It is quite unnecessary to say that the talk about clothes ran into the
question of dress-reform, and ran out, of course. You cannot converse on
anything nowadays that you do not run into some reform. The Parson says
that everybody is intent on reforming everything but himself. We are all
trying to associate ourselves to make everybody else behave as we do.
Said--
OUR NEXT DOOR. Dress reform! As if people couldn't change their clothes
without concert of action. Resolved, that nobody should put on a clean
collar oftener than his neighbor does. I'm sick of every sort of reform.
I should like to retrograde awhile. Let a dyspeptic ascertain that he
can eat porridge three times a day and live, and straightway he insists
that everybody ought to eat porridge and nothing else. I mean to get
up a society every member of which shall be pledged to do just as he
pleases.
THE PARSON. That would be the most radical reform of the day. That
would be independence. If people dressed according to their means, acted
according to their convictions, and avowed their opinions, it would
revolutionize society.
OUR NEXT DOOR. I should like to walk into your church some Sunday and
see the changes under such conditions.
THE PARSON. It might give you a novel sensation to walk in at any time.
And I'm not sure but the church would suit your retrograde ideas.
It's so Gothic that a Christian of the Middle Ages, if he were alive,
couldn't see or hear in it.
HERBERT. I don't know whether these reformers who carry the world on
their shoulders in such serious fashion, especially the little fussy
fellows, who are themselves the standard of the regeneration they seek,
are more ludicrous than pathetic.
THE FIRE-TENDER. Pathetic, by all means. But I don't know that they
would be pathetic if they were not ludicrous. There are those reform
singers who have been piping away so sweetly now for thirty years, with
never any diminution of cheerful, patient enthusiasm; their hair growing
longer and longer, their eyes brighter and brighter, and their faces, I
do believe, sweeter and sweeter; singing always with the same
constancy for the slave, for the drunkard, for the snufftaker, for the
suffragist,--"There'sa-good-time-com-ing-boys (nothing offensive is
intended by 'boys,' it is put in for euphony, and sung pianissimo, not
to offend the suffragists), it's-almost-here." And what a brightening up
of their faces there is when they say, "it's-al-most-here," not doubting
for a moment that "it's" coming tomorrow; and the accompanying melodeon
also wails its wheezy suggestion that "it's-al-most-here," that
"good-time" (delayed so long, waiting perhaps for the invention of the
melodeon) when we shall all sing and all play that cheerful instrument,
and all vote, and none shall smoke, or drink, or eat meat, "boys." I
declare it almost makes me cry to hear them, so touching is their faith
in the midst of a jeer-ing world.
HERBERT. I suspect that no one can be a genuine reformer and not be
ridiculous. I mean those who give themselves up to the unction of the
reform.
THE MISTRESS. Does n't that depend upon whether the reform is large or
petty?
THE FIRE-TENDER. I should say rather that the reforms attracted to them
all the ridiculous people, who almost always manage to become the most
conspicuous. I suppose that nobody dare write out all that was ludicrous
in the great abolition movement. But it was not at all comical to those
most zealous in it; they never could see--more's the pity, for thereby
they lose much--the humorous side of their performances, and that is why
the pathos overcomes one's sense of the absurdity of such people.
THE YOUNG LADY. It is lucky for the world that so many are willing to be
absurd.
HERBERT. Well, I think that, in the main, the reformers manage to look
out for themselves tolerably well. I knew once a lean and faithful agent
of a great philanthropic scheme, who contrived to collect every year for
the cause just enough to support him at a good hotel comfortably.
THE MISTRESS. That's identifying one's self with the cause.
MANDEVILLE. You remember the great free-soil convention at Buffalo, in
1848, when Van Buren was nominated. All the world of hope and discontent
went there, with its projects of reform. There seemed to be no doubt,
among hundreds that attended it, that if they could get a resolution
passed that bread should be buttered on both sides, it would be so
buttered. The platform provided for every want and every woe.
THE FIRE-TENDER. I remember. If you could get the millennium by
political action, we should have had it then.
MANDEVILLE. We went there on the Erie Canal, the exciting and
fashionable mode of travel in those days. I was a boy when we began the
voyage. The boat was full of conventionists; all the talk was of what
must be done there. I got the impression that as that boat-load went
so would go the convention; and I was not alone in that feeling. I
can never be grateful enough for one little scrubby fanatic who was on
board, who spent most of his time in drafting resolutions and reading
them privately to the passengers. He was a very enthusiastic, nervous,
and somewhat dirty little man, who wore a woolen muffler about his
throat, although it was summer; he had nearly lost his voice, and could
only speak in a hoarse, disagreeable whisper, and he always carried
a teacup about, containing some sticky compound which he stirred
frequently with a spoon, and took, whenever he talked, in order to
improve his voice. If he was separated from his cup for ten minutes, his
whisper became inaudible. I greatly delighted in him, for I never saw
any one who had so much enjoyment of his own importance. He was fond
of telling what he would do if the convention rejected such and such
resolutions. He'd make it hot for them. I did n't know but he'd make
them take his mixture. The convention had got to take a stand on
tobacco, for one thing. He'd heard Gid-dings took snuff; he'd see.
When we at length reached Buffalo he took his teacup and carpet-bag of
resolutions and went ashore in a great hurry. I saw him once again in
a cheap restaurant, whispering a resolution to another delegate, but he
did n't appear in the convention. I have often wondered what became of
him.
OUR NEXT DOOR. Probably he's consul somewhere. They mostly are.
THE FIRE-TENDER. After all, it's the easiest thing in the world to sit
and sneer at eccentricities. But what a dead and uninteresting world it
would be if we were all proper, and kept within the lines! Affairs would
soon be reduced to mere machinery. There are moments, even days, when
all interests and movements appear to be settled upon some universal
plan of equilibrium; but just then some restless and absurd person
is inspired to throw the machine out of gear. These individual
eccentricities seem to be the special providences in the general human
scheme.
HERBERT. They make it very hard work for the rest of us, who are
disposed to go along peaceably and smoothly.
MANDEVILLE. And stagnate. I 'm not sure but the natural condition
of this planet is war, and that when it is finally towed to
its anchorage--if the universe has any harbor for worlds out of
commission--it will look like the Fighting Temeraire in Turner's
picture.
HERBERT. There is another thing I should like to understand: the
tendency of people who take up one reform, perhaps a personal
regeneration in regard to some bad habit, to run into a dozen other
isms, and get all at sea in several vague and pernicious theories and
practices.
MANDEVILLE. Herbert seems to think there is safety in a man's being
anchored, even if it is to a bad habit.
HERBERT. Thank you. But what is it in human nature that is apt to carry
a man who may take a step in personal reform into so many extremes?
OUR NEXT DOOR. Probably it's human nature.
HERBERT. Why, for instance, should a reformed drunkard (one of the
noblest examples of victory over self) incline, as I have known the
reformed to do, to spiritism, or a woman suffragist to "pantarchism"
(whatever that is), and want to pull up all the roots of society, and
expect them to grow in the air, like orchids; or a Graham-bread disciple
become enamored of Communism?
MANDEVILLE. I know an excellent Conservative who would, I think, suit
you; he says that he does not see how a man who indulges in the theory
and practice of total abstinence can be a consistent believer in the
Christian religion.
HERBERT. Well, I can understand what he means: that a person is bound
to hold himself in conditions of moderation and control, using and not
abusing the things of this world, practicing temperance, not retiring
into a convent of artificial restrictions in order to escape the full
responsibility of self-control. And yet his theory would certainly wreck
most men and women. What does the Parson say?
THE PARSON. That the world is going crazy on the notion of individual
ability. Whenever a man attempts to reform himself, or anybody else,
without the aid of the Christian religion, he is sure to go adrift, and
is pretty certain to be blown about by absurd theories, and shipwrecked
on some pernicious ism.
THE FIRE-TENDER. I think the discussion has touched bottom.