الفصل الفصل 4 · The Charter of the Cities_

. The Charter of the Cities_

Lambert was standing bewildered outside the door of the King's

apartments amid the scurry of astonishment and ridicule. He was just

passing out into the street, in a dazed manner, when James Barker

dashed by him.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To stop all this foolery, of course," replied Barker; and he

disappeared into the room.

He entered it headlong, slamming the door, and slapping his

incomparable silk hat on the table. His mouth opened, but before he

could 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. "When

the King receives the representatives of the House of Barker, the hat

of the latter is immediately destroyed in this manner. It represents

the absolute finality of the act of homage expressed in the removal

of it. It declares that never until that hat shall once more appear

upon 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 an

oath, and stopped again.

"Continue, continue," said the King, waving his hands.

"What does it all mean?" cried the other, with a gesture of passionate

rationality. "Are you mad?"

"Not in the least," replied the King, pleasantly. "Madmen are always

serious; they go mad from lack of humour. You are looking serious

yourself, James."

"Why can't you keep it to your own private life?" expostulated the

other. "You've got plenty of money, and plenty of houses now to play

the fool in, but in the interests of the public--"

"Epigrammatic," said the King, shaking his finger sadly at him. "None

of your daring scintillations here. As to why I don't do it in

private, I rather fail to understand your question. The answer is of

comparative limpidity. I don't do it in private, because it is funnier

to do it in public. You appear to think that it would be amusing to be

dignified in the banquet hall and in the street, and at my own

fireside (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, and

funny in private. My sense of humour suggests the reversal of this; it

suggests that one should be funny in public, and solemn in private. I

desire to make the State functions, parliaments, coronations, and so

on, one roaring old-fashioned pantomime. But, on the other hand, I

shut myself up alone in a small store-room for two hours a day, where

I am so dignified that I come out quite ill."

By this time Barker was walking up and down the room, his frock coat

flapping 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 centuries

is being broken, and the House of Barker is rebelling against the

Crown of England. It would be with regret (for I admire your

appearance) that I should be obliged forcibly to decorate your head

with the remains of this hat, but--"

"What I can't understand," said Barker flinging up his fingers with a

feverish American movement, "is why you don't care about anything else

but 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 will

always be gentle with politicians.

'The shape my scornful looks deride

Required a God to form;'

if I may so theologically express myself. And for some reason I cannot

in the least understand, I feel impelled to answer that question of

yours, and to answer it as if there were really such a thing in the

world as a serious subject. You ask me why I don't care for anything

else. Can you tell me, in the name of all the gods you don't believe

in, why I should care for anything else?"

"Don't you realise common public necessities?" cried Barker. "Is it

possible that a man of your intelligence does not know that it is

every one's interest--"

"Don't you believe in Zoroaster? Is it possible that you neglect

Mumbo-Jumbo?" returned the King, with startling animation. "Does a man

of your intelligence come to me with these damned early Victorian

ethics? If, on studying my features and manner, you detect any

particular resemblance to the Prince Consort, I assure you you are

mistaken. Did Herbert Spencer ever convince you--did he ever convince

anybody--did he ever for one mad moment convince himself--that it must

be to the interest of the individual to feel a public spirit? Do you

believe that, if you rule your department badly, you stand any more

chance, or one half of the chance, of being guillotined, that an

angler stands of being pulled into the river by a strong pike? Herbert

Spencer refrained from theft for the same reason that he refrained

from wearing feathers in his hair, because he was an English gentleman

with different tastes. I am an English gentleman with different

tastes. He liked philosophy. I like art. He liked writing ten books on

the nature of human society. I like to see the Lord Chamberlain

walking 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 last

serious word to-day, and my last serious word I trust for the

remainder of my life in this Paradise of Fools. The remainder of my

conversation with you to-day, which I trust will be long and

stimulating, I propose to conduct in a new language of my own by means

of rapid and symbolic movements of the left leg." And he began to

pirouette slowly round the room with a preoccupied expression.

Barker ran round the room after him, bombarding him with demands and

entreaties. But he received no response except in the new language. He

came out banging the door again, and sick like a man coming on shore.

As he strode along the streets he found himself suddenly opposite

Cicconani's restaurant, and for some reason there rose up before him

the green fantastic figure of the Spanish General, standing, as he had

seen him last, at the door, with the words on his lips, "You cannot

argue with the choice of the soul."

The King came out from his dancing with the air of a man of business

legitimately tired. He put on an overcoat, lit a cigar, and went out

into the purple night.

[Illustration: "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. He

paused, put up his single eye-glass, and beheld a boy with a wooden

sword and a paper cocked hat, wearing that expression of awed

satisfaction with which a child contemplates his work when he has hit

some one very hard. The King gazed thoughtfully for some time at his

assailant, and slowly took a note-book from his breast-pocket.

"I have a few notes," he said, "for my dying speech;" and he turned

over the leaves. "Dying speech for political assassination; ditto, if

by former friend--h'm, h'm. Dying speech for death at hands of injured

husband (repentant). Dying speech for same (cynical). I am not quite

sure which meets the present...."

"I'm the King of the Castle," said the boy, truculently, and very

pleased with nothing in particular.

The King was a kind-hearted man, and very fond of children, like all

people who are fond of the ridiculous.

"Infant," he said, "I'm glad you are so stalwart a defender of your

old inviolate Notting Hill. Look up nightly to that peak, my child,

where it lifts itself among the stars so ancient, so lonely, so

unutterably Notting. So long as you are ready to die for the sacred

mountain, 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. A

revival of the arrogance of the old mediaeval cities applied to our

glorious suburbs. Clapham with a city guard. Wimbledon with a city

wall. Surbiton tolling a bell to raise its citizens. West Hampstead

going 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 home

at such a rate of speed that crowds followed him for miles. On

reaching his study, he ordered a cup of coffee, and plunged into

profound meditation upon the project. At length he called his

favourite 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 member

of 'The Encouragers of Egyptian Renaissance,' and 'The Teutonic Tombs

Club,' and 'The Society for the Recovery of London Antiquities,'

and--"

"That is admirable," said the King. "The London Antiquities does my

trick. Go to the Society for the Recovery of London Antiquities and

speak to their secretary, and their sub-secretary, and their

president, and their vice-president, saying, 'The King of England is

proud, but the honorary member of the Society for the Recovery of

London Antiquities is prouder than kings. I should like to tell you of

certain discoveries I have made touching the neglected traditions of

the London boroughs. The revelations may cause some excitement,

stirring burning memories and touching old wounds in Shepherd's Bush

and Bayswater, in Pimlico and South Kensington. The King hesitates,

but the honorary member is firm. I approach you invoking the vows of

my initiation, the Sacred Seven Cats, the Poker of Perfection, and the

Ordeal of the Indescribable Instant (forgive me if I mix you up with

the Clan-na-Gael or some other club I belong to), and ask you to

permit me to read a paper at your next meeting on the "Wars of the

London Boroughs."' Say all this to the Society, Bowler. Remember it

very carefully, for it is most important, and I have forgotten it

altogether, and send me another cup of coffee and some of the cigars

that we keep for vulgar and successful people. I am going to write my

paper."

The Society for the Recovery of London Antiquities met a month after

in a corrugated iron hall on the outskirts of one of the southern

suburbs of London. A large number of people had collected there under

the coarse and flaring gas-jets when the King arrived, perspiring and

genial. On taking off his great-coat, he was perceived to be in

evening dress, wearing the Garter. His appearance at the small table,

adorned only with a glass of water, was received with respectful

cheering.

The chairman (Mr. Huggins) said that he was sure that they had all

been pleased to listen to such distinguished lecturers as they had

heard for some time past (hear, hear). Mr. Burton (hear, hear), Mr.

Cambridge, Professor King (loud and continued cheers), our old friend

Peter Jessop, Sir William White (loud laughter), and other eminent

men, had done honour to their little venture (cheers). But there were

other circumstances which lent a certain unique quality to the present

occasion (hear, hear). So far as his recollection went, and in

connection with the Society for the Recovery of London Antiquities it

went very far (loud cheers), he did not remember that any of their

lecturers had borne the title of King. He would therefore call upon

King Auberon briefly to address the meeting.

The King began by saying that this speech might be regarded as the

first declaration of his new policy for the nation. "At this supreme

hour of my life I feel that to no one but the members of the Society

for the Recovery of London Antiquities can I open my heart (cheers).

If the world turns upon my policy, and the storms of popular hostility

begin to rise (no, no), I feel that it is here, with my brave

Recoverers around me, that I can best meet them, sword in hand" (loud

cheers).

His Majesty then went on to explain that, now old age was creeping

upon him, he proposed to devote his remaining strength to bringing

about a keener sense of local patriotism in the various municipalities

of 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 Wink

of Wandsworth! What a large proportion of the younger generation in

Chelsea neglected to perform the old Chelsea Chuff! Pimlico no longer

pumped 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 high

estate, I have resolved that, so far as possible, this neglect shall

cease. I desire no military glory. I lay claim to no constitutional

equality with Justinian or Alfred. If I can go down to history as the

man who saved from extinction a few old English customs, if our

descendants can say it was through this man, humble as he was, that

the Ten Turnips are still eaten in Fulham, and the Putney parish

councillor still shaves one half of his head, I shall look my great

fathers reverently but not fearfully in the face when I go down to the

last house of Kings."

The King paused, visibly affected, but collecting himself, resumed

once more.

"I trust that to very few of you, at least, I need dwell on the

sublime origins of these legends. The very names of your boroughs

bear witness to them. So long as Hammersmith is called Hammersmith,

its people will live in the shadow of that primal hero, the

Blacksmith, who led the democracy of the Broadway into battle till he

drove the chivalry of Kensington before him and overthrew them at that

place which in honour of the best blood of the defeated aristocracy is

still called Kensington Gore. Men of Hammersmith will not fail to

remember that the very name of Kensington originated from the lips of

their hero. For at the great banquet of reconciliation held after the

war, when the disdainful oligarchs declined to join in the songs of

the men of the Broadway (which are to this day of a rude and popular

character), the great Republican leader, with his rough humour, said

the words which are written in gold upon his monument, 'Little birds

that can sing and won't sing, must be made to sing.' So that the

Eastern Knights were called Cansings or Kensings ever afterwards. But

you also have great memories, O men of Kensington! You showed that you

could sing, and sing great war-songs. Even after the dark day of

Kensington Gore, history will not forget those three Knights who

guarded your disordered retreat from Hyde Park (so called from your

hiding there), those three Knights after whom Knightsbridge is named.

Nor will it forget the day of your re-emergence, purged in the fire of

calamity, cleansed of your oligarchic corruptions, when, sword in

hand, you drove the Empire of Hammersmith back mile by mile, swept it

past its own Broadway, and broke it at last in a battle so long and

bloody that the birds of prey have left their name upon it. Men have

called 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 special

examples. I select them, not because they are more glorious than the

rest, but partly from personal association (I am myself descended from

one of the three heroes of Knightsbridge), and partly from the

consciousness that I am an amateur antiquarian, and cannot presume to

deal with times and places more remote and more mysterious. It is not

for me to settle the question between two such men as Professor Hugg

and Sir William Whisky as to whether Notting Hill means Nutting Hill

(in allusion to the rich woods which no longer cover it), or whether

it is a corruption of Nothing-ill, referring to its reputation among

the ancients as an Earthly Paradise. When a Podkins and a Jossy

confess themselves doubtful about the boundaries of West Kensington

(said to have been traced in the blood of Oxen), I need not be ashamed

to confess a similar doubt. I will ask you to excuse me from further

history, and to assist me with your encouragement in dealing with the

problem which faces us to-day. Is this ancient spirit of the London

townships to die out? Are our omnibus conductors and policemen to lose

altogether that light which we see so often in their eyes, the dreamy

light of

'Old unhappy far-off things

And battles long ago'

--to quote the words of a little-known poet who was a friend of my

youth? I have resolved, as I have said, so far as possible, to

preserve the eyes of policemen and omnibus conductors in their present

dreamy state. For what is a state without dreams? And the remedy I

propose is as follows:--

"To-morrow morning at twenty-five minutes past ten, if Heaven spares

my life, I purpose to issue a Proclamation. It has been the work of my

life, and is about half finished. With the assistance of a whisky and

soda, I shall conclude the other half to-night, and my people will

receive it to-morrow. All these boroughs where you were born, and hope

to lay your bones, shall be reinstated in their ancient

magnificence,--Hammersmith, Kensington, Bayswater, Chelsea, Battersea,

Clapham, Balham, and a hundred others. Each shall immediately build a

city wall with gates to be closed at sunset. Each shall have a city

guard, 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 details

now, my heart is too full. They will be found in the proclamation

itself. You will all, however, be subject to enrolment in the local

city guards, to be summoned together by a thing called the Tocsin, the

meaning of which I am studying in my researches into history.

Personally, I believe a tocsin to be some kind of highly paid

official. If, therefore, any of you happen to have such a thing as a

halberd in the house, I should advise you to practise with it in the

garden."

Here the King buried his face in his handkerchief and hurriedly left

the platform, overcome by emotions.

The members of the Society for the Recovery of London Antiquities rose

in an indescribable state of vagueness. Some were purple with

indignation; an intellectual few were purple with laughter; the great

majority found their minds a blank. There remains a tradition that one

pale face with burning blue eyes remained fixed upon the lecturer, and

after the lecture a red-haired boy ran out of the room.