Lionel Somerville woke at 8 a.m. in the freshest of spirits. All the
frenzy of the night before had vanished, and as he lay on his bed,
smiling, he tried to think over what had happened.
“Did I not kill myself last night? Anyway, I did not succeed, or perhaps
it was all a delusion! I must have been in a bad way. It is that
infernal wound that troubles me; I have never been quite myself since I
came home.—Well! what is the matter with this place?—Where are the
curtains, the carpet?” Sitting up in his bed he stared all round. “And
the blankets, sheets—oh! my shirt is gone!” And as he jumped up from the
bed on to the bare floor, he stood as the Almighty had made him. He
rushed to the window, saw the streets empty, the doors of all the houses
closed, and no one going in or out of them. After staring out of the
window he spotted but one boy coming along leisurely on his tricycle
cart, the butcher’s boy no doubt; a fit of laughter seized him, followed
by hilarious convulsions, as he saw the water-cart coming across the
square, with its street Neptune indolently reclining on the seat.
“This is funny! What the devil does it mean? Have these people gone
clean mad? Why does not the police stop them?”
Lionel left the window and rang the bell. A few seconds after there was
a gentle knock at the door.
“Yes, my lord.” It was the suave voice of Temple, my lord’s faithful
valet.
“I say, Temple”—Lionel spoke through the door—“what’s the meaning of all
this?”
“I cannot tell, my lord. Your lordship’s bathroom is ready, and
breakfast is on the table.”
“You must be mad, Temple! How am I to get out of this room without my
clothes? Bring in something—anything—a wrap of some sort, a bath-rug.”
“Not one to be found, my lord, and all the shops are closed.”
“How are you clad, Temple?”
“I’ve nothing on, my lord, and Willows, Mr Jacques, are all in the same
condition. But I can assure your lordship that the morning is very hot.”
“And you think that sufficient, do you? Well, I don’t! I am blowed if I
can make this out, or if I know what I am going to do. Bring me a tub, a
large can of hot water, and later on bring me a tray with a couple of
eggs and tea. I am famished!”
Footsteps retreated; Lionel walked round and round his spacious bedroom.
Everything was in its usual place as far as furniture went, but there
was not a vestige of drapery or carpeting; the cushions had disappeared,
and only the down lay on the floor; the chairs, easy _fauteuils_, the
couch were despoiled of all covering and showed their bare construction
of wood and cane-work. The bed was a simple pallet, the rugs had
vanished. Lionel entered his dressing-room, the cupboards were open, and
empty, when yesterday they had been crammed with all his clothes. The
drawers were hanging out of their chest—empty; shirts, flannels, silk
pyjamas, neckties, waistcoats, all the arsenal of a young man about town
had dissolved into thin air. This was more than strange, and the Earl
became more and more amazed as he went on opening boxes, baskets, and
gaping at the empty receptacles. He again looked out of the window—his
dressing-room had a full view of Grosvenor Square—and saw many more boys
on tricycle carts; several satyr-milkmen were rattling their cans down
the fashionable areas, and the water-cart went on slowly spouting its
L.C.C. Niagara over dusty roads. The effect was decidedly comical. He
came back to his bedroom, and once more looked out of the window.
Looking up at the opposite house he saw a form passing to and fro. That
was Lady Vera’s house. Could it be she? He smiled. It might be the maid.
Who knows? There were few of his lady friends he would recognise again
in this new garb. After his tub and breakfast he felt in buoyant spirits
and physically fit, although he could not quite account for this new
mood of his, for nothing had altered in his life. He gave a side glance
at himself in the cheval-glass; he was always the Earl of Somerville,
heir to vast riches, engaged to Gwendolen Towerbridge, and this joke
would pass. It was perhaps the new trick of some gang of thieves, whom
the police would be able to catch in a few days. The thing to find out
was whether it was the same all over London. Temple told Lord
Somerville, as he brought the breakfast tray to the door, that the areas
down the streets and the square were a bevy of buzzing gossipers.
Admiral B., who lived two doors off, was in the same plight, and was
using strong language to his poor wife; and as to Field-Marshal W.,
whose house was in the square, he was beside himself, had howled at his
man for his pyjamas and sent the fellow rolling down the passage for
appearing in his presence in an Adamitic vestment. Temple thought this
very unjust, as the Field-Marshal was in the same dilemma; but then
Temple had no sense of the fitness of things, and certainly had no sense
of humour, as he came to ask his master what were his orders for
Marshall, the coachman. Lionel naturally sent Marshall to the devil.
“Does he think I am going to drive in an open Victoria as I am, with him
on the box as he is?” And he raved at the poor valet, and asked him what
they all felt in the housekeeper’s room. To which Temple replied, that
the men did not so much mind, and that the women would get used to it.
They had all their work cut out for them, and no time to think about
difficult problems. Evidently it was different with them, and the Earl
dropped the subject, inquiring whether the _Times_ had come. But the
postman had not yet arrived.
“What on earth can I do?” murmured Lionel. Then he thought of sending
Temple to get him a pile of new French novels to while away the tedious
hours. By the way, he thought suddenly, he would like to know something
definite about last night’s adventure; he did not like to tell his man
about his foolish attempt, but if he had seen the revolver on the
carpet, he was prepared to give him some sort of explanation. Temple
came back saying that every book had disappeared, and gave a graphic
description of what was once the library of my lord. Lionel timidly
inquired if he had not noticed anything peculiar on the floor, nor any
stray object lying about? No, Temple had seen nothing except the total
disappearance of all draperies, chair coverings, carpets, books, etc.
There was nothing on the floor, only a little more dust than before in
front of the writing-desk. This satisfied Lionel, who made up his mind
that the whole thing was the effect of his own imagination, very
probably occasioned by this miserable wound which at times was a great
worry to him; and he settled down to forget the past and to solve the
present in trying to explain this strange event. But in vain did he
endeavour to do so, his eyes persistently went back to the window, and
he constantly got up to watch the opposite house and the few strollers
that ventured out; of course they were all servants who so immodestly
exposed themselves to his investigation, still it amused him much more
to watch the street than to ponder these grave questions.
“Well, I think I was a damned fool last night, provided I did such a
foolish thing as to try and blow my brains out. This is worth living
for, and I have not been amused for many years as I am now. It must have
something to do with last night’s storm. If this is going to last, I
suppose the old fellows at the Royal Institute will make it their
business to ponder this stupendous phenomenon.”
Temple brought the luncheon tray about 1.30; only a couple of kidneys, a
glass of Apollinaris water; it would be sufficient for that day, as he
could not get out that afternoon and have a ride. Then more thinking,
with as little attention as before. After that, tea with a bit of toast
and no butter, and more thinking, interrupted at times by sudden glances
through the window. Temple came once or twice to his master’s door with
all the news that was afloat in the areas, butlers’ pantries,
saddle-rooms, and although this gossip originated on the backstairs, it
was welcomed by the heir of great estates, for, at this moment he could
get no direct information, and what his valet brought him was as good as
he could ever get. The valet had reminded my lord that to-day was the
Levee, which the latter was to attend. This amused him very much, for
was it likely that the Admiral, the Field-Marshal, the latest V.C. would
ever venture beyond their bed-rug—oh! that even was gone—to go and meet
their ruler in their skins? No, these things were impossible, and the
structure of Society would soon crumble to ashes if one man unadorned
was to meet another man unclad. Of course Lord Somerville was very
anxious to know whether all London was in the same condition, to which
the faithful valet replied, that he had it from the milkman that
Belgravia was as silent as a tomb, Bayswater a wilderness, and
Buckingham Palace a desert. As to the omnibuses, after one journey up
and down they had given up running at all, as no one wanted a drive, and
the few servants and working-men about preferred walking. Towards seven
o’clock, Lionel felt inclined to have a little food, and he ordered a
grilled sole and a custard. That would do for him, but evidently it did
not do for Temple, who was quite shocked at his master’s abstemiousness,
and recoiled before appearing in front of the cook with such a meagre
menu. “He would be capable of throwing a dish at my head, my lord; he
hardly believed me when I told him your lordship wanted two kidneys for
lunch.”
But Lionel was determined, and would hear of nothing more for dinner and
sent the cook to Jericho through the intermediary of Temple, adding that
he could not eat more when he had no proper exercise, that he had had
sufficient, having eaten when he felt hungry and left off when he had
had enough—which he had not done for many years.
“Yes, my lord,” had respectfully answered the faithful valet, who
perhaps at the same time thought his master’s remark a wise one.
The evening went by, bringing no change in the situation; and by nine
o’clock it was universally known, and partly accepted, that from the
Lord Chancellor to the Carlton waiter, frock-coat or no coat, woolsack
or three-legged crock, a man was to be a man for a’ that. One great
calamity had befallen them all, and in one minute levelled the whole of
London’s inhabitants to the state of nature. The question arose in my
lord’s mind whether they were sufficiently fitted for that state? Could
they face the God Pan with as much composure as they had faced all the
other gods? He heard the heavy footsteps of the lamplighter methodically
going through his work. It was strange that he had never once thought of
stopping his nocturnal routine. Evidently whatever happened, the streets
had to be lighted, and Lionel mused long and deeply on these questions
of duty and force of habit, as he looked out of the window into the
street and observed the long shadow descending over London.
“Was it the sense of duty that prompted the actions of these menials?”
He could not bring himself to think that, and he could not help
believing that amongst his own superior class the sense of duty was
always accompanied by a powerful sense of the fitness of things, so that
if a virtue clashed with prejudices and the accepted standard of
propriety, it was desirable that they should build up some new duty more
in harmony with their worldly principles. There, no doubt, lay the
difference between the upper classes and the lower, and which made the
former shrink before breaking the laws of decorum, when the latter saw
no objection to performing daily pursuits in their skins, unconcerned
with higher motives of purity and exalted ideals.
Whether Lord Somerville had touched the keynote of social ethics
remained unknown, but he retired early to his pallet and slept soundly
through the still night.
Next day was the same, the day after identical, and the week passed thus
without any change in the London phenomenon. Had the carpet in the
Arabian tales carried the whole metropolis to some undiscovered planet,
the wonderment could not have been greater. After a few days, Lionel
observed that the L.C.C. Neptune had acquired more ease, more
_laisser-aller_ in his movements and postures, and decidedly sat less
stiffly on his high perch; the butcher’s boy also carried his tray on
his shoulder with distinct dash and comeliness. From his daily
observations he came to the conclusion that London life, in its
mechanical working, was going on pretty much as usual. He questioned his
faithful valet, who by this time had become more than a servant, being
newsagent and Court circular rolled into one. What he learned through
the keyhole was astounding. No House of Commons, no Upper House were
sitting! How could anything go on at that rate? Ah! that was the
strangest part of it, for materially everything seemed to be as usual;
the tradespeople came round for orders, and there was no danger of
starving. The wheels of life kept on rolling, for, those who represented
the axle were still in the centre of the wheel, and nothing could remove
them. It was the upper part of the edifice that had given way, or at
least had willingly retired into modest seclusion. The wheels might run
for a long time without the coach, but the coach had no power to advance
in any way without the wheels. This is what puzzled Lionel so much; he
had always believed that if Society took it into its head to strike, the
world would come to a standstill; and here was a colossal emergency in
which one part of the edifice went on as if nothing had happened, while
the other—in his eyes the important one—was forced to retire behind its
walls, if it meant to keep sacred the principles of modesty and decorum;
and still the whole structure had not foundered. Of course it could not
last for ever. Nothing did last; and this axiom consoled Lord
Somerville, as he cradled himself into the belief that the present
condition would never answer in this eminently aristocratic empire. Why
had not such a thing happened to Parisians? “I could safely declare that
they would not have made such a fuss about it. They would have taken the
adventure as it is, if transient, and would have accepted the joke with
rollicking fun; if serious, they would have made the best of it, seen
the plastic side of the situation, and at once endeavoured to live up to
it as gracefully as possible. Yes, there lay the whole difference
between the Latin race and the Anglo-Saxon; the former aimed at beauty,
and the other, as the Bishop of Sunbury had said at Islington, aimed at
a moral attitude.
“I suppose there is a certain amount of truth in this,” thought the
Earl, as he sipped his cup of tea, “for here am I living up to a
standard of punctilious modesty, which would even put the chaste
Susannah to shame; and Heaven knows I never have been overburdened with
principles, but, quite on the contrary, was oblivious of any moral
attitude. It must be that the ambiante of this country is of a superior
quality to that of any other.”
There was a gentle knock at the door: “The Bishop of Welby has sent
round to know whether your lordship would allow your women-servants to
help in the finding of a suitable text for a sermon he wishes to deliver
when this state has ceased? His lordship is in a great stress, being
unable to lay his hand on his Bible, and finds himself at a loss to
recall all the contents of the Holy Scriptures.”
“By all means, Temple—I am always delighted to be of any use to the
bishop, although, for my part, I regret I cannot help him in this. Can
you remember any suitable text, Temple?”
Temple made no reply.
“I say, Temple, how do the dowagers take this kind of thing? I am rather
curious to know how they manage.”
The valet inquired from the upper housemaid, who very soon gathered
information from her friends along the areas, and in an hour the
faithful newsagent had collected a bushel of gossip. The attitude of the
dowagers towards the social calamity was one of stubborn resistance and
of fervent prayer. The old Lady Pendelton had said to her maid, through
the keyhole, that it was only a question of time, and that with a little
display of self-control, for which the race was so celebrated, they
would soon pull through this ghastly experience. Some of the old ladies,
whose bedrooms were contiguous to those of their daughters, knocked on
the wall exhorting their virtuous progeny to persevere in the ways of
the righteous and to keep up a good heart. Out-door gossips would be
supplied to them: “Sarah does not mind going out,” had shouted through
the wall one of the pillars of female Society, “you see, dear Evelyn,
these sort of people do not possess the same quality of modesty that we
do—they have to toil, not to feel.” So thought the dowager, and many
more believed this to be true. What a load of injustice was settled by
such an argument!
When the first shock was over, and Lord Somerville had ceased wondering
at a class of people who did not mind being seen in their Edenic attire,
he dropped into a humorous mood, and passed in review a good many of his
friends, men and women.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed in a fit of laughter, “I wonder what old Bentham
looks like in his skin? The Stock Exchange will be a rum circus when
they all race for cash as modern gladiators! And what of Pender, and of
Clavebury; and Gladys Ventnor, Arabella Chale and _tutti quanti_?”
Then he thought of his friend, Victor de Laumel, of the Jockey Club in
Paris. He felt convinced Victor would tell him, “I say, my good fellow,
why do you mind? Go out and give the example of simplicity and
good-humour.”
After all, it was not that he minded much, and if the Upper Ten
appointed between themselves a day and hour in which they would all go
out together, it would not be so bad; but it was the idea of appearing
before and mixing with an indiscriminate crowd. It would be really
annoying to have your butler look you up and down, and to stand the
flitting sneer on the lips of your groom. Of course there was nothing in
the abstract against an Edenic garment; but one must not forget that
Adam and Eve were alone in Paradise, and had no crowd to pass unpleasant
remarks over their personal appearance. It was only when that
interfering _Tertium quid_ had sneaked round the corner that they had
lost all the fun in life. Well, if one reptile had the power to make
them feel ashamed of themselves, what would it be now that thousands of
little twinkling eyes were glaring, and that myriads of sharp tongues
hissed and stung? It was quite evident that clothes kept the world
within bounds of decency, besides restraining the overbearance of the
lower classes and enforcing their respect for their superiors. What
could our civilisation be without the cap-and-apron ethics? It is
difficult enough to keep up a certain standard in the world with the
help of smart surroundings; but how could one command deference from,
and give orders to one’s domesticity in this attire?
On the eleventh day of this prison life, Lord Somerville woke with a
sharp pain in his side, and as he sat up on his pallet he was seized
with giddiness. This was a premonition which filled him with awe. His
liver was hopelessly out of order, and no doubt many of his friends’
livers were in the same condition owing to this sedentary life. Hard
thinking and solitary confinement would be sure to have a fatal effect
on a race accustomed to exercise and deep drinking. The area gossip was
ominous, and what Temple recorded to his master boded no good to the
Upper Ten, who were suffering from a general attack of dyspepsia. It was
a very serious question, a race doomed to sequestration; and there was a
fear that eventually London, the well-drained, well-watered,
well-lighted and altogether well-County-Councilled, would be turned into
a vast lunatic asylum. When ethics meant apoplexy, it was time to halt
and loosen the strings of propriety; and it was the duty of the sporting
duke, the rubicund brewer, and of all the fastidious do-nothings, to
weave for themselves in the seclusion of their chambers a new tissue of
principles to suit their abnormal condition. Lionel inquired whether the
Bishop had come to any conclusion about his text. Temple did not know
about that, but he knew that the prelate had complained of insomnia and
sickness, and asked for _sal volatile_. Lady Pendelton had been heard by
her maid to fall on the floor. Was her ladyship better now? had asked
Lionel. Yes, but her maid could hear her tottering in her room and
moaning piteously.
“It is very bad this, Temple. I think something ought to be done for the
good of the public; but what?”
“I believe that if your lordship would only show yourself—I beg your
pardon, my lord—but an example would be beneficial, and your lordship is
so popular, I am sure you would carry the day.”
“Do you really believe that my showing myself would be a general signal?
You see, Temple, I do not want to find myself all alone in the streets
of London, with all the dowagers grinning at their windows. That would
never do.”
“Oh! your lordship need not fear. There is a great feeling of discontent
among the higher classes; and before you could say Jack Robinson they
would all follow your example.”
“That is certainly very encouraging. Bring me some boiling water to
drink. No breakfast, thanks.”
The wave of revolt was rising furiously and threatening to drown all
principles of decency. Utter disgust filled the hearts of Londoners when
they retired to rest on the eleventh night of their voluntary seclusion.
It is then, when large shadows envelop the city, that common-sense
creepingly visits the bedside of each inhabitant; and as the mysterious
hour that is supposed to unnerve the bravest man approaches, great
principles give way, and practical reasoning comes to the fore, to ease
the questionist out of his moral jungle.