The walls of the little town were placarded with the announcement of a
great bazaar to be held for the benefit of the English Church in
Bad-Schleppenheim. The economics of a fashionable bazaar are evidently
governed by certain obscure laws, of which the knowledge is yet in
infancy; for the ordinary laws of commerce are on these occasions
completely suspended. That of supply and demand becomes inverted, since
the vendors are seemingly eager to sell all that the buyers least want:
the cost of production, of which statistics are not obtainable, the
expenditure of money, time, and energy required to furnish the stalls is
not taken into account at all. Loss and profit appear to be inextricably
mingled; however much unsold merchandise remains on the stall at the end
of the bazaar the seller is expected to hand over a substantial sum to
the good object for which she is supposed to have been working. And yet
there must be some advantage in this method of raising money, or even
the female mind would presumably not at once turn to it as the simplest
and most obvious way of obtaining funds for a given purpose.
These problems, however, did not exist for Lady Chaloner, one of the
leaders of English Society in Schleppenheim. She took bazaars for
granted, as she did everything else. She was one of the very pillars of
the social fabric of her country. She was of noble blood, she was
portly, she was decidedly middle-aged. She had been recommended to diet
herself and to drink the waters of Schleppenheim, and as she did so in
company with half the distinguished people in Europe, she was quite
content to follow the course prescribed. In these days when everything
is called into question, when social codes alter, and an undesirable
fusion of human beings takes place in so many directions, it was
positively refreshing to turn to Lady Chaloner, who not only did not
know, but could not conceive that it mattered, what other people did in
any layer of existence beneath her own. She had not at any time a keen
eye to discrimination of character. Her judgment of those
fellow-creatures whom she naturally frequented was based in the first
instance on their degree of blood relationship with herself, then on
their social standing: but she was but vaguely aware of the difference
between the men and women, especially the women, who did not belong to
that inner circle, and knew as little about them as a looker-on leaning
from a window in a foreign town knows about the people who pass beneath
him in the street. But there were times when she entirely recognised
the usefulness in the scheme of creation of those motley crowds of
well-dressed persons, even though they bore names she had never heard
before. During her preparation for the bazaar, for instance, which she
was getting up in the single-minded conviction that nothing better could
be done for the institution she was trying to befriend, she had been
more than willing to co-operate with Mrs. Birkett, the wife of the
chaplain, and even to ask some of Mrs. Birkett's friends for their help.
Mrs. Birkett, who approached the bazaar from the point of view from
which she had artlessly imagined it was being undertaken, that of
ensuring some sort of provision for the expenses of the chaplain who
undertook the summer duty of Schleppenheim, received a series of shocks
as she came face to face with the different points of view of the
various stall-holders with whom she was successively brought into
contact. Lady Chaloner--she looked on this as a great achievement--had
succeeded in enrolling among the bazaar-workers the young Princess
Hohenschreien, on the ground of her being a staunch Protestant. The
Princess was half-English, half-German. Her mother had been a distant
connection of Lady Chaloner. This relationship in some strange way
entirely condoned in Lady Chaloner's eyes the fact that the Princess
Hohenschreien had a good deal of paint on her face, and a good deal of
paint in her manner, and that the loudness of her laugh and the boldness
of her bearing were more pronounced than would have been permitted of
the well-behaved ladies brought up within the walls of Castle Chaloner.
However, Lady Chaloner's daughters were married to husbands of an
excellent and irreproachable kind, and were out in the world; and Lady
Chaloner felt no kind of responsibility about Madeline Hohenschreien,
"Maddy," as she was called by her intimates. She expressed distinct
approval of her, in fact, in the words, "Maddy has such a lot of go
about her, hasn't she? It does one good to hear her laughin'." So when
"Maddy" instantly and light-heartedly undertook to help the bazaar by
performing at the Cafe Chantant, that was to go on at stated times all
through the evening, Lady Chaloner felt that she was doing a distinctly
good work. It was no small undertaking, however, marshalling her forces
and trying to arrange that every one of the stallholders should not be
selling exactly the same thing--namely, the small carved wooden objects,
the staple commodity of Schleppenheim, made by the surrounding
peasantry.
The bazaar was drawing near, and Lady Chaloner was very busy indeed.
Indefatigably did she send for Mrs. Birkett several times every day,
begging her to bring a pencil and paper that they might make lists. Mrs.
Birkett's experience, however, was limited to sales of work under
somewhat different conditions in England, and she was not of very much
use, except as a moral support and outward material embodiment of the
cause for which the bazaar was being undertaken. She sought comfort in
her inmost soul in the thought of all the money that must surely flow
into the coffers of the Church after this magnificent undertaking; but
she was secretly out of her element and ill at ease, when Lady Chaloner
pounced upon her to talk of the bazaar, at an hour when the most
fashionable people in Europe, with their best clothes on, were walking
up and down while the band was playing, or established at little tables
exchanging intimate pleasantries with one another and greetings with the
people that passed.
She was sitting by Lady Chaloner, in compulsory attendance upon that
benefactress of the Church, a few days before the bazaar was to come
off.
"Now, let me see," said Lady Chaloner, "what are you goin' to have on
your stall?"
"On mine?" said Mrs. Birkett, rather taken aback.
"Yes," said Lady Chaloner, "aren't you goin' to have a stall?"
"You see," said Mrs. Birkett, "I have not any of the things here
that--er--I generally use for the purpose," and she thought regretfully
of a big box at home which contained a sort of rolling stock of hideous
articles that travelled, so to speak, between herself and her friends
from one bazaar to another, and reappeared, a sort of symbolical
merchandise, a currency in a nightmare, at all the fancy sales held in
the neighbourhood of Leighton Ham.
"The only thing is," said Lady Chaloner, "it is rather a pity, because,
bein' for the Church, people will expect you to sell, you know. Perhaps
you could sell at somebody else's stall. Mine's full, I think," she
added prudently. "Let me see," and her ladyship ran quickly over the
names of the half a dozen young women who, in the most beguiling of
costumes, were going to trip about and sell buttonholes to their
partners of the evening before. Lady Chaloner's solid good sense and
long habit of the world kept things that should be separate perfectly
distinct; she did not for a moment contemplate Mrs. Birkett tripping
about and selling buttonholes. "Perhaps Mrs. Samuels hasn't got her
number complete," she said, not realising this time, the thing being a
little more out of her field of vision, that Mrs. Samuels, who had been
spending her time, energy, and even money, in trying to be friends with
Lady Chaloner, might quite possibly be in the same attitude towards Mrs.
Birkett, if thrust upon her, as Lady Chaloner was to herself.
"I daresay, yes," said Mrs. Birkett, with some misgiving, as she saw
Mrs. Samuels further down the alley, standing with a London manager in
the centre of a group who were laughing and talking round them.
"Let me see, Mrs. Samuels is goin' to have the tea, isn't she?"
"Yes, the refreshment stall," said Mrs. Birkett, referring to her list.
"And Lady Adela Prestige the fortune tellin'--and Princess
Hohenschreien, what did she say she would do? Oh! I remember, the Cafe
Chantant. What has she done about it, I wonder? Do you know anything
about that?"
"I am afraid I don't," said Mrs. Birkett. This, indeed, was quite beyond
her competence.
"I wonder if she has got people enough. Ah! here she is. Madeline!
Maddy!" she called out, as Princess Hohenschreien appeared at the end of
the walk, a parasol lined with pink behind her, and her head thrown back
as she laughed loud and heartily at something her companion had said.
"Yes, dear Lady Chaloner? Were you calling me?"
"I wanted to speak to you about the bazaar," said Lady Chaloner. "How do
you do, M. de Moricourt," to the Princess's companion.
"The bazaar," said the young man in French, as he bowed, "what is that?"
"What is that?" said the Princess, with another burst of laughter. "But,
_mon cher_, you are impossible! We have been talking of nothing else all
the way down the alley."
"How?" said the young man. "I really beg your pardon, Princess, but I
thought we were talking of the comedy we were going to act at the
Casino."
"And what do you suppose that comedy is for," said the Princess, "if not
for the bazaar?"
"How can I tell?" said Moricourt. "It might have been to please the
public, or even to please the Princess Hohenschreien," with a little
bow.
"Of course we shall please both," said the Princess. "And a bazaar
gives us a reason. A charity bazaar, isn't it?"
"Ah! a charity bazaar," said Moricourt, "that is another thing. It
doesn't matter how badly I shall act, then."
"Perhaps that is as well," said the Princess.
"Is it permitted to know the object of the charity we are going to
assist so well?" said Moricourt.
Lady Chaloner, dimly aware that Mrs. Birkett was becoming very
uncomfortable, although she did not clearly distinguish whether the
peculiar expression to be observed on the latter's face came from
irritation or embarrassment, hastily said--
"It is not a charity exactly. It is for the English Church at
Schleppenheim. This is Mrs. Birkett, the wife of the clergyman,"
indicating Mrs. Birkett.
"Ah!" said Moricourt, "the English Church," and he bowed to Mrs. Birkett
as though making the acquaintance of that honoured institution. Princess
Hohenschreien also included herself in the introduction, and bowed with
a good-natured smile of absolute indifference to Mrs. Birkett and to all
that she represented.
"Well, now then, seriously," said Lady Chaloner, "do you undertake the
Cafe Chantant, Madeline?"
"Not the whole of it, my dear lady," said the Princess. "That really is
too much to ask. M. Moricourt and I will act a play."
"How long does the play last?" said Lady Chaloner.
"How long did we say it took?" said the Princess to her companion. "It
depends upon how often Moricourt forgets his part. When we rehearsed it
last night he waited quite ten minutes in the middle of it."
"I must remind you," said Moricourt, "that I was pausing to admire ...
the beautiful feathers in your hat."
"Oh! well, that is different," said the Princess. "I think that
explanation is satisfactory--but otherwise----" And she filled up the
sentence with a telling glance, to which Moricourt replied with a look
of fervent admiration.
"Well, how long does it take, then?" said Lady Chaloner, with a smile of
strange indulgence, Mrs. Birkett thought, for a lady so highly placed,
and of such solid dignity.
"Oh! about half an hour," said Moricourt; "perhaps three-quarters."
"Is that all?" said Lady Chaloner, in some consternation. "The Cafe
Chantant goes on for how long did you say, Mrs. Birkett?"
This piece of statistics Mrs. Birkett was able to furnish.
"From six till ten, I think you said, Lady Chaloner," she said, reading
from her list.
"Heavens!" said the Princess, "you don't expect us, I hope, to go on
from six till ten. We had better do the Nibelungen Ring at once. I will
be Bruennhilde--and I tell you what," turning to Moricourt, "you shall be
the big lizard who comes in and says 'bow-wow,' or whatever it is. Mr.
Wentworth!" and she called to Wentworth who was strolling along with an
air of being at peace with himself and the universe. "What is it that
lizards do?"
"If they are small," said Wentworth, "they run up a wall in the sun, or
they run over your feet, and if they are big----"
"You fall over their feet, I suppose," said the Princess.
"But a lizard at a Cafe Chantant," said Moricourt, "what does he do?"
"At a Cafe Chantant? He sings, of course," said Wentworth.
"No no," said the Princess, with again her resonant laugh. "I don't know
much about botany, but I am sure lizards don't sing."
"Then in that case," said Moricourt, "Wentworth must. He can sing; I
have heard him."
"Can you, Mr. Wentworth? How well can you sing?" said the Princess with
artless candour.
"Well," said Wentworth, "that is rather difficult to say. I don't sing
quite as well as Mario perhaps, but a little better than ... a lizard."
"Oh, that will do perfectly," said the Princess. "For a charity, people
are not particular."
"By the way, what is all this for?" said Wentworth.
"For the English Church here, you remember," said Lady Chaloner.
"Oh! to be sure, yes," said Wentworth. "I saw the placard."
"This is Mrs. Birkett," said Lady Chaloner.
Wentworth bowed and said politely, "I hope the bazaar will be a great
success."
"I hope so, thank you," Mrs. Birkett said, feeling that if the bazaar
were not a great success, she would have gone through a good deal for a
very little. She longed to be allowed to go away, but she was not quite
sure whether she would not be jeopardising the success of the bazaar by
leaving at this juncture. Visions of having promised to meet her
reverend husband to go for a walk at a given moment were haunting her.
Finally, with a desperate effort, she said--
"I am afraid I have an appointment, Lady Chaloner, and must go now,
unless there is anything more I can do."
"Oh, must you go?" said Lady Chaloner, "we had better meet in the
morning, I think, and make a final list of the stalls."
"Certainly," said Mrs. Birkett, with a sigh of relief, and with a
determined effort she tried to include the circle she was leaving in one
salutation, and made away as fast as she could.
"I hope," said the Princess, "the poor lady is not shocked at having a
Cafe Chantant in her Church bazaar."
"At any rate," said Wentworth, "she will be consoled when you hand over
the results to her afterwards."
"What is the name of the piece you are going to do?" said Lady Chaloner,
pencil in hand.
"_Une porte qui s'ouvre_," said Moricourt, with a glance at the
Princess.
"Oh! if you think we'll have that one!" said the Princess. "Would you
believe, Lady Chaloner, that he wants me to be the maid in it instead of
the leading lady, because he kisses the maid behind the door!"
"My dear Maddy!" said Lady Chaloner, reprovingly.
"Don't look so shocked at me, dear Lady Chaloner," she said. "I am sure
I am as shocked myself at the suggestion, as----"
"Mrs. Birkett," suggested Wentworth.
"Precisely," said the Princess.
"At any rate we'll put that piece on the list for the present," said
Lady Chaloner. "Then there will be a song from Lady Adela----"
"And a song from Mr. Wentworth," said Moricourt.
"That's splendid," said Lady Chaloner. "The Cafe Chantant will do. The
only thing I rather regret is about the stalls, that every one is goin'
to sell the same thing."
"And who is going to buy?" said the Princess.
"That's another difficulty," said Lady Chaloner, "they'll all have to
buy from one another."
"We had better have some autographs," said the Princess, "they always
sell."
"Very good," said Lady Chaloner, putting it down on the list. "You had
better get some."
"All right," said the Princess. "We'll have some of all kinds, I think.
I will get some from those people too," nodding her head in the
direction of the London manager.
"Everybody considers himself an autograph in these days," said
Wentworth; "it is terrible what a levelling age we live in."
"We might sell photographs, of course," said the Princess, "instead of
autographs."
"Or both," said Lady Chaloner, earnestly and anxiously, as though
contemplating all sources of revenue. "Signed photographs."
"Excellent," said Wentworth.
"There ought to be people enough to buy, if they would only come," said
Lady Chaloner, taking up a Visitors' List that lay beside her. "People
like the Francis Rendels, for instance," putting her finger on the name,
"or----"
"The Rendels? Are they here?" said Wentworth, with much interest.
"So it says here. What is she like?" said Lady Chaloner. "Would she
help?"
"I am not sure," said Wentworth. "She's in mourning, and very quiet--but
very charming."
"Thank you," said the Princess with a gay laugh. "I am sure that is a
compliment _a mon adresse_. I know what you mean when you say that very
quiet women are charming. Let us go away, Moricourt; we are too noisy
for Mr. Wentworth."
"You are too bad, Maddy, really," said Lady Chaloner, smiling at this
brilliant sally.
"_Ich bitte sehr_," said Wentworth to the Princess, with a little bow,
as he took up the paper and looked for the address of the Rendels.
"Pavillon du Jardin, Hotel de Londres--I must go and look them up," he
said.
"You might beat them up to come and buy, at any rate," said Lady
Chaloner, "if they can't do anything else."
"I will do what I can," said Wentworth with a smile, reflecting as he
walked off what a strange blurring of the focus of life there is when,
everything being concentrated on to one particular purpose, whether it
be a bazaar, an election, or the giving of a ball, all the human beings
one encounters are considered from the point of view of their fitness to
one particular end--in the aspect of a buyer or seller, as a voter, as a
partner, as the case may be. There was no doubt that at this moment the
whole of mankind were expected to fit somehow into Lady Chaloner's
pattern: to be useful for the bazaar, or to be thrown away as useless.
As Wentworth turned away he exchanged greetings with a jovial
important-looking personage coming in the other direction, no other than
Mr. Pateley, exhaling prosperity as he came. The completion of the Cape
to Cairo railway, and the reinstatement in public opinion of the
'Equator' Mine, proved to be of gold after all--let alone certain
fortunate pecuniary transactions connected with that reinstatement--had
given Pateley both political and material satisfaction. The _Arbiter_
was advancing more triumphantly than ever, and its editor was a person
of increasing consideration and influence.
"You seem very busy, Lady Chaloner," he said, as he looked at the sheets
of paper on the table by her.
"We are gettin' up a bazaar," Lady Chaloner said. "Will you help us?"
"I shall be delighted," said Pateley obviously. "What do you want me to
do?"
"Give us your autograph," said the Princess promptly, "and we will sell
it for large sums of gold."
She had certainly chosen a skilful way of enlisting Pateley's
co-operation. He revelled in the joy of being a political potentate, and
every fresh proof that he received of the fact was another delight to
him.
"I shall be greatly honoured," he said.
"We are going to have autographs of all the distinguished people we can
find," said the Princess, continuing her system of ingratiation.
"I can tell you of an autograph who has just arrived," said Pateley. "I
have just seen him driving up from the station; a very expensive
autograph indeed--Lord Stamfordham."
"Lord Stamfordham?" said Lady Chaloner, the Foreign Secretary, like the
rest of the world, falling instantly into his place in her kaleidescope.
"Certainly, if he would give us a dozen autographs we should do an
excellent business with them."
"You had better make Adela Prestige ask him, then," said the Princess
with a laugh.
"I wonder where Adela is?" said Lady Chaloner, considering the question
entirely on its merits.
"That depends upon where Lord Stamfordham is," murmured the Princess to
her companion. "By the way, Lady Chaloner, before we part, it is
Tuesday, isn't it, that we make our expedition to Waldlust to lunch in
the wood?"
"Tuesday?--let me see, this is Thursday. Yes, I think so," said Lady
Chaloner. Then she gave a cry of dismay. "Oh! no, Maddy, Tuesday is the
bazaar; that will never do."
"Oh, yes," said the Princess, "all the better. The bazaar doesn't open
till half-past five after all, and we can lunch at half-past twelve. It
will do us good to be in the fresh air before our labours begin; we
shall look all the better for it."
"Very well," said Lady Chaloner dubiously. "But then what about the
arrangements?"
"Can't those be made on Monday?" said the Princess; "and if there are
any finishing touches required, Mrs. Birkett and her friends can do them
on Tuesday. They won't want to look their best, I daresay," and she
laughed again.
"Very well," said Lady Chaloner. "Tuesday, then, for Waldlust. I will
ask Lord Stamfordham to come."
"And I will ask Adela," said the Princess.
"Come then, Moricourt," said the Princess, "if you want to rehearse that
play before we act it."
"Pray do," said Lady Chaloner anxiously. "I am sure people who act
always rehearse first."
"I am more than willing," said M. de Moricourt, throwing an infinity of
expression into his voice and glance as he looked at the Princess.
"Some parts especially will require a great deal of rehearsing." And
they departed together.
"She is so amusin'," said Lady Chaloner to Pateley. "I really don't know
anybody that can be more amusin' when she likes."
Pateley gave a round, sonorous laugh of agreement, tantamount to a smile
of assent in any one else. He wisely did not commit himself to any
expression of opinion as to the accomplished wit of the Princess, which
at all events as far as he had had opportunity of observing it, did not
strike him as being of a very subtle character.