CHAPTER VII
Society was much occupied during Alice’s first season in London with the upshot of an historical event of a common kind. England, a few years before, had stolen a kingdom from a considerable people in Africa, and seized the person of its king. The conquest proved useless, troublesome, and expensive; and after repeated attempts to settle the country on impracticable plans suggested to the Colonial Office by a popular historian who had made a trip to Africa, and by generals who were tired of the primitive remedy of killing the natives, it appeared that the best course was to release the captive king and get rid of the unprofitable booty by restoring it to him. In order, however, that the impression made on him by England’s shortsighted disregard of her neighbor’s landmark abroad might be counteracted by a glimpse of the vastness of her armaments and wealth at home, it was thought advisable to take him first to London, and show him the wonders of the town. But when the king arrived, his freedom from English prepossessions made it difficult to amuse, or even to impress him. A stranger to the idea that a private man could own a portion of the earth and make others pay him for permission to live on it, he was unable to understand why such a prodigiously wealthy nation should be composed partly of poor and uncomfortable persons toiling incessantly to create riches, and partly of a class that confiscated and dissipated the wealth thus produced without seeming to be at all happier than the unfortunate laborers at whose expense they existed. He was seized with strange fears, first for his health, for it seemed to him that the air of London, filthy with smoke, engendered puniness and dishonesty in those who breathed it; and eventually for his life, when he learned that kings in Europe were sometimes shot at by passers-by, there being hardly a monarch there who had not been so imperilled more than once; that the Queen of England, though accounted the safest of all, was accustomed to this variety of pistol practice; and that the autocrat of an empire huge beyond all other European countries, whose father had been torn asunder in the streets of his capital, lived surrounded by soldiers who shot down all strangers that approached him even at his own summons, and was an object of compassion to the humblest of his servants. Under these circumstances, the African king was with difficulty induced to stir out of doors; and he only visited Woolwich Arsenal — the destructive resources of which were expected to influence his future behavior in a manner favorable to English supremacy — under compulsion. At last the Colonial Office, which had charge of him, was at its wit’s end to devise entertainments to keep him in goodhumor until the appointed time for his departure.
On the Tuesday following Mrs. Hoskyn’s reception, Lucian Webber called at his cousin’s house in Regent’s Park, and said, in the course of a conversation with the two ladies there,
“The Colonial Office has had an idea. The king, it appears, is something of an athlete, and is curious to witness what Londoners can do in that way. So a grand assault-at-arms is to be held for him.”
“What is an assault-at-arms?” said Lydia. “I have never been at one; and the name suggests nothing but an affray with bayonets.”
“It is an exhibition of swordsmanship, military drill, gymnastics, and so forth.”
“I will go to that,” said Lydia. “Will you come, Alice?”
“Is it usual for ladies to go to such exhibitions?” said Alice, cautiously.
“On this occasion ladies will go for the sake of seeing the king,” said Lucian. “The Olympian gymnastic society, which has undertaken the direction of the part of the assault that is to show off the prowess of our civilians, expects what they call a flower-show audience.”
“Will you come, Lucian?”
“If I can be spared, yes. If not, I will ask Worthington to go with you. He understands such matters better than I.”
“Then let us have him, by all means,” said Lydia.
“I cannot see why you are so fond of Lord Worthington,” said Alice. “His manners are good; but there is nothing in him. Besides, he is so young. I cannot endure his conversation. He has begun to talk about Goodwood already.”
“He will grow out of his excessive addiction to sport,” said Lucian.
“Indeed,” said Lydia. “And what will he grow into?”
“Possibly into a more reasonable man,” said Lucian, gravely.
“I hope so,” said Lydia; “but I prefer a man who is interested in sport to a gentleman who is interested in nothing.”
“Much might indubitably be said from that point of view. But it is not necessary that Lord Worthington should waste his energy on horse-racing. I presume you do not think political life, for which his position peculiarly fits him, unworthy his attention.”
“Party tactics are both exciting and amusing, no doubt. But are they better than horse-racing? Jockeys and horsebreakers at least know their business; our legislators do not. Is it pleasant to sit on a bench — even though it be the treasury bench — and listen to either absolute nonsense or childish disputes about conclusions that were foregone in the minds of all sensible men a hundred years ago?”
“You do not understand the duties of a government, Lydia. You never approach the subject without confirming my opinion that women are constitutionally incapable of comprehending it.”
“It is natural for you to think so, Lucian. The House of Commons is to you the goal of existence. To me it is only an assemblage of ill-informed gentlemen who have botched every business they have ever undertaken, from the first committee of supply down to the last land act; and who arrogantly assert that I am not good enough to sit with them.”
“Lydia,” said Lucian, annoyed; “you know that I respect women in their own sphere—”
“Then give them another sphere, and perhaps they will earn your respect in that also. I am sorry to say that men, in THEIR sphere, have not won my respect. Enough of that for the present. I have to make some domestic arrangements, which are of more immediate importance than the conversion of a good politician into a bad philosopher. Excuse me for five minutes.”
She left the room. Lucian sat down and gave his attention to Alice, who had still enough of her old nervousness to make her straighten her shoulders and look stately. But he did not object to this; a little stiffness of manner gratified his taste.
“I hope,” he said, “that my cousin has not succeeded in inducing you to adopt her peculiar views.”
“No,” said Alice. “Of course her case is quite exceptional — she is so wonderfully accomplished. In general, I do not think women should have views. There are certain convictions which every lady holds: for instance, we know that Roman Catholicism is wrong. But that can hardly be called a view; indeed it would be wicked to call it so, as it is one of the highest truths. What I mean is that women should not be political agitators.”
“I understand, and quite agree with you. Lydia is, as you say, an exceptional case. She has lived much abroad; and her father was a very singular man. Even the clearest heads, when removed from the direct influence of English life and thought, contract extraordinary prejudices. Her father at one time actually attempted to leave a large farm to the government in trust for the people; but fortunately he found that it was impossible; no such demise was known to the English law or practicable by it. He subsequently admitted the folly of this by securing Lydia’s rights as his successor as stringently as he could. It is almost a pity that such strength of mind and extent of knowledge should be fortified by the dangerous independence which great wealth confers. Advantages like these bring with them certain duties to the class that has produced them — duties to which Lydia is not merely indifferent, but absolutely hostile.”
“I never meddle with her ideas on — on these subjects. I am too ignorant to understand them. But Miss Carew’s generosity to me