(I)
"Tell me a little about the costumes," said Monsignor, as the twoset out on foot from their lodgings in Versailles after breakfastnext morning, to present their letters of introduction. "Theyseem to me rather fantastic, somehow."
Their lodgings were situated in one of the great palaces on thevast road that runs straight from the gates of the royal palaceitself into Paris. They had come straight on by car from St.Germains, had been received with immense respect by theproprietor, who, it appeared, had received very particularinstructions from the English Cardinal; and had been conductedstraight upstairs to a little suite of rooms, decorated ineighteenth-century fashion, and consisting of a couple ofbedrooms for themselves, opening to a central sitting-room andoratory; the two men-servants they had brought with them werelodged immediately across the landing outside.
"Fantastic?" asked Father Jervis, smiling. "Don't you thinkthey're attractive?"
"Oh yes; but----"
"Remember human nature, Monsignor. After all, it was only intenseself-importance that used to make men say that they wereindependent of exterior beauty. It's far more natural and simpleto like beauty. Every child does, after all."
"Yes, yes; I see that, I suppose. But I didn't mean only that. Iwas on the point of asking you yesterday, again and again, butsomething marvellous distracted me each time," said the prelate,smiling. "They're extraordinarily picturesque, of course; but Ican't help thinking that they must all mean something."
"Of course they do. And I never can imagine how people ever goton without the system. Why, even less than a hundred years ago, Iunderstand that every one dressed, or tried to dress alike. Howin the world could they tell who they were talking to?"
"I . . . I expect that was deliberate," faltered the other. "Yousee, I think people used to be ashamed of their trades sometimes,and wanted to be thought gentlemen."
Father Jervis shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, I don't understand it," he said. "If a man was ashamed ofhis trade, why did he follow it?"
"I've been thinking," said Monsignor animatedly, "that perhapsit's the new teaching on Vocation that has made the difference.Once a man understands that his Vocation is the most honourablething he can do, I suppose----There! who's that man," heinterrupted suddenly, "in blue with the badge?"
A tremendous figure was crossing the road just in front of them.He wore a short, full blue cloak, with a silver badge on the leftbreast, a tight-fitting cap of the same colour repeating the samebadge, and from beneath his cloak in front hung a tunic, withenormous legs in tight blue hose and shoes moving underneath.
"Ah! that's a great man," said the priest. "He's aButcher, of course----"
"A butcher!"
"Yes; that's obvious--it's the blue, for one thing, and the cut,for another. Wait an instant. I shall see his badge directly."
As the great man came past them he saluted deferentially. Thepriests bowed with equal deference, lifting their hands to theirbroad-leaved hats.
"Yes: he's very high up," said the priest quietly. "A member ofthe Council of the National Guild, at least."
"Do you mean that man kills oxen?"
"Not now, of course; he's worked his way up. He probablyrepresents the Guild in the Assembly."
"Do all the trades have guilds, and are they all representedin the Assembly?"
"Why, of course! How else could you be certain that the tradewas treated fairly? If all the citizens voted as citizens,there'd simply be no fair representation at all. Look; there'sa goldsmith--he has probably been to the King; that's ajourneyman with him."
An open car sped past them. Two men were seated in it; both inclothes of some really beautiful metallic colour; but the cap ofone was plain, while the cap of the other blazed with some device.
"And the women? I can't see any system among them."
"Ah! but there is, though it's harder to detect. They have much moreliberty than the men; but, as a rule, each woman has a predominatingcolour, the colour of the head of her family, and all, of course,wear badges. There are sumptuary laws, I needn't say."
"I shouldn't have guessed it!"
"Well, not as regards price or material, certainly--only size.There are certain absolute limits on both sides; and fashionshave to manage between the two. You see it's the same thing as intrades and professions, as I told you yesterday. We encourage theindividual to be as individualistic as possible, and draw thelimits very widely, beyond which he mustn't go. But those limitsare imperative. We try to develop both extremes at once--libertyand law. We had enough of the _via media_--the mediocrity of theaverage--under Socialism."
"But do you mean to say that people submit to all this?"
"Submit! Why it's perfectly obvious to every one that it's simplyhuman--besides being very convenient practically. Of course inGermany they still go in for what they call Liberty; and theresult is simple chaos."
"Do you mean to say there's no envy or jealousy between the trades?"
"Not in the social sense, in the very least, though there'stremendous competition. Why, every one under Royalty has to be amember of some trade. Of course only those who practise the tradewear the full costume; but even the dukes have to wear thebadges. It's perfectly simple, you know."
"Tell me an English duke who's a butcher,"
"Butcher? . . . I can't think of one this minute. Southminster'sa baker, though."
Monsignor was silent. But it certainly seemed simple.
They were passing up now between the sentry-guarded gates of theenormous and exquisite palace of Versailles; and, beyond the greatexpanse of gravel on which they had just set foot, rose up themyriad windows, pinnacles, and walls where the Kings of Francelived again as they had lived two hundred years before. Far up,against the tender summer sky, flapped the Royal Standard; and thelilies of France, once more on their blue ground, indicated thatthe King was in residence. Even as they looked, however, thebanner seemed to waver a little; and simultaneously a suddenringing sound from a shadowed portico a couple of hundred yardsaway brought Father Jervis to a sudden stop.
"We'd better step aside," he said. "We're right in the way."
"What's the matter?"
"Some one's coming out. . . . Look."
From out of the shadow into the full sunlight with a flash ofsilver lightning whirled a body of cuirassiers, wheeled intoline, and came on, reforming as they came, at a canter.
A couple of heralds rode in front; and a long trumpet-crypealed out, was caught, echoed, and thrown back by the crowdingwalls of the palace.
Behind, as Father Jervis drew him to one side, Monsignor caughta glimpse of white horses and a gleam of gold. He glancedhastily back at the gates through which they had just come,and, as if sprung out of the ground, there was the crowdstanding respectfully on either side of the avenue to see itsSovereign. (It was up this avenue to Paris, Monsignorreflected, that the women had come on their appalling march tothe Queen who ruled them then.)
As he glanced back again the heralds were upon them, and the thunderof hoofs followed close behind. But beyond the line of gallopingguards, in the midst, drawn by white horses, ran the great gildedcoach with glass windows, and the crown of France atop.
Two men were seated in the coach, bowing mechanically as theycame--one a small, young, vivacious-looking man with a pointeddark beard; the other a heavy, fair-haired, sanguine-featured,clean-shaven man. Both alike were in robes in which red andgold predominated; and both wore broad feathered hats, shapedlike a priest's.
Then the coach was gone through the tall gilded gates, and acloud of dust, beaten up by the galloping hoofs on all sides, hideven the cuirassiers who closed the company. And as the twoturned the banner sank on the tall pole.
"The King and the German Emperor," observed Father Jervis, replacinghis hat. "Now there's the other side of the picture for you."
"I don't understand."
"Why, we treat our kings like kings," smiled the other. "And, atthe same time, we encourage our butchers to be really bu
tchersand to glory in it. Law _and_ liberty, you see. Absolute disciplineand the cultivation of individualism. No republican stew-pot, yousee, in which everything tastes alike."