CHAPTER I--_The Charter of the Cities_
Lambert was standing bewildered outside the door of the King'sapartments amid the scurry of astonishment and ridicule. He was justpassing out into the street, in a dazed manner, when James Barkerdashed by him.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To stop all this foolery, of course," replied Barker; and hedisappeared into the room.
He entered it headlong, slamming the door, and slapping hisincomparable silk hat on the table. His mouth opened, but before hecould speak, the King said--
"Your hat, if you please."
Fidgetting with his fingers, and scarcely knowing what he was doing,the young politician held it out.
The King placed it on his own chair, and sat on it.
"A quaint old custom," he explained, smiling above the ruins. "Whenthe King receives the representatives of the House of Barker, the hatof the latter is immediately destroyed in this manner. It representsthe absolute finality of the act of homage expressed in the removalof it. It declares that never until that hat shall once more appearupon your head (a contingency which I firmly believe to be remote)shall the House of Barker rebel against the Crown of England."
Barker stood with clenched fist, and shaking lip.
"Your jokes," he began, "and my property--" and then exploded with anoath, and stopped again.
"Continue, continue," said the King, waving his hands.
"What does it all mean?" cried the other, with a gesture of passionaterationality. "Are you mad?"
"Not in the least," replied the King, pleasantly. "Madmen are alwaysserious; they go mad from lack of humour. You are looking seriousyourself, James."
"Why can't you keep it to your own private life?" expostulated theother. "You've got plenty of money, and plenty of houses now to playthe fool in, but in the interests of the public--"
"Epigrammatic," said the King, shaking his finger sadly at him. "Noneof your daring scintillations here. As to why I don't do it inprivate, I rather fail to understand your question. The answer is ofcomparative limpidity. I don't do it in private, because it is funnierto do it in public. You appear to think that it would be amusing to bedignified in the banquet hall and in the street, and at my ownfireside (I could procure a fireside) to keep the company in a roar.But that is what every one does. Every one is grave in public, andfunny in private. My sense of humour suggests the reversal of this; itsuggests that one should be funny in public, and solemn in private. Idesire to make the State functions, parliaments, coronations, and soon, one roaring old-fashioned pantomime. But, on the other hand, Ishut myself up alone in a small store-room for two hours a day, whereI am so dignified that I come out quite ill."
By this time Barker was walking up and down the room, his frock coatflapping like the black wings of a bird.
"Well, you will ruin the country, that's all," he said shortly.
"It seems to me," said Auberon, "that the tradition of ten centuriesis being broken, and the House of Barker is rebelling against theCrown of England. It would be with regret (for I admire yourappearance) that I should be obliged forcibly to decorate your headwith the remains of this hat, but--"
"What I can't understand," said Barker flinging up his fingers with afeverish American movement, "is why you don't care about anything elsebut your games."
The King stopped sharply in the act of lifting the silken remnants,dropped them, and walked up to Barker, looking at him steadily.
"I made a kind of vow," he said, "that I would not talk seriously,which always means answering silly questions. But the strong man willalways be gentle with politicians.
'The shape my scornful looks derideRequired a God to form;'
if I may so theologically express myself. And for some reason I cannotin the least understand, I feel impelled to answer that question ofyours, and to answer it as if there were really such a thing in theworld as a serious subject. You ask me why I don't care for anythingelse. Can you tell me, in the name of all the gods you don't believein, why I should care for anything else?"
"Don't you realise common public necessities?" cried Barker. "Is itpossible that a man of your intelligence does not know that it isevery one's interest--"
"Don't you believe in Zoroaster? Is it possible that you neglectMumbo-Jumbo?" returned the King, with startling animation. "Does a manof your intelligence come to me with these damned early Victorianethics? If, on studying my features and manner, you detect anyparticular resemblance to the Prince Consort, I assure you you aremistaken. Did Herbert Spencer ever convince you--did he ever convinceanybody--did he ever for one mad moment convince himself--that it mustbe to the interest of the individual to feel a public spirit? Do youbelieve that, if you rule your department badly, you stand any morechance, or one half of the chance, of being guillotined, that anangler stands of being pulled into the river by a strong pike? HerbertSpencer refrained from theft for the same reason that he refrainedfrom wearing feathers in his hair, because he was an English gentlemanwith different tastes. I am an English gentleman with differenttastes. He liked philosophy. I like art. He liked writing ten books onthe nature of human society. I like to see the Lord Chamberlainwalking in front of me with a piece of paper pinned to his coat-tails.It is my humour. Are you answered? At any rate, I have said my lastserious word to-day, and my last serious word I trust for theremainder of my life in this Paradise of Fools. The remainder of myconversation with you to-day, which I trust will be long andstimulating, I propose to conduct in a new language of my own by meansof rapid and symbolic movements of the left leg." And he began topirouette slowly round the room with a preoccupied expression.
Barker ran round the room after him, bombarding him with demands andentreaties. But he received no response except in the new language. Hecame out banging the door again, and sick like a man coming on shore.As he strode along the streets he found himself suddenly oppositeCicconani's restaurant, and for some reason there rose up before himthe green fantastic figure of the Spanish General, standing, as he hadseen him last, at the door, with the words on his lips, "You cannotargue with the choice of the soul."
The King came out from his dancing with the air of a man of businesslegitimately tired. He put on an overcoat, lit a cigar, and went outinto the purple night.
"I'M KING OF THE CASTLE."]
"I will go," he said, "and mingle with the people."
He passed swiftly up a street in the neighbourhood of Notting Hill,when suddenly he felt a hard object driven into his waistcoat. Hepaused, put up his single eye-glass, and beheld a boy with a woodensword and a paper cocked hat, wearing that expression of awedsatisfaction with which a child contemplates his work when he has hitsome one very hard. The King gazed thoughtfully for some time at hisassailant, and slowly took a note-book from his breast-pocket.
"I have a few notes," he said, "for my dying speech;" and he turnedover the leaves. "Dying speech for political assassination; ditto, ifby former friend--h'm, h'm. Dying speech for death at hands of injuredhusband (repentant). Dying speech for same (cynical). I am not quitesure which meets the present...."
"I'm the King of the Castle," said the boy, truculently, and verypleased with nothing in particular.
The King was a kind-hearted man, and very fond of children, like allpeople who are fond of the ridiculous.
"Infant," he said, "I'm glad you are so stalwart a defender of yourold inviolate Notting Hill. Look up nightly to that peak, my child,where it lifts itself among the stars so ancient, so lonely, sounutterably Notting. So long as you are ready to die for the sacredmountain, even if it were ringed with all the armies of Bayswater--"
The King stopped suddenly, and his eyes shone.
"Perhaps," he said, "perhaps the noblest of all my conceptions. Arevival of the arrogance of the old mediaeval cities applied to ourglorious suburbs. Clapham with a city guard. Wimbledon with a citywall. Surbiton tolling a bell to raise its citizens. West Hampsteadgoing into battle with its own banner. It shall be done. I, the King,have said
it." And, hastily presenting the boy with half a crown,remarking, "For the war-chest of Notting Hill," he ran violently homeat such a rate of speed that crowds followed him for miles. Onreaching his study, he ordered a cup of coffee, and plunged intoprofound meditation upon the project. At length he called hisfavourite Equerry, Captain Bowler, for whom he had a deep affection,founded principally upon the shape of his whiskers.
"Bowler," he said, "isn't there some society of historical research,or something of which I am an honorary member?"
"Yes, sir," said Captain Bowler, rubbing his nose, "you are a memberof 'The Encouragers of Egyptian Renaissance,' and 'The Teutonic TombsClub,' and 'The Society for the Recovery of London Antiquities,'and--"
"That is admirable," said the King. "The London Antiquities does mytrick. Go to the Society for the Recovery of London Antiquities andspeak to their secretary, and their sub-secretary, and theirpresident, and their vice-president, saying, 'The King of England isproud, but the honorary member of the Society for the Recovery ofLondon Antiquities is prouder than kings. I should like to tell you ofcertain discoveries I have made touching the neglected traditions ofthe London boroughs. The revelations may cause some excitement,stirring burning memories and touching old wounds in Shepherd's Bushand Bayswater, in Pimlico and South Kensington. The King hesitates,but the honorary member is firm. I approach you invoking the vows ofmy initiation, the Sacred Seven Cats, the Poker of Perfection, and theOrdeal of the Indescribable Instant (forgive me if I mix you up withthe Clan-na-Gael or some other club I belong to), and ask you topermit me to read a paper at your next meeting on the "Wars of theLondon Boroughs."' Say all this to the Society, Bowler. Remember itvery carefully, for it is most important, and I have forgotten italtogether, and send me another cup of coffee and some of the cigarsthat we keep for vulgar and successful people. I am going to write mypaper."
The Society for the Recovery of London Antiquities met a month afterin a corrugated iron hall on the outskirts of one of the southernsuburbs of London. A large number of people had collected there underthe coarse and flaring gas-jets when the King arrived, perspiring andgenial. On taking off his great-coat, he was perceived to be inevening dress, wearing the Garter. His appearance at the small table,adorned only with a glass of water, was received with respectfulcheering.
The chairman (Mr. Huggins) said that he was sure that they had allbeen pleased to listen to such distinguished lecturers as they hadheard for some time past (hear, hear). Mr. Burton (hear, hear), Mr.Cambridge, Professor King (loud and continued cheers), our old friendPeter Jessop, Sir William White (loud laughter), and other eminentmen, had done honour to their little venture (cheers). But there wereother circumstances which lent a certain unique quality to the presentoccasion (hear, hear). So far as his recollection went, and inconnection with the Society for the Recovery of London Antiquities itwent very far (loud cheers), he did not remember that any of theirlecturers had borne the title of King. He would therefore call uponKing Auberon briefly to address the meeting.
The King began by saying that this speech might be regarded as thefirst declaration of his new policy for the nation. "At this supremehour of my life I feel that to no one but the members of the Societyfor the Recovery of London Antiquities can I open my heart (cheers).If the world turns upon my policy, and the storms of popular hostilitybegin to rise (no, no), I feel that it is here, with my braveRecoverers around me, that I can best meet them, sword in hand" (loudcheers).
His Majesty then went on to explain that, now old age was creepingupon him, he proposed to devote his remaining strength to bringingabout a keener sense of local patriotism in the various municipalitiesof London. How few of them knew the legends of their own boroughs!How many there were who had never heard of the true origin of the Winkof Wandsworth! What a large proportion of the younger generation inChelsea neglected to perform the old Chelsea Chuff! Pimlico no longerpumped the Pimlies. Battersea had forgotten the name of Blick.
There was a short silence, and then a voice said "Shame!"
The King continued: "Being called, however unworthily, to this highestate, I have resolved that, so far as possible, this neglect shallcease. I desire no military glory. I lay claim to no constitutionalequality with Justinian or Alfred. If I can go down to history as theman who saved from extinction a few old English customs, if ourdescendants can say it was through this man, humble as he was, thatthe Ten Turnips are still eaten in Fulham, and the Putney parishcouncillor still shaves one half of his head, I shall look my greatfathers reverently but not fearfully in the face when I go down to thelast house of Kings."
The King paused, visibly affected, but collecting himself, resumedonce more.
"I trust that to very few of you, at least, I need dwell on thesublime origins of these legends. The very names of your boroughsbear witness to them. So long as Hammersmith is called Hammersmith,its people will live in the shadow of that primal hero, theBlacksmith, who led the democracy of the Broadway into battle till hedrove the chivalry of Kensington before him and overthrew them at thatplace which in honour of the best blood of the defeated aristocracy isstill called Kensington Gore. Men of Hammersmith will not fail toremember that the very name of Kensington originated from the lips oftheir hero. For at the great banquet of reconciliation held after thewar, when the disdainful oligarchs declined to join in the songs ofthe men of the Broadway (which are to this day of a rude and popularcharacter), the great Republican leader, with his rough humour, saidthe words which are written in gold upon his monument, 'Little birdsthat can sing and won't sing, must be made to sing.' So that theEastern Knights were called Cansings or Kensings ever afterwards. Butyou also have great memories, O men of Kensington! You showed that youcould sing, and sing great war-songs. Even after the dark day ofKensington Gore, history will not forget those three Knights whoguarded your disordered retreat from Hyde Park (so called from yourhiding there), those three Knights after whom Knightsbridge is named.Nor will it forget the day of your re-emergence, purged in the fire ofcalamity, cleansed of your oligarchic corruptions, when, sword inhand, you drove the Empire of Hammersmith back mile by mile, swept itpast its own Broadway, and broke it at last in a battle so long andbloody that the birds of prey have left their name upon it. Men havecalled it, with austere irony, the Ravenscourt. I shall not, I trust,wound the patriotism of Bayswater, or the lonelier pride of Brompton,or that of any other historic township, by taking these two specialexamples. I select them, not because they are more glorious than therest, but partly from personal association (I am myself descended fromone of the three heroes of Knightsbridge), and partly from theconsciousness that I am an amateur antiquarian, and cannot presume todeal with times and places more remote and more mysterious. It is notfor me to settle the question between two such men as Professor Huggand Sir William Whisky as to whether Notting Hill means Nutting Hill(in allusion to the rich woods which no longer cover it), or whetherit is a corruption of Nothing-ill, referring to its reputation amongthe ancients as an Earthly Paradise. When a Podkins and a Jossyconfess themselves doubtful about the boundaries of West Kensington(said to have been traced in the blood of Oxen), I need not be ashamedto confess a similar doubt. I will ask you to excuse me from furtherhistory, and to assist me with your encouragement in dealing with theproblem which faces us to-day. Is this ancient spirit of the Londontownships to die out? Are our omnibus conductors and policemen to losealtogether that light which we see so often in their eyes, the dreamylight of
'Old unhappy far-off thingsAnd battles long ago'
--to quote the words of a little-known poet who was a friend of myyouth? I have resolved, as I have said, so far as possible, topreserve the eyes of policemen and omnibus conductors in their presentdreamy state. For what is a state without dreams? And the remedy Ipropose is as follows:--
"To-morrow morning at twenty-five minutes past ten, if Heaven sparesmy life, I purpose to issue a Proclamation. It has been the work of mylife, and is about half finished. With the assistance of a whisky andsoda, I shall
conclude the other half to-night, and my people willreceive it to-morrow. All these boroughs where you were born, and hopeto lay your bones, shall be reinstated in their ancientmagnificence,--Hammersmith, Kensington, Bayswater, Chelsea, Battersea,Clapham, Balham, and a hundred others. Each shall immediately build acity wall with gates to be closed at sunset. Each shall have a cityguard, armed to the teeth. Each shall have a banner, a coat-of-arms,and, if convenient, a gathering cry. I will not enter into the detailsnow, my heart is too full. They will be found in the proclamationitself. You will all, however, be subject to enrolment in the localcity guards, to be summoned together by a thing called the Tocsin, themeaning of which I am studying in my researches into history.Personally, I believe a tocsin to be some kind of highly paidofficial. If, therefore, any of you happen to have such a thing as ahalberd in the house, I should advise you to practise with it in thegarden."
Here the King buried his face in his handkerchief and hurriedly leftthe platform, overcome by emotions.
The members of the Society for the Recovery of London Antiquities rosein an indescribable state of vagueness. Some were purple withindignation; an intellectual few were purple with laughter; the greatmajority found their minds a blank. There remains a tradition that onepale face with burning blue eyes remained fixed upon the lecturer, andafter the lecture a red-haired boy ran out of the room.
The Napoleon of Notting Hill Page 6