husband and wife talking.THE CHOICE OF A SCHOOLMrs. Beresford Midas: "I'm so glad we've put down Plantagenet's name for Eton, Beresford! Here, the newspaper says there are more Lords and Baronets there than ever!"Beresford Midas, Esq., J.P.(Brother and Junior Partner of Sir Gorgius): "Ah, but only one Dook! Pity there ain't a few more Dooks, Maria!"Mrs. Beresford Midas: "Perhaps therewillbe when Plantagenet's of an age to go there."Mr. Beresford Midas: "Let's 'ope so! At all events, we'll put down his name for 'Arrow as well; and whichever 'as most Dooks when the time comes, we'll choosethat, yer know!"
THE CHOICE OF A SCHOOL
Mrs. Beresford Midas: "I'm so glad we've put down Plantagenet's name for Eton, Beresford! Here, the newspaper says there are more Lords and Baronets there than ever!"
Beresford Midas, Esq., J.P.(Brother and Junior Partner of Sir Gorgius): "Ah, but only one Dook! Pity there ain't a few more Dooks, Maria!"
Mrs. Beresford Midas: "Perhaps therewillbe when Plantagenet's of an age to go there."
Mr. Beresford Midas: "Let's 'ope so! At all events, we'll put down his name for 'Arrow as well; and whichever 'as most Dooks when the time comes, we'll choosethat, yer know!"
Congregation making an entrance to a large room.,THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTESTOur prophetic instinct enables us to foresee that the British Aristocracy of the future will consist of two distinct parties—not the Tories and the Whigs—butthe handsome peopleandthe clever people. The former will be the highly developed descendants of the athletes and the beauties, the splendid cricketers and lawn tennis players of our day. The latter will be the offspring, not of modern æsthetes—oh, dear, no! but of a tougher and more prolific race, one that hasteth not, nor resteth; and for whom there is a good time coming. The above design is intended to represent a fashionable gathering at Lord Zachariah Mosely's, let us say, in the year two thousand and whatever-you-like.N.B.—The happy thought has just occurred to His Lordship that a fusion of the two parties into one by means of intermarriage, would conduce to their mutual welfare and to that of their common progeny.
THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST
Our prophetic instinct enables us to foresee that the British Aristocracy of the future will consist of two distinct parties—not the Tories and the Whigs—butthe handsome peopleandthe clever people. The former will be the highly developed descendants of the athletes and the beauties, the splendid cricketers and lawn tennis players of our day. The latter will be the offspring, not of modern æsthetes—oh, dear, no! but of a tougher and more prolific race, one that hasteth not, nor resteth; and for whom there is a good time coming. The above design is intended to represent a fashionable gathering at Lord Zachariah Mosely's, let us say, in the year two thousand and whatever-you-like.
N.B.—The happy thought has just occurred to His Lordship that a fusion of the two parties into one by means of intermarriage, would conduce to their mutual welfare and to that of their common progeny.
Mrs. Ponsonby de Tomkyns
In illustrating the falling away of the titled classes from the maximnoblesse obligeon its physical side, Du Maurier occupied an exceptional position onPunch; but he was not less active than other artists and writers in exposing the "moral and intellectual damage" which they inflicted on the community. In 1878 the vogue of "Fancy Fairs" evokes a vigorous protest against the vanity, bad taste, forwardness and free-and-easiness of society women who made themselves cheap in order to sell dear to 'Arries. From this date onwards the vagaries of Mrs. Ponsonby de Tomkyns, in whom Du Maurier incarnated all the pushfulness of the thrusting woman of fashion, are a constant source of entertainment. One of her earliest exploits as a Lion-hunter was to invite Monsieur de Paris to one of her receptions. Her husband thought she meant the Comte de Paris, but shespeedily undeceives him. It was the headsman she was pursuing, not the Prince. "All the world" came, but the faithless executioner went to visit the Chamber of Horrors at Madame Tussaud's instead! Later on, as the social mentor, guide, philosopher and friend of Lady Midas, we find her warning her pupil against inviting the aristocracy to meet each other. A music-hall celebrity must be provided as a "draw," and Mrs. Ponsonby de Tomkyns recommends Nellie Micklemash and her banjo. "She is not respectable, but she is amusing, and that is everything." So when the Tichborne Claimant was released in 1884, Mrs. Ponsonby de Tomkyns contemplates inviting him to dinner: "Surely there are stillsomedecent people who would like to meet him." Elsewhere and in more serious veinPunchdenounces the undue publicity given to this impostor's movements in the Press—one leading paper having stultified itself by condemning the practice in a leading article and simultaneously publishing an advertisement of the Claimant's appearance at a music-hall. This dualism, however, was no monopoly of the 'eighties and has become common form in the Georgian Press.
Mrs. Ponsonby de Tomkyns acts as a bridge between the old and the newrégimein her ceaseless and indiscriminate worship of celebrities and notorieties. She is the descendant of Mrs. Leo Hunter, but adds the shrewdness and cynicism of the go-between to the simple silliness of her ancestress. Todeson, another familiar figure in Du Maurier's gallery, attaches himself exclusively to the old nobility, but is always putting his foot in it by beingplus royaliste que le roi, or more ducal than the duchess. For in the slightly distorting mirror of Du Maurier's genius we see, as an evidence of the spread of liberal ideas, a Duke dining with his tailor and being kept in very good order by him; and a musical Duchess learning to sing Parisian chansonnettes from a French expert in thefranchement canaillemanner. The craze for the stage among "Society people" had now reached formidable dimensions. They were no longer content with amateur theatricals, but had begun to enter into competition with the professionals.
The invasion of journalism by the same classPunchtook much more seriously. Hazlitt, some fifty years earlier, had written in his essay "On the Conversation of Lords": "The Press is so entirely monopolized by beauty, birth or importance in the State, that an author by profession resigns the field to the crowd of well-dressed competitors, out of modesty or pride." But this was written when the mania for fashionable novels by Noble Authors was at its height, and Hazlitt uses the word Press of the printing press generally. In the early 'eighties the competition of titled amateurs was mainly confined to Society journals, a characteristic product of the new fusion of classes. As one of their ablest and most cynical editors said of his own paper, they were "written by and for nobs and snobs." They are now practically dead, owing to the absorption in the daily Press of the special features—above all the "personal note"—then peculiar to these weekly chronicles of high life.Punchascribed the invasion of the Street of Ink by the amateurs to the penurious condition of the aristocracy and their ignoble readiness to turn their social opportunities into "copy" and cash. Under the heading of "Labor Omnia Vincit, or How Some of 'em try to live now,"Punchpublished a satiric sketch of the new activities of Mayfair. The scene is laid in the boudoir of Lady Skribeler, a successful contributor to various Society journals. The scene opens with the arrival of her friend the Hon. Mrs. Hardup, who gives a pathetic account of her disastrous ventures in business and her failure to secure an engagement on the stage. Why, asks Lady Skribeler, had she not made her husband go into trade or keep a shop, or sell wine?—
Titled Professionals
Mrs. Hardup: "Oh, he has done that. He was Chairman of that Thuringian Claret Company; and we got ever so many people about us to take a quantity. But it fermented—or did something stupid; and they do say it killed the poor Duke, who was very kind to Harry, you know, and took a hundred dozen at once. And now, of course, there's no sale—or whatever they call it; and Harry says if it can't be got rid of to a firm of Blue Ink Makers, who are inquiring about it, it will have to go out to the Colonies as Château Margaux—at a dreadful loss. [Summing up.] I don't believe the men understand trade a bit, dear. So I'm going to do something for myself."
Mrs. Hardup: "Oh, he has done that. He was Chairman of that Thuringian Claret Company; and we got ever so many people about us to take a quantity. But it fermented—or did something stupid; and they do say it killed the poor Duke, who was very kind to Harry, you know, and took a hundred dozen at once. And now, of course, there's no sale—or whatever they call it; and Harry says if it can't be got rid of to a firm of Blue Ink Makers, who are inquiring about it, it will have to go out to the Colonies as Château Margaux—at a dreadful loss. [Summing up.] I don't believe the men understand trade a bit, dear. So I'm going to do something for myself."
The sequel describes her initiation into the tricks of the trade by Lady Skribeler:—
Profiting by the morning's conversation, Mrs. Hardup besieges unprotected Editors, contributes to the literature of her country most interesting weekly accounts of the doings of her friends and acquaintances, and, it is to be hoped, practically solves, to her own satisfaction, the secret of the way in which a good many of us manage to live now.
Profiting by the morning's conversation, Mrs. Hardup besieges unprotected Editors, contributes to the literature of her country most interesting weekly accounts of the doings of her friends and acquaintances, and, it is to be hoped, practically solves, to her own satisfaction, the secret of the way in which a good many of us manage to live now.
Governess talking to three girls.REMOVAL OF ANCIENT LANDMARKSLady Gwendoline: "Papa saysI'mto be a great artist, and exhibit at the Royal Academy!"Lady Yseulte: "And papa saysI'mto be a great pianist, and play at the Monday Pops!"Lady Edelgitha: "And I'm going to be a famous actress, and act Ophelia, and cut out Miss Ellen Terry! Papa says I may—that is, if Ican, you know!"The New Governess: "Goodness gracious, young ladies! Is it possible His Grace can allow you even tothinkof such things! Why,myPapa was only a poor half-pay officer, but the bare thought of my ever playing inpublicor painting forhire, would have simplyhorrifiedhim—and as for acting Ophelia or anything else—gracious goodness, you take my breath away!"
REMOVAL OF ANCIENT LANDMARKS
Lady Gwendoline: "Papa saysI'mto be a great artist, and exhibit at the Royal Academy!"
Lady Yseulte: "And papa saysI'mto be a great pianist, and play at the Monday Pops!"
Lady Edelgitha: "And I'm going to be a famous actress, and act Ophelia, and cut out Miss Ellen Terry! Papa says I may—that is, if Ican, you know!"
The New Governess: "Goodness gracious, young ladies! Is it possible His Grace can allow you even tothinkof such things! Why,myPapa was only a poor half-pay officer, but the bare thought of my ever playing inpublicor painting forhire, would have simplyhorrifiedhim—and as for acting Ophelia or anything else—gracious goodness, you take my breath away!"
For success in this walk of journalism, "literary culture must be eschewed, for with literary culture come taste and discrimination—qualities which might fatally obstruct the path of the journalistic aspirant." It was not by any means monopolizedby amateurs, andPunch, in his series of "Modern Types" a few years later, traces, under the heading "The Jack of all Journalisms," the rise to power and influence of a humble but unscrupulous scribe, successively venal musical and dramatic critic, interviewer and picturesque social reporter, but always "the blatant, cringing, insolent, able, disreputable wielder of a pen which draws much of its sting and its profit from the vanities and fears of his fellow-creatures." The sketch is an ingenious composite photograph, in which those familiar with London journalism in the 'eighties and 'nineties will recognize in almost every paragraph the lineaments of one or other of the most notorious and poisonous representatives of the Society Press.
As we have seen, journalism was only one field for the commercial instincts of penurious "Society people." In 1887Punchtakes for his text the following paragraph from a daily paper:—
"One well-known West End Milliner is a graduate of Girton; another bears a title; a third conceals a name not unknown to Burke under a pseudonym.... Many of the best women of all classes are ready to do anything by which the honest penny may be earned."
"One well-known West End Milliner is a graduate of Girton; another bears a title; a third conceals a name not unknown to Burke under a pseudonym.... Many of the best women of all classes are ready to do anything by which the honest penny may be earned."
Punchwas somewhat sceptical as to the honesty of their intentions; the only way, he tells us, to get an invitation to the dances given by one titled shopkeeper was to buy one of her bonnets. This may have been a malicious invention, but he was fairly entitled to make game of the advertisement which appeared in theManchester Evening Timesin the spring of 1887:—
"To Christian Widowers.—A Nobleman's Widow, of good birth, about 40, no family, left with small income, pleasing, sweet-tempered, cultured, domesticated, fond of children, desires Settled Home and a high-minded Protestant Husband of 50, or older, seeking domestic happiness with a devoted, loving Christian wife.—Address——"
"To Christian Widowers.—A Nobleman's Widow, of good birth, about 40, no family, left with small income, pleasing, sweet-tempered, cultured, domesticated, fond of children, desires Settled Home and a high-minded Protestant Husband of 50, or older, seeking domestic happiness with a devoted, loving Christian wife.—Address——"
The American Invasion
The lady shopkeeper had become such an institution thatPunchincluded her in one of his series of "Modern Types" in 1891. The portrait is not exactly flattering, though he admitted that she sometimes possessed other than purely social qualifications for success:—
At first everything will go swimmingly. Friends will rally round her, and she may perhaps discover with a touching surprise that the staunchest and truest are those of whom, in her days of brilliant prosperity, she thought the least. But asuccès d'estimeis soon exhausted. Unless she conducts her business on purely business lines, delivers her goods when they are wanted, and, for her own protection, sends in her accounts as they fall due, and looks carefully after their payment, her customers and her profits will fall away. But if she attends strictly to business herself, or engages a good business woman to assist her, and orders her affairs in accordance with the dictates of a proper self-interest, she is almost certain to do well, and to reap the reward of those who face the world without flinching, and fight the battle of life sturdily and with an honest purpose.
At first everything will go swimmingly. Friends will rally round her, and she may perhaps discover with a touching surprise that the staunchest and truest are those of whom, in her days of brilliant prosperity, she thought the least. But asuccès d'estimeis soon exhausted. Unless she conducts her business on purely business lines, delivers her goods when they are wanted, and, for her own protection, sends in her accounts as they fall due, and looks carefully after their payment, her customers and her profits will fall away. But if she attends strictly to business herself, or engages a good business woman to assist her, and orders her affairs in accordance with the dictates of a proper self-interest, she is almost certain to do well, and to reap the reward of those who face the world without flinching, and fight the battle of life sturdily and with an honest purpose.
Group of women talking.THE NEW SOCIETY CRAZE!The New Governess(through her pretty nose): "Waall—I come right slick away from Ne' York City, an' I ain't had much time for foolin' around in Europe—you bet! So I can't fix up your gals in the Eu-ropean Languages no-how!"Belgravian Mamma(who knows there's a Duke or two still left in the Matrimonial Market): "Oh, that's of no consequence. I want my daughters to acquire the American accent in all its purity—and the idioms, and all that. Now I'm sureyouwill doadmirably!"
THE NEW SOCIETY CRAZE!
The New Governess(through her pretty nose): "Waall—I come right slick away from Ne' York City, an' I ain't had much time for foolin' around in Europe—you bet! So I can't fix up your gals in the Eu-ropean Languages no-how!"
Belgravian Mamma(who knows there's a Duke or two still left in the Matrimonial Market): "Oh, that's of no consequence. I want my daughters to acquire the American accent in all its purity—and the idioms, and all that. Now I'm sureyouwill doadmirably!"
Millinery was the favourite field of enterprise, but the duchess who rebuked the indiscreet Todeson for his condemnation of trade as unworthy of the nobility, mentioned that her husband had gone in for bric-à-brac and her mother for confectionery. "Society people," in short, were dabbling extensively in trade, but it was mainly confined to the luxury trades.Punchdoes not mention, however, what was generally believed to be true, that a well-known peer was a partner in a firm of money-lenders, trading under a name most literally suggestive of blood-sucking. Commercialism in high places is illustrated indirectly but pointedly by the invasion of American heiresses. Dowagers with large families of daughters—for large families were still frequent and fashionable—found themselves seriously affected by the "unfair competition" of these wealthy and vivacious beauties. In 1888Punchsatirized their misfortunes in a picture representing English society mothers engaging American governesses so that their daughters might be instructed how to hold their own against American girls in attracting eligible dukes. So again in theAlmanackof 1889, under the title "Social Diagnosis," a French baron identifies a certain lady as an English duchess on the evidence of her indisputably American origin, and in the same year, in a sardonic article,Punchexposes the American tendency to gloat over evidences of class distinctions in English society, while pretending to denounce them. This was inspired by the activities of certain American correspondents and "G. W. S." (the late Mr. Smalley) in particular, who is described as "too intimate with the 'hupper suckles' to think much of them." It was he, by the way, whose favourite form of social entertainment was described as not a "small and early" but an "Earl and Smalley." The hardest thing thatPunchsaid of the American heiresses was put into the mouth of one of their number. In 1890 he published a picture of three fair New Yorkers conversing with a young Englishman. When he asks whether their father had come with them to Europe, one of them replies: "Pa's much too vulgar to be with us. It's as much as we can do to stand Ma." But the verses on "The American Girl" in the same year wind up on a note of reluctant admiration:—
Mayfair's New Idols
THE AMERICAN GIRL.
(An American Correspondent ofThe Galignani Messengeris very severe on the manners of his fair countrywomen.)
She "guesses" and she "calculates," she wears all sorts o' collars,Her yellow hair is not without suspicion of a dye;Her "Poppa" is a dull old man who turned pork into dollars,But everyone admits that she's indubitably spry.She did Rome in a swift two days, gave half the time to Venice,But vows that she saw everything, although in awful haste;She's fond of dancing, but she seems to fight shy of lawn tennisBecause it might endanger the proportions of her waist.Her manner might be well defined as elegantly skittish;She loves a Lord as only a Republican can do;And quite the best of titles she's persuaded are the British,And well she knows the Peerage, for she reads it through and through.She's bediamonded superbly, and shines like a constellation,You scarce can see her fingers for the multitude of rings;She's just a shade too conscious, so it seems, of admiration,With irritating tendencies to wriggle when she sings.She owns she is "Amur'can," and her accent is alarming;Her birthplace has an awful name you pray you may forget;Yet, after all, we ownLa Belle Américaineis charming,So let us hope she'll win at last her long-sought coronet.
She "guesses" and she "calculates," she wears all sorts o' collars,Her yellow hair is not without suspicion of a dye;Her "Poppa" is a dull old man who turned pork into dollars,But everyone admits that she's indubitably spry.
She "guesses" and she "calculates," she wears all sorts o' collars,
Her yellow hair is not without suspicion of a dye;
Her "Poppa" is a dull old man who turned pork into dollars,
But everyone admits that she's indubitably spry.
She did Rome in a swift two days, gave half the time to Venice,But vows that she saw everything, although in awful haste;She's fond of dancing, but she seems to fight shy of lawn tennisBecause it might endanger the proportions of her waist.
She did Rome in a swift two days, gave half the time to Venice,
But vows that she saw everything, although in awful haste;
She's fond of dancing, but she seems to fight shy of lawn tennis
Because it might endanger the proportions of her waist.
Her manner might be well defined as elegantly skittish;She loves a Lord as only a Republican can do;And quite the best of titles she's persuaded are the British,And well she knows the Peerage, for she reads it through and through.
Her manner might be well defined as elegantly skittish;
She loves a Lord as only a Republican can do;
And quite the best of titles she's persuaded are the British,
And well she knows the Peerage, for she reads it through and through.
She's bediamonded superbly, and shines like a constellation,You scarce can see her fingers for the multitude of rings;She's just a shade too conscious, so it seems, of admiration,With irritating tendencies to wriggle when she sings.
She's bediamonded superbly, and shines like a constellation,
You scarce can see her fingers for the multitude of rings;
She's just a shade too conscious, so it seems, of admiration,
With irritating tendencies to wriggle when she sings.
She owns she is "Amur'can," and her accent is alarming;Her birthplace has an awful name you pray you may forget;Yet, after all, we ownLa Belle Américaineis charming,So let us hope she'll win at last her long-sought coronet.
She owns she is "Amur'can," and her accent is alarming;
Her birthplace has an awful name you pray you may forget;
Yet, after all, we ownLa Belle Américaineis charming,
So let us hope she'll win at last her long-sought coronet.
An heroic attempt was made in 1882 by that devoted apostle of the (socially) Sublime and Beautiful, Mr. Gillett, to revive Almack's. But, asPunchhad frankly and even cheerfully recognized in connexion with a previous attempt, the time had gone by for the oligarchical control of the entertainments of the fashionable world.
Society had ceased to be small, select and exclusive; it was becoming increasingly mixed, cosmopolitan and plutocratic. The horizon was enlarged and the range of interests multiplied, but the desire to be in the movement was not always indulged in with dignity or discretion. Mayfair worshipped at new shrines and erected new idols. It was an age of strange crazes and pets and favourites. The great ladies of the 'thirties and'forties may have been arrogant, but they seldom exploited their personalities, or cultivated a limelight notoriety. There is shrewd criticism in the legend of one of the earliest of the "Things one would have rather left unsaid," illustrated by Du Maurier in 1888:—
Aunt Jane: "Ugh! When I was your age, Matilda, Ladies of Rank and Position didn't have their photographs exposed in the shop windows."Matilda(always anxious to agree): "Of course not, Aunt Jane. I suppose photography wasn't invented then?"
Aunt Jane: "Ugh! When I was your age, Matilda, Ladies of Rank and Position didn't have their photographs exposed in the shop windows."
Matilda(always anxious to agree): "Of course not, Aunt Jane. I suppose photography wasn't invented then?"
Old Bailey Ladies
Photography has much to answer for; and certainly played its part in luring the titled classes from their ivory towers, and creating the professional beauty. The "Giddy Society Lady," as portrayed byPunchin 1890, is a new version of the "Model Fast Lady" he described some forty years earlier, and though less mannish in her deportment, is much more flashy, vulgar and selfish than her predecessor. Tailor-made by day, excessivelydécolletéeat night, and preferring Bessie Bellwood to Beethoven, this semi-detached and expensive wife as delineated byPunchis not an attractive figure. Yet with very few changes the portrait might stand for the modern society Maenad. Cigarette-smoking, it should be noted, was still considered "fast." Another recurrent type of unlovely womanhood much in evidence in these years is the "old Bailey lady" asPunchchristened her many years before. In 1886 the writer of "A Bad Woman's Diary" expressly states that she would not go to a theatre in Lent, though she spends all her spare time attending murder trials.Punchdid not spare the judges who lent themselves to this abuse, as may be gathered from the following dialogue:—
Her Grace: "Thank you so much for keeping such nice places for us, Judge! It was quite a treat! What romantic looking creatures they are, those four pirates! I suppose they really did cut the Captain and Mate and Cook into bits, and there's no doubt about the Verdict?"Sir Draco: "Very little indeed, I fear!"Her Grace: "Poor Dears! I suppose if I and the girls get therebetween five and six to-morrow, we shall be in time to see you pass the sentence? Sorry to miss your summing-up, but we've got an afternoon concert, you know!"Sir Draco: "I'll take care that it shall be all right for you, Duchess!"
Her Grace: "Thank you so much for keeping such nice places for us, Judge! It was quite a treat! What romantic looking creatures they are, those four pirates! I suppose they really did cut the Captain and Mate and Cook into bits, and there's no doubt about the Verdict?"
Sir Draco: "Very little indeed, I fear!"
Her Grace: "Poor Dears! I suppose if I and the girls get therebetween five and six to-morrow, we shall be in time to see you pass the sentence? Sorry to miss your summing-up, but we've got an afternoon concert, you know!"
Sir Draco: "I'll take care that it shall be all right for you, Duchess!"
So, again, under the sarcastic heading, "True Feminine Delicacy of Feeling," this morbid curiosity is scarified in the conversation of two ladies in 1889:—
Emily(who has called to take Lizzie to the great Murder Trial): "What, deep black, dearest?"Lizzie: "Yes. I thought it would be only decent, as the poor wretch is sure to be found guilty."Emily: "Ah! Where I was dining last night, it was even betting which way the verdict would go, so I only put on half mourning!"
Emily(who has called to take Lizzie to the great Murder Trial): "What, deep black, dearest?"
Lizzie: "Yes. I thought it would be only decent, as the poor wretch is sure to be found guilty."
Emily: "Ah! Where I was dining last night, it was even betting which way the verdict would go, so I only put on half mourning!"
Mother with two girls.TAKING TIME BY THE FORELOCKGwendoline: "Uncle George says every woman ought to have a profession, and I think he's quite right!"Mamma: "Indeed! And what profession do you mean to choose?"Gwendoline: "I mean to be a professional beauty!"
TAKING TIME BY THE FORELOCK
Gwendoline: "Uncle George says every woman ought to have a profession, and I think he's quite right!"
Mamma: "Indeed! And what profession do you mean to choose?"
Gwendoline: "I mean to be a professional beauty!"
It was in the same year thatPunchpublished a double cut, showing thetricoteusesunder the guillotine at the French Revolution,and, as a pendant, society ladies in a modern English Court of Justice.
The Terrors of Reminiscence
The fashionable craze for "slumming," which set in early in the 'eighties, was less objectionable; it was at worst an excrescence on the genuine interest taken in the housing question by serious reformers. But as practised by Mayfair it was ridiculed byPunchas a mere excuse for excitement; Du Maurier reduced it to an absurdity by his picture of society ladies going slumming in mackintoshes to avoid infection; and by another of Todeson, who had taken part in one of these excursions, being disillusioned by contact with real workers, and self-sacrificing East End clergymen. I have not been able to ascertain whether the same artist's picture of professional pugilists beingfêtedby society in 1887 was a mere piece of burlesque or not; but it was, at any rate, a good example of intelligent anticipation. His satire of "Society's new pet—the artist's model," in a picture of a handsome Junonian girl surrounded by infatuated Duchesses, drinking in her artless and h-less confidences, is probably only a fantastic caricature of aristocratic commercialism, as one of the great ladies is represented as thinking of letting her daughter become a model as a means of social advancement. Mention has been made of the invasion of journalism by society people. But students of foretastes and parallels will find a really remarkable anticipation of the terrors of modern Diaritis—not to use a more vulgar word—in the burlesque review ofA Modern Memoir—the Autobiography and Letters of Miss Skimley Harpole, published by Messrs. Rakings & Co.:—
Seldom have we perused a book with so much interest as has thrilled us during our reading of these two handsome volumes. Situate as Miss Harpole was, the daughter of a famous bishop, claiming for mother a lady whose good deeds are remembered to this day, sister of one of the most brilliant female leaders of society, and herself popular, fêted and caressed, there is small room for wonder that even the bare details of Miss Harpole's everyday life would prove interesting, but when told in a charmingly frank style her book becomes a model of what a Memoir should be. In a few short simple sentences she, with deliciousnaïveté, relates her homelife, and so clearly is the picture put before us that we cannot resist quoting the fragment:"Take us at home of a night! The Bishop in an easy chair, with his gaitered legs crossed, and elevated on the back of another, with a short clay pipe in his mouth, is vaguely mixing his eleventh tumbler of hot gin-and-water, causing us girls great pain to conceal our titters, when, as happens very often at this period of the evening, he deposits the greater part of the hot water on the tablecloth or himself. My mother, regardless of him, sits, carefully studying a sporting paper, and the Racing Calendar, and making her selections for the next day's horse-race. For a heavy gambler is my mother, as is my brother, who, when at home—which is seldom—is either delighted at having won, or in the sulks because he has lost money to his fellow legal students at billiards. As a rule he is delighted, and always carries a lump of chalk in his pocket. My sister is writing notes to Men about Town, Peers and Guardsmen, her lovely features only losing their serenity when lit up by anarch look of wonderment whether she has made appointments with two different men at the same hour and place, while I am sitting, in my school-girlish way, by myself, making notes, so as to tell the world some day the true story of my life."Space forbids us to say any more of the merits of this charming work, but we cannot resist one extract which shows how true was the estimate of the Bishop's noble character:—"We were one night at the Italian opera, of which my father was passionately fond, and during the ballet our attention was drawn to a singularly lovely girl on the stage. 'Alas!' said the Colonel, 'she is as bad as she is beautiful.' The Bishop immediately avowed his readiness to investigate the case at the earliest opportunity. He was always thinking of others, despite Mamma's occasionally stubborn opposition."This concludes our notice. In brief, the book is a most excellent specimen of the modern style of Memoir, conceived with kindliness of heart and charity of remembrance and executed with literary taste, skill and polish.
Seldom have we perused a book with so much interest as has thrilled us during our reading of these two handsome volumes. Situate as Miss Harpole was, the daughter of a famous bishop, claiming for mother a lady whose good deeds are remembered to this day, sister of one of the most brilliant female leaders of society, and herself popular, fêted and caressed, there is small room for wonder that even the bare details of Miss Harpole's everyday life would prove interesting, but when told in a charmingly frank style her book becomes a model of what a Memoir should be. In a few short simple sentences she, with deliciousnaïveté, relates her homelife, and so clearly is the picture put before us that we cannot resist quoting the fragment:
"Take us at home of a night! The Bishop in an easy chair, with his gaitered legs crossed, and elevated on the back of another, with a short clay pipe in his mouth, is vaguely mixing his eleventh tumbler of hot gin-and-water, causing us girls great pain to conceal our titters, when, as happens very often at this period of the evening, he deposits the greater part of the hot water on the tablecloth or himself. My mother, regardless of him, sits, carefully studying a sporting paper, and the Racing Calendar, and making her selections for the next day's horse-race. For a heavy gambler is my mother, as is my brother, who, when at home—which is seldom—is either delighted at having won, or in the sulks because he has lost money to his fellow legal students at billiards. As a rule he is delighted, and always carries a lump of chalk in his pocket. My sister is writing notes to Men about Town, Peers and Guardsmen, her lovely features only losing their serenity when lit up by anarch look of wonderment whether she has made appointments with two different men at the same hour and place, while I am sitting, in my school-girlish way, by myself, making notes, so as to tell the world some day the true story of my life."
Space forbids us to say any more of the merits of this charming work, but we cannot resist one extract which shows how true was the estimate of the Bishop's noble character:—
"We were one night at the Italian opera, of which my father was passionately fond, and during the ballet our attention was drawn to a singularly lovely girl on the stage. 'Alas!' said the Colonel, 'she is as bad as she is beautiful.' The Bishop immediately avowed his readiness to investigate the case at the earliest opportunity. He was always thinking of others, despite Mamma's occasionally stubborn opposition."
This concludes our notice. In brief, the book is a most excellent specimen of the modern style of Memoir, conceived with kindliness of heart and charity of remembrance and executed with literary taste, skill and polish.
This was fiction, based on what purported to be truth, and in turn was destined to be easily eclipsed by the actual reminiscences of a later generation. It may be noted in this context that the "blazing indiscretions" in the "Life of Bishop Wilberforce," published in 1883, and the letters of protest which they evoked, had already prompted the satire and sympathy ofPunch.
Group of peop;e leaving imposing residence.OVERDOING IT"What? Going already? And in Mackintoshes? Surely you are not going to Walk?""Oh, dear no! Lord Archibald is going to take us to a dear little Slum he's found out near the Minories—such a fearful place! Fourteen poor Things in One Bed, and no Window—and the Mackintoshes are to keep out Infection, you know, and hide one's Diamonds, and all that!"
OVERDOING IT
"What? Going already? And in Mackintoshes? Surely you are not going to Walk?"
"Oh, dear no! Lord Archibald is going to take us to a dear little Slum he's found out near the Minories—such a fearful place! Fourteen poor Things in One Bed, and no Window—and the Mackintoshes are to keep out Infection, you know, and hide one's Diamonds, and all that!"
Thought-Reading and Theosophy
The fashionable quest of the unseen world took no new forms in the 'seventies and 'eighties. We hear much less of Spiritualism under that name. This was no doubt in part due to the success of Maskelyne and Cook in outdoing the "manifestations" of mediums, a success so remarkable that they were actually claimed as spiritualists by some of the fraternity. In 1874Punchwaxes facetious at the statement that additional help had been obtained in the working of certain mines by ghostly assistants. Later on there are references to the activities of palmists and Society Sibyls, but the study of the Unseen and the Occult in the 'eighties entered on a new and formidable phase with the advent of thought-readers, theosophists and psychical researchers.Punchdevotes a good deal of space to an exhibition of his powers by Irving Bishop, a well-known thought-reader of the time, at which politicians were impressedand sceptics—represented by Ray Lankester—were unconvinced. The pin-finding business was certainly much less impressive than the exploits of the Zancigs some thirty years later. The invasion of the drawing-room by pseudo-science met with little sympathy fromPunch, who summed up his view in the phrase, "modish science is a sciolist"; and in 1891 he expressed his resentment against the new mysticism and the jargon of Theosophy in a comprehensive denunciation of "useless knowledge." The verses are worth quoting, not for their poetic quality but for the list of names quoted:—
OUR REAL DESIDERATUM(By a "Well-informed" Fool)Ah! I was fogged by the Materialistic,By Huxley and by Zola, Koch and Moore;And now there comes a Maëlstrom of the MysticTo whirl me further yet from sense's shore.Microbes were much too much for me, bacilliBewildered me, and phagocytes did daze,But now the author 'cute ofPiccadilly,Harris the Prophet, the Blavatsky craze,Thibet, Theosophy, and Bounding Brothers—No, Mystic Ones—Mahatmas I should say,But really they seem so much like the othersIn slippery agility!—day by dayMystify me yet more. Those germs were bad enough,But what are they compared with Astral Bodies?Of Useless Knowledge I have almost had enough,I really envy uninquiring noddies.I would not be a Chela if I could.I have a horror of the Esoterical.Besant and Olcott may be wise and good,They seem to me pursuing the chimerical.Maddened by mysteries of "Precipitation,"The Occult Dream and the Bacillus-Dance;We need Societies for the propagationOf Useful—Ignorance!
OUR REAL DESIDERATUM
(By a "Well-informed" Fool)
Ah! I was fogged by the Materialistic,By Huxley and by Zola, Koch and Moore;And now there comes a Maëlstrom of the MysticTo whirl me further yet from sense's shore.Microbes were much too much for me, bacilliBewildered me, and phagocytes did daze,But now the author 'cute ofPiccadilly,Harris the Prophet, the Blavatsky craze,Thibet, Theosophy, and Bounding Brothers—No, Mystic Ones—Mahatmas I should say,But really they seem so much like the othersIn slippery agility!—day by dayMystify me yet more. Those germs were bad enough,But what are they compared with Astral Bodies?Of Useless Knowledge I have almost had enough,I really envy uninquiring noddies.I would not be a Chela if I could.I have a horror of the Esoterical.Besant and Olcott may be wise and good,They seem to me pursuing the chimerical.Maddened by mysteries of "Precipitation,"The Occult Dream and the Bacillus-Dance;We need Societies for the propagationOf Useful—Ignorance!
Ah! I was fogged by the Materialistic,By Huxley and by Zola, Koch and Moore;And now there comes a Maëlstrom of the MysticTo whirl me further yet from sense's shore.Microbes were much too much for me, bacilliBewildered me, and phagocytes did daze,But now the author 'cute ofPiccadilly,Harris the Prophet, the Blavatsky craze,Thibet, Theosophy, and Bounding Brothers—No, Mystic Ones—Mahatmas I should say,But really they seem so much like the othersIn slippery agility!—day by dayMystify me yet more. Those germs were bad enough,But what are they compared with Astral Bodies?Of Useless Knowledge I have almost had enough,I really envy uninquiring noddies.I would not be a Chela if I could.I have a horror of the Esoterical.Besant and Olcott may be wise and good,They seem to me pursuing the chimerical.Maddened by mysteries of "Precipitation,"The Occult Dream and the Bacillus-Dance;We need Societies for the propagationOf Useful—Ignorance!
Ah! I was fogged by the Materialistic,
By Huxley and by Zola, Koch and Moore;
And now there comes a Maëlstrom of the Mystic
To whirl me further yet from sense's shore.
Microbes were much too much for me, bacilli
Bewildered me, and phagocytes did daze,
But now the author 'cute ofPiccadilly,
Harris the Prophet, the Blavatsky craze,
Thibet, Theosophy, and Bounding Brothers—
No, Mystic Ones—Mahatmas I should say,
But really they seem so much like the others
In slippery agility!—day by day
Mystify me yet more. Those germs were bad enough,
But what are they compared with Astral Bodies?
Of Useless Knowledge I have almost had enough,
I really envy uninquiring noddies.
I would not be a Chela if I could.
I have a horror of the Esoterical.
Besant and Olcott may be wise and good,
They seem to me pursuing the chimerical.
Maddened by mysteries of "Precipitation,"
The Occult Dream and the Bacillus-Dance;
We need Societies for the propagation
Of Useful—Ignorance!
This bracketing of Huxley with Zola is decidedly unfair, and the juxtaposition of Koch the famous physiologist and of Mr. George Moore—already known for his realistic romances—borders on the grotesque.Piccadillyis, of course, the brilliant novel by Laurence Oliphant, diplomatist, man of the world and mystic, who became the disciple of the American "prophet" Harris, spiritualist and founder of the "Brotherhood of the New Life"; and Blavatsky is the amazing Russian lady who brought a new religion from the Far East as another woman, Mrs. Eddy, brought another from the Far West. Madame Blavatsky is no more, but Mrs. Besant is still very much with us, and Theosophy and Christian Science are firmly established in a country which, as the French cynic remarked, boasts a hundred and fifty religions but only one sauce.
People at seanceLAST NEWS FROM THE SPIRIT-WORLDMedium: "The spirit of the late Mr. Jones is present."Jones's Widow(with emotion): "I hope you are happy, Jones!"Jones(raps out): "Far happier than I ever was on earth!"Jones's Widow: "Oh, Jones! Then you must be in Heaven!"Jones: "On the contrary!"
LAST NEWS FROM THE SPIRIT-WORLD
Medium: "The spirit of the late Mr. Jones is present."
Jones's Widow(with emotion): "I hope you are happy, Jones!"
Jones(raps out): "Far happier than I ever was on earth!"
Jones's Widow: "Oh, Jones! Then you must be in Heaven!"
Jones: "On the contrary!"
Husband and wife talking.THE PASSION FOR OLD CHINAHusband:"I think you mightlet menurse that teapot a littlenow, Margery! You've had it to yourself all themorningyou know!"
THE PASSION FOR OLD CHINA
Husband:"I think you mightlet menurse that teapot a littlenow, Margery! You've had it to yourself all themorningyou know!"
The Æsthetic Movement
Group of people viewing statue.AFFILIATING AN ÆSTHETEPilcox, a promising young Pharmaceutical Chemist, has modelled from memory an Heroic Group, in which Mrs. Cimabue Brown is represented as the Muse of this Century, crowning Postlethwaite and Maudle as the Twin Gods of its Poetry and Art.Postlethwaite: "No loftiah theme has evah employed the sculptah's chisel!"Maudle: "Distinctly so. Only work on inthisreverent spirit, Mr. Pilcox, and you will achieve theTruly Great!"Mrs. Cimabue Brown: "Nay, youhaveachieved it! Oh, my young friend, do you not know that you are a HEAVEN-BORN GENIUS?"Poor Pilcox: "I do!"(Gives up his pestle and mortar, and becomes a hopeless Nincompoop for life.)
AFFILIATING AN ÆSTHETE
Pilcox, a promising young Pharmaceutical Chemist, has modelled from memory an Heroic Group, in which Mrs. Cimabue Brown is represented as the Muse of this Century, crowning Postlethwaite and Maudle as the Twin Gods of its Poetry and Art.
Postlethwaite: "No loftiah theme has evah employed the sculptah's chisel!"
Maudle: "Distinctly so. Only work on inthisreverent spirit, Mr. Pilcox, and you will achieve theTruly Great!"
Mrs. Cimabue Brown: "Nay, youhaveachieved it! Oh, my young friend, do you not know that you are a HEAVEN-BORN GENIUS?"
Poor Pilcox: "I do!"
(Gives up his pestle and mortar, and becomes a hopeless Nincompoop for life.)
The Chief Æsthete
But of all the Society crazes of this period the Æsthetic movement created the most resounding stir. Æstheticism on its social side was an excrescence on, and a perversion of, doctrines and principles to which English art and decorative design andletters owed a real and lasting debt. It is enough to mention the names of Rossetti and Morris, the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, and Ruskin to realize how far the fashionable æsthetes disimproved on their masters. Ruskin was in particular unfortunate, since many of their catchwords were borrowed from him and distorted to serve other ends. For while Ruskin deplored the fetish-worship of athletics, he believed in honest manual labour, and never subscribed to the maxim of art for art's sake, which, by the way, was anathema to Watts. Morris was essentially manly and a worker. The æsthetes were neither. In life and letters they cultivated languor, eccentricity, paradox, and extravagance of speech and dress. It was their aim to exploit, as a social asset and a means to the achievement of notoriety, the creed of artistic emotion which had been formulated by Pater. For Oxford, it must be regretfully admitted, was the "spiritual home" of the æsthetes. The word "æsthetic," as we have seen, in its modern cant sense dates back to the 'sixties, but it was not until the middle 'seventies that it began seriously to attract the attention ofPunch. To 1874 belongs Du Maurier's picture of the effete-looking artist begging his wife to let him nurse the china teapot she had monopolized all the morning. In 1876 we read of the damping of "Mr. Boniface Brasenose's" enthusiasmby a fashionable lady. But the fashionable ladies soon succumbed to the craze, and became adepts in the lingo of intensity.Punchattacked the æsthetes alternately with the rapier and the bludgeon, using the former in the delicate raillery of Du Maurier's pictures, the latter in prose and verse comments on their eccentricities and extravagance. Here his attitude is invariably that of the healthy Philistine. But when we speak of "æsthetes" it would be more precise to use the singular. Maudle and Postlethwaite and all the other types satirized by Du Maurier are only variants on the chief priest of the new cult, Oscar Wilde, whomPunchattacked directly and indirectly with all the weapons at his disposal.Punch'sridicule was often trenchant and effective, but undoubtedly it helped to advertise one who was avid of notoriety, and infinitely preferred abuse to neglect.Punch'sfeelings towards him were all through of a piece with those of the witty Fellow of All Souls who, when a friend of Wilde's indignantly remarked that the men who had ducked him in the Cherwell ought to be prosecuted, interposed with the biting comment, "I suppose you mean under the Rivers' Pollution Act." For more than a year and a half, from the spring of 1881 to the end of 1882, there was seldom a number without a picture or a poem or a prose article in which the chief æsthete was held up to derision. Sambourne's drawing in June, 1881, is called a "fancy portrait," but it is quite a realistic likeness. "A Maudle-in Ballad, to the Lily," had appeared in April:—
My lank limp lily, my long lithe lily,My languid lily-love, fragile and thin,With dank leaves dangling and flower-flap chilly,That shines like the shin of a Highland gilly!Mottled and moist as a cold toad's skin!Lustrous and leper-white, splendid and splay!Art thou not Utter? and wholly akinTo my own wan soul and my own wan chin,And my own wan nose-tip, tilted to swayThe peacock's feather, sweeter than sin,That I bought for a halfpenny, yesterday?My long lithe lily, my languid lily,My lank limp lily-love, how shall I win—Woo thee to wink at me? Silver lily,How shall I sing to thee, softly, or shrilly?What shall I weave for thee—which shall I spin—Rondel, or rondeau, or virelay?Shall I buzz like a bee, with my face thrust inThy choice, chaste chalice, or choose me a tinTrumpet, or touchingly, tenderly playOn the weird bird-whistle, sweeter than sin,That I bought for a halfpenny, yesterday?
My lank limp lily, my long lithe lily,My languid lily-love, fragile and thin,With dank leaves dangling and flower-flap chilly,That shines like the shin of a Highland gilly!Mottled and moist as a cold toad's skin!Lustrous and leper-white, splendid and splay!Art thou not Utter? and wholly akinTo my own wan soul and my own wan chin,And my own wan nose-tip, tilted to swayThe peacock's feather, sweeter than sin,That I bought for a halfpenny, yesterday?
My lank limp lily, my long lithe lily,
My languid lily-love, fragile and thin,
With dank leaves dangling and flower-flap chilly,
That shines like the shin of a Highland gilly!
Mottled and moist as a cold toad's skin!
Lustrous and leper-white, splendid and splay!
Art thou not Utter? and wholly akin
To my own wan soul and my own wan chin,
And my own wan nose-tip, tilted to sway
The peacock's feather, sweeter than sin,
That I bought for a halfpenny, yesterday?
My long lithe lily, my languid lily,My lank limp lily-love, how shall I win—Woo thee to wink at me? Silver lily,How shall I sing to thee, softly, or shrilly?What shall I weave for thee—which shall I spin—Rondel, or rondeau, or virelay?Shall I buzz like a bee, with my face thrust inThy choice, chaste chalice, or choose me a tinTrumpet, or touchingly, tenderly playOn the weird bird-whistle, sweeter than sin,That I bought for a halfpenny, yesterday?
My long lithe lily, my languid lily,
My lank limp lily-love, how shall I win—
Woo thee to wink at me? Silver lily,
How shall I sing to thee, softly, or shrilly?
What shall I weave for thee—which shall I spin—
Rondel, or rondeau, or virelay?
Shall I buzz like a bee, with my face thrust in
Thy choice, chaste chalice, or choose me a tin
Trumpet, or touchingly, tenderly play
On the weird bird-whistle, sweeter than sin,
That I bought for a halfpenny, yesterday?
Other parodies by "Oscuro Wildegoose" followed, and Wilde's poems are "slated" in the Bludyer vein under the heading "Swinburne and Water." A good deal of Wilde's verse was derivative—even tertiary deposit—andPunchmade fair game of the Swinburnian echoes and phrases such as "argent body," "pulse of sin," and "kosmic soul." But his literary criticism is somewhat heavy-handed. He is much happier in "Oscuro Wildegoose's" burlesque sonnet lamenting the unenlightened Philistinism of Grahamstown, in South Africa, where the Town Council did not know what a dado was, and conjectured that it was an ecclesiastical term! Wilde's visit to America in 1882 let loose a cascade of ridicule beginning with a bogus interview, followed up by a cartoon "Ariadne in Naxos," representing (in the manner of W. B. Richmond) the grief of Æstheticism at the departure of her hierophant. When Wilde lectured at Boston sixty students appeared in white waistcoats and knee-breeches, with sun-flowers in their buttonholes, andPunchwelcomed the attention as areductio ad absurdumof Wilde's efforts to revolutionize costume. Later on occurred the episode—which causedPunchunfeigned delight—of a letter addressed to "Oscar Wilde, Poet, London," being returned as "Not known." But the craze was passing. Gilbert'sPatience, produced in 1881, had been largely instrumental in reducing the pose of preciosity to its true proportions, and by the summer of 1883 we findPunchcoupling "Oscar" and "Jumbo" (the elephant) together as overrated lions. From this point onward the campaign slackens. In some acid verses on theZeit-Geistin the spring of 1884, which we quote later on, a would-be Juvenal denounces vulgarity as the dominant feature of the time; and in his list of nuisancesand impostors no room is found for the æsthete. At the close of the same year, however, to judge by another set of pessimistic verses, he was still active if not exactly rampant:—
The "culture," too, of the æsthetes, with all its flaccid flams,Its turgid affectations and its silly sickly shams,Is but as dross of Brummagem compared with virgin gold,When matched against the vigorous realities of old.
The "culture," too, of the æsthetes, with all its flaccid flams,Its turgid affectations and its silly sickly shams,Is but as dross of Brummagem compared with virgin gold,When matched against the vigorous realities of old.
The "culture," too, of the æsthetes, with all its flaccid flams,
Its turgid affectations and its silly sickly shams,
Is but as dross of Brummagem compared with virgin gold,
When matched against the vigorous realities of old.
The Cult of Intensity
Man speaking to a woman.REFINEMENTS OF MODERN SPEECHScene—A drawing-room in "Passionate Brompton."Fair Æsthetic(suddenly, and in deepest tones, to Smith, who has just been introduced to take her in to dinner): "Are you intense?"
REFINEMENTS OF MODERN SPEECH
Scene—A drawing-room in "Passionate Brompton."
Fair Æsthetic(suddenly, and in deepest tones, to Smith, who has just been introduced to take her in to dinner): "Are you intense?"
The "Dilettante" satirized in a rather ponderous article—one of the series of "Modern Types"—in 1890 represents alater stage of pseudo-culture, in which a contempt for everything characteristically English is the leading trait. He warbles French chansonnettes, defies all the rules of English grammar and metre in his poetry, is much in request at charitable concerts in aristocratic drawing-rooms, affects a mincing delicacy in gait and manner, paints his face in middle age, talks habitually in an artistic jargon, and passes away in an odour of pastilles. The type existed and exists, but hardly deserved such detailed and elaborate portraiture. There is more interest in the verses on the over-cultured undergraduate in 1891—one of a series entitled "Men who have taken me in—to dinner," by a Dinner Belle:—
He stood, as if posed by a column,Awaiting our hostess' advance;Complacently pallid and solemn,He deigned an Olympian glance.Icy cool, in a room like a crater,He silently marched me downstairs,And Mont Blanc could not freeze with a greaterAssurance of grandeur and airs.I questioned if Balliol was jolly—"Your epithet," sighed he, "means noise,Vile noise!" At his age it were follyTo revel with Philistine boys.Competition, the century's vulture,Devoured academical fools;For himself, utter pilgrim of Culture,He countenanced none of the schools.Exams. were a Brummagem fashionOf mobs and inferior taste;They withered "Translucence" and "Passion,"They vulgarized leisure by haste.Self to realize—that was the question,Inscrutable still while the cooksOf our Colleges preached indigestion,Their Dons indigestible books.Two volumes alone were not bathos,The one by an early Chinese,The other, of infinite pathos,Our Nursery Rhymes, if you please.He was lost, he avowed, in this era;His spirit was seared by the West,But he deemed to be Monk in MadeiraWould probably suit him the best.
He stood, as if posed by a column,Awaiting our hostess' advance;Complacently pallid and solemn,He deigned an Olympian glance.Icy cool, in a room like a crater,He silently marched me downstairs,And Mont Blanc could not freeze with a greaterAssurance of grandeur and airs.
He stood, as if posed by a column,
Awaiting our hostess' advance;
Complacently pallid and solemn,
He deigned an Olympian glance.
Icy cool, in a room like a crater,
He silently marched me downstairs,
And Mont Blanc could not freeze with a greater
Assurance of grandeur and airs.
I questioned if Balliol was jolly—"Your epithet," sighed he, "means noise,Vile noise!" At his age it were follyTo revel with Philistine boys.Competition, the century's vulture,Devoured academical fools;For himself, utter pilgrim of Culture,He countenanced none of the schools.
I questioned if Balliol was jolly—
"Your epithet," sighed he, "means noise,
Vile noise!" At his age it were folly
To revel with Philistine boys.
Competition, the century's vulture,
Devoured academical fools;
For himself, utter pilgrim of Culture,
He countenanced none of the schools.
Exams. were a Brummagem fashionOf mobs and inferior taste;They withered "Translucence" and "Passion,"They vulgarized leisure by haste.Self to realize—that was the question,Inscrutable still while the cooksOf our Colleges preached indigestion,Their Dons indigestible books.
Exams. were a Brummagem fashion
Of mobs and inferior taste;
They withered "Translucence" and "Passion,"
They vulgarized leisure by haste.
Self to realize—that was the question,
Inscrutable still while the cooks
Of our Colleges preached indigestion,
Their Dons indigestible books.
Two volumes alone were not bathos,The one by an early Chinese,The other, of infinite pathos,Our Nursery Rhymes, if you please.He was lost, he avowed, in this era;His spirit was seared by the West,But he deemed to be Monk in MadeiraWould probably suit him the best.
Two volumes alone were not bathos,
The one by an early Chinese,
The other, of infinite pathos,
Our Nursery Rhymes, if you please.
He was lost, he avowed, in this era;
His spirit was seared by the West,
But he deemed to be Monk in Madeira
Would probably suit him the best.
Preciosity and Self-Expression
Couple alighting from a carriage at the theatreBRITISH PROPRIETYHawker: "Book o' the words, my Lady. Hortherized copy. The Dam o' Cameleers!"Mrs. Jones(for the benefit of the bystanders): "Oh no, thank you. We've come to see theacting, we do not wish to understand theplay!"
BRITISH PROPRIETY
Hawker: "Book o' the words, my Lady. Hortherized copy. The Dam o' Cameleers!"
Mrs. Jones(for the benefit of the bystanders): "Oh no, thank you. We've come to see theacting, we do not wish to understand theplay!"
It is not a bad picture of Oxford preciosity in the early 'nineties—the age of theYellow Book—and contains the first reference inPunchto the new educational gospel of self-realization, or "self-expression," as it is now called. The mention of early Chinese poetry was probably only a piece of "intelligent anticipation," for its vogue only began yesterday. So too with the Nursery Rhymes which some of the Georgian poets assiduously cultivate. But there is no foreshadowing of the characteristic Balliol product of some ten years later, the "intellectual blood" who combined hard and free living with hard work for his schools—who was at oncedissipated and distinguished. The new worship of intellect—a sort of inverted snobbery—had already been satirized by Du Maurier in his sketch of the newparvenu, foreshadowing the "coming aristocracy of mind":—
He: "Charming youth, that young Bellamy—such a refined and cultivated intellect! When you think what he's risen from, poor fellow, it really does him credit!"She: "Why, were his people—a—inferiah?"He: "Well, yes. His Grandfather's an Earl, you know, and his Uncle's a Bishop; and he himself is Heir to an old Baronetcy with eighty thousand a year!"
He: "Charming youth, that young Bellamy—such a refined and cultivated intellect! When you think what he's risen from, poor fellow, it really does him credit!"
She: "Why, were his people—a—inferiah?"
He: "Well, yes. His Grandfather's an Earl, you know, and his Uncle's a Bishop; and he himself is Heir to an old Baronetcy with eighty thousand a year!"
Manners were in a state of transition and flux. As late as 1883 smoking in the presence of ladies was still taboo and severely restricted even at clubs, andPunchcontrasts the "bereavement" of gentlemen by the disappearance of ladies after dessert with the "consolation" afforded by the cigarette. It was not until 1884 that smoking was allowed for the first time after dinners at the Mansion House, an innovation deplored in the wail of an "Old Fogey."Punchhad no love of the old proprieties where they were insincere, as, for example, when in 1881 he represented Mrs. Jones declining the offer of a "hortherized copy" of the book of words of theDam o' Cameleersfrom a hawker: "Oh no, thank you. We've come to see theacting, we do not wish to understand theplay." But he resented the curt colloquialisms, an outcome of the general speeding-up of life, which in his view impaired the courtesies of social intercourse between the sexes; while on the other hand modish artificialities, whether new or old, always excited his ire. Twice over in 1884 he was moved to protest against the excessive use of cosmetics, in the verses to a "Painted Lady" (prompted by Malcolm Morris's address at the Health Exhibition), in which the writer looks forward to the time when it will be fashionable to be healthy, and a few months later, in "A Few Home Truths," we read:—