"The parlor set" he must needs see held up as beautiful; the "reception chairs," the carefully shadowed carpet,—these and the "best dress" to go with them and the "company manners" added, are unescapable aesthetic influences.
Few children like the parlor, few children are wanted or allowed in the parlor, yet it has a steady influence as a sort of social shrine.
Most rigidly it teaches the child exclusiveness, the narrow limits of one's "social acquaintances." As rigidly and most evilly it teaches him falsehood. Scarcely a child but hears the mother's fretful protest against the visitor, followed by the lightning change to cordial greeting. The white lie, the smiling fib, the steady concealment of the undesirable topic, the mutual steering off from all but a set allowance of themes, the artificial dragging in of these and their insufferable repetition—all this the silent, large-eyed child who has been allowed to stay if quiet, hears and remembers. See the little girl's "playing house." See the visitor arrive, the polite welcome, the inquiries after health, the babbling discussion of babies and dress and cookery and servants,—these they have well learned are proper subjects for parlor talk.
The foolish and false ideas of beauty held up to them as "best," they seek to perpetuate. The arbitrary "best dress" system, develops into a vast convention, a wearing of apparel not for beauty, and not for use, not for warmth, protection nor modesty (often quite the opposite of all these), but as a conventional symbol of respectability.
So interwoven with our inner consciousness are these purely arbitrary codes of propriety in costume, that we have such extremes as Kipling shows us in his remote Himalayan forests,—a white man thousands of miles from his kind, who "dressed for dinner every night to preserve his self-respect." No doubt a perfectly sincere conviction, and one sunk deep in the highbred British breast, but even so of a most shallow and ephemeral nature, based on nothing whatever but a temporary caprice of our parlor-mindedness.
Being reared in that state of mind, and half of us confined to it professionally, we are inevitably affected thereby, and react upon life—the real moving world-life, under its pitiful limitations.
If one's sense of beauty must be first, last and always personal, and confined to one's parlor,—for of course we cannot dictate as to other women's parlors,—then how is it to be expected that we should in any way notice, feel or see the ugliness of our town or city, schoolhouse or street-car?
See the woman who has had "an education," who has even "studied art," perhaps, and whose husband can pay for what she wants. Her parlor may become a drawing-room, or two, or more, but she does not grow to care that a public school-room is decorated in white plaster trimmed with a broad strip of blackboard.
The bald, cruel, wearing ugliness of the most of our schools, is worthy of penal institutions, yet we with cheerful unconcern submit growing children to such influences without ever giving it a thought.
"My parlor" must be beautiful, but "our school" is no business of mine. Is there any real reason, by the way, why blackboards must be black? A deep dull red or somber green would be restful and pleasant to the eye, and show chalk just as well. As is being now slowly discovered. There are no blackboards in our parlors. Our children leave home to go to school, and their mother's thoughts do not. In the small measure of parlor decoration grows no sense of public art.