When the men and women of this powerful race make up their minds to anything, whether right or wrong, they neither hesitate nor do they allow any time to elapse between decision and consummation. So it was that on the morning of the twelfth day Lord Somerville sprang off his couch, took his tub and brushed his hair with unusual alacrity. He did not give a passing glance at his mirror, strange to say; perhaps, had he done so, his resolution would have slackened; but Lord Somerville was wise, and, not unlike the ostrich, he believed that no one would look at him because he had not looked at himself. He opened his bedroom door, walked along the passages without meeting one of his domestics, and reached the beautiful marble staircase for which this mansion was so renowned. As he crossed the vestibule he gave a furtive look at the footman ensconced in his basket chair; but the latter was asleep, or at least his innate delicacy prompted him to this subterfuge, to allow his master to pass by unnoticed.
Lionel unbolted the front door with a sudden jerk, and as he did this he heard a successive unbolting of doors, which sounded throughout the silent city like a gun fired in honour of some royal birthday. In one or two seconds the streets were invaded.
He stood amazed on the pavement and marvelled at this stupendous event! It was true that England, for centuries, had prided herself on her public opinion. But what was the England of twelve days ago to that of to-day? Few nations could boast of an Upper Ten capable of such abnegation, that of one common accord they all decided to put away personal feelings, vanities and principles, for the sake of their fellow-creatures. One huge wave of altruism had swept over Society, which cherished the fond idea that it initiated, ruled and guided the rest of the world. Indeed, this was a great event in the modern history of Great Britain, already so rich in philanthropic examples. Lionel took a deep breath as he walked away from his ancestral mansion; he watched men rushing past him; evidently they were going straight to their business. He saw women shuffling alongside of the walls, as if these would throw a shadow over their naked forms; but who they were was quite beyond him to tell, and perhaps it was as well, at first, to ignore who they were. It was a boisterous exodus, though one imposed by the sense of duty; and the violent exercise of hurrying brought vigour back to their weakened limbs. Naturally the first observation of Lord Somerville was that this colourless mass of humanity was slightly monotonous, although soothing to wearied eyeballs. He followed a good many people, just for the fun of it, and frequently thought he was on the point of recognising some friend or acquaintance; but no, it was hopeless to try and find out who was who; besides, they nearly all seemed to shun one another, and as they passed each other bowed their heads and looked on the ground. He reached Trafalgar Square; there the scene was full of animation: children were jumping in and out of the fountains, and shaking themselves as birds do their feathers after a good ducking; men ran round the Landseer lions for a constitutional, and women dodged them on the other side, in this way endeavouring to keep up a semblance of feminine coyness. There was no doubt that this part of London was different from the genteel Mayfair, and it threatened to be rowdy as you approached the City. Lionel walked past Charing Cross, which looked abandoned; but the Strand—the main artery of London’s anatomy—was surging with a buoyant population rushing to the City-heart. Lionel thought he would have great fun in watching office doors, and would perhaps recognise a few millionaire bounders who certainly were not like the Society men of his stamp, and therefore would be more easily recognised. He went up Fleet Street, leaving St Paul’s on his left, walked through Threadneedle Street, where he knew many of the City magnates. Pacing up and down the pavement he thought he would have a good opportunity of seeing the men who went in and out of offices and of conjecturing on their identity. Very soon he witnessed a wild scene of confusion: men darted out of offices suffused with deep blushes; managers of large warehouses ran in and out of houses in delirium! Another idea crossed Lionel’s mind: evidently these people were, like him, unable to recognise anyone; business men were at a loss to know their clerks from their financier friends, as they could not discern buyers from sellers. Of course in this terrible mystification, there was no attempt made at bowing or talking in the streets of London; it was a new departure from last week’s urbanity, when courteousness had been distributed according to the more or less respectability of external appearance.
“I am afraid that insurmountable difficulties will stare us in the face,” murmured Lionel as he retraced his steps towards Piccadilly, after fruitless attempts at knowing his friends in the crowd. “We have not yet grasped what this new position means; at first we have thought of decency, some, I suppose, have dwelt on morality’s destiny; but I do declare that it means more than all that. If we cannot know employers from employees the whole status of civilisation is done with. This is a thing of which I had never thought.” He noticed, on his way home, that women had tears rolling down their cheeks, and men, as he brushed past them, swore in their moustaches. Lord Somerville felt a choking sensation in his throat as he realised that the old life with all its ease and luxury was over. Everything was so bare, so ugly. Where were the bewitching fashions that rejoiced his fastidious eye? Where the daintily-gowned young girls and women in our beautiful parks? As women passed by, he wondered to what class of Society they belonged. How could the shop-girl now be differentiated from the Duke’s daughter? He never could have believed such a dilemma possible. In front of his club he glanced through the swinging glass doors, and saw a portly individual standing; but he could not for his life tell whether it was the hall porter or one of the members.
Solitary confinement for twelve days had nearly driven Londoners mad; but he now realised that isolation in the midst of a maddening crowd would soon turn them into drivelling idiots. What they had gone through for more than a week had been a conflict between virtue and self-interest; but the future was more fearful, for more than interest was at stake, as self-respect was threatened to sink in this universal levelling. When he thought of all the social solecisms likely to occur in this state of incognito, he shuddered. If it was impossible to know whom to bow to, whom to nod to and whom to snub, however could Society exist? Our exclusive circles owed their existence to those delicate nuances of politeness; and when the sliding scales of courtesy were abolished, Democracy was at hand, for no power on earth could stem the torrent of Anarchism from overpowering defenceless Society.
The first exodus was decidedly a failure, and Lionel felt the galling bitterness of disappointment when, between twelve and one, he entered his house, refusing all the entreaties of his valet to partake of a dainty luncheon. All London was in the same discomfited mood that morning, and the fashionable beauty, reclining on her hard couch, wept bitter tears over her defunct wardrobe and hat-boxes. The company promoter behind his window, looking at the irritating butcher’s boy and callous milkman, grunted audibly, “These are the sort of people we are now to rub against at every turn!”
There evidently was more behind feathers and furbelows than our friend Horatio could have known, and London would have to spell the first words of a philosophy which would be drier to them all than that of Plato, Kant or Carlyle.
After two more days of keen despair, the same longing for fresh air seized hold of the Upper Ten; though this time bolts were not drawn with that vigour which had given to the first exodus the sound of a salute of musketry. It was more like a distant roll of thunder, forerunner of a clouded atmosphere. The exit from houses was not any more triumphant and didactic, it was slow and cheerless; and had not the air been balmy, the sky blue, citizens would have felt a shiver run down their spine as they realised their abandoned condition. This time Lord Somerville restricted his wanderings to the smart thoroughfares, leaving the mercantile City to its own confusion. He entered restaurants where he had known many of the habitués; but he went out of them shocked at not being recognised by any of his friends. Formerly all was so easy; one had but to step out, and one knew exactly who was who by the brim of a hat, the cut of a coat, the handling of a walking-stick; but not even a rude stare could help one now to identify anyone, and nothing could save one from committing a social faux pas. He strolled up the Haymarket. How difficult it was to walk in that attire. “I wonder if Adam rambled all over Paradise, and if he did not feel awkward? I wish I knew what to do with my hands.” There was a crowd at Piccadilly Circus, and he had great difficulty in advancing. What attracted the attention of the population were the empty windows of Swan & Edgar’s. Hundreds of women were peering through the deserted shops which had hitherto been over-crowded with ladies’ apparel of every kind and sort. He edged his way through and contrived to get on the pavement; but many pushed him, and he elbowed freely in this crowd of Adams and Eves. He was very much astonished to find himself saying “Beg your pardon” when he unconsciously collided with anyone.
“After all, I do not know who I am knocking against, it might be my most intimate friend, and upon the whole it is better to be polite to someone you do not know than to be wanting in common civility towards a friend.” The Earl had unwittingly got hold of a vital problem, and one that would no doubt induce Society some day to transform the tone of politeness.
In Hyde Park he noticed several groups, and towards the Serpentine the crowd became denser; but to escape the noisy clamour of urchins splashing in the water he took a small path leading to Kensington Gardens. Most of the smart world would be there, thought Lionel, though the outing was not one of fashion. Hygiene and reflection were drawing both sexes to the shady parts of Kensington; they felt their isolation less oppressively in this glorious verdure. The soft grass was more refreshing than hot pavements; the trees, hedges and flower-beds were more fragrant surroundings than high houses; and in this harmonious frame one would feel less at variance with a discordant world.