From Winchester we motored to Salisbury. The spire of the cathedral
is perhaps the most beautiful in the world, but the cathedral as a
whole did not impress me as much as I had expected. Perhaps I was
still under the influence of Gloucester, or more likely of the regal
shrine at Winchester. At any rate, when I learned that it had been
built by one man, I lost interest. I am too familiar with that sort
of work! The charm of most of the English cathedrals is due to the
fact that of most of them it is true that
"Like some tall palm
The stately fabric _grew_."
Salisbury did not grow; it was built! It has an air of artificiality
about it that not even the beautiful spire, which is a later
addition, can atone for.
It is fair to say that Ruth did not agree with me. To her it seemed
one of the most beautiful of all we had seen. Indeed, she said the
reason I did not appreciate it was because I was influenced by
"Martin Chuzzlewit"! That was because I had asked her from which
angle she supposed Mr. Pecksniff had first drawn it. At any rate, we
had to agree to differ.
As we got into the car at the gate of the close a gentleman who had
been looking it over asked whither we were bound. When I told him
across the Plain, he strongly advised me to avoid the highway, which,
he said, was quite uninteresting, and to take a road which, by many a
turning, would show the Plain as the highway could not do. I do not
know that man's name, and I do not wish to meet him again! He
probably is one of those men who take pleasure in walking--a form of
exercise which I detest! He certainly has never driven a car. Had
he done so he would know that there is nothing so distressing to a
motorist as a "picturesque" road! We descended into little gullies
and mounted little hillocks till my back was nearly broken with
changing gears, and the car looked as if I had bought it second-hand
and used it hard!
We stopped long enough at Stonehenge to get an impression of its
dreariness, and then pushed on to a village on the north side of the
Plain. We reached there late for lunch, and learned that the name of
the place was Divises, and that a by-election for member of
parliament was in progress.
The inn was crowded to suffocation, and some of the loungers had had
as much to drink as was good for them, and some a little more. I was
in no amiable frame of mind, as you may imagine. No one would pay
any attention to us--they were too busy serving drink.
I learned that the question at issue was what we call the "saloon."
A Labor member was standing on a platform which called for the
regulation of the public house, while the Conservative candidate was
for "free rum." One would have thought that here was an issue which
would divide the sheep from the goats. But there were other
questions involved--land, for instance, and the Established Church.
Alas! I soon found that the shepherd had taken the side of the
goats! While I waited in vain for something to eat I heard a great
shout, and going to the door saw the parson, driven by his little
girl--her fair hair blowing in the wind--the pony decked out with
blue ribbons and the whip, carried at a knowing angle, adorned with a
bow of the same color. I am glad to say the child was left outside,
but the burly parson, looking more like a farmer than Herbert's
"Priest of the Temple"--as probably he was--elbowed his way through
the crowd and called for a drink; then, amid the shout of the
half-drunken crowd, gave "The King and the Church."
Ruth, who had been pale enough before, now flushed so red that I was
afraid she would "start something," and nudged her to keep quiet.
Then I thought she was going to burst into tears. At that moment a
charming young fellow came into the room and said to her: "I beg your
pardon, but this is no place for you. My mother has a sitting-room,
and I am sure would be glad if you would join her."
She hesitated a moment, but I said: "I am deeply obliged to you, and
if you could get my wife out of this I should be very grateful."
So she followed him, and when later I joined them I found that the
lady of the private room had given her a cup of tea and made her as
comfortable as was possible in such a place.
When she learned we were Americans she said she was mortified that we
should have seen such a sight--she too had seen, from her window, the
parson's entrance. "I suppose, however," she continued, "such things
are seen in every country at election time."
I said we had "toughs" who made trouble, but that any minister who
behaved as the vicar or rector of this parish had done would be
"ridden on a rail." I don't think she "got" that. I added that I
thought that our laws which forbid the sale of liquor while the polls
are open acted as a preventive of trouble.
"Ah," she said, "that is what Mr. Bowles"--the Labor member--"is
trying to have enacted. But, you see, the vested interests are
strong, and then he is so radical!"
You may be sure we did not tarry long in that place, but took our way
back to Bath, where we had planned to spend another night.
Whether the sheep or the goats won the election I am unable to tell
you. I am rather inclined to think it was the goats. The church and
the public house make a strong alliance!