MELBOURNE
To know what real hospitality means, a man must needs go to Australia.
Let him journey through the length of the land, in the solitude of the
back country or in the busiest of the towns, he has nothing to do but
to say he is a stranger to ensure him a welcome. Whether he brings
letters of introduction or not, as long as he behaves like a gentleman
he will find no door in the country closed against him; and if he stays
any length of time he will ever after attach a meaning to the word
hospitality, such as he never realised in any other country in the
world.
In England hospitality is a lukewarm and cheerless commodity,
occasionally doled out in the form of patronage to those from whom
no return can be expected, but generally only extended in carefully
measured quantities to those from whom an equivalent in kind is
anticipated at no distant date. In Australia the word has a very
different significance. Hospitality there is no respecter of persons,
but is extended alike to rich and to poor, to those who have come from
ten miles off, or to people from the other side of the world, who are
extremely unlikely ever to be able to return it.
Prompted neither by a recollection of past benefits nor by expectation
of favours to come, it originates in a real honest care for the
comfort of others, and looks for no other reward than that of giving
happiness, and for no other thanks than a kindly recollection on the
part of those to whom it is offered.
It is deeply to be regretted that even this small return is so
frequently not forthcoming. Too many of our own countrymen are, I fear,
open to a charge of the basest ingratitude in this respect. They go
out to visit Australia with a sort of notion that they are conferring
a favour on the inhabitants by doing so. While they are there they
avail themselves to the utmost of the kindness that is everywhere shown
them, and on their return to England they abuse the country that they
have just left, and run down its institutions and inhabitants in every
possible way.
It is difficult to imagine a more disgusting picture of humanity than
a young man, educated as a gentleman, who does not scruple to extract
all the pleasure and profit he can from people upon whom he has not the
slightest claim, and who, as soon as his back is turned, has not the
generosity to acknowledge the kindness with which he has been treated,
or to refrain from laughing at some solecism which the extreme delicacy
of his insular breeding imagines it has been able to detect in his
entertainers.
And yet it is a picture that I have seen only too often. Many of my own
countrymen only think it necessary to behave like gentlemen so long as
they are in England, and when they get to Australia offer but a sorry
sample of the manners and customs of the country that raised them. They
seem to consider that because they are in a new country they can behave
just as they please, and often do not wait till their return to requite
with rudeness the hospitality they seem to expect as a right.
The rampart of pseudo-refinement and class prejudice behind which that
portion of English society known as the “Upper Ten” is accustomed
to shelter itself is usually supposed to be the result of birth,
breeding, and education. Since I have had an opportunity of observing
the altered behaviour of the members of that mystic guild who find
their way to Australia, I have come to the conclusion that their
“insular reserve” is not so much a question of class as of climate.
Probably there is something in the genial atmosphere of Australia that
so quickly thaws the reserve of Englishmen, and causes them to enter
heart and soul into all the amusement that is to be found there, and
to accept without hesitation the hospitality that is offered them by
perfect strangers.
It must be the warmth of the climate that does this, for I have noticed
that the reverse process takes place when they return to the lower
temperature of their mother country. There, if chance throws them, as
it often does, into the society of those with whom they have made merry
in Australia, they find it convenient once more to esconce themselves
behind the barrier of their own society’s law, which holds that except
in a foreign land a man cannot associate with anyone out of his own set
without losing caste, and at home must not introduce any outsider into
its enchanted circle unless he be the possessor of fabulous wealth.
Armed with this, the Australian in London may hope for a certain
percentage of return hospitality from those whom he may have
entertained in his own country. If he takes a house in a fashionable
situation, he may even hope to find a few people so inquisitive as to
wish to make his acquaintance. But, wherever he goes, he must always
expect to be reminded that he is only there on sufferance; and, if he
has a wife, he must not mind her being stared at as if she were a wild
beast by members of a society that prides itself on being the most
refined in the world. If people who consider themselves in the best
society in London were simply to declare that anyone who was born south
of the equator is unfit to associate with them, and refuse to recognise
Australians at all, such conduct, though open to a charge of prejudice,
would at least have the merit of consistency.
What is difficult to understand is how people who pride themselves on
the perfection of their breeding can ask Australians to their houses
and then be gratuitously rude to them. The prejudice that exists
in England against Australians is a perfect discredit to an age so
enlightened as the present, and is calculated to do serious injury to
the prospect of maintaining the permanent union of the two countries,
which is of such vital importance to both. There is no doubt that this
prejudice is partly owing to the bad impression created by some few
Australians who have brought their money to England to make such fools
of themselves with it that many people are only too ready to tar all
their compatriots with the same brush.
But this is not the real origin of the feeling. The real indictment
brought against the Australians is that they come from a land where
there was once a penal settlement, and consequently are open to the
suspicion of being descended from those who have worked for the good
of their country. This may have been all very well in the infancy of
the Colonies, but we must remember that Australia is no longer a very
young country, and it is fully time that her early social history were
relegated to the annals of the past. It is inconceivable how any class
of people can be found so bigoted as to keep such a prejudice up.
Any Englishman who is so fortunate as to be able to trace his family
history back a couple of centuries, will certainly come across several
relations who were executed for treason, if for nothing worse; and
if he pursues his inquiries any farther he must inevitably run his
ancestors to ground in a rabbit-warren of immorality, from which no
College of Heraldry can ever really extricate them. It is difficult to
follow the subtle reasoning of a pride that looks up to an ancestor
whose head was certainly chopped off for conspiracy, and looks down on
an acquaintance whose grandfather was possibly transported for fraud.
Many Englishmen who visit Australia form an erroneous opinion of its
society because they persist in applying to it the standard of the one
that they have just left. They stay sufficiently long to discover that
in some points it differs from what they have been accustomed to, and
not long enough to discover that difference does not necessarily imply
inferiority. Having in too many cases brought with them the prejudice,
and left behind them the polish of England’s society, their views
are occasionally still further warped by the discovery that, even in
Australia, a man cannot behave otherwise than like a gentleman without
an occasional rebuff.
It is from the views of such critics as these that English notions of
Australian society are chiefly derived, and upon no point are they
more unjustly censorious than upon what they are pleased to call the
fastness of the women of Australia. If the canons of English society
of the nineteenth century were a fixed standard for determining the
propriety of woman’s behaviour, there might be some show of justice
in condemning anything that falls short of it. But we all know that
nothing of the kind is the case. Society’s laws are constructed on a
sliding scale that varies from one generation to another. In the words
of Macaulay, “we change the fashion of our morals with our coats and
our hats, and wonder at the depravity of our ancestors.”
We have only to look at the relative measure of justice that the same
society deals to a man and to a woman for the same offence, to see
that it is regulated by arbitrary laws, which have little reference to
abstract principles of right and wrong.
Nothing can be more unjust than to try one community by the social laws
which govern another; for although there are certain broad rules which
cannot with impunity be transgressed in any society at present, still,
in minor matters, what constitutes a breach of propriety in one society
does not necessarily do so in another.
The frank demeanour and the entire absence of affectation that make
an Australian girl such a pleasant companion after ten minutes’
acquaintance, would in England, of course, be set down to fastness, if
to nothing worse. Society in England holds affectation in an unmarried
woman to be an integral part of modesty, and in order, therefore, to
guard against the imputation of forwardness, reserve with a recent
acquaintance must be pushed to the verge of stupidity.
Now, as long as critics upon this point recognise that it is simply the
veneering of outward demeanour that they are discussing, no harm is
done. But any inference as to the morality that may lie beneath it, is
most reprehensible. Whether it be a more excellent thing in woman to
try and entertain a man to whom she is introduced, or to make it next
to impossible for him to entertain her, is a question which should be
decided entirely upon its own merits. But it is infamous to say that
the absence of reserve, which in some women is the natural outcome of
good spirits and a desire to please, argues the slightest inferiority
of moral principles to those who have been brought up to consider that
purity can only be preserved in ice.
In point of actual immorality, it is doubtful whether fashionable
society has varied very much in any country since the age that evoked
the satires of Horace and Juvenal. There are periods during which open
immorality is fashionable, just as there are some summers hotter than
others, but in the end the mean temperature is maintained. Certainly
just now there seems to be a fall in the moral thermometer all over the
world.
A poet not long dead has declared that London is no better than the
cities for whom “God heard Abraham pray in vain.” And assuredly we do
not seem far off the time when the words, _quæ jussa coram non sine
conscio surgit marito_, will cease to convey any great reproach to
those to whom they may apply. At present, however, even in London a
departure from the path of virtue derives an additional piquancy from
the danger of social ostracism to which detection exposes the offender.
As long as Australia is not more lax than London in upholding the
Eleventh Commandment, no one has the slightest right to disparage the
tone of her society. But it must be indeed a captious and cynical
disposition that would prevent a man, at least during his stay in
Australia, from flinging all such considerations as these to the winds,
and abandoning himself to the charm of his surroundings.
In Melbourne especially it is impossible for a man to stay long without
feeling that he is in an atmosphere of cheerfulness, and amongst people
who are determined to enjoy life thoroughly. A single introduction
makes him free of the guild, and before he has been there a week he
will know everyone in the place. In this respect Melbourne has a great
advantage over Sydney, where society is split up into several sets,
each of which, for some unaccountable reason, refuses to mix with the
others.
Whatever a man’s tastes may be, it must be his own fault if they are
not gratified in Melbourne. If he is inclined for sport, from October
to March he will see as good racing as he ever saw in his life, and
during the remainder of the year he will have an excellent opportunity
of breaking his neck with the Melbourne hounds. If he is fond of good
living, he will find that it is with good reason that the “viveurs” of
Melbourne pride themselves on the excellence of their wines and the
proficiency of their “chefs.” After dinner, if he wishes to gamble, at
either of the clubs he will find a certain number of congenial spirits,
and, whether he win or lose, it is extremely unlikely next morning that
he will complain of the smallness of the stakes.
There are two exceedingly comfortable clubs, the “Australian” and the
“Melbourne,” both of which admit honorary members for a period of not
more than six months in two years--a very liberal allowance, which adds
considerably to the pleasure of a visitor’s stay in the place, without
putting him to any expense. Occasionally rather heavy play goes on at
both the clubs. I have known a single player to drop over ten thousand
pounds at a sitting.
For several miles to the south-east the suburbs consist of nothing
but detached houses, each surrounded by more or less extensive
gardens and grounds. Many of these houses have been constructed at an
enormous expense, and fitted up by their owners with every comfort and
luxury that can be imagined. The grounds of some of them are really
beautifully laid out, and there is invariably a well-kept, prosperous
kind of look about the whole concern, from the gatepost to the
weather-cock.
A glorious ballroom is a very common appendage to one of these
Melbourne houses. Dancing, with the people of Melbourne, is a passion;
and, like everything else that they go in for, they do it well. The
ballroom is strictly sacred to its legitimate use, and no profane feet
are allowed to invade its precincts between whiles. All the anxious
care of a mother for a delicate child is lavished by the hostess on
her ballroom floor, when she is about to give a dance. The music is
generally excellent, and they have a happy knack in Melbourne of
filling their rooms without crowding them.
Most of the women dance divinely. All through Australia dancing seems
to come as naturally to girls as walking; and in Melbourne it is as
rare to find a woman between fifteen and fifty who dances badly as it
is in England to find one who dances well. Altogether, if a man goes
to a ball to dance and not to lean against a doorpost, it is odd if he
does not look back to some of these small dances in Melbourne, where
everyone knows each other, as amongst the pleasantest he ever was at in
his life.
Lawn-tennis is everywhere immensely popular. Young men and maidens, old
women and children, at it they go, with the enthusiasm which, whether
in the pursuit of business or of pleasure, is a distinctive feature of
the inhabitants of Melbourne. Really the energy with which some of the
fair sex devote themselves to the game savours rather of work than of
play. Those who do play, play for four hours every day of their lives,
and those who do not, come to look on. A round of afternoon calls means
visiting the various lawn-tennis courts in succession. Here, between
the hours of three and seven, the youth, beauty, and fashion of the
place are every day to be found, comfortably located in a summer-house
overlooking the court, drinking tea and talking scandal, and watching
the enthusiasts below, who are playing as if their lives depended upon
every stroke of the game.
Hotbeds of scandal are these lawn-tennis parties, but here the people
of Melbourne show their wisdom by declining to spoil two good things by
mixing them. No one who plays is expected to talk scandal on the same
afternoon. The players may sit down to rest their aching limbs, and if
there is time they may have some tea; but they must be prepared to put
down their cups untasted, and start up again at a moment’s notice to
make up another set, lest a minute’s interval in the play should take
place. To display the slightest inclination to sit still is to risk
offending an otherwise most indulgent hostess, who is certain to be an
indefatigable player herself.
Many a time have I watched a recent arrival in the colony, whose
ignorance of its customs leads him to suppose that an hour’s hard play
under a broiling sun entitles him to a few minutes’ repose. Having
secured a cup of tea and asked permission to smoke, he lights a cigar,
and, establishing himself comfortably in an armchair, prepares to
enjoy the society of one of his fair neighbours who does not play.
Just then the set is finished. The relentless eye of his hostess marks
him out for another, and he is forthwith invited to play again. It
is no use refusing. He will have to give in. His hostess is going to
play again herself, and for very shame he cannot say he is too tired.
There is something sublime in the vitality of a woman who can handle a
lawn-tennis racquet for three hours at a stretch under the afternoon
fire of an Australian sun. Gradually he will find himself infected by
such heroism, and by the time that he has been a week in the town he
will never dream of refusing to play when he is asked.
The climate of the town itself is rather enervating at times,
especially in summer, when hot winds blow occasionally for one or
two days at a time; and before a stranger has been long in Melbourne
society, especially if he goes much into the bachelor portion of it,
he will find that he needs a good constitution and a hard head to drink
fair with some of his entertainers. The excellent quality of the wine
he is drinking is apt to make him rather careless about the quantity.
One of these hot winds, therefore, coming on the top of a “Burgundy
night” at the Melbourne Club, will probably recall to a visitor’s mind
the numerous invitations that he is certain to have received to go and
spend a few days in the country.
Away to the north of Melbourne the plain country rises gradually for
about forty miles to an elevation of about 1500 feet. Beyond this are
heavily-timbered mountain ranges, on the southern slopes of which are
some of the most exquisitely-situated country houses in the world. The
owners of many of them seem to keep open house the whole year round,
and are never happy unless they have a succession of visitors from
Melbourne to keep their houses full. When Melbourne is suffocated
with dust and heat, the climate up here is delightfully cool and
pleasant. Anything more beautiful than some of these places cannot be
imagined. Of course the grounds around them are artificially made,
being clearances in the endless forest of huge gum-trees, but they
have been turned by the genius of their owners into perfect paradises
of beauty. Ornamental trees, flowering shrubs, and creepers of every
description, grow as if they were determined to make up for lost time
in never having been planted before. Wild flowers flourish as if nature
had upset her basket here and never stopped to pick it up, and exotics
are scattered around with a profusion that quite takes a stranger’s
breath away, and makes him rub his eyes to be sure that good living in
Melbourne has not had the effect of making him see double.
Here the exhausted lawn-tennis player from Melbourne can stretch his
weary limbs in perfect peace, idly drinking in the pure mountain air
and feasting on the beauty of the scene around him, without risk of any
less pleasant interruption than a stroll round the garden and through
the fern-tree gullies. With a pipe to keep away mosquitoes, and the
conversation of one of Australia’s daughters to keep away care, a man
must be indeed hard to please who cannot enjoy himself thoroughly. He
need not exert himself. He has nothing to do but to allow his fair
companion to entertain him. She will do it with an ease that no other
woman in the world is so thoroughly mistress of as an Australian.
The scene is one which is not readily forgotten. Around on three sides
rise wild mountain ranges, covered to the very summit with dense masses
of dark-green forest. Behind them the sun sinks to rest--
“Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light.”
In front a garden bright with every conceivable shade of colouring
slopes gently down to a miniature lake, whose glassy surface, unmarred
by a single ripple, reflects with startling distinctness the trees that
fringe its edges. Beyond this the plains go rolling down to Melbourne,
forty miles away, dimly visible, except on a very clear day; but its
whereabouts is distinctly marked by a murky cloud of smoke, which rises
up and drifts away to seaward over the shining expanse of Port Philip
harbour. It is pleasant to watch the storm-clouds gathering in the
south, and to see the steamers creeping out to sea, to fight their way
along the most pitiless coast in the world. “Suave mari magno” rises
to the spectator’s lips, and as he turns to the home-like comfort and
fairy beauty of the scene around him, the conviction comes across
him that by no race in the world is the philosophy of life better
understood than by the inhabitants of Australia.
Small wonder if the lawn-tennis player who comes up here to recruit
occasionally imbibes something else besides mountain air. The perfect
repose of his surroundings, the sensation of “masterly inactivity” in
himself, which is never felt to perfection out of a hot climate, will
make him feel that the world is very pleasant to live in; an impression
that will deepen as he listens to his entertainer’s refreshing views of
life, and notes her unaffected interest in everything, which proclaims
her a stranger to the meaning of the word _ennui_.
The stillness of the evening air is heavy with the scent of
orange-flowers, gardenias, and stephanotis; and as the charm of his
companion’s manner grows upon him, he will own to himself that some of
the daughters of the South are wondrous fair.