Halcyone

Chapter 13

After dinner there was a brisk passage of arms between the two men of

opposite party in the group by the fire, and Mrs. Cricklander incited

them to further exertions. It had arisen because Mr. Derringham had

launched forth the abominable and preposterous theory that the only

thing the Radicals would bring England to would be the necessity of

returning to barbarism and importing slaves--then their schemes applied

to the present inhabitants of the country might all work. The denizens

in the casual wards, having a vote and a competence provided by the

State, would have time to become of the leisured classes and apply

themselves to culture, and so every free citizen being equal, a company

of philosophers and an aristocracy of intellect would arise and all

would be well!

Mrs. Cricklander glanced stealthily at his whimsical face, to be sure

whether he were joking or no--and decided he probably was. But Mr.

Hanbury-Green, so irritated by the delightful hostess's evident

_penchant_ for his rival, allowed his ill-humor to obscure his usually

keen judgment, and took the matter up in serious earnest.

"Your side would not import, but reduce us all--we who are the defenders

of the people--to being slaves," he said with some asperity. "Your class

has had its innings long enough, it would be the best thing in the world

for you to have to come down to doing your own housework."

"I should make a capital cook," said John Derringham, with smiling eyes,

"but I should certainly refuse to cook for anyone but myself; and you,

Mr. Green, who may be an indifferent artist in that respect, would have

perhaps a bad dinner."

"I never understand," interrupted Mrs. Cricklander--"when everything is

socialistic, shall we not be able to live in these nice houses?"

"Of course not," said Mr. Hanbury-Green gravely. "You will have to share

with less fortunate people." And then he drew himself up ready for

battle, and began.

"Why, because a man or woman is born in the gutter, should not he or she

be given by the State the same chance as though born in a palace? We are

all exactly the same human beings, only until now luck and circumstance

have been different for us."

"I am all for everyone having the same chance," agreed John Derringham,

allowing the smile to stay in his eyes, "although I do not admit we are

all the same human beings, any more than the Derby winner is the same

horse as the plow horse or the cob. They can all draw some kind of

vehicle, but they cannot all win races--they have to excel, each in his

different line. Give everyone a chance, by all means, and then make him

come up for examination, and if found fit passed on for higher things,

and if unfit, passed _out_! It is your tendency to pamper the unfit

which I deplore. You have only one idea on your Radical Socialist side

of the House, to pull down those who are in any inherited or agreeable

authority--not because they are doing their work badly, but because you

would prefer their place! The war-cry of boons for the people covers a

multitude of objects, and is the most attractive cry for the masses to

hear all over the world. The real boon for the people would be to give

them more practical sound education and ruthlessly to clear out the

unfit." Then his face lost its whimsical expression and became

interested.

"Let us imagine a Utopian state of republic. Let every male citizen who

has reached twenty-five years, say, pass his examination in the right to

live freely, regardless of class, and if he cannot do so, let him go

into the ranks of the slaves, because, turn it how you will, we must

have some beings to do the lowest offices in life. Who would willingly

clean the drains, fill the dust-carts--and, indeed, do the hundred and

one things that are simply disgusting, but which must be done?"

Mr. Hanbury-Green had not a sufficiently strong answer ready, so

remained loftily silent, while John Derringham went on:

"We obscure every issue nowadays by a sickly sentiment and this craze

for words to prove black is white in order to please the mediocrity. If

we could only look facts in the face we should see that the idea of

equality of all men is perfectly ridiculous. No ancient republic ever

worked, even the most purely democratic, like the Athenian, of the fifth

and fourth centuries B.C., without an unconsidered and unrepresented

population of slaves. You know your Aristotle, Mr. Green," he went on

blandly, "and you will remember his admirable remark about some men

being born masters and others born to obey, and that, if only Nature had

made the difference in their mental capacities as apparent to the eye as

is the difference in their bodies, everyone would recognize this at

once."

His voice grew intense: the subject interested him.

"You may say," he went on, "that Aristotle, Plato and Socrates accepted

the fact of slavery without protest because it was an institution from

time immemorial, and so the idea did not appear to them so repugnant.

But do you mean to tell me that such consummate geniuses, such unbiased

glorious brains would have glossed over any idea, or under-considered

any point in their schemes for the advancement of man? They accepted

slavery because they saw that it was the only possible way to make a

republic work, where all citizens might aspire to be equal."

"You would advocate slavery then? Oh! Mr. Derringham, how dreadful of

you!" exclaimed Mrs. Cricklander, half playfully.

"Not in the least," he returned, still allowing some feeling to stay in

his voice. "I would only have it recognized that there must be some

class in my ideal republic who will do the duties of the slaves of old.

I would have it so arranged that they should occupy this class only when

they had shown they were unfit for anything higher, and I would also

arrange it that the moment they appeared capable of rising out of it

there should be no bar to their doing so. It is the cry of our all being

equal because we have two arms and two legs and a head in common, not

counting any mental endowment, which is utter trash and hypocrisy. But

when these agitators are shouting for the people's rights and inciting

poor ignorant wretches to revolt, they never suggest that the lowest of

them is not perfectly suited to the highest position! Those occupying

any station above the lowest have got there merely by superior luck and

favoritism, not merit--that is what they preach."

Mr. Hanbury-Green was just going to answer with a biting attack when

Miss Cora Lutworth's rather high voice was heard interrupting from a

tall old chair in which she had perched herself.

"Why, Mr. Derringham, we all want to be something very grand," she

laughed merrily. "I hate common people and love English dukes and

duchesses--don't you, Cis?" and she looked at Mrs. Cricklander, who was

standing in a position of much stately grace by the lofty mantelpiece.

"You sweet girl!" exclaimed Lord Freynault, who was next to her. "I

cannot get any nearer to those favored folk than my uncle's being a

duke, but won't you let me in for some of your friendly feelings on that

account?"

"I certainly will," she answered archly, "because I like the way you

look. I like how your hair is brushed, and how your clothes are cut, and

your being nice and clean and outdoor--and long and thin--" and then she

whispered--"ever so much better than Mr. Hanbury-Green's thick

appearance. He may be as clever as clever, but he is common and climbing

up, and I like best the people who are there!"

John Derringham now addressed himself exclusively to his hostess.

"I agree with the point of view of the old Greeks--they were so full of

common sense. Balance and harmony in everything was their aim. A

beautiful body, for instance, should be the correlative of a beautiful

soul. Therefore in general their athletics were not pursued, as are

ours, for mere pleasure and sport, and because we like to feel fit. They

did not systematically exercise just to wrest from some rival the prize

in the games, either. Their care of the body had a far higher and nobler

end: to bring it into harmony as a dwelling-place for a noble soul."

"How divine!" said Mrs. Cricklander.

John Derringham went on:

"You remember Plato upon the subject--his reluctance to admit that a

physical defect must sometimes be overlooked. But nowadays everything is

distorted by ridiculous humanitarian nonsense. With our wonderful

inventions, our increasing knowledge of sanitation and science, and the

possibilities and limitations of the human body, what glorious people we

should become if we could choke this double-headed hydra of rotten

sentiment and exalt common sense!"

But now Mrs. Cricklander saw that a storm was gathering upon Mr.

Hanbury-Green's brow and, admirable hostess that she was, she decided to

smooth the troubled waters, so she went across the room to the piano,

and began to play a seductive valse, while John Derringham followed her

and leaned upon the lid, and tried to feel as devoted as he looked.

"Why cannot we go to-morrow and see your old master?" she asked, as her

white fingers, with their one or two superb rings, glided over the keys.

"I feel an unaccountable desire to become acquainted with him. I should

love to see what the person was like who molded you when you were a

boy."

"Mr. Carlyon is a wonderful-looking old man," John Derringham returned.

"Someone--who knows him very well--described him long ago as 'Cheiron.'

You will see how apt it is when you meet."

Mrs. Cricklander crashed some chords. She had never heard of this

Cheiron. She felt vaguely that Arabella had told her of some classical

or mythological personage of some such sounding name, a boatman of

sorts--but she dare not risk a statement, so she went on with the point

she wished to gain, which was to investigate at once Mr. Carlyon's

surroundings and discover, if possible, whether there was any influence

there that would be inimical to herself.

"I dare say we can go to-morrow," John Derringham said. "You and I might

walk over--and perhaps Miss Lutworth and Freynault. We can't go a large

party, the house is so small."

"Why cannot you and I go alone, then?" she asked.

"Oh, I think he would like to see Miss Cora. She is such a charming

girl," and John Derringham looked over to where she sat, still dangling

a pair of blue satin feet from the high chair. And inwardly Mrs.

Cricklander burned.

Cora was a second cousin of her divorced husband, and belonged by birth

to that inner cream of New York society which she hated in her heart.

Never, never again would she be so foolish as to chance crossing swords

with one of her own nation. But aloud she acquiesced blandly and

arranged that they should start at eleven o'clock.

"Perhaps we could persuade him to return to lunch with us?" she

hazarded. "And that would be so nice."

"You must do what you can with him," John Derringham said. "I have

prepared him to find you beautiful--as you are."

"You say lovely things about me behind my back, then?" she laughed. "Now

he will be disappointed!"

"Yes, I admit it was a _btse_--but, being my real thoughts, they

slipped out when I was there to-day. You will have to be extra charming

to substantiate them."

Before Mrs. Cricklander went to bed, she called Arabella Clinker into

her room.

"Arabella," she said, "who was Cheiron?" But she pronounced the "ei" as

an "a," so Miss Clinker replied without any hesitation:

"He was a boatman who carried the souls of the dead over the River Styx,

and to whom they were obliged to pay an obolus--son of Erebus and Nox.

He is represented as an old man with a hideous face and long white beard

and piercing eyes."

"Is there anything else I ought to know about him?" her employer asked,

and Arabella thought for a moment.

"There is the story of Hercules not showing the golden bow. Er--it is a

little complicated and has to do with the superstitions of the

ancients--er--something Egyptian, I think, for the moment--I will look

it up to-morrow. I can't say offhand."

"Thanks, Arabella. Good night."

And it was not until after the party of four had started next morning

that Miss Clinker suddenly thought, with a start: "She may have been

alluding to quite the other Cheiron--the Centaur--and in that case I

have given her some wrong lights!"