by recognising the people thus wronged. Take the prejudices against certain vocations in life, nationalities, beliefs, the movements against the Jews." And he now recounted the instance of 201 THE SURFACE OF THINGS the three hidies. He was right in his estimate of the Prince's character in this respect. He detested such unchivah-ous action, and he at once asked Campbell to introduce the ladies to him at the earliest opportunity ; while, with his fondness for chaif, he said to Campbell, lifting his finger w^arningly, when they parted : "But I also want to know the other young ladies with whom you are always seen, and whom, I am told, you keep entirely to yourself. I shall see ^'ou at dinner this evening." And shaking hands, they parted. VIH THE Prince's dinner-party on the terrace of the Kurhaus that evening w^as a very pleasant one. He was entertaining a Russian Grand Duke, with his wife, a real grande dame in appearance, bearing, and manner, and her charming sister ; old Lady 202 A HOMBURG STORY Sarah ^Mannerinof, a cross between a motherh' friend and a good fellow ; two distinguished peeresses, mother and daughter, and an English peer of the sporting type, with his good-natured spouse ; Sir Harry Ruston, the veteran king of war correspondents and most witty and sparkling of talkers, who never wounded with his wit ; Campbell, and the Prince's aides-de-camjj. Campbell was seated between the Grand Duke's sister-in-law and the younger peeress, and could not have had pleasanter neigh- bours. But he was somewhat preoccupied ; for, in winding among the tables to join his party, he had passed that of the three Jewesses, who were dining with quite a part}' of their own. He had bowed in a more affable manner than before, and they had smiled at him in a friendly way ; l)ut again followed him with their lorgnettes held up to their eyes. He could not help dwell- ing upon the talk he had had with Margaret 203 THE SURFACE OF THINGS the (lav before, and the sweet and solemn spirit of the girl was over him and kept him from joining freely in the sprightly talk al)()ut him. In spite of the good cheer, he was relieved when the Prince o;ave the sio-nal for risino-. While he was helping the Prince on with his cape, he whispered : "Those three ladies are here. Sir." "Take me to them," the Prince said, and bade his guests wait one minute, while he advanced with Campbell towards the table of the three Jewesses. " They are at that middle table in front of us. Sir. May I go and tell them ? " " What, those three tall ladies in white? " the Prince asked. "Yes, Sir," said Campbell. The Prince gave an amused chuckle, hardly able to contain his mirth. " Why, those are the Princesses of Rixen- blitz-Galgenstein, a mediatised family of the 204 A HOMBURG STORY north of Germany ; they are related to most of the royal families of Europe ; they are some sort of cousins of mine." And he advanced to the table, all the part}' rising as he greeted the ladies. " My friend Mr. Campbell was just going to introduce me to you," he said to the ladies. " He made a mistake which only does you and him honour," he added, look- ing at Campbell, who stood in some confu- sion and embarrassment. As they had also finished their dinner, the Prince asked them to join him, and both parties went down to the music, where the front seats had, by a kind of tradition, l)een reserved for the Prince. It was here that thev listened to the music, and orave an opportunity to people to stare at the Prince, a practice in which many, especially English old maids, were persistently assiduous. Campbell sat between two of the sisters. He conversed freelv with them, and their 205 THE SURFACE OF THINGS manners seemed much better than when he had first met them. Was it owing to the fact that he was now a more fully accredited person, or rather that his mind was free from all prejudice? Some features which had disturbed him before, such as the imper- fect English, were now satisfactorily ac- counted for. But some others, their bad manners and bad dancing he could not for- give them. On breaking up, the Prince nudged Campbell, amused with the good joke against him, and said threateningly : " Now, mind you, I want to know the other ladies you keep from us ! " As he walked home he wondered as to what his unbiassed attitude to the Princesses ought to be. He decided in his mind that he ought to conform to the rules of etiquette whenever he met them ; but that, as they in no way attracted him in themselves and were not congenial to him, he was not to 206 A HOMBURG STORY seek their company or any more intimate acquaintanceship. He could not help con- trast! no- the charm and o-race of ^Nlarofaret and her sisters with the hard, self-centred, and awkward manners of these Princesses. And thus, thinking of Margaret again, he entered his room and found on his table a note which he opened and read with growing interest. It was from ^Margaret, and ran : Dear Mr. Campbell : I have been thinkincr and thinking on all that you said to-day. You can hardly have realised how every word applied to my own case, or the deep impression your words have made. I feel as though that conversation of yesterday marked an epoch in my life. I am not exaggerating when I say this, nor when I assure you that I shall be grateful as long as I live for the influence you have thus exer- cised over me. My sisters and I are thankful to you for your kind- ness to us during the last days of our stay here when we needed such kindness most. You have converted what I thought would be a period of misery into one of exceptional happiness. Our stay is now coming to an end. We leave to- 207 THE SURFACE OF THINGS morrow afternoon for Frankfurt, where we join our relations on our way back to England. May I ask as a last kindness that you will come for a walk with me to-morrow morning at 9.30? There is something I must tell you, which, when I consider all your unreserved confidence, I ought, per- haps, to have told you before. And I should not like to leave without having told you freely what may not be of any import to you, but what has so filled my whole mind during these last days that I almost look upon it as a matter kejjt by me from your knowledge, which you had a claim to know. Do not trouble to answer if you can join me here at 9.30 to-morrow. Gratefully and sincerely yours, Margaret Lewson. His thoughts were with her as he lay awake in l)ed, and when resolution had quieted his mind tossing about on the Avaves of passion, he fell asleep to dream of her. 208 T A HOMBUIIG STOKV IX IIK next morning he arose early and .sent his valet to Margaret with a note saying that if it made no ditt'erence to her he would propose that they shoidd 1)icycl(' instead of walking. So it was that at half-past nine they started on their bicycles and took their way towards the Tannenwald and the Saalburg. Margaret wore the same costume as on the tirst dav of their meeting:. She did not say nmch after the greeting ; and as they rode on silently she seemed absorl)ed in thouijhts that were wei^hino: on her mind. When he told her that the Prince wished to make her acquaintance and that of her sisters she answered quietly and firmly : " I am afraid that cannot be ; for we must leave this afternoon. I hope it will not appear rude. It is kind of him and kind of you, and I appreciate it fully." 209 THE SURFACE OF THINGS As with common consent, they rode on through the avenue and then turned up the hill, dismounting and pushing their machines. When they came to the little path into the woods Campbell led the way and ^Margaret followed. Soon they were at the beautiful spot with the spring. When they arrived there a haze was over the plains and valley and over the houses of Homburg ; but the sky was bright above them and promised a fair and warm day. There were a few clouds which were still hiding the sun, drawn up by the sun's warmth to hide its brilliant light for a time ; but he sent his curtained rays throuah the cloudlets, and they were slowly melting away. Campbell arranged two seats with dry boughs and pine needles, and she sat beside him, both looking over the plain Ijelow, their eyes shielded from the sunlight by the passing mist and clouds. Margaret began after a short pause. Her 210 A HOMBURG STORY voice was at first colourless and she spoke without signs of emotion. " What has been occupying my mind dur- ing the days I have known you, and has been upon my spirits with deadening weight, is the insult which we experienced the day before I met you. " We are the three Jewesses who had tickets refused them for the dance, and for whom you so nobly entered the lists. I will tell you how it happened. " When we arrived here in high spirits about three weeks ago, it was with some English friends of ours who had persuaded us to join them. With their friends and some of our own, among whom were some American ladies with wlioni T had been at school, and who had enjoyed the hospitality of my father's house, we had a pleasant circle, and joined in all the amusements of the place. We were fond of dancing and took part in several of these dances. 211 THE SURFACE OF THINGS "On the day preceding the dance in ques- tion an Englishman of our acquaintance asked us to go, and said he would procure the tickets. But the tickets did not come that day nor on the morning or afternoon of the dance, and we at last had to notice that the Englishman endeavored to escape meet- ino- us. In his avoidance of us, as well as in his manner when circumstances threw us together, he manifested such embarrassment, that after he told us, Avith many apologies, 'that the numbers were full and Ihere were no more tickets to be had' the truth dawned upon us. The explanations which he thought it necessary to make in addition made the refusal clear. In the evening, just before dinner, a messenger came to our lodgings, evidently despatched in haste, wdth the tickets, sent by a person unknown to us. " Of course we did not go. But the l)l()w it was to me I can hardly convey to you. I began to see ever}i;hing in the light of that 212 A HOMBURG STORY affront, and perhaps innocent deeds and remarks made by some of tlie ladies before, strangenesses of manner, all appeared in a new and, as I thouoht, true aspect against the l)ackground of this insult. Oh, the misery it was to us ! We should have left at once had wo not made an appointment with our relations whom we meet to-day. But we decided to keei) out of the way of any possible further slight. This experience was certainly beo'innino- to sadden, if not to embitter my life. And then we met you, and your kindness, especially your talk yesterday, has counteracted the eyil. It came in good time, and I feel sure it has sayed me from a graye moral disease which was beginning to lay its hold upon me. I thank you warndy for this. "But I should be conveying a wrong impression to you were 1 to lead you to believe ihat this Homburg experience was an absolute surprise to me, with the 213 THE SURFACE OF THINGS nature of which I had been completely unfamiliar. " It is true that for the greater part of my life I remained quite io-norant of the existence of such a prejudice ; nor have the results ever before made themselves directly and grossly felt by me or my family. Our home in New England was a very happy one, and our circle of friends was wide and varied. My father's house formed a hospitable centre for intellectual intercourse. Thouoh we knew nothing of a synagogue, I was aware of the differing religious and sacred traditions of our own, and, I must confess, that when I did dwell upon them it was only with pride — nay, with a strong dash of dreamy romance. Emerson, who was a friend of my father's, Channing and the Boston Unitarians and Rationalists, were the intellectual ouides to our religious convictions : and the Jewish faith I looked upon with pride as the founda- tion of s]uritual monotheism for all times. 214 A homburCt story Moses was to me the forerunner of all these modern theists. '■ My mother's family sprang from that old group of Newport Jews, most of whom have been lost as Jews l)y intermarriage among; the old Xew En Tirado. An English frigate captured the Portuguese vessel. The commander, an Englisli duke, was so much attracted by Maria that he ottered her marriage and was refused. When the captives were led to 217 THE SURFACE OF THINGS London the beauty of Maria caused such a sensation that Queen Elizabeth was anxious to make the acquaintance of the girl wJio had refused a duke. She invited her to an audience and drove througli tlie streets of London with her. It was throuoli her influence tliat the captive Marranos were enabled to leave England, and she worked for her people when they were settled in Holland. " With all these thoughts of the past, I still lived wholly and with pure delight in the present and the future, and I was speciall}' responsive to social pleasures. I even think that I was not free from the ' social ' ambi- tion to shine and be prominent in the circles which are widely recognised as leading the tone, that tills the hearts of so many young women, often to the exclusion and extinction of all nobler aspirations. And my cravings were fully satisfied. Dances, parties of all kinds, visits to fashionable resorts, and, 218 A homburct story above all, our own l)eautiful house and home, — all these I had, and they gave me opportunities of playing a prominent social part. " But I Avas by main force made aware of the existence of prejudice, though it did not touch my deeper emotional experience and sympathy. For it was not directed imnie- diatelv aaainst me and mv own people. It only touched the surface of my apjn-ehension, without making me really suffer myself or suffer in sympathy with others. I read of the Anti-Semitic movements aljroad ; but, except for momentary bursts of indignation, and a great contempt for the country and people where such vulgar folly and igno- rance prevailed, no lasting or deeper impres- sions were made upon me. " I cannot say the same for the manner in which I occasionally overheard my friends, especially my women friends, refer to other Jewish women during our travels, or at :219 THE SURFACE OF THINGS some of our favourite fashionable resorts. These references stigmatised them as some- thing of the nature of social outcasts. I began to think it over ; a sense of resistance, of indignation at the injustice, l)egan to grow in me ; and with it a prick of conscience whether I ought not to associate myself with the ranks of these weaker ones Avith whom I was so intimately connected 'by ties of his- tor}-^ and tradition. But the remoteness of these experiences as regarded myself, the freshness of my youthful spirits, and the fulness of my pleasant and varied life carried me over it. Still T began to think of the matter, and, at all events, while I was Ije- ginning to lose the absolute lightness and na'iveU of my social bearing, I was prepared to receive these experiences in the very heart of my sensitiveness. " And then came this l)low here ; and with it all the intensity and bitterness of the feelings over which a thoughtless and 220 A HOMBUKG STORY youthful temperament had caused me to slur. In those few davs I lived my whole life over again. I reproached myself sternly with disloyalty to those unfortunate ones, by whom, as the better favoured and stronger, I ought for years to have stood. I realised how much then ni^^^f have suftered : and I vowed that from that day I would stand under their colours and tight for them. A great resentment, not only against the of- fendei-s, but against society in general, was beginning to tix itself permanently in my heart. " And then you came, and by the delicacy and generous kindness of your manner you softened my mood ; while, l)y the clear and supreme reasonableness of what you have said, you showed me the true projmrtion of life in general, and of my own life in par- ticular. Last night in bed ' I stood upon the highest point of my life and self,' and saw stretched out before me, as this plain 221 THE SURFACE OF THINGS lies at our feet, the world of people, things, and events, and my own little life amon^ them, and I see clearly what I ought to do — which makes me intensely happy. " I mean to fight for these people with the weapons which my feeble hands are capable of wielding ; and still I wish to strufforle against bitterness in my own heart, and strive to retain the freshness and lightness — and grace, if I have such — of pleasant intercourse with the people I meet. "The hateful prejudice is chiefly based upon ignorance of the past and present life of the Jews. I am in a position to know both, and to make them known to others. I shall continue my studies of the non- biblical and non-theological history of the Jews, and shall then strive to make it widely known in the beautiful Enolish lanouao'e which I love to wield, however imperfectly. This will be some real work for me to do ; it will be " fighting' and not ' quarrelling.' As 222 A HOMBURG STORY for mv social life, I wish to fomet and to ignore the light, to accept and select my friends as heretofore, and above all, to accept with ' gratitude and gracefulness ' any noble friendship which is nobly oftered mo, such as you, my dear friend, have been moved to bring within my reach." There was a touching solemnity in her voice as she uttered these last words, and still looking straight before her in the distance, she extended her hand to him. He rose from his seat, and grasped her hand. " Xo," he said passionately, '' it is not friendship which I offer you, Margaret, — it is love, the purest love of a man, the purest love of my life. Do not spurn it ! From the first moment my eyes gazed on you, I was full of your image, of your whole being, and I can never tear myself from you. You are my queen, and I your humble slave. I bless you, you sweetest woman, in all 223 THE SURFACE OF THINGS humility. Your tight shall l)e uiy tight, j your peace and joy shall ])e mine, and I shall always be wholly yours. Listen, you sweet oirl let me lie sober. I am an ordi- nary man, who has lived an ordinary life ; /have not much to be proud of in my })ast, l)ut nothing dishonourable that I need be ashamed of. I come from simple people, my ancestors commonplace lairds in the rough and arid hills of Scotland ; I have not the poetry of the great traditions of your race and family to beautify and mellow the music of my soul ; but let me thrill with it from you, let me feel the resonance of a great moral purpose and struggle Avhich for centuries of steadfastness and martyrdom have ripened and ennobled your race. Margaret, be mine wholly. Can you not love me ? Do you not care for me a little only?" She sat motionless, her hand resting in his, her eyes still tixed before her ; but 224 A HOMBURG STORY her nostrils and lips (|uivered, as she said feebly : "I do and have, more than I wished to." " Oh, bless you for that, my queen ! How lovely you are I — if you knew it you would waste yourself in self-adoration. Come and see ; And with that he drew her by the hand to the silent i)ool, and they knelt doun, and with heads close together they gazed into its limpid depths. It had been mysteriously dark on that first afternoon. But now the sun touched its smooth, clear, unrutfied surface, and they gazed each upon the image of the other reflected from the pure, bright mirror, and drank themselves drunk with the sight of the face they each loved. Then he rose, and drew her up close to him, with gentle strength. She resisted, but he whispered : " Margaret, can you not put trust in me? " 225 THE SURFACE OF THINGS And he kissed her lips, she clinging to him in a long embrace. Then they turned and gazed once more upon the lovely scene at their feet. The sun had dissipated the clouds before it, and the haze hovering over the plain. The landscape was laughing in purest light ; Homburg lay there like a child smiling and resting in the meadows. All was gladness. X MARGARET and her sisters left that afternoon. They did not wait to be presented to the Prince. Campbell and his love wrote to each other every day. He then joined them in England. In six months they were married and are the happiest couple I know. She has pub- lished some articles, and is now writing a book, on the history of the Jews. He takes an active interest in her work, as she is 226 A HOMBURG STORY keenly interested in hi^. She is a great favourite in London society, and a charming- hostess. There is no house where more in- teresting people are met than at the Cani})- bells'. Her manners are perfect in their grace and naturalness — especially with the best-bred and really superior peo[)le. With those not of the absolutely best brcedinof one may occasionally n(^tice a certain hesita- tion and constraint in her bearino-. She is herself not dra\vn to Homburg ; but, know- ing that it is good fur his health, she accom- panies him to the place, and likes it when once she is there. They invariably make a pilgrimage to the pool in the woods. 227 cm BONO? IT was about five o'clock on a drizzly after- noon early in October when James Caus- ton, M.A., Fellow of All Souls' College, Oxford, arrived at Victoria Station from the Continent, and at once drove to his lodgings in Half Moon Street. He had spent a de- lightful holiday in Switzerland, with some Alpine climbing, of which he was passion- ately fond : and, after descending into Italy, he had lounged for a few days at Cadenabbia on the Lake of Como, taking what he called a sun-bath. This consisted for a great part of lying in a boat, now dipping into a favourite book, now dreaming as he gazed over the lake dotted with its villas or towards the fringe of lofty mountains straining upwards as if to meet a serene blue sky. But this holiday had abruptly terminated, owing to some special work which he was called to do at his college, where his suc- 228 cm BONO? cessful researches into classical literature, and further afield, into comparative philol- oijy and niytholoo:v, had won for him a position of weight and pi'ominence. He had therefore travelled direct without inter- mission from Lugano through Lucerne to Basle, where he had caught the night express, and, by good luck, had found a berth in the sleeping-cars. Thus, in just over thirty hours he was transferred from the Lake of Como to Half Moon Street, Piccadilly. And an abrupt change it was : not only a change in surroundings, — from the placid sunny lake to the dim noisy streets of the metropolis, — but also, and partly, in con- sequence, a change in his mood, from the unreflecting passive repose of his silent com- munion with nature to the restless anticij^a- tion of work to come and the distractino- un- certainty of what to do next in the world's city where there was so much to do. 229 THE SURFACE OF THINGS After he had taken his bath and dressed for dinner this question of what to do next filled hiin with perplexing unrest ; and with it came a sense of hopeless depression and a distasteful loneliness which he had not experienced when alone on some mountain- side in the high Alps. It was not the sense of loneliness which spreads its dark wings over a man arriving in the great metropolis as a total stranger ; for he knew his London w^ell, l)elonged to several clubs, and had innumerable friends residino- there. There was a stronger admixture of unrest and un- certainty which came from his very familiarity with the place, from the very knowledge that he had so many social relations to it, and that, for the moment, he could fix upon none with certainty and definiteness to free him from the obsession of melancholy which was laying hold of him. Where was he to go ? Who was in London at that time of the year? At what door 230 GUI BONO? should he knock which, if the owner were there, would no doubt be readily opened to him? Was it woj'th while trying Mr. This or Mrs. That, who had so often pressed him " to look them up when in town," with the chance of a lonely footman or a slatternly caretaker answering the bell after a lono- interval and informing him that the master or mistress w^as in the country, in Scotland, or abroad? No, really, it was not worth trying any house. And as for clubs ! Was he to try the serious Savonian or the stately Minerva, where, if he met any men, he would l)e put by them into the mood of the work he was to face at Oxford, and would breathe the atmosphere which he wished to dispel from himself as long as possible? " No," he said, rising with brighter deter- mination, and throwino: off the heavy' in- activity of his doubts, " I shall go to the Buckingham, where there is no suggestion 231 THE SURFACE OF THINGS of ' sap,' where an air of homely elegance pervades every room, where, at all events, I shall have a o-ood dinner, beautifullv served, and where, if I do meet anybody, I shall receive sugiyestions of what, in my present mood, will replace the sun and the artistic reminiscences of Italy ; namely, « the healthy, fresh, out-of-door life and the unostentatious spirit of social comfort of England." So he strode down Piccadilly into St. James Stre.et, and as he walked down this broad thoroughfare, under the light of the street lamps, and turned into Pall Mall, his step had already become light and energetic ; he had a clear goal before him, and he began to appreciate and to enjoy the fannliarity of London street-life, with its numerous sug- gestions of oood and evil. As he entered the (Mub the hall porter informed him that letters had come, off and on, during the last few months, but that, 232 GUI BONO? accordino; to instructions, he had forwarded them to Oxford. While he was helped off with his top-coat he cast an eager gUmce at the hat-racks to see whether there was any other member in the Club. His heart sank when he saw his own top-hat in solitary re- splendence on the wall ; and the mood which overcame him was almost as black, and his brain seemed to be as empty, as was his solitary head-gear. Still there was some hope that, as was the custom, some member might l)e in the upper room with his hat on. So he ascended the thickly-carpeted staircase to the front smoking-room, where, however, he found the papers in undisturbed order, and not a soul to enjoy its cosey comfort, which struck him now as blank and cheer- less. It was seven o'clock. Another hour be- fore he could dine. The large room Avas well lit with electric light : while the fire, blazino- briohtlv, seemed to mix its red and 233 THE SURFACE OF THINGS yellow gleam with the pale white of the electric lio;ht. Causton took up an evening paper and let himself down heavily into one of the large easy-chairs before the fire. He glanced over the headings, skimmed through the news, foreign and personal, but soon rose impa- tiently. He walked to one of the round tables at the far end of the room, turned the leaves of some of the English and foreign reviews and magazines, thought he saw an article which would interest him, sat down, and began to read it. But after a few pages he rose abruptly and threw the review on the table. He touched a bell, and when a servant entered noiselessly he asked : "Was anybody in the .Club this after- noon ? " " Very few, sir," the waiter replied. " There were quite a number here yesterday ; l)ut this afternoon T only saw the Marquis 234 GUI BONO ? of Brentwood and Lord Sevenoaks. There may have been some others, sir, but I did not see them." " Very well," he said, and turned away, feeling almost ashamed for having asked so nuich, as if he had peered into the afl'airs of other people. He then lit the electric light at one of the writing-tables and mechanically began to write some letters. He was always behind- hand with his extensive correspondence, and used every available spare minute to regain lost ground. But, after writing one or two short notes to Oxford, which at once sug- gested themselves to him, he could not think of any others, though he knew there were many he had to write. He looked at his watch aoain, havins; done so several times before, and though it still wanted quarter of an hour to eio-ht he decided to dine. " How stupid we are," he said to himself, " to clino- to a rule like o-allev-slaves ! Here THE SUEFACE OF THINGS I am, hungry and bored, and I force myself to wait, simply because it has been my habit not to dine before eight." And with this he entered the dining-room. It was a long rectangular room, with light-coloured walls, decorated with good prints, sporting, shooting, and hunting, — light, without being frivolous, as befits a dining-room. Small square tables were placed round the walls, side by side, with a narrow passageway between them. These were all meant for single diners, who sat with their backs to the wall, leaving the other three sides of the table unoccupied. The diners could thus converse with one another, even across the room ; while the tables could be moved too-ether, and In-ins; those who desired it closer. For dinner-parties a special room was reserved on the upper floor. When Causton entered, one of the ser- vants, as was the custom, pulled one of the 26^ CUI BONO? tables from the wall, and when he had seated himself, closed him in. He sat as in a stronghold from which he could overlook the whole room, and, especially, could con- trol the door, towards which his eyes turned expectantly every now and then. As yet the only living objects he could feast his eyes on were the waiters. They certainly had a cachet of their own in this club, from the severe maltre (Tholel, thin, short, with grey whiskers, the type of a foreign diplomat, generally in a frock-coat, and the cheerful-looking, tall, stout butler in faultless evening dress, to the waiters in their quiet blue liveries with gilt buttons, their black breeches with gold knee-straps, their ])lack silk stockings and buckle shoes. They all seemed to have attained the height of discipline and of deportment. They moved about noiselessly, without crawling or manifesting that nerve-vexing determina- tion to do things quietly which makes some 237 THE SURFACE OF THINGS walk and act as if they were in a sick-room or a mortuary chamber. They l)ore them- selves with simple, dignified politeness, without a touch of the obsequiousness which disturbs Englishmen in most foreifin ser- vants ; and their accurate and unfailing appellation of the members by their several titles had a touch rather of military disci- pline than of serviUty. Causton had ordered a small dinner : Con- somme a la Reine, soles a la Chantilly, and a grouse. The cooking was always excel- lent, the materials of the best, and the wines were pure and well selected. As a rule he chose a pint of simple Mosel wine — a Bern- castler Doctor ; but on this occasion ho felt he required additional cheering ; so he chose an '84 champagne. The good fare began to cheer him, and a warm feeling of contentment, arising out of the physical comfort which began to lap round him, was making itself felt, when 238 GUI B O X O ? suddenly the dining-rooui door was opened and was almost literally filled with the tall iioure of a man who reflected in his kind good face the same jo^'fnl expression of agreeable surprise which beamed from Causton's radiatinn; countenance. Prince Victor of Mecklenburg- Gotha was a man of colossal stature, nearly seventy years of age. He w^as over six feet thre? inches in height, and proportionately broad and strong. In his youth he must have been one of the handsomest men in Eng^land. Now he had certainly grown too heavy and stout, thoush his o-reat height saved him from the a})pearance of obesity. His features had also lost some of their clear-cut char- acter, a loss which could not completely ol)literate or hide the native distinction of the face. His hair and beard were now grey, Init they still showed that originally they must have been very fair. The lead- inir traits of the man Avere a fundamental 239 THE SURFACE OF THINGS bonhomie, not unmixed A\itli an element of humourous shrewdness, a solid, heavy, and apparently even, slow nature, which, how- ever, was pervaded and retined throughout by a delicacy and native simplicity and purity which so often accompany the more weighty qualities in the natures of big men. What made him a unicjue tigure in the London world was this mixture of the sportsmanlike and military turn of his nature and manner w^ith the softer and more senti- mental German side ^vhich was hereditary in himself, and so marked a feature in his family. He had left his German home at the age of thirteen, being a nephew of the Queen of England, and had been in the P^nslish service ever since, tiofhtinii' at Inker- mann, and subsequently commanding several posts in the empire. He had always l)een a smart soldier, and even now his heart was in military matters ; while most of his leisure time was taken up with charitable organisa- 240 C U I BONO? tions of which he was chairman, or, at all events, an active member of the committee. Some matter of this kind had hroug-ht him to town on the present occasion. " I am indeed o;lad to see vou," he said to Causton, shakino- hands and biddino- the young man, who remained standino-, to sit down again. "I did not expect to tind any- body here. I only ran up to town on some l)usiness of the Soldiers' and Sailors* Home. They are making a mess of their aflairs, and I felt bound to attend. Yes, thank you, the Princess is quite well. I left her down in Dorsetshire, where I have been shooting with my brother-in-law. I return there to-morrow. But where have you Ijeen, and what srreat discoveries have you made since last we met?" Having seated himself at the small tal)le beside Causton and ordered his dinner, he waited to hear an account of the vouns: man's work and recent experiences. 241 THE surfacp: of things But this time Causton could not gratify him with any news of his own Avork or that of his colleagues, as he had so often done, delighted to find an intelligent man, busy with occupations so dilferent from his own, in- terested in his studies. This feature of eagerness to learn, which the Germans indi- cate so happily by the word "Wissbegierde'" (in contradistinction to curiosity, "iVe«- gierde'"^, was another of his most striking traits. Without wishing to lay in cheaply a large stock of information to be doled out lightly on suitable occasions, or for any purposes of ostentation, — in fact, with no ulterior aim, — all sound knowledge and the work of all men of science, letters, and arts were to him of superior interest, and he acquired such information with ojenuine gratitude. It was the spirit which moved his ancestor, the friend and pati-on of Goethe. He was always on the alert for learning in any 242 C U I BONO? sphere. When in Dublin it was a test question with him })ut to every one who had visited that town : " Have you ever been to see Grubb's workshops?" Grubb was the famous maker of mathematical and physical instruments in that city. '^No? My dear sir, then you have not seen one of the most intensely interesting sights of Dub- lin." His hospital house, and his excellent dinners at a round table, prepared by a real cordon bleu, brought together people of all callings and interests, and the prevailing tone of kind old soldier's hospitality tended to give a warm and homelike character to these gatherings, so that his house never became a salon with a "precious " or Bohe- mian touch. When Causton had given an account of himself, and was just thinking of some news to tell his old friend, the door opened with an abrupt shove, and a ruddy-faced, 243 THE SURFACE OF THINGS tall, strong, beardless man stepped in, who, looking around slowly, manifested clearly, but with less eagerness than the two pre- vious guests, his pleasure at seeing the two diners at their tables. He bowed to the Prince and nodded to Causton, and, after shaking the proffered hand, said : "What a beastly hole London is at this time of the year ! Nothing would keep me here. 'Tis only two hunters I am after, and old screws they prove to be. So I have lost two o-ood days' cubbino-. But I think I shall go down to Leicestershire by the late train to-night to catch them out to-morrow. How do you come to be in this hole. Sir, now?" he asked the Prince. " I also have some business ; ])ut I don't agree to London being so bad now," replied the Prince. " I have often been here at this time of the year and I have found it singularly pleasant. People are not in the 244 GUI BONO ? bustle and hurry of pleasure or work as in the season, and one really o-ets to see them quietly and to know them better. Besides, London has so many resources in the way of thino-s to hear, see, and to study, which one only realises properly and takes In leisurely and fully out of the season." " Well, I always feel lost — not that I like it much in the season either," said the new- comer. Draycott Fieldino- was a splendid type of the master of foxhounds. He wa>s a true sportsman, heart and soul, and put serious energy and conscientious work into this healthy national out-of-door amusement of old England, providing pleasure and health for a large numl)er of people of all classes. He was not the man of leisure who, as a rentier in other countries, dawdles about all day long, from cafe to beer-house or club, from a lazy town life to a still nujre idle existence in tlie various watering-places of 2-t5 THE SURFACE OF THINGS Germany and France ; but " what his hand found to do he did it with his mio-ht." Huntino- hounds was what he had found to do. He knew every inch of the country he hunted, all the theory and practice of wood- craft, all about horses and hounds. Every one of his own horses he knew thorouohly, and every hound of the pack as well as the stud-groom or the kennel-huntsman. He had once oiven Causton a olowino- account of his new hunting-box, the ideal of houses in the ideal country. " Why," he had said, "I can sit in my kennels and hear the choir sing — even the sermon — in the church." He was also an excellent master as con- cerned his "field" : always jovial and friendly to farmer-boy and to peer, interested in all who rode with him, in their affairs, their families, and farms. Courteous and kindly, l)ut with complete control over the varied mass of horsemen and horsewomen, — and 24G CUT BONO? a timely loss of temper if needed to keep them from riding over scent or hounds, — he was certainly not made for town, and he was performing a most useful function in national life in being a model master of hounds. The conversation, which might have grown Horatian in the comparison of town and country life, was cut short by the entrance of another member ; and, in rapid succes- sion, the dining-room door was opened three times. First came Lord Henry Montfort, then Dick Howard, and then young Lord Hough of the Guards. The first was a short, ruddy figure, evidently a sailor. He was an ad- miral, just then not in commission, an excel- lent yachtsman, who had returned from Scotland, where he had l^een cruising ever since the Cowes races. The second, a very neat, slight, pale man of about thirty-five, one of the best-dressed men in London, was 247 THE SURFACE OF THINGS an active member of Parliament, very keen in his work of party organisation. The third was a tall, slim, erect young man with a pink and white boy's face, and had the unmistakable bearing of the guardsman. Shaking hands was an exceptional form of greeting in the Club, yet came quite naturally to the three first-comers, because of their isolation and their surprise at find- ing each other. The others, as they entered, upon finding three members dining at their tallies, relapsed into their customary bow to the Prince and a nod to Causton and Field- ing. They each accounted for their being in town in a few words to the Prince, and all dined in good humour ])ehind their little tables. The conversation was lively and general. But at times it would break u}) into more intimate talk, especially when })ersonal news concerning friends was exchanged. Then the allusions to Freddie and Georofie, 248 GUI BONO ? with the, natural assumption that the person was intimately known to all, often made one like Causton, who lived in many sets and had interests in man}^ spheres, feel some- what out of it. Still, there was such a vivid interchange of good spirits and such a unity of atmosphere around the six that it sounded quite natural when Prince Victor suggested that they should do something in common, and spend the evening together. Then some suggested theatres ; Ijut upon sending a waiter out to report upon the weather the answer was, " pouring with rain." Another suggested a rul)ber of Avhist ; but it was not accepted. Though in former days there had Ijeen nuich card- playing in the Buckingham, it had now entirely dropped out. "What a pity," said the Admiral, "that the old bowling-alley has been changed into the billiard-room I It did brino- meml)er.s of the Clul) toofether in comfortable talk 240 THE SURFACE OF THINGS more tluin anything else. W'luit fun it was ! " And all agreed that it had been a real feature of the Clul), when all its members laughed and chatted and played at a game which gave healthy exercise during their London eveninos. When ])illiards were suggested it was objected that it would either split them up or concentrate them too much upon the o-ame itself. "I have a suggestion," said Prince Victor. " It is cold and rainy out : let us convert this into a small house-party of friends in the country, and all sit before the tire in the upper room and have some good talk. I know Causton here can tell us somethino- worth listeninii; to, and Howard will reveal to us all the political secrets of the day." This proposition was accepted with accla- mation. " Splendid," said Howard. " The Professor will give us a lecture." 250 GUI BONO? Now, Causton knew that he was called the Professor by his worldly friends, when speak- ino- of him ; ))ut he did not like the form or the substance of Howard's remark. He felt his profession to l)e second to none ; l)ut to ol)trude it in ordinary social intercourse showed a want of tact. Moreover, the very sound and the hackneyed associations of the term "professor" always jarred upon him. Prince Victor must have felt the same for his special friend, and this sensitiveness was perhaps heightened by the fact that he had secretly hoped their talk before the tire would turn into something like an informal address from Causton, and that his thirst for new knowledge would be gratified. There was a touch of sharpness in his voice when he said : " I am sure Causton would not cast his pearls before us. We should be nuich more able to appreciate a rehearsal of your elec- tioneering address,^ which, I am sure, is 251 THE SURFACE OF THINGS giving you so much trouble. I think you had lietter begin with that as a preliminary canter to Causton's race." Howard, too, felt that he had made a mis- take the moment he had spoken, and was sorry for it. It was the old Eton school- boy who had spoken out of him. In reality he was above makin«- such a remark and had a genuine reward for Causton. He at once said : " Causton knows that I am not worthy to sit at his feet. Even in an electioneering- address or a speech in the House he could beat me. I wish we could have more men like him, who really know something, in the House. The few we have lead the way even in practical questions far renK^ved from their work." "Well, let us go," said Prince Alctor. And with this the signal was given, and the six rose and ascended the stairs to the upper room, where a fire was blazing anil 252 GUI B O X O ? a sense ut' homelike seclusion prevailed. Large easy-chairs were rolled in a semi- circle round the tire, the Prince seated himself in the middle, biddinii- Causton to sit by him, and the others grouped round. Coffee and liqueurs were served, cigars and cigarettes were lit, and there was a moment of expectation as to who should begin. When neither the Prince nor Caus- ton began to talk Fielding helped them all out bv askino- with a touch of hesitation and shyness : " By the way, Causton, can you tell me whv they are makinir all this fuss about that man Hay ward? I read a lot about it coming up in the train this afternoon." "Oh, he is the great mathematician," Causton answered. " Perhaps the greatest representative of ])ure mathematics in Eu- rope at this moment : and they have been celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of his work as a professor at Cambridge. It 253 THE SURFACE OF THINGS is a great and nol)le life that he has lived, and the use he has been to his country and to the world makes him well worthy of such })ul)lic recognition. " "Well, I don't mind saying that I am an ignorant })erson and have shamefully neglected the o})portunities of education at school and at the university, and, for that, ever since. But I don't know what the use of such work is ; I don't know what pure mathematics is. Is there an impure nuithe- niatics ? " "They — I know very little about it — distinguish between pure and applied mathematics," Causton replied. " The one is what you AvoukI call more practical ; the other is purely theorclical. There is a well- known toast of the famous mathematician Gauss at a scientific dinner : ' I drink to pure mathematics, the only science which has never been defiled l)y a practical appli- cation.' " 254 GUI B O X O ? " Exactly," said Fielding, more confi- dently and fluently, having brought forward his previous questions with hesitation, " that's just the point I should like to ask you, and I have never yet been al»le to ask or have answered. You see, I'm a dufter, and I know you're a learned man, and a swell, and all that kind of thing, and I feel a sneaking, no, a straightforward respect for you. I'm really afraid of you, unless I have you out with hounds, and a good straight man across country you are, too ; but hano; it, I can't see what's the use of all this science and learning, and all that kind of thing, — what's the good of it V I know all you fellows are very keen al)out it, and you think it good for humanity, and the most important thing, and all that kind of thing ; l)ut why are you so keen about it, and w^hat are you and we the better for it ? Now I wish you would kindly explain this to me, and I should be very grateful. I've l)een 255 THE SURFACE OF THINGS waiting; for years to ask il, and I'm sure some of the others here — Now, Harry, you don't need to look shocked a( my ignorance, for you know you don't know more than 1 do, nor do you, Hough I The Prince has got a touch of learning about him, and poli- ticians — of course they know everything." Having made this, for him, unusually long speech, he looked round at them all, then leaned back in his chair, as if fatigued from the exertion, and then continued implor- ingly, " Now I Avish you would explain that to me, Causton, and T shall have spent a useful as well as an agreeable evening." Prince Victor looked with some eagerness to Causton, manifestly pleased at the turn which liluff Fielding- had given to the con- versation, and all eyes were turned expect- antly at him. He felt forced to take up the matter seriously ; to shirk it would mean unkindness and affectation. He felt eml)arrassed how to begin. He 25G cm BONO? had thought and talked a great deal on this subject, and he ought to have been well prepared to broach it now» but, perha})s, the very fact of his having thrashed it out so often and so thoroughly made it all the more difficult for him to besfin. He had seen it from so many sides that he could not readily tind one point of departure. A certain amount of iirnorance is a stinudus to thought, and especially to exposition. His first answer thus partook of the character of a question, and was dictated l)y a natural desire to steady himself. "Your (j[uestion," he said, "really a])pea]s to two spheres, the personal and the imper- sonal, and I hardly know which to deal with first. You ask why I or, rather, we men of science and letters are so keen about our life-work, and then you ask what is the use of such eftbrt and accomplishment to the world at larffe." " Isn't that really one and the same (|ues- 257 THE SURFACE OF THINGS tion? '" Howard here cut in. " Does not the general utility make the keenness ? or, to put it differently, would you he so keen if you were not convinced of the proportionate utility? — would you be keen at all, if you thought your effort was no good to any- body?" " Thank you, Howard, that puts it clearly. I should like to take up the question at once where you have fixed it. But I fear it would make us too academical, and Avould lead us too far or too deeply into the domain of metaphysics, ethics, and sociology. "We should have to define ' use ' and ' utility ' and the primary motives of human action, and that would at once launch us into the funda- mental problems of ethics : Hedonism, Utili- tarianism, Rational and Irrational Egoism — and many other ' isms ' which I wish to avoid." " Yes, please don't do that," said Field- iuff, " or I shall not be able to follow vou, 258 cur B o X o ? and shall shut up at once. That's the way most of you people cht)ke me ofl' and make me feel a fool. I have always doubted whether they could know it all really well, if they could not explain a thing without their philosophical and scientific lingo and slang and all that kind of thino-." "I quite agree with you, Fielding," said the Admiral. " I often say to naval voung- sters that they don't really knoM' their nau- tical work until thcv can 2.0 throuiili the whole subject without using a single nautical term, and can make it clear to the country- bred landlul)ber." "AVell, I'll back Causton never to come the scientilic pedant over anyljody," said the Prince. " That's why even I have been able to learn much from him. Take it your own pace, Causton, and don't mind system." This cross-tire gave the " Professor '" time to survey the whole field of the problem, and to choose his general line of action. 259 THE SURFACE OF THINGS " Well, then," said Causton deliberately, leaning back in his chair, looking straight before him and up towards the mantelpiece with compressed eyes, as if he had the out- line plan of his answer written there, " I am keen about science, because I cannot help being so. Because I must do it, because there is a fundamental instinct driving me on to such eflbrt, and this instinct must be satisfied. We study and think and strive after knowledge and truth, as the bird sings, and the eagle soars — and the hounds hunt the scent." "I'm sure I don't feel that in the same way," Fielding put in. " Well, you feel it in your Avay, and I shall convince you of it before we have done. Let me remind you of your desire to know some- thing of the very subject we are talking about now, and which started this conversa- tion. I could show you " — "Don't be taken into a side channel by 260 GUI BONO? Fieldino:," said the Prince. "We have all folloT\"ed you so far. Go on with your ' instinct.' How can you tell that it is not a 1)ad instinct ? Are all instincts to be followed simply liecause they are instincts? " " All instincts implanted in man are to be followed, provided they are not detri- mental to himself or to society, and provided they are not absolutely or relatively useless. To decide about the two first need not srive us so much trouble. The most difficult point to decide upon is the relative degree of utility." The vouno; oruardsman had been listenins; silently until now. He now hazarded a question, blushins; somewhat, though he spoke firmly and clearly. " Is it not equally difficult, perhaps one of the most difficult thino;s in life, to decide what is detrimental to one's self and to society?" he asked, turning to Causton. " Of course, it is not always plain sailing, 261 I THE SURFACE OF THIxVGS and I know you are touching upon one of the difficult questions of practical ethics which " — " Please don't go ofi* on that tack," objected the Prince, " or we shall get no forwarder with the main question." " You are right, Sir, it would lead us too far to enter upon that question. But Hough has o-iven me a timely warnino; not to use terms loosely, and not to assume that fixed distinctions can readil}' be made in a clear manner." There was a moment's silence, and then he continued : "Well, then, let it be admitted that the instincts which are detrimental to one's self or to society at large lead to what we call vice. The hal)itual folio wino; of an instinct which is absolutely useless produces what we call a 'hobby.' When this instinctive energy is directed towards an object which is relatively useless we call this pursuit a 'fad.'" 262 GUI BONO ? "I am not quite satistieci about your two last distinctions," said the Prince. '' Tlie first is quite clear for the practical purposes of our discussion." "Exactly," Causton continued more rap- idly. "As T said before, this requires the nicest distinctions, for the objects and pursuits which become hobbies and fads may be useful at times and when followed under certain conditions and to certain degrees. It is the question of inopportune- ness and exag-geration Avliich makes them fads and hobbies. What is a legitimate pursuit to one man may l)e a fad or a hobbj^ to another, because the latter is not called upon to devote the same amount of energy to such a pursuit, and has really other voca- tions in life. " But my object is not to define these different groups of abnormal or condemnable pursuits in themselves. I merely wanted to point out that there are instincts which, if 263 THE SURFACE OF THINGS followed, lead to forms of moral or intellect- ual disease, — namely, those which are harm- ful and those which are useless — nay, even that there may be doubts about those which tend towards olijects which are comparatively useless. If we are clear that powerful in- stincts in us are not of this kind we are justified in followino- them, nay, in strength- ening and developing such instincts. "Now, no one can maintain that the in- stinct for knowledge, for the apprehension of truth, is either unsocial and immoral or useless. I am sure we none of us doubt that it is most highly moral and usefid — in ftict, indispensal)le to rational and sane life, both individual and collective, in larger com- munities. Accurate knowledge is at the bottom of all rational and practical action. We make mistakes and fiiil to gain the objects we strive for when we misapprehend the nature of the things without, our relation to them, and our ])ower over them. There- 264 GUI BONO? fore evervthino- which tends to streniithen, refine, develop, and diversity this instinct is of srreatest good to ourselves and to human society. Science and learnino- are the purest and most complete expression of this. And therefore, Fieldino-. I am confirmed in fol- lowino- this instinct — which, mind vou, in some form or other is not peculiar to me and those of mv class, but is a fundamental instinct in man as such." "Well, I must say, Causton, you"d make a capital lawyer. I had to follow you straight on and I admit all that. I can understand why you should follow it. But I am not yet convinced of the utility of oivino- your whole life to 'pure mathematics." ]May not that be what you call ' a fad,* when you devote your whole life to it? What's the good of the big books you write on ' \nu'e mathe- matics' beyond satisfying your instinct — which I admit goes for something." " Well, I am bound to say, you would 265 THE SURFACE OF THINGS make an equally good lawyer, Fielding," said Causton eagerly, while he smiled at his jolly friend. " You have just hit the weak point. " All I wished to show so for was that there was some motive in us for o-oino- in for Science and Learning as we do. So far the only use would l)e in satisfying and en- couraoino- that fundamental instinct in us. That's why at the beginning I called this the personal aspect of the question. Now for the impersonal side : " You ask : is the actual work produced, are the results, the tangible eflects that arise when we follow this theoretical instinct, useful? What's the good of it, what's its use? "Now, believe me when I say that it is not as a tricky lawyer who merely wants to steal a march upon his adversary that I be- gin my answer by another question, and ask 3^ou, A^Hiat's the use of anything ? ' Has 26C GUI BONO? this question never occurred to you? Have you never felt in this mood?" "By Jove, I do confess it has occurred to me. I do feel it occasionally. But when it comes I know that it is about time to take a pill." There was a laugh, not only because of wdiat Fielding said, but also because of his manner in saying it. There was a jerk of the head, and a kind of dogged resolution to admit a distasteful truth of which he was not at all proud. But Causton continued quite seriously : " Exactly, and you are right. Because it shows that something is out of order, that you are not a normal being, in perfect har- monv with yourself and your natural sur- roundino-s. We men of science are all ' diseased " in this respect, because we must often call in question what others do natu- rall}' and spontane0|usly. Excuse me for quoting German," and, turning to the 267 THE SURFACE OF THINGS Prince, he saidj " You remember, sir, what Mephistopheles says to the young student : " ' Dann lelirtt man Eiich manchen Tag^ Bass, was ihr sonst aiif einen Schlag Getriehen, wie Essen und Trinkenfrei, Bins ! Zwei ' Drei ! dazu ndthig sei. ****** Der Philosoph, der tritt herein, Und beiveiset Euch es mitssf so sein : Das Ersf war so, das Ziveite so, Und drum das Dritf und Vierte so ; Und wenn das Ersf und Zweit nicht war, Das Dritf imd Viert war nimmermehr.' " Reflection kills action, and we are liter- ally sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought. From this point of view nothing is natural excepting pure animal life, and the more we are thoughtful, the more we are diseased. What does Browning make Para- celsus say? '■'■ ' Mind is nothing but disease, And natural liealtli is ignorance.' " But on this ground you must allow me to maintain that your (juestion as to the 268 cur BONO? use of science and thought is indicative of disease, as is also the question when applied to exertion in any other business or profes- sion, in commerce, in the law, in politics, or in hunting;. The ideal existence then would not be even the animal, it would be pure veoetatino- existence. But, after all, man is a conscious, thinking being ; and so we are right in in(|uiring occasionally into the use or justitication of what we generally do naturally, without further thought and with spontaneity. And though you may be right, Fielding, in attributing to physical derange- ment the mood which led you to doubt that which you always take for granted, the question remains whether, having asked it, you could then give yourself a satisfactory answer ? " " Of course I could not. But I am not one of those thinking fellows, and I told you that m}^ education was neglected. My only answer was the pill, and a brisk gallop across 269 THE SURFACE OF THINGS country that generally settled it. Have you any other ? " "Don't you think that that is simply suppressing the question, as a man may drown worr}^ and grief in drink ? " "That may be so,'^ said Fielding. "I really consider it absurd to question the use of what we are all agreed upon is the thing to do, and therefore " — "Don't go on about that, Causton ; give us your answer if you have any," said the Prince. " All I am driving at," continued Causton, " is that we must arrive at this apparently absurd conclusion that very little that we do is of any good at all if we only take ' natural man' as the subject of our thought, and if we only consider what is ' necessary to existence ; ' if we define as useful — as is generally done in public discussions of this kind, when that word is used — what is man- ifestly, with gross manifestness, necessary to physical subsistence. We then return to 270 GUI BONO ? brute man — prehistoric man. The produc- tion and preparation of food be^^ond what is purely necessary to keep us alive, the elaboration of our dwellinos beyond mere warmth and shelter, all the progress in the direction of comfort and beauty, the endless manufacture of a variety of articles of apparel and personal outfit, the development of our means of locomotion and communication, our public organisation of villages aud towns, our theatres, operas, concert-rooms, museums, our libraries, universities, — all that is summarised under the term, 'civilisa- tion,' — cannot lay claim to the term ' useful." Xothing is useful that cannot be justified in the terms of the prehistoric cave-dweller, who eats roots and berries, devours the flesh of the animals he kills, gets shelter in his cave or wattle-hut, and keeps warm in his bearskin."' " Are you not overstating your case ? " Howard here put in. 271 THE SURFACE OF THINGS " Perhaps I aui," Causton continued eagerly ; " but I do not think it is as absurd as it seems. I know I need not aj)oh)o;ise to you, Avhen I say that 1 have heard political stump-speeches, in which the ai'guments glorifying the ' unusual prosperity of one period,' the great gain and use of one insti- tution or line of action, as contrasted with the luxury, the uselessness of other pursuits and organisations, really only rested upon the absurd premises of prehistoric existence as I have sketched it bluntly." " Hear, hear I " said the Admiral, who was a good old Tory, and merely had in nund the ' radical ' speechmaker, "I will not enter upon the question whether civilisation, progress, and whatever else we may call it, is good or bad. There are some developments of civilisation which are, as doctors would call it, ' hypertro- phied ' and are diseased. I admit this, however much I niav dislike the frame of 272 GUI BONO ? mind of the ' romanticists ' who sing of the simplicity of nature, and wish to hark 1)ack to the simple life, the brutality, cruelty, and misery of which distance and years, lending their enchantment, have hidden from our view. To make what was a matter of luxury a necessity often marks one of the main steps in civilisation. I simi)ly say that we are such beings ; that we are civilised ])eings, living in civilised conmuinities. All the acquisitions in this continuous process of civilisation have gone into our blood, they are essential parts of ourselves — they are as necessary to our existence as eating and drinking — we cannot exist without them. Take the simplest and most uncultured type of person in our community. Have you ever entered into their inner, and even outer, lives with this question in mind? Well, then : There may be people who have not enough to eat. Do 3^ou think so, Howard?" 273 THE SURFACE OF THINGS "I am afraid there are," said Howard; " but there are fewer cases of death from starvation in Western Europe and America than people realise." "Well," continued Causton, "that cer- tainly ought never to occur in a civilised community. But take the life of the poor- est farm-lal30urers and artisans, and ask the question : How much of their conscious en- deavour is directed tow^ards providing for mere material subsistence of the prehistoric man-order? ov, rather, inquire into the amount of thought and attention which is devoted by them to that which is far be- yond mere material subsistence, and how real to them is the absolute necessity of those ijoods or the satisfaction of desires which go beyond satiety, warmth, and shelter. Most of their eagerness and keenness is directed during their waking life towards desires of what I should almost like to call an artistic and social order, towards a spiritual 274 GUI BONO ? article which cannot be expressed in l)read- stufFs and textile fabrics — The riband on the poor dairy-maid's hat, the social aml)ition in the humblest walk of life, the pleasures of conversation at the street corner or in the public house, — pleasures essentially like those we are enjoying this evening here, — social amliition, the regard and considera- tion of their neighbours, the school treat, the dance, the foot-ball match, the show, the prettiness of their cottage or room, one pot or kettle instead of another, as they prefer one dress or hat to another, — all that really belongs to the domain of art, — all thino-s that belong to the region of ideas and not of material realities. Now, to appreciate how essential these spiritual goods are to the simplest people among us, how intense as motives to action and exertion they are to a great number of people, you need ])ut study the lists of suicides. In very few cases will you be able to lind actual want of 275 THE SURFACE OF THINGS the ' prehistoric ' necessaries ; while in most it will be the disappointment in the 'luxury' side of life, in the feelings that respond to this 'civilisation' life, l)uilt up out of, and resting upon, this evolution of mind and thought. And it is a pretty good test of the reality of such needs to tind that })eople give up their lives rather than forego their satisfaction." Causton paused after this long speech. Prince Victor looked about a})provingly at the others, as if he were saying to them : Did I not tell you that we should have a good talk from him? There was a certain sense of proprietorship in his friend. "Still," said Howard, "if we recognise the great importance wdiich this accumulated effort has in shaping civilisation, how can you gain a practical test of the desirability of each mental effort? You may say that ' whatever is fundamentally necessary to this structure called civilisation is worth en- 276 GUI BONO ? couraging.' But how can we have a practi- cal test with regard to our own pursuits, and how about science? '" "Well, I say that there can be no doubt that science and art are thus fundamentally necessary to civilisation. In fact, they are the purest and most direct expression of all these different currents which make up the broad stream of civilised progress ; and thus they react upon civilisation, lix and conlirm, advance and produce it. They produce that lasting and impersonal tradition which t)inds us all too^ether, which belono-s to no man alone, which we cannot infuse by heredit}' into each individual, so that he is better than his progenitor in himself, — except in so far as he is living in it, as it surrounds him and is the social, intellectual, and politi- cal atmosphere which he lireathes from his childhood upwards. From this we derive the education which makes us what we are, and this spiritual body politic is housed, is 277 THE SURFACE OF THINGS materially fixed, in our schools and universi- ties, in our theatres and museums and libra- ries and churches, — these are the repositories of our spiritual i>oods and life. The com- mon name for all this is culture, is science, art, religion, morality, and law. What dis- tinguishes the civilised from the uncivilised, the cultured from the uncultured, is that they have developed science, the higher striving after truth ; art, all the manifesta- tions of beauty and the higher pleasures which are not selfish, which men can feel in common ; and religion, in so far as it is not tied down to sensuous rites and doo-mas, — for these the savage has as well. In short, we might almost say that the more real abstract general truths and needs are to us, the more these are emancipated from the material animal feelings, the higher are we in civilisation. That is how we differ from prehistoric man." " I feel all you say, and I admire your 278 GUI BONO? exposition," said Howard. " But I wish you could give a simpler and more practical test of the use of higher pursuits in taking- more detinite instances. You have shown us that there is a fundamental instinct in us which makes for truth, and that this instinct is justified in that civilisation is l)ased upon it. But can vou oive anv practical test to apply to our pursuits if we arc in doubt ? How are we to tell whether any pursuit we follow is not a useless hobby or a fad?" " I can only say that a pursuit is not a hobby if we can discover some foundation for it in something rationally useful, in the universal and general taste of the people among whom we live our civilised and cult- ured life, or in the advancement of human- ity. If one of us were the only man who hunted hounds, it would be a hobby, while now it is not. To collect penholders is a hobby : not so pictures, beetles, or butter- flies. But immediately, or only remotely, 279 THE SURFACE OF THINGS you must be able to recognise that there is some good in your occupation." "I have felt that," said the Admiral, " about yachting, of which I am passionately fond. I used to sav to myself that it trained sailors and advanced the art of sailing and of ship-building. I am bound to say I can- not satisfy myself about that now in the days when sails are hardly used in our navy." " I also confess," said Fielding, " that even I, in some rare moments, have tried to justify hunting on the ground that it is good for the health of many hard-working people, that it produces courage and pluck, and that it encourag-es the breedino- of good horses in the country. But I also have had my doubts about these justitications." " It appears to me that you have both ig- nored the chief and sufficient justification of such pursuits ; namely, the legitimate pleas- ure which civilised man requires as nuich as 280 cut BOXO ? the other o;oods we have been dwelling upon. Sports and pastimes which are not bought at the expense and sacrifice of our fellow- men are ennoblino- thev are to our physical life what art, science, and religion are to our spiritual life." "Well, 1 am afraid there is not much to be said in favour of our vocation in life," said the Prince, turnino- to youno- Lord Hough. " It has been said that strong- armies are the safeguards of peace. But I really do not believe it, do you? " The young guardsman, though shy and one of those who, under ordinary circum- stances, would never have referred to his intimate feelings in the presence of strangers, was affected 1)y the warm and serious atmos- phere which had prevailed that evening, and he said : "I admit frankly that I have many mo- ments when I am made rather miserable by the thought that soldiering is a profession 281 THE SURFACE OF THINGS not in keeping with our highest ideas and the true interests of humanity." "But, ni}' dear George," Howard said, turnino; to the vouno- officer, " vou must take yourself as a member of the coumuinity and age in which you live, just as much as Causton insisted upon our being civilised beings with the needs of civilised men and not of prehistoric half-animals. We do not live in caves : but we also do not live in the moon. Not only in the Europe of to-day must we Englishmen hold our position, but we even have before us a great vocation in the spread of civilisation over the other con- tinents and hemispheres, and for this you are the vanguard, — we shall need your strong arm foi- many decades, perhaps for centuries for this great task. And this task, moreover, is one which will well agree with Causton's ' spread of civilisation,' which he makes the final test of all general lines of eftbrt." 282 GUI BOXO ? " I heartily side with you, Howard," said Causton. " You remind me of a very pathetic experience of mine, when an okl patriot and statesman of one of the smaller countries in the southeast of Europe, in a conversation on patriotism and his life-work, said, with tears in his voice : ' Ah, my young friend, you are happy, because you are an English- man. You need never feel the doubt which crosses our minds in miserable moments — the doubt, namely, whether the civilisation which our country represents, to the main- tenance of which we are devoting our lives, will not of necessity be assimilated in the life of more advanced and more powerful nations. You can feel assured that the more you extend the power of ijour country, the more have you advanced the general progress of humanitv. For \o\\. are the son of a areat nation, in the very forefront of civilisation, — which I am not.'" "That is really touching," said the Prince. 283 THE SURFACE OF THINGS " I believe I know the man you are referring to. It is really infinitely sad to realise that a patriot of one of these countries must occasionally feel such strong doubts as to whether it is worth while maintaining a country, a language, and a nationality which will and ought to be swallowed up some time or other — but, my dear Causton, we are deviating from our path. Have you nothing more to say about the use of science ? " I have, Sir, but before I do so I should like to repeat an interesting confession of one of my friends which will put the arguments in favour of scientific pursuits in a more per- sonal and direct manner. He is a colleague of mine, a distinguished archaeologist, and teaches his subject at our university. Some time ao;o he made a strikino- discoverv, one of a series he has made in his work. He had found in a foreign museum a marl)le head, which, ]\v means of his careful and 284 CUI BONO? systematic observation and comparison of works of ancient art, a method developed in his science in the most accurate manner ))y several great scholars, he at once recognised as belonging to a statue l)y Phidias in London. A cast of the head was made for him by the authorities of the foreign museum. He took it to London, and there, to his own delight and that of all people who love the masterpieces of Greek art, when he tried this head on the neck of the beautiful female li"ure, each fracture titted exactlv. The precious work of art from the age of Peri- cles, of the art of Phidias, was now made complete, after it had remained incomplete for centuries. " When one day I was congratulating him upon this discovery, and saying to him how happy must have been that moment, and how contented he must be with the success- ful pursuit of the vocation he had chosen in life, a discussion similar to the one we are 285 THE SURFACE OF THINGS now carrying on ensued, and in it he made to me the followimj; confession as to the light in which at various moments his work appeared to him, and the varying degrees of moral justification which he then recognised as underlying his efforts. "'When I am quite well in body and mind,' he said, ' I work on with delight and vigour. It is pure joy ; I never question the rightness and supreme necessity of my work at all. Nothing in this world appears to me of greater importance for me to work at, and I am almost convinced that the Avorld could not get on without my Avork. Convinced is not the right word ; for I do not think about this general question at all. But at the bottom of this joyous expenditure of creative energy lies this conviction, and all the justifications which I must now enumerate. For, as my moral or physical health sinks, one of them after the other drops oif, until I am left with but the feeble support of the 286 GUI BONO? last lame excuse for exertion with which I limp or crawl through my deep dejection and melancholy. " ' With the first disturbance of moral or physical sanity, I begin to doul^t and (|uery. It is the first stage of the disease ; but I am still full of high and sound spirits. Besides all the others, I feel one supreme motive to action, which is of the highest religious order, so high that but few people will be able to understand it, and still fewer can sympathise with it and be moved by it. "'I look upon my individual work and creation as part of the great universe, even beyond humanity. I even transcend the merel}' human or social basis of ethics, and I feel myself in communion with the world in all its infinite vastness. " ' I know this sounds like mysticism, but I assure you it is both clear and real to me. I then feel that if there were in this world no single human being to love or care for, 287 THE SURFACE OF THINGS instruct or uimise, my work would still bu necessary, in view of the great harmony of things, to which right actions, truth dis- covered, and beauty formed contril)ute, as their contraries detract from it. "'Were there no single person living,' he continued, with growing warmth of enthusi- asm, ' it would be right, nay, necessary, for me to discover that head in the foreign museum. That head lay "pining" there in the foreign museum for years, and for centuries under the earth l)efore it was excavated, until / came, and by the knowl- edge I possessed (which means the accumu- lated effort of many learned men estalilishing the method, as well as my years of prepara- tion and education in acquiring it and mak- ing it my own), l)y this science of mine, I joined it to that torso, that imjjerfect frag- ment of a thing, and made it whole, — a living work of art fashioned by the master genius, whose existence two thousand years 288 GUI BONO ? ago became part of the world's richness for all time. So long as that head and that torso remained separate there was discord and not harmony in the world's great Sym- phony — the world was so much the poorer, so much the less ])eautiful and good. I made the world richer by my act, more har- monious, more beautiful ; and thus, without self-love, or even love of man, I proved my love of God. That is the Auior Dei. Then we are enthusiastic in the Greek sense of the word ; we are full of God. " ' In the next stage, when my spirits flag somewhat and reflection and then doubt begin to come over me, I cannot feel moved h\ this Avidest and o-randest assurance of the bearings of my science. But, in addition to the lower justiflcations, I then (piiet my doubts l)y the feeling that my work and my teaching are one element in the establish- ment, increase, and spread of what we call civilisation, culture, and ublic schools, and am at least helping these young men to a profession, giving them the means of earnino- a livino-. 290 GUI BONO ? " ' When I have arrived at that staoe of dejection and lowness of spirits I jog on in a " from hand to mouth " existence ; but I feel that the sooner I can get a good holi- day and some rest, the better it will be for me.' " The Prince was perhaps the only one in the party who could really follow Causton in his sympathy with the idealised views of the scholar whom he quoted. Causton himself knew that there are ])ut few people to whom this creed of the man of science would not appear cant. " I am much impressed with your friend's confession," said the Prince, "but you have not yet touched upon the more direct tests of the utility of science." " There are two more points I should like to bring home, and then I have done," Caus- ton said. ""I have hitherto spoken of civilisation in general terms. I now wish only to say a 291 THE SURFACE OF THINGS few words more al)oiit the civilised man as such, and about the direct use of science. "The higher pursuits produce the type of the cultured man. He is Ijrought up in the atmosphere and among the traditions of this higher intellectual life. Even if he has for- gotten, or never learnt in detail, each de- partment of such higher work, he is imbued with their spirit. In conduct and manners a certain moral and social atm()S})here, in which we are reared, produces what we call lireeding. This makes us recognise, frater- nise, and live in agreeable peace witli a well- bred man, even thoun were traced and made out, they were not yet identified as regards their country, their regiment, and the occasion of their capture. And so beo-an a vast amount of reading and research : military histories, stories of campaigns, memoirs of regiments ; nay, old records, and even manuscripts ; constant pilgrimages to the British Museum, even invasions into the sacred archives of the Record Oifice. Herein my daughter was my greatest helper, especially as, knowing foreign languages, she could take the depart- ment of foreign literature. You can hardly realise how far a small insignificant point relating to the arms on a flao; or an inci- dent in a l)attle, led us afield. There we would sit and read through volumes, far removed in their main import from the flag or the arms, to settle our point. And 321 THE SURFACE OF THINGS the volumes of notes we collected ! Why, there is material in them for many tomes of military history, biography, geography and topography, heraldry, and military antiqui- ties. The great life of the past, the passions and struirsfles of nations, emanated from these tattered rags, and spread their bright spiritual wings round our lives. " ' And the pleasant evenings when we three would sit before the fire in our draw- ing-room, Mary and I with our tea, and dear old Stubbins with his glass of grog ; and either she or I would alternately read and take notes ! Then we would study and discuss together, steeped in history, full of the knowledge of the past ; and our flags would l)e familiarly referred to l)y the ab- breviated names we had given them : red Waterloo, left-corner Sebastopol, blue-eyed Vittoria, white-faced Alma, and so on. " ' Then finally came the work of cata- loGfuino- and Avhat I called restoring, for 322 GUI BONO? the careful drawings which I made of each flag were the accurate reproductions of the remnants, which remained religiously intact, made complete by the information we had amassed from all quarters. The drawings are the true restorations, and you will find them all in the volumes of my catalogue. Then, unravelling the tangled material of notes, I accompanied each drawing in the catalogue with a concise account of the capture, the history of the war, and of the regiment to which the fiag belonged, and incidental notes of interest. The difficulty was not to give too much. "'I recommended to the authorities, and pressed them hard with my request, that from these drawings new flags should be made, representing each flag as it was when used in battle, and that these should be placed beside each tattered colours in chapel and hall ; so that everybody could recognise the flag, and could at the same time realise 323 THE SURFACE OF THINGS the venerable life and .story of the actual trophy. But though 1 importuned them much, I did not succeed. Perhaps, Sir, you may use your influence and carry out this pet plan of mine for a living military museum in this home of ours. "'Well, Sir, you can imagine how all this filled my life. It gave new interest and vigour to my invalid years. Since I began it not a moment of loneliness or weariness have I felt, and — even the bitterness and disappointment left me, and I was contented to live in my real tasks which I fidfillcd daily. "'And above all, there was the glorious consciousness of fulfilliuii" a «Teat vocation. Here was work done, a creation put into the world, which, without me, would have been lost. Providence needed my hand to do this work — " ' " Not Goil himself could do man's best Without best men to help him." 32't en BONO? " ' The world was the richer for the truth saved, the facts and their spirit, the life of the past in its present remains, saved for all times, capable of transmission and perpetu- ation through ni}' catalogue, my honest life- eftbrt. This was as real an achievement as any battle won and blood spilt. I was of some real use at the end of my crippled life, and this filled me with a sincere and gen- uine self-esteem and pride, so that the neg- lect and ridicule"of all about me passed from me without etfect upon my soul. The work was there ; I had si:iven it to the world, to God, and the blindness and ignorance of those about me could not touch me. " ' Let them wonder jestingly what "Flag- staff Geoffry " was al)Out when he trotted on with one-leo'ged Stubbins to work at these colours ! Let them think me cracked in the upper story ; I felt secure in myself of the sanity, the absolute rightness and goodness of my work for the welfare of my 32r> THE SURFACE OF THINGS country and of the world, — 1 felt it was not wasted, as my life here had not ))een an idle or useless vesetatino-. " ' But I must add that during moments of low health, and, in consequence, low spirits, while admitting to myself that the work was elevating and ennobling to me, that it was moral and pure and disinterested in its spirit, that the results oftered, and the effect of the example upon those who knew of it, were elevating to all, I still had rare moments of painful doubts, as to the use, the tangible utility, of so much toil. I was longing for a proof, almost praying to God for a miraculous testimony of the profit and value of his humble servant's work. " ' And now, when I am at the gates of death, this testimony has come. There is real tangible use of my long labour ; use which even the coarse and gross minded who scoffed at me will comprehend and admit ! This, Sir, is the final climax ; it is the grcat- 32G GUI BONO ? est and happiest moment of my life, and I shall die in purest peace and join m}- be- loved ones.' " He stopped talking and sank back with exhaustion on his pillow. Marj', who had been standino- with the book, without inter- rupting her father during most of his fervent words, rushed forward and bent over him with anxiety. I, too, feared it might be the end, and that the excitement had been too much for him. But he revived, gazed at his daughter, and said, smiling sweetly, ' Oh, my dear child, I forgot you. How can 1 leave you ! ' "And then, 'Oh, yqs,' he said, 'I am forgetting the very purpose of your High- ness's visit. Have you got the book, Mary? Well, Badajos, — No. 12, about page 32.' "Miss Geoifry turned over the pages. " ' Yes, here it is, father. E. 14.' 327 THE SURFACE OF THINGS "'You will find the flags on the rii;ht hand as you enter the chapel, about the middle of the room, the third row from ))elow. They have a brass L on the top of the flagstaff. You will have to send for the ladder.' " I took the dying man's hand, and thanked him. I could hardly speak for emotion, and nearly broke down. "My guests had, no doubt, been impa- tient durino; their loni*- w%ait in the drawin^f- room. " So we hurried to them and to the chapel ; the ladder was brought ; and there we found two flags surmounted by Ihe double L and the Landsfrave's crown. " The important question was solved. " Colonel Geoflry died shortly after this. " His daughter is quite a friend of my wife's, who often sees her. She is a secretary of the Soldiers' Widows' Home. "I told this story to the Prince Consort, 328 CUT BONO? who bought for a fair and adequate sum the manuscript from the daughter, and it is now deposited in the Royal Library of Windsor Castle, where it is one of the treasui'es of national history." The Prince had finished his story. It had moved the whole party to silence. It was some time before any one spoke, and then it was Causton who at last said : " Thank you warmly. Sir, for that beauti- ful and touching story. It has more fully illustrated what I meant to say, has brought it more directly to our hearts and to our minds, to our hearts and therefore to our minds, I should say, than all learned disquisitions could have done." And, as they broke up, Howard said : " It has been a remarkable evening, very pleasant and highly useful and profit- able." 329 THE SURFACE OF THINGS " Damn profit and use ! " Fielding said. "We have had a delightful time, without harming anybody ; and that, in itself, is improving enough ! " 330 date stamped below .i*?iJUit{^ ffm ID URC FFB 7 1981'' 3m-2,'45(3232) 1158 00661 5370 w\ s^ 641 So. ■» Grand Ave. o 13 ANGELESJ" UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 367 423